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Produced by Laura Rodriguez Natal and Marc D'Hooghe at
Free Literature (online soon in an extended version, also
linking to free sources for education worldwide... MOOC's,
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by the Hathi Trust
THE MEMOIRS OF FRANÇOIS RENÉ
VICOMTE DE CHATEAUBRIAND
SOMETIME AMBASSADOR TO ENGLAND
BEING A TRANSLATION BY ALEXANDER TEIXEIRA DE MATTOS
OF THE MÉMOIRES D'OUTRE-TOMBE WITH ILLUSTRATIONS
FROM CONTEMPORARY SOURCES. In 6 Volumes. Vol. IV
"NOTRE SANG A TEINT
LA BANNIÈRE DE FRANCE"
LONDON: PUBLISHED BY FREEMANTLE
AND CO. AT 217 PICCADILLY MDCCCCII
CONTENTS
VOLUME IV
BOOK VII 1-30
Changes in the world--The years 1815 and 1816--I am made a peer of
France--My first appearance in the tribune--Various speeches--The
_Monarchie selon la Charte_--Louis XVIII.--M. Decazes--I am struck
off the list of ministers of State--I sell my books and my Valley--My
speeches continued, in 1817 and 1818--The Piet meetings--The
_Conservateur_--Concerning the morality of material interests and that
of duty--The year 1820--Death of the Duc de Berry--Birth of the Duc de
Bordeaux--The market-women of Bordeaux--I cause M. de Villèle and M.
de Corbière to take office for the first time--My letter to the Duc
de Richelieu--Note from the Duc de Richelieu and my reply--Notes from
M. de Polignac--Letters from M. de Montmorency and M. Pasquier--I am
appointed Ambassador to Berlin--I leave for that embassy
BOOK VIII 31-63
The year 1821--The Berlin, Embassy--I arrive in Berlin--M.
Ancillon--The Royal Family--Celebrations for the marriage of the
Grand-duke Nicholas--Berlin society--Count von Humboldt--Herr von
Chamisso--Ministers and ambassadors--The Princess William--The
Opera--A musical meeting--My first dispatches--M. de Bonnay--The
Park--The Duchess of Cumberland--Commencement of a Memorandum on
Germany--Charlottenburg--Interval between the Berlin Embassy and
the London Embassy--Baptism of M. le Duc de Bordeaux--Letter to M.
Pasquier--Letter from M. de Bernstoff--Letter from M. Ancillon--Last
letter from the Duchess of Cumberland--M. de Villèle, Minister of
Finance--I am appointed Ambassador to London
BOOK IX 64-112
The year 1822--My first dispatches from London--Conversation with
George IV. on M. Decazes--The noble character of our diplomacy under
the Legitimacy--A parliamentary sitting--English society--Continuation
of the dispatches--Resumption of parliamentary labours--A ball
for the Irish--Duel between the Duke of Bedford and the Duke of
Buckingham--Dinner at Royal Lodge--The Marchioness Conyngham
and her secret--Portraits of the ministers--Continuation of my
dispatches--Parleys on the Congress of Verona--Letter to M. de
Montmorency; his reply foreshadowing a refusal--A more favourable
letter from M. de Villèle--I write to Madame de Duras--Death of
Lord Londonderry--Another letter to M. de Montmorency--Trip to
Hartwell--Note from M. de Villèle announcing my nomination to the
Congress--The end of old England--Charlotte--Reflexions--I leave
London--The years 1824, 1825, 1826 and 1827--Deliverance of the King
of Spain--My dismissal--The Opposition follows me--Last diplomatic
notes--Neuchâtel, in Switzerland--Death of Louis XVIII.--Coronation of
Charles X.--Reception of the knights of the Orders
BOOK X 113-146
I collect my former adversaries around myself--My public
charges--Extract from my polemics after my fall--Visit to
Lausanne--Return to Paris--The Jesuits--Letter from M. de Montlosier
and my reply--Continuation of my polemics--Letter from General
Sébastiani--Death of General Foy--The Law of Justice and Love--Letter
from M. Étienne--Letter from M. Benjamin Constant--I attain the
highest pitch of my political importance--Article on the King's
saint's-day--Withdrawal of the law on the police of the press--Paris
illuminated--Note from M. Michaud--M. de Villèle's irritation--Charles
X. proposes to review the National Guard on the Champ de Mars--I write
to him: my letter--The review--The National Guard disbanded--The
Elective Chamber is dissolved--The new Chamber--Refusals to
co-operate--Fall of the Villèle Ministry--I contribute towards forming
the new ministry and accept the Roman Embassy--Examination of a reproach
BOOK XI 147-219
Madame Récamier--Childhood of Madame Récamier described by M. Benjamin
Constant--Letter to Madame Récamier from Lucien Bonaparte--Continuation
of M. Benjamin Constant's narrative: Madame de Staël--Madame
Récamier's journey to England--Madame de Staël's first journey to
Germany--Madame Récamier in Paris--Plans of the generals--Portrait
of Bernadotte--Trial of Moreau--Letters from Moreau and Masséna to
Madame Récamier--Death of M. Necker--Return of Madame de Staël--Madame
Récamier at Coppet--Prince Augustus of Prussia--Madame de Staël's
second journey to Germany--The Château de Chaumont--Letter from
Madame de Staël to Bonaparte--Madame Récamier and M. Mathieu de
Montmorency exiled--Madame Récamier at Châlons--Madame Récamier at
Lyons--Madame de Chevreuse--Spanish prisoners--Madame Récamier in
Rome--Albano-Canova: his letters--The Albano fisherman--Madame Récamier
in Naples--The Duc de Rohan-Chabot--King Murat: his letters--Madame
Récamier returns to France--Letter from Madame de Genlis--Letters from
Benjamin Constant--Articles by Benjamin Constant on Bonaparte's return
from Elba--Madame de Krüdener--The Duke of Wellington--I meet Madame
Récamier again--Death of Madame de Staël--The Abbaye-aux-Bois
BOOK XII 220-304
My Embassy to Rome--Three kinds of materials-Diary of the road--Letters
to Madame Récamier--Leo XII. and the Cardinals--The ambassadors--The
old artists and the new artists--Old Roman society--Present manners
of Rome--Town and country--Letter to M. Villemain--Letter to Madame
Récamier--Explanation concerning the memorandum I am about to
quote--Letter to M. le Comte de La Feironnays--Memorandum on Eastern
Affairs--Letters to Madame Récamier--Letter to M. Thierry--Dispatch to
M. le Comte de La Ferronnays--More letters to Madame Récamier--Dispatch
to M. le Comte Portalis--Death of Leo XII.--Dispatch to M. le Comte
Portalis--Letter to Madame Récamier
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
VOL. IV
George IV
The Duc Decazes
The Duc de Berry
Frederica Queen of Hanover
The Duc de Richelieu
The Marquess of Londonderry
Madame Récamier
Pope Leo XII
[Illustration: GEORGE IV.]
THE
MEMOIRS OF CHATEAUBRIAND
VOLUME IV
BOOK VII[1]
Changes in the world--The years 1815 and 1816--I am made a peer of
France--My first appearance in the tribune--Various speeches--The
_Monarchie selon la Charte_--Louis XVIII.--M. Decazes--I am struck
off the list of ministers of State--I sell my books and my Valley--My
speeches continued, in 1817 and 1818--The Piet meetings--The
_Conservateur_--Concerning the morality of material interests and that
of duty--The year 1820--Death of the Duc de Berry--Birth of the Duc de
Bordeaux--The market-women of Bordeaux--I cause M. de Villèle and M.
de Corbière to take office for the first time--My letter to the Duc
de Richelieu--Note from the Duc de Richelieu and my reply--Notes from
M. de Polignac--Letters from M. de Montmorency and M. Pasquier--I am
appointed Ambassador to Berlin--I leave for that embassy.
To fall back from Bonaparte and the Empire to that which followed them
is to fall from reality into nothingness, from the summit of a mountain
into a gulf. Did not everything finish with Napoleon? Ought I to have
spoken of anything else? What person can possess any interest beside
him? Of whom and of what can there be any question after such a man?
Dante alone had the right to associate himself with the great poets
whom he meets in the regions of another life. How can one speak of
Louis XVIII. in the stead of the Emperor? I blush when I think that, at
the present moment, I have to cant about a crowd of petty creatures, of
whom I myself am one, dubious and nocturnal beings that we were on a
stage from which the great sun had disappeared.
The Bonapartists themselves had shrivelled up. Their members had become
bent and shrunk; the soul was lacking to the new universe so soon as
Bonaparte withdrew his breath; objects faded from view from the moment
when they were no longer illuminated by the light which had given them
colour and relief. At the commencement of these Memoirs, I had only
myself to speak of: well, there is always a sort of paramountcy in
man's individual solitude. Later, I was surrounded by miracles: those
miracles kept up my voice; but at this present moment there is no more
conquest of Egypt, no more Battles of Marengo, Austerlitz and Jena, no
more retreat from Russia, no more invasion of France, capture of Paris,
return from Elba, Battle of Waterloo, funeral at St. Helena: what
remains? Portraits to which only the genius of Molière could lend the
gravity of comedy!
While expressing myself upon our worthlessness, I taxed my conscience
home: I asked myself whether I did not purposely incorporate myself
with the nullity of these times, in order to acquire the right to
condemn the others, persuaded though I were _in petto_ that my name
would be read in the midst of all these obliterations. No, I am
convinced that we shall all fade out: first, because we have not in
us the wherewithal to live; secondly, because the age in which we are
commencing or ending our days has itself not the wherewithal to make
us live. Generations mutilated, exhausted, disdainful, faithless,
consecrated to the annihilation which they love, are unable to bestow
immortality; they have no power to create a renown; if you were to nail
your ear to their mouth, you would hear nothing: no sound issues from
the heart of the dead.
One thing strikes me, however: the little world to which I am now
coming was superior to the world which succeeded it in 1830; we were
giants in comparison with the society of maggots that has engendered
itself.
The Restoration offers at least one point in which we can find
importance: after the dignity of one man, that man having passed, there
was born again the dignity of mankind. If despotism has been replaced
by liberty, if we understand anything of independence, if we have lost
the habit of grovelling, if the rights of human nature are no longer
disregarded, we owe these things to the Restoration. Wherefore also I
threw myself into the fray in order, as far as I could, to revive the
species when the individual had come to an end.
Come, let us pursue our task! Let us descend, with a groan, to myself
and my colleagues. You have seen me amid my dreams; you are about to
see me in my realities: if the interest decreases, if I fall, reader,
be just, make allowance for my subject!
[Sidenote: I am made a peer of France.]
After the second return of the King and the final disappearance of
Bonaparte, the Ministry being in the hands of M. le Duc d'Otrante and
M. le Prince de Talleyrand, I was appointed president of the electoral
college of the Department of the Loiret. The elections of 1815 gave
the King the _Chambre introuvable._[2] I was carrying all the votes
at Orleans, when I received the Order which called me to the House
of Peers[3]. My active career had hardly commenced, when it suddenly
changed its course: what would it have been if I had been sent to the
Elective Chamber? It is fairly probable that that career would, in
the event of my success, have ended in the Ministry of the Interior,
instead of taking me to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. My habits and
manners were more in touch with the peerage, and, although the latter
became hostile to me from the first moment, by reason of my Liberal
opinions, it is nevertheless certain that my doctrines concerning the
liberty of the press and against the vassalage to foreigners gave the
Noble Chamber the popularity which it enjoyed so long as it suffered my
opinions.
I received, at my entrance, the only honour which my colleagues ever
did me during my fifteen years' residence in their midst: I was
appointed one of the four secretaries for the session of 1816. Lord
Byron met with no more favour when he appeared in the House of Lords,
and he left it for good: I ought to have returned to my deserts.
My first appearance in the tribune was to make a speech on the
irremovability of the judges[4]: I applauded the principle, but
censured its immediate application. At the Revolution of 1830, the
members of the Left who were most devoted to that revolution wished to
suspend the irremovability for a time.
On the 22nd of February 1816, the Duc de Richelieu brought us the
autograph will of the Queen. I ascended the tribune, and said:
"He who has preserved for us the will of Marie-Antoinette[5] had bought
the property of Montboisier: himself one of Louis XVI.'s judges, he
raised in that property a monument to the memory of the defender of
Louis XVI., and himself engraved on that monument an epitaph in French
verse in praise of M. de Malesherbes. This astonishing impartiality
shows that all is misplaced in the moral world."
On the 12th of March 1816, the question of the ecclesiastical
pensions[6] was discussed:
"You would," I said, "refuse an allowance to the poor vicar who
devotes the remainder of his days to the altar, and you would accord
pensions to Joseph Lebon[7], who struck off so many heads; to François
Chabot[8], who asked for a law against the Emigrants of so simple a
character that a child might lead them to the guillotine; to Jacques
Roux[9], who, refusing at the Temple to receive Louis XVI.'s will,
replied to the unfortunate monarch:
"'My only business is to take you to your death.'"
A bill had been introduced into the Hereditary Chamber relating to the
elections. I declared myself in favour of the integral renewal of the
Chamber of Deputies. It was not until 1824, being then a minister, that
I passed it into law.
It was also in this first speech on the law governing elections, in
1816[10], that I said, in reply to an opponent:
"I will not refer to what has been said about Europe watching our
discussions. Speaking for myself, gentlemen, I doubtless owe to the
French blood that flows in my veins the impatience which I experience
when, in order to influence my vote, people talk to me of opinions
existing outside my country; and, if civilized Europe tried to impose
the Charter on me, I should go to live in Constantinople."
[Sidenote: The Chamber of Peers.]
On the 9th of April 1816, I introduced a motion to the Chamber relating
to the Barbary Powers. The house decided that there was cause for its
discussion. I was already thinking of combating slavery, before I
obtained that favourable decision from the Peers, which was the first
political intervention of a great Power on behalf of the Greeks:
"I have seen the ruins of Carthage," I said to my colleagues; "I have
met among those ruins the successors of the unhappy Christians for
whose deliverance St. Louis sacrificed his life. Philosophy can take
its share of the glory attached to the success of my motion and boast
of having obtained in an age of light that for which religion strove in
vain in an age of darkness."
I found myself in an assembly in which my words, for three-fourths of
the time, turned against myself. One can move a popular chamber; an
aristocratic chamber is deaf. With no gallery, speaking in private
before old men, dried-up remains of the old Monarchy, of the Revolution
and of the Empire, anything that rose above the most commonplace seemed
madness. One day, the front row of arm-chairs, quite close to the
tribune, was filled with venerable peers, one more deaf than the other,
their heads bent forward, and holding to their ears a trumpet with the
mouth turned towards the tribune. I sent them to sleep, which is very
natural. One of them dropped his ear-trumpet; his neighbour, awakened
by the fall, wanted politely to pick up his colleague's trumpet; he
fell down. The worst of it was that I began to laugh, although I was
just then speaking pathetically on some subject of humanity, I forget
what.
The speakers who succeeded in that Chamber were those who spoke
without ideas, in a level and monotonous tone, or who found terms of
sensibility only in order to melt with pity for the poor ministers. M.
de Lally-Tolendal thundered in favour of the public liberties: he made
the vaults of our solitude resound with the praises of three or four
English Lord Chancellors, his ancestors, he said. When his panegyric
of the liberty of the press was finished, came a "but" based upon
"circumstances," which "but" left our honour safe, under the useful
supervision of the censorship.
The Restoration gave an impulse to men's minds; it set free the thought
suppressed by Bonaparte: the intellect, like a caryatic figure relieved
of the entablature that bent its brow, lifted up its head. The Empire
had struck France with dumbness; liberty restored touched her and gave
her back speech: oratorical talents existed which took up matters where
the Mirabeaus and Cazalès had left them, and the Revolution continued
its course.
My labours were not limited to the tribune, so new to me. Appalled at
the systems which men were embracing and at France's ignorance of the
principles of representative government, I wrote and had printed the
_Monarchie selon la Charte._ This publication marked one of the great
epochs of my political life: it made me take rank among the publicists;
it served to determine opinion on the nature of our government. The
English papers praised the work to the skies; among us, the Abbé
Morellet even could not recover from the transformation of my style and
the dogmatic precision of the truths.
The _Monarchie selon la Charte_ is a constitutional catechism: from
it have been taken the greater part of the propositions which are put
forward as new to-day. Thus the principle that "the King reigns but
does not govern" is found fully set forth in Chapters IV., V., VI. and
VII. on the Royal Prerogative.
The constitutional principles having been laid down in the first part
of the _Monarchie selon la Charte_, I examine in the second the systems
of the three ministries which till then had followed upon one another,
from 1814 to 1816; in this part are brought together predictions
too well verified since and expositions of doctrines at that time
unperceived. These words appear in Chapter XXVI., in the Second Part:
"It passes as unquestionable, in a certain party, that a
revolution of the nature of our own can end only by a change
of dynasty; others, more moderate, say by a change in the
order of right of succession to the Crown."
As I was finishing my work, appeared the ordinance of the 5th of
September 1816[11]: this measure dispersed the few Royalists assembled
to reconstruct the Legitimate Monarchy. I hastened to write the
_Postscript_, which caused an explosion of anger on the part of M. le
Duc de Richelieu and of Louis XVIII.'s favourite, M. Decazes.
[Sidenote: Seizure of my pamphlet.]
The _Postscript_ added, I ran to M. Le Normant, my publisher's. On
arriving, I found constables and a police-commissary making out
instruments. They had seized parcels and affixed seals. I had not
defied Bonaparte to be intimidated by M. Decazes: I objected to the
seizure; I declared that, as a free Frenchman and a peer of France, I
would yield only to force. The force arrived and I withdrew. I went
on the 18th of September to Messieurs Louis-Marthe Mesnier and his
colleague, notaries-royal; I protested in their office and called upon
them to register my statement of the fact of the apprehension of my
work, wishing to ensure the rights of French citizens by means of this
protest M. Baudé[12] followed my example in 1830.
I next found myself engaged in a rather long correspondence with M.
the Chancellor, M. the Minister of Police and M. the Attorney-General
Bellart[13], until the 9th of November, on which day the Chancellor
informed me of the order made in my favour by the Court of First
Instance, which placed me in possession of my seized work. In one of
his letters, M. the Chancellor told me that he had been distressed to
see the dissatisfaction which the King had publicly expressed with my
work. This dissatisfaction arose from the chapter in which I stood
up against the establishment of a minister of General Police in a
constitutional country.
In my account of the journey to Ghent, you have seen Louis XVIII.'s
value as a descendant of Hugh Capet; in my pamphlet, _Le Roi est mort:
vive le roi!_[14] I have told the Prince's real qualities. But man is
not a simple unit: why are there so few faithful portraits? Because the
model is made to pose at such or such a period of his life; ten years
later the portrait is no longer like.
Louis XVIII. did not see far the objects before or around him; all
seemed fair or foul to him according to the way he looked at it.
Smitten with his century, it is to be feared that "the most Christian
King" regarded religion only as an elixir fit for the amalgam of drugs
of which royalty is composed. The licentious imagination which he had
received from his grandfather[15] might have inspired some distrust of
his enterprises; but he knew himself and, when he spoke in a positive
manner, he boasted (well knowing it), while laughing at himself. I
spoke to him one day of the need of a new marriage for M. le Duc de
Bourbon, in order to bring back the race of the Condés to life. He
strongly approved of that idea, although he cared very little about the
sad resurrection; but in this connection he spoke to me of the Comte
d'Artois, and said:
"My brother might marry again without changing anything in the
succession to the throne: he would only make cadets. As for me,
I should only make elders; I do not want to disinherit M. le Duc
d'Angoulême."
And he drew himself up with a capable and bantering air; but I had no
intention of denying the King any power.
Selfish and unprejudiced, Louis XVIII. desired his peace of mind at any
price: he supported his ministers so long as they held the majority; he
dismissed them so soon as the majority was shaken and his tranquillity
liable to be upset: he did not hesitate to fall back when, to obtain
the victory, he ought to have taken a step forward. His greatness was
patience: he did not go towards events; events came to him.
Without being cruel, the King was not humane; tragic catastrophes
neither astonished nor touched him; he was satisfied with saying to the
Duc de Berry, who apologized for having had the misfortune to disturb
the King's sleep by his death:
"I have finished my night."
Nevertheless, this quiet man would fly into horrible rages when
annoyed; and also, this cold, unfeeling Prince had attachments which
resembled passions: thus there succeeded each other in his intimacy the
Comte d'Avaray, M. de Blacas, M. Decazes[16]; Madame de Balbi[17],
Madame de Cayla[18]. All these beloved persons were favourites;
unfortunately they have a great deal too many letters in their hands.
Louis XVIII. appeared to us in all the profundity of historic
tradition; he showed himself with the favouritism of the ancient
royalties. Does the heart of our isolated monarchs contain a void which
they fill with the first object they light upon? Is it sympathy, the
affinity of a nature analogous to their own? Is it a friendship which
drops down to them from Heaven to console their greatnesses? Is it a
leaning for a slave who gives himself body and soul, before whom one
conceals nothing, a slave who becomes a garment, a plaything, a fixed
idea bound up with all the feelings, all the tastes, all the whims
of him whom it has subdued and whom it holds under the empire of an
invincible fascination? The viler and closer a favourite has been,
the less easily is he to be dismissed, because he is in possession of
secrets which would put one to the blush if they were divulged: the
chosen one derives a dual force from his own baseness and his master's
weaknesses.
When the favourite happens to be a great man, like the besetting
Richelieu[19] or the undismissable Mazarin[20], the nations, while
detesting him, profit by his glory or his power; they only change a
wretched king _de jure_ for an illustrious king _de facto._
[Sidenote: The Duc Decazes.]
So soon as M. Decazes was made a minister, the carriages blocked
the Quai Malaquais in the evenings to set down in the new-comer's
drawing-room all that was noblest in the Faubourg Saint-Germain. The
Frenchman may do what he pleases, he will never be anything but a
courtier, no matter of whom, provided it be a power of the day.
Soon there was formed, on behalf of the new favourite, a formidable
coalition of stupidities. In democratic society, prate about liberties,
declare that you see the progress of the human race and the future of
things, adding to your speeches a few Crosses of the Legion of Honour,
and you are sure of your place; in aristocratic society, play whist,
utter commonplaces and carefully-prepared witticisms with a grave and
profound air, and the fortune of your genius is assured.
Born a fellow-countryman of Murat[21], but of Murat without a kingdom,
M. Decazes had come to us from the mother of Napoleon[22]. He was
familiar, obliging, never insolent; he wished me well; I do not know
| 3,171.055878 |
2023-11-16 19:09:55.0410470 | 2,625 | 17 |
Produced by Al Haines.
Dawn
of the Morning
BY
GRACE LIVINGSTON HILL
AUTHOR OF
MARCIA SCHUYLER, PHOEBE DEANE, ETC.
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
Made in the United States of America
COPYRIGHT, 1911
BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
Wings of the Morning
"The morning hangs its signal
Upon the mountain's crest,
While all the sleeping valleys
In silent darkness rest;
From peak to peak it flashes,
It laughs along the sky
That the crowning day is coming, by and by!
We can see the rose of morning,
A glory in the sky,
And that splendor on the hill-tops
O'er all the land shall lie.
Above the generations
The lonely prophets rise,--
The Truth flings dawn and day-star
Within their glowing eyes;
From heart to heart it brightens,
It draweth ever nigh,
Till it crowneth all men thinking, by and by!
The soul hath lifted moments
Above the drift of days,
When life's great meaning breaketh
In sunrise on our ways;
From hour to hour it haunts us,
The vision draweth nigh,
Till it crowneth living, _dying_, by and by!
And in the sunrise standing,
Our kindling hearts confess
That 'no good thing is failure.
No evil thing success!'
From age to age it groweth,
That radiant faith so high,
And its crowning day is coming by and by!"
WILLIAM C. GANNETT
Dawn of the Morning
CHAPTER I
In the year 1824, in a pleasant town located between Schenectady and
Albany, stood the handsome colonial residence of Hamilton Van
Rensselaer. Solemn hedges shut in the family pride and hid the family
sorrow, and about the borders of its spacious gardens, where even the
roses seemed subdued, there played a child. The stately house oppressed
her, and she loved the sombre garden best.
Her only friend in the old house seemed a tall clock that stood on the
stairs and told out the hours in the hopeless tone that was expected of
a clock in such a house, though it often took time to wink pleasantly at
the child as she passed by, and talk off a few seconds and minutes in a
brighter tone.
But the great clock on the staircase ticked awesomely one morning as the
little girl went slowly down to her father's study in response to his
bidding.
She did not want to go. She delayed her steps as much as possible, and
looked up at the kindly old clock for sympathy; but even the round-eyed
sun and the friendly moon that went around on the clock face every day
as regularly as the real sun and moon, and usually appeared to be bowing
and smiling at her, wore solemn expressions, and seemed almost pale
behind their highly painted countenances.
The little girl shuddered as she gave one last look over her shoulder at
them and passed into the dim recesses of the back hall, where the light
came only in weird, half-circular slants from the mullioned window over
the front door. It was dreadful indeed when the jolly sun and moon
looked grave.
She paused before the heavy door of the study and held her breath,
dreading the ordeal that was to come. Then, gathering courage, she
knocked timidly, and heard her father's instant, cold "Come."
With trembling fingers she turned the knob and went in.
There were heavy damask curtains at the windows, reaching to the floor,
caught back with thick silk cords and tassels. They were a deep, sullen
red, and filled the room with oppressive shadows in no wise relieved by
the heavy mahogany furniture upholstered in the same red damask.
Her father sat by his ponderous desk, always littered with papers which
she must not touch.
His sternly handsome face was forbidding. The very beauty of it was
hateful to her. The look on it reminded her of that terrible day, now
nearly three years ago, when he had returned from a journey of several
months abroad in connection with some brilliant literary enterprise, and
had swept her lovely mother out of his life and home, the innocent
victim of long-entertained jealousy and most unfounded suspicion.
The little girl had been too young to understand what it was all about.
When she cried for her she was forbidden even to think of her, and was
told that her mother was unworthy of that name.
The child had declared with angry tears and stampings of her small foot,
that it was not true, that her mother was good and dear and beautiful;
but they had paid no heed to her. The father had sternly commanded
silence and sent her away; and the mother had not returned.
So she had sobbed her heart out in the silence of her own room, where
every object reminded her of the lost mother's touch and voice and
presence, and had gone about the house in a sullen silence unnatural to
childhood, thereby making herself more enemies than friends.
Of her father she was afraid. She shrank into terrified silence
whenever he approached, scarcely answering his questions, and growing
farther away from him every day, until he instinctively knew that she
hated him for her mother's sake.
When a year had passed he procured a divorce without protest from the
innocent but crushed wife, this by aid of a law that often places "Truth
forever on the scaffold, Wrong forever on the throne." Not long after,
he brought to his home as his wife a capable, arrogant, self-opinionated
woman, who set herself to rule him and his household as it should be
ruled.
The little girl was called to audience in the gloomy study where sat the
new wife, her eyes filled with hostility toward the other woman's child,
and was told that she must call the lady "Mother."
Then the black eyes that held in their dreamy depths some of the
gunpowder flash of her father's steely ones took fire; the little face
darkened with indignant fury; the small foot came down with fierce
determination on the thick carpet, and the child declared:
"I will _never_ call her mother! She is _not_ my mother! She is a bad
woman, and she has no right here. She cannot be your wife. It is
wicked for a man to have two wives. I know, for I heard Mary Ann and
Betsey say so this morning in the kitchen. My mother is alive yet. She
is at Grandfather's. I heard Betsey say that too. You are a wicked,
cruel man, and I hate you. I will not have you for a father any more.
I will go away and stay with my mother. She is good. _You_ are bad! I
hate you! I hate you! _I hate you_! _And I hate her_!"--pointing
toward the new wife, who sat in horrified condemnation, with two fiery
spots upon her outraged cheeks.
"Jemima!" thundered her father in his angriest tone.
But the little girl turned upon him furiously.
"My name is not Jemima!" she screamed. "I will not let you call me so.
My name is Dawn. My mother called me Dawn. I will not answer when you
call me Jemima."
"Jemima, you may go to your room!" commanded the father, standing up,
white to the lips, to face a will no whit less adamant than his own.
"I will not go until you call me Dawn," she answered, her face turning
white and stern, with sudden singular likeness to her father on its soft
round outlines.
She stood her ground until carried struggling upstairs and locked into
her own room.
Gradually she had cried her fury out, and succumbed to the inevitable,
creeping back as seldom as possible into the life of the house, and
spending the time with her own brooding thoughts and sad plays, far in
the depths of the box-boarded garden, or shut into the quiet of her own
room.
To the new mother she never spoke unless she had to, and never called
her Mother, though there were many struggles to compel her to do so.
She never came when they called her Jemima, nor obeyed a command
prefaced by that name, though she endured in consequence many a whipping
and many a day in bed, fed on bread and water.
"What is the meaning of this strange whim?" demanded the new wife, with
set lips. Her position was none too easy, nor her disposition markedly
that of a saint.
"A bit of her mother's sentimentality," explained the chagrined father.
"She objected to calling the child for my grandmother, Jemima. She
wanted it named for her own mother, and said Jemima was harsh and ugly,
until one day her old minister, who was fully as sentimental as she, if
he was an old man, told her that Jemima meant 'Dawn of the Morning.'
After that she made no further protest. But I had no idea she had
carried her foolishness to this extent, nor taught the child such
notions about her honest and honorable name."
"It won't take long to get them out of her head," prophesied the
new-comer, with the sparkle of combat in her eye. Yet it was now nearly
three years since the little girl had seen or heard from her mother, and
she still refused to answer to the name of Jemima. The step-mother had
fallen into the habit of saying "you" when she wanted anything done.
Of the events which preceded her father's summons this morning, Dawn
knew nothing.
Three days before he had received an urgent message from his former
wife's father, stating that his daughter was dead, and demanding an
immediate interview. It was couched in such language that, being the
man he was, he could not refuse to comply.
He answered the summons immediately, going by horseback a hard six-hours
ride that he might catch an earlier stage than he could otherwise have
done. He was the kind of man that always did what he felt to be his
duty, no matter how unpleasant it might be. It was the only thing that
saved his severity from being a vice. His father-in-law had laid this
journey upon him as a duty, and though he had no definite idea of the
reason for this sudden demand, he went at once.
No one but his Maker can penetrate the soul of a man like Hamilton Van
Rensselaer to know what were his thoughts as he walked up the
rose-bordered path to the fine old brick house, which a few years before
he had trod with his beautiful young bride leaning upon his arm.
With grave ceremony, the old servant opened the door into the stately
front room where most of Van Rensselaer's courting had been done, and
left him alone in the dim light that sifted through partly drawn shades.
He stood a moment within the shadowed room, a sense of the past sweeping
over him with oppressive force, like a power that might not be resisted.
Then as his eyes grew accustomed to the half-darkness, he started, for
there before him was a coffin!
His father-in-law's message had not led him to expect to see his former
wife. He had gathered from the letter that she might have been dead
some weeks, and that the matter to be discussed was of business, though
probably painfully connected with the one who was gone.
While the news of her death had given him a shock which he had not
anticipated, he had yet had time in his long journey to grow accustomed
to the thought of it. But | 3,171.061087 |
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SPLORES
OF A
HALLOWEEN,
TWENTY YEARS AGO:
BY ALEXANDER DICK.
WOODSTOCK, C. W.:
WILLIAM WARWICK, PUBLISHER.
1867.
PREFACE.
The following verses were sent to compete for the prize offered in
October last, by the Montreal Caledonian Society, for the "best poem on
Halloween." They were not successful; and some may be ready to ask, "Why
then publish them?" It may be sufficient to reply, "I choose to do so;"
"I choose to appeal from the award of the Judges to the decision of the
public." A single sentence will explain why I make such an appeal. The
gentlemen appointed to act as judges based their decision, according to
their published statement, as much upon "suitability for recitation at a
public festival," as upon "literary merit." Had this been stated in the
advertisement inviting competition it would have been all right. But it
is very evident that all poems which might be judged unsuitable for such
recitation, would necessarily be excluded from competition, whatever
might be their "literary merits," and the successful production could
only be that which among the "suitable" was regarded as possessing the
greatest literary excellence. It is on this ground--and not because I
could be so vain as to think that my production _ought_ to have received
the prize, while I was altogether unacquainted with not a few others
which may have been rejected on the same principle--that I complain of
the award of the Judges, and that I now appeal from that award by this
publication.
A poem may be very well suited for recitation at a public festival, and
possess very slight claims to any literary merit, while another
indefinitely superior might not in such circumstances be suitable for
recitation at all.
With the public I now leave the decision, and shall cheerfully acquiesce
in its award whether favourable or the reverse.
A. D.
Woodstock, C. W., Jan., 1867.
HALLOWEEN.
This night we meet o' a' the nights,
For fun the very wale,
When melancholy taks its flight,
And graning pains grow hale;
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McCLURE'S MAGAZINE
VOL. XXXI AUGUST, 1908 No. 4
_Copyright, 1908, by The S. S. McClure Co. All rights reserved_
Table of Contents
PAGE
A DISCLOSURE OF THE SECRET POLICIES OF RUSSIA. By General
Kuropatkin. 363
TALKS WITH BISMARCK. By Carl Schurz. 367
THE FOREHANDED COLQUHOUNS. By Margaret Wilson. 378
LAST YEARS WITH HENRY IRVING. By Ellen Terry. 386
THE LOST MOTHER. By Blanche M. Kelly. 399
PATSY MORAN. THE BOOK AND ITS COVERS. By Arthur Sullivan
Hoffman. 401
ARCTIC COLOR. By Sterling Heilig. 411
THE TAVERN. By Willa Sibert Cather. 419
A STORY OF HATE. By Gertrude Hall. 420
HIS NEED OF MIS' SIMONS. By Lucy Pratt. 432
PROHIBITION AND SOCIAL PSYCHOLOGY. By Hugo Muensterberg. 438
THE MOVING FINGER WRITES. By Marie Belloc Lowndes. 445
A BUNK-HOUSE AND SOME BUNK-HOUSE MEN. By Alexander Irvine. 455
THE KING OF THE BABOONS. By Perceval Gibbon. 467
ONE HUNDRED CHRISTIAN SCIENCE CURES. By Richard C. Cabot 472
SOUTH STREET. By Francis E. Falkenbury. 476
THE INABILITY TO INTERFERE. By Mary Heaton Vorse. 477
PROHIBITION AND SOCIAL PSYCHOLOGY. By Dr. Muensterberg. 482
Illustrations
General Alexei Nicholaevitch Kuropatkin 363
Kaiser Wilhelm I 369
Prince Otto Von Bismarck 372
Count Hellmuth Von Moltke 373
The Chancellor's Palace on the Wilhelmstrasse 374
The Battle of Koeniggraetz 374
Emperor Napoleon III 376
"Jane and Selina... Looked at Patient and Nurse with
Disapproving Gloom" 378
"She Could Not Help Seeing That Selina Found Some Strange
Pleasure in all These Incidents of a Last Illness" 382
Ellen Terry as Kniertje in "The Good Hope" 387
John Singer Sargent 388
Sir Edward Burne-Jones 388
Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth 389
Peggy, Madame Sans-Gene, Madame Sans-Gene, Cordelia 390
Imogen, Lucy Ashton, Catherine Duval, Lucy Ashton 390
Cardinal Wolsey, Lady Macbeth, Guinevere, Thomas Becket 391
Nancy Oldfield, Hermione, Alice-Sit-by-the-Fire, Lady Cicely,
Wayneflete 391
Miss Ellen Terry 392
Sir Henry Irving 392
Ellen Terry as Queen Katherine in Henry VIII 395
The Book and Its Covers 401
"Pardon Me," He Said, "But What Are You Doing That for?" 402
"Ye'd Better Be Usin' Your Brains to Walk With, and Not
Strainin' Thim Like That" 407
Midnight in the Kara Sea 411
"The Country of the Dead"--A Study of the Kara Sea in August 413
Samoyed Love of Color 414
Painting of a Sledge Set Upon End for the Night, With Skins and
Meat Hung Upon It So as to Be Out of Reach of the Dogs 415
A Study Made in Nova Zembla at the Time of the Complete Eclipse
of the Sun, July 27, 1896 416
Painting of a Church Built by M. Seberjakow 417
In the Midnight Sunshine 418
His Need of Mis' Simons 432
'I Couldn' Git 'Long 'Thout Yer Noways, Could I?' She Say 433
'She Keep on A-Readin', an' I Keep on A-Wukkin' on de Paff' 434
'It's Time Fer You ter Go to Baid, Ain't It, 'Zekiel?' She Say 435
''Tain' Gwine Nobody Else Git--Fru--Dat--Do',' She Say 436
The Bunk-House 459
One Night the Graf Was Prevailed Upon to Tell His Story 461
The Sitting-Room of the Bismarck 462
I Noticed a Profile Silhouetted against the Window 463
St. Francis of the Bunk-House 464
They Sat on Their Rumps Outside the Circle of <DW5>s 467
EDITORIAL ANNOUNCEMENT
FIVE ARTICLES
A DISCLOSURE OF THE SECRET POLICIES OF RUSSIA
BY GENERAL KUROPATKIN
Once in a generation the intimate and vital secrets of a great nation
may be made public through one of the little circle of men to whom
they are entrusted; but rarely, if ever, till the men are dead, and
the times are entirely changed. Beginning next month, McCLURE'S
MAGAZINE will present to the reading world a striking exception to
this rule. It will print for the first time a frank and startling
official revelation of the present political plans and purposes of
Russia--the great nation whose guarded and secret movements have been
the concern of modern European civilization for two centuries.
[Illustration: GENERAL ALEXEI NICHOLAEVITCH KUROPATKIN]
General Kuropatkin--Minister of War and later Commander-in-Chief
of the Russian forces in the great and disastrous Manchurian
campaign--became a target for abuse at the close of the Russo-Japanese
War. He returned to St. Petersburg and constructed, from the
official material accessible to him, an elaborate history of the
war, and a detailed statement of the condition, purposes, and
development of the Russian Empire. Documents and dispatches endorsed
"Strictly Confidential," matters involving the highest officials,
information obviously intended for no eyes but those of the
innermost government circles, are laid forth with the utmost abandon
in this work. No sooner had it been completed, than it was
confiscated by the government. Its manuscript has never been allowed
to pass out of the custody of the Czar's closest advisers.
An authentic copy of this came into the hands of McCLURE'S MAGAZINE
this spring; it is not essential and obviously would not be wise to
state just how. George Kennan, the well-known student of Russian
affairs, now has it in his possession and is engaged in translating
and arranging material taken from it for magazine publication. A
series of five or six articles, constructed from Kuropatkin's 600,000
words, will be issued in McCLURE'S, beginning next month. These will
contain astonishing revelations concerning matters of great
international importance, and accusations that are audacious to the
point of recklessness.
LETTERS TO THE CZAR
Remarkable among these are the letters to the Czar. Kuropatkin's
correspondence with him is given in detail, documents which naturally
would not appear within fifty or a hundred years from the time when
they were written. And upon the letters and reports of the General
appear the comments and marginal notes of the Emperor. The war was
forced against the will of the sovereign and the advice of the War
Department. It was ended, Kuropatkin shows, when Russia was just
beginning to discipline and dispose her great forces, because of the
lack of courage and firmness in the Czar.
Japan certainly would have been crushed, says Kuropatkin, if war had
continued. At the time of the Treaty at Portsmouth, the military
struggle, from Russia's standpoint, had only begun. She was then
receiving ammunition and supplies properly for the first time; her men
were becoming disciplined soldiers; and the railroad, whose service
had increased from three to fourteen military trains a day, had now,
at last, brought the Russian forces into the distant field. For the
first time, just when treaty negotiations were begun, Russia had more
soldiers in her army than Japan. There were a million men, well
equipped and abundantly supplied, under General Linevitch, who
succeeded General Kuropatkin as Commander-in-Chief; and he was about
to take the offensive when peace was declared.
Beyond the individual conflict General Kuropatkin shows the Russian
nation, a huge, unformed giant, groping along its great borders in
every direction to find the sea.
"Can an Empire," he asks, "with such a tremendous population, be
satisfied with its existing frontiers, cut off from free access to the
sea on all sides?"
RUSSIA'S SECRET NATIONAL PROGRAM
There are in existence in the secret archives of the government,
Kuropatkin's work discloses, documents containing the definite program
of Russia, fixed by headquarters years ago, for its future growth and
aggrandizement. Results of campaigns and diplomacy are checked up
according to this great program, and decade after decade Russia is
working secretly and quietly to carry it out. The Japanese War
constituted a great mistake in the development of this national plan.
During the twentieth century, says Kuropatkin, Russia will lose no
fewer than two million men in war, and will place in the field not
fewer than five million. No matter how peaceful and purely defensive
her attitude may be, she will be forced into war along her endless
borders by the conflict with other national interests and the age-long
unsatisfied necessity of her population to reach the sea.
Russia will furnish in this century the advance guard of an inevitable
conflict between the white and yellow races. For within a hundred
years there must be a great struggle in Asia between the Christian and
non-Christian nations. To prepare for this, an understanding between
Russia and England is essential for humanity. Kuropatkin deals with
this necessity at length; and the future relations of Russia with
Japan and China are treated with an impressive grasp.
His exposition of the sensitive and dangerous situation on the
Empire's western border contains matters of consequence to the whole
world. The relations he discloses, between Russia, on the one hand,
and Austria and Germany on the other, are important in the extreme.
Within a fortnight these two latter countries could throw two million
men across the Russian frontier, and a war would result much more
colossal than that just finished with Japan.
KUROPATKIN'S FORTY YEARS OF SERVICE
General Kuropatkin has had an education and a career which eminently
qualify him as a judge and critic of the Russian nation. For forty
years, as an active member of its military establishment, he has
watched its development, from the viewpoint of important posts in St.
Petersburg, Turkey, Central Asia, and the far East.
Kuropatkin was born in 1848 and was educated in the Palovski
Military School and the Nikolaiefski Academy of the general staff
in St. Petersburg. From there he went at once into the army, and, at
the early age of twenty, took part in the march of the Russian
expeditionary force to the central Asian city of Samarkand. He won
distinction in the long and difficult march of General Skobeleff's
army to Khokand. In 1875 he acted as Russia's diplomatic agent in
Chitral, and a year or two later he headed an embassy to Kashgar and
concluded a treaty with Yakub Bek.
When the Russo-Turkish War broke out in 1877, he became General
Skobeleff's chief of staff and took part in the battle of Loftcha and
in many of the attacks on Plevna. While forcing the passage of the
Balkans with Skobeleff's army, on the 25th of December, 1877 (O.S.),
he was so severely wounded that he had to leave the theater of war and
return to St. Petersburg. There, as soon as he recovered, he was put
in charge of the Asiatic Department of the Russian General Staff, and,
at the same time, was made adjunct-professor of military statistics in
the Nikolaiefski Military Academy. In 1879 the rank of General was
conferred upon him and he was appointed to command the Turkestan rifle
brigade in Central Asia. In 1880 he led a Russian expeditionary force
to Kuldja, and when the trouble with the Chinese there had been
adjusted, he was ordered to organize and equip a special force in the
Amu Daria district and march to the assistance of General Skobeleff in
the Akhal-Tekhinski oasis. After conducting this force across seven
hundred versts of nearly waterless desert, he joined General Skobeleff
in front of the Turkoman fortress of Geok Tepe, and in the assault
upon that famous stronghold, a few weeks later, he led the principal
storming column. After the Turkomen had been subdued, he returned to
European Russia, and during the next eight years served on the General
Staff in St. Petersburg, where he was entrusted with important
strategic work. In 1890 he was made Lieutenant-General and was sent to
govern the trans-Caspian region and to command the troops there
stationed.
He occupied this position six or eight years, and then, shortly after
his return to St. Petersburg, was appointed Minister of War. In
1902, while still holding the war portfolio, he was promoted to
Adjutant-General; in 1903 he visited Japan and made the acquaintance
of its political and military leaders; and in 1904, when hostilities
began in the Far East, he took command of the Russian armies in
Manchuria under the general direction of Viceroy Alexeieff.
Besides, he has written and published three important books.
No man perhaps, is better equipped, by education and experience, to
explain Russia's plans and movements in Asia; to tell the true story
of the Japanese war. And probably never, at least in this generation,
has an international matter of this magnitude been treated with such
frankness by a person so thoroughly and eminently qualified to discuss
it.
TALKS WITH BISMARCK
BY CARL SCHURZ
ILLUSTRATED WITH PHOTOGRAPHS
In the autumn of 1867 my family went to Wiesbaden, where my wife was
to spend some time on account of her health, and I joined them there
about Christmas time for a few weeks. Great changes had taken place in
Germany since that dark December night in 1861 when I rushed through
the country from the Belgian frontier to Hamburg on my way from Spain
to America. The period of stupid reaction after the collapse of the
revolutionary movements of 1848 was over. King Frederick William IV.
of Prussia, who had been so deeply convinced and arduous an upholder
of the divine right of kings, had died a helpless lunatic. King
William I., afterwards Emperor William I., his brother and successor,
also a believer in that divine right, but not to the extent of
believing as well in the divine inspiration of kings--in other words,
a man of good sense and capable of recognizing the superior ability of
others--had found in Bismarck a minister of commanding genius. The
sweeping victory of Prussia over Austria in 1866 had resulted in the
establishment of the North German Confederacy under Prussian hegemony,
which was considered a stepping-stone to the unification of all
Germany as a constitutional empire. Several of the revolutionists of
1848 now sat in the Reichstag of the North German Confederacy, and one
of the ablest of them, Lothar Bucher, was Bismarck's confidential
counsellor. The nation was elated with hope, and there was a liberal
wind blowing even in the sphere of the government.
I did not doubt that under these circumstances I might venture into
Germany without danger of being seriously molested; yet, as my
personal case was technically not covered by any of the several
amnesties which had been proclaimed in Prussia from time to time, I
thought that some subordinate officer, either construing his duty with
the strictness of a thorough Prussian, or wishing to distinguish
himself by a conspicuous display of official watchfulness, might give
me annoyance. I did not, indeed, entertain the slightest apprehension
as to my safety, but I might have become involved in sensational
proceedings, which would have been extremely distasteful to me, as
well as unwelcome to the government. I therefore wrote to Mr. George
Bancroft, the American Minister at Berlin, requesting him if possible
to inform himself privately whether the Prussian government had any
objection to my visiting Germany for a few weeks, and to let me have
his answer at Bremerhaven upon the arrival there of the steamer on
which I had taken passage. My intention was, in case the answer were
unfavorable, to sail at once from Bremen to England and to meet my
family there. Mr. Bancroft very kindly complied with my request, and
assured me in his letter which I found at Bremerhaven that the
Prussian government not only had no objection to my visiting Germany,
but that I should be welcome.
After having spent Christmas with my family in Wiesbaden, I went to
Berlin. I wrote a note to Lothar Bucher, whom I had last seen sixteen
years before as a fellow refugee in London, and whom I wished very
much to meet again. Bucher answered promptly that he would be glad
indeed to see me again, and asked if I would not like to make the
acquaintance of "the Minister" (Bismarck), who had expressed a wish to
have a talk with me. I replied, of course, that I should be happy,
etc., whereupon I received within an hour an invitation from Count
Bismarck himself (he was then only a count) to visit him at eight
o'clock that same evening at the Chancellor's palace on the
Wilhelmstrasse. Promptly at the appointed hour I was announced to him,
and he received me at the door of a room of moderate size, the table
and some of the furniture of which were covered with books and
papers,--evidently his working cabinet. There I beheld the great man
whose name was filling the world--tall, erect, and broad-shouldered,
and on those Atlas shoulders that massive head which everybody knows
from pictures--the whole figure making the impression of something
colossal--then at the age of fifty-three, in the fulness of physical
and mental vigor.
He was dressed in a General's undress uniform, unbuttoned. His
features, which evidently could look very stern when he wished, were
lighted up with a friendly smile. He stretched out his hand and gave
me a vigorous grasp. "Glad you have come," he said, in a voice which
appeared rather high-keyed, issuing from so huge a form, but of
pleasing timbre.
"I think I must have seen you before," was his first remark, while we
were still standing up facing one another. "It was some time in the
early fifties on a railway train from Frankfort to Berlin. There was a
young man sitting opposite me who, from some picture of you which I
had seen in a pictorial paper, I thought might be you."
I replied that this could not be, since at that period I was not in
Germany. "Besides," I added--a little impudently perhaps--"would you
not have had me arrested as a malefactor?"
"Oh," he exclaimed, with a good, natural laugh, "you mistake me. I
would not have done such a thing. You mean on account of that Kinkel | 3,171.261569 |
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[Illustration: GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE
1849.
DAY ON THE MOUNTAINS.
Drawn & Engraved by W. E. Tucker]
* * * * *
GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.
VOL. XXXIV. January, 1849. No. 1.
Table of Contents
The Belle of the Opera
What is Beautiful?
Kate Richmond’s Betrothal
The Corsair’s Victim
A Dirge for O’Connell
The Illinois and the Prairies
A Dream of Italy
The Letter of Introduction
Dirge
The Fugitive
The Gentle Step
Barbara Uttman’s Dream
Sunset Upon “The Steine-Kill”
A Song
The Old New House
The Wounded Guerilla
Lines
Speak Kindly
Marie
Love, Duty and Hope
Do I Love Thee?
Ode to Shelley
Marion’s Song in the School-Room
All About “What’s in a Name.”
Game-Birds of America.—No. XII.
Visitants From Spirit-Land
History of the Costume of Men
Maple Sugar
To My Love
Softly O’er My Memory Stealing
Cathara
The Departed
The Dead
The Homestead of Beauty
Gems From Late Readings
Editor’s Table
Review of New Books
Transcriber’s Notes can be found at the end of this eBook.
GRAHAM’S
AMERICAN MONTHLY
MAGAZINE
Of Literature and Art.
EMBELLISHED WITH
MEZZOTINT AND STEEL ENGRAVINGS, MUSIC, ETC.
WILLIAM C. BRYANT, J. FENIMORE COOPER, RICHARD H. DANA, JAMES K. PAULDING,
HENRY W. LONGFELLOW, N. P. WILLIS, CHARLES F. HOFFMAN, J. R. LOWELL.
MRS. LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY, MISS C. M. SEDGWICK, MRS. FRANCES S. OSGOOD,
MRS. EMMA C. EMBURY, MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS, MRS. AMELIA B. WELBY,
MRS. A. M. F. ANNAN, ETC.
PRINCIPAL CONTRIBUTORS.
G. R. GRAHAM, J. R. CHANDLER AND J. B. TAYLOR, EDITORS.
VOLUME XXXIV.
PHILADELPHIA:
SAMUEL D. PATTERSON & CO. 98 CHESTNUT STREET.
1849.
* * * * *
CONTENTS
OF THE
THIRTY-FOURTH VOLUME.
JANUARY, 1849, TO JUNE, 1849.
All About “What’s in a Name.” By CAROLINE C——, 62
A Recollection of Mendelssohn. By J. BAYARD TAYLOR, 113
A Voice from the Wayside. By CAROLINE C——, 300
Barbara Uttman’s Dream. By Mrs. EMMA C. EMBURY, 43
Christ Weeping Over Jerusalem. By JOSEPH R. CHANDLER, 189
Cousin Fanny. By M. S. G. NICHOLS, 354
Doctor Sian Seng. From the French, 123, 174
Deaf, Dumb and Blind. By AGNES L. GORDON, 347
Editor’s Table, 79, 153, 215,
273, 330, 387
Eleonore Eboli. By WINIFRED BARRINGTON, 134
Fifty Suggestions. By EDGAR A. POE, 317, 363
For and Against. By WALTER HERRIES, Esq. 377
Game-Birds of America. No. XII., 68
Gems from Late Readings, 78, 149, 211
History of the Costume of Men. By FAYETTE ROBINSON, 71, 140, 196,
264, 319
Honor to Whom Honor is Due. By Mrs. LYDIA JANE PEIRSON, 192
Jasper Leech. By B., 15
Kate Richmond’s Betrothal. By GRACE GREENWOOD, 8
Love, Duty and Hope. By ENNA DUVAL, 56
Lessons in German. By Miss M. J. BROWNE, 118
Mormon Temple, Nauvoo, 257
Mr. and Mrs. John Johnson Jones. By ANGELE DE V. HULL, 277
Montgomery’s House, 330
May Lillie. By CAROLINE H. BUTLER, 365
Passages of Life in Europe. By J. BAYARD TAYLOR, 307
Passages of Life in Europe. By J. BAYARD TAYLOR, 373
Reviews, 81, 151, 213,
270, 334, 385
Rose Winters. By ESTELLE, 258
Reminiscences. By EMMA C. EMBURY, 325
Speak Kindly. By KATE SUTHERLAND, 53
St. Valentine’s Day. By J. R. CHANDLER, 110
The Belle of the Opera. By J. R. CHANDLER, 1
The Illinois and the Prairies. By JAMES K. PAULDING, 16
The Letter of Introduction. By Mrs. A. M. F. ANNAN, 26
The Fugitive. By the VISCOUNTESS D’AULNAY, 37
The Old New House. By H. HASTINGS WELD, 47
The Wounded Guerilla. By MAYNE REID, 50
The Young Lawyer’s First Case. By J. TOD, 85
The Man in the Moon. By CAROLINE C——, 91
The Wager of Battle. By W. GILMORE SIMMS, 99
The Chamber of Life and Death. By PROFESSOR ALDEN, 129
The Lost Notes. By Mrs. HUGHS, 144
The Naval Officer. By W. F. LYNCH, 157, 223, 286
The Unfinished Picture. By JANE C. CAMPBELL, 182
The Adventures of a Man who could Never Dress Well.
By M. TOPHAM EVANS, 199
The Plantation of General Taylor, 206
The Poet Lí. By CAROLINE H. BUTLER, 217
The Recluse. By PARK BENJAMIN, 232, 298
The Missionary, Sunlight. By CAROLINE C——, 235
The Brother’s Temptation. By SYBIL SUTHERLAND, 243
The Gipsy Queen. By JOSEPH R. CHANDLER, 250
The Darsies. By EMMA C. EMBURY, 252
Taste. By Miss AUGUSTA C. TWIGGS, 310
The Man of Mind and the Man of Money. By T. S. ARTHUR, 312
The Picture of Judgment. By W. GILMORE SIMMS, 337
The Battle of Life. By LEN, 362
The Birth-Place of Benjamin West, 378
The Young Dragoon. By C. J. PETERSON, 379
Unequal Marriages. By CAROLINE H. BUTLER, 169
Western Recollections. By FAY. ROBINSON, 178
Wild-Birds of America. By PROF. FROST, 142
Wild-Birds of America. By PROFESSOR FROST, 208
Wild-Birds of America. By PROF. FROST, 267
Wild-Birds of America. By PROF. FROST, 322
Wild-Birds of America. By PROF. FROST, 382
POETRY.
A Dirge for O’Connell. By ANNE C. LYNCH, 15
A Dream of Italy. By CHARLES ALLEN, 25
A Song. By GIFTIE, 46
A Song. By RICHARD WILKE, 112
A Twilight Lay. By W. HORRY STILLWELL, 128
An Hour Among the Dead. By J. B. JONES, 148
A Billet-Doux. By FRANCES S. OSGOOD, 177
A Summer Evening Thought. By COUSIN MARY, 285
A Sonnet. By FAYETTE ROBINSON, 306
A May Song. By S. D. ANDERSON, 316
Ariel in the Cloven Pine. By BAYARD TAYLOR, 324
Cathara. By WALTER COLTON, U. S. N. 76
Christine. By E. CURTISS HINE, 90
Dirge. 36
Do I Love Thee? By RICHARD COE, JR. 60
Dreams of Heaven. By M. E. THROPP, 378
Earth-Life. By J. BAYARD TAYLOR, 133
Extract. By HENRY S. HAGERT, 181
Egeria. By MARY L. LAWSON, 195
Florence. By HENRY B. HIRST, 165
Fancies About a Lock of Hair. By S. D. ANDERSON, 207
From Buchanan. By RICHARD PENN SMITH, 297
Human Influence. By MARIE ROSEAU, 191
Jenny Lind. By Miss M. SAWIN, 269
Lines. By R. T. CONRAD, 52
Love. By CHARLES E. TRAIL, 173
Lost Treasures. By P. D. T., 242
Lines to an Idea that Wouldn’t “Come.”
By FRANCES S. OSGOOD, 285
Luna. An Ode. By H. T. TUCKERMAN, 297
Marie. By CAROLINE F. ORNE, 55
Marion’s Song in the School-Room.
By Mrs. FRANCES S. OSGOOD, 61
Maple Sugar. By ALFRED B. STREET, 73
My Bird Has Flown. By Mrs. E. W. CASWELL, 117
My Study. By WM. H. C. HOSMER, 377
Night. By Miss AUGUSTA C. TWIGGS, 372
Ode to Shelley. By J. BAYARD TAYLOR, 61
On a Diamond Ring. By CHARLES E. TRAIL, 231
Parting. By Mrs. LYDIA JANE PEIRSON, 329
Paraphrase. By RICHARD PENN SMITH, 361
Requiem. By WM. H. C. HOSMER, 109
Rome. By R. H. STODDARD, 234
Reminiscences of a Reader.
By the late WALTER HERRIES, Esq., 249
Raffaelle D’Urbino. By W. H. WELSH, 352
Sunset Upon the Steine-Kill. By KATE DASHWOOD, 46
Summer’s Bacchanal. By J. BAYARD TAYLOR, 206
Sonnet to Machiavelli. By FAY. ROBINSON, 251
Storm-Lines. By J. BAYARD TAYLOR, 270
Stanzas. By Mrs. O. M. P. LORD, 346
Steinhausen’s Hero and Leander. By H. T. TUCKERMAN, 364
Stanzas for Music. By HARRIET S. HANDY, 376
The Corsair’s Victim. By WM. H. C. HOSMER, 14
The Gentle Step. By HARRIET J. MEEK, 42
To My Love. By HENRY H. PAUL, 73
The Departed. By Mrs. MARY S. WHITAKER, 76
The Dead. By “AN AULD HEAD ON YOUNG SHOUTHERS,” 77
The Homestead of Beauty. By S. D. ANDERSON, 77
The World. By R. H. STODDARD, 89
The Ennuyee. By Mrs. S. A LEWIS, 90
The Mirror of Life. By ANNA, 97
To the Thames, at Norwich, Conn.,
By Mrs. LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY, 98
The Song of the Axe. By C. L. WHELER, 98
The Past. By Miss CAROLINE E. SUTTON, 112
The Phantasmagoria. By A. J. REQUIER, 120
The Beating of the Heart. By RICHARD HAYWARDE, 122
The Highland Laddie’s Farewell. By AUGUSTA C. TWIGGS, 128
The Old Year and the New. By CLARA, 143
The Dial-Plate. By A. J. REQUIER, 168
The Icebergs. By PARK BENJAMIN, 173
The Heart’s Confession. By HENRY MORFORD, 188
The Precious Rest. By RICHARD COE, Jr., 207
The Pine-Tree. By CAROLINE MAY, 210
To My Little Boy. By Mrs. HENRIETTA L. COLEMAN, 212
To Mother. By ANNIE GREY, 231
Thermopylæ. By Mrs. MARY G. HORSFORD, 242
The Unsepulchred Relics. By Mrs. GOODWIN, 249
The Brother’s Lament. By AMELIA B. WELBY, 251 | 3,171.3547 |
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| Transcriber's note: |
| |
| This book was published in two volumes, of which this is the |
| second. The first volume was released as Project Gutenberg ebook |
| #40472, available at http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/40472 |
| |
| Numbers enclosed in square brackets, e.g. [1], relate to |
| footnotes, which have been placed at the end of the text. |
| Numbers enclosed in parentheses, e.g. (1), relate to works |
| referred to in the text and listed at the end of this volume. |
| |
| In the text versions of these two volumes, words in _italics_ |
| are enclosed in underscores, +bold+ words are enclosed in plus |
| signs, and words in =Gothic script= are enclosed in equal signs. |
| Curly brackets are used to represent subscripts, e.g. k{1}. |
+------------------------------------------------------------------+
THE HISTORY OF CREATION.
[Illustration: Hypothetical Sketch of the Monophyletic Origin of Man.]
THE
HISTORY OF CREATION:
_OR THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE EARTH AND ITS
INHABITANTS BY THE ACTION OF NATURAL CAUSES._
A POPULAR EXPOSITION OF
THE DOCTRINE OF EVOLUTION IN GENERAL, AND OF THAT OF
DARWIN, GOETHE, AND LAMARCK IN PARTICULAR.
FROM THE GERMAN OF
ERNST HAECKEL,
PROFESSOR IN THE UNIVERSITY OF JENA.
THE TRANSLATION REVISED BY
PROFESSOR E. RAY LANKESTER, M.A., F.R.S.,
FELLOW OF EXETER COLLEGE, OXFORD.
_IN TWO VOLUMES._
VOL. II.
NEW YORK:
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY,
1, 3, AND 5 BOND STREET.
1880.
A sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean, and the living air,
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man;
A motion and a spirit that impels
All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things.
In all things, in all natures, in the stars
Of azure heaven, the unenduring clouds,
In flower and tree, in every pebbly stone
That paves the brooks, the stationary rocks,
The moving waters and the invisible air.
WORDSWORTH.
CONTENTS OF VOL. II.
CHAPTER XV.
PAGE
PERIODS OF CREATION AND RECORDS OF CREATION.
Reform of Systems by the Theory of Descent.--The Natural System
as a Pedigree.--Palaeontological Records of the
Pedigree.--Petrifactions as Records of Creation.--Deposits of the
Neptunic Strata and the Enclosure of Organic Remains.--Division
of the Organic History of the Earth into Five Main Periods:
Period of the Tangle Forests, Fern Forests, Pine Forests,
Foliaceous Forests, and of Cultivation.--The Series of Neptunic
Strata.--Immeasurable Duration of the Periods which have elapsed
during their Formation.--Deposits of Strata only during the
Sinking, not during the Elevation of the Ground.--Other Gaps in
the Records of Creation.--Metamorphic Condition of the most
Ancient Neptunic Strata.--Small Extent of Palaeontological
Experience.--Small proportion of Organisms and of Parts of
Organisms Capable of Petrifying.--Rarity of many Petrified
Species.--Want of Fossilised Intermediate Forms.--Records of the
Creation in Ontogeny and in Comparative Anatomy 1
CHAPTER XVI.
PEDIGREE AND HISTORY OF THE KINGDOM OF THE PROTISTA.
Special Mode of Carrying out the Theory of Descent in the
Natural System of Organisms.--Construction of Pedigrees.--Descent
of all Many-celled from Single-celled Organisms.--Descent of
Cells from Monera.--Meaning of Organic Tribes, or Phyla.--Number
of the Tribes in the Animal and Vegetable Kingdoms.--The
Monophyletic Hypothesis of Descent, or the Hypothesis of one
Common Progenitor, and the Polyphyletic Hypothesis of Descent,
or the Hypothesis of many Progenitors.--The Kingdom of Protista,
or Primaeval Beings.--Eight Classes of the Protista Kingdom:
Monera, Amoebae, or Protoplastae; Whip-swimmers, or Flagellata;
Ciliated-balls, Cili Catallacta; Labyrinth-streamers, or
Labyrinthuleae; Flint-cells, or Diatomeae; Mucous-moulds, or
Myxomycetes; Root-footers (Rhizopoda).--Remarks on the General
Natural History of the Protista: Their Vital Phenomena,
Chemical Composition, and Formation (Individuality and
Fundamental Form).--Phylogeny of the Prostista Kingdom 36
CHAPTER XVII.
PEDIGREE AND HISTORY OF THE VEGETABLE KINGDOM.
The Natural System of the Vegetable Kingdom.--Division of the
Vegetable Kingdom into Six Branches and Eighteen Classes.--The
Flowerless Plants (Cryptogamia).--Sub-kingdom of the Thallus
Plants.--The Tangles, or Algae (Primary Algae, Green Algae, Brown
Algae, Red Algae).--The Thread-plants, or Inophytes (Lichens and
Fungi).--Sub-kingdom of the Prothallus Plants.--The Mosses, or
Muscinae (Water-mosses, Liverworts, Leaf-mosses,
Bog-mosses).--The Ferns, or Filicinae (Leaf-ferns, Bamboo-ferns,
Water-ferns, Scale-ferns).--Sub kingdom of Flowering Plants
(Phanerogamia).--The Gymnosperms, or Plants with Naked Seeds
(Palm-ferns = Cycadeae; Pines = Coniferae).--The Angiosperms, or
Plants with Enclosed Seeds.--Monocotylae.--Dicotylae.--Cup-blossoms
(Apetalae).--Star-blossoms (Diapetalae).--Bell-blossoms
(Gamopetalae) 77
CHAPTER XVIII.
PEDIGREE AND HISTORY OF THE ANIMAL KINGDOM.
I. ANIMAL-PLANTS AND WORMS.
The Natural System of the Animal Kingdom.--Linnaeus' and Lamarck's
Systems.--The Four Types of Baer and Cuvier.--Their Increase to
Seven Types.--Genealogical Importance of the Seven Types as
Independent Tribes of the Animal Kingdom.--Derivation of
Zoophytes and Worms from Primaeval Animals.--Monophyletic and
Polyphyletic Hypothesis of the Descent of the Animal
Kingdom.--Common Origin of the Four Higher Animal Tribes out of
the Worm Tribe.--Division of the Seven Animal Tribes into
Sixteen Main Classes, and Thirty-eight Classes.--Primaeval
Animals (Monera, Amoebae, Synamoebae), Gregarines, Infusoria,
Planaeades, and Gastraeades (Planula and Gastrula).--Tribe of
Zoophytes.--Spongiae (Mucous Sponges, Fibrous Sponges, Calcareous
Sponges).--Sea Nettles, or Acalephae (Corals, Hood-jellies,
Comb-jellies).--Tribe of Worms 117
CHAPTER XIX.
PEDIGREE AND HISTORY OF THE ANIMAL KINGDOM.
II. MOLLUSCA, STAR-FISHES, AND ARTICULATED ANIMALS.
Tribe of Molluscs.--Four Classes of Molluscs: Lamp-shells
(Spirobranchia); Mussels (Lamellibranchia); Snails (Cochlides);
Cuttle-fish (Cephalopoda).--Tribe of Star-fishes, or
Echinoderma.--Their Derivation from Ringed Worms (Mailed Worms,
or Phracthelminthes).--The Alternation of Generation in the
Echinoderma.--Four Classes of Star-fish: Sea-stars (Asteridea);
Sea-lilies (Crinoidea); Sea-urchins (Echinidea); Sea-cucumbers
(Holothuridea).--Tribe of Articulated Animals, or
Arthropoda.--Four Classes of Articulated Animals: Branchiata, or
Crustacea, breathing through gills; Jointed Crabs; Mailed
Crabs; Articulata Tracheata, breathing through Air
Tubes.--Spiders (Long Spiders, Round
Spiders).--Myriopods.--Insects.--Chewing and Sucking
Insects.--Pedigree and History of the Eight Orders of Insects 154
CHAPTER XX.
PEDIGREE AND HISTORY OF THE ANIMAL KINGDOM.
III. VERTEBRATE ANIMALS.
The Records of the Creation of Vertebrate Animals (Comparative
Anatomy, Embryology, and Palaeontology).--The Natural System of
Vertebrate Animals.--The Four Classes of Vertebrate Animals,
according to Linnaeus and Lamarck.--Their Increase to Nine
Classes.--Main Class of the Tube-hearted, or Skull-less Animals
(the Lancelet).--Blood Relationship between the Skull-less Fish
and the Tunicates.--Agreement in the Embryological Development
of Amphioxus and Ascidiae.--Origin of the Vertebrate Tribe out of
the Worm Tribe.--Main Class of Single-nostriled, or
Round-mouthed Animals (Hag and Lampreys).--Main Class of
Anamnionate Animals, devoid of Amnion.--Fishes (Primaeval Fish,
Cartilaginous Fish, Osseous Fish).--Mud-fish, or Dipneusta.--Sea
Dragons, or Halisauria.--Frogs and Salamanders, or Amphibia
(Mailed Amphibia, Naked Amphibia).--Main Class of Amnionate
Animals, or Amniota.--Reptiles (Primary Reptiles, Lizards,
Serpents, Crocodiles, Tortoises, Flying Reptiles, Dragons,
Beaked Reptiles).--Birds (Feather-tailed, Fan-tailed,
Bush-tailed) 192
CHAPTER XXI.
PEDIGREE AND HISTORY OF THE ANIMAL KINGDOM.
IV. MAMMALS.
The System of Mammals according to Linnaeus and
Blainville.--Three Sub-classes of Mammals (Ornithodelphia,
Didelphia, Monodelphia).--Ornithodelphia, or Monotrema.--Beaked
Animals (Ornithostoma).--Didelphia, or Marsupials.--Herbivorous
and Carnivorous Marsupials.--Monodelphia, or Placentalia
(Placental Animals).--Meaning of the Placenta.--Tuft
Placentalia.--Girdle Placentalia.--Disc
Placentalia.--Non-deciduates, or Indeciduata.--Hoofed
Animals.--Single and Double-hoofed Animals.--Whales.--Toothless
Animals.--Deciduates, or Animals with
Decidua.--Semi-apes.--Gnawing Animals.--Pseudo-hoofed
Animals.--Insectivora.--Beasts of Prey.--Bats.--Apes 231
CHAPTER XXII.
ORIGIN AND PEDIGREE OF MAN.
The Application of the Theory of Descent to Man.--Its Immense
Importance and Logical Necessity.--Man's Position in the Natural
System of Animals, among Disco-placental Animals.--Incorrect
Separation of the Bimana and Quadrumana.--Correct Separation of
Semi-apes from Apes.--Man's Position in the Order of
Apes.--Narrow-nosed Apes (of the Old World) and Flat-nosed Apes
(of America).--Difference of the two Groups.--Origin of Man from
Narrow-nosed Apes.--Human Apes, or Anthropoides.--African
Human-apes (Gorilla and Chimpanzee).--Asiatic Human-apes (Orang
and Gibbon).--Comparison between the different Human Apes and
the different Races of Men.--Survey of the Series of the
| 3,171.456677 |
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MOTOR STORIES
THRILLING
ADVENTURE
MOTOR
FICTION
NO. 25
AUG. 14, 1909
FIVE
CENTS
MOTOR MATT'S
REVERSE
OR CAUGHT IN
A LOSING CAUSE
_BY THE AUTHOR
OF "MOTOR MATT"_
[Illustration: _"Are you hurt"? cried the girl,
as Motor Matt lifted himself
and looked toward her._]
STREET & SMITH
PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK
MOTOR STORIES
THRILLING ADVENTURE MOTOR FICTION
_Issued Weekly._ _By subscription $2.50 per year._ _Copyright, 1909,
by_ STREET & SMITH, _79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York, N. Y._
=No. 25.= NEW YORK, August 14, 1909. =Price Five Cents.=
MOTOR MATT'S REVERSE;
OR,
Caught in a Losing Cause.
By the author of "MOTOR MATT."
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. PLOTTERS THREE.
CHAPTER II. THE NEW AEROPLANE.
CHAPTER III. TREACHERY AND TRAGEDY.
CHAPTER IV. MURGATROYD'S FIRST MOVE.
CHAPTER V. A STARTLING PLAN.
CHAPTER VI. THE AIR LINE INTO TROUBLE.
CHAPTER VII. NOTHING DOING IN SYKESTOWN.
CHAPTER VIII. BROUGHT TO EARTH.
CHAPTER IX. THE COIL TIGHTENS.
CHAPTER X. THE DOOR IN THE HILLSIDE.
CHAPTER XI. A REVELATION FOR MATT.
CHAPTER XII. PECOS TAKES A CHANCE.
CHAPTER XIII. BESIEGED.
CHAPTER XIV. THE BROKER'S GAME.
CHAPTER XV. CANT PHILLIPS, DESERTER.
CHAPTER XVI. THE LOSING CAUSE.
THE DOCTOR'S RUSE.
STRANDED ON A CHIMNEY.
A SCRIMMAGE OF LIONS.
DREDGING FOR GOLD.
CHARACTERS THAT APPEAR IN THIS STORY.
=Matt King=, otherwise Motor Matt.
=Joe McGlory=, a young cowboy who proves himself a lad of worth and
character, and whose eccentricities are all on the humorous side. A
good chum to tie to--a point Motor Matt is quick to perceive.
=Ping Pong=, a Chinese boy who insists on working for Motor Matt, and
who contrives to make himself valuable, perhaps invaluable.
=Amos Murgatroyd=, an enemy of Motor Matt, and who cleverly
manipulates the various wires of a comprehensive plot only to find
that he has championed a losing cause.
=Amy=, Murgatroyd's niece, who helps right and justice, turning
against a relative in order to befriend a stranger.
=Siwash Charley=, a ruffianly assistant of Murgatroyd who proves to
be one Cant Phillips, a deserter from the army.
=Pecos Jones=, who has no principles worth mentioning, plays a double
part with friend and foe, and abruptly vanishes.
=Lieutenant Cameron=, an officer in the Signal Corps, U. S. A., who
proves to be the cousin of an old friend of Matt, and who nearly
loses his life when the aëroplane is tested.
CHAPTER I.
PLOTTERS THREE.
"There's no use talkin', Siwash," and Pecos Jones leaned disgustedly
back against the earth wall of the dugout; "he's got one o' these here
charmed lives, that feller has, and it ain't no manner o' use tryin' to
down him."
Siwash Charley was cramming tobacco into the bowl of a black pipe. He
halted operations long enough to give his companion an angry look out
from under his thick brows.
"Oh, ye're the limit, Pecos!" he grunted, drawing a match across the
top of the table and trailing the flame over the pipe bowl. "The cub's
human, an' I ain't never yet seen a human bein' that couldn't be
downed--purvidin' ye went about it right."
Pecos Jones scowled discontentedly.
"Then I opine," said he, "ye ain't got sense enough to know how to
go about it. That last attempt at Fort Totten wasn't nothin' more'n
a flash in the pan. What did ye accomplish, huh? Tell me that. Here
y' are, holed up in this dugout an' not darin' to show yer face where
it'll be seen an' reckernized. The sojers want ye, an' they want ye
bad. Ye come purty nigh doin' up a leftenant o' the army, an' that's
why the milingtary is on yer trail, but if they knowed as much o' yer
hist'ry as I do, they'd be arter ye a lot worse'n what they----"
"Stow it!" roared Siwash Charley, leaning toward his companion and
bringing a fist down on the table with force enough to make the flame
leap upward in the chimney of the tin lamp. "Ye'll hush arbout my past
hist'ry, Jones, or thar'll be doin's between you an' me."
The place where this conversation was going forward was a hole in the
hillside--an excavation consisting of a single room with a door and a
window in the front wall. A shelf of earth running around three walls
offered a place to sit, as well as a convenient ledge for the stowage
of food supplies and cooking utensils.
The window was darkened with a blanket, so that the light would not
shine through and acquaint any chance passers with the fact that the
interior of the hill was occupied.
Pecos Jones was a little ferret of a man. His face had "undesirable
citizen" written all over it.
Siwash Charley was larger, and on the principle that there can be more
villain in a large package than in a small one, Siwash was the more
undesirable of the two.
He banged the table and scowled so savagely that Pecos Jones pulled
himself together with a startled jerk. Before he could say anything,
however, a set of knuckles drummed on the door.
Pecos gasped, and stared in affright at Siwash. The latter muttered
under his breath, grabbed up a revolver that was lying on the table and
stepped to the door.
"Who's thar?" he demanded huskily.
"Murg," came a muffled reply from the other side of the door.
Siwash laughed, shoved a bolt, and pulled the door wide.
"Come in, Murg," said he. "I was sorter expectin' ye."
A smooth-faced man, wearing gauntlets, a long automobile coat, and with
goggles pushed up above the visor of his cap, stepped into the room. He
carried a rifle over his arm, and for a moment he stood blinking in the
yellow lamplight.
Siwash Charley closed the door.
"Got yer ottermobill fixin's on, eh?" said he, facing about after
the door had been bolted; "an' by jings, if ye ain't totin' of er
Winchester. Them fellers at Totten arter you, too, Murg?"
Murgatroyd's little, gimlet-like eyes were becoming used to the
lamplight. They shot a reproving glance at Siwash, then darted to Pecos
Jones.
"Who's that?" he asked curtly.
"Him?" chuckled Siwash. "Oh, he's the Artful Dodger. I reckon he does
more dodgin' across the international boundary line than ary other
feller in the Northwest. Whenever things git too hot fer Pecos Jones
in North Dakotay, he dodges inter Manitoby, and vicer verser. Hoss
stealin' is his line."
"Never stole a hoss in my life!" bridled Pecos Jones.
"Thunder!" snickered Siwash. "Why, I've helped ye."
"How does Pecos Jones happen to be here?" demanded Murgatroyd.
"He got ter know this place o' mine while we was workin' tergether.
Arter that flyin' machine was tried out at Fort Totten, o' course I had
ter <DW72> ter some quiet spot whar I could go inter retirement, an'
this ole hang-out nacherly suggested itself. When I blowed in hyer, lo!
an' behold, hyer was Pecos."
Murgatroyd appeared satisfied. Standing his rifle in one corner, he
pulled off his gauntlets and thrust them in his pockets, sat down on
the earth shelf, and hooked up one knee between his hands. For a while
he sat regarding Siwash reflectively.
"Is Pecos Jones known at Fort Totten?" he asked.
"Bet yer life I ain't," said Pecos for himself. "What's more," he
added, nibbling at a slab of tobacco, "I don't want ter be."
"He works mostly around Turtle Mounting," explained Siwash Charley.
"Why?"
"I think he can be useful to us," answered Murgatroyd. "Those other two
fellows who helped you at Totten--where are they, Siwash?"
"They was nigh skeered ter death, an' made a bee line fer Winnipeg."
"That was a bad bobble you made at Totten," resumed Murgatroyd. "Motor
Matt, in spite of you, put Traquair's aëroplane through its paces, met
the government's requirements in every particular, and the machine was
sold to the war department for fifteen thousand dollars."
"Things didn't work right," growled Siwash. "I tampered with that thar
machine the night before the trials--loosened bolts an' screws an'
filed through the wire guy ropes--but nothin' happened till the flyin'
machine was done sailin' an' ready ter come down; then that cub, Motor
Matt, got in some lightnin' headwork an' saved the machine, saved
himself, an' likewise that there Leftenant Cameron of the Signal Corps."
"The boy's got a charmed life, I tell ye," insisted Pecos Jones. "I've
heerd talk, up around Turtle Mounting, about what he's done."
"Think of a full-grown man like Pecos Jones talkin' that-a-way!"
exclaimed Siwash derisively.
"Motor Matt is clever," said Murgatroyd musingly, "and I made a mistake
in sizing him up. But there's a way to get him."
"What do you want to 'get' him fer?" inquired Pecos Jones.
Murgatroyd drew three gold pieces from his pocket and laid them in a
little stack on the table, just within the glint of the lamplight.
"Pecos Jones," said he, "Siwash, here, has vouched for you. In the
little game I'm about to play we need help. You can either take that
money and obey orders, or leave it and get out."
There was a silence, while Pecos eyed the gold greedily. After a
little reflection he brushed the coins from the table and dropped them
clinking into his pocket.
"I'm with ye," said he. "What's wanted?"
"That's the talk," approved Murgatroyd. "Our plans failed at the
aëroplane trials,[A] but I've got another scheme which I am sure will
win. You know, Siwash, and perhaps Pecos knows it as well, that Motor
Matt was demonstrating that aëroplane for Mrs. Traquair, who lives in
Jamestown. Motor Matt came meddling with the business which I had with
the woman, and the fifteen thousand, paid by the government for the
aëroplane, was divided between Mrs. Traquair and Matt. Half----"
[A] What Murgatroyd's plans were, and why they failed, was set forth in
No. 24 of the MOTOR STORIES, "Motor Matt on the Wing; or, Flying for
Fame and Fortune."
"We know all that," cut in Siwash.
"Well, then, here's something you don't know. Mrs. Traquair has a
quarter section of land near here, on which her husband borrowed one
thousand dollars of me while perfecting his aëroplane. After Traquair
was killed by a fall with his flying machine, I felt sure I could
get that quarter section of land on the mortgage. Now Motor Matt, by
helping Mrs. Traquair, has made it possible for her to pay off the
mortgage. She hasn't done it yet, because I haven't been in Jamestown
since your failure to wreck the aëroplane at Fort Totten. I've been
traveling around in my automobile with my niece, who is in poor health.
She is in Sykestown now, while I am making this night trip out here. I
visited this place once before, you remember, and I kept its location
so well in mind that I was able to find it without much trouble. I felt
fairly certain, Siwash, that you would be here, so----"
"Well, what's your scheme?" interrupted Siwash Charley.
"I'm getting to that," went on Murgatroyd. "Motor Matt and his friend
Joe McGlory, together with the Chinese boy, Ping Pong, have been at
Fort Totten ever since the aëroplane was sold to the government. The
war department will take another of the Traquair aëroplanes at the same
price paid for this one in case it can be finished and delivered by the
first of the month, in time to go to Washington for trials of dirigible
balloons and other devices at Fort Myer. Motor Matt is building an
aëroplane for this order, and it is nearly completed. I don't care
anything about that. What concerns me is that quarter section of land.
For reasons of my own, I want it--and I am going to have it, if not in
one way, then in another."
"What's yer scheme?" asked Siwash Charley impatiently.
"My scheme is to give Motor Matt such a reverse that Mrs. Traquair will
have to come to his rescue and buy his safety with the quarter section."
"Ye never kin do it!"
"I believe that I can." Murgatroyd took a letter from his pocket and
laid it on the table. "That," said he, nodding toward the letter, "is
to be delivered to Motor Matt at Fort Totten by Pecos Jones, and Jones
is to tell a story which will run substantially like this."
Thereupon Murgatroyd entered into a more lengthened review of his
crafty scheme, Siwash Charley's eyes gleaming exultantly as he
proceeded.
"It's goin' ter win!" declared Siwash, thumping a fist down on the
table to emphasize his declaration. "I've got ter saw off even with
that young cub, an' I'm with ye, Murg, chaps, taps, an' latigoes! So's
Pecos. Ye kin count on the two of us."
"Very good," responded Murgatroyd, getting up and drawing on his
gauntlets. "Succeed in this, Siwash, and I'll not only secure the
quarter section, but you and Pecos will get more money and, what's
better, a promise from the government not to trouble you because of
what happened at Fort Totten--or what's going to happen. You understand
what you're going to do, so no more need be said. I'll get away before
my absence from Sykestown arouses any remarks. So long."
The door closed, and presently the two in the dugout heard the muffled
"chugging" of a distant motor car fading into silence in the direction
of Sykestown.
CHAPTER II.
THE NEW AEROPLANE.
Motor Matt was as happy as the proverbial bee in clover--and fully as
industrious.
A quarter of a mile below the post trader's store, on the Devil's Lake
Indian Reservation, a tent, with its sides rolled up, was being used
as a workshop. Outside the tent there was a portable forge, anvil, and
full outfit of blacksmith's tools. Inside there was a bench with an
ironworker's vise, and also a carpenter's bench and well-equipped chest.
For two weeks Matt had been laboring about Camp Traquair, as the little
rendezvous was called, assisted in his work by his cowboy chum, Joe
McGlory, and with the Chinese boy, Ping, in charge of the culinary
department.
Immediately after Matt had finished the aëroplane trials, with so much
credit to himself, an order had been given for a new aëroplane at the
same price the government had paid for the first one, providing only
that it should be finished and tried out by the first of the month.
This would enable the machine to be taken apart, crated, and forwarded
to Fort Myer for a competitive test in an event that was to determine
the abilities of an aëroplane for signal corps' services, as against
other types of machines, such as dirigible balloons.
Matt and his two friends had plunged zealously into the work. While
McGlory and Ping were erecting the work tent, and furnishing it with
wood and iron-working tools, Matt had made a trip to Jamestown for a
talk with Mrs. Traquair, and then to St. Paul after materials.
The tough spruce needed for the wings, or "planes," every bolt, screw
and wire guy, and the motor, Matt had secured in St. Paul. At a large
cost for expressage these materials had been shipped direct to Fort
Totten and had arrived there on the same day that witnessed Matt's
return.
Then began a season of feverish activity, during which Lieutenant
Cameron and others from the post had watched the king of the motor boys
with wonder and admiration.
That Motor Matt was possessed of mechanical skill the officers at the
post had long known, but that his genius in construction was fully
equal to his ability as an aviator became evident from day to day, and
was in the nature of a revelation.
"You're the best all-around chap at this business I ever saw in my
life," Lieutenant Cameron had declared.
Matt laughed.
"Why, Cameron," he answered, "I used to work in a motor plant, in
Albany, New York."
"That may be, Matt, but building a motor is a different proposition
from building a flying machine."
"Traquair laid down the plans. All I have to do is to follow them.
It's really very simple. An aëroplane, you know, is nothing more than
two oblong pieces of canvas, fastened together one above the other and
pushed against the air by a motor and propeller. If the motor drives
the wings fast enough, they're sure to stay up."
But Cameron shook his head and continued to believe that Motor Matt was
something of a phenomenon, whereas Matt knew that he had merely the
"knack" for the work, just as he had acquired the "knack" for using the
aëroplane in the first place.
"The machine," he declared to Cameron, "is only a big toy."
"Toy?" echoed Cameron. "It's more than that, Matt."
"For the army and navy, yes. Aëroplanes can be used for scouting
purposes and for dropping bombs down on hostile armies and war
ships--providing they can keep clear of bullets and shells fired from
below; but, even for such work, the aëroplane has its limitations."
"The government," laughed Cameron, "is buying these Traquair aëroplanes
in spite of their limitations."
"Our war department," answered Matt, "has got to keep abreast of other
war departments, and poor Traquair has given you fellows the best
aëroplane so far invented."
"Don't you think the Traquair machine will ever be used for commercial
purposes? Won't there be fleets of them carrying passengers and
merchandise between San Francisco and New York and making the trip at
the rate of sixty or one hundred miles an hour?"
"That's a dream," averred Matt; "still," he added, "dreams sometimes
come true. My old dirigible balloon, the _Hawk_, was a wonder. She
could be sailed in a pretty stiff wind, and a fellow didn't have to use
his head and hands every blessed second to keep a sudden gust of air
from turning his machine upside down. I traveled thousand of miles in
the _Hawk_, but there was always a certain amount of worry on account
of the gas. If anything happened to the silk envelope, no amount of
work with your head and hands could keep you from a tumble."
"Well, anyway, you're in love with air ships."
"I'm in love with this," and Matt's gray eyes brightened as he touched
the motor which he was at that moment installing in the new aëroplane,
"and I'm in love with every novel use to which a motor can be put.
Explosive engines will furnish the power for the future, and every
new way they're used helps that coming time along. But I'm giving a
lecture," he smiled, going back to his work, "and I couldn't tell you
exactly how I feel on this gas-engine subject if I talked a thousand
years. The motors have got a strangle hold on me--they're keeping me
out of college, keeping me from settling down, and filling my life with
all sorts of adventures. But I can't help it. I'm under the spell of
the gas engine, and that's all there is to it."
It was during this talk of Matt's with Cameron, along toward the last
days of the busy two weeks, that Ping came into Camp Traquair with a
dagger.
"You savvy knife, Motol Matt?" asked Ping, offering the dagger for
inspection.
Matt dropped his wrench and took the weapon from the Chinaman.
It was not more than seven inches in length from the end of the handle
to the tip of the blade. The blade was badly rusted, and the handle was
incrusted with earth.
"Where did you get this, Ping?" inquired Matt, beginning to clean the
dagger with the edge of a file.
"My makee find in woods. You savvy place Siwash cally Ping one piecee
night he fool with Flying Joss?"
"Flying Joss" was Ping's name for the aëroplane. His heathen mind
made a joss of things he could not understand, and this machine of
Traquair's had impressed him more than anything else he had ever
encountered.
"I remember," answered Matt. "Siwash Charley carried you off into the
timber, near the lake shore. You found the dagger there?"
"All same."
"Some Indian must have dropped it," put in Cameron. "From the way it's
rusted, it looks as though the redskin must have dropped it a hundred
years ago."
"Hardly as long ago as that," returned Matt. "It's a pretty dagger, as
daggers go, although I don't admire things of the kind. The blade is
of mighty fine steel, and the handle is of sterling silver, set with a
ruby, or a piece of glass to represent a ruby, at the end. And
here are some initials."
A little scraping with the file had bared a flat plate in the handle.
Matt studied the initials.
"No," he remarked, "this couldn't have belonged to an Indian, Cameron.
Redskins are not carrying silver, ruby-mounted daggers with initials
engraved on them."
"Some red may have traded pelts for it," suggested the lieutenant.
"Possibly."
"What are the initials? Can you make them out?"
"There are two letters, sort of twined together," answered Matt. "I
make them out to be 'G. F.,' although I----"
An exclamation escaped Cameron.
"Let me see it!" he cried, stepping forward and showing an astonishment
and eagerness which bewildered Motor Matt.
For several minutes Cameron turned the blade around and around in his
hands, staring in amazement and muttering to himself.
"Will you let me have this for a little while, Matt?" asked the
lieutenant when he had finished his examination. "This may be a most
remarkable find--remarkable as well as of tremendous importance. I
can't tell about that, though, till I have a talk with some of the
others at the post."
"Of course you can take it," said Matt. "But what makes that rusty
piece of steel so important?"
"I'll tell you--later."
Thereupon the lieutenant whirled in his tracks and made off at speed in
the direction of the post.
McGlory had been under the aëroplane fitting in the pipe that led from
the tank to the carburetor. He had overheard the talk, however, and had
caught a glimpse of the dagger while the lieutenant was examining it.
"Tell me about that!" he exclaimed, crawling out from under the
aëroplane. "There was something about that rusty old knife that knocked
Cameron slabsided. What do you think it was?"
"Give it up, Joe," answered Matt. "How much too long is that pipe?"
In this offhand way Matt dismissed the dagger from his thoughts--but
not for long. An hour later, Cameron could be seen chasing down the
road from the post trader's, wildly excited.
"I've got to talk with you, Matt," said he breathlessly, as he reached
the side of the aëroplane. "You'll have to give me some of your time,
and no two ways about it. There's a tragedy connected with this
knife--tragedy, and a whole lot of treachery. It's more than likely,
too, that Siwash Charley is mixed up in the whirl of events that have
to do with the dagger. Come into the tent with me for a little while."
Matt gave a regretful look at the motor. He would rather have kept busy
with that than listen to the most absorbing yarn that was ever told.
Nevertheless, there was no denying the lieutenant, and the king of the
motor boys, accompanied by McGlory and Ping, followed Cameron into the
shade of the tent.
CHAPTER III.
TREACHERY AND TRAGEDY.
"I'm no hand at spinning yarns," remarked Cameron after he and the
rest had seated themselves comfortably in canvas chairs, "but this is
no yarn. It's history, and has to do with the dishonor of a brother
officer, one Captain Goff Fortescue, of the --th Infantry, who, two
years ago, was stationed at Fort Totten. It isn't pleasant for me to
tell of a brother officer's disgrace, but the story will have to be
repeated or you won't be able to understand what the finding of this
dagger means."
"The knife belonged to Captain Goff Fortescue?" asked Matt, remembering
the initials on the handle.
"Yes. There now appears to be not the least doubt of that. I went up to
the post and showed the knife to a member of the Signal Corps who used
to belong to Fortescue's company. He declares that he has seen that
dagger in Fortescue's possession a dozen times. Fortescue picked it up
in Italy once while he was abroad--in Italy, the home of the stiletto.
He was very proud of it, and always had the weapon about him, in a
small sheath."
Cameron was silent for a little, examining with pensive eyes the rusted
dagger which he had laid on a table in front of him.
"Fortescue came to Totten from the Presidio, at San Francisco," he
finally went on. "I presume you have heard how eager one nation is to
secure the plans of another nation's defenses----"
"I know a good deal about that," interjected Matt grimly. "Other
nations are just as eager to find out about submarine boats belonging
to another nation--and to destroy them, if possible. When your cousin,
Ensign Glennie, went around South America with me in the submarine
_Grampus_, we had our hands full keeping clear of the <DW61>s."
"Exactly," said Cameron. "I know about that. Well, our defenses in and
around San Francisco Bay, their strength as to guns and calibre of the
guns, the situation and power of the disappearing cannon, and all | 3,171.461996 |
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[Illustration: The Lark’s Nest.]
MORE TALES
OF THE BIRDS
BY
W. WARDE FOWLER
AUTHOR OF “A YEAR WITH THE BIRDS,” ETC.
_ILLUSTRATED BY FRANCES L. FULLER_
_London_
MACMILLAN AND CO., Limited
NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1902
_All rights reserved_
Richard Clay and Sons, Limited,
LONDON AND BUNGAY.
TO
A. A. E. F.
IN MEMORY OF PLEASANT DAYS
IN THE SUNNY SUMMER
OF 1901
CONTENTS
PAGE
I. The Lark’s Nest 1
II. The Sorrows of a House Martin 24
III. The Sandpipers 51
IV. The Last of the Barons 79
V. Downs and Dungeons 104
VI. Doctor and Mrs. Jackson 130
VII. A Lucky Magpie 147
VIII. Selina’s Starling 185
IX. Too Much of a Good Thing 204
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
The Lark’s Nest _Frontispiece_.
The Sorrows of a House Martin _To face page_ 24
The Sandpipers ” 52
The Last of the Barons ” 80
Downs and Dungeons ” 104
Doctor and Mrs. Jackson ” 131
A Lucky Magpie ” 148
Selina’s Starling ” 186
MORE TALES OF THE BIRDS
THE LARK’S NEST
A STORY OF A BATTLE
I
It was close upon Midsummer Day, but it was not midsummer weather. A
mist rose from moist fields, and hung over the whole countryside as if
it were November; the June of 1815 was wet and chill, as June so often
is. And as the mist hung over the land, so a certain sense of doubt and
anxiety hung over the hearts of man and beast and bird. War was in the
air as well as mist; and everything wanted warmth and peace to help it
to carry out its appointed work; to cheer it with a feeling of the
fragrance of life.
The moisture and the chilliness did not prevent the Skylark from taking
a flight now and then into the air, and singing to his wife as she sat
on the nest below; indeed, he rose sometimes so high that she could
hardly hear his voice, and then the anxious feeling got the better of
her. When he came down she would tell him of it, and remind him how dear
to her that music was. “Come with me this once,” he said at last in
reply. “Come, and leave the eggs for a little while. Above the mist the
sun is shining, and the real world is up there to-day. You can dry
yourself up there in the warmth, and you can fancy how bad it is for all
the creatures that have no wings to fly with. And there are such numbers
of them about to-day—such long lines of men and horses! Come and feel
the sun and see the sights.”
He rose again into the air and began to sing; and she, getting wearily
off the nest, followed him upwards. They passed through the mist and out
into the glorious sunshine; and as they hung on the air with fluttering
wings and tails bent downwards, singing and still gently rising, the sun
at last conquered the fog to the right of them, and they saw the great
high road covered with a long column of horsemen, whose arms and
trappings flashed with the sudden light. They were moving southward at a
trot as quick as cavalry can keep up when riding in a body together; and
behind them at a short interval came cannon and waggons rumbling slowly
along, the drivers’ whips cracking constantly as if there were great
need of hurry. Then came a column of infantry marching at a quickstep
without music, all intent on business, none falling out of the ranks;
they wore coats of bright scarlet, which set off young and sturdy
frames. And then, just as an officer, with dripping plume and cloak
hanging loosely about him, turned his horse into the wet fields and
galloped heavily past the infantry in the road, the mist closed over
them again, and the Larks could see nothing more.
But along the line of the road, to north as well as south, they could
hear the rumbling of wheels and the heavy tramp of men marching,
deadened as all these sounds were by the mud of the road and by the
dense air. Nay, far away to the southward there were other sounds in the
air—sounds deep and strange, as if a storm were beginning there.
“But there is no storm about,” said the Skylark’s wife; “I should have
felt it long ago. What is it, dear? what can it be? Something is wrong;
and I feel as if trouble were coming, with all these creatures about.
Look there!” she said, as they descended again to the ground at a little
distance, as usual, from the nest; “look there, and tell me if something
is not going to happen!”
A little way off, dimly looming through the mist, was a large cart or
waggon moving slowly along a field-track. Leading the horses was the
farmer, and sitting in the cart was the farmer’s wife, trouble written
in her face; on her lap was a tiny child, another sat on the edge of the
cart, and a third was astride on one of the big horses, holding on by
his huge collar, and digging his young heels into the | 3,171.556566 |
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available by Internet Archive/American Libraries
(http://archive.org/details/americana)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
http://archive.org/details/historyofantiqui04dunciala
Transcriber's note:
1. Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
2. A carat character is used to denote superscription. A
single character following the carat is superscripted
(example: 1^2).
3. Mixed fractions in this text version are indicated with
a hyphen and forward slash. For example, four and a half
is represented by 4-1/2.
4. The original text includes Greek characters. For this
text version these letters have been replaced with
transliterations.
THE HISTORY OF ANTIQUITY.
From the German of
PROFESSOR MAX DUNCKER,
by
Evelyn Abbott, M.A., LL.D.,
Fellow And Tutor Of Balliol College, Oxford.
VOL. IV.
London:
Richard Bentley & Son, New Burlington Street,
Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen.
1880.
Bungay:
Clay and Taylor, Printers.
CONTENTS.
BOOK V.
_THE ARIANS ON THE INDUS AND THE GANGES._
CHAPTER I. PAGE
THE LAND AND THE PEOPLE 1
CHAPTER II.
THE ARYAS ON THE INDUS 27
CHAPTER III.
THE CONQUEST OF THE LAND OF THE GANGES 65
CHAPTER IV.
THE FORMATION AND ARRANGEMENT OF THE ORDERS 110
CHAPTER V.
THE OLD AND THE NEW RELIGION 154
CHAPTER VI.
THE CONSTITUTION AND LAW OF THE INDIANS 188
CHAPTER VII.
THE CASTES AND THE FAMILY 236
CHAPTER VIII.
THE THEOLOGY AND PHILOSOPHY OF THE BRAHMANS 270
BOOK VI.
_BUDDHISTS AND BRAHMANS._
CHAPTER I.
THE STATES ON THE GANGES IN THE SIXTH CENTURY B.C. 315
CHAPTER II.
BUDDHA'S LIFE AND TEACHING 332
CHAPTER III | 3,171.557416 |
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Our Little Hawaiian Cousin
THE Little Cousin Series
(TRADE MARK)
Each volume illustrated with six or more full-page plate
in tint. Cloth, 12mo, with decorative cover,
per volume, 60 cents
LIST OF TITLES
BY MARY HAZELTON WADE
(unless otherwise indicated)
=Our Little African Cousin=
=Our Little Alaskan Cousin=
By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
=Our Little Arabian Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little Armenian Cousin=
=Our Little Australian Cousin=
By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
=Our Little Brazilian Cousin=
By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
=Our Little Brown Cousin=
=Our Little Canadian Cousin=
By Elizabeth R. MacDonald
=Our Little Chinese Cousin=
By Isaac Taylor Headland
=Our Little Cuban Cousin=
=Our Little Dutch Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little Egyptian Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little English Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little Eskimo Cousin=
=Our Little French Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little German Cousin=
=Our Little Greek Cousin=
By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
=Our Little Hawaiian Cousin=
=Our Little Hindu Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little Indian Cousin=
=Our Little Irish Cousin=
=Our Little Italian Cousin=
=Our Little Japanese Cousin=
=Our Little Jewish Cousin=
=Our Little Korean Cousin=
By H. Lee M. Pike
=Our Little Mexican Cousin=
By Edward C. Butler
=Our Little Norwegian Cousin=
=Our Little Panama Cousin=
By H. Lee M. Pike
=Our Little Philippine Cousin=
=Our Little Porto Rican Cousin=
=Our Little Russian Cousin=
=Our Little Scotch Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little Siamese Cousin=
=Our Little Spanish Cousin=
By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
=Our Little Swedish Cousin=
By Claire M. Coburn
=Our Little Swiss Cousin=
=Our Little Turkish Cousin=
L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
New England Building, Boston, Mass.
[Illustration: AUWAE]
Our Little Hawaiian Cousin
By Mary Hazelton Wade
_Illustrated by_
L. J. Bridgman
[Illustration]
Boston
L. C. Page & Company
_PUBLISHERS_
_Copyright, 1902_
By L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
_All rights reserved_
Published, June, 1902
Seventh Impression, May, 1909
Preface
FAR out in the broad island-dotted and island-fringed Pacific Ocean lies
an island group known as the Hawaiian or Sandwich Islands.
The brave voyager Captain Cook, who discovered these Hawaiian Islands,
found living there a brown-skinned people, whose descendants live there
to this day. Indeed, most of the island dwellers in the Pacific are of
the brown race, which we know as one of the great divisions of the human
family.
As the years passed by, the brown people living on the Hawaiian Islands
came into closer relations with America. The islands are on the line of
trade and travel between America and Asia. Our missionaries went there,
and the | 3,216.160666 |
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Transcriber's note:
Minor spelling inconsistencies, mainly hyphenated words, have been
harmonized. Italic text has been marked with _underscores_.
Obvious typos have been corrected. Please see the end of this book
for further notes.
THE STORY OF THE HILLS.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: NORHAM CASTLE. AFTER TURNER.]
THE
STORY OF THE HILLS.
A BOOK ABOUT MOUNTAINS
FOR GENERAL READERS.
BY
REV. H. N. HUTCHINSON, B.A., F.G.S.
AUTHOR OF "THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF THE EARTH."
With Sixteen Full-page Illustrations.
They are as a great and noble architecture, first giving shelter,
comfort, and rest; and covered also with mighty sculpture and painted
legend.--RUSKIN.
New York:
MACMILLAN AND CO.
AND LONDON.
1892.
_Copyright, 1891_,
BY MACMILLAN AND CO.
University Press:
JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.
TO
ALL WHO LOVE MOUNTAINS AND HILLS
This little Book is Dedicated,
IN THE HOPE THAT EVEN A SLIGHT KNOWLEDGE OF THEIR PLACE IN
NATURE, AND PREVIOUS HISTORY, MAY ADD TO THE WONDER AND DELIGHT
WITH WHICH WE LOOK UPON THESE NOBLE FEATURES OF THE SURFACE OF
THE EARTH.
PREFACE.
Now that travelling is no longer a luxury for the rich, and thousands
of people go every summer to spend their holidays among the
mountains of Europe, and ladies climb Mont Blanc or ramble among the
Carpathians, there must be many who would like to know something of
the secret of the hills, their origin, their architecture, and the
forces that made them what they are.
For such this book is chiefly written. Those will best understand it
who take it with them on their travels, and endeavour by its use to
interpret what they see among the mountains; and they will find that
a little observation goes a long way to help them to read mountain
history.
It is hoped, however, that all, both young and old, who take an
intelligent interest in the world around, though they may never have
seen a mountain, may find these pages worth reading.
If readers do not find here answers to all their questions, they
may be reminded that it is not possible within the present limits
to give more than a brief sketch of the subject, leaving the gaps
to be filled in by a study of the larger and more important works
on geology. The author, assuming that the reader knows nothing of
this fascinating science, has endeavoured to interpret into ordinary
language the story of the hills as it is written in the rocks of
which they are made.
It can scarcely be denied that a little knowledge of natural objects
greatly adds to our appreciation of them, besides affording a deep
source of pleasure, in revealing the harmony, law, and order by which
all things in this wonderful world are governed. Mountains, when
once we begin to observe them, seem to become more than ever our
companions,--to take us into their counsels, and to teach us many a
lesson about the great part they play in the order of things. And
surely our admiration of their beauty is not lessened, but rather
increased, when we learn how much we and all living things owe to
the life-giving streams that flow continually from them. The writer
has, somewhat reluctantly, omitted certain parts of the subject
which, though very interesting to the geologist, can hardly be made
attractive to general readers.
Thus, the cause of earth movements, by which mountains are pushed up
far above the plains that lie at their feet, is at present a matter
of speculation; and it is difficult to express in ordinary language
the ideas that have been put forward on this subject. Again, the
curious internal changes, which we find to have taken place in the
rocks of which mountains are composed, are very interesting to those
who know something of the minerals of which rocks are made up, and
their chemical composition; but it was found impossible to render
these matters sufficiently simple.
So again with regard to the geological structure of mountain-chains.
This had to be very briefly treated, in order to avoid introducing
details which would be too complicated for a book of this kind.
The author desires to acknowledge his obligations to the writings
of Sir A. Geikie; Professor Bonney, Professor Green, and Professor
Shaler, of Harvard University; the volumes of the "Alpine Journal;"
"The Earth," by Reclus; the "Encyclopaedia Britannica." Canon Isaac
Taylor's "Words and Places," have also been made use of; and if in
every case the reference is not given, the writer hopes the omission
will be pardoned. A few passages from Mr. Ruskin's "Modern Painters"
have been quoted, in the hope that others may be led to read that
wonderful book, and to learn more about mountains and clouds, and
many other things, at the feet of one of the greatest teachers of the
century.
Some of our engravings are taken from the justly celebrated
photographs of the High Alps,[1] by the late Mr. W. Donkin, whose
premature death among the Caucasus Mountains was deeply deplored
by all. Those reproduced were kindly lent by his brother, Mr. A. E.
Donkin, of Rugby. To Messrs. Valentine & Son of Dundee, Mr. Wilson
of Aberdeen, and to Messrs. Frith we are indebted for permission to
reproduce some of their admirable photographs; also to Messrs. James
How & Sons of Farringdon Street, for three excellent photographs of
rock-sections taken with the microscope.
[1] Published by Messrs. Spooner, of the Strand.
CONTENTS.
Part I.
THE MOUNTAINS AS THEY ARE.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. MOUNTAINS AND MEN 3
II. THE USES OF MOUNTAINS 33
III. SUNSHINE AND STORM ON THE MOUNTAINS 70
IV. MOUNTAIN PLANTS AND ANIMALS 103
Part II.
CHAPTER PAGE
HOW THE MOUNTAINS WERE MADE.
V. HOW THE MATERIALS WERE BROUGHT TOGETHER 139
VI. HOW THE MOUNTAINS WERE UPHEAVED 174
VII. HOW THE MOUNTAINS WERE CARVED OUT 205
VIII. VOLCANIC MOUNTAINS 242
IX. MOUNTAIN ARCHITECTURE 282
X. THE AGES OF MOUNTAINS AND OTHER QUESTIONS 318
ILLUSTRATIONS.
NORHAM CASTLE. After Turner _Frontispiece_
BEN LOMOND. From a Photograph by J. Valentine 16
CLOUDS ON BEN NEVIS 38
SNOW ON THE HIGH ALPS. From a Photograph by
Mr. Donkin 64
A STORM ON THE LAKE OF THUN. After Turner 86
THE MATTERHORN. From a Photograph by Mr. Donkin 98
ON A GLACIER. 116
RED DEER. After Ansdell 133
CHALK ROCKS, FLAMBOROUGH HEAD. From a Photograph by
G. W. Wilson 152
MICROPHOTOGRAPHS ILLUSTRATING ROCK FORMATION 172
THE SKAEGGEDALSFORS, NORWAY. From a Photograph by
J. Valentine 192
THE MER DE GLACE AND MONT BUET. From a Photograph
by Mr. Donkin 229
THE ERUPTION OF VESUVIUS IN 1872. From an
Instantaneous Photograph 250
COLUMNAR BASALT AT CLAMSHELL CAVE, STAFFA. From
a Photograph by J. Valentine 280
MONT BLANC, SNOWFIELDS, GLACIERS, AND STREAMS. 312
MOUNTAIN IN THE YOSEMITE VALLEY. 336
ILLUSTRATIONS II.
Fig. 1. SECTION ACROSS THE WEALD OF KENT AND SURREY. 237
Fig. 2. THE HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND ON A TRUE
SCALE (after Geikie.) 237
Fig. 1. THE RANGES OF THE GREAT BASIN, WESTERN
STATES OF NORTH AMERICA, SHOWING A SERIES OF
GREAT FRACTURES AND TILTED MASSES OF ROCK. 272
Fig. 2. SECTION THROUGH SNOWDON. 272
SECTIONS OF MOUNTAIN-RANGES, SHOWING THEIR
STRUCTURE AND THE AMOUNT OF ROCK WORN AWAY 306
PART I.
THE MOUNTAINS AS THEY ARE.
THE STORY OF THE HILLS.
Part I.
THE MOUNTAINS AS THEY ARE.
CHAPTER I.
MOUNTAINS AND MEN.
"Happy, I said, whose home is here;
Fair fortunes to the Mountaineer."
In old times people looked with awe upon the mountains, and
regarded them with feelings akin to horror or dread. A very slight
acquaintance with the classical writers of antiquity will suffice
to convince any one that Greeks and Romans did so regard them. They
were not so familiar with mountains as we are; for there were no
roads through them, as now through the Alps, or the Highlands of
Scotland,--to say nothing of the all-pervading railway. It would,
however, be a great mistake to suppose that the ancients did not
observe and enjoy the beauties of Nature. The fair and fertile
plain, the vine-clad <DW72>s of the lower hill-ranges, and the
"many-twinkling smile of ocean" were seen and loved by all who had
a mind to appreciate the beautiful. The poems of Homer and Virgil
would alone be sufficient to prove this. But the higher ranges,
untrodden by the foot of man, were gazed at, not with admiration,
but with religious awe; for men looked upon mountains as the abode
of the gods. They dwelt in the rich plain, which they cultivated,
and beside the sweet waters of some river; for food and drink are
the first necessities of life. But they left the high hills alone,
and in fancy peopled them with the "Immortals" who ruled their
destiny,--controlling also the winds and the lightning, the rain and
the clouds, which seem to have their home among the mountains. A
childlike fear of the unknown, coupled with religious awe, made them
avoid the lofty and barren hills, from which little was to be got
but wild honey and a scanty supply of game. There were also dangers
to be encountered from the fury of the storm and the avalanche; but
the safer ground of the plains below would reward their toil with an
ample supply of corn and other necessaries of life.
In classical times, and also in the Middle Ages, the mountains,
as well as glens and rivers, were supposed to be peopled with
fairies, nymphs, elves, and all sorts of strange beings; and even
now travellers among the mountains of Switzerland, Norway, Wales,
or Scotland find that it is not long since the simple folk of these
regions believed in the existence of such beings, and attributed to
their agency many things which they could not otherwise explain.
Of all the nations of antiquity the Jews seem to have shown the
greatest appreciation of mountain scenery; and in no ancient writings
do we find so many or so eloquent allusions to the hills as in the
Old Testament. But here again one cannot fail to trace the same
feelings of religious awe. The Law was given to their forefathers
in the desert amidst the thunders of Sinai. To them the earth was
literally Jehovah's footstool, and the clouds were His tabernacle.
"If He do but touch the hills, they shall smoke."
But this awe was not unmixed with other and more comforting thoughts.
They felt that those cloud-capped towers were symbols of strength and
the abode of Him who would help them in their need. For so we find
the psalmists regarding them; and with our very different conceptions
of the earth's natural features, we can but dimly perceive and
realise the full force and meaning of the words, "I will lift up mine
eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help."
To take another example from antiquity, we find that the Himalayas
and the source of the Ganges have from very early times been
considered as holy by the people of India. Thousands of pilgrims from
all parts of that vast country still continue to seek salvation in
the holy waters of the Ganges, and at its sacred sources in the snowy
Himalayas. And to those who know India the wondrous snowclad peaks of
the Himalayas still seem to be surrounded with somewhat of the same
halo of glory as of old.
Mountains are intimately associated with the history of nations, and
have contributed much to the moulding of the human mind and the
character of those who dwell among them; they have alike inspired the
mind of the artist, the poet, the reformer, and the visionary seeking
repose for his soul, that, dwelling far from the strife and turmoil
of the world, he may contemplate alone the glory of the Eternal
Being. They have been the refuge of the afflicted and the persecuted;
they have braced the minds and bodies of heroes who have dwelt for a
time among them before descending once more to the plain that they
might play some noble part in the progress of the world.
Moses, while leading the flock of his father-in-law to the back of
the wilderness, came to Mount Horeb and received the divine summons
to return to Egypt and lead Israel out of bondage. David, with his
six hundred followers, fleeing from the face of Saul, found a refuge
in the hill country; and the life of peril and adventure which he
led during these years of persecution was a part of his training for
the great future task of ruling Israel, which he performed so well.
Elijah summoned the false prophets of Baal and Asherah to Mount
Carmel and slew them at the brook Kishon; and a little later we find
him at Mount Horeb listening, not to the wind or to the earthquake
or to the fire, but to the "still small voice" telling him to return
and anoint Jehu to be king.
Or, to take another example from a later age, we find that Mahomet's
favourite resort was a cave at the foot of Mount Hira, north of
Mecca; here in dark and wild surroundings his mind was wrought up to
rhapsodic enthusiasm.
And many, like these leaders of men, have received in mountain
retreats a firmness and tenacity of purpose giving them the right
to be leaders, and the power to redress human wrongs; or, it may
be, a temper of mind and spirit enabling them to soar into regions
of thought and contemplation untrodden by the careless and more
luxurious multitudes who dwell on the plains below. Perhaps Mr. Lewis
Morris was unconsciously offering his testimony to the influence of
mountains when he wrote those words which he puts into the mouth of
poor Marsyas,--
"More it is than ease,
Palace and pomp, honours and luxuries,
To have seen white presences upon the hills,
To have heard the voices of the eternal gods."[2]
[2] Epic of Hades.
The thunder and lightning, storm and cloud, as well as the soft
beauty of colour, and the harmony of mountain outline, have been a
part, and a very important part, of their training. The exhilarating
air, the struggle with the elements in their fierceness, the rugged
strength of granite, seem to have possessed the very souls of such
men, and made them like "the strong ones,"--the immortal beings to
whom in all previous ages the races of mankind have assigned their
abode in the hills, as the Greek gods were supposed to dwell on Mount
Olympus. On these heights such men seem to have gained something of
the strength of Him who dwells in the heavens far above their highest
peaks,--"the strength of the hills," which, as the Hebrew poet says,
"is His also."
We have spoken of the attitude of the human mind towards mountains in
the past; let us now consider the light in which they are regarded
at the present time by all thoughtful and cultivated people. And it
does not require a moment's consideration to perceive that a very
great change has taken place. Instead of regarding them with horror
or aversion, we look upon them with wonder and delight; we watch
them hour by hour whenever for a brief season of holiday we take
up our abode near or among them. We come back to them year by year
to breathe once more the pure air which so frequently restores the
invalid to health and brings back the colour to faded cheeks. We love
to watch the ever-varying lights and shades upon them, as the day
goes by. But it is towards evening that the most enchanting scenes
are to be witnessed, when the sinking sun sheds its golden rays upon
their <DW72>s, or tinges their summits with floods of crimson light;
and then presently, after the sun has gone down, pale mists begin
to rise, and the hills seem more majestic than ever. Later on, as
the full moon appears from behind a bank of cloud, those wonderful
moonlight effects may be seen which must be familiar to all who know
the mountains as they are in summer or autumn,--scenes such as the
writer has frequently witnessed in the Highlands of Scotland, but
which only the poet can adequately describe.
There are few sights in Nature which more powerfully impress the mind
than a sunset among the mountains. General Sir Richard Strachey
concludes his description of the Himalayas with the following
striking passage:
"Here may the eye, as it sweeps along the horizon, embrace a
line of snowclad mountains such as exist in no other part of
the world, stretching over one third of the entire circle,
at a distance of forty or fifty miles, their peaks towering
over a sea of intervening ranges piled one behind another,
whose extent on either hand is lost in the remote distance,
and of which the nearest rises from a gulf far down beneath
the spectator's feet, where may be seen the silver line that
marks a river's course, or crimson fields of amaranth and the
dwellings of man. Sole representative of animal life, some
great eagle floats high overhead in the pure dark-blue sky,
or, unused to man, fearlessly sweeps down within a few yards
to gaze at the stranger who intrudes among these solitudes of
Nature. As the sun sinks, the cold grey shadow of the summit
where we stand is thrown forward, slowly stealing over the
distant hills, and veiling their glowing purples as it goes,
carries the night up to the feet of the great snowy peaks,
which still rise radiant in the rosy light above the now
darkening world. From east to west in succession the splendour
fades away from one point after another, and the vast shadow of
the earth is rapidly drawn across the whole vault of heaven.
One more departing day is added to the countless series which
has silently witnessed the deathlike change that passes over
the eternal snows, as they are left raising their cold pale
fronts against the now leaden sky; till slowly with the
deepening night the world of mountains rises again, as it were,
to a new life, under the changed light of the thousand stars
which stud the firmament and shine with a brilliancy unknown
except in the clear rarefied air of these sublime heights."
Year by year a larger number of busy workers from our great towns,
availing themselves of the increased facilities for travel, come to
the mountains to spend their summer holidays,--some to the Swiss
Alps, others to Wales, Cumberland, Norway, or the Highlands of
Scotland. There are few untrodden valleys in these regions, few of
the more important mountains which have not been climbed.
Our knowledge of mountains, thanks to the labours of a zealous army
of workers, is now considerable. The professors of physical science
have been busy making important observations on the condition of
the atmosphere in the higher regions; geographers have noted their
heights and mapped their leading contours. Geologists have done a
vast amount of work in ascertaining the composition and arrangement
of the rocks of which mountain chains are composed, in observing
their peculiar structures, in recording the changes which are
continually effecting their waste and decay, and thus interpreting
the story of the hills as it is written in the very rocks of which
they are built up.
Naturalists have collected and noted the peculiar plants and animals
which have their home among the hills, and so the forms of life, both
animal and vegetable, which inhabit the mountains of Europe, and some
other countries, are now fairly well known.
The historian, the antiquary, and the student of languages have
made interesting discoveries with regard to the mountain races of
mankind. And only to mention this country, such writers as Scott,
Wordsworth, and Ruskin have given us in verse and prose descriptions
of mountain scenery which will take a permanent place in literature;
while Turner, our great landscape-painter, has expressed the glories
of mountain scenery in pictures which speak more eloquently than
many words. Thus we see that whatever line of inquiry be chosen, our
subject is full of varied interest.
With regard to the characteristics of mountain races, it is not easy
to say to what extent people in different parts of the world who
live among mountains share the same virtues or the same failings;
but the most obvious traits in the character of the mountaineer
seem to be the result of his natural surroundings. Thus we find
mountaineers generally endowed with hardihood, strength, and bravery.
To spend one's days on the hillsides for a large part of the year, as
shepherds and others do in Scotland or Wales, and to walk some miles
every day in pure bracing air, must be healthy and tend to develop
the muscles of the body; and so we find the highlanders of all
countries are usually muscular, strong, and capable of endurance. And
there can be little doubt that mountain races are kept up to a high
standard of strength and endurance by a rigorous and constant weeding
out of the weakly ones, especially among children. And if only the
stronger live to grow up and become parents, the chances are that
their children will be strong too. Thus Nature exercises a kind of
"selection;" and we have consequently "the survival of the fittest."
This "selection," together with the healthy lives they lead, is
probably sufficient to account for their strength and hardiness.
As might be expected, mountaineers are celebrated for their fighting
qualities. The fierce Afghans who have often faced a British army,
and sometimes victoriously; the brave Swiss peasantry, who have
more than once fought nobly for freedom; the Highlanders, who have
contributed so largely to the success of British arms in nearly
all parts of the world, and whose forefathers defied even the
all-conquering Roman in their mountain strongholds,--these and many
others all show the same valour and power of endurance. Etymologists,
whose learned researches into the meaning of words have thrown so
much light on the ages before history was written, tell us that the
Picts were so called from their fighting qualities, and that the
word "Pict" is derived from the Gaelic "peicta," a fighting man. And
Julius Caesar says the chief god of the Britons was the god of war.
In some countries--as, for instance, Greece, Italy, and Spain--the
mountains are infested with banditti and robbers, who often become a
terror to the neighbourhood. In more peaceful and orderly countries,
however, we find among mountaineers many noble qualities,--such
as patience, honesty, simplicity of life, thrift, a dignified
self-reliance, together with true courtesy and hospitality. This is
high praise; but who that knows mountain peasants would say it is
undeserved? How many a tired traveller among the hills of Scotland
or Wales has had reason to be grateful for welcome, food, and rest
in some little cottage in a far-away glen! How many friendships have
thus been formed! How many a pleasant talk has beguiled the time
during a storm or shower! The old feuds are forgotten now that the
Saxon stranger and invader is at peace with the Celtic people whom
his forefathers drove into the hills. The castles, once centres of
oppression or scenes of violence, lie in peaceful and picturesque
ruins, and add not a little to the interest of one's travels in the
North. What true courtesy and consideration one meets with at the
hands of these honest folk, among whom the old kindly usages have
not died out! Often too poor to be afflicted with the greed and
thirst for wealth, which frequently marks the man of the plain as
compared with the man of the hills,--the Lowlander as compared with
the Highlander,--they exhibit many of those simple virtues which
one hardly expects to meet with among busy townspeople, all bent on
making money, or as the phrase is, "getting on in life."
[Illustration: BEN LOMOND. FROM A PHOTOGRAPH BY J. VALENTINE.]
"The mountain cheer, the frosty skies,
Breed purer wits, inventive eyes;
And then the moral of the place
Hints summits of heroic grace.
Men in these crags a fastness find
To fight corruption of the mind;
The insanity of towns to stem
With simpleness for stratagem."
Mr. Skene, the Scotch historian, records a touching case of the
devotion of Highlanders to their chief. He says,--
"There is perhaps no instance in which the attachment of the
clan to their chief was so strongly manifested as in the
case of the Macphersons of Cluny after the disaster of 'the
Forty-five.' The chief having been deeply engaged in that
insurrection, his life became of course forfeited to the laws;
but neither the hope of reward nor the fear of danger could
induce any one of his people to betray him. For nine years
he lived concealed in a cave a short distance from his own
house; it was situated in the front of a woody precipice of
which the trees and shelving rocks concealed the entrance. The
cave had been dug by his own people, who worked at night and
conveyed the stones and rubbish into a neighbouring lake, in
order that no vestige of their labour might appear and lead to
the discovery of the retreat. In this asylum he continued to
live secure, receiving by night the occasional visits of his
friends, and sometimes by day, when the soldiers had begun to
slacken the vigour of their pursuit. Upwards of one thousand
persons were privy to his concealment, and a reward of L1,000
was offered to any one who should give information against
him.... But although the soldiers were animated by the hope
of reward, and their officers by promise of promotion for
the apprehension of this proscribed individual, yet so true
were his people, so inflexibly strict in their promise of
secrecy, and so dextrous in conveying to him the necessaries he
required in his long confinement, not a trace of him could be
discovered, nor an individual base enough to give a hint to his
detriment."
The mountaineer is a true gentleman. However poor, however ignorant
or superstitious, one perceives in him a refinement of manner which
cannot fail to command admiration. His readiness to share his
best with the stranger and to render any service in his power are
pleasing traits in his character. But there is one sad feature about
mountaineers of the present day which one frequently notices in
districts where many tourists come,--especially English or American.
They are, we regret to say, losing their independence, their simple,
old-fashioned ways, and becoming servile and greedy,--at least in the
towns and villages. Such changes seem, alas! inevitable when rich
townspeople, bent on pleasure or sport, invade the recesses of the
hills where poverty usually reigns. On the one hand, we have people,
often with long purses, eager for enjoyment, waiting to be fed,
housed, or otherwise entertained; on the other hand, poor people,
anxious to "make hay while the sun shines" and to extract as much
money as possible from "the visitors," who often allow themselves
to be unmercifully fleeced. Then there are in the Highlands the
sportsmen, who require a large following of "gillies" to attend them
in their wanderings, pay them highly for their services, and dismiss
them at the end of the season; and so the men are in many cases left
without employment all the winter and spring. Is it, then, surprising
that they give way to a natural tendency to idleness, and fall into
other bad habits? Any visitor who spends a winter, or part of one,
in the Highlands will be better able to realise the extent of this
evil, which is by no means small; and one cannot help regretting that
the sportsmen's pleasure and the tourist's holiday should involve
results of such grave consequence. We are inclined to think that in
these days sport is overdone, and wish it could be followed without
taking the hillman away from the work he would otherwise find, and
which would render him a more useful member of society. With the
agitation going on in some parts against deer-forests we do not
feel much sympathy, because they are based on the erroneous idea
that "crofters" could make a living out of the land thus enclosed;
whereas those who know the land and its value for agricultural
purposes tell us that with the exception of a few small patches here
and there, hardly worth mentioning, it could not possibly be made to
produce enough to maintain crofters and their families. Nevertheless,
another way of looking at the matter is this: that the man who merely
ministers to the pleasure of others richer than himself loses some of
the self-respect and independence which he would acquire by working
in his own way for a living.
The same changes for the worse are still more manifest in
Switzerland; and even in some parts of Norway the people are being
similarly spoiled. Mr. Ruskin, speaking of the former country, says:
"I believe that every franc now spent by travellers among
the Alps tends more or less to the undermining of whatever
special greatness there is in the Swiss character; and the
persons I met in Switzerland whose position and modes of life
render them best able to give me true information respecting
the present state of their country, among many causes of
national deterioration, spoke with chief fear of the influx
of English wealth, gradually connecting all industry with the
wants of strangers, and inviting all idleness to depend upon
their casual help, thus resolving the ancient consistency and
pastoral simplicity of the mountain life into the two irregular
trades of the innkeeper and mendicant."[3]
[3] Modern Painters, vol. iv.
Mountain people have still their superstitions; since the
introduction of railways many of the old legends and popular myths
have died out, but even what is left is interesting to the student of
folk-lore,--indeed, we might say, to every one.
Sir A. Geikie, speaking of Scotch mountain scenery says,--
"To the influence of scenery of this kind on the mind of a
people at once observant and imaginative, such legends as that
of the Titans should in all likelihood be ascribed. It would be
interesting to trace back these legends to their cradle, and to
mark how much they owe to the character of the scenery amongst
which they took their rise. Perhaps it would be found that the
rugged outlines of the Boeotian hills had no small share in
the framing of Hesiod's graphic story of that primeval warfare
wherein the combatants fought with huge rocks, which, darkening
the air as they flew, at last buried the discomfited Titans
deep beneath the surface of the land. Nor would it be difficult
to trace a close connection between the present scenery of our
own country and some of the time-honoured traditionary stories
of giants and hero kings, warlocks and witches, or between the
doings of the Scandinavian Hrimthursar, or Frost Giants, and
the more characteristic features of the landscapes and climate
of the North."[4]
[4] Scenery of Scotland.
The following passage from Ruskin brings out more strongly the
effects of mountains on men,--a subject to which he has given much
attention:--
"We shall find, on the one hand, the mountains of Greece and
Italy, forming all the loveliest dreams, first of Pagan, then
of Christian mythology, on the other, those of Scandinavia, to
be the first | 3,216.188083 |
2023-11-16 19:10:40.2956140 | 512 | 8 |
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THE BANNER BOY SCOUTS SNOWBOUND
Or
A Tour on Skates and Iceboats
by
GEORGE A. WARREN
Author of "The Banner Boy Scouts,"
"The Musket Boys of Old Boston," Etc.
Illustrated
[Illustration: "LOOK OUT! THE SECOND CAT!" YELLED PAUL.
_The Banner Boy Scouts Snowbound Page 161_]
The Saalfield Publishing Co.
Akron, Ohio--New York
Made In U. S. A.
Copyright, 1916, by
Cupples & Leon Company
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. On the Frozen Bushkill 1
II. When the Old Ice-House Fell 8
III. The Rescue 15
IV. A Quick Return for Services Rendered 23
V. A Startling Interruption 30
VI. A Gloomy Prospect for Jud 38
VII. Paul Takes a Chance 46
VIII. Bobolink and the Storekeeper 54
IX. "Fire!" 62
X. The Accusation 69
XI. Friends of the Scouts 76
XII. The Iceboat Squadron 84
XIII. On the Way 91
XIV. The Ring of Steel Runners 98
XV. Tolly Tip and the Forest Cabin 105
XVI. The First Night Out 112
XVII. "Tip-Ups" for Pickerel 119
XVIII. The Helping Hand of a Scout 126
XIX. News of Big Game 134
XX. At the Beaver Pond 141
XXI. Setting the Flashlight Trap 149
XX | 3,216.315654 |
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[Illustration: FELIX TIPNIS.]
INDIA AND THE
INDIANS
BY EDWARD F. ELWIN
OF THE SOCIETY OF ST JOHN THE EVANGELIST, COWLEY
AUTHOR OF "INDIAN JOTTINGS," "THIRTY-FOUR YEARS IN POONA CITY,"
"STORIES OF INDIAN BOYS," ETC.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS
LONDON
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W.
1913
* * * * *
PREFACE
India is really waking up, but she is doing so in her own Indian way.
For some years past it has been one of my daily duties to arouse an
Indian boy, and I know exactly how an Indian wakes. It is a leisurely
process. He slowly stretches his legs and rubs his eyes, and it is at
least ten minutes before he can be said to be really wide awake. And
every morning I have to say exactly the same thing: "Now remember,
Felix, to say your prayers; then go and wash your hands and face, and
then feed the pony." And if on any particular morning I were to leave
this reminder unsaid, and Felix left any, or all of these duties,
undone, and I were to ask him the reason, he would reply, "You did not
tell me."
With India waking up, there never was a time when she stands more in
need of some kindly person at her side to tell her what to do. She
needs to be taught to say her prayers, because with the old religion
gone and the True Faith dimly understood, India would be in the
appalling condition of a great country without a religion. We need to
tell her to wash her hands and face, because there are certain
elementary matters of sanitation which must be attended to if India is
ever to become a wholesome and prosperous country. And we have got to
teach her how to work, because India wide awake, but idle, might
easily become a source of great mischief.
Every Englishman who takes pleasure in the sense of Empire ought to
realise that it brings with it great responsibilities, and therefore
that every Englishman has a measure of responsibility towards India.
We must be taking care that, if when she is wide awake she fails to
fulfil her great vocation, at any rate she shall have no cause to
utter against us the reproach, You never told me.
A better understanding of what India and the people who live in it are
really like, seems to be the necessary preparation for sympathy and
work of any sort connected with that country; and to help, in however
small a degree, to bring about this end is the object of this book. I
have had unusually favourable and varied opportunities for getting to
know intimately the inner side of Indian life and character during a
somewhat long residence in this country. The contents of the book are
exceedingly miscellaneous because the daily experiences have been
equally so. Everything that is told is the outcome of my own personal
observations amongst a people to whom I am deeply attached, and I have
taken the utmost pains to record nothing of which I was not sure, and
to verify everything concerning which I was doubtful.
The photographs were all taken by Brother Arthur of our Society.
EDWARD F. ELWIN.
YERANDAWANA,
POONA DISTRICT, INDIA.
* * * * *
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. INTRODUCTORY 1
II. INDIAN HOSPITALITY 11
III. THE INDIAN VIEW OF NATURE AND ARCHITECTURE 17
IV. INDIAN EMPLOYEES OF LABOUR 24
V. THE INDIAN POSTAL SERVICE 32
VI. INDIANS AND ENGLISH CUSTOMS 40
VII. INDIAN UNPUNCTUALITY 48
VIII. INDIAN POVERTY 54
IX. INDIAN ART 60
X. THE INDIAN VILLAGE 66
XI. INDIAN ENTERTAINMENTS 74
XII. THE CONVERSION OF INDIA 83
XIII. MISSION WORK IN INDIA 89
XIV. INDIAN MUSIC 98
XV. INDIAN MEALS 105
XVI. HINDU PHILOSOPHY 111
XVII. HINDUS AND RELIGION 117
XVIII. RELIGIOUS PHASES IN INDIA 124
XIX. GAMES IN INDIA 130
XX. INDIAN WRESTLERS 137
XXI. BOOKS IN INDIA 143
XXII. INDIAN PAGEANTS 151
XXIII. THE INDIAN CHARACTER 157
XXIV. RELIGIOUS CONTROVERSY IN INDIA 164
XXV. WILD BEASTS IN INDIA 170
XXVI. SOME INDIAN ANIMALS 176
XXVII. THE INDIAN WORLD OF NATURE 182
XXVIII. INSECTS IN INDIA 188
XXIX. THE INDIAN ASCETIC 196
XXX. THE INDIAN WIDOW 204
XXXI. WRONGDOING IN INDIA 212
XXXII. PROPERTY IN INDIA 221
XXXIII. EAST AND WEST TRAVELLING 228
XXXIV. CUSTOMS OF EAST AND WEST 234
XXXV. SERVANTS IN INDIA 241
XXXVI. THE EDUCATED HINDU 247
XXXVII. UNFINISHED PLANS IN INDIA 256
XXXVIII. GIFTS IN INDIA 263
XXXIX. PROVERBIAL SAYINGS ABOUT INDIA 270
XL. INDIAN UNREST 278
XLI. THE ENGLISH IN INDIA 288
XLII. DISHONESTY IN INDIA 295
XLIII. INDIAN MOHAMMEDANS 302
XLIV. NIGHT ALARMS IN INDIA 309
XLV. THE INDIAN WASHERMAN 317
XLVI. AGRICULTURE IN INDIA 328
XLVII. EAST AND WEST ON BOARD SHIP 337
INDEX 347
* * * * *
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
FELIX TIPNIS _Frontispiece_
SWITHUN'S NEW HOME IN THE VILLAGE _To face page 16_
YERANDAWANA CHURCH FROM A DISTANCE " 20
THE INDIAN VILLAGE POSTMAN " 38
NARAYEN KHILARI, A FARMER'S SON " 42
THE KINDLY HINDU NEIGHBOUR AND HIS FAMILY " 48
A MODERN HOUSE IN POONA CITY " 60
MRS SALOME ZADHAW " 66
RAGU, THE NIGHT-WATCHMAN " 72
THE YERANDAWANA VILLAGE WRESTLERS " 138
NIRARI BHOSLE, THE MISCHIEVOUS VILLAGE BOY " 168
MILKING THE BUFFALO " 180
DOWD PHERIDE, THE EGG-MERCHANT'S SON " 198
SARLA KALU, THE YERANDAWANA WIDOW " 206
THE INDIAN BUTLER " 242
THE CEMETERY CROSS " 268
* * * * *
INDIA AND THE INDIANS
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTORY
Misconceptions about India. Hinduism. An "infernal
religion." Hindu mythology. Ascetics. Translations of Hindu
sacred books. Modern and ancient ways of teaching
Christianity. Danger of the incorporation of a false Christ
into Hinduism. Hindu India as it really is. Definitions of
"What is Hinduism?" from representative Hindus.
India is not really quite so mysterious a country as it appears to be
on first acquaintance. But you have to live there a long time before
things begin to reveal their real shape. It is only on the ground of
long residence, and frequent and often close intercourse with a great
variety of Indians, that I venture now and then to give some of my
experiences to others. India remains almost an unknown land to a large
number of people in spite of all that has been written or spoken about
it, and it is hard to dissipate the many misconceptions which exist
concerning the country. Some of these misconceptions came into being
years ago, but they have become stereotyped. They were presumably the
outcome of hasty conclusions drawn from superficial knowledge. But
even visitors to India often view the country in the light of
preconceived ideas which they have either heard or read of, and they
therefore fail to see things as they really are.
It is inevitable in dealing with Indian things that the defects of the
people of the country should occupy rather a prominent place. The
cause is their misfortune and not their fault. They have many
delightful natural characteristics, and the years that I have lived
amongst them have only served to increase my deep affection for | 3,216.4456 |
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
Transcriber’s Note:
This version of the text cannot represent certain typographical effects.
Bold and italic characters, which appear only in the advertisements, are
delimited with the ‘_’ and ‘=’ characters respectively, as ‘_italic_’ and
‘=bold=.’
The few minor errors, attributable to the printer, have been corrected.
Please see the transcriber’s note at the end of this text for details
regarding the handling of these issues.
POPULAR JUVENILE BOOKS,
BY HORATIO ALGER, JR.
----------
_RAGGED DICK SERIES._
_Complete in Six Volumes._
I. RAGGED DICK; or, Street Life in New York.
II. FAME AND FORTUNE; or, The Progress of Richard
Hunter.
III. MARK, THE MATCH BOY.
IV. ROUGH AND READY; or, Life Among New York Newsboys.
V. BEN, THE LUGGAGE BOY; or, Among the Wharves.
VI. RUFUS AND ROSE; or, The Fortunes of Rough and
Ready.
=_Price, $1.25 per volume._=
----------
_CAMPAIGN SERIES._
_Complete in Three Volumes._
I. FRANK’S CAMPAIGN.
II. PAUL PRESCOTT’S CHARGE.
III. CHARLIE CODMAN’S CRUISE.
=_Price, $1.25 per volume._=
----------
_LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES._
_To be completed in Six Volumes._
I. LUCK AND PLUCK; or, John Oakley’s Inheritance.
II. SINK OR SWIM; or, Harry Raymond’s Resolve.
III. STRONG AND STEADY; or, Paddle your own Canoe. (In
October, 1871.)
OTHERS IN PREPARATION.
=_Price, $1.50 per volume._=
----------
_TATTERED TOM SERIES._
_To be completed in Six Volumes._
I. TATTERED TOM; or, The story of a Street Arab.
II. PAUL, THE PEDDLER; or, The Adventures of a Young
Street Merchant. (In November, 1871.)
OTHERS IN PREPARATION.
=_Price, $1.25 per volume._=
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TATTERED TOM SERIES.
BY
HORATIO ALGER JR.
[Illustration]
TATTERED TOM.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TATTERED TOM;
OR,
THE STORY OF A STREET ARAB.
BY
HORATIO ALGER, JR.,
AUTHOR OF “RAGGED DICK SERIES,” “LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES,”
“CAMPAIGN SERIES.”
----------
LORING, Publisher,
COR. BROMFIELD AND WASHINGTON STREETS,
BOSTON.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by
A. K. LORING,
In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
Rockwell & Churchill, Printers and Stereotypers,
122 Washington Street, Boston.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
=To=
=AMOS AND O. AUGUSTA CHENEY,=
=This Volume=
IS DEDICATED
BY THEIR AFFECTIONATE BROTHER.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
PREFACE.
----------
When, three years since, the author published “Ragged Dick,” he was far
from anticipating the flattering welcome it would receive, or the degree
of interest which would be excited by his pictures of street life in New
York. The six volumes which comprised his original design are completed,
but the subject is not exhausted. There are yet other phases of street
life to be described, and other classes of street Arabs, whose fortunes
deserve to be chronicled.
“Tattered Tom” is therefore presented to the public as the initial
volume of a new series of six stories, which may be regarded as a
continuation of the “Ragged Dick Series.” Some surprise may be felt at
the discovery that Tom is a girl; but I beg to assure my readers that
she is not one of the conventional kind. Though not without her good
points, she will be found to differ very widely in tastes and manners
from the young ladies of twelve usually to be met in society. I venture
to hope that she will become a favorite in spite of her numerous faults,
and that no less interest will be felt in her fortunes than in those of
the heroes of earlier volumes.
NEW YORK, April, 1871.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TATTERED TOM;
OR,
THE ADVENTURES OF A STREET ARAB.
-------
CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCES TATTERED TOM.
Mr. Frederic Pelham, a young gentleman very daintily dressed, with
exquisitely fitting kids and highly polished boots, stood at the corner
of Broadway and Chambers Streets, surveying with some dismay the dirty
crossing, and speculating as to his chances of getting over without
marring the polish of his boots.
He started at length, and had taken two steps, when a dirty hand was
thrust out, and he was saluted by the request, “Gi’ me a penny, sir?”
“Out of my way, you bundle of rags!” he answered.
“You’re another!” was the prompt reply.
Frederic Pelham stared at the creature who had dared to imply that he—a
leader of fashion—was a bundle of rags.
The street-sweeper was apparently about twelve years of age. It was not
quite easy to determine whether it was a boy or girl. The head was
surmounted by a boy’s cap, the hair was cut short, it wore a boy’s
jacket, but underneath was a girl’s dress. Jacket and dress were both in
a state of extreme raggedness. The child’s face was very dark and, as
might be expected, dirty; but it was redeemed by a pair of brilliant
black eyes, which were fixed upon the young exquisite in an expression
half-humorous, half-defiant, as the owner promptly retorted, “You’re
another!”
“Clear out, you little nuisance!” said the dandy, stopping short from
necessity, for the little sweep had planted herself directly in his
path; and to step out on either side would have soiled his boots
irretrievably.
“Gi’ me a penny, then?”
“I’ll hand you to the police, you little wretch!”
“I aint done nothin’. Gi’ me a penny?”
Mr. Pelham, provoked, raised his cane threateningly.
But Tom (for, in spite of her being a girl, this was the name by which
she was universally known; indeed she scarcely knew any other) was wary.
She dodged the blow, and by an adroit sweep of her broom managed to
scatter some mud on Mr. Pelham’s boots.
“You little brat, you’ve muddied my boots!” he exclaimed, with vexation.
“Then why did you go for to strike me?” said Tom, defiantly.
He did not stop to answer, but hurried across the street. His pace was
accelerated by an approaching vehicle, and the instinct of
self-preservation, more powerful than even the dictates of fashion,
compelled him to make a détour through the mud, greatly to the injury of
his no longer immaculate boots. But there was a remedy for the disaster
on the other side.
“Shine your boots, sir?” asked a boot-black, who had stationed himself
at the other side of the crossing.
Frederic Pelham looked at his boots. Their glory had departed. Their
virgin gloss had been dimmed by plebeian mud. He grudged the
boot-black’s fee, for he was thoroughly mean, though he had plenty of
money at his command. But it was impossible to walk up Broadway in such
boots. Suppose he should meet any of his fashionable friends, especially
if ladies, his fashionable reputation would be endangered.
“Go ahead, boy!” he said. “Do your best.”
“All right, sir.”
“It’s the second time I’ve had my boots blacked this morning. If it
hadn’t been for that dirty sweep I should have got across safely.”
The boy laughed—to himself. He knew Tom well enough, and he had been an
interested spectator of her encounter with his present customer, having
an eye to business. But he didn’t think it prudent to make known his
thoughts.
The boots were at length polished, and Mr. Pelham saw with satisfaction
that no signs of the street mire remained.
“How much do you want, boy?” he asked.
“Ten cents.”
“I thought five cents was the price.”
“Can’t afford to work on no such terms.”
Mr. Pelham might have disputed the fee, but he saw an acquaintance
approaching, and did not care to be caught chaffering with a boot-black.
He therefore reluctantly drew out a dime, and handed it to the boy, who
at once deposited it in the pocket of a ragged vest.
He stood on the sidewalk on the lookout for another customer, when Tom
marched across the street, broom in hand.
“I say, Joe, how much did he give you?”
“Ten cents.”
“How much yer goin’ to give me?”
“Nothin’!”
“You wouldn’t have got him if I hadn’t muddied his boots.”
“Did you do it a-purpose?”
Tom nodded.
“What for?”
“He called me names. That’s one reason. Besides, I wanted to give you a
job.”
Joe seemed struck by this view, and, being alive to his own interest,
did not disregard the application.
“Here’s a penny,” he said.
“Gi’ me two.”
He hesitated a moment, then diving once more into his pocket, brought up
another penny, which Tom transferred with satisfaction to the pocket of
her dress.
“Shall I do it ag’in?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Joe. “I say, Tom, you’re a smart un.”
“I’d ought to be. Granny makes me smart whenever she gets a chance.”
Tom returned to the other end of the crossing, and began to sweep
diligently. Her labors did not extend far from the curbstone, as the
stream of vehicles now rapidly passing would have made it dangerous.
However, it was all one to Tom where she swept. The cleanness of the
crossing was to her a matter of comparative indifference. Indeed,
considering her own disregard of neatness, it could hardly have been
expected that she should feel very solicitous on that point. Like some
of her elders who were engaged in municipal labors, she regarded
street-sweeping as a “job,” out of which she was to make money, and her
interest began and ended with the money she earned.
There were not so many to cross Broadway at this point as lower down,
and only a few of these seemed impressed by a sense of the pecuniary
value of Tom’s services.
“Gi’ me a penny, sir,” she said to a stout gentleman.
He tossed a coin into the mud.
Tom darted upon it, and fished it up, wiping her fingers afterwards upon
her dress.
“Aint you afraid of soiling your dress?” asked the philanthropist,
smiling.
“What’s the odds?” said Tom, coolly.
“You’re a philosopher,” said the stout gentleman.
“Don’t you go to callin’ me names!” said Tom; “’cause if you do I’ll
muddy up your boots.”
“So you don’t want to be called a philosopher?” said the gentleman.
“No, I don’t,” said Tom, eying him suspiciously.
“Then I must make amends.”
He took a dime from his pocket, and handed it to the astonished Tom.
“Is this for me?” she asked.
“Yes.”
Tom’s eyes glistened; for ten cents was a nugget when compared with her
usual penny receipts. She stood in a brown study till her patron was
half across the street, then, seized with a sudden idea, she darted
after him, and tugged at his coat-tail.
“What’s wanted?” he asked, turning round in some surprise.
“I say,” said Tom, “you may call me that name ag’in for five cents
more.”
The ludicrous character of the proposal struck him, and he laughed with
amusement.
“Well,” he said, “that’s a good offer. What’s your name?”
“Tom.”
“Which are you,—a boy or a girl?”
“I’m a girl, but I wish I was a boy.”
“What for?”
“’Cause boys are stronger than girls, and can fight better.”
“Do you ever fight?”
“Sometimes.”
“Whom do you fight with?”
“Sometimes I fight with the boys, and sometimes with granny.”
“What makes you fight with your granny?”
“She gets drunk and fires things at my head; then I pitch into her.”
The cool, matter-of-fact manner in which Tom spoke seemed to amuse her
questioner.
“I was right,” he said; “you’re a philosopher,—a practical philosopher.”
“That’s more’n you said before,” said Tom; “I want ten cents for that.”
The ten cents were produced. Tom pocketed them in a business-like
manner, and went back to her employment. She wondered, slightly, whether
a philosopher was something very bad; but, as there was no means of
determining, sensibly dismissed the inquiry, and kept on with her work.
CHAPTER II
TOM GETS A SQUARE MEAL.
About twelve o’clock Tom began to feel the pangs of hunger. The exercise
which she had taken, together with the fresh air, had stimulated her
appetite. It was about the time when she was expected to go home, and
accordingly she thrust her hand into her pocket, and proceeded to count
the money she had received.
“Forty-two cents!” she said, at last, in a tone of satisfaction. “I
don’t generally get more’n twenty. I wish that man would come round and
call me names every day.”
Tom knew that she was expected to go home and carry the result of her
morning’s work to her granny; but the unusual amount suggested to her
another idea. Her mid-day meal was usually of the plainest and
scantiest,—a crust of dry bread, or a cold sausage on days of
plenty,—and Tom sometimes did long for something better. But generally
it would have been dangerous to appropriate a sufficient sum from her
receipts, as the deficit would have been discovered, and quick
retribution would have followed from her incensed granny, who was a
vicious old woman with a pretty vigorous arm. Now, however, she could
appropriate twenty cents without danger of discovery.
“I can get a square meal for twenty cents,” Tom reflected, “and I’ll do
it.”
But she must go home first, as delay would be dangerous, and have
disagreeable consequences.
She prepared for the visit by dividing her morning’s receipts into two
parcels. The two ten-cent scrips she hid away in the lining of her
tattered jacket. The pennies, including one five-cent scrip, she put in
the pocket of her dress. This last was intended for her granny. She then
started homewards, dragging her broom after her.
She walked to Centre Street, turned after a while into Leonard, and went
on, turning once or twice, until she came to one of the most wretched
tenement houses to be found in that not very choice locality. She passed
through an archway leading into an inner court, on which fronted a rear
house more shabby, if possible, than the front dwelling. The court was
redolent of odors far from savory; children pallid, dirty, and
unhealthy-looking, were playing about, filling the air with shrill
cries, mingled with profanity; clothes were hanging from some of the
windows; miserable and besotted faces were seen at others.
Tom looked up to a window in the fourth story. She could descry a woman,
with a pipe in her mouth.
“Granny’s home,” she said to herself.
She went up three flights, and, turning at the top, went to the door and
opened it.
It was a wretched room, containing two chairs and a table, nothing more.
On one of the chairs was seated a large woman, of about sixty, with a
clay pipe in her mouth. The room was redolent of the vilest
tobacco-smoke.
This was granny.
If granny had ever been beautiful, there were no traces of that
dangerous gift in the mottled and wrinkled face, with bleared eyes,
which turned towards the door as Tom entered.
“Why didn’t you come afore, Tom?” she demanded.
“I’m on time,” said Tom. “Clock aint but just struck.”
“How much have you got?”
Tom pulled out her stock of pennies and placed them in the woman’s
outstretched palm.
“There’s twenty-two,” she said.
“Umph!” said granny. “Where’s the rest?”
“That’s all.”
“Come here.”
Tom advanced, not reluctantly, for she felt sure that granny would not
think of searching her jacket, especially as she had brought home as
much as usual.
The old woman thrust her hand into the child’s pocket, and turned it
inside-out with her claw-like fingers, but not another penny was to be
found.
“Umph!” she grunted, apparently satisfied with her scrutiny.
“Didn’t I tell you so?” said Tom.
Granny rose from her chair, and going to a shelf took down a piece of
bread, which had become dry and hard.
“There’s your dinner,” said she.
“Gi’ me a penny to buy an apple,” said Tom,—rather by way of keeping up
appearances than because she wanted one. Visions of a more satisfactory
repast filled her imagination.
“You don’t want no apple. Bread’s enough,” said granny.
Tom was not much disappointed. She knew pretty well beforehand how her
application would fare. Frequently she made sure of success by buying
the apple and eating it before handing the proceeds of her morning’s
work to the old woman. To-day she had other views, which she was in a
hurry to carry out.
She took the bread, and ate a mouthful. Then she slipped it into her
pocket, and said, “I’ll eat it as I go along, granny.”
To this the old woman made no objection, and Tom went out.
In the court-yard below she took out her crust, and handed it to a
hungry-looking boy of ten, the unlucky offspring of drunken parents, who
oftentimes was unable to command even such fare as Tom obtained.
“Here, Tim,” she said, “eat that; I aint hungry.”
It was one of Tim’s frequent fast days, and even the hard crust was
acceptable to him. He took it readily, and began to eat it ravenously.
Tom looked on with benevolent interest, feeling the satisfaction of
having done a charitable act. The satisfaction might have been
heightened by the thought that she was going to get something better
herself.
“So you’re hungry, Tim,” she said.
“I’m always hungry,” said Tim.
“Did you have any breakfast?”
“Only an apple I picked up in the street.”
“He’s worse off than me,” thought Tom; but she had no time to reflect on
the superior privileges of her own position, for she was beginning to
feel hungry herself.
There was a cheap restaurant near by, only a few blocks away.
Tom knew it well, for she had often paused before the door and inhaled
enviously the appetizing odor of the dishes which were there vended to
patrons not over-fastidious, at prices accommodated to scantily lined
pocket-books. Tom had never entered, but had been compelled to remain
outside, wishing that a more propitious fortune had placed | 3,216.878831 |
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THE NORTH-WEST AMAZONS
[Illustration: BORO MEDICINE MAN, WITH MY RIFLE]
THE NORTH-WEST
AMAZONS
NOTES OF SOME MONTHS SPENT
AMONG CANNIBAL TRIBES
BY
THOMAS WHIFFEN
F.R.G.S., F.R.A.I.
CAPTAIN H.P. (14TH HUSSARS)
NEW YORK
DUFFIELD AND COMPANY
1915
_Printed in Great Britain_
TO THE MEMORY OF THE LATE
DR. ALFRED RUSSEL WALLACE, O.M.
THESE NOTES ARE DEDICATED
PREFACE
In presenting to the public the results of my journey through the lands
about the upper waters of the Amazon, I make no pretence of challenging
conclusions drawn by such experienced scientists as Charles Waterton,
Alfred Russel Wallace, Richard Spruce, and Henry Walter Bates, nor to
compete with the indefatigable industry of those recent explorers Dr.
Koch-Grünberg and Dr. Hamilton Rice.
Some months of the years 1908 and 1909 were passed by me travelling in
regions between the River Issa and the River Apaporis where white men had
scarcely penetrated previously. In the remoter parts of these districts
the tribes of nomad Indians are frankly cannibal on occasion, and provide
us with evidence of a condition of savagery that can hardly be found
elsewhere in the world of the twentieth century. It will be noted that
this area includes the Putumayo District.
With regard to the references in footnotes and appendices, I have
inserted them to suggest where similarities of culture or variations of
a given custom are to be found. These notes may be of some use to the
student of such problems as the question of cultural contact with Pacific
peoples, and at the least they represent the evidence on which I have
based my own conclusions.
THOMAS WHIFFEN.
LONDON, 1914.
CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER I
Introductory 1
CHAPTER II
Topography--Rivers--Floods and rainfall--Climate--Soil--Animal
and vegetable life--Birds--Flowers--Forest
scenery--Tracks--Bridges--Insect pests--Reptiles--Silence in
the forest--Travelling in the bush--Depressing effects of the
forest--Lost in the forest--Starvation the crowning horror 17
CHAPTER III
The Indian homestead--Building--Site and plan of
_maloka_--Furniture--Inhabitants of the house--Fire--Daily
life--Insect inhabitants--Pets 40
CHAPTER IV
Classification of Indian races--Difficulties of
tabulating--Language-groups and tribes--Names--Sources
of confusion--Witoto and Boro--Localities of
language-groups--Population of districts--Intertribal
strife--Tribal enemies and friends--Reasons
for endless warfare--Intertribal trade and
communications--Relationships--Tribal organisation--The
chief, his position and powers--Law--Tribal
council--Tobacco-drinking--Marriage system and
regulations--Position of women--Slaves 53
CHAPTER V
Dress and ornament--Geographical and tribal
differentiations--Festal attire--Feather
ornaments--Hair-dressing--Combs--Dance
girdles--Beads--Necklaces--Bracelets--Leg
rattles--Ligatures--Ear-rings--Use of labret--Nose
pins--Scarification--Tattoo--Tribal marks--Painting 71
CHAPTER VI
Occupations--Sexual division and tabu--Tribal manufactures--Arts
and crafts--Drawing--Carving--Metals--Tools and implements--No
textile fabrics--Pottery--Basket-making--Hammocks--Cassava-squeezer
and grater--Pestle and mortar--Wooden vessels--Stone axes--Methods
of felling trees--Canoes--Rafts--Paddles 90
CHAPTER VII
Agriculture--Plantations--Preparation of ground in
the forest--Paucity of agricultural instruments--Need
for diligence--Women’s incessant toil--No special
harvest-time--Maize the only grain grown--No use for
sugar--Manioc cultivation--Peppers--Tobacco--Coca
cultivation--Tree-climbing methods--Indian wood-craft--Indian
tracking--Exaggerated sporting yarns--Indian sense of locality
and accuracy of observation--Blow-pipes--Method of making
blow-pipes--Darts--Indian improvidence--Migration of game--Traps
and snares--Javelins--Hunting and fishing rights--Fishing--Fish
traps--Spearing and poisoning fish 102
CHAPTER VIII
The Indian armoury--Spears--Bows and arrows--Indian
strategy--Forest tactics and warfare--Defensive measures--Secrecy
and safety--The Indian’s science of war--Prisoners--War
and anthropophagy--Cannibal tribes--Reasons for cannibal
practices--Ritual of vengeance--Other causes--No intra-tribal
cannibalism--The anthropophagous feast--Human relics--Necklaces
of teeth--Absence of salt--Geophagy 115
CHAPTER IX
The food quest--Indians omnivorous eaters--Tapir and other animals
used for food--Monkeys--The peccary--Feathered game--Vermin--Eggs,
carrion, and intestines not eaten--Honey--Fish--Manioc--Preparation
of cassava--Peppers--The Indian hot-pot--Lack of salt--Indian
meals--Cooking--Fruits--Cow-tree milk 126
CHAPTER X
Drinks, drugs, and poisons: their use and preparation--Unfermented
drinks--_Caapi_--Fermented drinks--_Cahuana_--Coca: its
preparation, use, and abuse--_Parica_--Tobacco--Poison and
poison-makers 138
CHAPTER XI
Small families--Birth tabu--Birth customs--Infant
mortality--Infanticide--Couvade--Name-giving--Names--Tabu on
names--Childhood--Lactation--Food restrictions--Child-life and
training--Initiation 146
CHAPTER XII
Marriage regulations--Monogamy--Wards and
wives--Courtship--Qualifications for matrimony--Preparations
for marriage--Child marriages--Exception to patrilocal
custom--Marriage ceremonies--Choice of a mate--Divorce--Domestic
quarrels--Widowhood 159
CHAPTER XIII
Sickness--Death by poison--Infectious diseases--Cruel treatment of
sick and aged--Homicide--Retaliation for murder--Tribal and
personal quarrels--Diseases--Remedies--Death--Mourning--Burial 168
CHAPTER XIV
The medicine-man, a shaman--Remedies and cures--Powers and
duties of the medicine-man--Virtue of breath--Ceremonial
healing--Hereditary office--Training--Medicine-man and
tigers--Magic-working--Properties--Evil always due to bad
magic--Influence of medicine-man--Method of magic-working--Magical
cures 178
CHAPTER XV
Indian dances--Songs without meaning--Elaborate preparations--The
Chief’s | 3,216.892775 |
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INTERNATIONAL INCIDENTS
CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS
London: FETTER LANE, E.C.
C. F. CLAY, MANAGER
_Edinburgh_: 100, PRINCES STREET
_London_: STEVENS AND SONS, LTD., 119 AND 120, CHANCERY LANE
_Berlin_: A. ASHER AND CO.
_Leipzig_: F. A. BROCKHAUS
_New York_: G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
_Bombay and Calcutta_: MACMILLAN AND Co., LTD.
[_All Rights reserved_]
INTERNATIONAL INCIDENTS
FOR
DISCUSSION
IN CONVERSATION CLASSES
BY
L. OPPENHEIM, M.A., LL.D.
WHEWELL PROFESSOR OF INTERNATIONAL LAW
IN THE UNIVERSITY OF CAMBRIDGE
ASSOCIATE OF THE INSTITUTE OF INTERNATIONAL LAW
Cambridge:
at the University Press
1909
_Cambridge:_
PRINTED BY JOHN CLAY, M.A.
AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS.
Transcribers' Note: Inconsistent punctuation printed in the original
text has been retained.
PREFACE
For many years I have pursued the practice of holding conversation
classes following my lectures on international law. The chief
characteristic of these classes is the discussion of international
incidents as they occur in everyday life. I did not formerly possess
any collection, but brought before the class such incidents as had
occurred during the preceding week. Of late I have found it more useful
to preserve a record of some of these incidents and to add to this
nucleus a small number of typical cases from the past as well as some
problem cases, which were invented for the purpose of drawing the
attention of the class to certain salient points of international law.
As I was often asked by my students and others to bring out a
collection of incidents suitable for discussion, and as the printing of
such a little book frees me from the necessity of dictating the cases
to my students, I have, although somewhat reluctantly, made up my mind
to publish the present collection.
I need hardly emphasise the fact that this collection is not intended
to compete either with Scott's _Cases on International Law, selected
from decisions of English and American Courts_, or with Pitt
Cobbett's _Leading Cases and Opinions on International Law_, both
of which are collections of standard value, but intended for quite
other purposes than my own.
I have spent much thought in the endeavour to class my incidents into a
number of groups, but having found all such efforts at grouping futile,
I therefore present them in twenty-five sections, each containing four
cases of a different character. Experience has shewn me that in a class
lasting two hours I am able to discuss the four cases contained in
these sections.
I have taken special care not to have two similar cases within the same
section, for although there are no two cases exactly alike in the
collection, there are several possessing certain characteristics in
common. It is one of the tasks of the teacher and the students
themselves to group together such of my cases as they may think are
related to each other by one or more of these traits.
It has been suggested that notes and hints should be appended to each
case, but the purpose for which the collection is published is better
served by giving the incidents devoid of any explanatory matter. Should
this book induce other teachers of international law to adopt my method
of seminar work, it must be left to them to stimulate their classes in
such a way as to enable the students to discover on their own
initiative the solution of the problems.
I gladly accepted the suggestion of the publishers that the cases
should be printed on writing paper and on one side of the page only, so
that notes may be taken and additional cases added.
I am greatly indebted to Mr Dudley Ward, of St John's College,
Cambridge, my assistant, who has prepared the cases for the press and
read the proofs. In deciding upon the final form of each case so many
of his suggestions have been adopted that in many instances I do not
know what is my own and what is his work.
L. O.
WHEWELL HOUSE,
CAMBRIDGE,
_June 12th, 1909_.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PAGE
SECTION I.
1. A Councillor of Legation in Difficulties 1
2. Neutral Goods on Enemy Merchantman 1
3. American Coasting Trade 3
4. A German Balloon in Antwerp 3
SECTION II.
5. Use of the White Flag 5
6. A South American "Pseudo-Republic" 5
7. A Tavern Brawl 9
8. A Threatened Diplomatic Rupture 11
SECTION III.
9. Death Sentence on Russian Terrorists 11
10. The Case of De Jager 13
11. A Kidnapped Chinaman 15
12. A Case of Bigamy 15
SECTION IV.
13. A Shot across the Frontier 17
14. A Revolted Prize 17
15. Investments Abroad 19
16. Russian Coasting Trade 19
SECTION V.
17. Exceeding the Speed Limit 21
18. A New-born Island 21
19. An Irate Queen 23
20. An Incident in the Black Sea 23
SECTION VI.
21. The Case of the _Trent_ 25
22. A Double Murderer 25
23. A Masterful Customs Official 27
24. Russian Refugees and Foreign Asylum 27
SECTION VII.
25. A Conversion at Sea 29
26. A Frontier Affray 31
27. General Vukotitch 31
28. An Anglo-French Burglar 33
SECTION VIII.
29. Signals of Distress 35
30. A Change of Parts 35
31. Violation of a Foreign Flag 37
32. A Pickpocket at Sea 37
SECTION IX.
33. Gypsies in Straits 39
34. A Question of Annexation 41
35. Disputed Fisheries 41
36. Imperial Coasting Trade 43
SECTION X.
37. A Russian Crime tried in Austria 43
38. Stratagem or Perfidy 45
39. Murder of a German Consul in Mexico 47
40. Cossacks at Large 49
SECTION XI.
41. Islanders in Revolt 49
42. Seizure of Ambassadors 51
43. An Envoy in Debt 51
44. Treaty Bargaining 53
SECTION XII.
45. A Fallen President 53
46. A Murder in Monaco 55
47. A Question of Interpretation 57
48. The Island of Santa Lucia 57
SECTION XIII.
49. An Attache's Chauffeur 59
50. In Quest of Balata 61
51. A "Sujet Mixte" 63
52. Koreans at the Hague Peace Conference 63
SECTION XIV.
53. The Adventures of a South American Physician 65
54. Extradition of a British Subject 65
55. The Case of the _Oldhamia_ 69
56. An Ambassador's Estate 73
SECTION XV.
57. Dangers of Ballooning 75
58. Family Honour 75
59. An Ocean Chase 77
60. The _Maori King_ 77
SECTION XVI.
61. The Island of Rakahanga 79
62. A Complaint against the Police 79
63. A Man with two Wives 81
64. A Murder on a Mail Boat 81
SECTION XVII.
65. Persian Disorders 83
66. The Expulsion of Monsieur de Reus 85
67. The Case of McLeod 87
68. A Thwarted Suicide 87
SECTION XVIII.
69. An Insult to an Ambassador 89
70. A Question of Legitimacy 89
71. The Coachman of an Envoy 91
72. The Case of Schnaebele 91
SECTION XIX.
73. Amelia Island 93
74. Representation to China 93
75. Exemption from Rates 95
76. Errant Balloons 97
SECTION XX.
77. Sully in England 97
78. Homicide by an Attache 99
79. A Disputed Capture 99
80. The Punishment for Murder 101
SECTION XXI.
81. A Traitor's Fate 101
82. An Interrupted Armistice 103
83. Shooting Affray in a Legation 103
84. The Surrender of Port Arthur 105
SECTION XXII.
85. An Ambassador's Brother 105
86. A Detained Steamer 107
87. Prussia and the Poles 107
88. A Charmed Life 109
SECTION XXIII.
89. A Daring Robbery 111
90. The Fall of Abdul Hamid 113
91. A President Abroad 113
92. A Rejected Ambassador 117
SECTION XXIV.
93. Revictualling of a Fortress 119
94. Dutch Reprisals 119
95. Birth on the High Seas 121
96. A High-handed Action 121
SECTION XXV.
97. The _Southern Queen_ 123
98. A Three-cornered Dispute 123
99. Russian Revolutionary Outrage in Paris 125
100. The Detention of Napoleon I. 127
SECTION I
1. _A Councillor of Legation in difficulties._
In 1868 the French journalist Leonce Dupont, the owner of the Parisian
newspaper _La Nation_, became bankrupt. It was discovered that this
paper was really founded by the councillor of the Russian legation in
Paris, Tchitcherine, who had supplied the funds necessary to start it,
for the purpose of influencing public opinion in Russian interests. The
creditors claimed that Tchitcherine was liable for the debts of Dupont,
and brought an action against him.
2. _Neutral Goods on Enemy Merchantman._
A belligerent man-of-war sinks his prize, an enemy merchantman, on
account of the impossibility of sparing a prize crew. Part of the cargo
belongs to neutral owners, who claim compensation for the loss of their
goods.
3. _American Coasting Trade._
In 1898, after having acquired the Philippines and the island of Puerto
Rico from Spain by the peace treaty of Paris, and in 1899, after having
acquired the Hawaiian Islands, the United States declared trade between
any of her ports and these islands to be coasting trade, and reserved
it exclusively for American vessels.
4. _A German Balloon in Antwerp._
The following telegram appeared in the _Morning Post_ of April 7th,
1909, dated Brussels, April 6th:
"An incident which is regarded with some seriousness by Belgians has
occurred at Antwerp. A balloon which for a time was observed to be more
or less stationary over the forts finally came to earth in close
proximity to them. It proved to be a German balloon, the _Dusseldorf
No. 3_, controlled by two men, who, on being interrogated by the
Commander of the fortifications, declared themselves to be merely a
banker and a farmer interested in ballooning in an amateur fashion, who
had been obliged to descend. The General commanding the Territorial
Division adjoining Antwerp was informed of the incident. On an inquiry
being opened it was found that the aeronauts were none other than two
German officers, and that the balloon forms part of the German Army
_materiel_. The Minister for War was immediately informed, and he has
communicated the facts of the case to his colleagues. The inquiry is
being continued. In the balloon was found a quantity of photographic
apparatus."
SECTION II
5. _The Use of the White Flag._
During war between states A and B, an outlying fort of a harbour of
state A is being bombarded by the fleet of state B, and is in danger of
capture. Suddenly the white flag is hoisted on the fort, and a boat
flying a white flag and carrying an officer and some men leaves the
fort and makes for the flagship of the bombarding fleet. Thereupon the
fleet receives the order to cease firing. Shortly after this has been
carried out, the boat flying the white flag, instead of continuing its
course, returns to the fort. Under cover of this manoeuvre the
bombarded garrison succeeds in abandoning the fort and withdrawing in
safety.
6. _A South American "Pseudo-republic."_
The following appeared in the _Times_ of April 26th, 1904:
"The utility for the practical politician of the study of that branch
of sociology to which M. Lebon has given the non-classical name of the
psychology of crowds is amusingly demonstrated in the fact of the
efforts of the still nebulous State of Counany to materialize and to
attain a separate and independent existence among the South American
Republics. What is taking place would seem to be a simple phenomenon of
suggestion, induced by the example of Panama. The fate of the vague
territory known as Counany had been settled, as every one supposed, by
the arbitral sentence of the Swiss Tribunal by which this region, with
which France and Brazil had played diplomatic battledore and
shuttlecock for more than 175 years, was finally handed over to the
latter Power.
"Brazil has never, it appears, taken effective possession of Counany,
and the population, whose flag, if | 3,216.986052 |
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Produced by Charles Bowen, from scans obtained from The
Internet Archive.
Transcriber's notes:
1. Source is Web Archive
"http://www.archive.org/details/jenorsedan00beyerich."
2. [oe] is the diphthong oe.
'JENA' OR 'SEDAN'?
FROM THE GERMAN OF
FRANZ ADAM BEYERLEIN
LONDON
WILLIAM HEINEMANN
1905
_All rights reserved_
Publisher's Note
_The German original of this novel had a larger circulation in the
first year of its career than any novel of our days, close upon one
quarter of a million copies having been sold. It was praised by some as
a superb piece of imaginative literature of the realistic school: by
others it has been anathematised as a libel on the great army that made
Modern Germany. The truth about it is probably best summarised in the
words of a reviewer of the_ "_Daily Mail_":
"_The author holds up the mirror with impartiality, without
fear or passion, and with an unmistakably friendly intention,
and asks_, '_Where art thou going? Towards Jena or Sedan?_'"
_It is perhaps unnecessary to remind the English reader in
explanation of the title that Jena stands for French supremacy and
German defeat--Sedan for German victory and a French debacle; but he
should be warned that in this truthful mirror of life there may be
details liable to shock insular notions. The author could not shrink
from such in the fulfilment of his task, which was to give the
truth--the whole truth and nothing but the truth. His work must be
judged not only as a novel (and assuredly as such it is a most
admirable and artistic piece of work), but it must be regarded also as
the cry of a patriot who loves his country above anything in the
world. This is most completely realised in the following opening
sentences of a long and careful review given to the original by the_
"_Spectator_":--
"_The Englishman who is acutely distressed by the report of
shortcomings in the German Army can hardly be human. The frank pleasure
which the Germans took in our troubles is too recent to be quite
forgotten, even by a people so forgetful as we are. But for all that,
only those who crave for the_ '_wicked joys of the soul_,' _which grow,
the poet tells us, near by the gates of hell, can lay down Herr
Beyerlein's story without a sense of sadness. In spite of its freshness
and its humour, there breathes through it that note of disappointment,
almost of lassitude, which is not seldom audible in Germany to-day. If
is as though the nation, which has travelled such an astonishing
distance in the last thirty years, were pausing to ask_, '_Is this all
that has come of it?_'
"_Herr Beyerlein's theme is the decadence of the German Army. That
it is decadent he has no doubt at all, and he is a close, careful and
not unfriendly observer. But the writer who deals boldly and broadly
with the German Army is in reality dealing with a much larger subject.
The British Army is a piece cut from the stuff of which the nation is
made, and shaped to a particular end. In Germany the whole material of
the nation passes through the Army, and is to some extent shaped and
in the process; if does not come out precisely as it went in.
German military training is an iron pressure to which men cannot be
submitted for two years at an impressionable age and remain unchanged.
Symptoms of decay in the Army point, therefore, not only to possible
disaster abroad, but to demoralisation at home; and it is with this
aspect of his subject that Herr Beyerlein is chiefly concerned._"
JENA OR SEDAN?
CHAPTER I
"Must I go, must I go,
Away into the town?"
(_Swabian Folk-song._)
Franz Vogt was on his way home. He carried a neatly tied-up parcel
containing the under-linen and the boots that he had been buying in the
town. He had trodden this same road a countless number of times during
his life; but now that he must bid good-bye to it so soon, the old
familiar surroundings presented themselves to him in a new light.
Of course it was not good-bye for ever, nor was it even as though he
were going to America. At the most he would only be away for his two
years of military service, and between-whiles there would, he supposed,
be leave now and again; moreover, this was not the first time he had
left the village. But there was one circumstance peculiar to this going
away--he was obliged to go.
Franz Vogt did not trouble his head much about the why and the
wherefore of this obligation. He reasoned it out thus: Germany had
enemies--the French and the Russians, to wit--who might some day and
for some unknown reason begin a war; therefore, of course, it behoved
Germany to keep watch and ward, and for that soldiers were necessary.
Furthermore, there was a certain consolation in the thought that
this authoritative call took no respect of persons; the sons of
the two richest peasants in the village had been called up just like
himself--they to the Uhlans, he to the field-artillery.
The life, however, must be so different from anything hitherto
experienced that one could not but feel a little nervous about it. For
the men on leave whom he had come across were never tired of talking
about the hard words and harder usage that fell to a soldier's lot.
Never mind! hard words break no bones. He was strong and active; no one
had done better than he in athletics. One must take things as they
come, and perhaps after all they won't turn out as bad as they have
been painted.
The young man pushed his hat back from his brow and began to whistle
as he stepped forward more briskly.
It was fairly warm for October. The broad dusty road that led onward
up the hill lay shining as brightly in the sun as if it were July and
the corn rising on either side, tall and golden. But instead the
stubble showed in paler streaks against the darker ground that was
already prepared for a new sowing. Further on in the valley green
meadows stretched away to the border-line of a forest.
On the hither side of those woods, but disappearing at last in the
dense verdure, ran the straight line of the railway. A cloud of white
smoke could just be seen above the trees, and then the train would
glide out into the open. By that line Franz Vogt must travel on the
morrow to the place where he would have to sojourn for the next two
years; and again the thought, "How shall I get on there?" forced
itself upon his mind, and absorbed his thoughts until he reached the
cross-roads where stood the paternal dwelling. Years ago, when toll was
still levied on the highway, it had been the gate-keeper's cottage; and
Franz Vogt's father, the last turnpike-keeper, had bought it from the
State when the toll was abolished. Nearly twenty years had gone by
since the white-painted barrier had been let down at night for the last
time, but the little house remained the same in appearance. His father
had even stuck the old barrier up in the garden, and had nailed at the
top a box for the starlings to nest in; every spring a pair of birds
built there.
And his father himself, how little he had altered! Only the beard,
which he wore after the fashion of the old Emperor William, had become
more and more grey, and the hair of his head had retreated from the
crown in an ever-widening circle. But the old man who now stepped to
the door held himself as stiff and erect as ever; the eyes looked forth
from beneath the bushy eyebrows with a stern yet kindly gaze, and the
deep voice rang out with military precision and sharpness.
"Why, boy," he cried, "you're looking quite dashed! Shaking in your
shoes about to-morrow, eh? See what comes of having a woman for your
mother! Come along in." He preceded his son into the parlour, and made
him exhibit his purchases.
"Dear, very dear, all these odds and ends!" he grumbled; but finally
declared himself pleased that Franz had preserved intact a good portion
of the money entrusted to him.
"That you can keep," said his father; "for you know at first you'll
have nothing more from me. By-and-bye, perhaps, a few groschen now and
then; but first you must learn to shift for yourself. That's always
good for one. I had to get along on my pay the whole time, from the
first year to the fifteenth. Now go up and pack your traps, and make
everything shipshape."
At supper the fare was no more sumptuous than usual; but Franz was
surprised to see that his father had set out two smoked sausages
instead of one.
"To-morrow, boy," said the old man, "you'll have regimental black
bread. Good nourishing stuff! You'll soon like it." And | 3,217.045638 |
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images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
[Illustration: _Nine Little Tar Heels._]
_Tar Heel Tales_
_By
H. E. C. Bryant_
“_Red Buck_”
_Stone & Barringer Co.
Charlotte, N. C.
1910_
COPYRIGHT, 1909,
BY STONE & BARRINGER CO.
TO JOSEPH PEARSON CALDWELL
MOST OF THESE STORIES YOU HAVE SEEN, SOME YOU HAVE PRAISED, WHILE
OTHERS, NEWLY WRIT, YOU HAVE NOT BEEN ABLE TO SEE ON ACCOUNT OF YOUR
UNFORTUNATE ILLNESS, BUT, TO YOU, THE PRINCE OF TAR HEELS, I DEDICATE
ALL, IN LOVING REMEMBRANCE OF FIFTEEN YEARS OF INTIMATE ACQUAINTANCE,
FAITHFUL FRIENDSHIP, AND MOST DELIGHTFUL COMPANIONSHIP.
PREFACE
These tales, concerning all sorts and conditions of people, were written
by H. E. C. Bryant, better known as Red Buck. As staff correspondent
of The Charlotte Observer, Mr. Bryant visited every corner of North
Carolina, and in his travels over the state wrote many stories of human
interest, depicting life and character as he found it. His first impulse
to publish his stories in book form resulted from an appreciation of
his work by the lamented Harry Myrover, a very scholarly writer of
Fayetteville, who said:
“I have been struck frequently at how the predominant mental
characteristic sticks out in Mr. Bryant. His sense of humor is as keen as
a razor. He sees a farce while other men are looking at a funeral, and
this exquisite sense of humor is liable to break out at any time--even in
church. One may read after him seriously, as he reports the proceedings
of a big event but toward the last the whole thing is likely to burst
out in an irrepressible guffaw, at some very quaint, funny reflection or
criticism, or an inadversion. All this shows out, too, from the personal
side of the man, making him delightful in talk, and altogether one of the
most entertaining fellows one will meet in many a day’s journey.
“I really think there is more individuality about his writings, than
about those of any other writer of the state. Every page sparkles and
bubbles with the humor of the man, and it is a clean, wholesome humor,
there being nothing in it to wound, but everything to cheer and please.”
These words honestly spoken by Mr. Myrover encouraged Mr. Bryant. Red
Buck’s dialect stories soon obtained a state wide reputation, and as
Mr. J. P. Caldwell, the gifted editor of The Charlotte Observer, truly
said: “His <DW64> dialect stories are equal to those of Joel Chandler
Harris--Uncle Remus.”
His friends will be delighted to know that he has collected some of the
best of his stories, and that they are presented here.
In North Carolina there is no better known man than Red Buck. A letter
addressed to “Red Buck, North Carolina,” would be delivered to H. E.
C. Bryant, at Charlotte. Everybody in the state knows the big hearted,
auburn haired Scotch-Irishman of the Mecklenburg colony, who, on leaving
college went to work on The Charlotte Observer and, on account of his
cardinal locks, rosy complexion and gay and game way, was dubbed “Red
Buck” by the editor, Mr. Caldwell. It was an office name for a time. Then
it became state property, and the name “Bryant” perished.
Red Buck has traveled all over the state of North Carolina and written
human interest stories from every sand-hill and mountain cove. Many Tar
Heels know him by no other name than Red Buck. In fact there is a Red
Buck fad in the state, which has resulted in a Red Buck brand of whiskey,
a Red Buck cigar, a Red Buck mule, a Red Buck pig, and a Red Buck
rooster, although the man for whom they are named drinks not, neither
does he smoke.
This book of Tar Heel tales is from Mr. Bryant’s cleverest work.
THOMAS J. PENCE.
Washington Press Gallery.
December, 1909.
CONTENTS
PAGE
_Uncle Ben’s Last Fox Race_ 1
_Forty Acres and a Mule_ 11
_The Spaniel and the Cops_ 33
_A Hound of the Old Stock_ 43
_Minerva--The Owl_ 58
_Uncle Derrick in Washington_ 68
_And the Signs Failed Not_ 79
_The Irishman’s Game Cock_ 97
_Strange Vision of Arabella_ 112
_A <DW64> and His Friend_ 125
_Faithful Unto Death_ 142
_“Red Buck”: Where I Came By It_ 153
_Until Death Do Us Part_ 168
_Uncle George and the Englishman_ 181
_She Didn’t Like my Yellow Shoes_ 191
_Afraid of the Frowsy Blonde_ 199
_Jan Pier--The Shoeshine_ 206
_William and Appendicitis_ 214
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
_Nine Little Tar Heels_ Frontispiece
_Uncle Ben_ 1
_Aunt Matt_ 11
_Tite, Riding a Democratic Ox_ 27
_Marse Lawrence and Trouble_ 43
_Uncle Derrick at Home_ 68
_Preparing for the Guest_ 79
_Arabella the Day After_ 112
_Jim in a Peaceful Mood_ 125
_William_ 214
[Illustration: _Uncle Ben._]
TAR HEEL TALES
UNCLE BEN’S LAST FOX RACE
“Me an’ Marse Jeems is all uv de ole stock dat’s lef’,” said Uncle Ben,
an ex-slave of the Morrow family, of Providence township.
“Yes, Miss Lizzie, she’s daid, an’ ole Marster, he’s gone to jine her.
It’s des me an’ Marse Jeems, an’ he’s in furrin parts. He sole de ole
farm, all cep’n’ dis here little spot dat he lef’ fur me an’ Ellen. An’
Ellen, she’s daid an’ de ole <DW65>’s by hissef.
“Dey ain’t no foks lak dem here now. De times is done changed. Me an’
Marse Wash wuz de big uns here when he wuz livin’. All dis lan’ an’ dese
farms belonged to him. But Marse Jeems he’s done come to be er fine
doctor, an’ stays in New York.
“Evybudy’s gone an’ lef’ me.
“De horses an’ de houns, too, dey’re all gone.
“I guess I ain’t here fur long, but I sho’ woul’ lak to see ole Marster,
an’ Miss Lizzie, an’ Sam, an’ Cindy, an’ Mollie, de hosses, an’ Joe,
Jerry, Loud, Dinah, Sing, an’ Hannah, de dogs.”
The old darkey was on his death bed. He spoke in a weak but charming
voice. His mind was wandering, returning to the past. He had been his
old master’s hunting companion, his whipper-in, and their black and tan
hounds were famous for speed, casting ahead at a loss and hard driving.
They could catch a red fox or make him take to the earth.
Old Ben was a hunter from his heart. He loved the running dog, the fast
horse and the chase. The pleasant days of years long since passed were
coming back to him. He longed for one more run with the old Morrow
hounds. Those who watched by the death bed in the little cabin, waiting
for the final summons, listened to Ben’s stories of the past. Dr. Smith
had telegraphed for Dr. James Morrow, the last of his family, and told
him that the old man wanted to see him and say good-bye. Loyal to the
last the young master was hurrying from the North to the old home place
to be present when the faithful servant departed this life. He had asked
Dr. Smith to make the last hours as comfortable as possible and to
gratify Uncle Ben’s every wish.
It was almost midnight that October day; the moon was shining gloriously,
the ground damp from recent rain and the weather fine for a fox hunt. The
scenting conditions were well-nigh perfect. Dr. Morrow had just arrived,
but old Ben did not know him.
“Yes, sir, Marse Wash, all’s ready fur de hunt,” said the <DW64> in his
delirium.
“Ever thing’s right an’ ole Hannah’s been clawin’ at my do’ fur de las’
hour. She’s mighty anxious to try dat ole Stinson fiel’ fox dis evnin’.
De horses is done saddled an’ nothin’ to do but start.
“Des listen at Sing an’ Jerry, dey’s powful anxious to go!”
It was pathetic to hear the old fellow talking to his master who had been
dead many years, but he seemed happy. There was no way to stop him if
those there should have desired to do so.
“Blow yo’ horn, boss, an’ let Marse Sam Stitt jine us ef he will. Dat’ll
do, I hear ’im. He’s comin’.”
For a time Uncle Ben was quiet. His lips worked and he seemed to be
talking to himself. But, after a long silence, he lifted his head from
the pillow and exclaimed: “Listen! Listen, Marse Wash! Hear dat bark?
Dat’s ole Sly, Marse Sam’s Georgy dog. She’s done slip in dere an’ strike
er head uv ole Hannah!
“Listen! Hear her callin’? Marse Wash, dat Sly looks lak er steppin’ dog
an’ she sho’ is gwine to give Joe some hard runnin’ dis mornin’ ef we
jump dat Stinson fox.
“Listen, listen, listen, Marse Wash, I hear our dogs puttin’ in! Dere’s
ole Sing, ole Loud and Joe. It’s time fur dat fox to walk erway now, ole
Joe ain’t in no foolin’ way to-night. He sho’ is ready to run. Listen,
Marse Wash, you hear him callin’.”
Uncle Ben dropped back on the pillow, and rested a few minutes. Everybody
in the room was silent. It seemed only an hour or so. The old man had
run his race and his time had come.
“Hear dat, Marse Wash? Listen how dat Georgy lady’s singin’ in dere. She
an’ ole Joe’s neck to neck. Deyer comin’ down thu de Hartis woods now
an’ ’tain’t gwine to be long till dey make dat fox run. Ef it’s de ole
Stinson fox dey’ll ’roust him in de Rea pastur’. Dat’s whay he’s feedin’
dis time er night.
“Dat’s it! Listen, you hear ole Loud crossin’ dat hill? He’s scoutin’
now. De fus’ thing you know he’ll be right behint dat rascal. He ain’t
sayin’ much, but he’s movin’ on.
“Dat’s Joe fallin’ in, an’ Jerry, an’ Dinah!
“Deyer all crossin’ to de pastur. Dat’s whay ole Stinson Fiel’ do his
eatin’ ’bout dis time. Well, ef he’s in dere to-night you’ll hear dem
dogs cry out lak dey wuz mad derectly.”
At irregular intervals the old darkey would stop and catch his breath.
There was a smile upon his face and spirit in his voice. Death came on
and he was having his last fox chase. The old Morrow hounds trailed the
famous Stinson Field fox and were about to make a jump. Capt. Sam Stitt’s
dogs were putting in and the quality of a new hound would be tested. The
contest promised to be exciting.
“Hear dat Sly, wid dat chop, chop bark, an’ er sort uv er squeal! She’s
right wid ole Joe.
“Listen, Marse Wash, ole Loud’s done driv him out!
“Des listen how he’s shoutin’!
“Dey’s gone toads de Big Rock an’ dey sho’ is flyin’. Ef it’s de ole
fiel’ feller he’ll drap erroun’ by de Cunnigin place des to let ’em know
dat he’s up an’ doin’ an den he’ll come back dis way.
“Whoopee, but ain’t dey movin’! Listen at ole Joe wid his ‘yowl’ holler.
He’s des kickin’ dust in de faces uv de res’ uv dem dogs.
“Yes, sir, he’s gone right square to dat Cunnigin place. It’s ole
Stinson an’ he’s walkin’ erbout.
“I des kin hear ’em. Dey’s sucklin’ ’roun de ole house now.”
There was a break in the story. Uncle Ben stopped to rest. The dogs had
gone out of his hearing.
“Listen, Marse Wash, dey’re comin’ back! Ole Joe’s runnin’ lak he’s
skeered. Some dog mus’ be crowdin’ him? Yes, sir, it’s de Stinson fox,
an’ he’s comin’ dis way. See, comin’ over de hill? Dat’s him! Look how
he’s lopin’! He knows dat ole Joe ain’t arter no foolin’ dis night.
“See, yonder’s de dogs! Dey’re travlin’ arter him. Look at dat pale red
houn’! Dat’s Sly, an’ she’s steppin’ lak de groun’ wuz hot! She ain’t
givin’ ole Joe time to open his mouf wide. I knowed some dog wuz pushin’
him.
“Here dey come down to de branch! Ain’t dey movin’? Dey’re goin’ to de
Hartis woods, an’ on toads Providence church. But ain’t dey flyin’? I dis
kin hear dem!”
As the dogs went out of hearing toward the east the old hunter lay back
and hushed his tongue. He was running the race that he had run many times
before.
“Listen, Marse Wash, I hear ’em crossin’ de Providence road, comin’ back.
Dey’re drivin’ to kill ole Stinson now. I ’clar’ fo’ de Lawd I never
heered dat Joe run lak he’s runnin’ dis night. He’s almos’ flyin’.
“But hush, listen, don’t you hear dat ‘Whoo-ark, whoo-ark, whoo-ark’ in
dere? Dat’s Sly, an’ she sho’ is shovin’ dat fox an’ crowdin’ Joe.
“Hear dat? She’s crossin’ de big hill fust.
“Dey’re turnin’! He’s makin’ fur de Big Rock, but he ain’t gut time to
make it.
“Listen, Marse Wash, dat Georgy dog’s ’bout to outdo ole Joe! She’s
comin’ lak de wind. I don’t hear ole Joe. He won’t bark ef he gits
behind. He mus’ be tryin’ to head off dat Sly bitch.
“Look! Yon dey go ’cross de cotton fiel’ an’ Joe an’ Sly is side to side.
“Whoopee, ain’t dey goin’? Ole Joe sho’ is doin’ about, but Sly’s on his
heels.
“Dey’s goin’ to ketch dat fox. Git up Sam an’ less see ’em kill him! Go
on! Come on, Marse Wash!”
For the first time during the night the old darkey became very much
excited and jumped and surged in the bed. Those near tried to calm him.
But the race was almost over. Uncle Ben’s summons had come. The angel of
death was at the door.
“Look, Marse Wash, ole Joe’s in de lead. He sees dat fox an’ he’s done
lef’ Sly. He’s runnin’ fur blood.
“See him! Look! Look! Ole Stinson Fiel’s ’bout to git to de thicket! See,
he can’t make it! Joe’s grabbin’ at him! Look! Look!”
That was all. Uncle Ben was giving up the ghost. Death came on him. The
final summons had arrived. As old Joe bore down the fox the faithful
servant of the Morrow family passed away. As the end drew nigh Dr. Morrow
and Dr. Smith and other friends who had assembled around the bed stood
near and watched the light go out. Everything around was still. Death was
easy.
The remains were buried in the Morrow family’s private burial grounds.
Ben was the last of the old slave stock. In his delirium he had called
back his old master, the old horses and the old hounds, and died happy in
the delusion.
[Illustration: _Aunt Matt._]
FORTY ACRES AND A MULE
“What about your husband and the ‘forty acres and the mule,’ Aunt Matt?”
asked the ruddy-faced young man who had just arrived from the city to
visit his father and mother at the old home place on the farm.
“It’s fine weather, Mister Eddie, an’ de cotton an’ de corn is des
growin’ a inch or two ever’ night,” said Matt Tite, a tall, thin-faced
negress of the ante-bellum type, smiling.
“Don’t evade the question, Matt; tell these boys about Tite and the
carpet-baggers,” insisted the visitor. “Out with it, I want to hear the
story again.”
“Chile, ain’t you never gwine to fergit dat? I walked eight miles to git
here to see you, but ef I’d er knowed dat you wuz gwine to pester me
’bout Tite an’ de Ku Kluxes I sho’ wouldn’t a come.
“I’s done fergit de perticlers uv dat story.”
“You know enough to make it interesting; tell it.”
“Tite’s done fergit de forty acres an’ de mule, an’ ef I des wanter have
er fight, let me mention it in his presence.
“You know Tite wuz one uv Marse John Robinson’s <DW65>s ’fo’ s’render.
Marse John wuz a powerful big man in dem times ef he is po’ now. He had
lots uv lan’ an’ <DW65>s, an’ wuz mighty good to his slaves. Tite wuz a
good <DW65>, an’ Marse John làked him, an’ arter de war he stay on at
de ole place an’ seem satisfied till dem cearpet-baggers (dat’s what de
white folks called dem) fust come sneakin’ around, puttin’ de devil in de
<DW65>s’ haid, promisin’ all kinds uv things, an’ given dem nuthin’ but
trouble.
“’Twuz soon arter s’render when me an’ Tite married. I had b’longed to
Marse Jeems Walkup, an’ a mighty good man, too, he wuz. When I marry Tite
I move to de Robinson place to live wid him, an’ we all git ’long fine
fur a while. Tite he wucked ’bout de farm an’ I hep ’roun’ de Big House.
Ole Miss Jane done say dat she been wantin’ me fur de longes’ sort uv
time.
“One night, when me an’ Tite start ’way fum de kitchen, I seed a rabbit
cross de road in front uv us, an’ I ’low right den dere wuz bad luck
ahead fur him an’ me. Ole Missus uster say ef a rabbit cross yo’ path
somefin’ bad woul’ sho’ happen to you.
“Sho’ nuff, chile, hit done come. Bad times ’gin on dat plantation an’
’roun’ dat neighborhood dat very night. When me an’ Tite git home dar
come ’long a strange white man, lookin’ lak er peddler, totin’ a police
on his arm. Comin’ nigh he say to me an’ Tite, ‘Howdy-do, Miss Robinson
an’ Mr. Robinson?’
“I look ’roun’ to see ef Ole Marses an’ Missus wuz dere, fur I knowed we
wuz no ‘Miss Robinson’ an’ ‘Mr. Robinson.’ But, bless yo’ sole, honey,
he wuz talkin’ to nobudy but me an’ Tite. I look at de man spicious lak
right den, an’ kinder git skeered. He ’gin to talk ’bout sellin’ us some
specs an’ julery, an’ sich lak, but soon he tell Tite dat he’s sont
dere fum de Norf to talk ’bout de comin’ ’lection. He ’low dat he’s been
heerin’ ’bout Tite, an’ tell him dat he’s one of de big <DW65>s uv de
country ef he des only knowed it. Tite he say nuthin’ but de white man
des keep on an’ on.
“‘Yes,’ ’low de man, ‘dey tells me dat you’s one uv de mos’ prominent
cul’ud gentlemens in dis section uv de country. I knows dat’s so fur you
looks smarter dan de res’ I’s seed down here!’
“I seed Tite swell up a little when de man tell him dat. <DW65>s’ haids
des lak white folks’, dey gits mighty big sometime.
“‘Well, Mr. Robinson, dere’s a better day comin’ fur you an’ Miss
Robinson,’ ’clared de white man.
“‘I’s des fum de Norf, an’ come to fetch you good tidens. By dis time of
coase you knows who yo’ frien’s is. You had slav’ry; you’s gut freedum.
Dat’s not all, ef de ’Publikins gits in dis time you’s gwine to have some
uv dis lan’. Yes, you’s gwine to have forty acres uv lan’ an’ a mule to
wuck it wid. You, Tite Robinson, is to have de pic’ uv de lot fur you’s
gut so much sense.’
“Dat man sho’ did have a sharp tongue, an’ knowed how to please a <DW65>.
Tite’s eyes git mighty big while he talk ’bout de lan’ an’ de mule. But
all de time I wuz lookin’ at dat man an’ de way he dress. He look lak a
bad man. Me an’ Tite wuz not use to calls fum white men. No spectable
white person prowled ’bout ’<DW41> de <DW65>s lookin’ dat way. But ’t’wuz
none uv my bizness to meddle wid him an’ Tite. So I says nuthin’ an’ he
goes on wid his putty talk.
“After while he say to Tite: ‘Come inside an’ make a light; I’s gut some
pitchers to show you an’ Miss Robinson.’
“Dat wuz mos’ too much fur me, but I darsen’ cheep. Tite he goes in an’
lights de torch an’ de man he opens up his police an’ takes out some
pitchers. De fust ones had <DW65>s wid chains on, an’ de overseer wid his
whup. Indeed, sir, dem pitchers had de po’ darkey in a bad place. De man
say dat’s de way it wuz in slav’ry time. Den he fotch out some wid Mr.
<DW65> dressed up in fine clothes, wid yaller buttons, dis what de <DW65>
laks. Bless me, ef he didn’t have one wid Tite on a big chestnut hoss,
ridin’ ’roun’ de farm. It look so much lak de <DW65> dat I des laugh out
loud. An’ Tite he grin all over de face.
“‘Dat’s de way Tite’s gwine to look after de ’lection,’ said de man.
‘Dat’s ef de ’Publikins git in.’
“Chile, dat wuz a powful talkin’ man. His tongue go dis lak it wuz
loose at both een’s. When he shet up his police, after givin’ Tite some
pitchers to put on de mantel boa’d, he take de breff fum me by axin’ ef
he kin stay all night. Tite wuz so stuck on him dat he say ‘all right.’
So he stay, but slip out ’fo’ day nex’ mornin’.
“Dat talk an’ dem pitchers stir Tite all up. He’s not de same <DW65> no
mo’. De nex’ day he wuz mean to me, ’cause he seed fum de color in my eye
dat I lak no sich doin’s, an’ he had some words wid Marse John. ’Deed,
sir, he wuz des lak er stubborn mule. Nobudy coul’ do nuthin’ wid him. I
tole him dat he’d better quit foolin’ wid po’ white trash, fur you git
nuthin’ in dis worl’ ’cepin’ whut you wuck fur. But Tite he wuz done gone
’stracted on de forty acres an’ de mule. He des look at hissef on dat big
hoss an’ smile.”
“Matt, do you really think Tite believed he would get the land and mule?”
“Coase he did!” declared the old woman with considerable spirit.
“De same white man meet Tite an’ talk agin, but dat time I wuz away an’
hear nuthin’ uv it. Tite soon ’gin to talk ’bout callin’ a meetin’ uv de
<DW65>s. Mo’ strange <DW65>s dan I ever seed befo’ come dere to talk wid
him, an’ dey all act mighty bigity lak.
“Yes, sir, Tite wuz de big <DW65> in dem parts. Whatever he said de
’tuther <DW65>s done. De ’lection come nigher an’ Tite gits mo’ triflin’
’bout wuckin’ fur de white folks. Him an’ Marse John had a dispute an’
Marse John knock him down wid a stick. Talkin’ woul’ do no good. De
crowds uv <DW65>s kep’ gittin’ bigger an’ bigger an’ mo’ strange white
mens come to see Tite, an’ dey all’ers sneak in at night.
“De white folks lak Marse John and Marse Jeems Walkup ’gin to git tired
uv all dis foolishness. Dey hold a meetin’ demselves, at Marse John’s,
an’ ’scuss how to keep de cearpet-baggers off uv deyer farms an’ git de
<DW65>s back to wuck.
“But, Lawd bless yo’ soul, honey, ’bout dis time Tite cut de highes’ buck
uv all an’ have Marse John ’rested an’ carried to town fur hittin’ him.
Yes, sir, a man wid blue suit an’ brass buttons come an’ git Marse John
an’ take him to Charlotte ’fo’ dat Freedman’s Bureau. You orter heerd de
<DW65>s an’ white foks cryin’, an’ seen ’em takin’ on when de officer
driv’ off wid Marse John. Ole Missus took it mighty hard, so she did, an’
I wuz des as mad es I coul’ be. I knowed dat de devil wuz to pay den, fur
de white foks wuzn’t gwine to put up wid no sich es dat. Deyer day wuz
comin’ agin.”
“Did they put Grandpa in jail?” asked one of the excited children.
“No, honey, but dey mos’ done it. Marse John come back de very nex’ day,
but he wuzn’t de same man. He done gut mad an’ all de res’ uv de white
foks wid him. ’Deed, sir, dey wuz tired foolin’ wid dem cearpet-baggers,
an’ Marse John make Tite git out uv his house de fust thing when he come
back, an’ to tell de truf I didn’t blame him one bit, fur dat <DW65> wuz
des so mean dat nobudy coul’ git on wid him. Ole Miss Jane wuz pow’ful
sorry fur me but I had to go wid Tite. We rented a house fum a town man,
an’ move in. We wuz back fum de road an’ ’way fum de white foks. I never
seed sich a <DW65> es Tite; every day he wuz wusser dan de day befo’. Fum
’sociatin’ wid dem cearpet-baggers he gut high up. Dey done fill his ole
kinky haid wid highferlutin’ talk an’ idees. Every udder night he wuz at
some <DW65> meetin’, stayin’ till ’fo’ day in de mornin’. You woul’ never
know when an’ where dey wuz gwine to meet but dere wuz all’ers lots uv
’em dere. Sometimes dey’d meet at my house an’ it woul’n’t hold ’em all.
De way dem <DW65>s talk when dey meet I des knowed somefin’ bad wuz boun’
to happen.
“Now an’ den, when Tite wuz off politicin’, I woul’ slip off an’ go see
Miss Jane, an’ hear whut de white peoples wuz doin’. Den I beg Tite
to let politicin’ ’lone an’ stay at home, but, no, sir, he knowed his
bizness. His haid wuz sot on dat forty acres an’ de mule, an’ I coul’n’t
do nuthin’ wid him.
“One day Miss Jane read fum de paper whut de Ku Kluxes wuz doin’ to
<DW65>s down in Souf Careliny. You know where ’tis: des over de line down
here ’bout three mile? De piece say dat dey wuz comin’ dis way. She ’low
dat de doin’s uv mean <DW65>s wuz gwine to fetch ’em here.
“An’ let me tell you, chilluns, it wuzn’t long ’fo’ dey come an’ putty
nigh skeered de <DW65>s to deaf.
“But, ’fo’ dey come Tite done run plum mad on de subjec’ uv de ’lection.
I beg him to stop dat foolin’ an’ go back to wuck, but he des go on lak
he never heerd me. Why, honey, de fool <DW65> done ’gin to think he’s
gwine to be Gov’ner. De wust ain’t come yit, fur one day a white man come
’long an’ giv’ Tite what he say wuz a deed fur Marse John’s mill place.
Es he giv’ de paper to Tite he say: ‘Mr. Robinson (talkin’ to nobudy but
Tite), here’s de deed to de mill place an’ you kin have it surveyed as
soon as you laks, fur de ’lection is mos’ here an’ ’twon’t be long ’fo’
you kin git dem forty acres an’ de mule.’
“Tite, he take it an’ hide it under a rock. I seed him lookin’ at it, des
lak he coul’ read, when he know he don’t know B fum bull-foot. One day,
while Tite wuz in Charlotte, I slip de deed out fum under de log where he
hid it, an’ took it over to Miss Jane an’ she say it read lak dis: ‘Es
Samson lifted de serpent out uv de wilderness so I lifted dis po’ <DW65>
out uv $5.’
“Tite done giv’ de man $5 fur drawin’ de deed, an’ he sho’ did think it
wuz er deed fur de mill place, an’, ’cordin’ly, he an’ another <DW65>
sneak down one day, while Ole Marster wuz in Souf Careliny, an’ lay off
whut he want an’ put up rocks to mark de corners. Soon after de ’lection
Tite an’ de yudder <DW65>s uv de Robinson settlement wuz to go to town
an’ git de mules an’, bein’ as Tite w | 3,217.182594 |
2023-11-16 19:10:41.2331260 | 3,430 | 11 |
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DAYS OFF
And Other Digressions
by
HENRY VAN <DW18>
[Illustration: Our canoes go with the river, but no longer easily or
lazily.]
I do not count the hours I spend
In wandering by the sea;
The forest is my loyal friend,
Like God it useth me:
Or on the mountain-crest sublime,
Or down the oaken glade,
O what have I to do with Time?
For this the day was made.
--RALPH WALDO EMERSON
Illustrated
New York
Charles Scribner's Sons
MDCCCCVII
Copyright, 1907, by Charles Scribner's Sons
Printed in October, 1907
Reprinted in November, 1907
Reprinted in December, 1907
To
MY FRIEND AND NEIGHBOUR
GROVER CLEVELAND
WHOSE YEARS OF GREAT WORK
AS A STATESMAN
HAVE BEEN CHEERED BY DAYS OF GOOD PLAY
AS A FISHERMAN
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED
WITH WARM AND DEEP REGARDS
Avalon,
July 10th, 1907.
CONTENTS
I. _Days Off_ 1
II. _A Holiday in a Vacation_ 23
III. _His Other Engagement_ 57
IV. _Books that I Loved as a Boy_ 101
V. _Among the Quantock Hills_ 117
VI. _Between the Lupin and the Laurel_ 139
VII. _Little Red Tom_ 177
VIII. _Silverhorns_ 193
IX. _Notions about Novels_ 221
X. _Some Remarks on Gulls_ 233
XI. _Leviathan_ 271
XII. _The Art of Leaving Off_ 309
ILLUSTRATIONS
_Our canoes go with the river, but no longer easily
or lazily_ Frontispiece
Facing page
_On such a carry travel is slow_ 36
_A notion to go down stream struck the salmon_ 88
_There was the gleam of an immense mass of silver in
its meshes_ 94
_Tannery Combe, Holford_ 126
"_Billy began to call, and it was beautiful_" 206
_There he stood defiant, front feet planted wide apart_ 218
_She took the oars and rowed me slowly around the shore_ 266
DAYS OFF
"A day off" said my Uncle Peter, settling down in his chair before the
open wood-fire, with that air of complacent obstinacy which spreads
over him when he is about to confess and expound his philosophy of
life,--"a day off is a day that a man takes to himself."
"You mean a day of luxurious solitude," I said, "a stolen sweet of
time, which he carries away into some hidden corner to enjoy alone,--a
little-Jack-Horner kind of a day?"
"Not at all," said my Uncle Peter; "solitude is a thing which a man
hardly ever enjoys by himself. He may practise it from a sense of duty.
Or he may take refuge in it from other things that are less tolerable.
But nine times out of ten he will find that he can't get a really good
day to himself unless he shares it with some one else; if he takes it
alone, it will be a heavy day, a chain-and-ball day,--anything but a
day off."
"Just what do you mean, then?" I asked, knowing that nothing would
please him better than the chance to discover his own meaning against a
little background of apparent misunderstanding and opposition.
"I mean," said my Uncle Peter, in that deliberate manner which lends a
flavour of deep wisdom to the most obvious remarks, "I mean that every
man owes it to himself to have some days in his life when he escapes
from bondage, gets away from routine, and does something which seems to
have no purpose in the world, just because he wants to do it."
"Plays truant," I interjected.
"Yes, if you like to put it in that objectionable way," he answered;
"but I should rather compare it to bringing flowers into the
school-room, or keeping white mice in your desk, or inventing a new
game for the recess. You see we are all scholars, boarding scholars, in
the House of Life, from the moment when birth matriculates us to the
moment when death graduates us. We never really leave the big school,
no matter what we do. But my point is this: the lessons that we learn
when we do not know that we are studying are often the pleasantest, and
not always the least important. There is a benefit as well as a joy in
finding out that you can lay down your task for a proper while without
being disloyal to your duty. Play-time is a part of school-time, not a
break in it. You remember what Aristotle says: '_ascholoumetha gar hina
scholazomen_.'"
"My dear uncle," said I, "there is nothing out of the common in your
remarks, except of course your extraordinary habit of decorating them
with a Greek quotation, like an ancient coin set as a scarf-pin and
stuck carelessly into a modern neck-tie. But apart from this
eccentricity, everybody admits the propriety of what you have been
saying. Why, all the expensive, up-to-date schools are arranged on your
principle: play-hours, exercise-hours, silent-hours, social-hours, all
marked in the schedule: scholars compelled and carefully guided to
amuse themselves at set times and in approved fashions: athletics,
dramatics, school-politics and social ethics, all organized and
co-ordinated. What you flatter yourself by putting forward as an
amiable heresy has become a commonplace of orthodoxy, and your liberal
theory of education and life is now one of the marks of fashionable
conservatism."
My Uncle Peter's face assumed the beatific expression of a man who
knows that he has been completely and inexcusably misunderstood, and is
therefore justified in taking as much time as he wants to make the
subtlety and superiority of his ideas perfectly clear and to show how
dense you have been in failing to apprehend them.
"My dear boy," said he, "it is very singular that you should miss my
point so entirely. All these things that you have been saying about
your modern schools illustrate precisely the opposite view from mine.
They are signs of that idolatry of organization, of system, of the
time-table and the schedule, which is making our modern life so tedious
and exhausting. Those unfortunate school-boys and school-girls who have
their amusements planned out for them and cultivate their social
instincts according to rule, never know the joy of a real day off,
unless they do as I say, and take it to themselves. The right kind of a
school will leave room and liberty for them to do this. It will be a
miniature of what life is for all of us,--a place where law reigns and
independence is rewarded,--a stream of work and duty diversified by
islands of freedom and repose,--a pilgrimage in which it is permitted
to follow a side-path, a mountain trail, a footway through the meadow,
provided the end of the journey is not forgotten and the day's march
brings one a little nearer to that end."
"But will it do that," I asked, "unless one is careful to follow the
straight line of the highway and march as fast as one can?"
"That depends," said my Uncle Peter, nodding his head gravely, "upon
what you consider the end of the journey. If it is something entirely
outside of yourself, a certain stint of work which you were created to
perform; or if it is something altogether beyond yourself, a certain
place or office at which you are aiming to arrive; then, of course, you
must stick to the highway and hurry along.
"But suppose that the real end of your journey is something of which
you yourself are a part. Suppose it is not merely to get to a certain
place, but to get there in a certain condition, with the light of a
sane joy in your eyes and the peace of a grateful content in your
heart. Suppose it is not merely to do a certain piece of work, but to
do it in a certain spirit, cheerfully and bravely and modestly, without
overrating its importance or overlooking its necessity. Then, I fancy,
you may find that the winding foot-path among the hills often helps you
on your way as much as the high road, the day off among the islands of
repose gives you a steadier hand and a braver heart to make your voyage
along the stream of duty."
"You may skip the moralizing, if you please, Uncle Peter," said I, "and
concentrate your mind upon giving me a reasonable account of the
peculiar happiness of what you call a day off."
"Nothing could be simpler," he answered. "It is the joy of getting out
of the harness that makes a horse fling up his heels, and gallop around
the field, and roll over and over in the grass, when he is turned loose
in the pasture. It is the impulse of pure play that makes a little
bunch of wild ducks chase one another round and round on the water, and
follow their leader in circles and figures of eight; there is no
possible use in it, but it gratifies their instinct of freedom and
makes them feel that they are not mere animal automata, whatever the
natural history men may say to the contrary. It is the sense of release
that a man experiences when he unbuckles the straps of his knapsack,
and lays it down under a tree, and says 'You stay there till I come
back for you! I'm going to rest myself by climbing this hill, just
because it is not on the road-map, and because there is nothing at the
top of it except the view.'
"It is this feeling of escape," he continued, in the tone of a man who
has shaken off the harness of polite conversation and let himself go
for a gallop around the field of monologue, "it is just this
exhilarating sense of liberation that is lacking in most of our social
amusements and recreations. They are dictated by fashion and directed
by routine. Men get into the so-called 'round of pleasure,' and they
are driven into a trot to keep up with it, just as if it were a
treadmill. The only difference is that the pleasure-mill grinds no
corn. Harry Bellairs was complaining to me, the other day, that after
an exhausting season of cotillons in New York, he had been running his
motor-car through immense fatigues in France and Italy, and had
returned barely in time to do his duty by his salmon-river in Canada,
work his new boat through the annual cruise of the yacht club, finish
up a round of house-parties at Bar Harbor and Lenox, and get ready for
the partridge-shooting in England with his friend the Duke of
Bangham,--it was a dog's life, he said, and he had no time to himself
at all. I rather pitied him; he looked so frayed. It seems to me that
the best way for a man or a woman of pleasure to get a day off would be
to do a little honest work.
"You see it is the change that makes the charm of a day off. The real
joy of leisure is known only to the people who have contracted the
habit of work without becoming enslaved to the vice of overwork.
"A hobby is the best thing in the world for a man with a serious
vocation. It keeps him from getting muscle-bound in his own task. It
helps to save him from the mistake of supposing that it is his little
tick-tack that keeps the universe a-going. It leads him out, on off
days, away from his own garden corner into curious and interesting
regions of this wide and various earth, of which, after all, he is a
citizen.
"Do you happen to know the Reverend Doctor McHook? He is a learned
preacher, a devoted churchman, a faithful minister; and in addition to
this he has an extra-parochial affection for ants and spiders. He can
spend a happy day in watching the busy affairs of a formicary, and to
observe the progress of a bit of spider-web architecture gives him a
peculiar joy. There are some severe and sour-complexioned theologians
who would call this devotion to objects so far outside of his parish an
illicit passion. But to me it seems a blessing conferred by heavenly
wisdom upon a good man, and I doubt not he escapes from many an
insoluble theological puzzle, and perhaps from many an unprofitable
religious wrangle, to find refreshment and invigoration in the society
of his many-legged friends."
"You are moralizing again, Uncle Peter," I objected; "or at least you
are getting ready to do so. Stop it; and give me a working definition
of the difference between a hobby and a fad."
"Let me give you an anecdote," said he, "instead of a definition. There
was a friend of mine who went to visit a famous asylum for the insane.
Among the patients who were amusing themselves in the great hall, he
saw an old gentleman with a long white beard, who was sitting astride
of a chair, spurring its legs with his heels, holding both ends of his
handkerchief which he had knotted around the back, and crying 'Get up,
get up! G'long boy, steady!' with the utmost animation. 'You seem to be
having a fine ride, sir,' said my friend. 'Capital,' said the old
gentleman, 'this is a first-rate mount that I am riding.' 'Permit me to
inquire,' asked my friend, 'whether it is a fad or a hobby?' 'Why,
certainly!' replied the old gentleman, with a quizzical look. 'It is a
hobby, you see, for I can get off whenever I have a mind to.' And with
that he dismounted and walked into the garden.
"It is just this liberty of getting off that marks the superiority of a
hobby to a fad. The game that you feel obliged to play every day at the
same hour ceases to amuse you as soon as you realize that it is a
diurnal duty. Regular exercise is good for the muscles, but there must
be a bit of pure fun mixed with the sport that is to refresh your
heart.
"A tour in Europe, carefully mapped out with an elaborate itinerary and
a carefully connected timetable, may be full of instruction, but it
often becomes a tax upon the spirit and a weariness to the flesh.
Compulsory castles and mandatory museums and required ruins pall upon
you, as you hurry from one to another, vaguely agitated by the fear
that you may miss something that is marked with a | 3,217.253166 |
2023-11-16 19:10:41.3267940 | 7,436 | 27 |
History of Free Thought
in Reference to
The Christian Religion
Eight Lectures
Preached Before The
University of Oxford, in the year M.DCCC.LXII., on the Foundation of the
Late Rev. John Bampton, M.A., Canon of Salisbury.
By
Adam Storey Farrar, M.A.
Michel Fellow of Queen's College, Oxford.
New York:
D. Appleton And Company,
443 & 445 Broadway.
1863
CONTENTS
Will of Rev. John Bampton.
Preface.
Analysis of the lectures.
Lecture I. On The Subject, Method, And Purpose Of The Course Of Lectures.
Lecture II. The Literary Opposition of Heathens Against Christianity in
the Early Ages.
Lecture III. Free Thought During The Middle Ages, and At The Renaissance;
Together With Its Rise in Modern Times.
Lecture IV. Deism in England Previous to A.D. 1760.
Lecture V. Infidelity in France in the Eighteenth Century, and Unbelief in
England Subsequent to 1760.
Lecture VI. Free Thought In The Theology Of Germany From 1750-1835.
Lecture VII. Free Thought: In Germany Subsequently To 1835; And In France
During The Present Century.
Lecture VIII. Free Thought in England in the Present Century; Summary of
the Course of Lectures; Inferences in Reference to Present Dangers and
Duties.
Notes.
Lecture I.
Lecture II.
Lecture III.
Lecture IV.
Lecture V.
Lecture VI.
Lecture VII.
Lecture VIII.
Index.
Footnotes
WILL OF REV. JOHN BAMPTON.
Extract From The Last Will And Testament Of The Late Rev. John Bampton,
Canon Of Salisbury.
-------------------------------------
"----I give and bequeath my Lands and Estates to the Chancellor, Masters,
and Scholars of the University of Oxford for ever, to have and to hold all
and singular the said Lands or Estates upon trust, and to the intents and
purposes hereinafter mentioned; that is to say, I will and appoint that
the Vice-Chancellor of the University of Oxford for the time being shall
take and receive all the rents, issues, and profits thereof, and (after
all taxes, reparations, and necessary deductions made) that he pay all the
remainder to the endowment of eight Divinity Lecture Sermons, to be
established for ever in the said University, and to be performed in the
manner following:
-------------------------------------
"I direct and appoint, that, upon the first Tuesday in Easter Term, a
Lecturer be yearly chosen by the Heads of Colleges only, and by no others,
in the room adjoining to the Printing-House, between the hours of ten in
the morning and two in the afternoon, to preach eight Divinity Lecture
Sermons, the year following, at St. Mary's in Oxford, between the
commencement of the last month in Lent Term, and the end of the third week
in Act Term.
"Also I direct and appoint, that the eight Divinity Lecture Sermons shall
be preached upon either of the following Subjects--to confirm and establish
the Christian Faith, and to confute all heretics and schismatics--upon the
divine authority of the holy Scriptures--upon the authority of the writings
of the primitive Fathers, as to the faith and practice of the primitive
Church--upon the Divinity of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ--upon the
Divinity of the Holy Ghost--upon the Articles of the Christian Faith as
comprehended in the Apostles' and Nicene Creeds.
"Also I direct, that thirty copies of the eight Divinity Lecture Sermons
shall be always printed, within two months after they are preached; and
one copy shall be given to the Chancellor of the University, and one copy
to the Head of every College, and one copy to the Mayor of the city of
Oxford, and one copy to be put into the Bodleian Library; and the expense
of printing them shall be paid out of the revenue of the Land or Estates
given for establishing the Divinity Lecture Sermons; and the Preacher
shall not be paid nor be entitled to the revenue before they are printed.
"Also I direct and appoint, that no person shall be qualified to preach
the Divinity Lecture Sermons, unless he hath taken the degree of Master of
Arts at least, in one of the two Universities of Oxford or Cambridge; and
that the same person shall never preach the Divinity Lecture Sermons
twice."
PREFACE.
The object of this Preface is to explain the design of the following
Lectures, and to enumerate the sources on which they are founded.
What is the province and mode of inquiry intended in a "Critical History
of Free Thought"?(1) What are the causes which led the author into this
line of study?(2) What the object proposed by the work?(3) What the
sources from which it is drawn?(4)--these probably are the questions which
will at once suggest themselves to the reader. The answers to most of them
are so fully given in the work,(5) that it will only be necessary here to
touch upon them briefly.
The word "free thought" is now commonly used, at least in foreign
literature(6), to express the result of the revolt of the mind against the
pressure of external authority in any department of life or speculation.
Information concerning the history of the term is given elsewhere.(7) It
will be sufficient now to state, that the cognate term, _free thinking_,
was appropriated by Collins early in the last century(8) to express Deism.
It differs from the modern term _free thought_, both in being restricted
to religion, and in conveying the idea rather of the method than of its
result, the freedom of the mode of inquiry rather than the character of
the conclusions attained; but the same fundamental idea of independence
and freedom from authority is implied in the modern term.
Within the sphere of its application to the Christian religion, free
thought is generally used to denote three different systems; viz.
Protestantism, scepticism, and unbelief. Its application to the first of
these is unfair.(9) It is true that all three agree in resisting the
dogmatism of any earthly authority; but Protestantism reposes implicitly
on what it believes to be the divine authority of the inspired writers of
the books of holy scripture; whereas the other two forms acknowledge no
authority external to the mind, no communication superior to reason and
science. Thus, though Protestantism by its attitude of independence seems
similar to the other two systems, it is really separated by a difference
of kind, and not merely of degree.(10) The present history is restricted
accordingly to the treatment of the two latter species of free
thought,--the resistance of the human mind to the Christian religion as
communicated through revelation, either in part or in whole, neither the
scepticism which disintegrates it, or the unbelief which rejects it: the
former directing itself especially against Christianity, the latter
against the idea of revelation, or even of the supernatural generally.
An analogous reason to that which excludes the history of Protestantism,
excludes also that of the opposition made to Christianity by heresy, and
by rival religions:(11) inasmuch as they repose on authorities, however
false, and do not profess to resort to an unassisted study of nature and
truth.
This account of the province included under free thought will prepare the
way for the explanation of the mode in which the subject is treated.
It is clear that the history, in order to rise above a chronicle, must
inquire into the causes which have made freedom of inquiry develop into
unbelief. The causes have usually been regarded by theologians to be of
two kinds, viz. either superhuman or human; and, if of the latter kind, to
be either moral or intellectual. Bishop Van Mildert, in his History of
Infidelity, restricted himself entirely to the former.(12) Holding
strongly that the existence of evil in the world was attributable, not
only indirectly and originally, but directly and perpetually, to the
operation of the evil spirit, he regarded every form of heresy and
unbelief to be the attempt of an invisible evil agent to thwart the truth
of God; and viewed the history of infidelity as the study of the results
of the operation of this cause in destroying the kingdom of righteousness.
Such a view invests human life and history with a very solemn character,
and is not without practical value; but it will be obvious that an
analysis of this kind must be strictly theological, and removes the
inquiry from the province of human science. Even when completed, it leaves
unexplored the whole field in which such an evil principle operates, and
the agencies which he employs as his instruments.
The majority of writers on unbelief accordingly have treated the subject
from a less elevated point of view, and have limited their inquiry to the
sphere of the operation of human causes, the _media axiomata_ as it
were,(13) which express the motives and agencies which have been
manifested on the theatre of the world, and visible in actual history. It
will be clear that within this sphere the causes are specially of two
kinds; viz. those which have their source in the will, and arise from the
antagonism of feeling, which wishes revelation untrue, and those which
manifest themselves in the intellect, and are exhibited under the form of
difficulties which beset the mind, or doubts which mislead it, in respect
to the evidence on which revelation reposes. The former, it may be feared,
are generally the ground of unbelief; the latter the basis of doubt.
Christian writers, in the wish to refer unbelief to the source of
efficient causation in the human will, with a view of enforcing on the
doubter the moral lesson of responsibility, have generally restricted
themselves to the former of these two classes; and by doing so have
omitted to explore the interesting field of inquiry presented in the
natural history of the variety of forms assumed by scepticism, and their
relation to the general causes which have operated in particular ages:--a
subject most important, if the intellectual antecedents thus discovered be
regarded as causes of doubt; and not less interesting, if, instead of
being causes, they are merely considered to be instruments and conditions
made use of by the emotional powers.
A history of free thought seems to point especially to the study of the
latter class. A biographical history of free thinkers would imply the
former; the investigation of the moral history of the individuals, the
play of their will and feelings and character; but the history of free
thought points to that which has been the product of their characters, the
doctrines which they have taught. Science however no less than piety would
decline entirely to separate the two;(14) piety, because, though admitting
the possibility that a judgment may be formed in the abstract on free
thought, it would feel itself constantly drawn into the inquiry of the
moral responsibility of the freethinker in judging of the concrete
cases;--science, because, even in an intellectual point of view, the
analysis of a work of art is defective if it be studied apart from the
personality of the mental and moral character of the artist who produces
it. If even the inquiry be restricted to the analysis of intellectual
causes, a biographic treatment of the subject, which would allow for the
existence of the emotional, would be requisite.(15)
The province of the following work accordingly is, the examination of this
neglected branch in the analysis of unbelief. While admitting most fully
and unhesitatingly the operation of emotional causes, and the absolute
necessity, scientific as well as practical, of allowing for their
operation, it is proposed to analyse the forms of doubt or unbelief in
reference mainly to the intellectual element which has entered into them,
and the discovery of the intellectual causes which have produced or
modified them. Thus the history, while not ceasing to belong to church
history, becomes also a chapter in the history of philosophy, a page in
the history of the human mind.
The enumeration of the causes into which the intellectual elements of
doubt are resolvable, is furnished in the text of the first Lecture.(16)
If the nature of some of them be obscure, and the reader be unaccustomed
to the philosophical study necessary for fully understanding them;
information must be sought in the books to which references are elsewhere
given, as the subject is too large to be developed in the limited space of
this Preface.
The work however professes to be not merely a narrative, but a "critical
history." The idea of criticism in a history imparts to it an ethical
aspect. For criticism does not rest content with ideas, viewed as facts,
but as realities. It seeks to pass above the relative, and attain the
absolute; to determine either what is right or what is true. It may make
this determination by means of two different standards. It may be either
independent or dogmatic;--independent if it enters upon a new field
candidly and without prepossessions, and rests content with the inferences
which the study suggests;--dogmatic, when it approaches a subject with
views derived from other sources, and pronounces on right or wrong, truth
or falsehood, by reference to them.
It is hoped that the reader will not be unduly prejudiced, if the
confession be frankly made, that the criticism in these Lectures is of the
latter kind. This indeed might be expected from their very character. The
Bampton Lecture is an establishment for producing apologetic treatises.
The authors are supposed to assume the truth of Christianity, and to seek
to repel attacks upon it. They are defenders, not investigators. The
reader has a right to demand fairness, but not independence; truth in the
facts, but not hesitation in the inferences. While however the writer of
these Lectures takes a definite line in the controversy, and one not
adopted professionally, but with cordial assent and heartfelt conviction,
he has nevertheless considered that it is due to the cause of scientific
truth to intermingle his own opinions as little as possible with the facts
of the history. A history without inferences is ethically and religiously
worthless: it is a chronicle, not a philosophical narrative. But a history
distorted to suit the inferences is not only worthless, but harmful. It is
for the reader to judge how far the author has succeeded in the result:
but his aim has been not to allow his opinions to warp his view of the
facts. History ought to be written with the same spirit of cold analysis
which belongs to science. Caricature must not be substituted for portrait,
nor vituperation for description.(17)
Such a mode of treatment in the present instance was the more possible,
from the circumstance that the writer, when studying the subject for his
private information, without any design to write upon it, had endeavoured
to bring his own principles and views perpetually to the test; and to
reconsider them candidly by the light of the new suggestions which were
brought before him. Instead of approaching the inquiry with a spirit of
hostility, he had investigated it as a student, not as a partisan. It may
perhaps be permitted him without egotism to explain the causes which led
him to the study. He had taken holy orders, cordially and heartily
believing the truths taught by the church of which he is privileged to be
an humble minister. Before doing so, he had read thoughtfully the great
works of evidences of the last century, and knew directly or indirectly
the character of the deist doubts against which they were directed. His
own faith was one of the head as well as the heart; founded on the study
of the evidences, as well as on the religious training of early years. But
he perceived in the English church earnest men who held a different view;
and, on becoming acquainted with contemporary theology, he found the
theological literature of a whole people, the Germans, constructed on
another basis; a literature which was acknowledged to be so full of
learning, that contemporary English writers of theology not only
perpetually referred to it, but largely borrowed their materials from
German sources. He wished therefore fully to understand the character of
these new forms of doubt, and the causes which had produced them. He may
confess that, reposing on the affirmative verities of the Christian faith,
as gathered from the scriptures and embodied in the immemorial teaching of
Christ's church, he did not anticipate that he should discover that which
would overthrow or even materially modify his own faith; but he wished,
while exploring this field, and gratifying intellectual curiosity, to
re-examine his opinions at each point by the light of those with which he
might meet in the inquiry. The serious wish also to fulfill his duty in
the sphere in which he might move, made him desire to understand these new
views; that if false, he might know how to refute them when they came
before him, and not be first made aware of their existence from the harsh
satire of sceptical critics. His own studies were accordingly conducted in
a spirit of fairness--the fairness of the inquirer, not of the doubter; and
a habit of mind formed by the study of the history of philosophy, was
brought to bear upon the investigation of this chapter in church history:
first, of modern forms of doubt, and afterwards the consecutive history of
unbelief generally. Accordingly, while he hopes that he has taken care to
leave the student in no case unguided, who may accompany him in these
pages through the history, he has wished to place him, as he strove to
place himself, in the position to see the subject in its true light before
drawing the inferences; to understand each topic to a certain extent, as
it appears when seen from the opposite point of view, as well as when seen
from the Christian. And when this has been effected, he has criticised
each by a comparison with those principles which form his standard for
testing them, the truth of which the study has confirmed to the writer's
own mind. The criticism therefore does not profess to be independent, but
dogmatic; but it is hoped that the definite character of the results will
not be found to have prevented fairness in the method of inquiry. If the
student has the facts correctly, he can form his own judgment on the
inferences.
The standard of truth here adopted, as the point of view in criticism, is
the teaching of Scripture as expressed in the dogmatic teaching of the
creeds of the church; or, if it will facilitate clearness to be more
definite, three great truths may be specified, which present themselves to
the writer's mind as the very foundation of the Christian religion: (1)
the doctrine of the reality of the vicarious atonement provided by the
passion of our blessed Lord; (2) the supernatural and miraculous character
of the religious revelation in the book of God; and (3) the direct
operation of the Holy Ghost in converting and communing with the human
soul. Lacking the first of these, Christianity appears to him to be a
religion without a system of redemption; lacking the second, a doctrine
without authority; lacking the third, a system of ethics without spiritual
power. These three principles accordingly are the measure, by agreement
with which the truth and falsehood of systems of free thought are
ultimately tested.(18)
The above remarks, together with those which occur in the text, where
fuller explanation is afforded, will illustrate the province of the
inquiry, and the spirit in which it is conducted.(19)
The explanation also of the further question concerning the object which
the writer proposed to effect, by the treatment of such a subject in a
course of Bampton Lectures, is given so fully elsewhere, that a few words
may here suffice in reference to it.(20) Experience of the wants of
students in this time of doubt and transition, which those who are
practically acquainted with the subject will best understand, as well as
observation of the tone of thought expressed in our sceptical literature,
led him to believe that a history, natural as well as literary, of doubt;
an analysis of the forms and a statement of the intellectual causes of it,
would have a value, direct and indirect, in many ways. His desire, he is
willing to confess, was to guide the student, rather than to refute the
unbeliever. He did not expect to furnish the combatant with ready-made
weapons, which would make him omnipotent in conflict; but he hoped to give
him some suggestions in reference to the tactics for conducting the
contest. The Lectures have a polemical aspect, but they seek to obtain
their end by means of the educational. The writer has aimed at assisting
the student, in the struggle with his doubts, in the inquiry for truth, in
the quiet meditative search for light and knowledge, preparatory to
ministering to others. The survey of a new region, which ordinary works on
the history of infidelity rarely touch, may lay bare unsuspected or
undetected causes of unbelief; and thus indirectly offer a refutation of
it; for intellectual error is refuted, when the origin of it is referred
to false systems of thought. The anatomy of error is the first step to its
cure.
In another point of view, independently of the value of the line of
inquiry generally, and the special suitability of it to individual minds,
there is a further use, which in the present day belongs to it in common
with all inquiries into the history of thought.
It is hard to persuade the students of a past generation that the historic
mode of approaching any problem is the first step toward its successful
solution. Yet a little reflection may at least make the meaning of the
assertion understood. If we view the literary characteristic of the
present, in comparison with that of past ages, we are perhaps right in
stating, that its peculiar feature is the prevalence of the method of
historical criticism. If the four centuries since the Renaissance be
considered, the critical peculiarity of the sixteenth and seventeenth will
be found to be the investigation of ancient literature; in the former
directed to _words_, in the latter to _things_. The eighteenth century
broke away from the past, and, emancipating itself from authority, tried
to rebuild truth from its foundations from present materials, independent
of the judgment formed by past ages. The nineteenth century unites both
methods. It ventures not to explore the universe, unguided by the
experience of the past; but, while reuniting itself to the past, it does
not bow to it. It accepts it as a fact, not as an authority. The
seventeenth century worshipped the past; the eighteenth despised it: the
nineteenth mediates, by means of criticism. Accordingly, in literary
investigations at present, each question is approached from the historic
side, with the belief that the historico-critical inquiry not only
gratifies curiosity, but actually contributes to the solution of the
problem. Some indeed assert(21) this, because they think that the historic
study of philosophy is the whole of philosophy; and, believing that all
truth is relative to its age, are hopeless of attaining the absolute and
unaltering solution of any problem. We, on the other hand, are content to
believe that the history of philosophy is only the entrance to philosophy.
But in either case, truth is sought by means of a philosophical history of
the past; which, tracking the progress of truth and error in any
particular department, lays bare the natural as well as the literary
history; the causes of the past, as well as its form. Truth and error are
thus discovered, not by breaking with the past, and using abstract
speculations on original data, but by tracing the growth of thought,
gathering the harvest of past investigations, and learning by experience
to escape error.
These considerations bear upon the present subject in this manner: they
show not only the special adaptation to the passing tastes of the age, of
an historic mode of approaching a subject, but exhibit also that the mode
of proof and of refutation must be sought, not on abstract grounds, but
historic. The position of an enemy is not to be forced, but turned; his
premises to be refuted, not his conclusions; the antecedent reasons which
led him into his opinion to be exhibited, not merely evidence offered of
the fact that he is in error.
This view, that doubt might be refuted by the historic analysis of its
operation, by laying bare the antecedent grounds which had produced it,
will explain why the author was led to believe that a chapter of mental
and moral physiology might be useful, which would not merely carry out the
anatomy of actual forms of disease, but discover their origin by the study
of the preceding natural history of the patients.
These remarks will perhaps suffice for explaining the object which was
proposed in writing this history; and may justify the hope that this work,
thus adapted to the wants of the time, may offer such a contribution to
the subject of the Christian evidences, as not only to possess an
intellectual value, but to coincide with the purpose contemplated by the
founder of the Lectures.
It remains to state the sources which have been used for the literary
materials of the history. Though they are sufficiently indicated in the
notes, a general description of them may be useful.
They may be distributed under four classes;
1. The histories which have been professedly devoted to the subject.
2. The notices of the history of unbelief in general histories of the
church or of literature.
3. (Which ought indeed to rank first in importance;) the original
authorities for the facts, i.e. the works of the sceptical writers
themselves; or of the contemporary authors who have refuted them.
4. The monographs, which treat of particular writers, ages, or schools, of
sceptical thought.
In approaching the subject, a student would probably commence with the
first two classes; and after having thus acquired for himself a _carte du
pays_, would then explore it in detail by the aid of the third and fourth.
1. The works which have professedly treated of the history of infidelity,
as a whole, are not of great importance.
One of the earliest was the _Historia Univ. Atheismi_, 1725, of Reimannus;
and the _De Atheismo_, 1737, of Buddeus. (An explanation of the word
_Atheism_, as employed by them, is given in Note 21. p. 413.) hey furnish,
as the name implies, a history of scepticism, as well as of sceptics; yet,
though the labours of such diligent and learned men can never be useless,
they afford little information now available. Their date also necessarily
precluded them from knowing the more recent forms of unbelief. Perhaps
under this head we ought also to name the chapters on polemical theology
in the great works of bibliography of the German scholars of the same
time, such as Pfaff (_Hist. Litt. Thol._); Buddeus (_Isagoge_); Fabricius
(_Delectus Argum._); Walch's (_Biblical Theol. Select._); which contain
lists of sceptical works, either directly, or indirectly by naming the
apologists who have answered them. The references to these works will be
found in Note 39. p. 436.
Among French writers, the only one of importance is Houtteville, who
prefixed an Introduction to his work, _La Religion Chretienne prouvee par
des faits_, 1722, containing an account of the writers for and against
Christianity from the earliest times. (Translated 1739.) It contains
little information concerning the authors or the events, but a clearly and
correctly written analysis of their works and thoughts.
Among the English writers who have attempted a consecutive history of the
whole subject was Van Mildert, afterwards bishop of Durham, who has been
already named. The first volume of his _Boyle Lectures_, in 1802-4, was
devoted to the history of infidelity; the second to a general statement of
the evidences for Christianity. This work, on account of its date,
necessarily stops short before the existence of modern forms of doubt; and
indeed evinces no knowledge concerning the contemporary forms of
literature in Germany, which had already attracted the attention of Dr.
Herbert Marsh. The point of view of the work, as already described, almost
entirely precludes the author from entering upon the analysis of the
causes, either emotional or intellectual, which have produced unbelief.
Its value accordingly is chiefly in the literary materials collected in
the notes; in which respect it bears marks of careful study. Though mostly
drawn from second-hand sources, it exhibits wide reading and thoughtful
judgment.
A portion of the Bampton Lectures for 1852, by the Rev. J. C. Riddle, was
devoted to the subject of infidelity. The author's object, as the
title(22) implies, was to give the natural history of unbelief, to the
neglect of the literary. Psychological rather than historical analysis was
used by him for the investigation; and his examination of the moral causes
of doubt is better than of the intellectual. The notes contain a
collection of valuable quotations, which supplement those of Van Mildert,
but are unfortunately given, for the most part, without references.
This completes(23) the enumeration of the histories professedly devoted to
infidelity, with the exception of a small but very creditable production
published since several of these lectures were written, _Defence of the
Faith; Part I. Forms of Unbelief_, by the Rev. S. Robins, forming the
first part of a work, of which the second is to treat the evidences; the
third to draw the moral. It does not profess to be a very deep work;(24)
but it is interesting; drawn generally from the best sources, and written
in an eloquent style and devout spirit.
2. The transition is natural from these works, which treat of the history
of unbelief or give lists of the works of unbelievers, to the notices of
sceptical writers contained in general histories of the church or of
literature.
In this, as in the former case, it is only in modern times that important
notices occur concerning forms of unbelief. The circumstance that in the
early ages unbelief took the form of opposition or persecution on the part
of heathens, and that in the middle ages it was so rare, caused the
ancient church historians and mediaeval church chroniclers to record little
respecting actual unbelief, though they give information about heresy.
Even in modern times, it is not till the early part of the eighteenth
century that any attention is bestowed on the subject. The earlier
historians, both Protestant, such as the Magdeburg Centuriators, and
Catholic, like Baronius, wrote the history of the past for a controversial
purpose in relation to the contests of their own times: and in the next
period, in the one church, Arnold confined himself to the history of
heresy rather than unbelief; and in the other, Fleury and Tillemont wrote
the history of deeds rather than of ideas, and afford no information,
except in a few allusions of the latter writer to the early intellectual
opposition of the heathens.
But about the middle of the eighteenth century, in the period of cold
orthodoxy and solid learning which immediately preceded the rise of
rationalism, as well as in that of incipient free thought, we meet not
only with the historians of theological literature already named above,
but with historians of thought like Brucker, and of the church like
Mosheim, possessed of large taste for inquiry, and wide literary
sympathies, who contribute information on the subject: and towards the
close of the century we find Schroeckh, who, in his lengthy and careful
history of the church since the Reformation,(25) has taken so extensive a
view of the nature of church history, that he has included in it an
account of the struggle with freethinkers. Among the same class, with the
exception that he differs in being marked by rationalist sympathies, must
be ranked Henke.(26)
In the present century the spread of the scientific spirit, which counts
no facts unworthy of notice, together with the attention bestowed on the
history of doctrine, and the special interest in understanding the
fortunes of free thought, which sympathy in danger created during the
rationalist movement, prevented the historians from passing lightly over
so important a series of facts. It may be sufficient to instance, in
proof, the notices of unbelief which occur in Neander's _Church History_.
General histories also of literature, like Schlosser's _History of
Literature in the Eighteenth Century_, or the more theological one of
Hagenbach (_Geschichte des 18__n__ Jahrhunderts_) incidentally afford
information.
The various works just named are the chief of this class which furnish
assistance.
3. After a general preliminary idea of the history has been obtained from
these sources, in order to prevent being confused with details; it is
necessary to resort next to the original sources of information, without
careful study of which the history must lack a real basis.
In reference to the early unbelievers, the direct materials are lost; but
the contemporary replies to these writings remain. In the case of later
unbelievers, both the works and the answers to them exist. It will be
presumed that in so large a subject the writer cannot have read all the
sceptical works which have been written, and are here named. With the
exception however of Averroes and of the Paduan school,(27) in which cases
he has chiefly adopted second-hand information, and merely himself
consulted a few passages of the original writers, he has in all other
instances read the chief works of the sceptical writers, sufficiently at
least to make himself acquainted with their doubts, and in many cases has
even made an analysis of their works. The reader will perceive by the
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E-text prepared by Project Gutenberg volunteers
and revised by Joseph E. Loewenstein, M.D.
THE FOUR MILLION
by
O. HENRY
Not very long ago some one invented the assertion that there were
only "Four Hundred" people in New York City who were really worth
noticing. But a wiser man has arisen--the census taker--and his
larger estimate of human interest has been preferred in marking out
the field of these little stories of the "Four Million."
Contents:
TOBIN'S PALM
THE GIFT OF THE MAGI
A COSMOPOLITE IN A CAFE
BETWEEN ROUNDS
THE SKYLIGHT ROOM
A SERVICE OF LOVE
THE COMING-OUT OF MAGGIE
MAN ABOUT TOWN
THE COP AND THE ANTHEM
AN ADJUSTMENT OF NATURE
MEMOIRS OF A YELLOW DOG
THE LOVE-PHILTRE OF IKEY SCHOENSTEIN
MAMMON AND THE ARCHER
SPRINGTIME A LA CARTE
THE GREEN DOOR
FROM THE CABBY'S SEAT
AN UNFINISHED STORY
THE CALIPH, CUPID AND THE CLOCK
SISTERS OF THE GOLDEN CIRCLE
THE ROMANCE OF A BUSY BROKER
AFTER TWENTY YEARS
LOST ON DRESS PARADE
BY COURIER
THE FURNISHED ROOM
THE BRIEF DEBUT OF TILDY
TOBIN'S PALM
Tobin and me, the two of us, went down to Coney one day, for there was
four dollars between us, and Tobin had need of distractions. For there
was Katie Mahorner, his sweetheart, of County Sligo, lost since she
started for America three months before with two hundred dollars, her
own savings, and one hundred dollars from the sale of Tobin's inherited
estate, a fine cottage and pig on the Bog Shannaugh. And since the
letter that Tobin got saying that she had started to come to him not a
bit of news had he heard or seen of Katie Mahorner. Tobin advertised in
the papers, but nothing could be found of the colleen.
So, to Coney me and Tobin went, thinking that a turn at the chutes and
the smell of the popcorn might raise the heart in his bosom. But Tobin
was a hardheaded man, and the sadness stuck in his skin. He ground his
teeth at the crying balloons; he cursed the moving pictures; and, though
he would drink whenever asked, he scorned Punch and Judy, and was for
licking the tintype men as they came.
So I gets him down a side way on a board walk where the attractions were
some less violent. At a little six by eight stall Tobin halts, with a
more human look in his eye.
"'Tis here," says he, "I will be diverted. I'll have the palm of me hand
investigated by the wonderful palmist of the Nile, and see if what is to
be will be."
Tobin was a believer in signs and the unnatural in nature. He possessed
illegal convictions in his mind along the subjects of black cats, lucky
numbers, and the weather predictions in the papers.
We went into the enchanted chicken coop, which was fixed mysterious with
red cloth and pictures of hands with lines crossing 'em like a railroad
centre. The sign over the door says it is Madame Zozo the Egyptian
Palmist. There was a fat woman inside in a red jumper with pothooks and
beasties embroidered upon it. Tobin gives her ten cents and extends one
of his hands. She lifts Tobin's hand, which is own brother to the hoof
of a drayhorse, and examines it to see whether 'tis a stone in the frog
or a cast shoe he has come for.
"Man," says this Madame Zozo, "the line of your fate shows--"
"Tis not me foot at all," says Tobin, interrupting. "Sure, 'tis no
beauty, but ye hold the palm of me hand."
"The line shows," says the Madame, "that ye've not arrived at your
time of life without bad luck. And there's more to come. The mount
of Venus--or is that a stone bruise?--shows that ye've been in love.
There's been trouble in your life on account of your sweetheart."
"'Tis Katie Mahorner she has references with," whispers Tobin to me in a
loud voice to one side.
"I see," says the palmist, "a great deal of sorrow and tribulation with
one whom ye cannot forget. I see the lines of designation point to the
letter K and the letter M in her name."
"Whist!" says Tobin to me, "do ye hear that?"
"Look out," goes on the palmist, "for a dark man and a light woman; for
they'll both bring ye trouble. Ye'll make a voyage upon the water very
soon, and have a financial loss. I see one line that brings good luck.
There's a man coming into your life who will fetch ye good fortune.
Ye'll know him when ye see him by his crooked nose."
"Is his name set down?" asks Tobin. "'Twill be convenient in the way of
greeting when he backs up to dump off the good luck."
"His name," says the palmist, thoughtful looking, "is not spelled out by
the lines, but they indicate 'tis a long one, and the letter 'o' should
be in it. There's no more to tell. Good-evening. Don't block up the
door."
"'Tis wonderful how she knows," says Tobin as we walk to the pier.
As we squeezed through the gates a <DW65> man sticks his lighted segar
against Tobin's ear, and there is trouble. Tobin hammers his neck, and
the women squeal, and by presence of mind I drag the little man out of
the way before the police comes. Tobin is always in an ugly mood when
enjoying himself.
On the boat going back, when the man calls "Who wants the good-looking
waiter?" Tobin tried to plead guilty, feeling the desire to blow the
foam off a crock of suds, but when he felt in his pocket he found
himself discharged for lack of evidence. Somebody had disturbed his
change during the commotion. So we sat, dry, upon the stools, listening
to the <DW55>s fiddling on deck. If anything, Tobin was lower in spirits
and less congenial with his misfortunes than when we started.
On a seat against the railing was a young woman dressed suitable for red
automobiles, with hair the colour of an unsmoked meerschaum. In passing
by, Tobin kicks her foot without intentions, and, being polite to ladies
when in drink, he tries to give his hat a twist while apologising. But
he knocks it off, and the wind carries it overboard.
Tobin came back and sat down, and I began to look out for him, for the
man's adversities were becoming frequent. He was apt, when pushed so
close by hard luck, to kick the best dressed man he could see, and try
to take command of the boat.
Presently Tobin grabs my arm and says, excited: "Jawn," says he, "do ye
know what we're doing? We're taking a voyage upon the water."
"There now," says I; "subdue yeself. The boat'll land in ten minutes
more."
"Look," says he, "at the light lady upon the bench. And have ye
forgotten the <DW65> man that burned me ear? And isn't the money I had
gone--a dollar sixty-five it was?"
I thought he was no more than summing up his catastrophes so as to get
violent with good excuse, as men will do, and I tried to make him
understand such things was trifles.
"Listen," says Tobin. "Ye've no ear for the gift of prophecy or the
miracles of the inspired. What did the palmist lady tell ye out of me
hand? 'Tis coming true before your eyes. 'Look out,' says she, 'for a
dark man and a light woman; they'll bring ye trouble.' Have ye forgot
the <DW65> man, though he got some of it back from me fist? Can ye show
me a lighter woman than the blonde lady that was the cause of me hat
falling in the water? And where's the dollar sixty-five I had in me vest
when we left the shooting gallery?"
The way Tobin put it, it did seem to corroborate the art of prediction,
though it looked to me that these accidents could happen to any one at
Coney without the implication of palmistry.
Tobin got up and walked around on deck, looking close at the passengers
out of his little red eyes. I asked him the interpretation of his
movements. Ye never know what Tobin has in his mind until he begins to
carry it out.
"Ye should know," says he, "I'm working out the salvation promised by
the lines in me palm. I'm looking for the crooked-nose man that's to
bring the good luck. 'Tis all that will save us. Jawn, did ye ever see
a straighter-nosed gang of hellions in the days of your life?"
'Twas the nine-thirty boat, and we landed and walked up-town through
Twenty-second Street, Tobin being without his hat.
On a street corner, standing under a gas-light and looking over the
elevated road at the moon, was a man. A long man he was, dressed decent,
with a segar between his teeth, and I saw that his nose made two twists
from bridge to end, like the wriggle of a snake. Tobin saw it at the
same time, and I heard him breathe hard like a horse when you take the
saddle off. He went straight up to the man, and I went with him.
"Good-night to ye," Tobin says to the man. The man takes out his segar
and passes the compliments, sociable.
"Would ye hand us your name," asks Tobin, "and let us look at the size
of it? It may be our duty to become acquainted with ye."
"My name" says the man, polite, "is Friedenhausman--Maximus G.
Friedenhausman."
"'Tis the right length," says Tobin. "Do you spell it with an 'o'
anywhere down the stretch of it?"
"I do not," says the man.
"_Can_ ye spell it with an 'o'?" inquires Tobin, turning anxious.
"If your conscience," says the man with the nose, "is indisposed toward
foreign idioms ye might, to please yourself, smuggle the letter into the
penultimate syllable."
"'Tis well," says Tobin. "Ye're in the presence of Jawn Malone and
Daniel Tobin."
"Tis highly appreciated," says the man, with a bow. "And now since I
cannot conceive that ye would hold a spelling bee upon the street
corner, will ye name some reasonable excuse for being at large?"
"By the two signs," answers Tobin, trying to explain, "which ye display
according to the reading of the Egyptian palmist from the sole of me
hand, ye've been nominated to offset with good luck the lines of trouble
leading to the <DW65> man and the blonde lady with her feet crossed in
the boat, besides the financial loss of a dollar sixty-five, all so far
fulfilled according to Hoyle."
The man stopped smoking and looked at me.
"Have ye any amendments," he asks, "to offer to that statement, or are
ye one too? I thought by the looks of ye ye might have him in charge."
"None," says I to him, "except that as one horseshoe resembles another
so are ye the picture of good luck as predicted by the hand of me
friend. If not, then the lines of Danny's hand may have been crossed,
I don't know."
"There's two of ye," says the man with the nose, looking up and down
for the sight of a policeman. "I've enjoyed your company immense.
Good-night."
With that he shoves his segar in his mouth and moves across the street,
stepping fast. But Tobin sticks close to one side of him and me at the
other.
"What!" says he, stopping on the opposite sidewalk and pushing back his
hat; "do ye follow me? I tell ye," he says, very loud, "I'm proud to
have met ye. But it is my desire to be rid of ye. I am off to me home."
"Do," says Tobin, leaning against his sleeve. "Do be off to your home.
And I will sit at the door of it till ye come out in the morning. For
the dependence is upon ye to obviate the curse of the <DW65> man and the
blonde lady and the financial loss of the one-sixty-five."
"'Tis a strange hallucination," says the man, turning to me as a more
reasonable lunatic. "Hadn't ye better get him home?"
"Listen, man," says I to him. "Daniel Tobin is as sensible as he ever
was. Maybe he is a bit deranged on account of having drink enough to
disturb but not enough to settle his wits, but he is no more than
following out the legitimate path of his superstitions and predicaments,
which I will explain to you." With that I relates the facts about
the palmist lady and how the finger of suspicion points to him as an
instrument of good fortune. "Now, understand," I concludes, "my position
in this riot. I am the friend of me friend Tobin, according to me
interpretations. 'Tis easy to be a friend to the prosperous, for it
pays; 'tis not hard to be a friend to the poor, for ye get puffed up by
gratitude and have your picture printed standing in front of a tenement
with a scuttle of coal and an orphan in each hand. But it strains the
art of friendship to be true friend to a born fool. And that's what I'm
doing," says I, "for, in my opinion, there's no fortune to be read from
the palm of me hand that wasn't printed there with the handle of a pick.
And, though ye've got the crookedest nose in New York City, I misdoubt
that all the fortune-tellers doing business could milk good luck from
ye. But the lines of Danny's hand pointed to ye fair, and I'll assist
him to experiment with ye until he's convinced ye're dry."
After that the man turns, sudden, to laughing. He leans against a corner
and laughs considerable. Then he claps me and Tobin on the backs of us
and takes us by an arm apiece.
"'Tis my mistake," says he. "How could I be expecting anything so fine
and wonderful to be turning the corner upon me? I came near being found
unworthy. Hard by," says he, "is a cafe, snug and suitable for the
entertainment of idiosyncrasies. Let us go there and have drink while we
discuss the unavailability of the categorical."
So saying, he marched me and Tobin to the back room of a saloon, and
ordered the drinks, and laid the money on the table. He looks at me and
Tobin like brothers of his, and we have the segars.
"Ye must know," says the man of destiny, "that me walk in life is
one that is called the literary. I wander abroad be night seeking
idiosyncrasies in the masses and truth in the heavens above. When ye
came upon me I was in contemplation of the elevated road in conjunction
with the chief luminary of night. The rapid transit is poetry and art:
the moon but a tedious, dry body, moving by rote. But these are private
opinions, for, in the business of literature, the conditions are
reversed. 'Tis me hope to be writing a book to explain the strange
things I have discovered in life."
"Ye will put me in a book," says Tobin, disgusted; "will ye put me in a
book?"
"I will not," says the man, "for the covers will not hold ye. Not yet.
The best I can do is to enjoy ye meself, for the time is not ripe for
destroying the limitations of print. Ye would look fantastic in type.
All alone by meself must I drink this cup of joy. But, I thank ye, boys;
I am truly grateful."
"The talk of ye," says Tobin, blowing through his moustache and pounding
the table with his fist, "is an eyesore to me patience. There was good
luck promised out of the crook of your nose, but ye bear fruit like the
bang of a drum. Ye resemble, with your noise of books, the wind blowing
through a crack. Sure, now, I would be thinking the palm of me hand lied
but for the coming true of the <DW65> man and the blonde lady and--"
"Whist!" says the long man; "would ye be led astray by physiognomy? Me
nose will do what it can within bounds. Let us have these glasses filled
again, for 'tis good to keep idiosyncrasies well moistened, they being
subject to deterioration in a dry moral atmosphere."
So, the man of literature makes good, to my notion, for he pays,
cheerful, for everything, the capital of me and Tobin being exhausted by
prediction. But Tobin is sore, and drinks quiet, with the red showing in
his eye.
By and by we moved out, for 'twas eleven o'clock, and stands a bit upon
the sidewalk. And then the man says he must be going home, and invites
me and Tobin to walk that way. We arrives on a side street two blocks
away where there is a stretch of brick houses with high stoops and iron
fences. The man stops at one of them and looks up at the top windows
which he finds dark.
"'Tis me humble dwelling," says he, "and I begin to perceive by the
signs that me wife has retired to slumber. Therefore I will venture a
bit in the way of hospitality. 'Tis me wish that ye enter the basement
room, where we dine, and partake of a reasonable refreshment. There will
be some fine cold fowl and cheese and a bottle or two of ale. Ye will be
welcome to enter and eat, for I am indebted to ye for diversions."
The appetite and conscience of me and Tobin was congenial to the
proposition, though 'twas sticking hard in Danny's superstitions to
think that a few drinks and a cold lunch should represent the good
fortune promised by the palm of his hand.
"Step down the steps," says the man with the crooked nose, "and I will
enter by the door above and let ye in. I will ask the new girl we have
in the kitchen," says he, "to make ye a pot of coffee to drink before ye
go. 'Tis fine coffee Katie Mahorner makes for a green girl just landed
three months. Step in," says the man, "and I'll send her down to ye."
THE GIFT OF THE MAGI
One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it
was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the
grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one's cheeks burned
with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied.
Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty-seven cents. And the
next day would be Christmas.
There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little
couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection
that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles
predominating.
While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first
stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per
week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that
word on the lookout for the mendicancy squad.
In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go,
and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring.
Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name "Mr. James
Dillingham Young." The "Dillingham" had been flung to the breeze
during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid
$30 per week. Now, when the income was shrunk to $20, the letters of
"Dillingham" looked blurred, as though they were thinking seriously
of contracting to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James
Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above he was called
"Jim" and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already
introduced to you as Della. Which is all very good.
Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag.
She stood by the window and looked out dully at a grey cat walking a
grey fence in a grey backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she
had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving
every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a
week doesn't go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated.
They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a
happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something
fine and rare and sterling--something just a little bit near to being
worthy of the honour of being owned by Jim.
There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have
seen a pier-glass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may,
by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips,
obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender,
had mastered the art.
Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. Her
eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its colour within
twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its
full length.
Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which
they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim's gold watch that had been
his father's and his grandfather's. The other was Della's hair. Had the
Queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have
let her hair hang out the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her
Majesty's jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all
his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his
watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from
envy.
So now Della's beautiful hair fell about her, rippling and shining like
a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself
almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and
quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or
two splashed on the worn red carpet.
On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of
skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered
out the door and down the stairs to the street.
Where she stopped the sign read: "Mme. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All
Kinds." One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame,
large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the "Sofronie."
"Will you buy my hair?" asked Della.
"I buy hair," said Madame. "Take yer hat off and let's have a sight at
the looks of it."
Down rippled the brown cascade. "Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting
the mass with a practised hand.
"Give it to me quick," said Della.
Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed
metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim's present.
She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else.
There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all
of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in
design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by
meretricious ornamentation--as all good things should do. It was even
worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be
Jim's. It was like him. Quietness and value--the description applied to
both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home
with the 87 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly
anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he
sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap
that he used in place of a chain.
When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence
and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went
to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is
always a tremendous task, dear friends--a mammoth task.
Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls
that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at
her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically.
"If Jim doesn't kill me," she said to herself, "before he takes a second
look at me, he'll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what
could I do--oh! what could I do with a dollar and eighty-seven cents?"
At 7 o'clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of
the stove hot and ready to cook the chops.
Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on
the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she
heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she
turned white for just a moment. She had a habit for saying little silent
prayers about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered:
"Please God, make him think I am still pretty."
The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and
very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two--and to be burdened
with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves.
Jim stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of
quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in
them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger,
nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments
that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with
that peculiar expression on his face.
Della wriggled off the table and went for him.
"Jim, darling," she cried, "don't look at me that way. I had my hair cut
off and sold because I couldn't have lived through Christmas without
giving you a present. It'll grow out again--you won't mind, will you?
I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say 'Merry Christmas!'
Jim, and let's be happy. You don't know what a nice--what a beautiful,
nice gift I've got for you."
"You've cut off your hair?" asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not
arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor.
"Cut it off and sold it," said Della. "Don't you like me just as well,
anyhow? I'm me without my hair, ain't I?"
Jim looked about the room curiously.
"You say your hair is gone?" he said, with an air almost of idiocy.
"You needn't look for it," said Della. "It's sold, I tell you--sold and
gone, too. It's Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you.
Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered," she went on with sudden
serious sweetness, "but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall
I put the chops on, Jim?"
Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della. For
ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential
object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a
year--what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you
the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not
among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on.
Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table.
"Don't make any mistake, Dell," he said, "about me. I don't think
there's anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that
could make me like my girl any less. But if you'll unwrap that package
you may see why you had me going a while at first."
White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an
ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to
hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of
all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat.
For there lay The Combs--the set of combs, side and back, that Della had
worshipped long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise
shell, with jewelled rims--just the shade to wear in the beautiful
vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart
had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of
possession. And now, they were hers, but the tresses that should have
adorned the coveted adornments were gone.
But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up
with dim eyes and a smile and say: "My hair grows so fast, Jim!"
And then Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, "Oh, oh!"
Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him
eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with
a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit.
"Isn't it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have
to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I
want to see how it looks on it."
Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands
under the back of his head and smiled.
"Dell," said he, "let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a
while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get
the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on."
The magi, as you know, were wise men--wonderfully wise men--who brought
gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving
Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones,
possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication.
And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two
foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other
the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of
these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the
wisest. Of all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest.
Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.
A COSMOPOLITE IN A CAFE
At midnight the cafe was crowded. By some chance the little table at
which I sat had escaped the eye of incomers, and two vacant chairs at it
extended their arms with venal hospitality to the influx of patrons.
And then a cosmopolite sat in one of them, and I was glad, for I held
a theory that since Adam no true citizen of the world has existed. We
hear of them, and we see foreign labels on much luggage, but we find
travellers instead of cosmopolites.
I invoke your consideration of the scene--the marble-topped tables, the
range of leather-upholstered wall seats, the gay company, the ladies
dressed in demi-state toilets, speaking in an exquisite visible chorus
of taste, economy, opulence or art; the sedulous and largess-loving
_garcons_, the music wisely catering to all with its raids upon the
composers; the _melange_ of talk and laughter--and, if you will, the
Wuerzburger in the tall glass cones that bend to your lips as a ripe
cherry sways on its branch to the beak of a robber jay. I was told by
a sculptor from Mauch Chunk that the scene was truly Parisian.
My cosmopolite was named E. Rushmore Coglan, and he will be heard from
next summer at Coney Island. He is to establish a new "attraction"
there, he informed me, offering kingly diversion. And then his
conversation rang along parallels of latitude and longitude. He took the
great, round world in his hand, so to speak, familiarly, contemptuously,
and it seemed no larger than the seed of a Maraschino cherry in a
_table d'hote_ grape fruit. He spoke disrespectfully of the equator, he
skipped from continent to continent, he derided the zones, he mopped
up the high seas with his napkin. With a wave of his hand he would
speak of a certain bazaar in | 3,217.392735 |
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Produced by D Alexander 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.)
Makers of History
Genghis Khan
BY
JACOB ABBOTT
WITH ENGRAVINGS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
1901
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year one thousand eight
hundred and sixty, by
HARPER & BROTHERS,
in the Clerk's office of the District Court of the Southern District of
New York.
* * * * *
Copyright, 1888, by BENJAMIN VAUGHAN ABBOTT, AUSTIN ABBOTT,
LYMAN ABBOTT, and EDWARD ABBOTT.
[Illustration: INAUGURATION OF GENGHIS KHAN.]
PREFACE.
The word khan is not a name, but a title. It means chieftain or king.
It is a word used in various forms by the different tribes and nations
that from time immemorial have inhabited Central Asia, and has been
applied to a great number of potentates and rulers that have from time
to time arisen among them. Genghis Khan was the greatest of these
princes. He was, in fact, one of the most renowned conquerors whose
exploits history records.
As in all other cases occurring in the series of histories to which
this work belongs, where the events narrated took place at such a
period or in such a part of the world that positively reliable and
authentic information in respect to them can now no longer be
obtained, the author is not responsible for the actual truth of the
narrative which he offers, but only for the honesty and fidelity with
which he has compiled it from the best sources of information now
within reach.
CONTENTS.
Chapter Page
I. PASTORAL LIFE IN ASIA 13
II. THE MONGULS 23
III. YEZONKAI KHAN 41
IV. THE FIRST BATTLE 52
V. VANG KHAN 68
VI. TEMUJIN IN EXILE 76
VII. RUPTURE WITH VANG KHAN 86
VIII. PROGRESS OF THE QUARREL 100
IX. THE DEATH OF VANG KHAN 114
X. THE DEATH OF YEMUKA 123
XI. ESTABLISHMENT OF THE EMPIRE 136
XII. DOMINIONS OF GENGHIS KHAN 150
XIII. THE ADVENTURES OF PRINCE KUSHLUK 163
XIV. IDIKUT 175
XV. THE STORY OF HUJAKU 184
XVI. CONQUESTS IN CHINA 198
XVII. THE SULTAN MOHAMMED 213
XVIII. THE WAR WITH THE SULTAN 236
XIX. THE FALL OF BOKHARA 244
XX. BATTLES AND SIEGES 264
XXI. DEATH OF THE SULTAN 281
XXII. VICTORIOUS CAMPAIGNS 297
XXIII. GRAND CELEBRATIONS 318
XXIV. CONCLUSION 330
ENGRAVINGS
Page
THE INAUGURATION OF GENGHIS KHAN _Frontispiece._
ENCAMPMENT OF A PATRIARCH 20
SHOOTING AT PURSUERS 35
MAP--EMPIRE OF GENGHIS KHAN | 3,217.445647 |
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Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Joseph R. Hauser and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+-----------------------------------------------------------------------+
|TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: |
| |
|There is Greek in this text which has been transliterated into Arabic |
|letters. The Greek is notated as: [Greek: Pinax] |
+-----------------------------------------------------------------------+
#The Tatler#
Edited by
George A. Aitken
In Four Volumes
Volume Three
#The Tatler#
Edited with Introduction & Notes
by
George A. Aitken
_Author of_
"The Life of Richard Steele," &c.
VOL. III
New York
Hadley & Mathews
156 Fifth Avenue
London: Duckworth & Co.
1899
Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.
At the Ballantyne Press
_To the_ Right Honourable
#William Lord Cowper#
Baron of Wingham[1]
MY LORD,
After having long celebrated the superior graces and excellences
among men, in an imaginary character, I do myself the honour to
show my veneration for transcendent merit, under my own name, in
this address to your lordship. The just application of those high
accomplishments of which you are master, has been an advantage to
all your fellow subjects; and it is from the common obligation you
have laid upon all the world, that I, though a private man, can
pretend to be affected with, or take the liberty to acknowledge
your great talents and public virtues.
It gives a pleasing prospect to your friends, that is to say, to
the friends of your country, that you have passed through the
highest offices, at an age when others usually do but form to
themselves the hopes of them.[2] They may expect to see you in the
House of Lords as many years as you were ascending to it. It is our
common good, that your admirable eloquence can now no longer be
employed but in the expression of your own sentiments and judgment.
The skilful pleader is now for ever changed into the just judge;
which latter character your lordship exerts with so prevailing an
impartiality, that you win the approbation even of those who
dissent from you, and you always obtain favour, because you are
never moved by it.
This gives you a certain dignity peculiar to your present
situation, and makes the equity, even of a Lord High Chancellor,
appear but a degree towards the magnanimity of a peer of Great
Britain.
Forgive me, my lord, when I cannot conceal from you, that I shall
never hereafter behold you, but I shall behold you, as lately,
defending the brave, and the unfortunate.[3]
When we attend to your lordship, engaged in a discourse, we cannot
but reflect upon the many requisites which the vainglorious
speakers of antiquity have demanded in a man who is to excel in
oratory; I say, my lord, when we reflect upon the precepts by
viewing the example, though there is no excellence proposed by
those rhetoricians wanting, the whole art seems to be resolved into
that one motive of speaking, sincerity in the intention. The
graceful manner, the apt gesture, and the assumed concern, are
impotent helps to persuasion, in comparison of the honest
countenance of him who utters what he really means. From hence it
is, that all the beauties which others attain with labour, are in
your lordship but the natural effects of the heart that dictates.
It is this noble simplicity which makes you surpass mankind in the
faculties wherein mankind are distinguished from other creatures,
reason and speech.
If these gifts were communicated to all men in proportion to the
truth and ardour of their hearts, I should speak of you with the
same force as you express yourself on any other subject. But I
resist my present impulse, as agreeable as it is to me; though
indeed, had I any pretensions to a fame of this kind, I should,
above all other themes, attempt a panegyric upon my Lord Cowper:
for the only sure way to a reputation for eloquence, in an age
wherein that perfect orator lives, is to choose an argument, upon
which he himself must of necessity be silent. I am,
My Lord, your Lordship's
Most devoted, most obedient, and
Most humble Servant,
RICHARD STEELE.
[Footnote 1: William Cowper was appointed King's counsel about 1694; he
succeeded Sir Nathan Wright, as Lord Keeper of the Great Seal, October
11, 1705; was created Baron Cowper of Wingham, November 9, 1706; and was
appointed Lord Chancellor, May 4, 1707, which post he held till
September 14, 1710. On the accession of King George, he was again
appointed Lord Chancellor, and, on resigning the Great Seal, was created
Earl Cowper and Viscount Fordwich, March 18, 1717-18. He died in 1723.
Lord Cowper refused to accept New Year's gifts from the counsellors at
law, which had been long given to his predecessors, and, when he was
Chancellor, though in friendship with the Duke of Marlborough, and of
the same political principles, he refused to put the broad seal of his
office to a commission for making his Grace generalissimo for life.
"When Steele's patent, as Governor of the Theatre Royal, passed the
Great Seal, Lord Chancellor Cowper, in compliment to Sir Richard, would
receive no fee" (Cibber's "Apology"). He was praised by Hughes, under
the name of "Manilius," in No. 467 of the _Spectator_.]
[Footnote 2: The date of Lord Cowper's birth is not known, but in 1710
he was probably about 46. He entered the Middle Temple in | 3,217.688041 |
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Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by
Google Books (the New York Public Library)
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source: Google Books
https://books.google.com/books?id=IgMiAAAAMAAJ
(the New York Public Library)
2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
THE FATE:
A TALE OF STIRRING TIMES.
BY G. P. R. JAMES, ESQ.,
AUTHOR OF
"THE COMMISSIONER," "HENRY SMEATON," "THE OLD OAK CHEST," "THE
WOODMAN," "GOWRIE," "RUSSELL," "THE FORGERY," "BEAUCHAMP,"
"RICHELIEU," "DARK SCENES OF HISTORY," &c., &c.
NEW YORK:
HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS,
PEARL STREET, FRANKLIN SQUARE.
1864.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year one thousand eight
hundred and fifty-one, by
GEORGE P. R. JAMES,
in the Office of the Clerk of the District Court of the Southern
District of New York.
PREFACE.
Change of scene I believe to be as invigorating to the mind as change
of air is to the body, refreshing the weary and exhausted powers, and
affording a stimulus which prompts to activity of thought. To a writer
of fiction, especially, the change may be necessary, not only on
account of the benefits to be derived by his own mind from the
invigorating effects of a new atmosphere, but also on account of the
fresh thoughts suggested by the different circumstances in which he is
placed.
We are curiously-constructed creatures, not unlike the mere brute
creation in many of our propensities; and the old adage, that "custom
is a second nature," is quite as applicable to the mind as to the
body. If we ride a horse along a road to which he is accustomed, he
will generally make a little struggle to stop at a house where his
master has been in the habit of calling, or to turn up a by-lane
through which he has frequently gone. The mind, too, especially of an
author, has its houses of call and by-lanes in plenty; and, so long as
it is in familiar scenes, it will have a strong hankering for its
accustomed roads and pleasant halting-places. Every object around us
is a sort of bough from which we gather our ideas; and it is very
well, now and then, to pluck the apples of another garden, of a flavor
different from our own.
Whether I have in any degree benefited by the change from one side of
the Atlantic to the other--a change much greater when morally than
when physically considered--it is not for me to say; but I trust that,
at all events, the work which is to follow these pages will not show
that I have in any degree or in any way suffered from my visit to and
residence in America. I have written it with interest in the
characters portrayed and the events detailed; and I humbly
desire--without even venturing to hope--that I may succeed in
communicating some portion of the same interest to my readers.
A good deal of laudatory matter has been written upon the
landscape-painting propensities of the author; and one reviewer,
writing in Blackwood's Magazine, has comprehended and pointed out what
has always been one of that author's especial objects in describing
mere scenes of inanimate nature. In the following pages I have
indulged very little in descriptions of this kind; but here, as every
where else, I have ever endeavored to treat the picture of any
particular place or scene with a reference to man's heart, or mind, or
fate--his thoughts, his feelings, his destiny--and to bring forth, as
it were, the latent sympathies between human and mere material nature.
There is, to my mind, a likeness (a | 3,217.745693 |
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JUST DAVID
BY
ELEANOR H. (HODGMAN) PORTER
AUTHOR POLLYANNA, MISS BILLY MARRIED, ETC.
TO
MY FRIEND
Mrs. James Harness
CONTENTS
I. THE MOUNTAIN HOME
II. THE TRAIL
III. THE VALLEY
IV. TWO LETTERS
V. DISCORDS
VI. NUISANCES, NECESSARY AND OTHERWISE
VII. "YOU'RE WANTED--YOU'RE WANTED!"
VIII. THE PUZZLING "DOS" AND "DON'TS"
IX. JOE
X. THE LADY OF THE ROSES
XI. JACK AND JILL
XII. ANSWERS THAT DID NOT ANSWER
XIII. A SURPRISE FOR MR. JACK
XIV. THE TOWER WINDOW
XV. SECRETS
XVI. DAVID'S CASTLE IN SPAIN
XVII. "THE PRINCESS AND THE PAUPER"
XVIII. DAVID TO THE RESCUE
XIX. THE UNBEAUTIFUL WORLD
XX. THE UNFAMILIAR WAY
XXI. HEAVY HEARTS
XXII. AS PERRY SAW IT
XXIII. PUZZLES
XXIV. A STORY REMODELED
XXV. THE BEAUTIFUL WORLD
CHAPTER I
THE MOUNTAIN HOME
Far up on the mountain-side the little shack stood alone in the clearing.
It was roughly yet warmly built. Behind it jagged cliffs broke the north
wind, and towered gray-white in the sunshine. Before it a tiny expanse of
green sloped gently away to a point where the mountain dropped in another
sharp descent, wooded with scrubby firs and pines. At the left a
footpath led into the cool depths of the forest. But at the right the
mountain fell away again and disclosed to view the picture David loved
the best of all: the far-reaching valley; the silver pool of the lake
with its ribbon of a river flung far out; and above it the grays and
greens and purples of the mountains that climbed one upon another's
shoulders until the topmost thrust their heads into the wide dome of
the sky itself.
There was no road, apparently, leading away from the cabin. There was
only the footpath that disappeared into the forest. Neither, anywhere,
was there a house in sight nearer than the white specks far down in the
valley by the river.
Within the shack a wide fireplace dominated one side of the main room.
It was June now, and the ashes lay cold on the hearth; but from the
tiny lean-to in the rear came the smell and the sputter of bacon
sizzling over a blaze. The furnishings of the room were simple, yet, in
a way, out of the common. There were two bunks, a few rude but
comfortable chairs, a table, two music-racks, two violins with their
cases, and everywhere books, and scattered sheets of music. Nowhere was
there cushion, curtain, or knickknack that told of a woman's taste or
touch. On the other hand, neither was there anywhere gun, pelt, or
antlered head that spoke of a man's strength and skill. For decoration
there were a beautiful copy of the Sistine Madonna, several photographs
signed with names well known out in the great world beyond the
mountains, and a festoon of pine cones such as a child might gather and
hang.
From the little lean-to kitchen the sound of the sputtering suddenly
ceased, and at the door appeared a pair of dark, wistful eyes.
"Daddy!" called the owner of the eyes.
There was no answer.
"Father, are you there?" called the voice, more insistently.
From one of the bunks came a slight stir and a murmured word. At the
sound the boy at the door leaped softly into the room and hurried to
the bunk in the corner. He was a slender lad with short, crisp curls at
his ears, and the red of perfect health in his cheeks. His hands, slim,
long, and with tapering fingers like a girl's, reached forward eagerly.
"Daddy, come! I've done the bacon all myself, and the potatoes and the
coffee, too. Quick, it's all getting cold!"
Slowly, with the aid of the boy's firm hands, the man pulled himself
half to a sitting posture. His cheeks, like the boy's, were red--but
not with health. His eyes were a little wild, but his voice was low and
very tender, like a caress.
"David--it's my little son David!"
"Of course it's David! Who else should it be?" laughed the boy. "Come!"
And he tugged at the man's hands.
The man rose then, unsteadily, and by sheer will forced himself to
stand upright. The wild look left his eyes, and the flush his cheeks.
His face looked suddenly old and haggard. Yet with fairly sure steps he
crossed the room and entered the little kitchen.
Half of the bacon was black; the other half was transparent and like
tough jelly. The potatoes were soggy, and had the unmistakable taste
that comes from a dish that has boiled dry. The coffee was lukewarm and
muddy. Even the milk was sour.
David laughed a little ruefully.
"Things aren't so nice as yours, father," he apologized. "I'm afraid
I'm nothing but a discord in that orchestra to-day! Somehow, some of
the stove was hotter than the rest, and burnt up the bacon in spots;
and all the water got out of the potatoes, too,--though THAT didn't
matter, for I just put more cold in. I forgot and left the milk in the
sun, and it tastes bad now; but I'm sure next time it'll be better--all
of it."
The man smiled, but he shook his head sadly.
"But there ought not to be any 'next time,' David."
"Why not? What do you mean? Aren't you ever going to let me try again,
father?" There was real distress in the boy's voice.
The man hesitated. His lips parted with an indrawn breath, as if behind
them lay a rush of words. But they closed abruptly, the words still
unsaid. Then, very lightly, came these others:--
"Well, son, this isn't a very nice way to treat your supper, is it?
Now, if you please, I'll take some of that bacon. I think I feel my
appetite coming back."
If the truant appetite "came back," however, it could not have stayed;
for the man ate but little. He frowned, too, as he saw how little the
boy ate. He sat silent while his son cleared the food and dishes away,
and he was still silent when, with the boy, he passed out of the house
and walked to the little bench facing the west.
Unless it stormed very hard, David never went to bed without this last
look at his "Silver Lake," as he called the little sheet of water far
down in the valley.
"Daddy, it's gold to-night--all gold with the sun!" he cried
rapturously, as his eyes fell upon his treasure. "Oh, daddy!"
It was a long-drawn cry of ecstasy, and hearing it, the man winced, as
with sudden pain.
"Daddy, I'm going to play it--I've got to play it!" cried the boy,
bounding toward the cabin. In a moment he had returned, violin at his
chin.
The man watched and listened; and as he watched and listened, his face
became a battle-ground whereon pride and fear, hope and despair, joy
and sorrow, fought for the mastery.
It was no new thing for David to "play" the sunset. Always, when he was
moved, David turned to his violin. Always in its quivering strings he
found the means to say that which his tongue could not express.
Across the valley the grays and blues of the mountains had become all
purples now. Above, the sky in one vast flame of crimson and gold, was
a molten sea on which floated rose-pink cloud-boats. Below, the valley
with its lake and river picked out in rose and gold against the shadowy
greens of field and forest, seemed like some enchanted fairyland of
loveliness.
And all this was in David's violin, and all this, too, was on David's
uplifted, rapturous face.
As the last rose-glow turned to gray and the last strain quivered into
silence, the man spoke. His voice was almost harsh with self-control.
"David, the time has come. We'll have to give it up--you and I."
The boy turned wonderingly, his face still softly luminous.
"Give what up?"
"This--all this."
"This! Why, father, what do you mean? This is home!"
The man nodded wearily.
"I know. It has been home; but, David, you didn't think we could always
live here, like this, did you?"
David laughed softly, and turned his eyes once more to the distant
sky-line.
"Why not?" he asked dreamily. "What better place could there be? I like
it, daddy."
The man drew a troubled breath, and stirred restlessly. The teasing
pain in his side was very bad to-night, and no change of position eased
it. He was ill, very ill; and he knew it. Yet he also knew that, to
David, sickness, pain, and death meant nothing--or, at most, words that
had always been lightly, almost unconsciously passed over. For the
first time he wondered | 3,217.751924 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
SERVANTS OF THE GUNS
BY
JEFFERY E. JEFFERY
_By the ears and the eyes and the brain,
By the limbs and the hands and the wings,
We are slaves to our masters the guns,
But their slaves are the masters of kings!_
GILBERT FRANKAU.
LONDON SMITH, ELDER & CO., 15 WATERLOO PLACE
1917
[_All rights reserved_]
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED LONDON AND BECCLES,
ENGLAND
_TO
ONE WHO KNOWS NOTHING OF GUNS
BUT MUCH OF LIFE
MY MOTHER_
CONTENTS
PART I
THE NEW "UBIQUE"
BEGINNING AGAIN
A BATTERY IN BEING
"IN THE LINE"
SPIT AND POLISH
A BATTLE
PART II
AND THE OLD
BILFRED
"THE PROGRESS OF PICKERSDYKE"
SNATTY
FIVE-FOUR-EIGHT
PART III
IN ENEMY HANDS
SOME EXPERIENCES OF A PRISONER OF WAR
HENRY
PART I
THE NEW "UBIQUE"
BEGINNING AGAIN
As the long troop train rumbled slowly over the water-logged wastes of
Flanders, I sat in the corner of a carriage which was littered with all
the _debris_ of a twenty-four hours' journey and watched the fiery
winter's sun set gorgeously. It was Christmas evening. Inevitably my
mind went back to that other journey of sixteen months ago when we set
forth so proudly, so exultantly to face the test of war.
But how different, how utterly different is everything now! Last time,
with the sun shining brilliantly from a cloudless sky and the French
sentries along the line waving enthusiastically, we passed cheerfully
through the pleasant land of France towards our destination on the
frontier. I was a subaltern then, a subordinate member of a battery
which, according to pre-war standards, was equipped and trained to
perfection--and I can say this without presumption, for having only
joined it in July I had had no share in the making of it. But I had
been in it long enough to appreciate its intense _esprit-de-corps_, long
enough to share the absolute confidence in its efficiency which inspired
every man in it from the major to the second trumpeter.
But now it is midwinter, the second winter of the war, and the French
sentries no longer wave to us, for they have seen too many train-loads
of English troops to be more than mildly interested. The war to which we
set out so light-heartedly sixteen months ago has proved itself to be
not the "greatest of games," but the greatest of all ghastly horrors
threatening the final disruption of civilised humanity. More than a year
has passed and the end is not in sight. But the cause is as righteous,
the victory as certain now as it was then.... The methods and | 3,218.161157 |
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[Illustration: George Washington]
LOG CABIN TO WHITE HOUSE SERIES
From Farm House to the White House
THE LIFE OF
GEORGE WASHINGTON
HIS BOYHOOD, YOUTH, MANHOOD, PUBLIC
AND PRIVATE LIFE AND SERVICES
_By_ William M. Thayer
Author of "From Log Cabin to White House,"
"From Pioneer Home to White House,"
"From Tannery to White House,"
"From Boyhood to Manhood," etc., etc.
_ILLUSTRATED_
NEW YORK
HURST & COMPANY PUBLISHERS
Log Cabin to White House Series.
UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME.
BY WILLIAM M. THAYER:
From Boyhood to Manhood--Life of Benjamin Franklin.
From Farm House to White House--Life of George Washington.
From Log Cabin to White House--Life of James A. Garfield,
with eulogy by Hon. James G. Blaine.
From Pioneer Home to White House--Life of Abraham Lincoln,
with eulogy by Hon. Geo. Bancroft.
From Tannery to White House--Life of Ulysses S. Grant.
BY EDWARD S. ELLIS:
From Ranch to White House--Life of Theodore Roosevelt.
_Price Post-Paid, 75c. each, or $4.50 for the set._
HURST & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK.
Copyright, 1890, By JAMES H. EARLE.
To ALL WHO HONOR TRUE MANHOOD,
This Volume,
_REPRESENTING THE ELEMENTS OF SUCCESS_,
From Boyhood to Manhood
IN THE
CAREER AND NOBLE CHARACTER
OF
GEORGE WASHINGTON,
"_THE FATHER OF HIS COUNTRY_,"
Is Sincerely and Affectionately Dedicated.
PREFACE.
Every American, old or young, should become familiar with the life of
Washington; it will confirm their patriotism and strengthen their
loyalty. Such a character will become an inspiration to them, eliciting
nobler aims, and impelling to nobler deeds.
Washington himself wrote to his step-son, who was in college:
"You are now extending into that stage of life when good or bad
habits are formed; when the mind will be turned to things useful
and praiseworthy or to dissipation and vice. Fix on which ever
it may, it will stick by you; for you know it has been said, and
truly, 'The way the twig is bent the tree's inclined.' This, in
a strong point of view, shows the propriety of letting your
inexperience be directed by maturer advice, and in placing guard
upon the avenues which lead to idleness and vice. The latter
will approach like a thief, working upon your passions,
encouraged, perhaps, by bad examples, the propensity to which
will increase in proportion to the practice of it and your
yielding. Virtue and vice cannot be allied, nor can idleness and
industry; of course if you resolve to adhere to the former of
these extremes, an intimacy with those who incline to the latter
of them would be extremely embarrassing to you; it would be a
stumbling block in your way, and act like a mill-stone hung to
your neck; for it is the nature of idleness and vice to obtain
as many votaries as they can....
"It is to close application and perseverance that men of letters
and science are indebted for their knowledge and usefulness; and
you are now at the period of life when these are to be acquired,
or lost for ever. As you know how anxious your friends are to
see you enter upon the grand theatre of life with the advantages
of a finished education, a highly cultivated mind, and a proper
sense of your duties to God and man, I shall only add one
sentiment before I close this letter and that is, to pay due
respect and obedience to your tutors, and affectionate reverence
for the president of the college, whose character merits your
highest regards. Let no bad example, for such is to be met in
all seminaries, have an improper influence upon your conduct.
Let this be such, and let it be your pride to demean yourself
in such a manner as to obtain the good will of your superiors
and the love of your fellow students."
Better advice than this was never given to a youth; and to enforce it,
we present in this volume the life and character of the great man who so
lovingly tendered it. By employing the colloquial style, anecdotal
illustration, and thrilling incident, the author hopes more successfully
to accomplish his purpose.
In the preparation of this work the author has availed himself of the
abundant material furnished by Washington's well-known biographers,
Ramsey, Weems, Marshall, Sparks, Bancroft, Irving, Everett, Custis,
etc., together with the anecdotes of his earlier and later life, found
in eulogies, essays, and literary articles upon his life and character,
with which the literature of our country abounds. Incident is allowed to
tell the life story of the subject. The incidents of his boyhood and
youth are particularly narrated, that the achievements of ripe manhood
may more clearly appear to be the outcome of a life well begun. To such
an example parents and guardians can point with confidence and hope.
Believing that biography should be written and read so as to assure a
sharp analysis of character, thereby bringing the real qualities of the
subject to the front, and believing, also, that the biographies of the
noblest men only should be written for the young, since "example is more
powerful than precept," the author sends forth this humble volume,
invoking for it the considerate indulgence of critics, and the blessing
of Divine Providence.
W. M. T.
FRANKLIN, Mass.
CONTENTS.
I.
ANCESTORS AND BIRTH.
Ancestors in England--John and Lawrence Washington--Family of
Note--The Washington Manor and Irving--Sir Henry Washington in
War--English Fox Hunting--Washington and Franklin--The
Washingtons in America--Birth of George--House where
born--Ceremony of placing a Slab on it by Custis--Paulding
describes the Place--The House described--George
baptized--Removal to Banks of Rappahannock--Large Estates--Style
of Living--Vast Wilderness--Militia--Depredations by
Indians--<DW64> Slavery 23
II.
BOYHOOD.
Reliable Information about it--Visit to the Orchard, and the
Rebuke to Selfishness--George's Name growing in the Garden--Its
Lesson about God--The Hatchet, and it Lesson about
Lying--Raising a Regiment of Soldiers--George's Brother in
Uniform--Effect of Military Display on George--Playing
Soldier--His Brother Lawrence a Good Soldier--Love Greater than
War--George's Military Spirit increasing--George's Manly
Bearing--Excels in Athletic Sports--What Fitzhugh said--The
Sequel 36
III.
SCHOOL DAYS.
His Brother Lawrence educated in England--Leaving Home--George
at School when Five Years Old--His Teacher, Hobby--What a
Biographer says of his Progress--The Homeschool--His
Writing-book and Thoroughness--A Good Speller--Studying and
Playing with all his Might--Best Runner, Wrestler, etc.--The
School Grounds a Military Camp--An English and Spanish Army of
Boys--Juvenile Commander-in-chief--A Quarrel that George could
not Conquer--Truth-teller and Peacemaker--At Mr. Williams'
School, and a Mother's Lesson--Studying Surveying--Mimic
War--Surveying School-grounds--Later Surveying--Settling a
Difficulty--Acting as Umpire--What Mr. Weems says--What Mrs.
Kirkland says 52
IV.
METHOD AND THOROUGHNESS.
Doing Things Well--Dialogue with Lawrence--His "Book of Forms,"
and what a Schoolmate thought of it--His "Book of Problems:" its
Use and Abuse--His "Book of Drawing"--Odd Moments--Preserving
Bits of Prose and Verse--What Irving says--His "Rules of
Behavior"--What Lawrence Washington and his Wife thought of
them--Their Influence over him--Part of them Quoted--What
Everett says of them--Author's Opinion--Sample Extract from his
Copy-book--These show his Character--His Heart made a Level
Head 72
V.
FOUR INCIDENTS AND THEIR LESSONS.
His Father's Sudden Sickness--George at Chotauk--The Doctor's
Opinion--Growing Worse, and Startling Revelation--George sent
for--He arrived when his Father was dying--Affecting
Scene--Death and Will--The Arabian Colt--Attempt to ride
him--The Animal killed--George confessing his Wrong | 3,218.348636 |
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THE RIVERMAN
by Stewart Edward White
I
The time was the year 1872, and the place a bend in the river above a
long pond terminating in a dam. Beyond this dam, and on a flat
lower than it, stood a two-story mill structure. Save for a small,
stump-dotted clearing, and the road that led from it, all else was
forest. Here in the bottom-lands, following the course of the stream,
the hardwoods grew dense, their uppermost branches just beginning to
spray out in the first green of spring. Farther back, where the higher
lands arose from the swamp, could be discerned the graceful frond of
white pines and hemlock, and the sturdy tops of Norways and spruce.
A strong wind blew up the length of the pond. It ruffled the surface of
the water, swooping down in fan-shaped, scurrying cat's-paws, turning
the dark-blue surface as one turns the nap of velvet. At the upper end
of the pond it even succeeded in raising quite respectable wavelets,
which LAP LAP LAPPED eagerly against a barrier of floating logs that
filled completely the mouth of the inlet river. And behind this barrier
were other logs, and yet others, as far as the eye could see, so that
the entire surface of the stream was carpeted by the brown timbers. A
man could have walked down the middle of that river as down a highway.
On the bank, and in a small woods-opening, burned two fires, their smoke
ducking and twisting under the buffeting of the wind. The first of
these fires occupied a shallow trench dug for its accommodation, and was
overarched by a rustic framework from which hung several pails, kettles,
and pots. An injured-looking, chubby man in a battered brown derby hat
moved here and there. He divided his time between the utensils and an
indifferent youth--his "cookee." The other, and larger, fire centred a
rectangle composed of tall racks, built of saplings and intended for the
drying of clothes. Two large tents gleamed white among the trees.
About the drying-fire were gathered thirty-odd men. Some were
half-reclining before the blaze; others sat in rows on logs drawn close
for the purpose; still others squatted like Indians on their heels,
| 3,218.348643 |
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E-text prepared by Ruth Hart
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 26633-h.htm or 26633-h.zip:
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or
(http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/6/6/3/26633/26633-h.zip)
SECOND SIGHT
A Study of Natural and Induced Clairvoyance
by
SEPHARIAL
Author of "A Manual of Astrology," "Prognostic Astronomy," "A Manual
of Occultism," "Kabalistic Astrology," "The Kabala of Numbers,"
Etc., Etc.
London
William Rider & Son, Limited
1912
Richard Clay & Sons, Limited,
Brunswick Street, Stamford Street, S.E.,
and Bungay, Suffolk.
CONTENTS
Introduction 7
Chapter I. The Scientific Position 10
Chapter II. Materials and Conditions 21
Chapter III. The Faculty of Seership 29
Chapter IV. Preliminaries and Practice 39
Chapter V. Kinds of Vision 51
Chapter VI. Obstacles to Clairvoyance 59
Chapter VII. Symbolism 67
Chapter VIII. Allied Psychic Phases 76
Chapter IX. Experience and Use 84
Conclusion 93
INTRODUCTION
Few words will be necessary by way of preface to this book,
which is designed as an introduction to a little understood and
much misrepresented subject.
I have not here written anything which is intended to displace
the observations of other authors on this subject, nor will it be
found that anything has been said subversive of the conclusions
arrived at by experimentalists who have essayed the study
of clairvoyant phenomena in a manner that is altogether
commendable, and who have sought to place the subject on a
demonstrable and scientific basis. I refer to the proceedings of
the Society for Psychical Research.
In the following pages I have endeavoured to indicate the nature
of the faculty of Second Sight or Clairvoyance, the means of its
development, the use of suitable media or agents for this
purpose, and the kind of results that may be expected to follow
a regulated effort in this direction. I have also sought to show
that the development of the psychic faculties may form an
orderly step in the process of human unfoldment and perfectibility.
As far as the nature and scope of this little work will allow, I
have sought to treat the subject on a broad and general basis
rather than pursue more particular and possibly more attractive
scientific lines. What I have here said is the result of a personal
experience of some years in this and other forms of psychic
development and experimentation. My conclusions are given
for what they are worth, and I have no wish to persuade my
readers to my view of the nature and source of these abnormal
phenomena. The reader is at liberty to form his own theory in
regard to them, but such theory should be inclusive of all the
known facts. The theories depending on hypnotic suggestion
may be dismissed as inadequate. There appear to remain only
the inspirational theory of direct revelation and the theory of the
world-soul enunciated by the Occultists. I have elected in
favour of the latter for reasons which, I think, will be
conspicuous to those who read these pages.
I should be the last to allow the study of psychism to usurp the
legitimate place in life of intellectual and spiritual pursuits, and
I look with abhorrence upon the flippant use made of the
psychic faculties by a certain class of pseudo-occultists who
serve up this kind of thing with their five o'clock tea. But I
regard an ordered psychism as a most valuable accessory to
intellectual and spiritual development and as filling a natural
place in the process of unfoldment between that intellectualism
that is grounded in the senses and that higher intelligence which
receives its light from within. From this view-point the
following pages are written, and will, I trust, prove helpful.
CHAPTER I.
THE SCIENTIFIC POSITION
It would perhaps be premature to make any definite pronouncement
as to the scientific position in regard to the psychic phenomenon
known as "scrying," and certainly presumptuous on my part
to cite an authority from among the many who have examined
this subject, since all are not agreed upon the nature and
source of the observed phenomena. Their names are, moreover,
already identified with modern scientific research and theory,
so that to associate them with experimental psychology would
be to lend colour to the idea that modern science has recognized
this branch of knowledge. Nothing, perhaps, is further from
the fact, and while it cannot in any way be regarded as derogatory
to the highest scientist to be associated with others, of less
scientific attainment but of equal integrity, in this comparatively new
field of enquiry, it may lead to popular error to institute a connection.
It is still fresh in the mind how the Darwinian hypothesis was utterly
misconceived by the popular mind, the suggestion that man was descended
from the apes being generally quoted as a correct expression of
Darwin's theory, whereas he never suggested any such thing,
but that man and the apes had a common ancestor, which makes
of the ape rather a degenerate lemur than a human ancestor.
Other and more prevalent errors will occur to the reader, these
being due to the use of what is called "the evidence of the
senses"; and of all criteria the evidence of sensation is perhaps
the most faulty. Logical inference from deductive or inductive
reasoning has often enough been a good monitor to sense-perception,
and has, moreover, pioneered the man of science to correct
knowledge on more than one occasion. But as far as we know
or can learn from the history of human knowledge, our senses
have been the chiefest source of error. It is with considerable
caution that the scientist employs the evidence from sense
alone, and in the study of experimental psychology it is the sense
which has first to be corrected, and which, in fact, forms the great
factor in the equation. A person informs me that he can see a vision in
the crystal ball before him, and although I am in the same relation
with the "field" as he, I cannot see anything except accountable
reflections. This fact does not give any room for contradicting him or
any right to infer that it is all imagination. It is futile to say the
vision does not exist. If he sees it, it does exist so far as he is
concerned. There is no more a universal community of sensation than of
thought. When I am at work my own thought is more real than any
impression received through the sense organs. It is louder than the
babel of voices or the strains of instrumental music, and more
conspicuous than any object upon which the eye may fall. These external
impressions are admitted or shut out at will. I then know that
my thought is as real as my senses, that the images of thought
are as perceptible as those exterior to it and in every way as
objective and real. The thought-form has this advantage,
however, that it can be given a durable or a temporary existence,
and can be taken about with me without being liable to impost
as "excess luggage." In the matter of evidence in psychological
questions, therefore, sense perceptions are only second-rate
criteria and ought to be received with caution.
Almost all persons dream, and while dreaming they see and
hear, touch and taste, without questioning for a moment the
reality of these experiences. The dreaming person loses sight of
the fact that he is in a bedroom of a particular house, that he has
certain relations with others sleeping in the same house. He
loses sight of the fact that his name is, let us say, Henry, and
that he is famous for the manufacture of a particular brand of
soap or cheese. For him, and as long as it lasts, the dream is the
one reality. Now the question of the philosopher has always
been: which is the true dream, the sleeping dream or the waking
dream? The fact that the one is continuous of itself while the
other is not, and that we always fall into a new dream but
always wake to the same reality, has given a permanent value to
the waking or external life, and an equally fictitious one to the
interior or dreaming life. But what if the dream life became
more or less permanent to the exclusion of all other memories
and sensations? We should then get a case of insanity in which
hallucination would be symptomic. (The dream state is more or
less permanent with certain poetical temperaments, and if there
is any insanity attaching to it at all, it consists in the inability
to react.) Imagination, deep thought and grief are as much
anaesthetic as chloroform. But the closing of the external
channels of sensation is usually the signal for the opening of the
psychic, and from all the evidence it would seem that the
psychic sense is more extensive, acuter and in every way more
dependable than the physical. I never yet have met the man or
woman whose impaired eyesight required that he or she should
use glasses in order to see while asleep. That they do see is
common experience, and that they see farther, and therefore
better, with the psychic sense than with the physical has been
often proved. Emanuel Swedenborg saw a fire in Stockholm
when he was resident in England and gave evidence of it before
the vision was confirmed by news from Sweden. A lady of my
acquaintance saw and described a fire taking place at a country
seat about 150 miles away, the incident being true to the
minutest details, many of which were exceptional and in a
single instance tragic. The psychic sense is younger than the
physical, as the soul is younger than the body, and its faculty
continues unimpaired long after old age and disease have made
havoc of the earthly vestment. The soul is younger at a thousand
years than the body is at sixty. Let it be admitted upon evidence
that there are two sorts of sense perception, the physical and the
psychical, and that in some persons the latter is as much in
evidence as the former. We have to enquire then what relations
the crystal or other medium has to the development and exercise
of the clairvoyant faculty. We know comparatively little about
atomic structure in relation to nervous organism. The atomicity
of certain chemical bodies does not inform us as to why one
should be a deadly poison and another perfectly innocuous. We
regard different bodies as congeries of atoms, but it is a singular
fact that of two bodies containing exactly the same elements in
the same proportions the one is poisonous and the other
harmless. The only difference between them is the atomic
arrangement.
The atomic theory refers all bodies to one homogeneous basic
substance, which has been termed protyle (proto-hyle), from
which, by means of a process loosely defined as differentiation,
all the elements are derived. These elements are the result of
atomic arrangement. The atoms have various vibrations, the
extent of which is called the mean free path of vibration;
greatest in hydrogen and least in the densest element. All matter
is indestructible, but at the same time convertible, and these
facts, together with the absolute association of matter and force,
lead to the conclusion that every change of matter implies a
change of force. Matter, therefore, is ever living and active,
and there is no such thing as dead matter anywhere. The hylo-idealists
have therefore regarded all matter as but the ultimate expression
of spirit, and primarily of a spiritual origin.
The somewhat irksome phraseology of Baron Swedenborg has dulled
many minds to a sense of his great acumen and philosophical depth, but
it maybe convenient to summarize his scientific doctrine of
"Correspondences" in this place as it has an important bearing on the
subject in hand. He laid down the principle of the spiritual origin of
force and matter. Matter, he argued, was the ultimate expression of
spirit, as form was that of force. Spirit is to force what matter is to
form--its substratum. Hence for every spiritual force there is a
corresponding material form, and thus the material or natural world
corresponds at all points to the world of spirit, without being
identical. The apparent hiatus between one plane of existence and the
next he called a discrete degree, while the community between different
bodies on the same plane he called a continuous degree. Thus
there is community of sensation between bodies of the same
nature, community of feeling, community of thought, and
community of desire or aspiration, each on its own plane of
existence. But desire is translated into thought, thought into
feeling, and feeling into action. The spirit, soul (rational and
animal in its higher and lower aspects), and the body appear to
have been the principles of the human constitution according to
this authority. All spirits enjoy community, as all souls and all
bodies on their respective planes of existence; but between spirit
and soul, as between soul and body, there is a discrete degree.
In fine, mind is continuous of mind all through the universe, as
matter is continuous of matter; while mind and matter are
separated and need to be translated into terms of one another.
Taking our position from the scientific statement of the atomic
structure of bodies, atomic vibration and molecular arrangement,
we may now consider the action exerted by such bodies upon
the nervous organism of man.
The function of the brain, which may be regarded as the
bulbous root of a plant whose branches grow downwards, is
twofold: to affect, and to be affected. In its active and positive
condition it affects the whole of the vital and muscular
processes in the body, finding expression in vital action. In its
passive and negative state it is affected by impressions coming
to it in different ways through the sense organs, resulting
in nervous and mental action. These two functions are interdependent.
It is the latter or afferent function with which we are now concerned.
The range of our sense-perceptions puts us momentarily in relations
with the material world, or rather, with a certain portion of it. For
we by no means sense all that is sensible, and, as I have already
indicated, our sense impressions are often delusive. The gamut of our
senses is very limited, and also very imperfect both as to extent and
quality. Science is continually bringing new instruments into our
service, some to aid the senses, others to correct them. The
microscope, the microphone, the refracting lens are instances. It used
to be said with great certainty that you cannot see through a brick
wall, but by means of X-rays and a fluorescent screen it is now
possible to do so. I have seen my own heart beating as its image
was thrown on the screen by the Rontgen rays. Many insects,
birds and animals have keener perceptions in some respects than
man. Animalculae and microbic life, themselves microscopic,
have their own order of sense-organs related to a world of life
beyond our ken. | 3,218.847113 |
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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
| 3,218.880584 |
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Produced by Giovanni Fini, 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)
A DECADE OF ITALIAN WOMEN.
[Illustration: VITTORIA COLONNA.]
_From an Original Painting in the Colonna Gallery at Rome_
A DECADE
OF
ITALIAN WOMEN.
BY
T. ADOLPHUS TROLLOPE,
AUTHOR OF "THE GIRLHOOD OF CATHERINE DE' MEDICI."
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY.
1859.
[_The right of Translation is reserved._]
LONDON:
RADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.
PREFACE.
The degree in which any social system has succeeded in ascertaining
woman's proper position, and in putting her into it, will be a very
accurate test of the progress it has made in civilisation. And the
very general and growing conviction, that our own social arrangements,
as they exist at present, have not attained any satisfactory measure
of success in this respect, would seem, therefore, to indicate,
that England in her nineteenth century has not yet reached years of
discretion after all.
But conscious deficiency is with nations at least, if not always with
individuals, the sure precursor of improvement. The path before us
towards the ideal in this matter is a very long one; extends, indeed,
further than eye can see. What path of progress does not? And our
advance upon it will still be a sure concomitant and proof of our
advance in all civilisation. But the question of more immediate moment
is, admitting that we are moving in this respect, are we moving in the
right direction? We have been _moving_ for a long time back. Have we
missed the right road? Have we unfortunately retrograded instead of
progressing?
There are persons who think so. And there are not wanting, in the
great storehouse of history, certain periods, certain individuals,
certain manifestations of social life, to which such persons point as
countenancing the notion, that better things have been, as regards
woman's position and possibilities, than are now. There are, painted
on the slides of Mnemosyne's magic lanthorn, certain brilliant and
captivating figures, which are apt to lead those who are disgusted with
the smoke and reek of the Phœnix-burning going on around them, to
suppose that the social conditions which produced such, must have been
less far from the true path than our present selves. Nay, more. There
have been constellations of such stars, quite sufficiently numerous to
justify the conclusion, that the circumstances of the time at which
they appeared were in their nature calculated to produce them.
Of such times, the most striking in this respect, as in so many others,
is that fascinating dawn time of modern life, that ever wonderful
"rénaissance" season, when a fresh sap seemed to rush through the
tissues of the European social systems, as they passed from their long
winter into spring. And in the old motherland of European civilisation,
where the new life was first and most vehemently felt,—in Italy,
the most remarkable constellations of these attractive figures were
produced.
The women of Italy, at that period remarkable in different walks, and
rich in various high gifts, form in truth a very notable phenomenon;
and one sufficiently prevalent to justify the belief, that the general
circumstances of that society favoured the production of such. But
the question remains, whether these brilliant types of womanhood,
attractive as they are as subjects of study, curiously illustrative as
they are of the social history of the times in which they lived, are
on the whole such as should lead us to conclude, that the true path of
progress would be found to lead towards social conditions that should
be likely to reproduce them?
Supposing it to be asserted, that they were not so necessarily
connected in the relationship of cause and effect with the whole social
condition of the times in which they lived, as that any attempt to
resuscitate such types need involve a reproduction of their social
environment; even then the question would remain, whether, if it were
really possible to take them as single figures out of the landscape
in which they properly stand, they would be such as we should find it
desirable to adopt as models of womanhood? Are these such as are wanted
to be put in the van of our march—in the first ranks of nineteenth
century civilisation? Not whether they are good to put in niches to be
admired and cited for this or that virtue or capacity; nor even whether
they might be deemed desirable captains in a woman's march towards
higher destinies and better conditioned civilisation, if, indeed, such
a progress were in any sane manner conceivable; but whether such women
would work harmoniously and efficiently with all the other forces
at our command for the advancement of a civilisation, of which the
absolute _sine quâ non_ must be the increased solidarity, co-operation,
and mutual influence of both the sexes?
It may be guessed, perhaps, from the tone of the above sentences,
that the writer is not one of those who think that the past can in
this matter be made useful to us, as affording ready-made models for
imitation. But he has no intention of dogmatising, or even indulging
in speculations on "the woman's question." On the contrary, in
endeavouring to set before the reader his little cabinet of types of
womanhood, he has abstained from all attempt at pointing any moral
of the sort. The wish to do so is too dangerously apt to lead one to
assimilate one's portrait less carefully to the original than to a
pattern figure conceived for the purpose of illustrating a theory.
Whatever conclusions on the subject of woman's destiny, proper
position, and means of development are to be drawn, therefore, from the
consideration of the very varied and certainly remarkable types set
before him, the reader must draw for himself. It has been the writer's
object to show his portraits, more or less fully delineated according
to their interest, and in some measure according to the abundance or
the reverse of available material, in their proper setting of social
environment. They have been selected, not so much with any intention of
bringing together the best, greatest, or most admirable, nor even the
most remarkable women Italy has produced, as with a view of securing
the greatest amount of variety, in point of social position and
character. Each figure of the small gallery will, it is hoped, be found
to illustrate a distinct phase of Italian social life and civilisation.
The canonised Saint, that most extraordinary product of the "ages of
faith," highly interesting as a social, and perhaps more so still as
a psychological phenomenon;—the feudal Châtelaine, one of the most
remarkable results of the feudal system, and affording a suggestive
study of woman in man's place;—the high-born and highly-educated
Princess of a somewhat less rude day, whose inmost spiritual nature was
so profoundly and injuriously modified by her social position;—the
brilliant literary denizen of "La Bohème;"—the equally brilliant
but large-hearted and high-minded daughter of the people, whose
literary intimacies were made compatible with the strictest feminine
propriety, and whom no princely connections, lay and ecclesiastical,
prevented from daring to think and to speak her thought, and to meet
with brave heart the consequences of so doing;—the popular actress,
again a daughter of the people, and again in that, as is said,
perilous walk in life, a model of correct conduct in the midst of
loose-lived princesses;—the nobly-born adventuress, every step in
whose extraordinary _excelsior_ progress was an advance in degradation
and infamy, and whose history, in showing us court life behind the
scenes, brings us among the worst company of any that the reader's
varied journey will call upon him to fall in with;—the equally
nobly-born, and almost equally worthless woman, who shows us that
wonderful and instructive phenomenon, the Queen of a papal court;—the
humbly born artist, admirable for her successful combination in perfect
compatibility of all the duties of the home and the studio;—and
lastly, the poor representative of the effeteness of that social system
which had produced the foregoing types, the net result, as may be said,
of the national passage through the various phases illustrated by
them:—all these are curiously distinct manifestations of womanhood,
and if any measure of success has been attained in the endeavour to
represent them duly surrounded by the social environment which produced
them, while they helped to fashion it, some contribution will have been
made to a right understanding of woman's nature, and of the true road
towards her more completely satisfactory social development.
CONTENTS.
ST. CATHERINE OF SIENA.
Born, 1347. Died, 1380.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
Her Birth-place 1
CHAPTER II.
The Saint's Biographer 9
CHAPTER III.
The Facts of the Case 18
CHAPTER IV.
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A CANDID HISTORY OF THE JESUITS
A CANDID HISTORY
OF
THE JESUITS
BY
JOSEPH McCABE
AUTHOR OF
"THE DECAY OF THE CHURCH OF ROME" ETC.
LONDON
EVELEIGH NASH
1913
PREFACE
It is the historic custom of the Church of Rome to enlist in its
service monastic or quasi-monastic bodies in addition to the ordinary
clergy. In its hour of greatest need, at the very outbreak of the
Reformation, the Society of Jesus was formed as one of these auxiliary
regiments, and in the war which the Church of Rome has waged since
that date the Jesuits have rendered the most spirited and conspicuous
service. Yet the procedure of this Society has differed in many
important respects from that of the other regiments of the Church, and
a vast and unceasing controversy has gathered about it. It is probable
that a thousand times, or several thousand times, more books and
pamphlets and articles have been written about the Jesuits than about
even the oldest and most powerful or learned of the monastic bodies.
Not a work of history can be opened, in any language, but it will
contain more references to the Jesuits than to all the other religious
orders collectively. But opinions differ as much to-day as they did a
hundred or two hundred years ago about the character of the Jesuits,
and the warmest eulogies are chilled by the most bitter and withering
indictments.
What is a Jesuit? The question is asked still in every civilised
land, and the answer is a confusing mass of contradictions. The most
learned historians read the facts of their career so differently,
that one comes to a verdict expressing deep and criminal guilt, and
another acquits them with honour. Since the foundation of the Society
these drastically opposed views of its action have been taken, and
the praise and homage of admirers have been balanced by the intense
hatred of an equal number of Catholic opponents. It would seem that
some impenetrable veil lies over the history and present life of the
Society, yet on both sides its judges refuse to recognise obscurity.
Catholic monarchs and peoples have, time after time, driven the Jesuits
ignominiously over their frontiers; Popes have sternly condemned them.
But they are as active, and nearly as numerous, in the twentieth
century as in the last days of the old political world.
No marshalling of historical facts will change the feeling of the
pronounced admirers and opponents of the Jesuits, and it would be idle
to suppose that, because the present writer is neither Roman Catholic
nor Protestant, he will be awarded the virtue of impartiality. There
seems, however, some need for an historical study of the Jesuits which
will aim at impartiality and candour. On one side we have large and
important works like Crétineau-Joly's _Histoire religieuse, politique,
et littéraire de la Compagnie de Jésus_, and a number of smaller
works, written by Catholics of England or America, from the material,
and in the spirit, of the French historian's work. Such works as
these cannot for a moment be regarded as serious history. They are
panegyrics or apologies: pleasant reading for the man or woman who
wishes to admire, but mere untruth to the man or woman who wishes to
know. Indeed, the work of M. Crétineau-Joly, written in conjunction
with the Jesuits, which is at times recommended as the classical
authority on the Society, has worse defects than the genial omission
of unedifying episodes. He makes the most inflated general statements
on the scantiest of material, is seriously and frequently inaccurate,
makes a very generous use of the "mental reserve" which his friends
advocate, and sometimes embodies notoriously forged documents without
even intimating that they are questioned.
Such works naturally provoke an antagonistic class of volumes, in
which the unflattering truths only are presented and a false picture
is produced to the prejudice of the Jesuits. An entirely neutral
volume on the Jesuits does not exist, and probably never will exist.
The historian who surveys the whole of the facts of their remarkable
and romantic career cannot remain neutral. Nor is it merely a question
of whether the writer is a Roman Catholic or no. The work of M.
Crétineau-Joly was followed in France by one written by a zealous
priest, the Abbé Guettée, which tore its predecessor to shreds, and
represented the Society of Jesus as fitly condemned by Pope and kings.
It will be found, at least, that the present work contains an
impartial account both of the virtue and heroism that are found in
the chronicles of the Jesuits, and the scandals and misdeeds that may
justly be attributed to them. It is no less based on the original
Jesuit documents, as far as they have been published, and the work of
Crétineau-Joly, than on the antagonistic literature, as the reader
will perceive. Whether or no it seems to some an indictment, it is
a patient endeavour to give all the facts, within the compass of the
volume, and enable the reader to form a balanced judgment on the
Society. It is an attempt to _understand_ the Jesuits: to understand
the enthusiasm and fiery attachment of one half of the Catholic world
no less than the disdain or detestation of the other, to employ the
white and the black, not blended into a monotonous grey but in their
respective places and shades, so as to afford a truthful picture of
the dramatic fortunes of the Society during nearly four centuries, and
some insight into the character of the men who won for it such ardent
devotion and such intense hostility.
J.M.
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. The Origin of the Society 1
II. The First Jesuits 27
III. Early Storms 55
IV. General Francis Borgia 80
V. Progress and Decay under Acquaviva 106
VI. The Early Jesuits in England 142
VII. The First Century of Jesuitism 167
VIII. Under the Stuarts 195
IX. The Struggle with the Jansenists 220
X. The Expulsion from Portugal and Spain 253
XI. The Foreign Missions 279
XII. In the Germanic Lands 311
XIII. The Suppression of the Society 334
XIV. The Restoration 364
XV. The New Jesuits 390
XVI. The Last Phase 424
Index 445
A CANDID HISTORY OF THE
JESUITS
CHAPTER I
THE ORIGIN OF THE SOCIETY
In the early summer of the year 1521, some months after Martin Luther
had burned the Pope's bull at Wittenberg and lit the fire of the
Reformation, a young Basque soldier lay abed in his father's castle
at the foot of the Pyrenees, contemplating the wreck of his ambition.
Iñigo of Loyola was the youngest son in a large family of ancient
lineage and little wealth. He had lost his mother at an early date, and
had been placed by a wealthy aunt at court, where he learned to love
the flash of swords, the smile of princes, the softness of silk and of
women's eyes, and all the hard deeds and rich rewards of the knight's
career. From the court he had gone to the camp, and had set himself
sternly to the task of cutting an honourable path back to court.
Fearless in war, skilful in sport and in martial exercises, refined
in person, cheerful in temper, and ardent in love, the young noble
had seen before him a long avenue of knightly adventure and gracious
recompense. He was, in 1521, in his thirtieth year of age, or near
it--his birth-year is variously given as 1491 or 1493; a clean-built,
sinewy little man, with dark lustrous eyes flashing in his olive-tinted
face, and thick black hair crowning his lofty forehead. And a French
ball at the siege of Pampeluna had, at one stroke, broken his leg and
shattered his ambition.
It took some time to realise the ruin of his ambition. The chivalrous
conquerors at Pampeluna had treated their brave opponent with
distinction, and had, after dressing his wounds, sent him to the Loyola
castle in the Basque provinces, where his elder brother had brought the
surgeons to make him fit for the field once more. The bone, they found,
had been badly set; it must be broken again and re-set. He bore their
operations without a moan, and then lay for weeks in pain and fever.
He still trusted to return to the camp and win the favour of a certain
great lady--probably the daughter of the Dowager-Queen of Naples--whose
memory he secretly cherished. Indeed, on the feast of the Apostles
Peter and Paul, he spoke of it with confidence; he told his brother
that the elder apostle had entered the dark chamber and healed him on
the eve of the festival. Unhappily he found, when the fever had gone,
that the second setting of his leg had been so ill done that a piece
of bone projected below the knee, and the right leg was shorter than
the left. Again he summoned the mediæval surgeons and their appalling
armoury, and they sawed off the protruding piece of bone and stretched
his leg on a rack they used for such purposes; and not a cry or curse
came from the tense lips. But the right leg still refused to meet its
fellow, and shades gathered about Iñigo's glorious prospect of life. A
young man who limps can hardly hope to reach a place of honour in the
camp, or the gardens of the palace, or the hearts of women. Talleyrand,
later, would set out on his career with a limp; and Talleyrand would
become a diplomatist.
Iñigo lay in the stout square castle of rugged stone, which is now
reverently enclosed, like a jewel, in a vast home of the Jesuits. It
then stood alone in a beautiful valley, just at the foot of the last
southern <DW72>s of the Pyrenees, about a mile from the little town
of Azpeitia. The mind of the young Basque heaved with confused and
feverish dreams as he lay there, in the summer heat, beside the wreck
of his ambition. He called for books of knight-errantry, to while
away the dreary days, but there were none in the Loyola castle, and
someone--a pious sister, perhaps--brought him a _Life of Christ_ and a
_Flowers of the Saints_. For lack of anything better he read them: at
first fingering the leaves with the nearest approach to disdain that a
Christian soldier dare admit, then starting with interest, at length
flushing with enthusiasm. What was this but another form of chivalry?
Nay, when you reflected, it was the only chivalry worth so fierce a
devotion as his. Here was a way of winning a fair lady, the Queen of
Heaven, whose glances were worth more than the caresses of all the
dames in Castile: here was a monarch to serve, whose court outshone
the courts of France and Spain as the sun outshines the stars: here
were adventures that called for a higher spirit than the bravado of the
soldier.
The young Basque began to look upon a new world from the narrow windows
of the old castle. Down the valley was Azpeitia, and even there one
could find monsters and evil knights to slay in the cause of Mary.
Southward were the broad provinces of Spain, full of half-converted
Moors and Jews and ever-flourishing vices. Across the hills and the
seas were other kingdoms, calling just as loudly for a new champion of
God and Mary. One field, far away at the edge of the world, summoned
him with peremptory voice; after all the Crusades the sites in the Holy
Land were still trodden by the feet of blaspheming Turks. The blood
began to course once more in the veins of the soldier.
During the winter that followed his friends noticed that he was
making a wonderful chronicle of the lives of Christ and His saints.
He was skilled in all courtly accomplishments--they did not include
learning--and could write, and illuminate very prettily, sonnets to
the secret lady of his inner shrine. Now he used his art to make a
pious chronicle, with the words and deeds of Christ in vermilion and
gold, the life of Mary in blue, and the stories of the saints in the
less royal colours of the rainbow, and his dark pale face was lit by a
strange light. There were times when this new light flickered or faded,
and the fleshly queen of his heart seemed to place white arms about
him, and the sunny earth fought with the faint vision of a far-off
heaven. Then he prayed, and scourged himself, and vowed that he would
be the knight of Christ and Mary; and--so he told his followers long
afterwards--the heavy stone castle shook and rumbled with the angry
passing of the demon. He told them also that he had at the time a
notion of burying himself in the Carthusian monastery at Seville, and
sent one to inquire concerning its way of life; but such a design is so
little in accord with his knight-errant mood that we cannot think he
seriously entertained it.
By the spring the struggle had ended and Ignatius--he exchanged his
worldly name for that of a saint-model--set out in quest of spiritual
adventure. The "sudden revolution," as Crétineau-Joly calls his
conversion, had occupied about nine months. Indeed, friends and foes
of the Jesuits have conspired to obscure the development of his
feelings: the friends in order that they may recognise a miracle in
the conversion, the foes in order that they may make it out to have
been no conversion at all, but a transfer of selfish ambition from the
camp to the Church. Whatever be the truth about Iñigo's earlier morals,
he had certainly received a careful religious education in boyhood,
and he would just as certainly not learn scepticism at the court set
up by Ferdinand and Isabella. His belief that he had a vision of St.
Peter, a few weeks after receiving his wound and before he read the
pious books, shows that he had kept a vivid religious faith in the
camp. Some looseness of conduct would not be inconsistent with this,
especially in Spain, but the darker descriptions of his adolescent ways
which some writers give are not justified. "He was prone to quarrels
and amatory folly," is all that the most candid of his biographers
says. Let us grant the hot Basque blood a quick sense of honour and a
few love-affairs. On the whole, Iñigo seems to have been an officer of
the stricter sort, and a thorough Catholic. Hence we can understand
that, as earth grows dark and cheerless for him, and the casual reading
brings before him in vivid colouring the vision of faith, his fervent
imagination is gradually won, and he sincerely devotes his arms to the
service of Christ and Mary.
Piously deceiving his brother as to his destination, he set out on a
mule in the month of March. He would go to the shrine of Our Lady at
Montserrat, to ask a blessing on his enterprise, and then cross the
sea to convert the Mohammedans in Palestine. His temper is seen in an
adventure by the way. He fell in with one of the Moors who had put on a
thin mantle of Christian profession in order that they might be allowed
to remain in Spain, and talked to him of Our Lady of Montserrat. Being
far from the town and the ears of Inquisitors, the Moor spoke lightly
of the Mother of Christ, and, when the convert showed heat, fled at
a gallop. Ignatius wondered, with his hand on his sword, whether or
no his new ideal demanded that he should follow and slay the man. He
left the point to God, or to his mule, and was taken on the road to
Montserrat.
At last he came to the steep mountain, with saw-like peaks, which rises
out of the plain some twenty miles to the north-west of Barcelona, with
the famous shrine of the Virgin on its flank. In the little town of
Iguelada, at the foot of the mountain, he bought the rough outfit of a
pilgrim--a tunic of sackcloth, a rope-girdle, a pair of rough sandals,
a staff, and a gourd--and made his way up the wild <DW72>s, among the
sober cypresses, to the Benedictine monastery which guarded the shrine.
For three days he knelt at the feet of one of the holiest of the monks,
telling, with many tears, the story of his worldly life. Then he went
again to the town, took aside a poor-clad beggar, as Francis of Assisi
had done in his chronicle, and exchanged garments with him, putting the
sackcloth tunic over his rags. It was the eve of the great festival of
Mary, the Annunciation (March 25th), and he spent the night kneeling
before the altar, as he had read of good knights doing before they
took the field. In the morning he hung his sword in the shrine and set
forth. From that moment we shall do well to forget that Ignatius had
been a soldier, and seek some other clue to his conduct.
The next step in his journey toward Rome is described at great length
in lives of the saint, yet it is not wholly intelligible. Instead of
going to Barcelona, where one took ship, he went to Manresa, and his
pilgrimage was postponed for nearly a year. He did not take the high
road to Barcelona, says his biographer, lest he should meet the people
coming to the shrine: a theory which would not only require another
theory to explain it, but which gives no explanation of the year's
delay. Others think that he heard there was plague in the port; though
the plague would not last a year, and one may question if Ignatius
would flee it. The truth seems to be that the idea of spending his
life in the East was already yielding in his mind to another design:
the plan of forming a Society was dimly breaking on him. He had studied
the monastic life in the Benedictine monastery at Montserrat, and had
brought away with him a book, written by one of their abbots, over
which he would brood to some purpose. He had a vague feeling that the
appointed field of adventure might be Europe.
However that may be, he took a road that led away from Barcelona, and
as he limped and suffered, for he had discarded the mule and would
make his pilgrimage afoot, he asked where he could find a hospital (in
those days a mixture of hostel and hospital). He was taken to Manresa,
a picturesque little town in one of the valleys of the district, where
he lodged in the hospital for a few days, and then, instead of going to
Barcelona, found an apartment and became a local celebrity. The beggar
to whom he had given his clothes had, naturally, been arrested, and
Ignatius was forced to tell his strange story, in order to clear the
man and himself. The story grew as it passed from mouth to mouth, and
it was presently understood that the dirty, barefoot, ill-clad beggar,
who asked a little coarse bread at the doors, and retired to pray
and scourge himself, was one of the richest grandees of the eastern
provinces. Children followed "Father Sackcloth" about the streets; men
sneered at his uncut nails and his long, wild black locks and thin
face; women wept, and asked his prayers.
After a few months he found a cavern outside the town, at the foot
of the hills, and entered upon the period of endless prayer and wild
austerity in which he wrote his book, the _Spiritual Exercises_. He
scourged himself, until the blood came, three times a day: he ate so
little, and lived so intense a life, that he was sometimes found
unconscious on the floor of the cave, and had to be removed and nursed;
his deep black eyes seemed to gleam from the face of a corpse. Thus he
lived for six months, and wrote his famous book. I need not analyse
that passionate guide to the spiritual life, or consider the legend of
its miraculous origin. We know from Benedictine writers that Ignatius
had received at Montserrat a copy of the _Exercitatorium_ of their
abbot Cisneros, and anyone familiar with Catholic life will know that
similar series of "meditations" are, and always have been, very common.
There is an original plan in Ignatius's book, and the period during
which the mind must successively brood over sin and hell, virtue and
heaven, Christ and the devil, is boldly extended to four weeks. These
are technicalities;[1] the deeply original thing in the work is its
intensity, and for the source of this we need only regard those six
months of fierce inner life in the cave near Manresa.
In later years Ignatius claimed that the general design of his Society,
and even the chief features of its constitution, were revealed to
him in that cavern. "I saw it thus at Manresa," he used to say when
he was asked why such or such a feature was included. In this he is
clearly wrong. His Society was, in essence and details, a regiment
enlisted to fight Protestantism, and Ignatius certainly knew nothing
of Protestantism as a formidable menace to the Pope's rule in 1522;
one may doubt if he was yet aware of the existence of Luther. We may
conclude again that he had in mind a vague alternative to his mission
to the Mohammedans. Those who are disposed to believe that the Society
of Jesus was in any definite sense projected by him at Manresa will
find it hard to explain why for five years afterwards he still insisted
that his mission was to the Turks.
In January 1523 he set out for Barcelona, trimming his nails, combing
and clipping his hair, and exchanging his sack for clothes of coarse
grey stuff. He did not wish to attract too much attention, he said. He
was detained a few weeks at Barcelona, and begged his bread, and served
the poor and the sick, in the way which was to become characteristic of
the early Jesuits. On Palm Sunday he entered Rome, lost in a crowd of
other pilgrims and beggars, and from there he walked on foot to Venice,
whence he sailed in July. Within six months he was back in Venice. The
Franciscan monks who controlled the Christian colony at Jerusalem had
sent him home very quickly, fearing that his indiscreet fervour would
lead to trouble with the Turks. The whole expedition was Quixotic, if
it was really meant to be more than a pilgrimage, as Ignatius knew not
a word of any language but Basque and Castilian. He returned to Venice
in a thin ragged coat, his legs showing flagrantly through his tattered
trousers, and in this guise he crossed on foot to Genoa, in hard wintry
weather. By the end of February he was again in Barcelona.
For several years yet Ignatius will continue to speak of the conversion
of the Turks as his chief mission, but his actions suggest that the
alternative in his mind was growing larger. The year's experience had
taught him that the knight of the Lord needed education, and he sat
among the boys at Barcelona learning the Latin grammar and startling
them by rising into literal ecstasies over the conjugation of the verb
"to love." He now dressed in neat plain clothes, but begged his bread
on the way to school and took every occasion to preach the gospel.
Once, when he had converted a loose community of nuns, the fast young
men of Barcelona, who were angry at this interference with their
pleasures, sent their servants to waylay him. They nearly killed him
with their staves. Many jeered at him as a hypocrite or a fanatic: many
revered him, and a few youths became his first disciples. With three of
these he went, after two years' study in Barcelona, to the University
of Alcalà, and began his higher studies. But he was so eager to make an
end of this intellectual preparation, and so busy with saving souls and
gaining proselytes, that he tried to take simultaneously the successive
parts of the stately mediæval curriculum, and learned very little.
His first attempt to found a Society also ended in disastrous failure.
Opinion in Alcalà was divided about "the sackcloth men." Some
picturesque figures were known in the religious life of Spain, but no
one had yet seen such a thing as this little band of youths, led by a
pale and worn man of thirty-two, who went barefoot from house to house,
begging their bread, and passed from the schools in the evening to
the hospitals or the homes of the poor, or stood boldly in the public
squares and told sinners to repent. It was an outrage on the dignity
of ecclesiastical life, and so they were denounced to the Inquisition,
and two learned priests were sent from Seville to examine them. Mystics
were hardly less obnoxious to the Inquisition than secret Jews and
Moors, and then there was this new device of Satan which was said to
be spreading in Germany. Ignatius and his grey-coated young preachers
were arrested and brought before the terrible tribunal. Their doctrine
was found to be sound, but they were forbidden to wear a uniform dress
and were ordered to put shoes on their feet. They dyed their coats
different colours, and returned to their work; as Jesuits have often
done since.
Four months afterwards, the officers of the Inquisition fell on them
again and put them in prison. Among the women who sought the spiritual
guidance of Ignatius were some ladies of wealth, who wished to follow
his example. It is said that he did not consent, and they set out,
against his will, to beg their bread and tend the sick. This was too
much for respectable folk in Alcalà, and Ignatius was closely examined
to see whether he was not a secret Jew, since Christians did not do
these things. The inquiry ended in the companions being ordered to
dress as other students did, and to forbear preaching for four years.
It is important to notice how from the first Ignatius, relying on his
inner visions, will not bend to any authority if he can help it. He
and his youths walked to Salamanca, and resumed their ways, but the
eye of the Inquisition was on them, and they were imprisoned again.
The authorities now fastened on them a restriction which may puzzle a
layman: they were forbidden to attempt to distinguish between mortal
and venial sin until their theological studies were completed. It
meant, in practice, that they must not disturb the gay sinners of Spain
with threats of hell, and for the time it entirely destroyed the design
of Ignatius. His disciples fell away, and Ignatius fled to a land where
there were no Inquisitors. He crossed the Pyrenees and went the whole
length of France on foot.
The seven years which he spent at Paris were of the greatest importance
in the life of Ignatius. Of his studies little need be said. He now
took the university courses in proper succession, and won his degree
in 1534. But these studies were only a means to an end, and he never
became a scholar. He discarded books, wrote a very poor Latin, and took
long to master Italian. For secular knowledge he had a pious disdain.
His followers were to be learned just in so far as it was needed to
capture and retain the control of youth and promote the authority of
the Pope. The chief interest of the long stay in Paris is that he there
founded his Society, and the manner of its foundation is of great
importance.
He had not been long at the University before his strange ways set
up the usual conflict of opinion. Was he a hypocrite, or a fool, or
a saint? From the youths who took the more complimentary view of his
ways he picked out a few to form the little band of disciples he was
always eager to have, and put them through the Spiritual Exercises.
They came out of this fiery ordeal in heroic temper, | 3,297.500958 |
2023-11-16 19:12:01.4818840 | 271 | 6 |
Produced by Dagny, Bonnie Sala
MELMOTH RECONCILED
By Honore De Balzac
Translated by Ellen Marriage
To Monsieur le General Baron de Pommereul, a token of the friendship
between our fathers, which survives in their sons.
DE BALZAC.
MELMOTH RECONCILED
There is a special variety of human nature obtained in the Social
Kingdom by a process analogous to that of the gardener's craft in the
Vegetable Kingdom, to wit, by the forcing-house--a species of hybrid
which can be raised neither from seed nor from slips. This product is
known as the Cashier, an anthropomorphous growth, watered by religious
doctrine, trained up in fear of the guillotine, pruned by vice, to
flourish on a third floor with an estimable wife by his side and an
uninteresting family. The number of cashiers in Paris must always be
a problem for the physiologist. Has any one as yet been able to state
correctly the terms of the proportion sum wherein the cashier figures as
the unknown _x_? Where will you find the man who shall live with wealth,
like a cat with a caged mouse? This | 3,297.501924 |
2023-11-16 19:12:01.6793230 | 2,539 | 6 |
Produced by Judith Boss
PELLUCIDAR
By
Edgar Rice Burroughs
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
PROLOGUE
I LOST ON PELLUCIDAR
II TRAVELING WITH TERROR
III SHOOTING THE CHUTES--AND AFTER
IV FRIENDSHIP AND TREACHERY
V SURPRISES
VI A PENDENT WORLD
VII FROM PLIGHT TO PLIGHT
VIII CAPTIVE
IX HOOJA'S CUTTHROATS APPEAR
X THE RAID ON THE CAVE-PRISON
XI ESCAPE
XII KIDNAPED!
XIII RACING FOR LIFE
XIV GORE AND DREAMS
XV CONQUEST AND PEACE
PROLOGUE
Several years had elapsed since I had found the opportunity to do any
big-game hunting; for at last I had my plans almost perfected for a
return to my old stamping-grounds in northern Africa, where in other
days I had had excellent sport in pursuit of the king of beasts.
The date of my departure had been set; I was to leave in two weeks. No
schoolboy counting the lagging hours that must pass before the
beginning of "long vacation" released him to the delirious joys of the
summer camp could have been filled with greater impatience or keener
anticipation.
And then came a letter that started me for Africa twelve days ahead of
my schedule.
Often am I in receipt of letters from strangers who have found
something in a story of mine to commend or to condemn. My interest in
this department of my correspondence is ever fresh. I opened this
particular letter with all the zest of pleasurable anticipation with
which I had opened so many others. The post-mark (Algiers) had aroused
my interest and curiosity, especially at this time, since it was
Algiers that was presently to witness the termination of my coming sea
voyage in search of sport and adventure.
Before the reading of that letter was completed lions and lion-hunting
had fled my thoughts, and I was in a state of excitement bordering upon
frenzy.
It--well, read it yourself, and see if you, too, do not find food for
frantic conjecture, for tantalizing doubts, and for a great hope.
Here it is:
DEAR SIR: I think that I have run across one of the most remarkable
coincidences in modern literature. But let me start at the beginning:
I am, by profession, a wanderer upon the face of the earth. I have no
trade--nor any other occupation.
My father bequeathed me a competency; some remoter ancestors lust to
roam. I have combined the two and invested them carefully and without
extravagance.
I became interested in your story, At the Earth's Core, not so much
because of the probability of the tale as of a great and abiding wonder
that people should be paid real money for writing such impossible
trash. You will pardon my candor, but it is necessary that you
understand my mental attitude toward this particular story--that you
may credit that which follows.
Shortly thereafter I started for the Sahara in search of a rather rare
species of antelope that is to be found only occasionally within a
limited area at a certain season of the year. My chase led me far from
the haunts of man.
It was a fruitless search, however, in so far as antelope is concerned;
but one night as I lay courting sleep at the edge of a little cluster
of date-palms that surround an ancient well in the midst of the arid,
shifting sands, I suddenly became conscious of a strange sound coming
apparently from the earth beneath my head.
It was an intermittent ticking!
No reptile or insect with which I am familiar reproduces any such
notes. I lay for an hour--listening intently.
At last my curiosity got the better of me. I arose, lighted my lamp
and commenced to investigate.
My bedding lay upon a rug stretched directly upon the warm sand. The
noise appeared to be coming from beneath the rug. I raised it, but
found nothing--yet, at intervals, the sound continued.
I dug into the sand with the point of my hunting-knife. A few inches
below the surface of the sand I encountered a solid substance that had
the feel of wood beneath the sharp steel.
Excavating about it, I unearthed a small wooden box. From this
receptacle issued the strange sound that I had heard.
How had it come here?
What did it contain?
In attempting to lift it from its burying place I discovered that it
seemed to be held fast by means of a very small insulated cable running
farther into the sand beneath it.
My first impulse was to drag the thing loose by main strength; but
fortunately I thought better of this and fell to examining the box. I
soon saw that it was covered by a hinged lid, which was held closed by
a simple screwhook and eye.
It took but a moment to loosen this and raise the cover, when, to my
utter astonishment, I discovered an ordinary telegraph instrument
clicking away within.
"What in the world," thought I, "is this thing doing here?"
That it was a French military instrument was my first guess; but really
there didn't seem much likelihood that this was the correct
explanation, when one took into account the loneliness and remoteness
of the spot.
As I sat gazing at my remarkable find, which was ticking and clicking
away there in the silence of the desert night, trying to convey some
message which I was unable to interpret, my eyes fell upon a bit of
paper lying in the bottom of the box beside the instrument. I picked
it up and examined it. Upon it were written but two letters:
D. I.
They meant nothing to me then. I was baffled.
Once, in an interval of silence upon the part of the receiving
instrument, I moved the sending-key up and down a few times. Instantly
the receiving mechanism commenced to work frantically.
I tried to recall something of the Morse Code, with which I had played
as a little boy--but time had obliterated it from my memory. I became
almost frantic as I let my imagination run riot among the possibilities
for which this clicking instrument might stand.
Some poor devil at the unknown other end might be in dire need of
succor. The very franticness of the instrument's wild clashing
betokened something of the kind.
And there sat I, powerless to interpret, and so powerless to help!
It was then that the inspiration came to me. In a flash there leaped
to my mind the closing paragraphs of the story I had read in the club
at Algiers:
Does the answer lie somewhere upon the bosom of the broad Sahara, at
the ends of two tiny wires, hidden beneath a lost cairn?
The idea seemed preposterous. Experience and intelligence combined to
assure me that there could be no slightest grain of truth or
possibility in your wild tale--it was fiction pure and simple.
And yet where WERE the other ends of those wires?
What was this instrument--ticking away here in the great Sahara--but a
travesty upon the possible!
Would I have believed in it had I not seen it with my own eyes?
And the initials--D. I.--upon the slip of paper!
David's initials were these--David Innes.
I smiled at my imaginings. I ridiculed the assumption that there was
an inner world and that these wires led downward through the earth's
crust to the surface of Pellucidar. And yet--
Well, I sat there all night, listening to that tantalizing clicking,
now and then moving the sending-key just to let the other end know that
the instrument had been discovered. In the morning, after carefully
returning the box to its hole and covering it over with sand, I called
my servants about me, snatched a hurried breakfast, mounted my horse,
and started upon a forced march for Algiers.
I arrived here today. In writing you this letter I feel that I am
making a fool of myself.
There is no David Innes.
There is no Dian the Beautiful.
There is no world within a world.
Pellucidar is but a realm of your imagination--nothing more.
BUT--
The incident of the finding of that buried telegraph instrument upon
the lonely Sahara is little short of uncanny, in view of your story of
the adventures of David Innes.
I have called it one of the most remarkable coincidences in modern
fiction. I called it literature before, but--again pardon my
candor--your story is not.
And now--why am I writing you?
Heaven knows, unless it is that the persistent clicking of that
unfathomable enigma out there in the vast silences of the Sahara has so
wrought upon my nerves that reason refuses longer to function sanely.
I cannot hear it now, yet I know that far away to the south, all alone
beneath the sands, it is still pounding out its vain, frantic appeal.
It is maddening.
It is your fault--I want you to release me from it.
Cable me at once, at my expense, that there was no basis of fact for
your story, At the Earth's Core.
Very respectfully yours,
COGDON NESTOR,
---- and ---- Club,
Algiers.
June 1st, --.
Ten minutes after reading this letter I had cabled Mr. Nestor as
follows:
Story true. Await me Algiers.
As fast as train and boat would carry me, I sped toward my destination.
For all those dragging days my mind was a whirl of mad conjecture, of
frantic hope, of numbing fear.
The finding of the telegraph-instrument practically assured me that
David Innes had driven Perry's iron mole back through the earth's crust
to the buried world of Pellucidar; but what adventures had befallen him
since his return?
Had he found Dian the Beautiful, his half-savage mate, safe among his
friends, or had Hooja the Sly One succeeded in his nefarious schemes to
abduct her?
Did Abner Perry, the lovable old inventor and paleontologist, still
live?
Had the federated tribes of Pellucidar succeeded in overthrowing the
mighty Mahars, the dominant race of reptilian monsters, and their
fierce, gorilla-like soldiery, the savage Sagoths?
I must admit that I was in a state bordering upon nervous prostration
when I entered the ---- and ---- Club, in Algiers, and inquired for Mr.
Nestor. A moment later I was ushered into his presence, to find myself
clasping hands with the sort of chap that the world holds only too few
of.
He was a tall, smooth-faced man of about thirty, clean-cut, straight,
and strong, and weather-tanned to the hue of a desert Arab. I liked
him immensely from the first, and I hope that after our three months
together in the desert country--three months not entirely lacking in
adventure--he found that a man may be a writer of "impossible trash"
and yet have some redeeming qualities.
The day following my arrival at Algiers we left for the south, Nestor
having made all arrangements in advance, guessing, as he naturally did,
that I could be coming to Africa for but a single purpose--to hasten at
once to the buried telegraph-instrument and wrest its secret from it.
In addition to our native servants, we took | 3,297.699363 |
2023-11-16 19:12:01.6794020 | 984 | 34 |
Produced by David Widger
LITERARY FRIENDS AND ACQUAINTANCES--My Mark Twain
by William Dean Howells
MY MARK TWAIN
I.
It was in the little office of James T. Fields, over the bookstore of
Ticknor & Fields, at 124 Tremont Street, Boston, that I first met my
friend of now forty-four years, Samuel L. Clemens. Mr. Fields was then
the editor of The Atlantic Monthly, and I was his proud and glad
assistant, with a pretty free hand as to manuscripts, and an unmanacled
command of the book-notices at the end of the magazine. I wrote nearly
all of them myself, and in 1869 I had written rather a long notice of a
book just winning its way to universal favor. In this review I had
intimated my reservations concerning the 'Innocents Abroad', but I had
the luck, if not the sense, to recognize that it was such fun as we had
not had before. I forget just what I said in praise of it, and it does
not matter; it is enough that I praised it enough to satisfy the author.
He now signified as much, and he stamped his gratitude into my memory
with a story wonderfully allegorizing the situation, which the mock
modesty of print forbids my repeating here. Throughout my long
acquaintance with him his graphic touch was always allowing itself a
freedom which I cannot bring my fainter pencil to illustrate. He had the
Southwestern, the Lincolnian, the Elizabethan breadth of parlance, which
I suppose one ought not to call coarse without calling one's self
prudish; and I was often hiding away in discreet holes and corners the
letters in which he had loosed his bold fancy to stoop on rank
suggestion; I could not bear to burn them, and I could not, after the
first reading, quite bear to look at them. I shall best give my feeling
on this point by saying that in it he was Shakespearian, or if his ghost
will not suffer me the word, then he was Baconian.
At the time of our first meeting, which must have been well toward the
winter, Clemens (as I must call him instead of Mark Twain, which seemed
always somehow to mask him from my personal sense) was wearing a sealskin
coat, with the fur out, in the satisfaction of a caprice, or the love of
strong effect which he was apt to indulge through life. I do not know
what droll comment was in Fields's mind with respect to this garment, but
probably he felt that here was an original who was not to be brought to
any Bostonian book in the judgment of his vivid qualities. With his
crest of dense red hair, and the wide sweep of his flaming mustache,
Clemens was not discordantly clothed in that sealskin coat, which
afterward, in spite of his own warmth in it, sent the cold chills through
me when I once accompanied it down Broadway, and shared the immense
publicity it won him. He had always a relish for personal effect, which
expressed itself in the white suit of complete serge which he wore in his
last years, and in the Oxford gown which he put on for every possible
occasion, and said he would like to wear all the time. That was not
vanity in him, but a keen feeling for costume which the severity of our
modern tailoring forbids men, though it flatters women to every excess in
it; yet he also enjoyed the shock, the offence, the pang which it gave
the sensibilities of others. Then there were times he played these
pranks for pure fun, and for the pleasure of the witness. Once I
remember seeing him come into his drawing-room at Hartford in a pair of
white cowskin slippers, with the hair out, and do a crippled
uncle to the joy of all beholders. Or, I must not say all, for I
remember also the dismay of Mrs. Clemens, and her low, despairing cry of,
"Oh, Youth!" That was her name for him among their friends, and it
fitted him as no other would, though I fancied with her it was a
shrinking from his baptismal Samuel, or the vernacular Sam of his earlier
companionships. He was a youth to the end of his days, the heart of a
boy with the head of a sage; the heart of a good boy, or a bad boy, but
always a wilful boy, and wil | 3,297.699442 |
2023-11-16 19:12:01.7798960 | 1,247 | 172 | CATTY***
Transcribed from the 1900[?] W. Nicholson and Sons edition by David
Price, email [email protected]
THE
COMICAL ADVENTURES
OF
TWM SHON CATTY,
(THOMAS JONES, ESQ.)
COMMONLY KNOWN AS THE
WELSH ROBIN HOOD.
“In Ystrad Feen a mirthful sound
Pervades the hollow hills around;
The very stones with laughter bound,
At Twm Shon Catty’s jovial round.”
PREFACE.
In presenting to the public the following Enlarged and Corrected Edition
of “Twm Shon Catty,” the author cannot forget that on its first
appearance in 1836, with “all its imperfections on its head,” it was
received with a welcome quite unlooked for on the part of the writer, and
he now presents this edition to the world, with several additions and
alterations.
On examining the cause of such unlooked-for approbation, he found it, not
in any merit of his own, but in the nationality of his subject, and the
humiliating suggestion that, slight as it was, it was the first attempted
thing that could bear the title of a Welsh Novel.
It is true others have made Wales the scene of action for the heroes of
their Tales; but however talented such writers might be, to the
Welshman’s feelings they lacked nationality, and betrayed the hand of the
foreigner in the working of the web; its texture perchance, filled up
with yams of finer fleeces, but strange and loveless to their
unaccustomed eyes.
Were a native of one of the South Sea Islands to publish the life and
adventures of one of their legendary heroes, it is probable that such a
production would excite more attention, as a true transcript of mind and
manners of the people he essayed to describe, than the more polished
pages of the courtly English and French novelist, who undertook to write
on the same subject. On the same principle, the author of this
unpretending little provincial production accounts for the sunny gleams
of favour that have flashed on the new tract which he has endeavoured to
tread down, among briers and brambles of an unexplored way, while the
smoother path of the practised traveller has been shrouded in gloom.
The expression of the Author’s gratitude is here presented to the Rev. W.
J. Rees, Rector of Cascob, for numerous favours; and especially for the
historic and traditional matter that his researches furnished. To the
Critics of the Cambrian Quarterly for their favourable notice of the
“Small Book,” a skeleton as it then was, compared to the present Edition,
imperfect as it still remains. And lastly to the revered memory of the
late Archdeacon Benyon of Llandilo. That lamented friend of Wales and
Welshmen, (whose aims were ever directed to the enlargement of the narrow
boundary within which prejudice and custom had encircled and enchained
Welsh literature,) in the town-hall of Carmarthen, before his highly
respectable Auditors, honoured this production with a favourable notice.
He warmly eulogised the Author’s attempt at the production of the first
Welsh Novel; and concluded by an offer of a pecuniary reward to the
person who could give the best translation of it in the best Welsh
language.
CHAPTER I.
THE name of Twm Shon Catty, popular throughout Wales. “The Inn-Keeper’s
Album,” and the drama founded thereon. Twm Shon Catty apparently born in
different towns. A correct account of his birth and parentage.
It is often the custom, however foolish it may be, to frighten the
occupants of an English nursery into submission by saying, “The bogie is
coming,” and though the exact form or attributes of the said “bogie” are
by no means definitely known, the mere mention of the individual has
sufficient power to make the juveniles cover their heads, and dive under
the bed-clothes, with fear. The preface to the once popular farce of
“Killing no Murder” informs us, that many a fry of infant Methodists are
terrified and frightened to bed by the cry of “the Bishop is
coming!”—That the right reverend prelates of the realm should become
bugbears and buggaboos to frighten the children of Dissenters, is curious
enough, and evinces a considerable degree of ingenious malignity in
bringing Episcopacy into contempt, if true. Be that as it may in
England, in Wales it is not so; for the demon of terror and monster of
the nursery there, to check the shrill cry of infancy, and enforce silent
obedience to the nurse or mother is Twm Shon Catty.
But “babes and sucklings” are not the only ones on whom that name has
continued to act as a spell; nor for fear and wonder its only attributes,
for the knavish exploits and comic feats of Twm Shon Catty are, like
those of Robin Hood in England, the themes of many a rural rhyme, and the
subject of many a village tale; where, seated round the ample hearth of a
farm house, or the more limited one of a lowly cottage, an attentive
audience is ever found, where his mirth-exciting tricks are told and
listened to with vast satisfaction, unsated by the frequency of
repetition; for the “lowly train” are generally strangers to that
fastidiousness | 3,297.799936 |
2023-11-16 19:12:02.4814360 | 53 | 23 |
Produced by David Widger
THE DEAD ARE SILENT
By Arthur Schnitzler
Copyright, 1907, by Courtland H. Young
HE could endure the quiet waiting in the carriage no longer; it was
easier to | 3,298.501476 |
2023-11-16 19:12:02.5879610 | 985 | 8 |
Produced by Avinash Kothare, Tom Allen, Charles Franks and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. HTML version by
Al Haines.
THE CHILDREN'S PILGRIMAGE
BY
MRS. L. T. MEADE
THE CHILDREN'S PILGRIMAGE
FIRST PART.
"LOOKING FOR THE GUIDE."
"The night is dark, and I am far from home.
Lead Thou me on"
CHAPTER I.
"THREE ON A DOORSTEP."
In a poor part of London, but not in the very poorest part--two
children sat on a certain autumn evening, side by side on a doorstep.
The eldest might have been ten, the youngest eight. The eldest was a
girl, the youngest a boy. Drawn up in front of these children, looking
into their little faces with hungry, loving, pathetic eyes, lay a
mongrel dog.
The three were alone, for the street in which they sat was a
cul-de-sac--leading nowhere; and at this hour, on this Sunday evening,
seemed quite deserted. The boy and girl were no East End waifs; they
were clean; they looked respectable; and the doorstep which gave them a
temporary resting-place belonged to no far-famed Stepney or Poplar. It
stood in a little, old-fashioned, old-world court, back of Bloomsbury.
They were a foreign-looking little pair--not in their dress, which was
truly English in its clumsiness and want of picturesque coloring--but
their faces were foreign. The contour was peculiar, the setting of the
two pairs of eyes--un-Saxon. They sat very close together, a grave
little couple. Presently the girl threw her arm round the boy's neck,
the boy laid his head on her shoulder. In this position those who
watched could have traced motherly lines round this little girl's firm
mouth. She was a creature to defend and protect. The evening fell and
the court grew dark, but the boy had found shelter on her breast, and
the dog, coming close, laid his head on her lap.
After a time the boy raised his eyes, looked at her and spoke:
"Will it be soon, Cecile?"
"I think so, Maurice; I think it must be soon now."
"I'm so cold, Cecile, and it's getting so dark."
"Never mind, darling, stepmother will soon wake now, and then you can
come indoors and sit by the fire."
The boy, with a slight impatient sigh, laid his head once more on her
shoulder, and the grave trio sat on as before.
Presently a step was heard approaching inside the house--it came along
the passage, the door was opened, and a gentleman in a plain black coat
came out. He was a doctor and a young man. His smooth, almost boyish
face looked so kind that it could not but be an index to a charitable
heart.
He stopped before the children, looking at them with interest and pity.
"How is our stepmother, Dr. Austin?" asked Cecile, raising her head and
speaking with alacrity.
"Your stepmother is very ill, my dear--very ill indeed. I stopped with
her to write a letter which she wants me to post. Yes, she is very ill,
but she is awake now; you may go upstairs; you won't disturb her."
"Oh, come, Cecile," said little Maurice, springing to his feet;
"stepmother is awake, and we may get to the fire. I am so bitter cold."
There was not a particle of anything but a kind of selfish longing for
warmth and comfort on his little face. He ran along the passage holding
out his hand to his sister, but Cecile drew back. She came out more
into the light and looked straight up into the tall doctor's face:
"Is my stepmother going to be ill very long, Dr. Austin?"
"No, my dear; I don't expect her illness will last much longer."
"Oh, then, she'll be quite well to-morrow."
"Perhaps--in a sense--who knows!" said the doctor, jerking out his
words and speaking queerly. He looked as if he wanted to say more, but
finally nodding to the child, turned on his heel and walked away.
Cecile, satisfied with this answer, and reading no double meaning in
it, followed her brother and the dog upstairs. She entered a tolerably
comfortable sitting-room, where, on a sofa, lay a woman partly dressed.
The woman's cheeks were crimson, and her large eyes, which were wide
open, | 3,298.608001 |
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Produced by Charlene Taylor, Chuck Greif 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 Spoilers
_By_ REX E. | 3,298.703649 |
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Produced by John Bickers, Bonnie Sala, and Dagny
BUREAUCRACY
By Honore De Balzac
Translated By Katharine Prescott Wormeley
DEDICATION
To the Comtesse Seraphina San Severino, with the respectful
homage of sincere and deep admiration
De Balzac
BUREAUCRACY
CHAPTER I. THE RABOURDIN HOUSEHOLD
In Paris, where men of thought and study bear a certain likeness to one
another, living as they do in a common centre, you must have met with
several resembling Monsieur Rabourdin, whose acquaintance we are about
to make at a moment when he is head of a bureau in one of our most
important ministries. At this period he was forty years old, with gray
hair of so pleasing a shade that women might at a pinch fall in love
with it for it softened a somewhat melancholy countenance, blue eyes
full of fire, a skin that was still fair, though rather ruddy and
touched here and there with strong red marks; a forehead and nose a la
Louis XV., a serious mouth, a tall figure, thin, or perhaps wasted, like
that of a man just recovering from illness, and finally, a bearing that
was midway between the indolence of a mere idler and the thoughtfulness
of a busy man. If this portrait serves to depict his character, a sketch
of this man's dress will bring it still further into relief. Rabourdin
wore habitually a blue surcoat, a white cravat, a waistcoat crossed a la
Robespierre, black trousers without straps, gray silk stockings and low
shoes. Well-shaved, and with his stomach warmed by a cup of coffee, he
left home at eight in the morning with the regularity of clock-work,
always passing along the same streets on his way to the ministry: so
neat was he, so formal, so starched that he might have been taken for an
Englishman on the road to his embassy.
From these general signs you will readily discern a family man,
harassed by vexations in his own household, worried by annoyances at the
ministry, yet philosopher enough to take life as he found it; an honest
man, loving his country and serving it, not concealing from himself the
obstacles in the way of those who seek to do right; prudent, because he
knew men; exquisitely courteous with women, of whom he asked nothing,--a
man full of acquirements, affable with his inferiors, holding his equals
at great distance, and dignified towards his superiors. At the epoch of
which we write, you would have noticed in him the coldly resigned air of
one who has buried the illusions of his youth and renounced every secret
ambition; you would have recognized a discouraged, but not disgusted
man, one who still clings to his first projects,--more perhaps to
employ his faculties than in the hope of a doubtful success. He was not
decorated with any order, and always accused himself of weakness
for having worn that of the Fleur-de-lis in the early days of the
Restoration.
The life of this man was marked by certain mysterious peculiarities.
He had never known his father; his mother, a woman to whom luxury was
everything, always elegantly dressed, always on pleasure bent, whose
beauty seemed to him miraculous and whom he very seldom saw, left
him little at her death; but she had given him that too common and
incomplete education which produces so much ambition and so little
ability. A few days before his mother's death, when he was just sixteen,
he left the Lycee Napoleon to enter as supernumerary a government
office, where an unknown protector had provided him with a place.
At twenty-two years of age Rabourdin became under-head-clerk; at
twenty-five, head-clerk, or, as it was termed, head of the bureau. From
that day the hand that assisted the young man to start in life was never
felt again in his career, except as to a single circumstance; it led
him, poor and friendless, to the house of a Monsieur Leprince, formerly
an auctioneer, a widower said to be extremely rich, and father of
an only daughter. Xavier Rabourdin fell desperately in love with
Mademoiselle Celestine Leprince, then seventeen years of age, who had
all the matrimonial claims of a dowry of two hundred thousand francs.
Carefully educated by an artistic mother, who transmitted her own
talents to her daughter, this young lady was fitted to attract
distinguished men. Tall, handsome, and finely-formed, she was a good
musician, drew and painted, spoke several languages, and even knew
something of science,--a dangerous advantage, which requires a woman
to avoid carefully all appearance of pedantry. Blinded by mistaken
tenderness, the mother gave the daughter false ideas as to her probable
future; to the maternal eyes a duke or an ambassador, a marshal of
France or a minister of State, could alone give her Celestine her due
place in society. The young lady had, moreover, the manners, language,
and habits of the great world. Her dress was richer and more elegant
than was suitable for an unmarried girl; a husband could give her
nothing more than she now had, except happiness. Besides all such
indulgences, the foolish spoiling of the mother, who died a year after
the girl's marriage, made a husband's task all the more difficult.
What coolness and composure of mind were needed to rule such a woman!
Commonplace suitors held back in fear. Xavier Rabourdin, without parents
and without fortune other than his situation under government, was
proposed to Celestine by her father. She resisted for a long time;
not that she had any personal objection to her suitor, who was young,
handsome, and much in love, but she shrank from the plain name of Madame
Rabourdin. Monsieur Leprince assured his daughter that Xavier was of
the stock that statesmen came of. Celestine answered that a man named
Rabourdin would never be anything under the government of the Bourbons,
etc. Forced back to his intrenchments, the father made the serious
mistake of telling his daughter that her future husband was certain of
becoming Rabourdin "de something or other" before he reached the age
of admission to the Chamber. Xavier was soon to be appointed Master of
petitions, and general-secretary at his ministry. From these lower steps
of the ladder the young man would certainly rise to the higher ranks of
the administration, possessed of a fortune and a name bequeathed to him
in a certain will of which he, Monsieur Leprince, was cognizant. On this
the marriage took place.
Rabourdin and his wife believed in the mysterious protector to whom
the auctioneer alluded. Led away by such hopes and by the natural
extravagance of happy love, Monsieur and Madame Rabourdin spent nearly
one hundred thousand francs of their capital in the first five years
of married life. By the end of this time Celestine, alarmed at the
non-advancement of her husband, insisted on investing the remaining
hundred thousand francs of her dowry in landed property, which returned
only a slender income; but her future inheritance from her father would
amply repay all present privations with perfect comfort and ease of
life. When the worthy auctioneer saw his son-in-law disappointed of the
hopes they had placed on the nameless protector, he tried, for the
sake of his daughter, to repair the secret loss by risking part of his
fortune in a speculation which had favourable chances of success. But
the poor man became involved in one of the liquidations of the house of
Nucingen, and died of grief, leaving nothing behind him but a dozen fine
pictures which adorned his daughter's salon, and a few old-fashioned
pieces of furniture, which she put in the garret.
Eight years of fruitless expectation made Madame Rabourdin at last
understand that the paternal protector of her husband must have died,
and that his will, if it ever existed, was lost or destroyed. Two years
before her father's death the place of chief of division, which became
vacant, was given, over her husband's head, to a certain Monsieur de la
Billardiere, related to a deputy of the Right who was made minister in
1823. It was enough to drive Rabourdin out of the service; but how could
he give up his salary of eight thousand francs and perquisites, when
they constituted three fourths of his income and his household was
accustomed to spend them? Besides, if he had patience for a few more
years he would then be entitled to a pension. What a fall was this for
a woman whose high expectations at the opening of her life were more or
less warranted, and one who was admitted on all sides to be a superior
woman.
Madame Rabourdin had justified the expectations formed of Mademoiselle
Leprince; she possessed the elements of that apparent superiority which
pleases the world; her liberal education enabled her to speak to every
one in his or her own language; her talents were real; she showed an
independent and elevated mind; her conversation charmed as much by its
variety and ease as by the oddness and originality of her ideas. Such
qualities, useful and appropriate in a sovereign or an ambassadress,
were of little service to a household compelled to jog in the common
round. Those who have the gift of speaking well desire an audience;
they like to talk, even if they sometimes weary others. To satisfy the
requirements of her mind Madame Rabourdin took a weekly reception-day
and went a great deal into society to obtain the consideration her
self-love was accustomed to enjoy. Those who know Parisian life will
readily understand how a woman of her temperament suffered, and was
martyrized at heart by the scantiness of her pecuniary means. No matter
what foolish declarations people make about money, they one and all, if
they live in Paris, must grovel before accounts, do homage to figures,
and kiss the forked hoof of the golden calf. What a problem was hers!
twelve thousand francs a year to defray the costs of a household
consisting of father, mother, two children, a chambermaid and cook,
living on the second floor of a house in the rue Duphot, in an apartment
costing two thousand francs a year. Deduct the dress and the carriage of
Madame before you estimate the gross expenses of the family, for dress
precedes everything; then see what remains for the education of the
children (a girl of eight and a boy of nine, whose maintenance must
cost at least two thousand francs besides) and you will find that Madame
Rabourdin could barely afford to give her husband thirty francs a month.
That is the position of half the husbands in Paris, under penalty of
being thought monsters.
Thus it was that this woman who believed herself destined to shine in
the world was condemned to use her mind and her faculties in a sordid
struggle, fighting hand to hand with an account-book. Already, terrible
sacrifice of pride! she had dismissed her man-servant, not long after
the death of her father. Most women grow weary of this daily struggle;
they complain but they usually end by giving up to fate and taking what
comes to them; Celestine's ambition, far from lessening, only increased
through difficulties, and led her, when she found she could not conquer
them, to sweep them aside. To her mind this complicated tangle of the
affairs of life was a Gordian knot impossible to untie and which
genius ought to cut. Far from accepting the pettiness of middle-class
existence, she was angry at the delay which kept the great things of
life from her grasp,--blaming fate as deceptive. Celestine sincerely
believed herself a superior woman. Perhaps she was right; perhaps she
would have been great under great circumstances; perhaps she was not in
her right place. Let us remember there are as many varieties of woman as
there are of man, all of which society fashions to meet its needs. Now
in the social order, as in Nature's order, there are more young shoots
than there are trees, more spawn than full-grown fish, and many great
capacities (Athanase Granson, for instance) which die withered for want
of moisture, like seeds on stony ground. There are, unquestionably,
household women, accomplished women, ornamental women, women who are
exclusively wives, or mothers, or sweethearts, women purely spiritual
or purely material; just as there are soldiers, artists, artisans,
mathematicians, poets, merchants, men who understand money, or
agriculture, or government, and nothing else. Besides all this, the
eccentricity of events leads to endless cross-purposes; many are called
and few are chosen is the law of earth as of heaven. Madame Rabourdin
conceived herself fully capable of directing a statesman, inspiring an
artist, helping an inventor and pushing his interests, or of devoting
her powers to the financial politics of a Nucingen, and playing a
brilliant part in the great world. Perhaps she was only endeavouring to
excuse to her own mind a hatred for the laundry lists and the duty of
overlooking the housekeeping bills, together with the petty economies
and cares of a small establishment. She was superior only in those
things where it gave her pleasure to be so. Feeling as keenly as she
did the thorns of a position which can only be likened to that of
Saint-Laurence on his grid-iron, is it any wonder that she sometimes
cried out? So, in her paroxysms of thwarted ambition, in the moments
when her wounded vanity gave her terrible shooting pains, Celestine
turned upon Xavier Rabourdin. Was it not her husband's duty to give her
a suitable position in the world? If she were a man she would have had
the energy to make a rapid fortune for the sake of rendering an adored
wife happy! She reproached him for being too honest a man. In the mouth
of some women this accusation is a charge of imbecility. She sketched
out for him certain brilliant plans in which she took no account of the
hindrances imposed by men and things; then, like all women under the
influence of vehement feeling, she became in thought as Machiavellian
as Gondreville, and more unprincipled than Maxime de Trailles. At such
times Celestine's mind took a wide range, and she imagined herself at
the summit of her ideas.
When these fine visions first began Rabourdin, who saw the practical
side, was cool. Celestine, much grieved, thought her husband
narrow-minded, timid, unsympathetic; and she acquired, insensibly, a
wholly false opinion of the companion of her life. In the first place,
she often extinguished him by the brilliancy of her arguments. Her ideas
came to her in flashes, and she sometimes stopped him short when he
began an explanation, because she did not choose to lose the slightest
sparkle of her own mind. From the earliest days of their marriage
Celestine, feeling herself beloved and admired by her husband, treated
him without ceremony; she put herself above conjugal laws and the
rules of private courtesy by expecting love to pardon all her little
wrong-doings; and, as she never in any way corrected herself, she was
always in the ascendant. In such a situation the man holds to the wife
very much the position of a child to a teacher when the latter cannot or
will not recognize that the mind he has ruled in childhood is becoming
mature. Like Madame de Stael, who exclaimed in a room full of people,
addressing, as we may say, a greater man than herself, "Do you know you
have really said something very profound!" Madame Rabourdin said of
her husband: "He certainly has a good deal of sense at times." Her
disparaging opinion of him gradually appeared in her behavior through
almost imperceptible motions. Her attitude and manners expressed a want
of respect. Without being aware of it she injured her husband in the
eyes of others; for in all countries society, before making up its mind
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Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
A LIFE OF WALT WHITMAN
BY THE SAME WRITER
MOODS AND OUTDOOR VERSES
("RICHARD ASKHAM")
FOR THE FELLOWSHIP
[Illustration: _Walt Whitman at thirty-five_]
A LIFE OF WALT WHITMAN
by
HENRY BRYAN BINNS
With Thirty-three Illustrations
METHUEN & CO.
36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
LONDON
First Published in 1905
TO
MY MOTHER
AND
HER MOTHER
THE REPUBLIC
PREFACE
To the reader, and especially to the critical reader, it would seem
but courteous to give at the beginning of my book some indication
of its purpose. It makes no attempt to fill the place either of a
critical study or a definitive biography. Though Whitman died thirteen
years ago, the time has not yet come for a final and complete life
to be written; and when the hour shall arrive we must, I think, look
to some American interpreter for the volume. For Whitman's life is
of a strongly American flavour. Instead of such a book I offer a
biographical study from the point of view of an Englishman, yet of
an Englishman who loves the Republic. I have not attempted, except
parenthetically here and there, to make literary decisions on the value
of Whitman's work, partly because he still remains an innovator upon
whose case the jury of the years must decide--a jury which is not yet
complete; and partly because I am not myself a literary critic. It is
as a man that I see and have sought to describe Whitman. But as a man
of special and exceptional character, a new type of mystic or seer.
And the conviction that he belongs to the order of initiates has
dragged me on to confessedly difficult ground.
Again, while seeking to avoid excursions into literary criticism, it
has seemed to me to be impossible to draw a real portrait of the man
without attempting some interpretation of his books and the quotation
from them of characteristic passages, for they are the record of his
personal attitude towards the problems most intimately affecting his
life. I trust that this part of my work may at any rate offer some
suggestions to the serious student of Whitman. Since he touched life at
many points, it has been full of pitfalls; and if among them I should
prove but a blind leader, I can only hope that those who follow will
keep open eyes.
Whitman has made his biography the more difficult to write by demanding
that he should be studied in relation to his time; to fulfil this
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CHRISTMAS IN LEGEND AND STORY
Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes
Wherein our Saviour's birth, is celebrated,
The bird of dawning singeth all night long:
And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad;
The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike,
No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,
So hallow'd and so gracious is the time.
SHAKESPEARE.
CHRISTMAS
IN
LEGEND AND STORY
A BOOK FOR BOYS AND GIRLS
COMPILED BY
ELVA S. SMITH
CARNEGIE LIBRARY
PITTSBURGH
AND
ALICE I. HAZELTINE
PUBLIC LIBRARY
ST. LOUIS
ILLUSTRATED
FROM
FAMOUS PAINTINGS
1915
CHRISTMAS IN LEGEND AND STORY
PREFACE
In our experience in library work with children we have learned that it is
very difficult to find Christmas stories and legends which have literary
merit, are reverent in spirit, and are also suitable for children. This
collection has been made in an endeavor to meet this need, and thus to be
of service to parents, teachers, and librarians.
Most of the stories and poems in this book are of the legendary type. They
have been chosen from a wide variety of sources and represent the work of
many writers. There are other stories also, which, although not strictly
traditional, have the same reverent spirit and illustrate traditional
beliefs and customs. These have been included for their literary value and
their interest for young people.
In the arrangement of the selections we have followed the natural order of
the events in preference to grouping the stories for boys and girls of
different ages.
Although no attempt has been made to adapt the legends for story-telling,
most of them may be used for that purpose. Many of the selections are also
well suited for reading aloud.
Above all it is hoped that this book may bring real joy to the boys and
girls for whom it has been compiled.
ELVA S. SMITH,
CATALOGUER OF CHILDREN'S BOOKS,
CARNEGIE LIBRARY OF PITTSBURGH.
ALICE I. HAZELTINE,
SUPERVISOR OF CHILDREN'S WORK,
ST. LOUIS PUBLIC LIBRARY.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The compilers wish to thank Mrs. Margaret Deland for permission to use
"The Christmas Silence;" Mrs. Etta Austin McDonald for her adaptation of
Coppee's "Sabot of Little Wolff" from "The Child Life Fifth Reader;"
Josephine Preston Peabody for "The Song of a Shepherd-Boy at Bethlehem;"
Mrs. William Sharp for "The Children of Wind and the Clan of Peace," by
Fiona Macleod; Nora Archibald Smith and the editors of the _Outlook_ for
"The Haughty Aspen;" and the editors of _Good Housekeeping Magazine,_
Little, Brown & Company and Mrs. Velma Swanston Howard for her translation
of "The Legend of the Christmas Rose," by Selma Lagerloef, taken from _Good
Housekeeping Magazine_, copyright, 1907. Copyright, 1910, by Little, Brown
& Company.
Thanks are also due to the following publishers for permission to reprint
poems and stories on which they hold copyright: The Century Company for
four selections from _St. Nicholas_, "The Little Gray Lamb" by A.B.
Sullivan, "A Christmas Legend" by Florence Scannell, "Felix" by Evaleen
Stein, "The Child Jesus in the Garden;" The Churchman Company for "The
Blooming of the White Thorn" by Edith M. Thomas; Doubleday, Page & Company
for "Neighbors of the Christ Night" by Nora Archibald Smith; E.P. Dutton &
Company for "The Sin of the Prince Bishop" by William Canton; Ginn &
Company for "Christmas Carol" from "Open Sesame;" Mr. William Heinemann
for "The Flight into Egypt" by Selma Lagerloef; Houghton Mifflin Company
for "The Child Born at Bethlehem" by H.E. Scudder, "The Christmas Song of
Caedmon" by H.E.G. Pardee, "The Little Mud-Sparrows" by Elizabeth Stuart
Phelps.
"St. Christopher of the Gael" and "The Cross of the Dumb" are included
through the courtesy of Messrs. Duffield & Company. From "Poems and
Dramas" by Fiona Macleod, copyright, 1901, 1903, 1907, by Thomas B.
Mosher; 1910 by Duffield & Company.
The selection "Christmas at Greccio" from "God's Troubadour" by Sophie
Jewett is included by special arrangement with T.Y. Crowell Company. "The
Little Friend" by Abbie Farwell Brown, "Christmas Hymn" by R.W. Gilder,
"The Three Kings" by H.W. Longfellow, and "The Star Bearer" by E.C.
Stedman are included by special arrangement with Houghton Mifflin Company;
and "The Three Kings of Cologne" by Eugene Field, and "Earl Sigurd's
Christmas Eve" by H.H. Boyesen, by special arrangement with Charles
Scribner's Sons.
The story of St. Christopher is taken chiefly from the "Golden Legend,"
but a few suggestions for its adaptation were obtained from a version by
Olive Logan.
CONTENTS
"THE GRACIOUS TIME"
THE ADORATION OF THE SHEPHERDS
ST. LUKE, II, 1-16
THE CHILD BORN AT BETHLEHEM
HORACE ELISHA SCUDDER
AS JOSEPH WAS A-WALKING
OLD ENGLISH CAROL
THE PEACEFUL NIGHT
JOHN MILTON
THE CHRISTMAS SILENCE
MARGARET DELAND
NEIGHBORS OF THE CHRIST NIGHT
NORA ARCHIBALD SMITH
CHRISTMAS CAROL
FROM THE NEAPOLITAN
A CHRISTMAS HYMN
RICHARD WATSON GILDER
THE SONG OF A SHEPHERD--BOY AT BETHLEHEM
JOSEPHINE PRESTON PEABODY
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS ROSES
ADAPTED FROM AN OLD LEGEND
THE LITTLE GRAY LAMB
ARCHIBALD BERESFORD SULLIVAN
THE HOLY NIGHT
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING
THE STAR BEARER
EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN
THE VISIT OF THE WISE MEN
ST. MATTHEW, II, 1-12
THE THREE KINGS
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW
THE THREE HOLY KINGS
ADAPTED FROM THE GOLDEN LEGEND, AND OTHER SOURCES
THE THREE KINGS OF COLOGNE
EUGENE FIELD
BABOUSCKA
ADELAIDE SKEEL
THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT
SELMA LAGERLOeF
THE HAUGHTY ASPEN
NORA ARCHIBALD SMITH
THE LITTLE MUD-SPARROWS
ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS
THE CHILDREN OF WIND AND THE CLAN OF PEACE
FIONA MACLEOD
THE CHILD JESUS IN THE GARDEN
AUTHOR UNKNOWN
THE MYSTIC THORN
ADAPTED FROM TRADITIONAL SOURCES
THE BLOOMING OF THE WHITE THORN
EDITH MATILDA THOMAS
LEGEND OF ST. CHRISTOPHER
ADAPTED FROM THE GOLDEN LEGEND
ST. CHRISTOPHER OF THE GAEL
FIONA MACLEOD
THE CROSS OF THE DUMB
FIONA MACLEOD
THE CHRISTMAS SONG OF CAEDMON
H.E.G. PARDEE
GOOD KING WENCESLAS
JOHN MASON NEALE
THE CHRISTMAS AT GRECCIO: A STORY OF ST. FRANCIS
SOPHIE JEWETT
THE SIN OF THE PRINCE BISHOP
WILLIAM CANTON
EARL SIGURD'S CHRISTMAS EVE
HJALMAR HJORTH BOYESEN
A CHRISTMAS LEGEND
FLORENCE SCANNELL
THE LEGEND OF THE CHRISTMAS ROSE
SELMA LAGERLOeF
FELIX
EVALEEN STEIN
THE SABOT OF LITTLE WOLFF
FRANCOIS COPPEE
THE LITTLE FRIEND
ABBIE FARWELL BROWN
WHERE LOVE IS, THERE GOD IS ALSO
COUNT LYOF N. TOLSTOI
CHRISTMAS IN
LEGEND AND STORY
"THE GRACIOUS TIME"
According to tradition, on the Holy Night there fell upon Bethlehem of
Judea a strange and unnatural calm; the voices of the birds were hushed,
water ceased to flow and the wind was stilled. But when the child Jesus
was born all nature burst into new life; trees put forth green leaves,
grass sprang up and bright flowers bloomed. To animals was granted the
power of human speech and the ox and the ass knelt in their stalls in
adoration of the infant Saviour. Then it was that the shepherds abiding in
the field with their flocks heard the angels praising God, and kings of
the Orient watching in their "far country" saw ablaze in the heavens the
long-expected sign. Even in distant Rome there sprang up a well or
fountain which "ran largely" and the ancient prophetess, Sibyl, looking
eastward from the Capitoline hill heard the angel song and saw in vision
all the wonders of that night.
There are many such traditional tales of the nativity, of the "star-led
wizards" and of the marvels wrought by the boy Christ. They tell of the
bees singing their sweet hymn of praise to the Lord, of the palm-tree
bending down its branches that the weary travellers fleeing from the wrath
of Herod might be refreshed by its fruit, of the juniper which opened to
conceal them and of the sweet-smelling balsam which grew wherever the
drops of moisture fell from the brow of the Boy "as He ran about or toiled
in His loving service for His Mother." Quaint fancies some of these,
perhaps, and not all of them worth preserving; but oftentimes beautiful,
and with a germ of truth.
From the centuries between then and now, come stories of holy men, of
bishops and peasant-saints, and of brave men who preached the White Christ
to the vikings of the north or on Iona's isle. As in popular belief, with
each returning eve of the nativity the miracles of the first Christmas
happen again, so in these tales the thorn-tree blossoms anew and wonderful
roses bloom in the bleak forest.
Other stories tell how on each Christmas eve the little Christ-child comes
again to earth and wanders through village or town, while lighted candles
are placed in the windows to guide Him on His way.
These various legends and traditional tales, which sprang up among the
people like flowers by the wayside and became a part of the life of the
Middle Ages, are still of interest to us of to-day and have a distinct
charm of their own. And when the childlike faith and beauty of thought of
the finest of these have found expression in literary form they seem
particularly suited for our reading at "the gracious time."
THE ADORATION OF THE SHEPHERDS
ST. LUKE, II, 1-16
And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from
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Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Cathy Maxam and the Online
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TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: Minor inconsistencies in hyphenated words have
been adjusted to correspond with the author's most frequent usage.
On page 60 a printer error from the original text was corrected: the
word "drawings" has been changed to "drawing" in the phrase, "...
drawing has been taught...."
HOW WE THINK
BY
JOHN DEWEY
PROFESSOR OF PHILOSOPHY IN COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY
D. C. HEATH & CO., PUBLISHERS
BOSTON NEW YORK CHICAGO
COPYRIGHT, 1910,
BY D. C. HEATH & CO.
2 F 8
Printed in U. S. A.
PREFACE
Our schools are troubled with a multiplication of studies, each in turn
having its own multiplication of materials and principles. Our teachers
find their tasks made heavier in that they have come to deal with pupils
individually and not merely in mass. Unless these steps in advance are
to end in distraction, some clew of unity, some principle that makes for
simplification, must be found. This book represents the conviction that
the needed steadying and centralizing factor is found in adopting as the
end of endeavor that attitude of mind, that habit of thought, which we
call scientific. This scientific attitude of mind might, conceivably, be
quite irrelevant to teaching children and youth. But this book also
represents the conviction that such is not the case; that the native and
unspoiled attitude of childhood, marked by ardent curiosity, fertile
imagination, and love of experimental inquiry, is near, very near, to
the attitude of the scientific mind. If these pages assist any to
appreciate this kinship and to consider seriously how its recognition in
educational practice would make for individual happiness and the
reduction of social waste, the book will amply have served its purpose.
It is hardly necessary to enumerate the authors to whom I am indebted.
My fundamental indebtedness is to my wife, by whom the ideas of this
book were inspired, and through whose work in connection with the
Laboratory School, existing in Chicago between 1896 and 1903, the ideas
attained such concreteness as comes from embodiment and testing in
| 3,298.903846 |
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Produced by Charles Bowen, from page images provided by the Web Archive
Page scan source:
http://ia341310.us.archive.org/3/items/cu31924026169395/
and within this file seek: cu31924026169395.pdf
BY THE AUTHOR OF "VILLA EDEN."
ON THE HEIGHTS.
Revised Edition. In one volume, with Pictorial Title. 16mo. Cloth.
Price, $2.00.
EDELWEISS.
One volume. With Pictorial Title. Square 16mo. Neat Cloth. Price,
$1.00.
GERMAN TALES.
One volume. Square 16mo. Cloth. Price, $1.00.
* * * * *
-->_Mailed, post-paid, on receipt of the price, by the Publishers,_
ROBERTS BROTHERS, BOSTON.
[Illustration: "_Be patient a few minutes longer! There's a man
beckoning to go with us_," _said the boatman to his passengers_.--VILLA
EDEN, Page 1.]
VILLA EDEN:
THE COUNTRY-HOUSE ON THE RHINE.
By BERTHOLD AUERBACH.
TRANSLATED BY CHARLES C. SHACKFORD.
BOSTON:
ROBERTS BROTHERS.
1871.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by
ROBERTS BROTHERS,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of
Massachusetts.
THE COUNTRY-HOUSE ON THE RHINE.
A ROMANCE, BY BERTHOLD AUERBACH.
BOOK I.
CHAPTER I.
THE APPARITION.
"Be patient a few: minutes longer! There's a man beckoning to go with
us," said the boatman to his passengers, two women and one man. The man
was gray-haired, of slender form, rubicund face, and blue eyes of a
kindly, but absent-minded and weary expression; a heavy moustache,
wholly covering the upper lip, seemed out of keeping with this
inoffensive face. He wore a new summer suit of that fashionable
material which seems be-dashed and be-sprinkled with white, as if the
wearer had purposely rolled himself in a feather bed. He had, moreover,
a pretty wallet attached to a leather belt, and embroidered with blue
and red beads.
Opposite the man sat a tall and stately woman, with restless eyes and
sharp features, that might once have been attractive. She shook her
head, vexed at the delay, like one not accustomed to be kept waiting,
got up, and sat down again. She wore a pale-yellow silk dress, and the
white veil on her gray round hat was wound about the rim like the band
around a turban. Again she threw back her head with a quick movement,
then looked straight down before her, as if not to show any interest in
the stranger, and boring with the point of her large parasol into the
side of the boat.
Near the man sat a smiling, fair maiden, in a blue summer suit, and
holding in her hand, by the elastic string, a small blue hat ornamented
with a bird's wing. Her head was rather large and heavy, and the broad
forehead was made yet more massive by a rich abundance of braided hair;
a large curl on each side rested upon her shoulder and breast. The
girl's countenance was bright and clear as the clear day which shed its
beams over the landscape. She put on her hat, and the mother gave it a
little touch to adjust it properly. The girl exchanged quickly her
coarse leather gauntlets for delicate, glossy ones which she took out
of her pocket; and while drawing them on with great dexterity, she
looked at the new-comer.
A tall and handsome young man, with a full brown beard, a sinewy frame,
a gray shawl over his shoulder, and upon his head a broad-brimmed gray
hat with black crape, same down the steep and zigzag path with a
vigorous step to the shore. He stepped into the boat, and lifting his
hat while bowing in silence, displayed a noble white forehead shaded by
dark-brown hair. His countenance spoke courage and firmness, and, at
the same time, had an expression that awakened confidence and trust.
The girl cast down her eyes, while her mother once more fastened and
unfastened her hat-string, contriving at the same time, with seeming
carelessness, to place one long curl in front, and the other upon the
shoulder behind, so as to be becoming, and to look easy and natural.
The man in the mottled suit pressed the white head of his cane to his
lips. The stranger, seating himself apart from the others, gazed into
the stream, whilst the boat was moving rapidly through the water. They
landed at an island on which was a large convent, now a boarding-school
for girls.
"Oh, how beautiful! and are the lessons learned there?" asked the girl,
pointing to a group of lofty trees on the shore, clustered so near
together that they seemed to have grown out of one root, and with low
seats inside the grove. "Go on!" said the mother with a reproving look
to the girl, and immediately taking her husband's arm. The girl went on
before, and the stranger followed them.
In the thickets sang the nightingales, the blackbirds, and the finches,
as if they would proclaim, "Here is the peace and the rest of Paradise,
and no one disturbs us." The dark fir-trees with their sheltering
branches, and the long row of light-green larches stood motionless by
the shore, and bees hummed in the blossoming chestnut-trees. They
reached the convent. The building, without any architectural
peculiarity, had an extended prospect of the garden, the meadows on the
island, the river, and the mountains. It was shut up, and no human
being was to be seen. The old gentleman pulled the bell; a portress
opened a small window, and asked what was wanted. Admission was
demanded, but the portress replied that it could not possibly be
granted that evening. "Take in my card, and say to the good mother that
I am here with my wife and daughter," said the old gentleman. "Permit
me to add also my card," said the stranger. The three looked round,
struck by the pleasant tone of his voice. The stranger handed his card,
and added, "Please say to the worthy Lady Superior, that I bring a
message of greeting from my mother."
The portress closed the window quickly, while the four stood at the
entrance. "I took you for a Frenchman," said the old gentleman with a
kindly tone to the young man. "I am a German," he replied. "Have you
then a relative in the convent, and are you acquainted with the good
mother?" "No, I know no one here." The answers of the stranger were so
short and direct, that he gave no opportunity to continue the
conversation, and the old gentleman appeared to be a man of position
and character, who was accustomed to be addressed, and not to make
advances. He walked with the two ladies towards a beautiful flower-bed,
and placed himself with his companions upon a seat. But the girl was
restless, and walking up and down along the edge of the meadow, she
gathered the hidden violets. The young man remained standing as if
rooted to the spot, staring at the stone steps which led up to the
cloister-door, as though he must find out what various destinies had
already gone in and out over them.
Meanwhile, the old gentleman said to his wife, "That elegant young man
appears to me to be a gambler, who has lost all his means at one of the
neighboring baths. Who knows but that he wants to borrow money of the
Lady Superior?" She laughed at her husband for being disposed to see
now, for the third time during this journey, a criminal or a ruined man
in the persons they chanced to meet.
"You may be right," said the old gentleman; "but that's the mischief of
these showy, establishments, that one supposes everybody he meets has
something to do with them. Besides, just as it happened with our
daughter--"
"What happened with me?" asked the girl from the meadow. "Why,"
continued the father, "how often, when walking behind you at the baths,
have I heard people say, 'What beautiful false hair!' no one now thinks
that there is anything genuine."
The girl laughed merrily to herself, and then adding a violet to the
nosegay on her bosom, called out, "And I believe the stranger is a
poet." "Why?" asked the mother. "Because a poet must be handsome like
him." The old gentleman laughed, and the mother said, "Child, you are
manufacturing a poet out of your own imagination; but, silence! let us
go, the portress is beckoning to us."
The convent door opened, and the visitors entered. Behind the second
grated door stood two nuns in black garments with hempen cords about
their waists. The taller nun, an old lady with an extraordinarily large
nose, told them that the Lady Superior was sorry not to be able to
receive any one; that it was the evening before her birth-day, and she
always remained, on that day, alone until sunset; that there was a
further difficulty in admitting strangers to-day, as the children--for
so she called the pupils--had prepared a spectacle with which to greet
the Superior after sun-down; that everything was in disorder to-day, as
a stage had been erected in the great dining-hall; that the Superior,
however, had ordered that they should be shown over the convent.
The two nuns led the way through the main passage. Their step was hard
and noisy, for they wore wooden shoes fastened to the feet by leather
straps over the stockings | 3,299.004032 |
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Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer and David Widger
MRS WARREN'S PROFESSION
by George Bernard Shaw
1894
With The Author's Apology (1902)
THE AUTHOR'S APOLOGY
Mrs Warren's Profession has been performed at last, after a delay of
only eight years; and I have once more shared with Ibsen the triumphant
amusement of startling all but the strongest-headed of the London
theatre critics clean out of the practice of their profession. No
author who has ever known the exultation of sending the Press into an
hysterical tumult of protest, of moral panic, of involuntary and frantic
confession of sin, of a horror of conscience in which the power of
distinguishing between the work of art on the stage and the real life
of the spectator is confused and overwhelmed, will ever care for the
stereotyped compliments which every successful farce or melodrama
elicits from the newspapers. Give me that critic who rushed from my play
to declare furiously that Sir George Crofts ought to be kicked. What a
triumph for the actor, thus to reduce a jaded London journalist to
the condition of the simple sailor in the Wapping gallery, who shouts
execrations at Iago and warnings to Othello not to believe him! But
dearer still than such simplicity is that sense of the sudden earthquake
shock to the foundations of morality which sends a pallid crowd of
critics into the street shrieking that the pillars of society are
cracking and the ruin of the State is at hand. Even the Ibsen champions
of ten years ago remonstrate with me just as the veterans of those brave
days remonstrated with them. Mr Grein, the hardy iconoclast who first
launched my plays on the stage alongside Ghosts and The Wild Duck,
exclaimed that I have shattered his ideals. Actually his ideals! What
would Dr Relling say? And Mr William Archer himself disowns me because I
"cannot touch pitch without wallowing in it". Truly my play must be more
needed than I knew; and yet I thought I knew how little the others know.
Do not suppose, however, that the consternation of the Press reflects
any consternation among the general public. Anybody can upset the
theatre critics, in a turn of the wrist, by substituting for the
romantic commonplaces of the stage the moral commonplaces of the pulpit,
platform, or the library. Play Mrs Warren's Profession to an audience
of clerical members of the Christian Social Union and of women well
experienced in Rescue, Temperance, and Girls' Club work, and no moral
panic will arise; every man and woman present will | 3,299.004903 |
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Produced by Gerard Arthus, Diane Monico, 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
SPAWN OF IXION;
OR,
The 'Biter Bit.'
AN
ALLEGORY.
FORGE OF VULCAN.
1846.
THE SPAWN OF IXION.
When Ixion from heaven was hurl'd
To hell, to be for ever whirl'd
In a perpetual damning wheel,
The pit's eternal pains to feel;
'Twas for a bestial, vulgar deed,
Whereby that mortal did succeed
In sinking Juno to the sod--
Seducing e'en that beaut'ous god!
Abomination foul, was this,
To ruin lovely Juno's bliss!--
To raise in heaven domestic strife,
'Twixt Jupiter and his lov'd wife!--
With sins that never were forgiven,
To scandalize the court of heaven!
When Jupiter in pity took
This wretch to heaven, on earth forsook,
He was a vile contempt'ous thing,
Despised by peasant, prince and king;
A wand'ring vagrant, shun'd and curst,
For sending AEneus to the dust.
The aged father of his wife,
Base Ixion deprived of life!
Into a pit of burning fire
He cast poor AEneus to expire!--
And, while this cruel, murd'rous knave,
For sending AEneus to his grave,
From every circle under heaven
With scorn contemptuous, was driven,
This wretched outcast, here forsaken,
By Jupiter, was kindly taken
Into the realms above the skies,
And introduced to deities!
E'en at the tables of the gods
He set this scoundrel of the clods!
Such heavenly condescension should
Inspire a mortal's gratitude:
In Ixion's base and blacken'd breast
Some thankfulness should even rest.
His heart, though steep'd in every deed
Of darkness, in the devil's creed--
In every sin that stains the earth,
Or blackens hell, which gave it birth,
Should now have felt a kindly glow
For what great Jupiter did do.
But Ixion did only feel
A base desire at once to steal
The heart of Juno, and to tread
On Jupiter's celestial bed!
He had an intrigue with the cloud
Of Juno, which the gods allow'd;
And thus the monstrous Centaur came
From Ixion's and Juno's shame.
But Jupiter with thunder hurl'd
The villain from the heavenly world,--
Sent him to hell fore'er to feel
The ceaseless torments of the wheel.
But his vile offspring stays behind,
The bane and curse of human kind,--
Possessing still the bestial fire,
Which deep disgraced and damn'd the sire:
The same inglorious meanness strays
In the vile veins and verse and lays
Of him, on crutches, devil half,
(At whom his kindred centaurs laugh,)
In that deformity of hell.
On whom its attributes have fell,
In him, whose shameless, wicked life
Is with abomination rife,
Whose works, thrice damn'd and doubly dead,
The produce of conceit and lead,
Possess no other aim nor end
But foul abuse of foe and friend.
His heart, polluted with the dung
Of demons damn'd, from hell out flung,
Is rotten to the core with lies,
From which foul slanders thickly rise.
His soul, most pitiful and mean,
Infected with hell-scorch'd gangrene,
No kind, redeeming trait contains,
But reeks with bestial blots and stains.
His mind, with vulgar vice imbued,
Libidinous and low and lewd,
Deep stained with malice, hate and spleen,
With sentiments supremely mean,
Is bent on mischief, foul as hell,
O'er which the hideous Centaurs yell.
Low was his birth and low his name,
Low is his life, and low his fame;
But lower still the depths of wo,
Where Park, when dead and damn'd, must go.
Friends, foes or fiends, alike he fights,
In all he says, or sings, or writes.
This foul defamer, crawling round
The brink of hell, to catch its sound,
Exsudes it thence, in doleful rhyme,
Debased and reeking rank with crime.
On this deformity of man,
More monstrous than the bastard Pan,
Pegasus turn'd his nimble feet,
As Park, on crutches, crawl'd the street;
Urging that steed, against his will,
To bear him up Helicon's hill.
But Pegasus, a knowing horse,
Perceived that Park's conceited verse
Was only suited to the stews
Of hell, whence emanates his muse.
He, therefore, with Bellerophon,
Left him behind, well trampled on,
To tune a pilfer'd, broken lyre,
In fields of mud, and muck, and mire;
And there, his song most lowly set,
Winding through marshes, undulcet,
Contending always with the fog,
Unable e'er to flee the bog,
Does charm, perhaps, the frogs and snakes,
And loathsome reptiles of the lakes.
Although some demon's wand'ring sprite
May, haply, listen with delight,
To Park's low, grov'ling, growling song,
As, through the sloughs, it pours along;
And though in marshes, fens and ditches,
It may, perhaps, amuse the witches;
Yet, should an unsuspecting team
Hear, unawares, the dismal scream
Of his lugubr'ous, muck-born verse,
'Twould sadly frighten every horse.
And, had the Children in the Wood
Just heard his strain, and understood
Its wretched, wrangling, dismal din,
How frighten'd had those children been!--
Believing soon that doom would crack,
Or that the de'il was on their track!
Had Robert Kid, that pirate knave,
Heard it come creaking o'er the wave,
He had supposed some demon's shell
Was sounding from the gates of hell.
The red men, savage, wild and rude,
Deep buried in their solitude,
Would wake affrighted from their dreams,
If, haply, Park's poetic screams
Should penetrate their secret lair;
And they, forthwith, would kneel in prayer
To the great Spirit of the sun,
Believing that their days were done;
That hell's dark hole was open thrown,
And that this strain was Satan's own,
In wrath, now prowling through the wood,
Devouring Indians for his food.
Ev'n David Crockett would have run,
Affrighted, from his game and gun,
Had he but heard, in woods remote,
Park's incongruous jangling note,
Wild screeching on the western gale,
An unpoetic dismal wail:
Nor stopp'd in his despairing flight,
In San Jacinto, e'en, to fight;
But, rushing wildly and forlorn,
E'en to the billows, off Cape Horn,
Most likely there, himself had drown'd,
In terror of the doleful sound.
In western wilds, had Daniel Boon
But heard, for once, the lecherous loon,
He would have dropp'd his axe and gun,
And, to the eastward, rapid run;
Nor stay'd, in all his fearful flight,
For wind or storm, through day and night,
Till he some civil spot could reach,
Uncursed by Park's dolorous screech.
And had Columbus heard his roar,
When first he landed on this shore,
He would have turn'd his bark amain,
And never ventured here again;
Impress'd that, in this western world,
There was, from Pandemonium hurl'd,
Some spirit damn'd for e'er to bark
The hideous songs of hideous Park.--
The owls and bats that curse the land,
Could they but hear and understand
The wretched rhymes and nauseous stuff
Of this conceited, vile ruff-skuff,
Would, surely, leave their secret haunts,
And ever cease their nightly chants;
Convinced that they have been, at last,
In frightful strains, by Park surpast;
And that this vagrant of the muse,
Foul caterer for sinks and stews,--
The Five-Points' poet, has outdone
All they have ever screech'd or sung.
Despairing, thence, they would retire
Long distance from his loathsome lyre,
And let their lonely caves and rocks
Resound with his poetic shocks;
To be | 3,299.007116 |
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Produced by Al Haines.
*THE FAMILY AT MISRULE.*
BY
ETHEL TURNER,
AUTHOR OF
"SEVEN LITTLE AUSTRALIANS," "THE STORY OF A BABY," ETC
"Ah that spring should vanish with the Rose!
That youth's sweet-scented manuscript should close!"
THE RUBAIYAT OF OMAR KHAYYAM.
"To youth the greatest reverence is due."
JUVENAL.
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY A. J. JOHNSON._
LONDON:
WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED,
WARWICK HOUSE, SALISBURY SQUARE, E.C.
NEW YORK AND MELBOURNE.
TO
CHARLES COPE,
MY STEPFATHER AND FRIEND
E. S. T.,
LINDFIELD, SYDNEY.
*CONTENTS.*
CHAP.
I. PICKING UP THREADS
II. SCHOOL TROUBLES
III. A PASSAGE-AT-ARMS
IV. A SUMMER'S DAY
V. BETWEEN A DREAM AND A DREAM
VI. TO-MORROW
VII. A LITTLE MAID-ERRANT
VIII. ONE PARTICULAR EVENING
IX. THAT MISCHIEVOUS CUPID
X. NEEDLES AND PINS
XI. A DAY IN SYDNEY
XII. THREE COURSES ONE SHILLING
XIII. PARNASSUS AND PUDDINGS
XIV. MUSHROOMS
XV. THE GOVERNMENT OF MEG
XVI. MORE MUTINY
XVII. A DINNER PARTY
XVIII. "HOW GOOD YOU OUGHT TO BE!"
XIX. HEADACHE AND HEARTACHE
XX. MY LITTLE ONE DAUGHTER
XXI. THE SEVENTH DAY
XXII. AMARANTH OR ASPHODEL
XXIII. LITTLE FAITHFUL MEG
XXIV. "IN THE MIDNIGHT, IN THE SILENCE OF THE SLEEP-TIME"
XXV. HERE ENDETH
[Illustration: Contents tailpiece]
*THE FAMILY AT MISRULE.*
*CHAPTER I.*
*PICKING UP THREADS.*
"Should auld acquaintance be forgot?"
There was discord at Misrule.
Nell, in some mysterious way, had let down a muslin frock of last season
till it reached her ankles.
And Meg was doing her best to put her foot down upon it.
In a metaphorical sense, of course. Meg Woolcot at twenty-one was far
too lady-like to resort to a personal struggle with her young sister.
But her eyes were distressed.
"You can't say I don't look nice," Nell said. "Why, even Martha said,
'La, Miss Nell!' and held her head on one side with a pleased look for
two minutes."
"But you're such a child, Nellie," objected Meg. "you look like playing
at being grown up."
"Fifteen's very old, _I_ think," said Miss Nell, walking up and down
just for the simple pleasure of hearing the frou-frou of muslin frills
near her shoes.
"Ah well, I do think I look nice with my hair done up, and you can't
have it up with short frocks."
"Then the moral is easy of deduction," said Meg drily.
"Oh, bother morals!" was Nell's easy answer.
She tripped down the verandah steps with a glance or two over her
shoulder at the set of the back of her dress, and she crossed the lawn
to the crazy-looking summer-house.
"Oh dear!" sighed Meg.
She leaned her face on her hands, and stared sadly after the crisp,
retreating frills and the shimmer of golden hair "done up." This was
one of the days when Meg's desires to be a model eldest sister were in
the ascendency, hence the very feminine exclamation.
She had not altered very much in all these live long years--a little
taller perhaps, a little more womanly, but the eyes still had their
child-like, straightforward look, and the powdering of freckles was
there yet, albeit fainter in colouring.
She still made resolutions--and broke them. She still wrote verses--and
burnt them. To-day she was darning socks, Pip's and Bunty's. That was
because she had just made a fresh resolve to do her duty in her state of
life.
At other times she left them all to the fag end of the week, and great
was the cobbling thereof to satisfy the demands of "Clean socks, Meg,
and look sharp."
Besides darning, Meg had promised to take care of the children for the
afternoon, as Esther had gone out.
Who were the children? you will ask, thinking five years has taken that
title away from several of our young Australians.
The General is six now, and answers to the name of Peter on the
occasions that Pip does not call him Jumbo, and Bunty, Billy. Nell, who
is inclining to elegant manners, ventures occasionally in company to
address him as Rupert; but he generally winks or says "Beg pardon?" in a
vacant kind of way.
Baby also has become "Poppet," and handed down her name of long standing
to a rightful claimant who disjointed the General's nose nearly three
years ago and made our number up to seven again.
Just a wee, chubby morsel of a girl it is, with sunshiny eyes and
sunshiny hair and a ceaseless supply of sunshiny smiles.
Even her tears are sunshiny; they are so short-lived that the smiles
shine through and make them things of beauty.
The boys generally call her "The Scrap," though she is as big as most
three-year-olds. She was christened Esther.
And Poppet is still a child,--to be nine is scarcely to have reached
years of discretion.
She has lost her chubbiness, and developed abnormally long, thin legs
and arms, a surprising capacity for mischief, and the tenderest little
heart in the world.
So Meg's hands were fairly well filled for the afternoon, to keep these
three young ones in check, darn the socks, and superintend kitchen
arrangements, which meant Martha Tomlinson and the cook.
She had not bargained for the tussle with Nell too.
That young person was at a difficult age just now: too old--in her own
eyes, at any rate--to romp with Bunty and Poppet; too young to take a
place beside Meg and pay visits with Esther,--she hung between, and had
just compromised matters by letting down her frocks, as years ago Meg
had done in the privacy of her bedroom.
Her early promise of good looks was more than fulfilled, and in this
long, pale blue muslin, and "picture" hat, cornflower-trimmed, she
looked a fresh enough young beauty to be queen of a season. The golden
hair had deepened, and was twisted up in the careful, careless way
fashion dictated. The complexion was wonderfully pure and bright for
Australia, and the eyes were just as dewy and soft and sweetly lashed as
ever.
But not yet sixteen! Was ever such an impossible age for grown-up
rights? Just because she was tall and gracefully built was no reason
why she should consider herself fit to be "out," Meg
contended--especially, she added, with a touch of sisterly sarcasm, as
she had a weakness for spelling "believe" and "receive" in unorthodox
ways, and was still floundering wretchedly through her first French
author--_Le Chien du Capitaine_.
Poppet's legs dashed across the gravel path under the window; Peter's
copper-toed boots in hot pursuit shone for a second and vanished.
"Where's Baby, I wonder?" Meg said to herself.
The child had been playing with a chair a little time back, dragging it
up and down the verandah and bumping it about noisily; now all was
silent. She went to the foot of the stairs, one of Bunty's socks more
"holey" than righteous drawn over her hand.
"What you doing, Essie?" she called.
"Nosing, Mig," said a little sweet voice from a bedroom,--"nosing at
all."
"Now, Essie!"--Meg's voice took a stern note,-- "tell me what you are
doing!"
"Nosing," said the little voice; "I'se velly dood."
[Illustration: "'I'SE VELLY DOOD.'"]
"Quite sure, Essie?"
"Twite; I isn't dettin' wet a bit, Miggie."
Up the stairs Meg ran at a swift pace; that last speech was eminently
Baby's, and betokened many things.
"Oh, you wicked child!" she cried, and drove an unsummoned smile away
from her mouth corners.
The big water-jug was on the floor near the washstand, and small Essie
with slow and deep enjoyment was standing with one wee leg in the jug
and the other on the oilcloth. The state of the lace sock and little
red shoe visible betrayed the fact that the operation had been reversed
more than once.
This was an odd little characteristic of Essie's, and no amount of
scolding and even shaking could break her of it. Innumerable times she
had been found at this work of iniquity, dipping one leg after the other
in any water-jugs she found on the floor. And did Martha, in washing
floors, leave her bucket of dirty water one moment unguarded, Essie
would creep up and pop in one little leg while she stood her ground with
the other.
Meg dried her, scolding hard all the time. "All your shoes are spoiled,
Baby, you naughty girl; what _am_ I to do to you?"
"Velly solly," said Baby cheerfully.
She squeezed a tear out of her smiling eyes when Meg bade her look at
the ruin of her pretty red shoes.
"And you told me a story, Essie; you said you were good, and were not
getting wet."
Meg held the little offender away from her, and looked upon her with
stern reproach.
"But on'y my legs was dettin' wet--not me," explained Essie, with a sob
in her voice and a dimple at the corner of her mouth.
There was nothing of course to be done but put the water-jug into its
basin, and carry the small sinner downstairs in dry socks and
ankle-strap slippers that showed signs of having been wet through at
some time or other.
Bunty was lying on his back on the dining-room couch, which Meg had left
strewn with footwear waiting to be paired and rolled up.
"Oh, John!" she said vexedly, seeing her work scattered about the floor.
"John" took no notice. I should tell you, perhaps, that, since starting
to school, Bunty's baptismal name had been called into requisition by
authorities who objected to nicknames, and his family fell into the way
of using it occasionally too.
He was a big, awkward lad, tall for his thirteen years, and very loosely
built. Nell used to say complainingly that he always looked as if he
needed tightening up. His clothes never fitted him, or seemed part of
him, like other boys' clothes. His coats generally looked big and
baggy, while his trousers had a way of creeping up his ankles and
showing a piece of loose sock.
In the matter of collars he was hopeless. He had a daily allowance of
one clean one, but, even if you met him quite early in the morning,
there would be nothing but a limp, crooked piece of linen of doubtful
hue visible. He had the face of a boy at war with the world. His eyes
were sullen, brooding--his mouth obstinate. Every one knew he was the
black sheep. He knew it himself, and resented it in silence.
Poppet understood him a little--no one else. He was at perpetual enmity
with his father, who had no patience with him at all. Esther excused
him by saying he was at the hobbledehoy stage, and would grow up all
right; but she was always too busy to help him to grow. Meg's hands
were full with Pip; and Nell, after a try or two to win his confidence,
had pronounced him a larrikin, undeserving of sisters at all.
So Poppet undertook him. She was a faithful little soul, and in some
strange way just fitted into him, despite his awkward angles.
Sometimes he would tell her things, and go to a great deal of trouble to
do something she particularly wanted; but then again he would bully her
unmercifully, and make her life not worth living.
"Why don't you play cricket, or do something, John?" Meg said, snipping
off an end of cotton very energetically. "I hate to see a great boy
like you sprawling on a sofa doing nothing."
"Do you?" said John.
"What made you so late home from school? It's nearly teatime. I hope
it wasn't detention again."
"It was," said John.
"Oh, Bunty, that means Saturday taken again, doesn't it?"
"It does." John rolled over, and lay on his other side, his eyes shut.
"Bunty, why _don't_ you try?" Meg said; "you are always in scrapes for
something. Pip never got in half so many, and yet _he_ wasn't a model
boy. Will you promise me to try next week?"
There was a grunt from the sofa cushion that might be interpreted at
will as negative or affirmative.
Nell came into the room, her hat swung over her arm.
"Get up, John," she said; "what a horrid boy you are! Look at your
great muddy boots on the sofa! Meg, I don't know how you could sit
there and see him. Why, if we sat down, we'd get our dresses all
spoiled."
"Good job too," said John, not moving a hand.
Nellie regarded him with frankest disgust. "What a collar!" she said, a
world of emphasis on the "what." "I declare the street newsboys and
match-sellers look more gentlemanly than you do."
The tea-bell rang upstairs; John sat up instantly.
"I hope you saved me more pudding to-day, Meg," he said. "I never saw
such a stingy bit as you kept yesterday."
Nell's scarlet lips formed themselves into something very like "pig" as
she turned on her heel to leave the room. Then she said "Clumsy
wretch!" with startling suddenness. John had set his "great muddy boot"
down on one of her pretty flounces, and a sound of sundering stitches
smote the air.
"Beg pardon," said John, with a fiendish light of triumph in his eyes.
Then he went upstairs two steps at a time to discuss his warmed-up
dinner while the others had tea.
*CHAPTER II.*
*SCHOOL TROUBLES.*
"A heart at leisure from itself
To soothe and sympathise."
Poppet and Peter were discussing many things in general, and the mystery
of life in particular. They were sitting crouched up together in an old
tank that had been cast out in the first paddock because it leaked. It
was after tea, and Poppet had a little dead chicken in her hand that she
had picked up in the garden.
"Ith got wheelth inthide it, and when they thop ith deaded," Peter was
saying,--"thust like my thteam engine, thath what tith."
"I think being alive is very funny," Poppet said, looking earnestly at
the little lifeless body. "All those chickies was eggs, and then
sud'nly they begin running about and enjoying themselves, and _then_
sud'nly they tumble down dead, and even the doctor can't make them run
again."
"Yeth," said Peter, his eyes very thoughtful as he tried to grasp great
things. "Prapth you might tumble down like that, Poppet; all _your_
wheelth might thtop."
"Or yours," urged Poppet. Death was in her hand. She did not like to
feel that ever her active little body could lie like this fluffy, silent
one, and so made the likelihood more general.
"Yeth," said Peter; "and _oneth_, Poppet, I nearly _wath_ deaded, and
Judy thaved me."
"_You_ don't remember," Poppet said, in a voice of great scorn. "You
was only a little, tiny baby, just beginning to walk, Peter. But I was
there, and remember _everything_."
"You wath athleep, Poppet," Peter objected,--Poppet's air of superiority
irritated him. "Meg told me about it when I had the meathleth, and the
thaid that you wath athleep, tho there!"
"At any rate, Peter, I think you are old enough to stop lisping," Poppet
said severely, finding herself worsted. "You are six now, and only
babies of ten months lisp. _I_ never lisped at all."
Peter went red in the face.
"I don't lithp; you're a thtory-teller, Poppet Woolcot!" he said,
drawing in his tongue with a great effort at straight pronunciation.
Poppet jeered unkindly, then she caught sight of Bunty strolling
aimlessly about the garden, and she squeezed herself out of the tank and
stood upright.
"Don't go," said Peter. "Leth play Zoo, Poppet, and you can be the lion
thith time, and I'll feed you!"
But not even this inducement had any effect.
"I want to talk to Bunty," the little girl said, looking across with a
half-troubled light in her eyes to where Bunty's old cap was visible.
"I can play with you when he's at school. You can go and have a game
with Baby."
She went away, leaving him disconsolate, and crushed herself through a
broken paling into the garden.
She would like to have gone up to Bunty and slipped her arm through his
and asked him what had made him so exceptionally glum and silent these
last few days.
But she knew him better than that. She was very wise for her nine
years.
She fell to weeding her garden with great industry while he was walking
on the path near it. Then when he rambled farther away, she hovered
about here and there, now plucking a flower, now giving chase to a great
praying mantis. She was within a few feet of him all the time.
"What _are_ you buzznaccing about like this for?" he said at last
irritably, when her short holland frock appeared at every path he turned
down. He threw himself down on the grass, and pulled his cap over his
eyes.
"Flibberty-Gibbet had a tic in his head this morning," said the little
girl, sitting down beside him Turk fashion.
"Well, _I_ don't care," Bunty said, with almost a groan.
A look of anger crept up into the little sister's, earnest eyes.
"I'spect it's that old Burnham again," she said wrathfully. "What's he
been doing _this_ time?"
Bunty groaned again.
"Was it your Greek?" she said, edging nearer. "Howid stuff! As if you
could be espected to get it right _always_!"
There was another smothered sound from beneath the cap.
"Was it that nasty algebra?" said the little, encouraging voice. It was
so tender and anxious and loving that the boy uncovered his eyes a
little.
"I'm in the _beastliest_ row, Poppet," he said.
Poppet's little, fair face was ashine with sympathy.
"I'd like to _hammer_ that Mr. Burnham," she said. "How did it happen,
Bunty?"
Bunty sat up and sighed. After all, it would be a relief to tell some
one; and who better than the faithful Poppet?
"Well, you know Bully Hawkins?" he said.
"Oh yes," said the little girl; and she did, excellently--by hearsay.
"Well, on Monday he was on the cricket pitch practising, and Tom Jackson
was bowling him--he'd made him. And when I went down--I was crossing it
to go up to Bruce--he jumped on me, and said I was to backstop. I said
I wasn't going to--why should I go after his blooming balls?--and he
said he'd punch my head if I didn't. And I said, 'Yes, you do,' and
walked on to Bruce. We were going to play marbles. And he came after
me, and hit me over the head and boxed my ears and twisted my arms."
"Bully!" said Poppet, with gleaming eyes. "What did you do, Bunty? did
you knock him down? I hope you made his nose bleed,--I'd--I'd have
_flattened_ him!"
Bunty gave her a look of scorn.
"He's sixteen, and the size of a prize-fighter!" he said. "I'd have
been half killed. No; Mr. Burnham was just a little way off, and I let
out a yell to him, and he came up and I told of him."
"Bunty!" said Poppet. The word came out like the report of a pistol,
and her red lips shut again very tightly to prevent any more following.
[Illustration: "MR. BURNHAM CAME UP AND I TOLD OF HIM."]
This touch of cowardice, this failure to grasp simple honour in Bunty's
character, was a perpetual grief and amazement to her little fearless
soul. But he would brook no advice nor reproach from her, as she knew
full well, and that is why her lips had closed with a snap after that
one word.
But he had seen the look of horror in her eyes.
"D'ye think I'm going to be pummelled just as that brute likes?" he
demanded angrily. "He's always bullying the fellows in our form, and
it'll do him good to get a taste of what he gives us. Mr. Burnham said
he hated a bully, and he just walked him up to the schoolroom and gave
him six."
Still Poppet was silent; her face was flushed a little, and she was
pulling up long pieces of grass with feverish diligence. In her quick
little way she saw it all, and felt acutely just how the boys would look
upon Bunty's behaviour.
"What an idiot you are, Poppet!" he said irritably, as she did not
speak; "as though a bit of a girl like you knows what it is at a boys'
school. I'm sorry I told you--I--I won't tell you the rest."
Poppet choked something down in her throat.
"Do tell me, Bunty," she said; "I didn't mean to be howid. Go on--I
only couldn't help wishing you could have foughted him instead of
telling, because--well, I espect he'll be worse to you than ever now,
and the other fellows too."
"That's it," Bunty said, with a groan. "Oh, but that's not half of it
yet, Poppet. I almost wish I was dead."
Something like a tear forced itself beneath his eyelids and trickled
down his cheeks. Poppet's. heart expanded and grew pitiful again
instantly His face was close to her knee, and wore so miserable an
expression that in a sudden little burst of love she put down her lips
and kissed him half-a-dozen times.
He sat up instantly and looked ashamed.
"How often am I to tell you I hate mugging?" he said gruffly. "If you
go on like this, I won't tell you."
"I beg your pardon," Poppet said very humbly; "really, I won't again,
Bunty. Do go on."
"Well, after that, I went round the side of the school--you know that
path, near the master's windows. Well, I'd nothing much to do, and the
bell hadn't gone, and I was just chucking my cricket ball up and down;
there was a tree, and I tried to make it go up in a straight line just
as high, and the next minute I heard a crash, and it had gone through
Mr. Hollington's window."
"Good gracious!" Poppet said, with widening eyes; then she gave a little
joyful jump. "I've got thirteen shillings, Bunty, from the pound Mr.
Hassal gave me; I'll give it to you to get it mended with. Oh, it won't
be such a very bad row; you can'splain it all to Mr. Hollington."
"That's not all," Bunty said. "Thirteen shillings! You might as well
say ha'pennies. I stood there for a bit and no one came, and at last I
went in and looked about, and what do you think?--no one had heard!"
"Oh!" breathed Poppet. She scented the old trouble again.
"But you see it was such an awful crash. I knew it was more than the
window. And every one was out in the playground,--even Mr. Burnham had
just gone out again for something, and Mr. Hollington had gone home
early. So I first went quietly upstairs, and no one was about, so I
went into his room to get the ball, because my name was on it. And
there were two glass cases on top of one another under the window with
eggs and specimens and things in, and they were all smashed."
Poppet drew a long breath that ended in a whistle. She was wishing she
had not bought that set of gardening tools that cost six shillings, and
that shillingsworth of burnt almonds--perhaps a sovereign----
"It wasn't school-time," Bunty was whispering now, "and no one had
seen--not a soul, Poppet. Poppet, it was an accident; why should I go
and tell of myself? Why, I might have been expelled; and think what the
governor would say. So----"
"Yes," said Poppet steadily, "go on, Bunty."
He had paused, and was digging up the earth with his broken
pocket-knife. "So--go on."
"So, when we were all in afternoon school, Mr. Burnham came in and asked
who did it."
"Yes, Bunty--_dear_." A red colour had crept up into the little girl's
cheeks, her eyes were full of painful anxiety. "You said you had,
Bunty--didn't you, Bunty dear? Oh, Bunty, of _course_ you said you
had."
"No, I didn't," burst out her brother. "How could I after that, you
idiot you? What is the good telling you things? Why I didn't know what
would have happened. When he asked us separately I just said 'No' in a
hurry, and then I couldn't say 'Yes' after, could I?"
Again Poppet was silent, again there was the look of amaze and grief in
her wide, clear eyes. Bunty pulled his old cap over his face again--he
hated himself, and most of all he hated to meet the honest, sorrowful
eyes of his little sister.
"Couldn't you tell now, Bunty?" she said softly. "Go to-night--I'll come
with you to the gate--oh, do, Bunty dear. Mr. Burnham is not vewy howid
perhaps, and canings don't hurt vewy much--let's go to-night, and by
to-morrow it'll all be over."
"It's no good." A sob came from under the cap. "Oh, Poppet, it'll be
awful to-morrow! Oh, _Poppet_! Some one had seen, after all. Just as I
left school Hawkins came up to me. He hadn't been there when Burnham
asked us, and didn't hear anything till after school, and he said he saw
me coming out of Hollington's room, and creeping down the passage with a
cricket | 3,299.008318 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
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LETTERS
ON
NATURAL MAGIC,
ADDRESSED TO
SIR WALTER SCOTT, BART.
BY
SIR DAVID BREWSTER, LL.D., F.R.S.
[Illustration: Three figures on hill-top saluting sunrise]
SEVENTH EDITION.
LONDON:
WILLIAM TEGG AND Co., 85, QUEEN STREET.
CHEAPSIDE.
1856.
CONTENTS.
LETTER I.
Extent and interest of the subject--Science employed by
ancient governments to deceive and enslave their subjects--Influence
of the supernatural upon ignorant minds--Means
employed by the ancient magicians to establish
their authority--Derived from a knowledge of the phenomena
of Nature--From the influence of narcotic drugs
upon the victims of their delusion--From every branch of
science--Acoustics--Hydrostatics--Mechanics--Optics--M.
Salverte’s work on the occult sciences--Object of
the following letters Page 1
LETTER II.
The eye the most important of our organs--Popular description
of it--The eye is the most fertile source of mental
illusions--Disappearance of objects when their images fall
upon the base of the optic nerve--Disappearance of objects
when seen obliquely--Deceptions arising from viewing
objects in a faint light--Luminous figures created by
pressure on the eye, either from external causes or from
the fulness of the blood-vessels--Ocular spectra or accidental
colours--Remarkable effects produced by intense
light--Influence of the imagination in viewing these
spectra--Remarkable illusion produced by this affection
of the eye--Duration of impressions of light on the
eye--Thaumatrope--Improvements upon it suggested--Disappearance
of halves of objects or of one of two persons--Insensibility
of the eye to particular colours--Remarkable
optical illusion described 8
LETTER III.
Subject of spectral illusions--Recent and interesting case
of Mrs. A.--Her first illusion affecting the ear--Spectral
apparition of her husband--Spectral apparition of a cat--Apparition
of a near and living relation in grave-clothes,
seen in a looking-glass--Other illusions, affecting
the ear--Spectre of a deceased friend sitting in an
easy-chair--Spectre of a coach-and-four filled with
skeletons--Accuracy and value of the preceding cases--State of
health under which they arose--Spectral apparitions are
pictures on the retina--The ideas of memory and imagination
are also pictures on the retina--General views of
the subject--Approximate explanation of spectral apparitions 37
LETTER IV.
Science used as an instrument of imposture--Deceptions
with plane and concave mirrors practised by the ancients--The
magician’s mirror--Effects of concave mirrors--Aërial
images--Images on smoke--Combination of
mirrors for producing pictures from living objects--The
mysterious dagger--Ancient miracles with concave
mirrors--Modern necromancy with them, as seen by Cellini--Description
and effects of the magic lantern--Improvements
| 3,299.009373 |
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(This file was produced from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
PAPERS AND PROCEEDINGS
OF THE
TWENTY-THIRD GENERAL MEETING
OF THE
AMERICAN LIBRARY ASSOCIATION
HELD AT
WAUKESHA, WISCONSIN
JULY 4-10
1901
PUBLISHED BY THE
AMERICAN LIBRARY ASSOCIATION
1901
CONTENTS.
TITLE. AUTHOR. PAGE.
Address of the President _Henry J. Carr_ 1
What may be done for libraries by the city _T. L. Montgomery_ 5
What may be done for libraries by the state _E. A. Birge_ 7
What may be done for libraries by the nation _Herbert Putnam_ 9
The trusteeship of literature--I. _George Iles_ 16
" " " " II. _R. T. Ely_ 22
Book copyright _Thorvald Solberg_ 24
The relationship of publishers, booksellers
and librarians _W. Millard Palmer_ 31
Library buildings _W. R. Eastman_ 38
The relationship of the architect to the
librarian _J. L. Mauran _ 43
The departmental library _J. T. Gerould_ 46
Suggestions for an annual list of American}
theses for the degree of doctor of } _W. W. Bishop_ 50
philosophy }
Opportunities _Gratia Countryman_ 52
Some principles of book and picture selection _G. E. Wire_ 54
Book reviews, book lists, and articles on }
children's reading: Are they of practical} _Caroline M. Hewins_ 57
value to the children's librarian? }
Books for children:
I. Fiction _Winifred L. Taylor_ 63
II. Fairy tales _Abby L. Sargent_ 66
III. Science _Ella A. Holmes_ 69
Bulletin work for children _Charlotte E.
Wallace_ 72
Reference work with children _Harriet H. Stanley_ 74
Vitalizing the relation between the library
and the school:
I. The school _May L. Prentice_ 78
II. The library _Irene Warren_ 81
Opening a children's room _Clara W. Hunt_ 83
Report on gifts and bequests, 1900-1901 _G. W. Cole_ 87
Report of the A. L. A. Publishing Board _J. Le Roy
Harrison_ 103
Proceedings 107-141
First Session: Public meeting 107
Second Session 107-118
Secretary's report 107
Treasurer's report and necrology 108
Report of Trustees of Endowment Fund 111
Report of Co-operation Committee 113
Report of Committee on Foreign Documents 113
Report of Committee on Title-pages and Indexes of
Periodical Volumes 114
Report of Committee on "International Catalogue of
Scientific Literature" 116
Memorial to John Fiske 117
Third Session 118-125
Report of Committee on Public Documents 118
Report of Committee on Co-operation with N. E. A. 120
Report of Committee on International Co-operation 122
Report of Committee on Library Training 124
Collection and cataloging of early
newspapers. _W. Beer_ 124
Some principles of book and picture selection 124
Fourth Session 125-127
Some experiences in foreign libraries. _Mary W. Plummer_ 125
From the reader's point of view, and the era of the
placard. _J. K. Hosmer_ 127
Fifth Session 127-137
Report on gifts and bequests 127
Report of A. L. A. Publishing Board 127
Invitation from L. A. U. K. 128
Report of Committee on Handbook of American libraries 128
By-laws 129
Memorial to John Fiske 130
Co-operative list of children's books 130
Printed catalog cards 131
Book copyright 131
Trusteeship of literature 131
Relationship of publishers, booksellers and librarians 134
Sixth Session 137-140
Relationship of publishers, booksellers and
librarians, _continued_ 137
Seventh Session 141-142
Election of officers 141
Report of Committee on Resolutions 141
College and Reference Section 142-145
Catalog Section 146-162
Section for Children's Librarians 163-170
Round Table Meeting: State Library Commissions and
Traveling Libraries 171-183
Round Table Meeting: Work of State Library Associations
and Women's Clubs in Advancing Library Interests 183-195
Trustees' Section 196
Round Table Meeting: Professional Instruction in
Bibliography 197-205
Transactions of Council and Executive Board 206-208
Elementary Institute 208
Illinois State Library School Alumni Association 208
The social side of the Waukesha conference
_Julia T. Rankin_ 209
Officers and Committees 211
Attendance register 212
Attendance summaries. _Nina E. Browne_ 218
CONFERENCE OF LIBRARIANS.
_WAUKESHA, WISCONSIN._
JULY 4-10, 1901.
BEING A LIBRARIAN: ADDRESS OF THE PRESIDENT.
BY HENRY J. CARR, _Librarian Scranton (Pa.) Public Library_.
In your presence, and in addressing you to-night as presiding officer, I
feel to a far greater extent than I can express in words the high honor
that has been conferred in each instance upon all who from time to time
have been chosen to serve as a president of this particular association.
There is in this present age, to be sure, no lack of those popular and
peculiar entities termed associations--associations of many kinds, and
for almost every conceivable purpose. Throughout the entire continent
there exist few, perhaps none, whose history, objects, and work, have
warranted a more justifiable pride in being a member thereof, than is
found in being a member of the American Library Association.
It may here be said that conditions and circumstances have been
favorable to the success of the A. L. A.; not the least of which has
been the faithful loyalty of its individual members. We realize, too,
that even time has dealt leniently with it, upon noting that of the 64
members who attended its first meeting, held at Philadelphia twenty-five
years ago, but 18 have died, and that 20 persons are yet included in its
membership list out of the 69 who joined the association in 1876, that
initial year. Some of that original number, much to our gratification,
are present with us at this 23d general meeting.
Considering its purely voluntary nature, the migratory holding of its
successive meetings in different parts of the land, and the notable
avoidance of fads, or any tendency towards selfish ends that might
otherwise mark its united efforts, it becomes almost a matter of
surprise that so many persons have unfalteringly kept up their
allegiance from year to year ever since the time of their joining the
association. But, as a matter of fact, the A. L. A. has at no time
fallen off in its total membership; and at this date it numbers nearly
one thousand contributing members paying dues for the current year.
The American Library Association has now attained a period of
twenty-five years in its history--a quarter of a century. During that
time, in the addresses given at its general meetings, as well as in the
multiplicity of noteworthy and valuable papers contributed to its
Proceedings, and the sundry publications devoted to library interests,
it would appear as if there must have been presented almost every
conceivable phase of library thought and sentiment. Can anything new be
said, or old ideas placed in a new light, so as to be worthy of hearing
and attention at this time? I fear not, except as some lessons may be
drawn from the experience of one's past work, perhaps, that shall serve
to aid yet others who are to tread like paths in life.
I beg, therefore, that you will bear with me for a short space of time
while I give expression to some thoughts drawn from the experience of
myself and others while Being a Librarian.
Without now restricting their application to particular phases of
librarianship, let us at the outset consider them as relating to any and
all conditions of it as a vocation. "Why did you take up library work?"
is a question not infrequently asked. To that query various answer may
be given, according to the individual views of the persons replying.
Perhaps one general reason, that in a certain way has had its
unconscious influence upon many of us, is best stated in the following
characteristic passage from the "Book-hunter:"
"To every man of our Saxon race endowed with full health and strength,
there is committed the custody of a restless demon, for which he is
doomed to find ceaseless excitement, either in honest work, or some less
profitable or more mischievous occupation. Countless have been the
projects of man to open up for this fiend fields of exertion great
enough for the absorption of its tireless energies, and none of them is
more hopeful than the great world of books, if the demon is docile
enough to be coaxed into it."
Since Burton's day the "great world of books" has taken on many phases
of which he never dreamed. And we, as librarians, may reasonably believe
that if not entirely a part and parcel of it, we are nevertheless called
upon to deal with that "world" in almost every form, and are ourselves
more or less important factors in it. We may not be called upon to adopt
the "strenuous life," | 3,299.104007 |
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PASSING OF THE THIRD FLOOR BACK
By Jerome K. Jerome
Author of "Paul Kelver," "Three Men in a Boat," etc., etc.
New York
Dodd, Mead & Company
1909
Copyright, 1904, By Jerome K. Jerome
Copyright, 1908, By Dodd, Mead & Company
Published, September, 1908
The neighbourhood of Bloomsbury Square towards four o'clock of a
November afternoon is not so crowded as to secure to the stranger, of
appearance anything out of the common, immunity from observation. Tibb's
boy, screaming at the top of his voice that _she_ was his honey, stopped
suddenly, stepped backwards on to the toes of a voluble young lady
wheeling a perambulator, and remained deaf, apparently, to the somewhat
personal remarks of the voluble young lady. Not until he had reached
the next corner--and then more as a soliloquy than as information to the
street--did Tibb's boy recover sufficient interest in his own affairs to
remark that _he_ was her bee. The voluble young lady herself, following
some half-a-dozen yards behind, forgot her wrongs in contemplation
of the stranger's back. There was this that was peculiar about the
stranger's back: that instead of being flat it presented a decided
curve. "It ain't a 'ump, and it don't look like kervitcher of the
spine," observed the voluble young lady to herself. "Blimy if I don't
believe 'e's taking 'ome 'is washing up his back."
The constable at the corner, trying to seem busy doing nothing, noticed
the stranger's approach with gathering interest. "That's an odd sort of
a walk of yours, young man," thought the constable. "You take care you
don't fall down and tumble over yourself."
"Thought he was a young man," murmured the constable, the stranger
having passed him. "He had a young face right enough."
The daylight was fading. The stranger, finding it impossible to read the
name of the street upon the corner house, turned back.
"Why, 'tis a young man," the constable told himself; "a mere boy."
"I beg your pardon," said the stranger; "but would you mind telling me
my way to Bloomsbury Square."
"This is Bloomsbury Square," explained the constable; "leastways round
the corner is. What number might you be wanting?"
The stranger took from the ticket pocket of his tightly buttoned
overcoat a piece of paper, unfolded it and read it out: "Mrs.
Pennycherry. Number Forty-eight."
"Round to the left," instructed him the constable; "fourth house. Been
recommended there?"
"By--by a friend," replied the stranger. "Thank you very much."
"Ah," muttered the constable to himself; "guess you won't be calling him
that by the end of the week, young--"
"Funny," added the constable, gazing after the retreating figure of the
stranger. "Seen plenty of the other sex as looked young behind and old
in front. This cove looks young in front and old behind. Guess he'll
look old all round if he stops long at mother Pennycherry's: stingy old
cat."
Constables whose beat included Bloomsbury Square had their reasons for
not liking Mrs. Pennycherry. Indeed it might have been difficult to
discover any human being with reasons for liking that sharp-featured
lady. Maybe the keeping of second-rate boarding houses in the
neighbourhood of Bloomsbury does not tend to develop the virtues of
generosity and amiability.
Meanwhile the stranger, proceeding upon his way, had rung the bell of
Number Forty-eight. Mrs. Pennycherry, peeping from the area and catching
a glimpse, above the railings, of a handsome if somewhat effeminate
masculine face, hastened to readjust her widow's cap before the
looking-glass while directing Mary Jane to show the stranger, should he
prove a problematical boarder, into the dining-room, and to light the
gas.
"And don't stop gossiping, and don't you take it upon yourself to answer
questions. Say I'll be up in a minute," were Mrs. Pennycherry's further
instructions, "and mind you hide your hands as much as you can."
***
"What are you grinning at?" demanded Mrs. Pennycherry, a couple of
minutes later, of the dingy Mary Jane.
"Wasn't grinning," explained the meek Mary Jane, "was only smiling to
myself."
"What at?"
"Dunno," admitted Mary Jane. But still she went on smiling.
"What's he like then?" demanded Mrs. Pennycherry.
"'E ain't the usual sort," was Mary Jane's opinion.
"Thank God for that," ejaculated Mrs. Pennycherry piously.
"Says 'e's been recommended, by a friend."
"By whom?"
"By a friend. 'E didn't say no name." Mrs. Pennycherry pondered. "He's
not the funny sort, is he?"
Not that sort at all. Mary Jane was sure of it.
Mrs. Pennycherry ascended the stairs still pondering. As she entered the
room the stranger rose and bowed. Nothing could have been simpler than
the stranger's bow, yet there came with it to Mrs. Pennycherry a rush of
old sensations long forgotten. For one brief moment Mrs. Pennycherry saw
herself an amiable well-bred lady, widow of a solicitor: a visitor
had called to see her. It was but a momentary fancy. The next instant
Reality reasserted itself. Mrs. Pennycherry, a lodging-house keeper,
existing precariously upon a daily round of petty meannesses, was
prepared for contest with a possible new boarder, who fortunately looked
an inexperienced young gentleman.
"Someone has recommended me to you," began Mrs. Pennycherry; "may I ask
who?"
But the stranger waved the question aside as immaterial.
"You might not remember--him," he smiled. "He thought that I should do
well to pass the few months I am given--that I have to be in London,
here. You can take me in?"
Mrs. Pennycherry thought that she would be able to take the stranger in.
"A room to sleep in," explained the stranger, "--any room will do--with
food and drink sufficient for a man, is all that I require."
"For breakfast," began Mrs. Pennycherry, "I always give--"
"What is right and proper, I am convinced," interrupted the stranger.
"Pray do not trouble to go into detail, Mrs. Pennycherry. With whatever
it is I shall be content."
Mrs. Pennycherry, puzzled, shot a quick glance at the stranger, but his
face, though the gentle eyes were smiling, was frank and serious.
"At all events you will see the room," suggested Mrs. Pennycherry,
"before we discuss terms."
"Certainly," agreed the stranger. "I am a little tired and shall be glad
to rest there."
Mrs. Pennycherry led the way upward; on the landing of the third floor,
paused a moment undecided, then opened the door of the back bedroom.
"It is very comfortable," commented the stranger.
"For this room," stated Mrs. Pennycherry, "together with full board,
consisting of--"
"Of everything needful. It goes without saying," again interrupted the
stranger with his quiet grave smile.
"I have generally asked," continued Mrs. Pennycherry, "four pounds a
week. To you--" Mrs. Pennycherry's voice, unknown to her, took to itself
the note of aggressive generosity--"seeing you have been recommended
here, say three pounds ten."
"Dear lady," said the stranger, "that is kind of you. As you have
divined, I am not a rich man. If it be not imposing upon you I accept
your reduction with gratitude."
Again Mrs. Pennycherry, familiar with the satirical method, shot a
suspicious glance upon the stranger, but not a line was there, upon
that smooth fair face, to which a sneer could for a moment have clung.
Clearly he was as simple as he looked.
"Gas, of course, extra."
"Of course," agreed the Stranger.
"Coals--"
"We shall not quarrel," for a third time the stranger interrupted. "You
have been very considerate to me as it is. I feel, Mrs. Pennycherry, I
can leave myself entirely in your hands."
The stranger appeared anxious to be alone. Mrs. Pennycherry, having put
a match to the stranger's fire, turned to depart. And at this point it
was that Mrs. Pennycherry, the holder hitherto of an unbroken record
for sanity, behaved in a manner she herself, five minutes earlier in her
career, would have deemed impossible--that no living soul who had ever
known her would have believed, even had Mrs. Pennycherry gone down upon
her knees and sworn it to them.
"Did I say three pound ten?" demanded Mrs. Pennycherry of the stranger,
her hand upon the door. She spoke crossly. She was feeling cross, with
the stranger, with herself--particularly with herself.
"You were kind enough to reduce it to that amount," replied the
stranger; "but if upon reflection you find yourself unable--"
"I was making a mistake," said Mrs. Pennycherry, "it should have been
two pound ten."
"I cannot--I will not accept such sacrifice," exclaimed the stranger;
"the three pound ten I can well afford."
"Two pound ten are my terms," snapped Mrs. Pennycherry. "If you are bent
on paying more, you can go elsewhere. You'll find plenty to oblige you."
Her vehemence must have impressed the stranger. "We will not contend
further," he smiled. "I was merely afraid that in the goodness of your
heart--"
"Oh, it isn't as good as all that," growled Mrs. Pennycherry.
"I am not so sure," returned the stranger. "I am somewhat suspicious of
you. But wilful woman must, I suppose, have her way."
The stranger held out his hand, and to Mrs. Pennycherry, at that moment,
it seemed the most natural thing in the world to take it as if it had
been the hand of an old friend and to end the interview with a pleasant
laugh--though laughing was an exercise not often indulged in by Mrs.
Pennycherry.
Mary Jane was standing by the window, her hands folded in front of her,
when Mrs. Pennycherry re-entered the kitchen. By standing close to
the window one caught a glimpse of the trees in Bloomsbury Square and
through their bare branches of the sky beyond.
"There's nothing much to do for the next half hour, till Cook comes
back. I'll see to the door if you'd like a run out?" suggested Mrs.
Pennycherry.
"It would be nice," agreed the girl so soon as she had recovered power
of speech; "it's just the time of day I like."
"Don't be longer than the half hour," added Mrs. Pennycherry.
Forty-eight Bloomsbury Square, assembled after dinner in the
drawing-room, discussed the stranger with that freedom and frankness
characteristic of Forty-eight Bloomsbury Square, towards the absent.
"Not what I call a smart young man," was the opinion of Augustus
Longcord, who was something in the City.
"Thpeaking for mythelf," commented his partner Isidore, "hav'n'th any
uthe for the thmart young man. Too many of him, ath it ith."
"Must be pretty smart if he's one too many for you," laughed his
partner.
There was this to be said for the repartee of Forty-eight Bloomsbury
Square: it was simple of construction and easy of comprehension.
"Well it made me feel good just looking at him," declared Miss Kite, the
highly coloured. "It was his clothes, I suppose--made me think of Noah
and the ark--all that sort of thing."
"It would be clothes that would make you think--if anything," drawled
the languid Miss Devine. She was a tall, handsome girl, engaged at the
moment in futile efforts to recline with elegance and comfort combined
upon a horsehair sofa. Miss Kite, by reason of having secured the only
easy-chair, was unpopular that evening; so that Miss Devine's remark
received from the rest of the company more approbation than perhaps it
merited.
"Is that intended to be clever, dear, or only rude?" Miss Kite requested
to be informed.
"Both," claimed Miss Devine.
"Myself? I must confess," shouted the tall young lady's father, commonly
called the Colonel, "I found him a fool."
"I noticed you seemed to be getting on very well together," purred his
wife, a plump, smiling little lady.
"Possibly we were," retorted the Colonel. "Fate has accustomed me to the
society of fools."
"Isn't it a pity to start quarrelling immediately after dinner, you
two," suggested their thoughtful daughter from the sofa, "you'll have
nothing left to amuse you for the rest of the evening."
"He didn't strike me as a conversationalist," said the lady who was
cousin to a baronet; "but he did pass the vegetables before he helped
himself. A little thing like that shows breeding."
"Or that he didn't know you and thought maybe you'd leave him half a
spoonful," laughed Augustus the wit.
"What I can't make out about him--" shouted the Colonel.
The stranger entered the room.
The Colonel, securing the evening paper, retired into a corner. The
highly coloured Kite, reaching down from the mantelpiece a paper fan,
held it coyly before her face. Miss Devine sat upright on the horse-hair
sofa, and rearranged her skirts.
"Know anything?" demanded Augustus of the stranger, breaking the
somewhat remarkable silence.
The stranger evidently did not understand. It was necessary for
Augustus, the witty, to advance further into that odd silence.
"What's going to pull off the Lincoln handicap? Tell me, and I'll go out
straight and put my shirt upon it."
"I think you would act unwisely," smiled the stranger; "I am not an
authority upon the subject."
| 3,299.104856 |
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Produced by David Widger
BIBLE STUDIES
ESSAYS ON PHALLIC WORSHIP AND OTHER CURIOUS RITES AND CUSTOMS
By J. M. Wheeler
"There is nothing unclean of itself: but to him that
esteemeth anything to | 3,299.204225 |
2023-11-16 19:12:03.1842170 | 291 | 216 |
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)
CHINESE MOTHER GOOSE RHYMES
[Illustration: LITTLE ORIENTALS]
CHINESE MOTHER GOOSE RHYMES
TRANSLATED AND ILLUSTRATED
BY
ISAAC TAYLOR HEADLAND
OF PEKING UNIVERSITY.
Fleming H. Revell Company
NEW YORK CHICAGO TORONTO
COPYRIGHT, 1900
By Fleming H. Revell Company
PREFACE
There are probably more nursery rhymes in China than can be found in
England and America. We have in our possession more than six hundred,
collected, for the most part, in two out of the eighteen provinces,
and we have no reason to believe that we have succeeded in getting any
large proportion of what those two provinces contain.
In most of the rhymes there are features common to those of our own
"Mother Goose," among which are those referring (1) to insects, (2)
animals, (3) birds, (4) persons, (5) children, (6) food, (7) parts of
the body, (8) actions, such as | 3,299.204257 |
2023-11-16 19:12:03.1844410 | 982 | 8 |
Produced by David Widger
THE CELEBRITY
By Winston Churchill
VOLUME 3.
CHAPTER IX
That evening I lighted a cigar and went down to sit on the outermost
pile of the Asquith dock to commune with myself. To say that I was
disappointed in Miss Thorn would be to set a mild value on my feelings.
I was angry, even aggressive, over her defence of the Celebrity. I had
gone over to Mohair that day with a hope that some good reason was at the
bottom of her tolerance for him, and had come back without any hope. She
not only tolerated him, but, wonderful to be said, plainly liked him.
Had she not praised him, and defended him, and become indignant when I
spoke my mind about him? And I would have taken my oath, two weeks
before, that nothing short of hypnotic influence could have changed her.
By her own confession she had come to Asquith with her eyes opened, and,
what was more, seen another girl wrecked on the same reef.
Farrar followed me out presently, and I had an impulse to submit the
problem as it stood to him. But it was a long story, and I did not
believe that if he were in my boots he would have consulted me. Again,
I sometimes thought Farrar yearned for confidences, though it was
impossible for him to confide. And he wore an inviting air to-night.
Then, as everybody knows, there is that about twilight and an
after-dinner cigar which leads to communication. They are excellent
solvents. My friend seated himself on the pile next to mine, and said,
"It strikes me you have been behaving rather queer lately, Crocker."
This was clearly an invitation from Farrar, and I melted.
"I admit," said I, "that I am a good deal perplexed over the
contradictions of the human mind."
"Oh, is that all?" he replied dryly. "I supposed it was worse.
Narrower, I mean. Didn't know you ever bothered yourself with abstract
philosophy."
"See here, Farrar," said I, "what is your opinion of Miss Thorn?"
He stopped kicking his feet against the pile and looked up.
"Miss Thorn?"
"Yes, Miss Thorn," I repeated with emphasis. I knew he had in mind that
abominable twaddle about the canoe excursions.
"Why, to tell the truth," said he, "I never had any opinion of Miss
Thorn."
"You mean you never formed any, I suppose," I returned with some
tartness.
"Yes, that is it. How darned precise you are getting, Crocker! One
would think you were going to write a rhetoric. What put Miss Thorn into
your head?"
"I have been coaching beside her this afternoon."
"Oh!" said Farrar.
"Do you remember the night she came," I asked, "and we sat with her on
the Florentine porch, and Charles Wrexell recognized her and came up?"
"Yes," he replied with awakened interest, "and I meant to ask you about
that."
"Miss Thorn had met him in the East. And I gathered from what she told
me that he has followed her out here."
"Shouldn't wonder," said Farrar. "Don't much blame him, do you? Is that
what troubles you?" he asked, in surprise.
"Not precisely," I answered vaguely; "but from what she has said then and
since, she made it pretty clear that she hadn't any use for him; saw
through him, you know."
"Pity her if she didn't. But what did she say?"
I repeated the conversations I had had with Miss Thorn, without revealing
Mr. Allen's identity with the celebrated author.
"That is rather severe," he assented.
"He decamped for Mohair, as you know, and since that time she has gone
back on every word of it. She is with him morning and evening, and, to
crown all, stood up for him through thick and thin to-day, and praised
him. What do you think of that?"
"What I should have expected in a woman," said he, nonchalantly.
"They aren't all alike," I retorted.
He shook out his pipe, and getting down from his high seat laid his hand
on my knee.
"I thought so once, old fellow," he whispered, and went off down the
dock.
This was the nearest Farrar ever came to a confidence.
I have now to chronicle a curious friendship which had its beginning at
this time. The friendships of the other sex are quickly made, and
| 3,299.204481 |
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by Jonathan Nield
Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check
the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!!
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Produced by Richard Fane
WHERE ANGELS FEAR TO TREAD
By E. M. Forster
Chapter 1
They were all at Charing Cross to see Lilia off--Philip, Harriet, Irma,
Mrs. Herriton herself. Even Mrs. Theobald, squired by Mr. Kingcroft,
had braved the journey from Yorkshire to bid her only daughter good-bye.
Miss Abbott was likewise attended by numerous relatives, and the sight
of so many people talking at once and saying such different things
caused Lilia to break into ungovernable peals of laughter.
"Quite an ovation," she cried, sprawling out of her first-class
carriage. "They'll take us for royalty. Oh, Mr. Kingcroft, get us
foot-warmers."
The good-natured young man hurried away, and Philip, taking his place,
flooded her with a final stream of advice and injunctions--where to
stop, how to learn Italian, when to use mosquito-nets, what pictures
to look at. "Remember," he concluded, "that it is only by going off the
track that you get to know the country. See the little towns--Gubbio,
Pienza, Cortona, San Gemignano, Monteriano. And don't, let me beg
you, go with that awful tourist idea that Italy's only a museum of
antiquities and art. Love and understand the Italians, for the people
are more marvellous than the land."
"How I wish you were coming, Philip," she said, flattered at the
unwonted notice her brother-in-law was giving her.
"I wish I were." He could have managed it without great difficulty,
for his career at the Bar was not so intense as to prevent occasional
holidays. But his family disliked his continual visits to the Continent,
and he himself often found pleasure in the idea that he was too busy to
leave town.
"Good-bye, dear every one. What a whirl!" She caught sight of her little
daughter Irma, and felt that a touch of maternal solemnity was required.
"Good-bye, darling. Mind you're always good, and do what Granny tells
you."
She referred not to her own mother, but to her mother-in-law, Mrs.
Herriton, who hated the title of Granny.
Irma lifted a serious face to be kissed, and said cautiously, "I'll do
my best."
"She is sure to be good," said Mrs. Herriton, who was standing pensively
a little out of the hubbub. But Lilia was already calling to Miss
Abbott, a tall, grave, rather nice-looking young lady who was conducting
her adieus in a more decorous manner on the platform.
"Caroline, my Caroline! Jump in, or your chaperon will go off without
you."
And Philip, whom the idea of Italy always intoxicated, had started
again, telling her of the supreme moments of her coming journey--the
Campanile of Airolo, which would burst on her when she emerged from the
St. Gothard tunnel, presaging the future; the view of the Ticino and
Lago Maggiore as the train climbed the <DW72>s of Monte Cenere; the view
of Lugano, the view of Como--Italy gathering thick around her now--the
arrival at her first resting-place, when, after long driving through
dark and dirty streets, she should at last behold, amid the roar of
trams and the glare of arc lamps, the buttresses of the cathedral of
Milan.
"Handkerchiefs and collars," screamed Harriet, "in my inlaid box! I've
lent you my inlaid box."
"Good old Harry!" She kissed every one again, and there was a moment's
silence. They all smiled steadily, excepting Philip, who was choking in
the fog, and old Mrs. Theobald, who had begun to cry. Miss Abbott got
into the carriage. The guard himself shut the door, and told Lilia that
she would be all right. Then the train moved, and they all moved with it
a couple of steps, and waved their handkerchiefs, and uttered cheerful
little cries. At that moment Mr. Kingcroft reappeared, carrying a
footwarmer by both ends, as if it was a tea-tray. He was sorry that
he was too late, and called out in a quivering voice, "Good-bye, Mrs.
Charles. May you enjoy yourself, and may God bless you."
Lilia smiled and nodded, and then the absurd position of the foot-warmer
overcame her, and she began to laugh again.
"Oh, I am so sorry," she cried back, "but you do look so funny. Oh, you
all look so funny waving! Oh, pray!" And laughing helplessly, she was
carried out into the fog.
"High spirits to begin so long a journey," said Mrs. Theobald, dabbing
her eyes.
Mr. Kingcroft solemnly moved his head in token of agreement. "I wish,"
said he, "that Mrs. Charles had gotten the footwarmer. These London
porters won't take heed to a country chap."
"But you did your best," said Mrs. Herriton. "And I think it simply
noble of you to have brought Mrs. Theobald all the way here on such a
day as this." Then, rather hastily, she shook hands, and left him to
take Mrs. Theobald all the way back.
Sawston, her own home, was within easy reach of London, and they were
not late for tea. Tea was in the dining-room, with an egg for Irma, to
keep up the child's spirits. The house seemed strangely quiet after a
fortnight's bustle, and their conversation was spasmodic and subdued.
They wondered whether the travellers had got to Folkestone, whether it
would be at all rough, and if so what would happen to poor Miss Abbott.
"And, Granny, when will the old ship get to Italy?" asked Irma.
"'Grandmother,' dear; not 'Granny,'" said Mrs. Herriton, giving her
a kiss. "And we say 'a boat' or 'a steamer,' not 'a ship.' Ships have
sails. And mother won't go all the way by sea. You look at the map of
Europe, and you'll see why. Harriet, take her. Go with Aunt Harriet, and
she'll show you the map."
"Righto!" said the little girl, and dragged the reluctant Harriet
into the library. Mrs. Herriton and her son were left alone. There was
immediately confidence between them.
"Here beginneth the New Life," said Philip.
"Poor child, how vulgar!" murmured Mrs. Herriton. "It's surprising that
she isn't worse. But she has got a look of poor Charles about her."
"And--alas, alas!--a look of old Mrs. Theobald. What appalling
apparition was that! I did think the lady was bedridden as well as
imbecile. Why ever did she come?"
"Mr. Kingcroft made her. I am certain of it. He wanted to see Lilia
again, and this was the only way."
"I hope he is satisfied. I did not think my sister-in-law distinguished
herself in her farewells."
Mrs. Herriton shuddered. "I mind nothing, so long as she has gone--and
gone with Miss Abbott. It is mortifying to think that a widow of
thirty-three requires a girl ten years younger to look after her."
"I pity Miss Abbott. Fortunately one admirer is chained to England. Mr.
Kingcroft cannot leave the crops or the climate or something. I don't
think, either, he improved his chances today. He, as well as Lilia, has
the knack of being absurd in public."
Mrs. Herriton replied, "When a man is neither well bred, nor well
connected, nor handsome, nor clever, nor rich, even Lilia may discard
him in time."
"No. I believe she would take any one. Right up to the last, when her
boxes were packed, she was 'playing' the chinless curate. Both the
curates are chinless, but hers had the dampest hands. I came on them in
the Park. They were speaking of the Pentateuch."
"My dear boy! If possible, she has got worse and worse. It was your idea
of Italian travel that saved us!"
Philip brightened at the little compliment. "The odd part is that she
was quite eager--always asking me for information; and of course I was
very glad to give it. I admit she is a Philistine, appallingly ignorant,
and her taste in art is false. Still, to have any taste at all is
something. And I do believe that Italy really purifies and ennobles all
who visit her. She is the school as well as the playground of the world.
It is really to Lilia's credit that she wants to go there."
"She would go anywhere," said his mother, who had heard enough of the
praises of Italy. "I and Caroline Abbott had the greatest difficulty in
dissuading her from the Riviera."
"No, Mother; no. She was really keen on Italy. This travel is quite a
crisis for her." He found the situation full of whimsical romance: there
was something half attractive, half repellent in the thought of this
vulgar woman journeying to places he loved and revered. Why should she
not be transfigured? The same had happened to the Goths.
Mrs. Herriton did not believe in romance nor in transfiguration, nor in
parallels from history, nor in anything else that may disturb domestic
life. She adroitly changed the subject before Philip got excited. Soon
Harriet returned, having given her lesson in geography. Irma went to bed
early, and was tucked up by her grandmother. Then the two ladies worked
and played cards. Philip read a book. And so they all settled down to
their quiet, profitable existence, and continued it without interruption
through the winter.
It was now nearly ten years since Charles had fallen in love with Lilia
Theobald because she was pretty, and during that time Mrs. Herriton had
hardly known a moment's rest. For six months she schemed to prevent
the match, and when it had taken place she turned to another task--the
supervision of her daughter-in-law. Lilia must be pushed through life
without bringing discredit on the family into which she had married. She
was aided by Charles, by her daughter Harriet, and, as soon as he was
old enough, by the clever one of the family, Philip. The birth of Irma
made things still more difficult. But fortunately old Mrs. Theobald, who
had attempted interference, began to break up. It was an effort to her
to leave Whitby, and Mrs. Herriton discouraged the effort as far as
possible. That curious duel which is fought over every baby was fought
and decided early. Irma belonged to her father's family, not to her
mother's.
Charles died, and the struggle recommenced. Lilia tried to assert
herself, and said that she should go to take care of Mrs. Theobald.
It required all Mrs. Herriton's kindness to prevent her. A house was
finally taken for her at Sawston, and there for three years she lived
with Irma, continually subject to the refining influences of her late
husband's family.
During one of her rare Yorkshire visits trouble began again. Lilia
confided to a friend that she liked a Mr. Kingcroft extremely, but
that she was not exactly engaged to him. The news came round to Mrs.
Herriton, who at once wrote, begging for information, and pointing out
that Lilia must either be engaged or not, since no intermediate state
existed. It was a good letter, and flurried Lilia extremely. She left
Mr. Kingcroft without even the pressure of a rescue-party. She cried a
great deal on her return to Sawston, and said she was very sorry. Mrs.
Herriton took the opportunity of speaking more seriously about the
duties of widowhood and motherhood than she had ever done before. But
somehow things never went easily after. Lilia would not settle down in
her place among Sawston matrons. She was a bad housekeeper, always in
the throes of some domestic crisis, which Mrs. Herriton, who kept her
servants for years, had to step across and adjust. She let Irma stop
away from school for insufficient reasons, and she allowed her to wear
rings. She learnt to bicycle, for the purpose of waking the place up,
and coasted down the High Street one Sunday evening, falling off at the
turn by the church. If she had not been a relative, it would have been
entertaining. But even Philip, who in theory loved outraging English
conventions, rose to the occasion, and gave her a talking which she
remembered to her dying day. It was just then, too, that they discovered
that she still allowed Mr. Kingcroft to write to her "as a gentleman
friend," and to send presents to Irma.
Philip thought of Italy, and the situation was saved. Caroline,
charming, sober, Caroline Abbott, who lived two turnings away, was
seeking a companion for a year's travel. Lilia gave up her house, sold
half her furniture, left the other half and Irma with Mrs. Herriton, and
had now departed, amid universal approval, for a change of scene.
She wrote to them frequently during the winter--more frequently than she
wrote to her mother. Her letters were always prosperous. Florence she
found perfectly sweet, Naples a dream, but very whiffy. In Rome one had
simply to sit still and feel. Philip, however, declared that she was
improving. He was particularly gratified when in the early spring she
began to visit the smaller towns that he had recommended. "In a place
like this," she wrote, "one really does feel in the heart of things, and
off the beaten track. Looking out of a Gothic window every morning, it
seems impossible that the middle ages have passed away." The letter was
from Monteriano, and concluded with a not unsuccessful description of
the wonderful little town.
"It is something that she is contented," said Mrs. Herriton. "But no one
could live three months with Caroline Abbott and not be the better for
it."
Just then Irma came in from school, and she read her mother's letter to
her, carefully correcting any grammatical errors, for she was a loyal
supporter of parental authority--Irma listened politely, but soon
changed the subject to hockey, in which her whole being was absorbed.
They were to vote for colours that afternoon--yellow and white or yellow
and green. What did her grandmother think?
Of course Mrs. Herriton had an opinion, which she sedately expounded, in
spite of Harriet, who said that colours were unnecessary for children,
and of Philip, who said that they were ugly. She was getting proud of
Irma, who had certainly greatly improved, and could no longer be called
that most appalling of things--a vulgar child. She was anxious to form
her before her mother returned. So she had no objection to the leisurely
movements of the travellers, and even suggested that they should
overstay their year if it suited them.
Lilia's next letter was also from Monteriano, and Philip grew quite
enthusiastic.
"They've stopped there over a week!" he cried. "Why! I shouldn't have
done as much myself. They must be really keen, for the hotel's none too
comfortable."
"I cannot understand people," said Harriet. "What can they be doing all
day? And there is no church there, I suppose."
"There is Santa Deodata, one of the most beautiful churches in Italy."
"Of course I mean an English church," said Harriet stiffly. "Lilia
promised me that she would always be in a large town on Sundays."
"If she goes to a service at Santa Deodata's, she will find more beauty
and sincerity than there is in all the Back Kitchens of Europe."
The Back Kitchen was his nickname for St. James's, a small depressing
edifice much patronized by his sister. She always resented any slight on
it, and Mrs. Herriton had to intervene.
"Now, dears, don't. Listen to Lilia's letter. 'We love this place, and
I do not know how I shall ever thank Philip for telling me it. It is
not only so quaint, but one sees the Italians unspoiled in all their
simplicity and charm here. The frescoes are wonderful. Caroline, who
grows sweeter every day, is very busy sketching.'"
"Every one to his taste!" said Harriet, who always delivered a platitude
as if it was an epigram. She was curiously virulent about Italy, which
she had never visited, her only experience of the Continent being an
occasional six weeks in the Protestant parts of Switzerland.
"Oh, Harriet is a bad lot!" said Philip as soon as she left the room.
His mother laughed, and told him not to be naughty; and the appearance
of Irma, just off to school, prevented further discussion. Not only in
Tracts is a child a peacemaker.
"One moment, Irma," said her uncle. "I'm going to the station. I'll give
you the pleasure of my company."
They started together. Irma was gratified; but conversation flagged,
for Philip had not the art of talking to the young. Mrs. Herriton sat
a little longer at the breakfast table, re-reading Lilia's letter. Then
she helped the cook to clear, ordered dinner, and started the housemaid
turning out the drawing-room, Tuesday being its day. The weather was
lovely, and she thought she would do a little gardening, as it was quite
early. She called Harriet, who had recovered from the insult to St.
James's, and together they went to the kitchen garden and began to sow
some early vegetables.
"We will save the peas to the last; they are the greatest fun," said
Mrs. Herriton, who had the gift of making work a treat. She and her
elderly daughter always got on very well, though they had not a great
deal in common. Harriet's education had been almost too successful. As
Philip once said, she had "bolted all the cardinal virtues and couldn't
digest them." Though pious and patriotic, and a great moral asset for
the house, she lacked that pliancy and tact which her mother so much
valued, and had expected her to pick up for herself. Harriet, if she had
been allowed, would have driven Lilia to an open rupture, and, what was
worse, she would have done the same to Philip two years before, when he
returned full of passion for Italy, and ridiculing Sawston and its ways.
"It's a shame, Mother!" she had cried. "Philip laughs at everything--the
Book Club, the Debating Society, the Progressive Whist, the bazaars.
People won't like it. We have our reputation. A house divided against
itself cannot stand."
Mrs. Herriton replied in the memorable words, "Let Philip say what he
likes, and he will let us do what we like." And Harriet had acquiesced.
They sowed the duller vegetables first, and a pleasant feeling of
righteous fatigue stole over them as they addressed themselves to the
peas. Harriet stretched a string to guide the row straight, and Mrs.
Herriton scratched a furrow with a pointed stick. At the end of it she
looked at her watch.
"It's twelve! The second post's in. Run and see if there are any
letters."
Harriet did not want to go. "Let's finish the peas. There won't be any
letters."
"No, dear; please go. I'll sow the peas, but you shall cover them
up--and mind the birds don't see 'em!"
Mrs. Herriton was very careful to let those peas trickle evenly from
her hand, and at the end of the row she was conscious that she had never
sown better. They were expensive too.
"Actually old Mrs. Theobald!" said Harriet, returning.
"Read me the letter. My hands are dirty. How intolerable the crested
paper is."
Harriet opened the envelope.
"I don't understand," she said; "it doesn't make sense."
"Her letters never did."
"But it must be sillier than usual," said Harriet, and her voice began
to quaver. "Look here, read it, Mother; I can't make head or tail."
Mrs. Herriton took the letter indulgently. "What is the difficulty?" she
said after a long pause. "What is it that puzzles you in this letter?"
"The meaning--" faltered Harriet. The sparrows hopped nearer and began
to eye the peas.
"The meaning is quite clear--Lilia is engaged to be married. Don't cry,
dear; please me by not crying--don't talk at all. It's more than I could
bear. She is going to marry some one she has met in a hotel. Take the
letter and read for yourself." Suddenly she broke down over what might
seem a small point. "How dare she not tell me direct! How dare she
write first to Yorkshire! Pray, am I to hear through Mrs. Theobald--a
patronizing, insolent letter like this? Have I no claim at all? Bear
witness, dear"--she choked with passion--"bear witness that for this
I'll never forgive her!"
"Oh, what is to be done?" moaned Harriet. "What is to be done?"
"This first!" She tore the letter into little pieces and scattered it
over the mould. "Next, a telegram for Lilia! No! a telegram for Miss
Caroline Abbott. She, too, has something to explain."
"Oh, what is to be done?" repeated Harriet, as she followed her mother
to the house. She was helpless before such effrontery. What awful
thing--what awful person had come to Lilia? "Some one in the hotel." The
letter only said that. What kind of person? A gentleman? An Englishman?
The letter did not say.
"Wire reason of stay at Monteriano. Strange rumours," read Mrs.
Herriton, and addressed the telegram to Abbott, Stella d'Italia,
Monteriano, Italy. "If there is an office there," she added, "we might
get an answer this evening. Since Philip is back at seven, and the
eight-fifteen catches the midnight boat at Dover--Harriet, when you go
with this, get 100 pounds in 5 pound notes at the bank."
"Go, dear, at once; do not talk. I see Irma coming back; go quickly....
Well, Irma dear, and whose team are you in this afternoon--Miss Edith's
or Miss May's?"
But as soon as she had behaved as usual to her grand-daughter, she went
to the library and took out the large atlas, for she wanted to know
about Monteriano. The name was in the smallest print, in the midst of a
woolly-brown tangle of hills which were called the "Sub-Apennines." It
was not so very far from Siena, which she had learnt at school. Past it
there wandered a thin black line, notched at intervals like a saw,
and she knew that this was a railway. But the map left a good deal to
imagination, and she had not got any. She looked up the place in "Childe
Harold," but Byron had not been there. Nor did Mark Twain visit it in
the "Tramp Abroad." The resources of literature were exhausted: she
must wait till Philip came home. And the thought of Philip made her try
Philip's room, and there she found "Central Italy," by Baedeker, and
opened it for the first time in her life and read in it as follows:--
MONTERIANO (pop. 4800). Hotels: Stella d'Italia, moderate only; Globo,
dirty. * Caffe Garibaldi. Post and Telegraph office in Corso Vittorio
Emmanuele, next to theatre. Photographs at Seghena's (cheaper in
Florence). Diligence (1 lira) meets principal trains.
Chief attractions (2-3 hours): Santa Deodata, Palazzo Pubblico, Sant'
Agostino, Santa Caterina, Sant' Ambrogio, Palazzo Capocchi. Guide
(2 lire) unnecessary. A walk round the Walls should on no account be
omitted. The view from the Rocca (small gratuity) is finest at sunset.
History: Monteriano, the Mons Rianus of Antiquity, whose Ghibelline
tendencies are noted by Dante (Purg. xx.), definitely emancipated itself
from Poggibonsi in 1261. Hence the distich, "POGGIBONIZZI, FAUI IN LA,
CHE MONTERIANO SI FA CITTA!" till recently enscribed over the Siena
gate. It remained independent till 1530, when it was sacked by the Papal
troops and became part of the Grand Duchy of Tuscany. It is now of small
importance, and seat of the district prison. The inhabitants are still
noted for their agreeable manners.
*****
The traveller will proceed direct from the Siena gate to the Collegiate
Church of Santa Deodata, and inspect (5th chapel on right) the charming
Frescoes....
Mrs. Herriton did not proceed. She was not one to detect the hidden
charms of Baedeker. Some of the information seemed to her unnecessary,
all of it was dull. Whereas Philip could never read "The view from the
Rocca (small gratuity) is finest at sunset" without a catching at the
heart. Restoring the book to its place, she went downstairs, and looked
up and down the asphalt paths for her daughter. She saw her at last,
two turnings away, vainly trying to shake off Mr. Abbott, Miss Caroline
Abbott's father. Harriet was always unfortunate. At last she returned,
hot, agitated, crackling with bank-notes, and Irma bounced to greet her,
and trod heavily on her corn.
"Your feet grow larger every day," said the agonized Harriet, and gave
her niece a violent push. Then Irma cried, and Mrs. Herriton was annoyed
with Harriet for betraying irritation. Lunch was nasty; and during
pudding news arrived that the cook, by sheer dexterity, had broken
a very vital knob off the kitchen-range. "It is too bad," said Mrs.
Herriton. Irma said it was three bad, and was told not to be rude. After
lunch Harriet would get out Baedeker, and read in injured tones about
Monteriano, the Mons Rianus of Antiquity, till her mother stopped her.
"It's ridiculous to read, dear. She's not trying to marry any one in the
place. Some tourist, obviously, who's stopping in the hotel. The place
has nothing to do with it at all."
"But what a place to go to! What nice person, too, do you meet in a
hotel?"
"Nice or nasty, as I have told you several times before, is not the
point. Lilia has insulted our family, and she shall suffer for it. And
when you speak against hotels, I think you forget that I met your father
at Chamounix. You can contribute nothing, dear, at present, and I think
you had better hold your tongue. I am going to the kitchen, to speak
about the range."
She spoke just too much, and the cook said that if she could not give
satisfaction--she had better leave. A small thing at hand is greater
than a great thing remote, and Lilia, misconducting herself upon a
mountain in Central Italy, was immediately hidden. Mrs. Herriton flew to
a registry office, failed; flew to another, failed again; came home,
was told by the housemaid that things seemed so unsettled that she had
better leave as well; had tea, wrote six letters, was interrupted by
cook and housemaid, both weeping, asking her pardon, and imploring to
be taken back. In the flush of victory the door-bell rang, and there was
the telegram: "Lilia engaged to Italian nobility. Writing. Abbott."
"No answer," said Mrs. Herriton. "Get down Mr. Philip's Gladstone from
the attic."
She would not allow herself to be frightened by the unknown. Indeed
she knew a little now. The man was not an Italian noble, otherwise the
telegram would have said so. It must have been written by Lilia. None
but she would have been guilty of the fatuous vulgarity of "Italian
nobility." She recalled phrases of this morning's letter: "We love this
place--Caroline is sweeter than ever, and busy sketching--Italians full
of simplicity and charm." And the remark of Baedeker, "The inhabitants
are still noted for their agreeable manners," had a baleful meaning now.
If Mrs. Herriton had no imagination, she had intuition, a more useful
quality, and the picture she made to herself of Lilia's FIANCE did not
prove altogether wrong.
So Philip was received with the news that he must start in half an hour
for Monteriano. He was in a painful position. For three years he had
sung the praises of the Italians, but he had never contemplated having
one as a relative. He tried to soften the thing down to | 3,299.300846 |
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TALES OF A TRAVELLER
BY
WASHINGTON IRVING
CONTENTS.
PART FIRST.
STRANGE STORIES BY A NERVOUS GENTLEMAN.
A Hunting Dinner
Adventure of my Uncle
Adventure of my Aunt
Bold Dragoon
Adventure of the Mysterious Picture
Adventure of the Mysterious Stranger
Story of the Young Italian
PART SECOND.
BUCKTHORNE AND HIS FRIENDS.
Literary Life
Literary Dinner
Club of Queer Fellows
Poor Devil Author
Buckthorne; or, the Young Man of Great Expectations
Grave Reflections of a Disappointed Man
Booby Squire
Strolling Manager
PART THIRD.
THE ITALIAN BANDITTI.
Inn at Terracina
Adventure of the Little Antiquary
Adventure of the Popkins Family
Painter's Adventure
Story of the Bandit Chieftain
Story of the Young Robber
PART FOURTH.
THE MONEY-DIGGERS.
Hell Gate
Kidd, the Pirate
Devil and Tom Walker
Wolfert Webber; or, Golden Dreams
Adventure of Sam, the Black Fisherman
TALES OF A TRAVELLER
PART FIRST
STRANGE STORIES BY A NERVOUS GENTLEMAN.
I'll tell you more; there was a fish taken,
A monstrous fish, with, a sword by's side, a long sword,
A pike in's neck, and a gun in's nose, a huge gun,
And letters of mart in's mouth, from the Duke of Florence.
_Cleanthes_. This is a monstrous lie.
_Tony_. I do confess it.
Do you think I'd tell you truths!
FLETCHER'S WIFE FOR A MONTH.
[The following adventures were related to me by the same nervous
gentleman who told me the romantic tale of THE STOUT GENTLEMAN,
published in Bracebridge Hall.
It is very singular, that although I expressly stated that story to
have been told to me, and described the very person who told it, still
it has been received as an adventure that happened to myself. Now, I
protest I never met with any adventure of the kind. I should not have
grieved at this, had it not been intimated by the author of Waverley,
in an introduction to his romance of Peveril of the Peak, that he was
himself the Stout Gentleman alluded to. I have ever since been
importuned by letters and questions from gentlemen, and particularly
from ladies without number, touching what I had seen of the great
unknown.
Now, all this is extremely tantalizing. It is like being congratulated
on the high prize when one has drawn a blank; for I have just as great
a desire as any one of the public to penetrate the mystery of that
very singular personage, whose voice fills every corner of the world,
without any one being able to tell from whence it comes. He who keeps
up such a wonderful and whimsical incognito: whom nobody knows, and
yet whom every body thinks he can swear to.
My friend, the nervous gentleman, also, who is a man of very shy,
Retired habits, complains that he has been excessively annoyed in
consequence of its getting about in his neighborhood that he is the
fortunate personage. Insomuch, that he has become a character of
considerable notoriety in two or three country towns; and has been
repeatedly teased to exhibit himself at blue-stocking parties, for no
other reason than that of being "the gentleman who has had a glimpse
of the author of Waverley."
Indeed, the poor man has grown ten times as nervous as ever, since he
has discovered, on such good authority, who the stout gentleman was;
and will never forgive himself for not having made a more resolute
effort to get a full sight of him. He has anxiously endeavored to call
up a recollection of what he saw of that portly personage; and has
ever since kept a curious eye on all gentlemen of more than ordinary
dimensions, whom he has seen getting into stage coaches. All in vain!
The features he had caught a glimpse of seem common to the whole race
of stout gentlemen; and the great unknown remains as great an unknown
as ever.]
A HUNTING DINNER.
I was once at a hunting dinner, given by a worthy fox-hunting old
Baronet, who kept Bachelor's Hall in jovial style, in an ancient
rook-haunted family mansion, in one of the middle counties. He had been
a devoted admirer of the fair sex in his young days; but having
travelled much, studied the sex in various countries with distinguished
success, and returned home profoundly instructed, as he supposed, in
the ways of woman, and a perfect master of the art of pleasing, he had
the mortification of being jilted by a little boarding school girl, who
was scarcely versed in the accidence of love.
The Baronet was completely overcome by such an incredible defeat;
retired from the world in disgust, put himself under the government of
his housekeeper, and took to fox-hunting like a perfect Jehu. Whatever
poets may say to the contrary, a man will grow out of love as he grows
old; and a pack of fox hounds may chase out of his heart even the
memory of a boarding-school goddess. The Baronet was when I saw him as
merry and mellow an old bachelor as ever followed a hound; and the
love he had once felt for one woman had spread itself over the whole
sex; so that there was not a pretty face in the whole country round,
but came in for a share.
The dinner was prolonged till a late hour; for our host having no
ladies in his household to summon us to the drawing-room, the bottle
maintained its true bachelor sway, unrivalled by its potent enemy the
tea-kettle. The old hall in which we dined echoed to bursts of
robustious fox-hunting merriment, that made the ancient antlers shake
on the walls. By degrees, however, the wine and wassail of mine host
began to operate upon bodies already a little jaded by the chase. The
choice spirits that flashed up at the beginning of the dinner, sparkled
for a time, then gradually went out one after another, or only emitted
now and then a faint gleam from the socket.
Some of the briskest talkers, who had given tongue so bravely at the
first burst, fell fast asleep; and none kept on their way but certain
of those long-winded prosers, who, like short-legged hounds, worry on
unnoticed at the bottom of conversation, but are sure to be in at the
death. Even these at length subsided into silence; and scarcely any
thing was heard but the nasal communications of two or three veteran
masticators, who, having been silent while awake, were indemnifying
the company in their sleep.
At length the announcement of tea and coffee in the cedar parlor
roused all hands from this temporary torpor. Every one awoke
marvellously renovated, and while sipping the refreshing beverage out
of the Baronet's old-fashioned hereditary china, began to think of
departing for their several homes. But here a sudden difficulty arose.
While we had been prolonging our repast, a heavy winter storm had set
in, with snow, rain, and sleet, driven by such bitter blasts of wind,
that they threatened to penetrate to the very bone.
"It's all in vain," said our hospitable host, "to think of putting
one's head out of doors in such weather. So, gentlemen, I hold you my
guests for this night at least, and will have your quarters prepared
accordingly."
The unruly weather, which became more and more tempestuous, rendered
The hospitable suggestion unanswerable. The only question was, whether
such an unexpected accession of company, to an already crowded house,
would not put the housekeeper to her trumps to accommodate them.
"Pshaw," cried mine host, "did you ever know of a Bachelor's Hall that
was not elastic, and able to accommodate twice as many as it could
hold?" So out of a good-humored pique the housekeeper was summoned to
consultation before us all. The old lady appeared, in her gala suit of
faded brocade, which rustled with flurry and agitation, for in spite
of mine host's bravado, she was a little perplexed. But in a
bachelor's house, and with bachelor guests, these matters are readily
managed. There is no lady of the house to stand upon squeamish points
about lodging guests in odd holes and corners, and exposing the shabby
parts of the establishment. A bachelor's housekeeper is used to shifts
and emergencies. After much worrying to and fro, and divers
consultations about the red room, and the blue room, and the chintz
room, and the damask room, and the little room with the bow window,
the matter was finally arranged.
When all this was done, we were once more summoned to the standing
Rural amusement of eating. The time that had been consumed in dozing
after dinner, and in the refreshment and consultation of the cedar
parlor, was sufficient, in the opinion of the rosy-faced butler, to
engender a reasonable appetite for supper. A slight repast had
therefore been tricked up from the residue of dinner, consisting of
cold sirloin of beef; hashed venison; a devilled leg of a turkey or
so, and a few other of those light articles taken by country gentlemen
to ensure sound sleep and heavy snoring.
The nap after dinner had brightened up every one's wit; and a great
deal of excellent humor was expended upon the perplexities of mine
host and his housekeeper, by certain married gentlemen of the company,
who considered themselves privileged in joking with a bachelor's
establishment. From this the banter turned as to what quarters each
would find, on being thus suddenly billeted in so antiquated a
mansion.
"By my soul," said an Irish captain of | 3,299.402997 |
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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, | 3,299.499252 |
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[Illustration: SHE GLIDED AND WHIR | 3,299.699911 |
2023-11-16 19:12:03.7777370 | 2,283 | 10 | The Project Gutenberg Etext of Supplemental Nights, Volume 2
by Richard F. Burton
#13 in our series by Sir Richard Francis Burton
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But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" | 3,299.797777 |
2023-11-16 19:12:03.7819960 | 1,174 | 12 |
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HALLECKS'S NEW ENGLISH LITERATURE
by REUBEN POST HALLECK, M.A., LL.D.
Author of "History of English Literature" and "History of American
Literature"
PREFACE
In this _New English Literature_ the author endeavors to preserve the
qualities that have caused his former _History of English Literature_
to be so widely used; namely, suggestiveness, clearness, organic
unity, interest, and the power to awaken thought and to stimulate the
student to further reading.
The book furnishes a concise account of the history and growth of
English literature from the earliest times to the present day. It lays
special emphasis on literary movements, on the essential qualities
that differentiate one period from another, and on the spirit that
animates each age. Above all, the constant purpose has been to arouse
in the student an enthusiastic desire to read the works of the authors
discussed. Because of the author's belief in the guide-book function
of a history of literature, he has spent much time and thought in
preparing the unusually detailed _Suggested Readings_ that follow each
chapter.
It was necessary for several reasons to prepare a new book. Twentieth
century research has transformed the knowledge of the Elizabethan
theater and has brought to light important new facts relating to the
drama and to Shakespeare. The new social spirit has changed the
critical viewpoint concerning authors as different as Wordsworth,
Keats, Ruskin, Dickens, and Tennyson. Wordsworth's treatment of
childhood, for instance, now requires an amount of space that would a
short time ago have seemed disproportionate. Later Victorian writers,
like Meredith, Hardy, Swinburne, and Kipling, can no longer be
accorded the usual brief perfunctory treatment. Increased modern
interest in contemporary life is also demanding some account of the
literature already produced by the twentieth century. An entire
chapter is devoted to showing how this new literature reveals the
thought and ideals of this generation.
Other special features of this new work are the suggestions and
references for a literary trip through England, the historical
introductions to the chapters, the careful treatment of the modern
drama, the latest bibliography, and the new illustrations, some of
which have been specially drawn for this work, while others have been
taken from original paintings in the National Portrait Gallery,
London, and elsewhere. The illustrations are the result of much
individual research by the author during his travels in England.
The greater part of this book was gradually fashioned in the
classroom, during the long period that the author has taught this
subject. Experience with his classes has proved to him the
reasonableness of the modern demand that a textbook shall be definite
and stimulating.
The author desires to thank the large number of teachers who have
aided him by their criticism. Miss Elizabeth Howard Spaulding and Miss
Sarah E. Simons deserve special mention for valuable assistance. The
entire treatment of Rudyard Kipling is the work of Miss Mary Brown
Humphrey. The greater part of the chapter, _Twentieth-Century
Literature_, was prepared by Miss Anna Blanche McGill. Some of the
best and most difficult parts of the book were written by the author's
wife. R.P.H.
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION--LITERARY ENGLAND
CHAPTERS:
I. FROM 449 A.D. TO THE NORMAN CONQUEST, 1066
II. FROM THE NORMAN CONQUEST, 1066, TO CHAUCER'S DEATH 1400
III. FROM CHAUCER'S DEATH 1400, TO THE ACCESSION OF ELIZABETH, 1558
IV. THE AGE OF ELIZABETH 1558-1603
V. THE PURITAN AGE, 1603-1660
VI. FROM THE RESTORATION, 1660, TO THE PUBLICATION OF PAMELA, 1740
VII. THE SECOND FORTY YEARS OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY, 1740-1780
VIII. THE AGE OF ROMANTICISM, 1780-1837
IX. THE VICTORIAN AGE, 1837-1900
X. TWENTIETH-CENTURY LITERATURE
SUPPLEMENTARY LIST OF AUTHORS AND THEIR CHIEF WORKS
INDEX
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS:
1. Woden.
2. Exeter Cathedral.
3. Anglo-Saxon Gleeman. (From the tapestry designed by H.A. Bone).
4. Facsimile of beginning of Cotton MS. of Beowulf.(British Museum).
5. Facsimile of Beginning of Junian MS. of Caedmon.
6. Anglo-Saxon Musicians. (From illuminated MS., British Museum).
7. The Beginning of Alfred's Laws. (From illuminated MS., British
Museum).
8. The Death of Harold at Hastings. (From the Bayeux tapestry).
9. What Mandeville Saw. (From Edition of 1725).
10. John Wycliffe. (From an old print).
11. Treuthe's Pilgryme atte Plow. (From a MS. in Trinity College,
Cambridge | 3,299.802036 |
2023-11-16 19:12:03.7847770 | 62 | 16 |
This etext was produced by Gardner Buchanan.
The Story of Louis Riel
The Rebel Chief
by Joseph Edmond Collins
Toronto, 1885
CHAPTER I.
Along the banks of the Red River, over those fruitful
plains brightened with wild flowers in summer, and swept | 3,299.804817 |
2023-11-16 19:12:03.9778660 | 2,376 | 52 |
Produced by Al Haines.
*THE GREY MAN*
BY
*S. R. Crockett*
_POPULAR EDITION_
LONDON
T. FISHER UNWIN
ADELPHI TERRACE
MCMX
_To
W. R. NICOLL
are affectionately inscribed
these Chronicles of a Stormy Time--
in memory of
unforgotten Days of Peace and Quietness
spent with him and his._
[_All rights reserved_]
*CONTENTS*
I. The Oath of Swords
II. The Lass of the White Tower
III. The Second Taunting of Spurheel
IV. The Inn on the Red Moss
V. The Throwing of the Bloody Dagger
VI. The Crown of the Causeway
VII. My Lady's Favours
VIII. The Laird of Auchendrayne
IX. Cartel of Contumely
X. Sir Thomas of the Top-Knot
XI. Sword and Spit
XII. The Flitting of the Sow
XIII. The Tryst at Midnight
XIV. The Adventure of the Garden
XV. A Midnight Leaguer
XVI. Greybeards and Dimple Chins
XVII. The Corbies at the Eagle's Nest
XVIII. Bairns' Play
XIX. Fighting the Beasts
XX. The Secret of the Caird
XXI. Mine Ancient Sweetheart
XXII. A Marriage made in Hell
XXIII. A Galloway Raid
XXIV. The Slaughter in the Snow
XXV. Marjorie bids her Love Good-night
XXVI. Days of Quiet
XXVII. On the Heartsome Heather
XXVIII. Warm Backs make Braw Bairns
XXIX. The Murder among the Sandhills
XXX. I seek for Vengeance
XXXI. The Blue Blanket
XXXII. Greek meets Greek
XXXIII. The Devil is a Gentleman
XXXIV. In the Enemy's Country
XXXV. The Ogre's Castle
XXXVI. The Defence of Castle Ailsa
XXXVII. The Voice out of the Night
XXXVIII. A Rescue from the Sea
XXXIX. The Cleft in the Rock
XL. The Cave of Death
XLI. The Were-Wolf of Benerard
XLII. Ane Lochaber Aix gied Him his Paiks
XLIII. The Moot Hill of Girvan
XLIV. The Murder upon the Beach
XLV. The Man in the Wide Breeches
XLVI. The Judgment of God
XLVII. The Place of the Legion of Devils
XLVIII. The Finding of the Treasure of Kelwood
XLIX. The Great Day of Trial
L. The Last of the Grey Man
LI. Marjorie's Good-night
LII. Home-coming
*THE GREY MAN*
*CHAPTER I*
*THE OATH OF SWORDS*
Well do I mind the first time that ever I was in the heartsome town of
Ballantrae. My father seldom went thither, because it was a hold of the
Bargany folk, and it argued therefore sounder sense to give it the
go-by. But it came to pass upon a time that it was necessary for my
father to adventure from Kirrieoch on the border of Galloway, where we
dwelt high on the moors, to the seaside of Ayr.
My father's sister had married a man named Hew Grier, an indweller in
Maybole, who for gear's sake had settled down to his trade of tanner in
Ballantrae. It was to his burying that we went. We had seen him snugly
happed up, and the burial supper was over. We were already in a mind to
set about returning, when we heard the sound of a great rushing of
people hither and thither. I went aloft and looked through a gable
window upon the street. Arms were hastily being brought from beneath
the thatch, to which the laws of the King had committed them under the
late ordinance anent weapons of war. Leathern jackets were being
donned, and many folk cried 'Bargany!' in the streets without knowing
why.
My Aunt Grisel went out to ask what the stir might be, and came in again
with her face as white as a clout.
'It is the Cassillis folk that are besieging the Tower of Ardstinchar,
and they have come near to the taking of it, they say. Oh, what will
the folk of Ballantrae do to you, John, if they ken that you are here?
They will hang you for a spy, and that without question.'
'That,' said my father, 'is surely impossible. The Ballantrae folk
never had any great haul of sense ever since Stinchar water ran; but yet
they will hardly believe that Hew Grier, decent man--him that was your
marrow and lies now in his resting grave, poor body--took on himself to
die, just that I might come to Ballantrae to spy out the land!'
But my aunt, being easily flustered, would not hearken to him, thinking
that all terrible things were possible, and so hid the two of us in the
barn-loft till it should be the hour of the gloaming.
Then so soon as the darkening came, putting a flask of milk into my
pocket and giving a noble satchel of cakes to my father, she almost
pushed us out of her back door. To this day I remember how the unsteady
glare of a red burning filled all the street. And we could see
burghers' wives standing at their doors, all looking intently in the
direction of the Castle of Ardstinchar upon its lofty rock. Others set
their heads out of the little round 'jaw-holes' that opened in each
gable wall, and gossiped shrilly with their neighbours.
My father and I went cannily down by the riverside, and as soon as we
turned Hew-the-Friar's corner, we saw all the noble tower of Ardstinchar
flaming to the skies--every window belching fire, and the sparks fleeing
upward as before a mighty wind, though it was a stirless night with a
moon and stars floating serenely above.
Down by the waterside and straight before us we saw a post of men, and
we heard them clank their war-gear as they marched from side to side and
looked ever up at the castle on its steep, spitting like a furnace,
flaming like a torch. So at sight of them my father turned us about
sharply enough, because, in spite of what he had said to my Aunt Grisel,
he had much reason to fear for his neck. For if, on the night of a
Cassillis raid, one of the hated faction should be found in the town of
Ballantrae, little doubt there was but that a long tow and a short
shrift would be his fate.
We climbed the breast of the brae up from the waterside, intending to
make a detour behind the castle. My father said that there would be an
easy crossing at Heronford, where he knew a decent man that was of his
own party. Thence we could make up the glen of the Tigg Water, which in
the evil state of the country was as good and quiet a way back to
Minnochside as one might hope to find.
It seemed a most pitiful sight to me, that was but a young lad (and had
never seen a fire bigger than a screed of muirburn screeving across the
hills with a following wind at its tail), to watch the noble house with
all its wealth of plenishing and gear being burned up.
I said as much to my father, who swung along with his head bent to the
hill <DW72>, dragging my arm oftentimes almost from the socket, in his
haste to get us out of such unwholesome company as the angry folk of
Ballantrae.
'It is an enemy's house!' he replied very hastily. 'Come thy ways,
lad!'
'But what harm have the Bargany folk done to us?' I asked. For this
thing seemed strange to me--that Kennedy should strive with Kennedy,
burn castle, kill man, harry mow and manger, drive cattle--and I never
be able to make out what it was all for.
'Hold your breath, Launcelot Kennedy!' said my father, testy with
shortness of wind and going uphill, 'or right speedily you will find out
for what! Is it not enough that you are born to love Cassillis and to
hate Bargany?'
'Are the folk of Cassillis, then, so much better than the folk of
Bargany?' I asked, taking what I well knew to be the chances of a civil
answer, or of a ring on the side of the head.
It was not the civil answer that I got.
And, indeed, it was an ill season for query and question, or for the
answering of them. In time we got to the angle of the castle, and there
we were somewhat sheltered from the fierce heat and from the glare of
light also. From the eminence we had gained, we could look away along
the shore side. My father pointed with his finger.
'Boy, do you see yon?' he whispered.
I looked long and eagerly with my unaccustomed eyes, before I could see
in the pale moonlight a dark train of horsemen that rode steadily
northward. Their line wimpled like a serpent, being pricked out to our
sight with little reeling twinkles of fire, which I took to be the moon
shining on their armour and the points of their spears.
'See,' said my father, 'yonder goes our good Earl home with the spoil.
Would that I were by his side! Why do I live so far among the hills, and
out of the call of my chief when he casts his war pennon to the winds?'
We looked all round the castle, and seeing no one, we made shift to get
about it and darn ourselves among the heather of the further hillside.
But even as we passed the angle and reached a broken part of the wall,
there came a trampling of iron-shod hoofs. And lo! a troop of horsemen
rode up to the main castle gate, that which looks to the north-west. It
was all we could do to | 3,299.997906 |
2023-11-16 19:12:03.9854380 | 6,510 | 7 |
Produced by Jane Robins and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
+-------------------------------------------+
| Note: |
| |
| = around word indicates bold =CAPSULE.= |
| _ around word indicated italics _Erebus_ |
+-------------------------------------------+
[Illustration: ARISTOLOCHIA ELEGANS.]
THE
ILLUSTRATED
DICTIONARY OF GARDENING,
A PRACTICAL AND SCIENTIFIC
_EncyclopA|dia + of + Horticulture_
FOR
GARDENERS AND BOTANISTS.
EDITED BY
GEORGE NICHOLSON,
_Of the Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew_.
ASSISTED BY PROFESSOR J. W. H. TRAIL, A.M., M.D., F.L.S., IN THE
PARTS RELATING TO INSECTS AND FUNGI; AND J. GARRETT IN THE FRUIT,
VEGETABLE, AND GENERAL GARDEN WORK PORTIONS.
DIVISION I.--A TO CAR.
PUBLISHED BY
L. UPCOTT GILL, 170, STRAND, LONDON, W.C.
SOLE AGENT FOR THE UNITED STATES AND CANADA,
JAMES PENMAN, NEW YORK.
1887.
LONDON: PRINTED BY A. BRADLEY, 170, STRAND.
PREFACE.
THE ILLUSTRATED DICTIONARY OF GARDENING aims at being the best and
most complete Work on Gardening and Garden Plants hitherto published.
The aim is, indeed, a high one; but the Publisher, whose taste for
Flowers has rendered the production a labour of love, has, on his part,
spared no expense that the Typography and Illustrations should be of
a very high class. It is to be hoped that earnest efforts to attain
accuracy, by consulting the best Authorities, combined with no small
amount of original research, have contributed to render the _matter_
of the Work not unworthy of the _form_ in which it is presented to the
reader. The large number of Illustrations is an important feature;
and it is believed that the figures quoted, and the references given
to various works--in which more detailed information is contained
than is desirable, or, indeed, possible, in these pages, on account
of space--will greatly add to the interest and value of the work.
Considerable trouble has been taken in revising the tangled synonymy of
many genera, and clearing up, as much as possible, the confusion that
exists in garden literature in connection with so many plants, popular
and otherwise. In the matter of generic names, Bentham and Hooker's
recently-completed "Genera Plantarum" has, with few exceptions, been
followed; that work being the one which will, for a long time to
come, undoubtedly remain the standard authority on all that relates
to generic limitation. With regard to the nomenclature of species, I
have endeavoured to consult the latest and most trustworthy Monographs
and Floras, and to adopt the names in accordance with them. Now and
then, certain plants are described under their common garden names; but
they will, in such cases, be also found mentioned under the genus to
which they really belong. A case in point may be cited: _AnA"ctochilus
Lowii_ is given under _AnA"ctochilus_, but the name it must now bear is
_Dossinia_, and a reference to that genus will explain matters pretty
fully, as far as the present state of knowledge goes.
I am greatly indebted to Professor J. W. H. TRAIL, M.D., F.L.S.,
&c., for his valuable contributions on Insects, Fungi, and Diseases
of Plants, branches of science in which he has long been specially
interested, and in which he is an undoubted authority.
Mr. J. GARRETT, of the Royal Gardens, Kew, late of the Royal
Horticultural Society's Gardens, is responsible for Fruit and
Vegetable Culture, for most of what appertains to Florists' Flowers,
and for General Gardening Work. For information on many special
subjects--Begonias may be cited as an example--I am obliged for much
assistance to Mr. W. WATSON, also of the Royal Gardens, Kew; in fact,
the article _Begonia_, in its entirety, was written by him. Mr. W. B.
HEMSLEY, A.L.S., has, throughout, given me aid and advice; and I have
to acknowledge constant help from several other colleagues.
The Rev. PERCY W. MYLES, M.A., has taken no little trouble in working
out the correct derivations of very many of the Generic Names;
unfortunately, in a number of instances, lack of time prevented me from
obtaining the benefit of his knowledge. I have to record my gratitude
for help in so difficult a task, this special study being one to which
Mr. MYLES has paid much attention.
GEORGE NICHOLSON.
ROYAL GARDENS, KEW.
[Illustration]
REFERENCE TO ILLUSTRATIONS OF PLANTS OTHER THAN THOSE FIGURED IN THIS
WORK.
It has been suggested, by an eminent Authority, that many readers
would be glad to be informed where reliable Illustrations could be
found of those Plants which are not figured in this Work. To meet
this want, references to the figures in Standard Authorities have
been given, the titles of the Works referred to being, for economy
of space, abbreviated as follows:
A. B. R. Andrews (H. C.). Botanist's Repository. London,
1799-1811. 10 vols. 4to.
A. E. Andrews (H. C.). Engravings of Heaths.
London, 1802-30. 4 vols. 4to.
A. F. B. Loudon (J. C.). Arboretum et fruticetum britannicum....
London, 1838. 8 vols. 8vo.
A. F. P. Allioni (C.). Flora pedemontana. Aug. Taur., 1785.
3 vols. Fol.
A. G. Aublet (J. B. C. F.). Histoire des plantes de la
Guiane FranASec.aise. Londres, 1775. 4 vols. 4to.
A. H. Andrews (H. C.). The Heathery. London, 1804-12.
4 vols. 4to.
B. Maund (B.). The Botanist.... London, 1839.
8 vols. 4to.
B. F. F. Brandis (D.). Forest Flora of... India. London,
1876, 8vo. Atlas, 4to.
B. F. S. Beddome (R. H.). Flora sylvatica. Madras
[1869-73]. 2 vols. 4to.
B. H. La Belgique Horticole.... Ghent, 1850, &c.*
B. M. Botanical Magazine. London, 1787, &c. 8vo.*
B. M. Pl. Bentley (R.) and Trimen (H.). Medicinal Plants.
London, 1875-80. 8vo.
B. O. Bateman (James). A Monograph of Odontoglossum.
London, 1874. Fol.
B. R. Botanical Register. London, 1815-47. 33 vols. 8vo.
B. Z. Botanische Zeitung. Berlin, vols. i.-xiii. (1843-55).
8vo. Leipzig, vol. xiv. (1856).*
C. H. P. Cathcart's Illustrations of Himalayan Plants. London,
1855. Fol.
Enc. T. & S. Loudon (J. C.). EncyclopA|dia of Trees and Shrubs....
London, 1842. 8vo.
E. T. S. M. _See_ T. S. M.
F. A. O. Fitzgerald (R. D.). Australian Orchids. Sydney,
1876. Fol.*
F. D. Flora Danica--usually quoted as the title of the
work, Icones plantarum... DaniA| et NorvegiA|....
HavniA|. 1761 to 1883. Fol.
F. d. S. La Flore des Serres et des Jardins de l'Europe.
1845-82. 23 vols. 8vo.
Fl. Ment. Moggridge (J. T.). Contributions to the Flora of
Mentone.... London, 1864-8.
Flora Flora oder allgemeine botanische Zeitung. 1818-42.
25 vols. 8vo. [New Series] 1843, &c.*
F. M. Floral Magazine. London, 1861-71, 8vo. 1872-81, 4to.
F. & P. Florist and Pomologist. London, 1868-84. 8vo.
G. C. The Gardeners' Chronicle and Agricultural Gazette.
London, 1841-65. Fol.
G. C. n. s. The Gardeners' Chronicle. New Series, 1866, &c.
Fol.*
G. G. Gray (A.). Genera florA| AmericA|.... Boston,
1848-9. 2 vols. 8vo.
G. M. The Gardeners' Magazine. Conducted by Shirley
Hibberd. London.
G. M. B. The Gardeners' Magazine of Botany.... London,
1850-1. 3 vols. 8vo.
Gn. The Garden. London, 1871, &c. 4to.*
G. W. F. A. Goodale (G. L.). Wild Flowers of America. Boston,
1877. 4to.
H. B. F. Hooker (W. J.). The British Ferns.
H. E. F. Hooker (W. J.). Exotic Flora. Edinburgh, 1823-7.
3 vols. 8vo.
H. F. B. A. Hooker (W. J.). Flora boreali-americana.... London,
1833-40. 2 vols. 4to.
H. F. T. Hooker (J. D.). Flora TasmaniA|. London, 1860.
2 vols. 4to. This is Part 3 of "The Botany of
the Antarctic Voyage of H.M. Discovery Ships
_Erebus_ and _Terror_, in the years 1839-43."
H. G. F. Hooker (W. J.). Garden Ferns. London, 1862. 8vo.
H. S. F. Hooker (W. J.). Species Filicum.
I. H. L'Illustration horticole. Gand, 1850, &c. 8vo.*
I. H. Pl. _See_ C. H. P.
J. B. Journal of Botany.... London, 1863. 8vo.*
J. F. A. Jacquin (N. J.). FlorA| austriacA|.... icones....
ViennA|, 1773-8. 5 vols. Fol.
J. H. Journal of Horticulture and Cottage Gardener.
Conducted by Dr. Robert Hogg. London.
J. H. S. Journal of the Horticultural Society. London, 1846.
8vo.*
K. E. E. Kotschy. Die Eiche Europas und des Orients.
L. B. C. Loddiges (C.). Botanical Cabinet. London, 1812-33.
20 vols. 4to.
L. C. B. Lindley (J.). Collectanea botanica.... London,
1821. Fol.
L. E. M. La Marck (J. B. P. A. de M. de). EncyclopA(C)die
methodique... Botanique. Paris, 1783-1817.
13 vols. 4to.
L. J. F. Lemaire (C.). Le Jardin fleuriste. Gand, 1851-4.
4 vols. 8vo.
L. R. Lindley (J.). Rosarum Monographia. London,
1820. 8vo.
L. S. O. Lindley (J.). Sertum Orchidaceum.... London,
1838. Fol.
L. & P. F. G. Lindley (J.) and Paxton (J.). Flower Garden....
London.... 1851-3. 3 vols. 4to.
M. A. S. Salm-Dyck. Monographia generum Aloes et Mesembryanthemi.
BonnA|, 1836-63. 4to.
N. Burbidge (F. W.). The Narcissus: Its History and
Culture. With a Scientific Review of the
Genus by J. G. Baker, F.L.S. London, 1875. 8vo.
N. S. Nuttall (T.). North American Sylva.... Philadelphia,
1865. 3 vols. 8vo.
P. F. G. _See_ L. & P. F. G.
P. M. B. Paxton (J). Magazine of Botany. London, 1834-49.
16 vols. 8vo.
Ref. B. Saunders (W. W.) Refugium botanicum....
London, 1869-72. 8vo.
R. G. Regel (E.). Gartenflora. 1852, &c.*
R. H. Revue Horticole.... Paris, 1852.*
R. S. H. Hooker (J. D.). The Rhododendrons of Sikkim-Himalaya.
London, 1849-51. Fol.
R. X. O. Reichenbach, _fil._ (H. G.). Xenia orchidacea. Leipzig,
1858. 4to.*
S. B. F. G. Sweet (R.). British Flower Garden. London,
1823-9. 3 vols. 8vo.
Second Series. London, 1831-8. 4 vols. 8vo.
S. C. Sweet (R.). CistineA|. London, 1825-30. 8vo.
S. E. B. Smith (J. E.). Exotic Botany.... London, 1804-5.
2 vols. 8vo.
S. F. A. Sweet (R.). Flora australasica.... London, 1827-8.
8vo.
S. F. d. J. Siebold (P. F. de) and Vriese (W. H. de). Flore des
Jardins du Royaume des Pays-Bas. Leide,
1858-62. 5 vols. 8vo.
S. F. G. Sibthorp (J.). Flora grA|ca.... London, 1806-40.
10 vols. Fol.
S. H. Ivy Hibberd (Shirley). The Ivy: a Monograph. London,
1872. 8vo.
Sw. Ger. Sweet (Robert). GeraniaceA|, the natural order of
Gerania. 1828-1830.
Sy. En. B. Syme (J. T. B.), _now_ Boswell. English Botany....
Ed. 3. London, 1863-85. 12 vols. 8vo.
S. Z. F. J. Siebold (P. F. von) and Zuccarini (J. G.). Flora
Japonica.... Lugd. Bat., 1835-44. Fol.
T. H. S. Transactions of the Horticultural Society. London,
1805-29. 7 vols. 4to.
T. L. S. Transactions of the LinnA|an Society. London,
1791-1875. 30 vols. 4to.*
T. S. M. Emerson (G. B.). Trees and Shrubs... of Massachusetts.
Boston, Ed. 2, 1875. 2 vols. 8vo.
W. D. B. Watson (P. W.). Dendrologia Britannica. London.
1825. 2 vols. 8vo.
W. F. A. _See_ G. W. F. A.
W. O. A. Warner (R.) and Williams (B. S.). The Orchid
Album. London, 1882. 4to.*
W. S. O. Warner (R.). Select Orchidaceous Plants. London,
Series i, 1862-65. Fol.
Series ii, 1865-75. Fol.
W. & F. Woods and Forests. 1883-4. 1 vol. 4to.
* Is still in course of publication.
THE
DICTIONARY OF GARDENING,
An EncyclopA|dia of Horticulture.
The following are the Abbreviations used:--_fl._ flowers; _fr._
fruit; _l._ leaves; _h._ height; _deg._ degrees; _rhiz._ rhizomes;
_cau._ caudex; _sti._ stipes.
The Asterisks (*) indicate plants that are especially good or
distinct.
=A.= In compound words from the Greek the initial _a_ has usually a
privative meaning; as _aphyllus_, without leaves; _acaulis_, without a
stem, &c.
=AARON'S BEARD.= _See_ =Hypericum calycinum= and =Saxifraga sarmentosa=.
=AARON'S ROD.= _See_ =Verbascum Thapsus=.
=ABELE TREE.= White Poplar. _See_ =Populus alba=.
=ABELIA= (named after Dr. Clarke Abel, Physician to Lord Amherst's
Embassy to China, in 1817, and author of a "Narrative of a Journey
to China" (1818); died 1826). ORD. _CaprifoliaceA|_. Very ornamental
shrubs. Corolla tubular, funnel-shaped, five-lobed. Leaves petiolate,
dentately crenated. Well suited for the cold greenhouse, either as
trellis or pot plants; free-flowering when well grown, and of easy
culture. May be treated in sheltered and warm climates as hardy; and
can be grown out of doors during summer in less favoured spots. They
thrive in a compost of peat and loam in equal parts, to which a small
quantity of silver sand may be added. Increased by cuttings in summer,
and by layers in spring, under a frame. Only two species, _floribunda_
and _rupestris_, are much grown in England.
=A. floribunda= (many-flowered).* _fl._ rosy-purple, about 2in.
long, in axillary clusters. March. _l._ opposite, oblong. _h._ 3ft.
Mexico, 1842. The best and freest flowering evergreen species.
=A. rupestris= (rock).* _fl._ sweet-scented, small, pink, in
pairs at the ends of the branches; sepals of leafy texture, with
a reddish tinge. September. _l._ small, oblong. _h._ 5ft. China,
1844. A deciduous, branching, hairy shrub.
=A. serrata= (serrate-leaved). _fl._ pretty pale red,
sweet-scented, very large, in one-flowered terminal peduncles;
sepals leafy. March. _h._ 3ft. China, 1844. A fine evergreen
species.
=A. triflora= (three-flowered).* _fl._ pale yellow, tinged with
pink, small, arranged in threes at the ends of the branches; sepals
long and linear, clothed with long hairs. September. _l._ small,
lanceolate. _h._ 5ft. Hindostan, 1847. A small evergreen branching
shrub.
=ABERRANT.= Deviating from the natural or direct way; applied, in
natural history, to species or genera that deviate from the usual
characters of their allies.
=ABIES= (from _abeo_, to rise; alluding to the aspiring habit of
growth of the tree; or, according to some, from _apios_, a Pear-tree,
in allusion to the form of the fruit). Spruce Fir. The synonymy of
this genus is much confused, plants belonging to several genera being
frequently referred to _Abies_ in nurserymen's catalogues and gardening
periodicals. ORD. _ConiferA|_. A genus of about twenty-five species,
widely distributed over the mountainous regions of the Northern
hemisphere. Cones cylindrical, or but slightly tapering, erect; catkins
generally solitary; the carpels not thickened at the tip; and the
leaves solitary, partially scattered in insertion, and more or less
two-ranked in direction. Scales deciduous, falling off as soon as
the seed is ripe, leaving the axis on the tree. All the species bear
seeds at a comparatively early age; most are hardy. For culture, _see_
=Pinus=.
=A. amabilis= (lovely).* _shoots_ rather rigid, furrowed with
elongated cushions, covered with numerous small dark hairs.
_l._ scattered, crowded, 1-1/2in. to 2in. long; linear obtuse,
dark green above, silvery beneath. The cones are described as
cylindrical, and about 6in. long. _h._ 180ft. California, 1831. A
magnificent conifer, very massive in appearance.
=A. baborensis.=* _l._ linear, dark green, silvery on the under
surface, very numerous, those of the larger branches shortly
pointed, and those of the branchlets more obtuse and pointless,
1/2in. to 1in. long. _cones_ erect, cylindrical, usually in
clusters of four or five, 5in. to 8in. long, and about 2in. in
diameter; scales reniform, greyish-brown, inclosing a thin, dry,
and shrivelled bract. _h._ 40ft. to 60ft. Algiers, 1864. This is a
very beautiful medium-sized tree. SYN. _A. Numidica_.
=A. balsamea= (Balm of Gilead or Balsam Fir).* _l._ silvery
beneath, apex emarginate or entire, somewhat recurved and
spreading, 3/4in. long. _cones_ cylindrical, violet-,
pointing upwards, 4in. to 5in. long, and 1/2in. broad; scales
3/4in. broad, and the same in length. _h._ 40ft. to 60ft. United
States and Canada, &c., 1696. A medium-sized slender tree.
=A. bifida= (bifid). Identical with _A. firma_.
=A. brachyphylla= (short-leaved).* _l._ linear, spirally inserted
round the branchlets, but pointing laterally in two directions,
3/4in. to 1-1/2in. in length; lower ones longest, obtusely pointed
or emarginate, bright green above, with two silvery lines beneath.
_cones_ 3in. to 4in. long, purple. _h._ 120ft. Japan, 1870. A
recently introduced magnificent fir, with an erect stem, regularly
whorled horizontal branches.
=A. bracteata= (bracted).* _l._ rigid, linear, flat, distichous,
2in. to 3in. long, bright glossy green above, and glaucous beneath.
_cones_ about 4in. long, with the bracts developed into long rigid
leaf-like linear spines, 2in. long, and slightly curved inwards.
_h._ 25ft. Southern California, 1853. A very handsome tall slender
tree, but, owing to its very early growth of new shoots, it is much
injured by the spring frosts.
=A. Brunoniana= (Brown's). Synonymous with _Tsuga Brunoniana_.
=A. canadensis= (Canadian). A synonym of _Tsuga canadensis_.
=A. cephalonica= (Cephalonian).* _l._ subulate, flat, dark green
above, and silvery beneath, acute. _cones_ erect, cylindrical,
green when young, afterwards reddish, and brown when ripe, 5in. to
6in. in length, and about 1-1/2in. in diameter; scales broad, thin,
and rounded, shorter than the bracts. _h._ 50ft. to 60ft. Mountains
of Greece, 1824. A very desirable tree for growing in exposed
situations.
=A. cilicica= (Cilician). _l._ linear, slightly curved or straight,
1in. to 1-1/2in. long, dark green above, and glaucous beneath,
crowded, in two ranks. _cones_ cylindrical, 6in. to 8in. long;
scales broad, thin, entire, coriaceous. _h._ 40ft. to 60ft. Mount
Taurus, in Asia Minor. This species seldom produces a good specimen
tree in England, and cannot, therefore, be recommended for general
cultivation.
=A. concolor= (one-).* _l._ linear, flat, obtuse, glaucous
green, distichously arranged in double rows, those in the lower
rows 2in. to 3in. long, upper ones shorter, channelled above.
_cones_ cylindrical, obtuse both at base and top, 3in. to 5in.
long, 2in. to 2-1/2in. in diameter; scales numerous, imbricated,
larger than the bracts. _h._ 80ft. to 150ft. California, &c., 1851.
A very beautiful species, with yellow bark on the young branches.
SYNS. _A. lasiocarpa_ and _A. Parsonii_.
=A. Douglasii= (Douglas'). A synonym of _Pseudotsuga Douglasii_.
=A. dumosa= (short-leaved). Synonymous with _Tsuga Brunoniana_.
=A. excelsa= (tall). A synonym of _Picea excelsa_.
=A. firma= (solid).* _l._ rigid, coriaceous, spirally arranged
around the branchlets, but point laterally in two directions, 1in.
to 1-1/4in. long, very variable in young and old trees. _cones_
cylindrical, obtuse at both ends, 3in. to 6in. long; scales
imbricated, bearing protruding keeled bracts. _h._ 100ft. Japan,
1861. An erect tree, of great beauty.
=A. Fortunei= (Fortune's). It is said that in its native country,
its aspect is peculiar rather than handsome, and that but one
living representative is believed to be in existence in this
country--at Veitch's Nursery. SYN. _ | 3,300.005478 |
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SWEET HOURS
BY
CARMEN SYLVA
LONDON
R. A. EVERETT & CO., LTD.
42 ESSEX STREET, W.C.
1904
[_All rights reserved_]
CONTENTS
PAGE
TO THE MEMORY OF QUEEN VICTORIA 1
A FRIEND 4
OUT OF THE DEEP 7
A CORONATION 10
DOWN THE STREAM 13
IN THE RUSHING WIND 16
UNDER THE SNOW 19
SOLITUDE 21
THE GNAT 24
REST 27
THE SHADOW 32
THE GLOWWORM 35
A DREAM 37
IN THE DARK 40
THE SENTINEL 43
LETHE 47
A DEBTOR 51
"VENGEANCE IS MINE," SAITH THE LORD 54
NIGHT 58
ROUSED 62
SADNESS 66
WHEN JOY IS DEAD 68
A ROOM 71
UNREST 74
TO THE MEMORY OF QUEEN VICTORIA
[Illustration]
These ever wakeful eyes are closed. They saw
Such grief, that they could see no more. The heart--
That quick'ning pulse of nations--could not bear
Another throb of pain, and could not hear
Another cry of tortur'd motherhood.
Those uncomplaining lips, they sob no more
The soundless sobs of dark and burning tears,
That none have seen; they smile no more, to breathe
A mother's comfort into aching hearts.
The patriarchal Queen, the monument
Of touching widowhood, of endless love,
And childlike purity--she sleeps. This night
Is watchful not. The restless hand, that slave
To duty, to a mastermind, to wisdom
That fathom'd history and saw beyond
The times, lies still in marble whiteness. Love
So great, so faithful, unforgetting and
Unselfish--must it sleep? Or will that veil,
That widow's veil unfold, and spread into
The dovelike wings, that long were wont to hover
In anxious care about her world-wide nest,
And now will soar and sing, as harpchords sing,
Whilst in their upward flight they breast the wind
Of Destiny. No rest for her, no tomb,
Nor ashes! Light eternal! Hymns of joy!
No silence now for her, who, ever silent,
Above misfortunes' storms and thund'ring billows,
Would stand with clear and fearless brow, so calm,
That men drew strength from out those dauntless eyes,
And quiet from that hotly beating heart,
Kept still by stern command and unbent will
Beneath those tight shut lips. Not ashes, where
A beacon e'er will burn, a fire, like
The Altar's Soma, for the strong, the weak,
The true, the brave, and for the quailing. No,
Not ashes, but a light, that o'er the times
Will shed a gentle ray, and show the haven,
When all the world, stormshaken, rudderless, will pray:
If but her century would shine again!
Oh, Lord! Why hast thou ta'en thy peaceful Queen?
A FRIEND
[Illustration]
Old age is gentle as an autumn morn;
The harvest over, you will put the plough
Into another, stronger hand, and watch
The sowing you were wont to do.
Old age
Is like an alabaster room, with soft
White curtains. All is light, but light so mild,
So quiet, that it cannot hurt.
The pangs
Are hushed, for life is wild no more with strife,
Nor breathless uphill work, nor heavy with
The brewing tempests, which have torn away
So much, that nothing more remains to fear.
What once was hope, is gone. You know. You saw
The worst, and not a sigh is left of all
The heavy sighs that tore your heart, and not
A tear of all those tears that burnt your cheeks,
And ploughed the furrows into them.
You see
How others work again and weep again,
And hope and fear. Thy alabaster room
With marble floor and dainty hangings has
A look so still, that others wonder why
They feel it churchlike. All thy life is here;
Thy life hath built the vault and paved it, and
Thy hands have woven yonder curtains that
Surround thy seat, a shady sunshine.
Age
Is feeble not to thee, as all thy wishes
Are silent and demand no effort. Age
Is kind to thee, allows thee all the rest
That never came, when life was hard and toilsome.
Receive it with a smile and clothe thyself
In white, in Nature's silver crown, and sing
A lullaby of promise and of comfort.
Tell them that life is precious, after work,
And after grief and after all the deaths,
And not a loathsome burden of a life.
Old age is like a room of alabaster,
The curtains silken; thou art priest and Druid!
No mystery for thee, but Light from heaven!
OUT OF THE DEEP
[Illustration]
Thy soul grows silent, when its accents are
Disturbed, and low thy heart, when dark a burden
Has deeply covered it. Thy soul is proud.
When thou hast made it free of wants and wishes,
Then art thou rich.
Our life is seldom open,
For love and fear have shut it. When we lay
It open, there is nought to show in it,
But wounds and burning pain.
Mysterious is
Thy power, great as it may be, a trial
Of thine own will and of the curb upon
Thyself; mysterious to thyself, the more,
The greater it has grown, surrounded as
We are by fear and pain.
And when the soul
Lifts up her voice and speaks, then must she go
Against the will of people, not her own,
The will that is herself, the soul's own might.
When heaven asks, we work with joy, a dear
Beloved business put into our hands.
We dream at first to make it daintily,
Like Nature's work, so careful and so rich,
And then the dream becomes a wish, then changes
To action, to be called by us our own
Free will. And when we feel alleviated
Of suffering, we call it hope. In each
Hard battle of our life, free will is quite
The same, unbending and undone, and gave
Us never yet a ray of satisfaction,
Nor of real joy, the bleeding conqueror.
And hope is e'er the same. It dwelleth not
In hearts that are too great for hope, too great
For wishes, and that fearless never ask
Why will is but obedience, power worthless,
The greatest strength a reed, and thought an echo.
Great hearts are free of either want or wish;
They may be proud and richly clothe themselves
In lofty, burdenless, mysterious Silence.
A CORONATION
[Illustration]
When in Bohemia there were kings and queens,
The crown was laid upon the head that had
To bear and to exalt it--on the King's,
And then upon the shoulder of the Queen.
The shoulder bears the weight, the head the burden;
The shoulder lifts, the head must carry. Great
For both the heaviness, the endless pain,
For both the thorns, for both hard labour, thankless
Unending work, the sorrow of their people,
The care of each and all, the scorching tears
Of all, that make their path a desert, and
Their robe so heavy, as if dew had changed
Into the icy hangings of the frost.
The shoulder oftentimes is wounded by
The crown, the head bowed low, the heart so heavy,
Much heavier than all that heavy weight,
And yet doth woman's frail and bending shoulder
Resist the load, and still her smiling eyes
And gentle lips make all the world believe
Her shoulder bleedeth not, her toil is easy,
The load they put upon her without asking
How great her strength, is like a toy. Oh, smile!
Ye heavy-laden Queens! Let not a sigh
Escape your loving hearts, and no complaint
Break from the lips God made to heal and bless!
Oh, smile! The world doth not forgive its slaves
For looking overworked. If thou canst bear
No more, then change the shoulder, tired Queen!
DOWN THE STREAM
[Illustration]
From whence the brook? From where the waters gather
In mountains' deep recesses, stone-black lakes
And dripping crevices. It ripples forth
Into the shining day with scarce a voice,
And with no strength at all, till mountain showers
And winter's snow and spring storms pour their flood
Into the dancing brook, that foams and starts
And rushes headlong down the steeps and throws
Into the Unknown all its youth and strength,
And thunders into hell, to rise again
In sheets of whiteness into dreamy veils,
To kiss the flowers' feet and overflow
The meadows; thence, o'erbridged and caught and fastened
To wheels, to grind and grind with irksome noise,
To lose all liberty, all winsome frolic,
And work till doomsday. On and on the stream
Goes widening into calm and mighty strength,
A hero of a stream, that bears the ships
Like toys, and carries legions.
Wider still
He grows, and stronger, as he drags the waters
Of hundred rivers with him to the sea.
At last his course is sluggish, tired, slow,
A living death, till, blended with the sea,
A rising tide will carry him away
Into oblivion. Such is life! A stream
From unknown heights through storm and dangerous fall,
Through unknown land and never-ending work
Unto Eternity's great, unknown sea.
You cannot rise above the height you come from,
You only widen and expand--but downwards,--
Your strength is gone, your impetus is quenched.
And then the world will call you great and grand,
And make a fortune out of all those waters:
Your tears, your blood, your work, and what you spent;
The strength of all your aims and all your falls!
IN THE RUSHING WIND
[Illustration]
The wind hath whirled the leaves from off the tree.
The leaves were yellow, they had lived their time,
And lie a golden heap or fly away,
As if the butterflies had left their wings
Behind, when love's short summertime had gone,
And killed them. Lightly doth the leaves' great shower
Whirl on and skim the ground, where ancient leaves
Lie rotten, trampled on, so featureless,
That you can hardly tell what formed that mould,
That never-ending burial-place of leaves.
And then the wind will shake and bend the tree,
And twist its branches | 3,300.099192 |
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[Illustration: Sometimes they were on the edge of such dizzy heights
that Miss Campbell held her breath.]
THE MOTOR MAIDS
ACROSS THE
CONTINENT
BY
KATHERINE STOKES
AUTHOR OF "THE MOTOR MAIDS' SCHOOL DAYS," "THE MOTOR MAIDS
BY PALM AND PINE," ETC.
NEW YORK
HURST & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1911,
BY
HURST & COMPANY
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. Westward Ho! 5
II. Peter 22
III. In Search of a Dinner 33
IV. The Three Wishes 48
V. An Incident of the Road 67
VI. Under the Stars 81
VII. Barney M'Gee 92
VIII. Cutting the Bonds 106
IX. The Girl from the Golden West 117
X. Steptoe Lodge 130
XI. The Hawkes Family 146
XII. Into the Wilderness 156
XIII. Hot Air Sue 168
XIV. On the Road Again 177
XV. In the Robbers' Nest 190
XVI. In the Rockies 206
XVII. Salt Lake City 218
XVIII. David and Goliath 229
XIX. A Day of Surprises 242
XX. The Elopement 258
XXI. A Meeting in the Desert 270
XXII. A Bit of Old Italy 280
XXIII. A Change of Heart 292
XXIV. San Francisco at Last 301
THE MOTOR MAIDS ACROSS THE CONTINENT
CHAPTER I.--WESTWARD HO!
"At my age, too," began Miss Helen Campbell, leaning back in her seat
and folding her hands with an expression of resignation.
"At your age, what, dear cousin?" demanded Wilhelmina Campbell,
superintending the strapping on at the back of the car of five extra
large suit cases and other paraphernalia for a long trip. "Why should
not things happen at your age as well as at ours? But at your age,
what?"
"At my age to turn emigrant," exclaimed the little lady. "At my age to
become a gypsy vagabond. Oh, dear, oh, dear! What would grandpapa have
said?"
"He would have been delighted, I am certain, Cousin Helen," answered her
young relative, "since he was a soldier and a jolly old gentleman, too,
papa has always said."
"But such an up to date gypsy-vagabond-emigrant, Miss Campbell," pursued
Elinor Butler, "one who rides in a motor car and wears a silk traveling
coat and a sky-blue chiffon veil."
"And has four ladies-in-waiting," continued Nancy Brown.
"And hotels all along the route to sleep in instead of tents," finished
Mary Price.
"Very true, my dears. I admit all you say; but now at the last moment,
when we are about to start on this amazing journey, I cannot help
thinking it is a wild adventure. But I shall be over it in a moment, I
daresay. Have the machine cranked-up, Billie. Do I use the correct word?
and let us be off before my courage fails me altogether."
With a happy laugh, Billie jumped into her seat behind the wheel. The
other girls were already in their accustomed places. One of the
attendants from the hotel gave the crank a dexterous twist; there was a
throbbing sound of machinery in action, and off shot the Comet like a
spirited horse, eager to be on the road.
Miss Campbell's spirits rose with the sun, for it was still very early
when the Motor Maids started on their famous journey across the
continent from Chicago to San Francisco. And all the world seemed to be
in league to make the start a happy one. It was a glorious morning
toward the last of May, the air just frosty enough to make the blood
tingle and bring color to the cheeks. Up to the very day before, an icy
gale had blown across the windy city of the plains, but through the
night it had gradually tempered into a springtime breeze. The red car
sped through the sunshine with all the vigor of machinery in perfect
order, and the polished plate glass of the wind guard reflected the four
happy faces of the Motor Maids off on a lark, which, when all is said
and done, and the last page of this volume filled, will have carried
them through many an adventure along the way.
Through Chicago they whirled, past fine homes where sleepy maids and
butlers were just opening windows and blinds to let in the morning
light; through business streets already humming with life, and at last
out through the suburbs on a broad level road, due west, they took their
course.
Billie knew it all like a book because she had been stopping in Chicago
for a week and every day they had taken a spin in the Comet along some
fifty miles of the route. Moreover, for a month past, she had been
studying maps and guide-books until her mind reflected now only a great
bird's-eye view of the United States through the center of which was
drawn a red line; the road the Comet was to take when it bore them to
the Pacific Ocean.
There was nothing now, however, in these flat, monotonous wheat fields
to promote any particular interest. But there was much to talk about.
"Was it only last week that we were four school girls at West Haven High
School slaving over examinations?" cried Elinor Butler.
"Only a little week ago," exclaimed Mary joyfully, "and now, behold us,
free as birds on the wing."
There was a flush of happiness on her usually pale face. It had been a
long, hard spring for her, and she was glad after examinations were
over, to hurry away with her friends without waiting for the final
exercises.
"School! School!" said Nancy Brown, her face dimpling with happiness.
"Don't mention the hateful word. I am as full of mathematics and history
and physics and Latin as a black cake is of plums."
"Plums!" echoed Billie. "I'm stuffed with another variety of fruit. It's
dates."
They laughed at the word dates; for, remembering dates, aside from
mathematics, was the _bete noir_ of Billie's school days and the teacher
of history was very unpopular because she made the pupils of her classes
learn six dates a day.
"But the class is even with Miss Hawkes now," put in Nancy. "She isn't
to come back next year, and we gave her a present besides."
"Why did you give her a present?" asked Miss Campbell, suddenly becoming
curious.
"Well, you see, at the end of school we reckoned we had learned about
800 dates, not that we could remember 100 or even 50. It was Elinor who
thought of it and because she has more nerve than any one else in the
class----"
"Indeed I have not," protested Elinor.
"Because she was never afraid even of the terrifying Miss Hawkes, she
was chosen to make the speech and give Miss Hawkes a present from the
class."
Miss Campbell smiled. She was never tired of listening to their
school-girl talk.
"What did you say and what was the present, my dear?"
"I said," replied Elinor, "that, representing the class, I wanted to
thank her for the splendid mental training she had given us last winter,
and we wished to show our appreciation by giving her a little
remembrance."
"'Remembrance' was a good word, Elinor," cried Billie.
"If she hadn't been so pleased and made that speech of thanks, it
wouldn't have mattered so much," put in Mary. "But I was ashamed when
she untied the ribbons on the box----"
"And what was in it, child?" demanded Miss Campbell.
"Dates," cried Billie, "dozens of dates packed in as tightly as dates
can be packed, just as she had been packing them into our brains for
nine months."
"Oh! oh!" exclaimed Miss Campbell, trying to be shocked and laughing in
spite of herself. "The poor soul! How embarrassed she must have felt.
Was she very angry?"
"We couldn't tell whether she was angry or hurt," answered Elinor. "She
drew herself up stiffer and straighter than usual if possible, and
marched out of the room without a word."
"And left us feeling very foolish indeed, cousin," went on Billie. "But
that isn't all. Because I was the one who never could remember a date
from one day to the next, I suppose she suspected me of having been the
ring-leader and this morning when we stopped at the desk of the hotel
for mail, the clerk handed me this letter. It was forwarded from West
Haven."
Billie drew an envelope from the pocket of her motor coat and gave it to
the others.
"Read it," she said. "I didn't mention it before because I was so much
interested in getting away and I had really forgotten it until the
subject came up. I suppose Miss Hawkes is just a little queer in her
upper story."
The letter read:
"I understand you are going West in your automobile. If, on your
journey, you should by chance hear the name of 'Hawkes,' do not
treat it as lightly as you did in West Haven. Somewhere in the West
that name is powerful.
"Anna Hawkes."
"How absurd!" exclaimed Elinor. "She is queer. I am certain of it."
"Anyhow," pursued Billie, "I am ashamed of what we did now. I suppose it
must have hurt her awfully."
"Not more than she hurt us when she scolded us for forgetting those
awful dates," said Nancy relentlessly.
"Oh, well," put in Miss Campbell, "she is just an angry old spinster who
got obsessed with dates and then had a rude awakening. I don't think it
was exactly respectful to have given the lady a box of dried dates. But
she brought it on herself, as you say. Tear up the letter and forget all
about it. I have no doubt she is a perfectly harmless old person."
Miss Campbell always had a secret contempt for other spinsters.
"But she isn't old, you know, cousin. She's just out of college."
"Oh, indeed. I imagined she was a crusty old maid."
"Perhaps she has reference to the powerful family of chicken hawks,"
observed Nancy.
"Or the illustrious fish-hawk family, only they are mostly centered
around New Haven," added Mary.
"How about the tomahawk family?" suggested Billie.
How, indeed? But there was no answer to this strangely pertinent
question because of a timely incident which now occurred.
With the picture still in their minds of a great fish hawk skimming
through the air, as they had often seen him do at home, there now came a
sound of whirring far above them.
Nancy leaned out of the automobile and looked up.
"Oh! oh!" she exclaimed in great excitement "Oh, stop--look! What is
it?"
Billie stopped the car and they jumped out into the road, craning their
necks as they scanned the heavens.
Flying westward, but still some distance away, came what resembled at
first a gigantic bird with wings outspread, soaring even as the fish
hawk soars, as he skims through the air.
"It's an aeroplane," whispered Billie, almost speechless with
excitement.
They seemed to be alone in the great flat world of green fields. To the
right and left of them stretched level fields now cultivated and
yielding great crops of corn and wheat. Less than a hundred years ago
what would those travelers in lumbering wagons across the prairies have
thought if they had seen such a bird flying overhead?
On sailed the flying machine, like a huge dragon fly above them. In the
clear atmosphere which is peculiar to this prairie region they could
plainly see a human being riding it. Then, the birdman, as if he were
not already high enough to see the whole world stretched out beneath
him, began slowly to rise in the blue ether like a skylark at dawn. Up,
up he went, until he was merely a black speck in the heavens.
Miss Campbell sat flat down at the side of the road.
"I can't endure it," she cried. "Suppose he should never come back."
"What goes up must come down," observed Mary in a low voice much too
excited to speak naturally.
Immediately fulfilling her prophetic remark, the flying machine sailed
back into view. It was some distance beyond them now, but even so far
they could hear the clicking noise which was all the more accentuated
because no other sound followed. The motor had ceased to whir. They saw
the aeroplanist fumble frantically with the machinery, then suddenly,
with a twist of its body that was almost swifter than the eye, the
flying machine turned its nose earthward and shot straight down.
"Is that the way he lands?" demanded Miss Campbell.
"No, no," answered Billie excitedly as she hastened to crank the
machine. "Get in quickly--everybody! Something must be broken. He may be
hurt."
Another moment they were tearing down the road toward the field where
they had seen the flying machine drop.
"There he is," cried Nancy, already on the step of the Comet as Billie
drew up at the side of the road.
Now, unfortunately, a wire fence separated the field from the road to
prevent idle wandering people from trampling down the young wheat. It
was no easy matter to crawl through the interstices of barbed wire, and
Billie, in her haste, tore a great gaping hole in her automobile coat.
But she pulled off the wrap with the recklessness of a young person who
has something far more interesting on hand than pongee coats, and flung
it in the road where it was rescued by Miss Campbell.
In the middle of the field lay the flying machine, looking very much
like an enormous kite at close range. But where was the human being who
so lately had been mounting high into the air?
A man's foot sticking out from the midst of the debris revealed him at
last lying huddled up under the machine.
It was no simple matter to untangle him from the ruins, and it took all
their strength and courage, too, with that face so white and still
turned upward, but, by the grace of Providence, which watches over the
lives of some rash beings, the young man was not even hurt. He was only
stunned, and presently Miss Campbell, who had managed somehow to crawl
through the fence, brought him back to life with her smelling salts.
"If I can only keep from sneezing," he began, opening his eyes and
blinking them in amazement when he beheld the faces of five ladies
leaning over him in states of more or less extreme excitement.
The aeroplanist was really almost a boy and rather small. He had reddish
brown hair and reddish brown eyes to match. His features were regular.
His mouth firm and well modeled, and he had a square, determined-looking
jaw.
"Oh," he exclaimed. "Then it wasn't a dream. I did sneeze."
The girls privately thought his mind was wandering.
"You tumbled down out of the sky," said Nancy.
"Are you better now?" asked Miss Campbell, applying her smelling salts
to his nose.
"I'm all right," he answered, bewildered, and began slowly to pull
himself together and get up. He staggered a little as he rose and stood
looking ruefully down at the demolished aeroplane. They noticed that he
was not dressed like a messenger from Mars, as they had seen
aeroplanists attired in pictures. He wore brown clothes and a brown tie
the same shade as his hair, and a brown cap with a vizor which had
fallen on the ground.
"It is very kind of you ladies to come to my rescue," he said as his
senses returned. "I was getting on famously with the thing when I
sneezed. I felt it coming on, but it couldn't be stopped, and I lost
control and shot down like a piece of lead. Aeroplanists will have to
stop sneezing until something more reliable in the way of a flying
machine is invented."
"What are you going to do with this?" asked Billie, pointing to the
demolished machine.
"Nothing," he answered. "It's all in, as far as I can see."
"Oh, then may we have a souvenir?" demanded Nancy.
"Help yourself," he said, smiling faintly and pressing his hand to his
head, which was still buzzing with the shock of the fall.
"You poor boy," exclaimed Miss Campbell, "come right along and let us
take you somewhere. You are suffering of course, and these foolish girls
are thinking of souvenirs."
While the others assisted him across the field, Nancy lingered beside
the flying machine and presently selected a piece of the machinery; you
would probably be no wiser if I told you what piece it was, and
certainly Nancy herself was as ignorant of its purpose as a cat of a
sewing machine. She chose it because it was detached from the rest and
after she had climbed gingerly through the wire fence she stored it away
in an inner chamber of the automobile and promptly forgot all about it.
But long afterward she was to congratulate herself on obeying first
impulses, which are usually the safest.
CHAPTER II.--PETER.
They put the young man on the back seat between Miss Campbell and
Elinor, while Mary climbed in front and shared Nancy's seat beside
Chauffeur Billie.
"Where do you want to go?" asked that responsible young woman, waiting
to start the car and addressing the aeroplanist over her shoulder.
"I'm on my way West."
"So are we," interrupted Billie.
"If you put me down at any convenient place along the way, I'll be very
much obliged. I'm going all the way to San Francisco."
"But so are we," cried the girls in one voice. "We're going across the
continent."
The young man smiled for the second time, a charming smile which
radiated his entire face and seemed to kindle two warm fires in his
steady brown eyes.
"In this?" he asked.
"Why not?" Elinor was saying, somewhat on her mettle, when a motor cycle
shot past them, stopped abruptly and a man jumped off and waited beside
the road, signalling to them to stop the car.
"Pardon me, but may I ask if you saw an aeroplane fly past a little
while ago?"
Before Billie, generally the spokesman, could reply, the young stranger
broke in:
"We saw one, but it is out of sight now."
"Ah? Then it didn't fall. I thought I saw it drop. It looked very much
as if he had lost control, but I was too far away to tell."
The man waited, but the four girls and Miss Campbell remained discreetly
silent, and the wrecked aeroplanist leaned out and looked up skyward, as
if he were searching the heavens for the lost airship.
"Although aeroplanes are not very apt to fly about in great numbers,"
went on the man sarcastically, "I see you are not very observant when
they are about. I bid you good-day," and touching his cap with his hand
like a salute, he leaped on his motor cycle and sped down the road in a
cloud of dust.
"Dear me," exclaimed Miss Campbell, "what a crusty individual! But why
not have told him?"
"Because he happens to be my rival," answered the young man. "You see, a
prize has been offered for the one who flies across the continent from
San Francisco to Chicago in the shortest time. Most of the aeroplanists
think the prize is too small for the risk, and so far only a few have
entered. This fellow, Duval, doesn't want any rivals, and he has done
everything he could to disqualify me for the race. He didn't recognize
me, because he's only seen me in leather clothes with goggles and a cap
on. You see, I decided at the last moment this morning to fly westward
as far as I could. I suppose I am a good deal like the Irishman who was
challenged to drink a pail of beer, and went into another room and drank
one first to see if he could."
"But now you have no aeroplane," observed Nancy sadly.
"I have two. The other one was shipped to San Francisco. Duval has a
great many reasons for keeping an eye on me. He wants to find out what
kind of machine I'm going to use. I have kept that a profound secret,
and he wants to know how good I am at flying. You see, no one has ever
heard of me. I have never been to any public meets. I have only
practised--at--at our place."
"But," interrupted Miss Campbell, "do you think you will be able to do
this tremendous thing? Remember what you must cross? Not only the Rocky
Mountains but the desert."
"It's just as easy to fly over a desert as over a prairie," answered the
young man. "Not long ago a man flew from Italy over the Alps. If I
hadn't sneezed this morning, I might have been sailing across the
Illinois boundary this afternoon and been well on my way into Iowa."
Miss Campbell and the girls regarded him curiously. He appeared
exceedingly self-confident and very sensible, but that sneezing business
seemed a little thin.
"Do you mean to say," cried Billie incredulously, "that you expect to
fly across the country without sneezing."
"I hope so," he replied. "It's a dangerous thing to sneeze in any flying
machine, although the one I intend to use is of much finer make than
that thing which just broke down."
Suddenly Nancy began to laugh.
"I believe you are guying us," she said.
The young man flushed.
"It would be a nice return for your kindness."
"Don't be offended," put in Elinor. "She's only teasing, herself."
It was now getting on toward noon. The crisp morning air had sharpened
their appetites and it was agreed to stop at the next village for lunch.
In half an hour they had whirled into the main street of a
prosperous-looking middle-west town.
The motor guide book directed them to Snyder's and they presently pulled
up in front of a large frame building painted white with green shutters.
On the front piazza sat a number of men in armchairs, their feet on the
railing, smoking and reading the morning papers.
Before they had time to get out, the aeroplanist said to Miss Campbell:
"I am deeply obliged to you for your kindness. My name is Peter Van
Vechten. May I have the honor of asking your names?"
There was quite an old-world courtesy about this Peter Van Vechten that
appealed to the little lady, and she promptly introduced her girls and
herself.
Just at this moment a small racing car could be seen coming toward them
at a terrific speed. People and vehicles scattered at its approach, but
just before it reached the Comet it stopped short and a man jumped out
and ran to them.
"All right, Jackson," said Peter Van Vechten. "I suppose you got wind
that the aeroplane was wrecked and had a fright."
"I did, sir, indeed. But a farmer had watched through his glasses and he
saw you get into a motor. Thank heavens, you're safe, sir."
"Through the kindness of these ladies," said Peter. "Is the luggage all
here?"
"It is, sir."
"Then, with your permission, Miss Campbell, I will say good-by. Thank
you again. Perhaps we may meet on the plains."
"What month is the race?" asked Billie.
"In July. It starts the Fourth of July."
"Good-by and good luck to you," they cried, as the departing aeroplanist
leaped into the motor car beside the chauffeur, and in another moment
they were out of sight.
For awhile things seemed rather dull to Miss Campbell and the Motor
Maids, such a romantic halo encircles the head of him who flies through
the air, and this ingratiating Peter Van Vechten, with his reddish hair
and his keen brown eyes, also his polished manners, left a very deep
impression on them all.
The luncheon was poor. It was early dinner, really, with cabbage and
boiled mutton and very stiff-looking mashed potatoes, watery canned peas
and leathery pie for dessert. They were glad to get back to the Comet
again and glad to be on the road.
Already they seemed to have been traveling an endless time. But the
first day of a long journey always affects people in this way. For some
inexplicable reason they were a little homesick. The monotony of this
level country oppressed them, endless green fields, which had once been
vast prairie lands, covered with waving grass and a multitude of wild
flowers.
Late that afternoon, when they stopped for gasoline at a garage in a
thriving little village, a group of men stood about the door talking.
"Escaped in a flying machine?" said one.
"It's an up to date way to fly from justice," put in another.
"Yes, sir; I seen the paper myself at the hotel. He was a first-class
crook, and he left Chicago this morning early in one of the flying
machines at the park, where they have been giving exhibitions. They
telegraphed it all over the country when it was found out. I reckon he's
the smartest crook in the world. The paper says 'he eluded his captors
just as they were about to apprehend him; dashed through the hotel door
and jumped in a taxi. At the park he showed a forged letter signed Peter
Van Vechten, one of the aeroplanists, permitting him the use of one of
the aeroplanes for practice before the exhibition, and in five minutes
he was gone like a bird on the wing. It was only a little while later
that the guardians at the parks found out their mistake. Whether he is
still flying over the country or has lighted in some safe place, no one
knows. So far there is no trace of him whatever.'"
Strange were the sensations of the Motor Maids and Miss Campbell as they
listened to this remarkable tale.
The tank was filled, and Billie, after asking for the right road,
started the machine. It was a silent and rather sad company.
They had traveled more than a hundred miles that day because it had been
their object to leave the Middle West behind them as soon as possible,
for the more romantic regions beyond.
At last Miss Campbell burst out:
"I don't believe it. That nice brown-eyed boy!"
"Neither do we," echoed the others. "It's impossible."
This somewhat relieved their feelings, and when they reached the town
where they had planned to spend the night they were talking cheerfully.
While they were freshening up for supper half an hour later, Miss
Campbell felt in her black silk reticule for her purse, Billie having
paid all bills that day with the ready change with which she had
provided herself.
"My dears," gasped the poor little lady, "where is it?"
"What, Cousin Helen," cried Billie, frightened at the expressions of
doubt and agitation which chased themselves across her relative's face.
"My purse, child! My silver-mounted Morocco purse. I thought I had it in
my reticule, but where is it?"
They emptied the reticule. They looked in their own handbags and even
went to the garage and searched the Comet. But Miss Campbell's purse
containing fifty dollars was gone.
"At any rate, Billie," whispered Nancy that night when they had
stretched themselves wearily on the hardish bed in the hotel, "at any
rate, he had the nicest, kindest brown eyes I ever saw."
"Even now," answered Billie, "there may be some mistake."
CHAPTER III.--IN SEARCH OF A DINNER.
"This is assuredly a land of peace and plenty," observed Miss Campbell,
somewhat sleepily, as she leaned back in the seat and half closed her
eyes.
"Meaning 'too much of a muchness,' Cousin Helen," teased Billie. "Are
you beginning to yearn already for something to happen?"
"My dear, how can you suggest such things?" cried her relative opening
her blue eyes wide in an innocent protest of such an accusation. "An
aged spinster like me craving excitement! What an idea!"
"But Iowa is not thrilling," admitted Elinor. "These endless cornfields
are like a sea without ship and what could be duller than a sail-less
ocean?"
"But there are farm houses," put in Mary.
"Just stupid wooden buildings," answered Elinor scornfully.
The truth is our | 3,300.398014 |
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The
Supernatural in Modern
English Fiction
By
Dorothy Scarborough, Ph.D.
Instructor in English in Extension, Columbia University
[Illustration: Logo]
G. P. Putnam's Sons
New York and London
The Knickerbocker Press
1917
COPYRIGHT, 1917
BY
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
The Knickerbocker Press, New York
To
GEORGE AND ANNE SCARBOROUGH
PREFACE
The subject of the supernatural in modern English fiction has been
found difficult to deal with because of its wealth of material. While
there has been no previous book on the topic, and none related to it,
save Mr. C. E. Whitmore's work on _The Supernatural in Tragedy_, the
mass of fiction itself introducing ghostly or psychic motifs is simply
enormous. It is manifestly impossible to discuss, or even to mention,
all of it. Even in my bibliography which numbers over three thousand
titles, I have made no effort to list all the available examples of
the type. The bibliography, which I at first intended to publish in
connection with this volume, is far too voluminous to be included here,
so will probably be brought out later by itself.
It would have been impossible for me to prosecute the research work
or to write the book save for the assistance generously given by many
persons. I am indebted to the various officials of the libraries of
Columbia University and of New York City, particularly to Miss Isadore
Mudge, Reference Librarian of Columbia, and to the authorities of
the New York Society Library for permission to use their priceless
out-of-print novels in the Kennedy Collection. My interest in English
fiction was increased during my attendance on some courses in the
history of the English novel, given by Dr. A. J. Carlyle, in Oxford
University, England, several years ago. I have received helpful
bibliographical suggestions from Professor Blanche Colton Williams,
Dr. Dorothy Brewster, Professor Nelson Glenn McCrea, Professor John
Cunliffe, and Dean Talcott Williams, of Columbia, and Professor G. L.
Kittredge, of Harvard. Professors William P. Trent, George Philip
Krapp, and Ernest Hunter Wright very kindly read the book in manuscript
and gave valuable advice concerning it, Professor Wright going over
the material with me in detail. But my chief debt of gratitude is to
Professor Ashley H. Thorndike, Head of the Department of English and
Comparative Literature in Columbia, whose stimulating criticism and
kindly encouragement have made the book possible. To all of these--and
others--who have aided me, I am deeply grateful, and I only wish that
the published volume were more worthy of their assistance.
D. S.
COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY,
April, 1917.
CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTION 1
CHAPTER
I.--THE GOTHIC ROMANCE 6
II.--LATER INFLUENCES 54
III.--MODERN GHOSTS 81
IV.--THE DEVIL AND HIS ALLIES 130
V.--SUPERNATURAL LIFE 174
VI.--THE SUPERNATURAL IN FOLK-TALES 242
VII.--SUPERNATURAL SCIENCE 251
VIII.--CONCLUSION 281
The Supernatural in Modern English Fiction
INTRODUCTION
The supernatural is an ever-present force in literature. It colors our
poetry, shapes our epics and dramas, and fashions our prose till we are
so wonted to it that we lose sense of its wonder and magic. If all the
elements of the unearthly were removed from our books, how shrunken in
value would seem the residue, how forlorn our feelings! Lafcadio Hearn
in the recently published volume, _Interpretations of Literature_, says:
There is scarcely any great author in European literature, old
or new, who has not distinguished himself in his treatment of
the supernatural. In English literature I believe there is no
exception from the time of the Anglo-Saxon poets to Shakespeare,
and from Shakespeare to our own day. And this introduces us to the
consideration of a general and remarkable fact, a | 3,301.499212 |
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A COMPILATION OF THE MESSAGES AND PAPERS OF THE PRESIDENTS
BY JAMES D. RICHARDSON
VOLUME II
1897
Prefatory Note
The first volume of this compilation | 3,301.502209 |
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A VERS DE SOCIÉTÉ ANTHOLOGY
“_I’M a florist in verse, and what would people say
If I came to a banquet without my bouquet?_”
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.
A Vers de Société Anthology
Collected by
Carolyn Wells
New York
Charles Scribner’s Sons
1907
COPYRIGHT 1907 BY
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
Published November, 1907
[Illustration]
NOTE
ACKNOWLEDGMENT is hereby gratefully made to the publishers for
permission to use poems by the following authors:
To Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin and Company for poems by Thomas Bailey
Aldrich, Oliver Wendell Holmes, James Russell Lowell, John Greenleaf
Whittier, Bret Harte, John G. Saxe, Norah Perry, Henry Wadsworth
Longfellow, James T. Field, Edith Thomas, Edmund Clarence Stedman and
Charles Henry Webb.
To Messrs. Dodd, Mead and Company for poems by Austin Dobson.
To the Macmillan Company for poems by Lewis Carroll.
To Messrs. D. Appleton and Company for “Song,” by William Cullen Bryant.
To The Century Company for poems by Robert Underwood Johnson and Mary
Mapes Dodge.
To Messrs. Little, Brown and Company for “A Valentine,” by Mrs. Laura
E. Richards, and “Shadows” and “Les Papillottes,” by Gertrude Hall.
To Messrs. G. P. Putnam’s Sons for “The Debutante,” by Guy Wetmore
Carryl.
To The Frederick A. Stokes Company for poems by Frank Dempster Sherman
and Samuel Minturn Peck.
To The Lothrop, Lee and Shepard Company for poems by Sam Walter Foss.
To Messrs. E. H. Bacon and Company for poems by James Jeffrey Roche.
CONTENTS
PAGE
Introduction xix
To Celia _Ben Jonson_ 3
Cupid _Ben Jonson_ 4
Rosalind’s Madrigal _Thomas Lodge_ 5
All Things Except Myself I Know _François Villon_ 6
Cupid and Campaspe _John Lilly_ 8
A Ditty _Sir Philip Sydney_ 8
Song from “Twelfth Night” _William Shakespeare_ 9
Sigh No More (from “Much Ado About
Nothing”) _William Shakespeare_ 9
Phillida and Corydon _Nicholas Breton_ 10
Cherry-Ripe _Richard Allison_ 11
Send Back My Long-Stray’d Eyes to Me _John Donne_ 12
Pack Clouds Away _Thomas Heywood_ 13
Shall I, Wasting in Despair _George Wither_ 14
To the Virgins to Make Much of Time _Robert Herrick_ 15
The Bracelet _Robert Herrick_ 16
An Old Rhyme _Anonymous_ 17
Love Me Not for Comely Grace _Anonymous_ 17
On a Girdle _Edmund Waller_ 18
To My Love _Sir John Suckling_ 18
To Althea (From Prison) _Richard Lovelace_ 19
Song _Sir Charles Sedley_ 21
The Despairing Lover _William Walsh_ 22
Cupid Mistaken _Matthew Prior_ 23
The Contrast _Charles Morris_ 24
Oh, Tell Me How to Woo Thee _Robert Graham_ 27
Song from “The Duenna” _Richard Brinsley Sheridan_ 28
The Races _George Ellis_ 29
To Lady Anne Hamilton _Hon. William R. Spencer_ 32
To Mrs. Leigh Upon Her Wedding Day _George Canning_ 33
Names _Samuel T. Coleridge_ 34
The Exchange _Samuel T. Coleridge_ 34
Defiance _Walter Savage Landor_ 35
Her Lips _Walter Savage Landor_ 35
Commination _Walter Savage Landor_ 36
Margaret and Dora _Thomas Campbell_ 36
A Certain Young Lady _Washington Irving_ 37
Song _John Shaw_ 38
The Time I’ve Lost in Wooing _Thomas Moore_ 39
When I Loved You _Thomas Moore_ 40
Reason, Folly and Beauty _Thomas Moore_ 41
Tiresome Spring! _Béranger_ 42
Rosette _Béranger_ 43
She Is So Pretty _Béranger_ 44
Rondeau _Leigh Hunt_ 45
Stolen Fruit _Leigh Hunt_ 45
Love and Age _Thomas L. Peacock_ 46
Clubs _Theodore Hook_ 48
To Anne _William Maxwell_ 51
Song _William Cullen Bryant_ 51
What Is London’s Last New Lion? _Thomas Haynes Bayly_ 53
I’d Be a Butterfly _Thomas Haynes Bayly_ 54
I Must Come Out Next Spring _Thomas Haynes Bayly_ 55
Why Don’t the Men Propose? _Thomas Haynes Bayly_ 57
Ask and Have _Samuel Lover_ 59
Lines in a Young Lady’s Album _Thomas Hood_ 60
The Time of Roses _Thomas Hood_ 62
Love _Thomas Hood_ 63
To Helen _Winthrop Mackworth Praed_ 64
The Belle of the Ball-Room _Winthrop Mackworth Praed_ 64
Amy’s Cruelty _Elizabeth Barrett Browning_ 68
Beware! _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_ 70
Love in a Cottage _Nathaniel Parker Willis_ 71
Because _Edward Fitzgerald_ 73
Lilian _Alfred Tennyson_ 75
The Henchman _John Greenleaf Whittier_ 76
Dorothy Q. A Family Portrait _Oliver Wendell Holmes_ 78
A Reminiscence _James Freeman Clarke_ 81
The Age of Wisdom _William Makepeace Thackeray_ 82
The Ballad of Bouillabaisse _William Makepeace Thackeray_ 83
An Invitation _Théophile Gautier_ 86
Fanny; or, The Beauty and the Bee _Charles Mackay_ 88
Garden Fancies The Flower’s Name _Robert Browning_ 89
A Poem of Every Day Life _Albert Riddle_ 91
Love Disposed Of _Robert Traill Spence Lowell_ 93
Mabel, in New Hampshire _James Thomas Fields_ 94
The Coquette A Portrait _John Godfrey Saxe_ 96
Justine, You Love Me Not! _John Godfrey Saxe_ 98
Sing Heigh-Ho! _Charles Kingsley_ 99
Snowdrop _William Wetmore Story_ 100
The Protest. _James Russell Lowell_ 101
Scherzo _James Russell Lowell_ 101
The Handsomest Man in the Room _William Macquorn Rankine_ 102
The Lawyer’s Invocation to Spring _Henry Howard Brownell_ 104
A Terrible Infant _Frederick Locker-Lampson_ 105
Loulou and Her Cat _Frederick Locker-Lampson_ 106
Piccadilly _Frederick Locker-Lampson_ 107
A Word that Makes Us Linger _Frederick Locker-Lampson_ 109
My Mistress’s Boots _Frederick Locker-Lampson_ 110
A Nice Correspondent! _Frederick Locker-Lampson_ 112
There’s a Time to Be Jolly _Charles Godfrey Leland_ 114
I Remember, I Remember _Phoebe Cary_ 115
The Flower of Love Lies Bleeding _Richard Henry Stoddard_ 116
The Gold Room. An Idyl _Bayard Taylor_ 118
Comfort _Mortimer Collins_ 119
A Summer Song _Mortimer Collins_ 120
My Aunt’s Spectre _Mortimer Collins_ 121
A Conceit _Mortimer Collins_ 122
Martial in London _Mortimer Collins_ 123
The Best of the Ball _William Sawyer_ 123
The Ballad of Dead Ladies
(Translation from François
Villon, 1450) _Dante Gabriel Rossetti_ 125
Feminine Arithmetic _Charles Graham Halpine_ 127
A Trifle _Henry Timrod_ 128
Flight _Charles S. Calverley_ 129
Love _Charles S. Calverley_ 132
Since We Parted _Owen Meredith_ 134
A Kiss—By Mistake _Joel Benton_ 134
A Game of Fives _Lewis Carroll_ 135
A Valentine _Lewis Carroll_ 137
The Wedding Day _Edmund Clarence Stedman_ 139
Edged Tools _Edmund Clarence | 3,301.507554 |
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TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
A superscript is denoted by ^x, for example S^t (Street).
Some minor changes are noted at the end of the book.
HISTORICAL RECORD
OF
THE FORTY-SIXTH,
OR
THE SOUTH DEVONSHIRE,
REGIMENT OF FOOT:
CONTAINING
AN ACCOUNT OF THE FORMATION OF THE REGIMENT
IN 1741
AND OF ITS SUBSEQUENT SERVICES
TO 1851.
COMPILED BY
RICHARD CANNON, ESQ.,
ADJUTANT-GENERAL'S OFFICE, HORSE GUARDS.
ILLUSTRATED WITH PLATES.
LONDON:
PARKER, FURNIVALL, & PARKER,
30, CHARING CROSS.
M DCCC LI.
LONDON: PRINTED BY W. CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET,
FOR HER MAJESTY'S STATIONERY OFFICE.
GENERAL ORDERS.
_HORSE-GUARDS_,
_1st January, 1836._
His Majesty has been pleased to command that, with the view of
doing the fullest justice to Regiments, as well as to Individuals
who have distinguished themselves by their Bravery in Action with
the Enemy, an Account of the Services of every Regiment in the
British Army shall be published under the superintendence and
direction of the Adjutant-General; and that this Account shall
contain the following particulars, viz.:--
---- The Period and Circumstances of the Original Formation of
the Regiment; The Stations at which it has been from time to time
employed; The Battles, Sieges, and other Military Operations
in which it has been engaged, particularly specifying any
Achievement it may have performed, and the Colours, Trophies,
&c., it may have captured from the Enemy.
---- The Names of the Officers, and the number of
Non-Commissioned Officers and Privates Killed or Wounded by the
Enemy, specifying the place and Date of the Action.
---- The Names of those Officers who, in consideration of their
Gallant Services and Meritorious Conduct in Engagements with the
Enemy, have been distinguished with Titles, Medals, or other
Marks of His Majesty's gracious favour.
---- The Names of all such Officers, Non-Commissioned Officers,
and Privates, as may have specially signalized themselves in
Action.
And,
---- The Badges and Devices which the Regiment may have been
permitted to bear, and the Causes on account of which such Badges
or Devices, or any other Marks of Distinction, have been granted.
By Command of the Right Honorable
GENERAL LORD HILL,
_Commanding-in-Chief_.
JOHN MACDONALD,
_Adjutant-General_.
PREFACE.
The character and credit of the British Army must chiefly depend
upon the zeal and ardour by which all who enter into its service
are animated, and consequently it is of the highest importance that
any measure calculated to excite the spirit of emulation, by which
alone great and gallant actions are achieved, should be adopted.
Nothing can more fully tend to the accomplishment of this desirable
object than a full display of the noble deeds with which the
Military History of our country abounds. To hold forth these bright
examples to the imitation of the youthful soldier, and thus to
incite him to emulate the meritorious conduct of those who have
preceded him in their honorable career, are among the motives that
have given rise to the present publication.
The operations of the British Troops are, indeed, announced in the
"London Gazette," from whence they are transferred into the public
prints: the achievements of our armies are thus made known at the
time of their occurrence, and receive the tribute of praise and
admiration to which they are entitled. On extraordinary occasions,
the Houses of Parliament have been in the habit of conferring on
the Commanders, and the Officers and Troops acting under their
orders, expressions of approbation and of thanks for their skill
and bravery; and these testimonials, confirmed by the high honour
of their Sovereign's appro | 3,301.604598 |
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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: |
| |
| This book was published in two volumes, of which this is the |
| second. The first volume was released as Project Gutenberg ebook |
| #40472, available at http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/40472 |
| |
| Numbers enclosed in square brackets, e.g. [1], relate to |
| footnotes, which have been placed at the end of the text. |
| Numbers enclosed in parentheses, e.g. (1), relate to works |
| referred to in the text and listed at the end of this volume. |
| |
| In the text versions of these two volumes, words in _italics_ |
| are enclosed in underscores, +bold+ words are enclosed in plus |
| signs, and words in =Gothic script= are enclosed in equal signs. |
| Curly brackets are used to represent subscripts, e.g. k{1}. |
+------------------------------------------------------------------+
THE HISTORY OF CREATION.
[Illustration: Hypothetical Sketch of the Monophyletic Origin of Man.]
THE
HISTORY OF CREATION:
_OR THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE EARTH AND ITS
INHABITANTS BY THE ACTION OF NATURAL CAUSES._
A POPULAR EXPOSITION OF
THE DOCTRINE OF EVOLUTION IN GENERAL, AND OF THAT OF
DARWIN, GOETHE, AND LAMARCK IN PARTICULAR.
FROM THE GERMAN OF
ERNST HAECKEL,
PROFESSOR IN THE UNIVERSITY OF JENA.
THE TRANSLATION REVISED BY
PROFESSOR E. RAY LANKESTER, M.A., F.R.S.,
FELLOW OF EXETER COLLEGE, OXFORD.
_IN TWO VOLUMES._
VOL. II.
NEW YORK:
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY,
1, 3, AND 5 BOND STREET.
1880.
A sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean, and the living air,
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man;
A motion and a spirit that impels
All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things.
In all things, in all natures, in the stars
Of azure heaven, the unenduring clouds,
In flower and tree, in every pebbly stone
That paves the brooks, the stationary rocks,
The moving waters and the invisible air.
WORDSWORTH.
CONTENTS OF VOL. II.
CHAPTER XV.
PAGE
PERIODS OF CREATION AND RECORDS OF CREATION.
Reform of Systems by the Theory of Descent.--The Natural System
as a Pedigree.--Palaeontological Records of the
Pedigree.--Petrifactions as Records of Creation.--Deposits of the
Neptunic Strata and the Enclosure of Organic Remains.--Division
of the Organic History of the Earth into Five Main Periods:
Period of the Tangle Forests, Fern Forests, Pine Forests,
Foliaceous Forests, and of Cultivation.--The Series of Neptunic
Strata.--Immeasurable Duration of the Periods which have elapsed
during their Formation.--Deposits of Strata only during the
Sinking, not during the Elevation of the Ground.--Other Gaps in
the Records of Creation.--Metamorphic Condition of the most
Ancient Neptunic Strata.--Small Extent of Palaeontological
Experience.--Small proportion of Organisms and of Parts of
Organisms Capable of Petrifying.--Rarity of many Petrified
Species.--Want of Fossilised Intermediate Forms.--Records of the
Creation in Ontogeny and in Comparative Anatomy 1
CHAPTER XVI.
PEDIGREE AND HISTORY OF THE KINGDOM OF THE PROTISTA.
Special Mode of Carrying out the Theory of Descent in the
Natural System of Organisms.--Construction of Pedigrees.--Descent
of all Many-celled from Single-celled Organisms.--Descent of
Cells from Monera.--Meaning of Organic Tribes, or Phyla.--Number
of the Tribes in the Animal and Vegetable Kingdoms.--The
Monophyletic Hypothesis of Descent, or the Hypothesis of one
Common Progenitor, and the Polyphyletic Hypothesis of Descent,
or the Hypothesis of many Progenitors.--The Kingdom of Protista,
or Primaeval Beings.--Eight Classes of the Protista Kingdom:
Monera, Amoebae, or Protoplastae; Whip-swimmers, or Flagellata;
Ciliated-balls, Cili Catallacta; Labyrinth-streamers, or
Labyrinthuleae; Flint-cells, or Diatomeae; Mucous-moulds, or
Myxomycetes; Root-footers (Rhizopoda).--Remarks on the General
Natural History of the Protista: Their Vital Phenomena,
Chemical Composition, and Formation (Individuality and
Fundamental Form).--Phylogeny of the Prostista Kingdom 36
CHAPTER XVII.
PEDIGREE AND HISTORY OF THE VEGETABLE KINGDOM.
The Natural System of the Vegetable Kingdom.--Division of the
Vegetable Kingdom into Six Branches and Eighteen Classes.--The
Flowerless Plants (Cryptogamia).--Sub-kingdom of the Thallus
Plants.--The Tangles, or Algae (Primary Algae, Green Algae, Brown
Algae, Red Algae).--The Thread-plants, or Inophytes (Lichens and
Fungi).--Sub-kingdom of the Prothallus Plants.--The Mosses, or
Muscinae (Water-mosses, Liverworts, Leaf-mosses,
Bog-mosses).--The Ferns, or Filicinae (Leaf-ferns, Bamboo-ferns,
Water-ferns, Scale-ferns).--Sub kingdom of Flowering Plants
(Phanerogamia).--The Gymnosperms, or Plants with Naked Seeds
(Palm-ferns = Cycadeae; Pines = Coniferae).--The Angiosperms, or
Plants with Enclosed Seeds.--Monocotylae.--Dicotylae.--Cup-blossoms
(Apetalae).--Star-blossoms (Diapetalae).--Bell-blossoms
(Gamopetalae) 77
CHAPTER XVIII.
PEDIGREE AND HISTORY OF THE ANIMAL KINGDOM.
I. ANIMAL-PLANTS AND WORMS.
The Natural System of the Animal Kingdom.--Linnaeus' and Lamarck's
Systems.--The Four Types of Baer and Cuvier.--Their Increase to
Seven Types.--Genealogical Importance of the Seven Types as
Independent Tribes of the Animal Kingdom.--Derivation of
Zoophytes and Worms from Primaeval Animals.--Monophyletic and
Polyphyletic Hypothesis of the Descent of the Animal
Kingdom.--Common Origin of the Four Higher Animal Tribes out of
the Worm Tribe.--Division of the Seven Animal Tribes into
Sixteen Main Classes, and Thirty-eight Classes.--Primaeval
Animals (Monera, Amoebae, Synamoebae), Gregarines, Infusoria,
Planaeades, and Gastraeades (Planula and Gastrula).--Tribe of
Zoophytes.--Spongiae (Mucous Sponges, Fibrous Sponges, Calcareous
Sponges).--Sea Nettles, or Acalephae (Corals, Hood-jellies,
Comb-jellies).--Tribe of Worms 117
CHAPTER XIX.
PEDIGREE AND HISTORY OF THE ANIMAL KINGDOM.
II. MOLLUSCA, STAR-FISHES, AND ARTICULATED ANIMALS.
Tribe of Molluscs.--Four Classes of Molluscs: Lamp-shells
(Spirobranchia); Mussels (Lamellibranchia); Snails (Cochlides);
Cuttle-fish (Cephalopoda).--Tribe of Star-fishes, or
Echinoderma.--Their Derivation from Ringed Worms (Mailed Worms,
or Phracthelminthes).--The Alternation of Generation in the
Echinoderma.--Four Classes of Star-fish: Sea-stars (Asteridea);
Sea-lilies (Crinoidea); Sea-urchins (Echinidea); Sea-cucumbers
(Holothuridea).--Tribe of Articulated Animals, or
Arthropoda.--Four Classes of Articulated Animals: Branchiata, or
Crustacea, breathing through gills; Jointed Crabs; Mailed
Crabs; Articulata Tracheata, breathing through Air
Tubes.--Spiders (Long Spiders, Round
Spiders).--Myriopods.--Insects.--Chewing and Sucking
Insects.--Pedigree and History of the Eight Orders of Insects 154
CHAPTER XX.
PEDIGREE AND HISTORY OF THE ANIMAL KINGDOM.
III. VERTEBRATE ANIMALS.
The Records of the Creation of Vertebrate Animals (Comparative
Anatomy, Embryology, and Palaeontology).--The Natural System of
Vertebrate Animals.--The Four Classes of Vertebrate Animals,
according to Linnaeus and Lamarck.--Their Increase to Nine
Classes.--Main Class of the Tube-hearted, or Skull-less Animals
(the Lancelet).--Blood Relationship between the Skull-less Fish
and the Tunicates.--Agreement in the Embryological Development
of Amphioxus and Ascidiae.--Origin of the Vertebrate Tribe out of
the Worm Tribe.--Main Class of Single-nostriled, or
Round-mouthed Animals (Hag and Lampreys).--Main Class of
Anamnionate Animals, devoid of Amnion.--Fishes (Primaeval Fish,
Cartilaginous Fish, Osseous Fish).--Mud-fish, or Dipneusta.--Sea
Dragons, or Halisauria.--Frogs and Salamanders, or Amphibia
(Mailed Amphibia, Naked Amphibia).--Main Class of Amnionate
Animals, or Amniota.--Reptiles (Primary Reptiles, Lizards,
Serpents, Crocodiles, Tortoises, Flying Reptiles, Dragons,
Beaked Reptiles).--Birds (Feather-tailed, Fan-tailed,
Bush-tailed) 192
CHAPTER XXI.
PEDIGREE AND HISTORY OF THE ANIMAL KINGDOM.
IV. MAMMALS.
The System of Mammals according to Linnaeus and
Blainville.--Three Sub-classes of Mammals (Ornithodelphia,
Didelphia, Monodelphia).--Ornithodelphia, or Monotrema.--Beaked
Animals (Ornithostoma).--Didelphia, or Marsupials.--Herbivorous
and Carnivorous Marsupials.--Monodelphia, or Placentalia
(Placental Animals).--Meaning of the Placenta.--Tuft
Placentalia.--Girdle Placentalia.--Disc | 3,301.701717 |
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by The Internet Archive)
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE
The editor and his printer made every effort to reproduce
Washington's journal precisely and without any corrections, noting
in the Preface "with that literal exactness as to text which can
only be assured by the careful efforts of an experienced copyist
and expert proof reader having access to and comparing in every
possible case the copies with the originals."
This etext preserves that intent, and no corrections of spelling or
punctuation have been made to the journal text (Washington's words
as found in the printed book). A few corrections have been made to
the editor's Footnotes and to the Index; more detail of that can be
found at the end of the book.
Footnotes have been left in-line whenever possible, following the
format of the original text. Some that were placed mid-paragraph
have been moved to the end of the paragraph.
Footnotes in the original text were identified by a smaller font,
so to clearly identify where Footnotes begin and end in this etext,
each Footnote begins with "[Footnote x:" where x is the footnote
number, and ends with "]" followed by two blank lines.
Representation of italic markup, of superscripts etc in this etext,
is described below:--
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
Whitespace within a journal line is indicated by @@whitespace@@.
Any indentation at the beginning of a text paragraph is not shown.
A superscript is denoted by ^x or ^{xx}. For example, M^r (Mister)
or 1^{st} (first).
One insertion made by the author is denoted by ^^{text inserted}.
A date range displayed by one date over the other, is denoted by ~,
for example 'November 3~7^{th}' indicating 3rd to the 7th.
A few superscripts had a dot under the superscripted letter(s);
this has been removed in the etext.
One unusual symbol is denoted by ɭ (Unicode Hex026d) on page 107,
in the string '6400 ɭ 400'. Author's meaning is not clear.
JOURNAL
OF MY
Journey Over the Mountains;
BY
GEORGE WASHINGTON,
WHILE SURVEYING FOR LORD THOMAS FAIRFAX, BARON OF CAMERON,
IN THE
NORTHERN NECK OF VIRGINIA,
BEYOND THE BLUE RIDGE,
IN
1747-8.
_Copied from the Original with Literal Exactness and
Edited with Notes_
BY
J. M. TONER, M. D.
ALBANY, N. Y.
JOEL MUNSELL'S SONS, PUBLISHERS
1892
TABLE OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
1. Mount Vernon farms, to face page iv
2. Mount Vernon hills--made as early as 1747,
traced from original, to face page 9
3. Plan of Major Lawrence Washington's turnip
field, traced from original, to face page 14
4. Plan of survey of land known as "Hell Hole,"
traced from original, to face page 24
5. Mount Vernon river front at mouth of Hunting
creek, traced from original, to face page 52
6. Surveying or measuring land, a study traced
from original, to face page 56
7. Lost river, traced from the original, to face
page 73
8. Plat of Francis Jett's land, traced from the
original, to face page 76
9. Plat of Elizabeth Washington's land, traced
from the original, to face page 76
10. Plat of survey for Richard Barnes, Gent.,
copied from Sparks, to face page 79
[Illustration: A Map of Washington's Farms at Mount Vernon]
PREFACE.
Washington's Journal here given to the public, if we except his
version of the "Rules of Civility and Decent Behaviour in Company
and Conversation," is the earliest literary effort of this, the
most admirable character in all history. The editor has long
been engaged in collecting accurate copies of all the obtainable
writings of this great man. Wherever it has been found practicable
to examine and critically compare even his generally accepted
writings with the originals, it has been, or will be done to secure
a copy of exact and verified conformity, in every particular, with
the text as it left the hand of the writer.
It is a well-known fact that editors have taken great liberties
with Washington's writings, not for the purpose of falsifying
history, or aspersing his character, but from a variety of reasons,
often to suppress caustic expressions, or to substitute a more
euphonious word to give to his sentences a fine, rhetorical finish.
Such editorial dressing, even where the motive is well intended,
is vicious in principle and liable to abuse; and, in the case of
Washington's writings, is neither justifiable nor desirable. The
time has come when the people want to know intimately and without
glamour or false coloring, the father of his country as he actually
lived and labored, and to possess his writings, just as he left
them, on every subject which engaged his attention. It is the
purpose of the editor to prepare a complete collection of all the
writings of George Washington, from his youth to the close of his
eventful life, with that literal exactness as to text which can
only be assured by the careful efforts of an experienced copyist
and expert proof reader having access to and comparing in every
possible case the copies with the originals. This initial Diary of
Washington opens with his sixteenth year, and plainly shows the
energy and the maturity of his judgment, and his capability to
discharge even then important trusts with efficiency.
Forthcoming volumes will give, in chronological order, his
co-operation in the march of events on this continent, and his life
and opinions as seen through the writings he left. This volume must
be viewed as the work of a youth, making a few, brief and hurried
memoranda while in the depths of the forest and intended for no
eye but his own. The time is not far distant when an edition of
Washington's more important papers will be called for in facsimile
by some one of the photogravure processes now available for such
purposes, because of the unquestionable fidelity to the original it
secures and which is approximately arrived at in this publication.
This is the first systematic attempt to produce the writings of
Washington with literal exactness as to abbreviations, the use of
capitals, punctuation, spelling, etc. It is possible that the plan
pursued may not, at first, meet with an unqualified commendation
from the public. But if the editor does not much mistake the
desire of students, the admirers of Washington and the demand of
historians, this method, if faithfully executed, must produce the
preferred edition of his writings.
A few miscellaneous pieces in Washington's youthful handwriting
are preserved in this Journal, and are here printed with the same
effort for literal accuracy which has been bestowed upon the
Journal itself, and upon his field notes of land surveys.
[Illustration: Mount Vernon Hills]
INTRODUCTION.
This journal of George Washington, now for the first time printed
entire and with literal exactness, was begun, as shown by the
date in the opening lines, when he was but one month over sixteen
years of age. It is his own daily record of observations during
his first remunerated employment. His proficiency as a surveyor,
and his fortitude in encountering the hardships of the forest in
this expedition were, considering his age, truly remarkable. With
him the beginning determined the end. Biographers have made us
acquainted with the character of his worthy parents, and with the
sturdy stock from which they were descended. It does seem as though
Providence called our Washington into being, and educated him in
the western world just at the time when a great leader was wanted
to direct a revolution, and to found on this continent a new and a
free, English-speaking nation. Every factor, whether of lineage or
culture, in the admirably balanced character of Washington, as well
as every aspiration of his heart, from his cradle to his grave,
is of high interest to the world. Although deprived of a father's
care at the age of eleven years, he was, however, especially
blessed in having such a mother as the noble Mary Washington,
who conscientiously discharged her sacred duty as his guardian,
counselor and friend. Hence filial reverence grew with his growth
and strengthened with his maturing years into fixed principles,
making him throughout all his eventful life loyal to every virtue
and heroic in every trust.
When George Washington set out on the enterprise herein narrated,
he was just out of school, where he had received the best education
the neighborhood could supply, supplemented with good private
instruction. We may well believe that his mother and his brothers
then supposed that George had attained an age and proficiency when
he should either go to college to acquire a higher education, or
embark speedily in some respectable calling; and we may further
conclude that this precocious youth was eager to take part in the
affairs of life, and deferentially announced his preference for the
latter course. Possibly he was influenced in this selection by his
great admiration for his half-brother, Major Lawrence Washington,
who was actively and prosperously engaged in various business
enterprises, who made much of George, and had him visit Mount
Vernon whenever it was practicable.
George Washington's aptitude for mathematics early attracted the
attention of his teachers, and his beautifully kept copy-books,
which are still preserved, attest his unusual ability in
mathematical demonstration and diagrams. Mr. Williams, the
principal of the Academy in Westmoreland county, Va., where young
Washington was, to give a practical value to this mathematical
talent, had added surveying and navigation to his other studies;
and these were soon mastered by this bright pupil. Land surveying
was then | 3,302.501862 |
2023-11-16 19:12:06.5817440 | 6,511 | 9 |
Produced by Judith Boss. HTML version by Al Haines.
THE LOST WORLD
I have wrought my simple plan
If I give one hour of joy
To the boy who's half a man,
Or the man who's half a boy.
The Lost World
By
SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
COPYRIGHT, 1912
Foreword
Mr. E. D. Malone desires to state that
both the injunction for restraint and the
libel action have been withdrawn unreservedly
by Professor G. E. Challenger, who, being
satisfied that no criticism or comment in
this book is meant in an offensive spirit,
has guaranteed that he will place no
impediment to its publication and circulation.
Contents
CHAPTER
I. "THERE ARE HEROISMS ALL ROUND US"
II. "TRY YOUR LUCK WITH PROFESSOR CHALLENGER"
III. "HE IS A PERFECTLY IMPOSSIBLE PERSON"
IV. "IT'S JUST THE VERY BIGGEST THING IN THE WORLD"
V. "QUESTION!"
VI. "I WAS THE FLAIL OF THE LORD"
VII. "TO-MORROW WE DISAPPEAR INTO THE UNKNOWN"
VIII. "THE OUTLYING PICKETS OF THE NEW WORLD"
IX. "WHO COULD HAVE FORESEEN IT?"
X. "THE MOST WONDERFUL THINGS HAVE HAPPENED"
XI. "FOR ONCE I WAS THE HERO"
XII. "IT WAS DREADFUL IN THE FOREST"
XIII. "A SIGHT I SHALL NEVER FORGET"
XIV. "THOSE WERE THE REAL CONQUESTS"
XV. "OUR EYES HAVE SEEN GREAT WONDERS"
XVI. "A PROCESSION! A PROCESSION!"
THE LOST WORLD
The Lost World
CHAPTER I
"There Are Heroisms All Round Us"
Mr. Hungerton, her father, really was the most tactless person upon
earth,--a fluffy, feathery, untidy cockatoo of a man, perfectly
good-natured, but absolutely centered upon his own silly self. If
anything could have driven me from Gladys, it would have been the
thought of such a father-in-law. I am convinced that he really
believed in his heart that I came round to the Chestnuts three days a
week for the pleasure of his company, and very especially to hear his
views upon bimetallism, a subject upon which he was by way of being an
authority.
For an hour or more that evening I listened to his monotonous chirrup
about bad money driving out good, the token value of silver, the
depreciation of the rupee, and the true standards of exchange.
"Suppose," he cried with feeble violence, "that all the debts in the
world were called up simultaneously, and immediate payment insisted
upon,--what under our present conditions would happen then?"
I gave the self-evident answer that I should be a ruined man, upon
which he jumped from his chair, reproved me for my habitual levity,
which made it impossible for him to discuss any reasonable subject in
my presence, and bounced off out of the room to dress for a Masonic
meeting.
At last I was alone with Gladys, and the moment of Fate had come! All
that evening I had felt like the soldier who awaits the signal which
will send him on a forlorn hope; hope of victory and fear of repulse
alternating in his mind.
She sat with that proud, delicate profile of hers outlined against the
red curtain. How beautiful she was! And yet how aloof! We had been
friends, quite good friends; but never could I get beyond the same
comradeship which I might have established with one of my
fellow-reporters upon the Gazette,--perfectly frank, perfectly kindly,
and perfectly unsexual. My instincts are all against a woman being too
frank and at her ease with me. It is no compliment to a man. Where
the real sex feeling begins, timidity and distrust are its companions,
heritage from old wicked days when love and violence went often hand in
hand. The bent head, the averted eye, the faltering voice, the wincing
figure--these, and not the unshrinking gaze and frank reply, are the
true signals of passion. Even in my short life I had learned as much
as that--or had inherited it in that race memory which we call instinct.
Gladys was full of every womanly quality. Some judged her to be cold
and hard; but such a thought was treason. That delicately bronzed
skin, almost oriental in its coloring, that raven hair, the large
liquid eyes, the full but exquisite lips,--all the stigmata of passion
were there. But I was sadly conscious that up to now I had never found
the secret of drawing it forth. However, come what might, I should
have done with suspense and bring matters to a head to-night. She
could but refuse me, and better be a repulsed lover than an accepted
brother.
So far my thoughts had carried me, and I was about to break the long
and uneasy silence, when two critical, dark eyes looked round at me,
and the proud head was shaken in smiling reproof. "I have a
presentiment that you are going to propose, Ned. I do wish you
wouldn't; for things are so much nicer as they are."
I drew my chair a little nearer. "Now, how did you know that I was
going to propose?" I asked in genuine wonder.
"Don't women always know? Do you suppose any woman in the world was
ever taken unawares? But--oh, Ned, our friendship has been so good and
so pleasant! What a pity to spoil it! Don't you feel how splendid it
is that a young man and a young woman should be able to talk face to
face as we have talked?"
"I don't know, Gladys. You see, I can talk face to face with--with the
station-master." I can't imagine how that official came into the
matter; but in he trotted, and set us both laughing. "That does not
satisfy me in the least. I want my arms round you, and your head on my
breast, and--oh, Gladys, I want----"
She had sprung from her chair, as she saw signs that I proposed to
demonstrate some of my wants. "You've spoiled everything, Ned," she
said. "It's all so beautiful and natural until this kind of thing
comes in! It is such a pity! Why can't you control yourself?"
"I didn't invent it," I pleaded. "It's nature. It's love."
"Well, perhaps if both love, it may be different. I have never felt
it."
"But you must--you, with your beauty, with your soul! Oh, Gladys, you
were made for love! You must love!"
"One must wait till it comes."
"But why can't you love me, Gladys? Is it my appearance, or what?"
She did unbend a little. She put forward a hand--such a gracious,
stooping attitude it was--and she pressed back my head. Then she
looked into my upturned face with a very wistful smile.
"No it isn't that," she said at last. "You're not a conceited boy by
nature, and so I can safely tell you it is not that. It's deeper."
"My character?"
She nodded severely.
"What can I do to mend it? Do sit down and talk it over. No, really,
I won't if you'll only sit down!"
She looked at me with a wondering distrust which was much more to my
mind than her whole-hearted confidence. How primitive and bestial it
looks when you put it down in black and white!--and perhaps after all
it is only a feeling peculiar to myself. Anyhow, she sat down.
"Now tell me what's amiss with me?"
"I'm in love with somebody else," said she.
It was my turn to jump out of my chair.
"It's nobody in particular," she explained, laughing at the expression
of my face: "only an ideal. I've never met the kind of man I mean."
"Tell me about him. What does he look like?"
"Oh, he might look very much like you."
"How dear of you to say that! Well, what is it that he does that I
don't do? Just say the word,--teetotal, vegetarian, aeronaut,
theosophist, superman. I'll have a try at it, Gladys, if you will only
give me an idea what would please you."
She laughed at the elasticity of my character. "Well, in the first
place, I don't think my ideal would speak like that," said she. "He
would be a harder, sterner man, not so ready to adapt himself to a
silly girl's whim. But, above all, he must be a man who could do, who
could act, who could look Death in the face and have no fear of him, a
man of great deeds and strange experiences. It is never a man that I
should love, but always the glories he had won; for they would be
reflected upon me. Think of Richard Burton! When I read his wife's
life of him I could so understand her love! And Lady Stanley! Did you
ever read the wonderful last chapter of that book about her husband?
These are the sort of men that a woman could worship with all her soul,
and yet be the greater, not the less, on account of her love, honored
by all the world as the inspirer of noble deeds."
She looked so beautiful in her enthusiasm that I nearly brought down
the whole level of the interview. I gripped myself hard, and went on
with the argument.
"We can't all be Stanleys and Burtons," said I; "besides, we don't get
the chance,--at least, I never had the chance. If I did, I should try
to take it."
"But chances are all around you. It is the mark of the kind of man I
mean that he makes his own chances. You can't hold him back. I've
never met him, and yet I seem to know him so well. There are heroisms
all round us waiting to be done. It's for men to do them, and for
women to reserve their love as a reward for such men. Look at that
young Frenchman who went up last week in a balloon. It was blowing a
gale of wind; but because he was announced to go he insisted on
starting. The wind blew him fifteen hundred miles in twenty-four
hours, and he fell in the middle of Russia. That was the kind of man I
mean. Think of the woman he loved, and how other women must have
envied her! That's what I should like to be,--envied for my man."
"I'd have done it to please you."
"But you shouldn't do it merely to please me. You should do it because
you can't help yourself, because it's natural to you, because the man
in you is crying out for heroic expression. Now, when you described
the Wigan coal explosion last month, could you not have gone down and
helped those people, in spite of the choke-damp?"
"I did."
"You never said so."
"There was nothing worth bucking about."
"I didn't know." She looked at me with rather more interest. "That
was brave of you."
"I had to. If you want to write good copy, you must be where the
things are."
"What a prosaic motive! It seems to take all the romance out of it.
But, still, whatever your motive, I am glad that you went down that
mine." She gave me her hand; but with such sweetness and dignity that
I could only stoop and kiss it. "I dare say I am merely a foolish
woman with a young girl's fancies. And yet it is so real with me, so
entirely part of my very self, that I cannot help acting upon it. If I
marry, I do want to marry a famous man!"
"Why should you not?" I cried. "It is women like you who brace men up.
Give me a chance, and see if I will take it! Besides, as you say, men
ought to MAKE their own chances, and not wait until they are given.
Look at Clive--just a clerk, and he conquered India! By George! I'll
do something in the world yet!"
She laughed at my sudden Irish effervescence. "Why not?" she said.
"You have everything a man could have,--youth, health, strength,
education, energy. I was sorry you spoke. And now I am glad--so
glad--if it wakens these thoughts in you!"
"And if I do----"
Her dear hand rested like warm velvet upon my lips. "Not another word,
Sir! You should have been at the office for evening duty half an hour
ago; only I hadn't the heart to remind you. Some day, perhaps, when
you have won your place in the world, we shall talk it over again."
And so it was that I found myself that foggy November evening pursuing
the Camberwell tram with my heart glowing within me, and with the eager
determination that not another day should elapse before I should find
some deed which was worthy of my lady. But who--who in all this wide
world could ever have imagined the incredible shape which that deed was
to take, or the strange steps by which I was led to the doing of it?
And, after all, this opening chapter will seem to the reader to have
nothing to do with my narrative; and yet there would have been no
narrative without it, for it is only when a man goes out into the world
with the thought that there are heroisms all round him, and with the
desire all alive in his heart to follow any which may come within sight
of him, that he breaks away as I did from the life he knows, and
ventures forth into the wonderful mystic twilight land where lie the
great adventures and the great rewards. Behold me, then, at the office
of the Daily Gazette, on the staff of which I was a most insignificant
unit, with the settled determination that very night, if possible, to
find the quest which should be worthy of my Gladys! Was it hardness,
was it selfishness, that she should ask me to risk my life for her own
glorification? Such thoughts may come to middle age; but never to
ardent three-and-twenty in the fever of his first love.
CHAPTER II
"Try Your Luck with Professor Challenger"
I always liked McArdle, the crabbed, old, round-backed, red-headed news
editor, and I rather hoped that he liked me. Of course, Beaumont was
the real boss; but he lived in the rarefied atmosphere of some Olympian
height from which he could distinguish nothing smaller than an
international crisis or a split in the Cabinet. Sometimes we saw him
passing in lonely majesty to his inner sanctum, with his eyes staring
vaguely and his mind hovering over the Balkans or the Persian Gulf. He
was above and beyond us. But McArdle was his first lieutenant, and it
was he that we knew. The old man nodded as I entered the room, and he
pushed his spectacles far up on his bald forehead.
"Well, Mr. Malone, from all I hear, you seem to be doing very well,"
said he in his kindly Scotch accent.
I thanked him.
"The colliery explosion was excellent. So was the Southwark fire. You
have the true descreeptive touch. What did you want to see me about?"
"To ask a favor."
He looked alarmed, and his eyes shunned mine. "Tut, tut! What is it?"
"Do you think, Sir, that you could possibly send me on some mission for
the paper? I would do my best to put it through and get you some good
copy."
"What sort of meesion had you in your mind, Mr. Malone?"
"Well, Sir, anything that had adventure and danger in it. I really
would do my very best. The more difficult it was, the better it would
suit me."
"You seem very anxious to lose your life."
"To justify my life, Sir."
"Dear me, Mr. Malone, this is very--very exalted. I'm afraid the day
for this sort of thing is rather past. The expense of the'special
meesion' business hardly justifies the result, and, of course, in any
case it would only be an experienced man with a name that would command
public confidence who would get such an order. The big blank spaces in
the map are all being filled in, and there's no room for romance
anywhere. Wait a bit, though!" he added, with a sudden smile upon his
face. "Talking of the blank spaces of the map gives me an idea. What
about exposing a fraud--a modern Munchausen--and making him
rideeculous? You could show him up as the liar that he is! Eh, man,
it would be fine. How does it appeal to you?"
"Anything--anywhere--I care nothing."
McArdle was plunged in thought for some minutes.
"I wonder whether you could get on friendly--or at least on talking
terms with the fellow," he said, at last. "You seem to have a sort of
genius for establishing relations with people--seempathy, I suppose, or
animal magnetism, or youthful vitality, or something. I am conscious
of it myself."
"You are very good, sir."
"So why should you not try your luck with Professor Challenger, of
Enmore Park?"
I dare say I looked a little startled.
"Challenger!" I cried. "Professor Challenger, the famous zoologist!
Wasn't he the man who broke the skull of Blundell, of the Telegraph?"
The news editor smiled grimly.
"Do you mind? Didn't you say it was adventures you were after?"
"It is all in the way of business, sir," I answered.
"Exactly. I don't suppose he can always be so violent as that. I'm
thinking that Blundell got him at the wrong moment, maybe, or in the
wrong fashion. You may have better luck, or more tact in handling him.
There's something in your line there, I am sure, and the Gazette should
work it."
"I really know nothing about him," said I. "I only remember his name
in connection with the police-court proceedings, for striking Blundell."
"I have a few notes for your guidance, Mr. Malone. I've had my eye on
the Professor for some little time." He took a paper from a drawer.
"Here is a summary of his record. I give it you briefly:--
"'Challenger, George Edward. Born: Largs, N. B., 1863. Educ.: Largs
Academy; Edinburgh University. British Museum Assistant, 1892.
Assistant-Keeper of Comparative Anthropology Department, 1893.
Resigned after acrimonious correspondence same year. Winner of
Crayston Medal for Zoological Research. Foreign Member of'--well,
quite a lot of things, about two inches of small type--'Societe Belge,
American Academy of Sciences, La Plata, etc., etc. Ex-President
Palaeontological Society. Section H, British Association'--so on, so
on!--'Publications: "Some Observations Upon a Series of Kalmuck
Skulls"; "Outlines of Vertebrate Evolution"; and numerous papers,
including "The underlying fallacy of Weissmannism," which caused heated
discussion at the Zoological Congress of Vienna. Recreations: Walking,
Alpine climbing. Address: Enmore Park, Kensington, W.'
"There, take it with you. I've nothing more for you to-night."
I pocketed the slip of paper.
"One moment, sir," I said, as I realized that it was a pink bald head,
and not a red face, which was fronting me. "I am not very clear yet
why I am to interview this gentleman. What has he done?"
The face flashed back again.
"Went to South America on a solitary expedeetion two years ago. Came
back last year. Had undoubtedly been to South America, but refused to
say exactly where. Began to tell his adventures in a vague way, but
somebody started to pick holes, and he just shut up like an oyster.
Something wonderful happened--or the man's a champion liar, which is
the more probable supposeetion. Had some damaged photographs, said to
be fakes. Got so touchy that he assaults anyone who asks questions,
and heaves reporters down the stairs. In my opinion he's just a
homicidal megalomaniac with a turn for science. That's your man, Mr.
Malone. Now, off you run, and see what you can make of him. You're
big enough to look after yourself. Anyway, you are all safe.
Employers' Liability Act, you know."
A grinning red face turned once more into a pink oval, fringed with
gingery fluff; the interview was at an end.
I walked across to the Savage Club, but instead of turning into it I
leaned upon the railings of Adelphi Terrace and gazed thoughtfully for
a long time at the brown, oily river. I can always think most sanely
and clearly in the open air. I took out the list of Professor
Challenger's exploits, and I read it over under the electric lamp.
Then I had what I can only regard as an inspiration. As a Pressman, I
felt sure from what I had been told that I could never hope to get into
touch with this cantankerous Professor. But these recriminations,
twice mentioned in his skeleton biography, could only mean that he was
a fanatic in science. Was there not an exposed margin there upon which
he might be accessible? I would try.
I entered the club. It was just after eleven, and the big room was
fairly full, though the rush had not yet set in. I noticed a tall,
thin, angular man seated in an arm-chair by the fire. He turned as I
drew my chair up to him. It was the man of all others whom I should
have chosen--Tarp Henry, of the staff of Nature, a thin, dry, leathery
creature, who was full, to those who knew him, of kindly humanity. I
plunged instantly into my subject.
"What do you know of Professor Challenger?"
"Challenger?" He gathered his brows in scientific disapproval.
"Challenger was the man who came with some cock-and-bull story from
South America."
"What story?"
"Oh, it was rank nonsense about some queer animals he had discovered.
I believe he has retracted since. Anyhow, he has suppressed it all.
He gave an interview to Reuter's, and there was such a howl that he saw
it wouldn't do. It was a discreditable business. There were one or
two folk who were inclined to take him seriously, but he soon choked
them off."
"How?"
"Well, by his insufferable rudeness and impossible behavior. There was
poor old Wadley, of the Zoological Institute. Wadley sent a message:
'The President of the Zoological Institute presents his compliments to
Professor Challenger, and would take it as a personal favor if he would
do them the honor to come to their next meeting.' The answer was
unprintable."
"You don't say?"
"Well, a bowdlerized version of it would run: 'Professor Challenger
presents his compliments to the President of the Zoological Institute,
and would take it as a personal favor if he would go to the devil.'"
"Good Lord!"
"Yes, I expect that's what old Wadley said. I remember his wail at the
meeting, which began: 'In fifty years experience of scientific
intercourse----' It quite broke the old man up."
"Anything more about Challenger?"
"Well, I'm a bacteriologist, you know. I live in a
nine-hundred-diameter microscope. I can hardly claim to take serious
notice of anything that I can see with my naked eye. I'm a
frontiersman from the extreme edge of the Knowable, and I feel quite
out of place when I leave my study and come into touch with all you
great, rough, hulking creatures. I'm too detached to talk scandal, and
yet at scientific conversaziones I HAVE heard something of Challenger,
for he is one of those men whom nobody can ignore. He's as clever as
they make 'em--a full-charged battery of force and vitality, but a
quarrelsome, ill-conditioned faddist, and unscrupulous at that. He had
gone the length of faking some photographs over the South American
business."
"You say he is a faddist. What is his particular fad?"
"He has a thousand, but the latest is something about Weissmann and
Evolution. He had a fearful row about it in Vienna, I believe."
"Can't you tell me the point?"
"Not at the moment, but a translation of the proceedings exists. We
have it filed at the office. Would you care to come?"
"It's just what I want. I have to interview the fellow, and I need
some lead up to him. It's really awfully good of you to give me a
lift. I'll go with you now, if it is not too late."
Half an hour later I was seated in the newspaper office with a huge
tome in front of me, which had been opened at the article "Weissmann
versus Darwin," with the sub heading, "Spirited Protest at Vienna.
Lively Proceedings." My scientific education having been somewhat
neglected, I was unable to follow the whole argument, but it was
evident that the English Professor had handled his subject in a very
aggressive fashion, and had thoroughly annoyed his Continental
colleagues. "Protests," "Uproar," and "General appeal to the Chairman"
were three of the first brackets which caught my eye. Most of the
matter might have been written in Chinese for any definite meaning that
it conveyed to my brain.
"I wish you could translate it into English for me," I said,
pathetically, to my help-mate.
"Well, it is a translation."
"Then I'd better try my luck with the original."
"It is certainly rather deep for a layman."
"If I could only get a single good, meaty sentence which seemed to
convey some sort of definite human idea, it would serve my turn. Ah,
yes, this one will do. I seem in a vague way almost to understand it.
I'll copy it out. This shall be my link with the terrible Professor."
"Nothing else I can do?"
"Well, yes; I propose to write to him. If I could frame the letter
here, and use your address it would give atmosphere."
"We'll have the fellow round here making a row and breaking the
furniture."
"No, no; you'll see the letter--nothing contentious, I assure you."
"Well, that's my chair and desk. You'll find paper there. I'd like to
censor it before it goes."
It took some doing, but I flatter myself that it wasn't such a bad job
when it was finished. I read it aloud to the critical bacteriologist
with some pride in my handiwork.
"DEAR PROFESSOR CHALLENGER," it said, "As a humble student of Nature, I
have always taken the most profound interest in your speculations as to
the differences between Darwin and Weissmann. I have recently had
occasion to refresh my memory by re-reading----"
"You infernal liar!" murmured Tarp Henry.
--"by re-reading your masterly address at Vienna. That lucid and
admirable statement seems to be the last word in the matter. There is
one sentence in it, however--namely: 'I protest strongly against the
insufferable and entirely dogmatic assertion that each separate id is a
microcosm possessed of an historical architecture elaborated slowly
through the series of generations.' Have you no desire, in view of
later research, to modify this statement? Do you not think that it is
over-accentuated? With your permission, I would ask the favor of an
interview, as I feel strongly upon the subject, and have certain
suggestions which I could only elaborate in a personal conversation.
With your consent, I trust to have the honor of calling at eleven
o'clock the day after to-morrow (Wednesday) morning.
"I remain, Sir, with assurances of profound respect, yours very truly,
EDWARD D. MALONE."
"How's that?" I asked, triumphantly.
"Well if your conscience can stand it----"
"It has never failed | 3,302.601784 |
2023-11-16 19:12:06.5826460 | 6,512 | 12 |
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The Birds of Washington
Of this work in all its editions 1250 copies have been printed and the
plates destroyed.
Of the Original Edition 350 copies have been printed and bound, of which
this copy is No._298_.
[Illustration: HEPBURN'S LEUCOSTICTE
MALE, 5/6 LIFE SIZE
From a Water-color Painting by Allan Brooks]
THE BIRDS OF WASHINGTON
A COMPLETE, SCIENTIFIC AND POPULAR ACCOUNT OF THE 372 SPECIES OF BIRDS
FOUND IN THE STATE
BY
WILLIAM LEON DAWSON, A. M., B. D., of Seattle
AUTHOR OF "THE BIRDS OF OHIO"
ASSISTED BY
JOHN HOOPER BOWLES, of Tacoma
ILLUSTRATED BY MORE THAN 300 ORIGINAL HALF-TONES OF BIRDS IN LIFE,
NESTS, EGGS, AND FAVORITE HAUNTS, FROM PHOTOGRAPHS BY THE AUTHOR
AND OTHERS.
TOGETHER WITH 40 DRAWINGS IN THE TEXT AND A SERIES OF FULL-PAGE
COLOR-PLATES.
BY
ALLAN BROOKS
ORIGINAL EDITION
PRINTED ONLY FOR ADVANCE SUBSCRIBERS.
VOLUME I
SEATTLE
THE OCCIDENTAL PUBLISHING CO.
1909
_ALL RIGHTS RESERVED_
Copyright, 1909,
by
William Leon Dawson
Half-tone work chiefly by The Bucher Engraving Company.
Composition and Presswork by The New Franklin Printing Company.
Binding by The Ruggles-Gale Company.
To the
_Members_
of the
_Caurinus Club_,
in grateful recognition of their friendly
services, and in expectation that
under their leadership the interests
of ornithology will prosper in
the Pacific Northwest,
this work is respectfully
_Dedicated_
EXPLANATORY.
TABLE OF COMPARISONS.
INCHES.
Pygmy size Length up to 5.00
Warbler size 5.00-6.00
Sparrow size 6.00-7.50
Chewink size 7.50-9.00
Robin size 9.00-12.00
Little Hawk size, Teal size, Tern size 12.00-16.00
Crow size 16.00-22.00
Gull size, Brant size 22.00-30.00
Eagle size, Goose size 30.00-42.00
Giant size 42.00 and upward
Measurements are given in inches and hundredths and in millimeters, the
latter enclosed in parentheses.
KEY OF ABBREVIATIONS.
References under Authorities are to faunal lists, as follows:
T. Townsend, Catalog of Birds, Narrative, 1839, pp. 331-336.
C&S. Cooper and Suckley, Rep. Pac. R. R. Surv., Vol. XII., pt. II.,
1860, pp. 140-287.
L^1. Lawrence, Birds of Gray's Harbor, Auk, Jan. 1892, pp. 39-47.
L^2. Lawrence, Further Notes on Birds of Gray's Harbor, Auk, Oct.
1892, pp. 352-357.
Rh. Rhoads, Birds Observed in B. C. and Wash., Proc. Acad. Nat. Sci.
Phila., 1893, pp. 21-65. (Only records referring explicitly to
Washington are noted.)
D^1. Dawson, Birds of Okanogan County, Auk, Apr. 1897, pp. 168-182.
Sr. Snyder, Notes on a Few Species, Auk, July 1900, pp. 242-245.
Kb. Kobbe, Birds of Cape Disappointment, Auk, Oct. 1900, pp. 349-358.
Ra. Rathbun, Land Birds of Seattle, Auk, Apr. 1902, pp. 131-141.
D^2. Dawson, Birds of Yakima County, Wilson Bulletin, June 1902, pp.
59-67.
Ss^1. Snodgrass, Land Birds from Central Wash., Auk, Apr. 1903, pp.
202-209.
Ss^2. Snodgrass, Land Birds Central and Southeastern Wash., Auk, Apr.
1904, pp. 223-233.
Kk. Keck, Birds of Olympia, Wilson Bulletin, June 1904, pp. 33-37.
J. Johnson, Birds of Cheney, Condor, Jan. 1906, pp. 25-28.
B. Bowles, Birds of Tacoma, Auk, Apr. 1906, pp. 138-148.
E. Edson, Birds of Bellingham Bay Region, Auk, Oct. 1908, pp.
425-439.
For fuller account of these lists see Bibliography in Vol. II.
References under Specimens are to collections, as follows:
U. of W. University of Washington Collection; (U. of W.) indicates
lack of locality data.
P. Pullman (State College) Collection. P^1. indicates local
specimen.
Prov. Collection Provincial Museum, Victoria, B. C.
B. Collection C. W. & J. H. Bowles. Only Washington specimens
are listed.
C. Cantwell Collection.
BN. Collection Bellingham Normal School.
E. Collection J. M. Edson.
PREFACE.
Love of the birds is a natural passion and one which requires neither
analysis nor defense. The birds live, we live; and life is sufficient
answer unto life. But humanity, unfortunately, has had until recently
other less justifiable interests--that of fighting pre-eminent among
them--so that out of a gory past only a few shadowy names of bird-lovers
emerge, Aristotle, Pliny the Elder, AElian. Ornithology as a science is
modern, at best not over two centuries and a half old, while as a
popular pursuit its age is better reckoned by decades. It is, therefore,
highly gratifying to those who feel this primal instinct strongly to be
able to note the rising tide of interest in their favorite study.
Ornithology has received unwonted attention of late, not only in
scientific works but also in popular literature, and it has taken at
last a deserved place upon the curriculum of many of our colleges and
secondary schools.
We of the West are just waking, not too tardily we hope, to a
realization of our priceless heritage of friendship in the birds. Our
homesteads have been chosen and our rights to them established; now we
are looking about us to take account of our situation, to see whether
indeed the lines have fallen unto us in pleasant places, and to reckon
up the forces which make for happiness, welfare, and peace. And not the
least of our resources we find to be the birds of Washington. They are
here as economic allies, to bear their part in the distribution of plant
life, and to wage with us unceasing warfare against insect and rodent
foes, which would threaten the beneficence of that life. They are here,
some of them, to supply our larder and to furnish occupation for us in
the predatory mood. But above all, they are here to add zest to the
enjoyment of life itself; to please the eye by a display of graceful
form and piquant color; to stir the depths of human emotion with their
marvelous gift of song; to tease the imagination by their exhibitions of
flight; or to goad aspiration as they seek in their migrations the
mysterious, alluring and ever insatiable Beyond. Indeed, it is scarcely
too much to say that we may learn from the birds manners which will
correct our own; that is, stimulate us to the full realization in our
own lives of that ethical program which their tender domestic relations
so clearly foreshadow.
In the matter herein recorded account has of course been taken of nearly
all that has been done by other workers, but the literature of the birds
of Washington is very meager, being chiefly confined to annotated lists,
and the conclusions reached have necessarily been based upon our own
experience, comprising some thirteen years residence in the State in the
case of Mr. Bowles, and a little more in my own. Field work has been
about equally divided between the East-side and the West-side and we
have both been able to give practically all our time to this cause
during the nesting seasons of the past four years. Parts of several
seasons have been spent in the Cascade Mountains, but there remains much
to learn of bird-life in the high Cascades, while the conditions
existing in the Blue Mountains and in the Olympics are still largely to
be inferred. Two practically complete surveys were made of island life
along the West Coast, in the summers of 1906 and 1907; and we feel that
our nesting sea-birds at least are fairly well understood.
Altho necessarily bulky, these volumes are by no means exhaustive. No
attempt has been made to tell all that is known or may be known of a
given species. It has been our constant endeavor, however, to present
something like a true proportion of interest as between the birds, to
exhibit a species as it appears to a Washingtonian. On this account
certain prosy fellows have received extended treatment merely because
they are ours and have to be reckoned with; while others, more
interesting, perhaps, have not been considered at length simply because
we are not responsible for them as characteristic birds of Washington.
In writing, however, two classes of readers have had to be
considered,--first, the Washingtonian who needs to have his interest
aroused in the birds of his home State, and second, the serious
ornithological student in the East. For the sake of the former we have
introduced some familiar matter from other sources, including a previous
work[1] of the author's, and for this we must ask the indulgence of
ornithologists. For the sake of the latter we have dilated upon certain
points not elsewhere covered in the case of certain Western
birds,--matters of abundance, distribution, sub-specific variety, etc.,
of dubious interest to our local patrons; and for this we must in turn
ask their indulgence.
The order of treatment observed in the following pages is substantially
the reverse of that long followed by the American Ornithologists' Union,
and is justifiable principally on the ground that it follows a certain
order of interest and convenience. Beginning, as it does, with the
supposedly highest forms of bird-life, it brings to the fore the most
familiar birds, and avoids that rude juxtaposition of the lowest form of
one group with the highest of the one above it, which has been the
confessed weakness of the A. O. U. arrangement.
The outlines of classification may be found in the Table of Contents to
each volume, and a brief synopsis of generic, family, and ordinal
characters, in the Analytical Key prepared by Professor Jones. It has
not been thought best to give large place to these matters nor to
intrude them upon the text, because of the many excellent manuals which
already exist giving especial attention to this field.
The nomenclature is chiefly that of the A. O. U. Check-List, Second
Edition, revised to include the Fourteenth Supplement, to which
reference is made by number. Departures have in a few instances been
made, changes sanctioned by Ridgway or Coues, or justified by a
consideration of local material. It is, of course, unfortunate that the
publication of the Third Edition of the A. O. U. Check-List has been so
long delayed, insomuch that it is not even yet available. On this
account it has not been deemed worth while to provide in these volumes a
separate check-list, based on the A. O. U. order, as had been intended.
Care has been exercised in the selection of the English or vernacular
names of the birds, to offer those which on the whole seem best fitted
to survive locally. Unnecessary departures from eastern usage have been
avoided, and the changes made have been carefully considered. As matter
of fact, the English nomenclature has of late been much more stable than
the Latin. For instance, no one has any difficulty in tracing the
Western Winter Wren thru the literature of the past half century; but
the bird referred to has, within the last decade, posed successively
under the following scientific names: _Troglodytes hiemalis pacificus_,
_Anorthura h. p._, _Olbiorchilus h. p._, and _Nannus h. p._, and these
with the sanction of the A. O. U. Committee--certainly a striking
example of how _not_ to secure stability in nomenclature. With such an
example before us we may perhaps be pardoned for having in instances
failed to note the latest discovery of the name-hunter, but we have
humbly tried to follow our agile leaders.
In the preparation of plumage descriptions, the attempt to derive them
from local collections was partially abandoned because of the meagerness
of the materials offered. If the work had been purely British Columbian,
the excellent collection of the Provincial Museum at Victoria would have
been nearly sufficient; but there is crying need of a large, well-kept,
central collection of skins and mounted birds here in Washington. A
creditable showing is being made at Pullman under the energetic
leadership of Professor W. T. Shaw, and the State College will always
require a representative working collection. The University of
Washington, however, is the natural repository for West-side specimens,
and perhaps for the official collection of the State, and it is to be
devoutly hoped that its present ill-assorted and ill-housed
accumulations may early give place to a worthy and complete display of
Washington birds. Among private collections that of Mr. J. M. Edson, of
Bellingham, is the most notable, representing, as it does, the patient
occupation of extra hours for the past eighteen years. I am under
obligation to Mr. Edson for a check-list of his collection (comprising
entirely local species), as also for a list of the birds of the Museum
of the Bellingham Normal School. The small but well-selected assortment
of bird-skins belonging to Messrs. C. W. and J. H. Bowles rests in the
Ferry Museum in Tacoma. Here also Mr. Geo. C. Cantwell has left his
bird-skins, partly local and partly Alaskan, on view.
Fortunately the task of redescribing the plumage of Washington birds has
been rendered less necessary for a work of such scope as ours, thru the
appearance of the Fifth Edition of Coues Key,[2] embodying, as it does
the ripened conclusions of a uniquely gifted ornithological writer, and
above all, by the great definitive work from the hand of Professor
Ridgway,[3] now more than half completed. These final works by the
masters of our craft render the careful repetition of such effort
superfluous, and I have no hesitation in admitting that we are almost as
much indebted to them as to local collections, altho a not
inconsiderable part of the author's original work upon plumage
description in "The Birds of Ohio" has been utilized, or re-worked,
wherever applicable.
In compiling the General Ranges, we wish to acknowledge indebtedness
both to the A. O. U. Check-List (2nd Edition) and to the summaries of
Ridgway and Coues in the works already mentioned. In the Range in
Washington, we have tried to take account of all published records, but
have been obliged in most instances to rely upon personal experience,
and to express judgments which must vary in accuracy with each
individual case.
The final work upon migrations in Washington is still to be done. Our
own task has called us hither and yonder each season to such an extent
that consecutive work in any one locality has been impossible, and there
appears not to be any one in the State who has seriously set himself to
record the movements of the birds in chronological order. Success in
this line depends upon cooperative work on the part of many widely
distributed observers, carried out thru a considerable term of years. It
is one of the aims of these volumes to stimulate such endeavor, and the
author invites correspondence to the end that such an undertaking may be
carried out systematically.
In citing authorities, we have aimed to recall the first publication of
each species as a bird of Washington, giving in italics the name
originally assigned the bird, if different from the one now used,
together with the name of the author in bold-face type. In many
instances early references are uncertain, chiefly by reason of failure
to distinguish between the two States now separated by the Columbia
River, but once comprehended under the name Oregon Territory. Such
citations are questioned or bracketed, as are all those which omit or
disregard scientific names. The abbreviated references are to standard
faunal lists appearing in the columns of "The Auk" and elsewhere, and
these are noted more carefully under the head of Bibliography, among the
Appendices.
At the outset I wish to explain the peculiar relation which exists
between myself and the junior author, Mr. J. H. Bowles. Each of us had
long had in mind the thought of preparing a work upon the birds of
Washington; but Mr. Bowles, during my residence in Ohio, was the first
to undertake the task, and had a book actually half written when I
returned to the scene with friendly overtures. Since my plans were
rather more extended than his, and since it was necessary that one of us
should devote his entire time to the work, Mr. Bowles, with unbounded
generosity, placed the result of his labors at my disposal and declared
his willingness to further the enterprise under my leadership in every
possible way. Except, therefore, in the case of signed articles from his
pen, and in most of the unsigned articles on Grouse and Ducks, where our
work has been a strict collaboration, the actual writing of the book has
fallen to my lot. In practice, therefore, I have found myself under
every degree of indebtedness to Mr. Bowles, according as my own
materials were abundant or meager, or as his information or mine was
more pertinent in a given case.
Mr. Bowles has been as good as his word in the matter of cooperation,
and has lavished his time in the quest of new species, or in the
discovery of new nests, or in the location of choice subjects for the
camera, solely that the book might profit thereby. In several
expeditions he has accompanied me. On this account, therefore, the text
in its pronouns, "I," "we," or "he," bears witness to a sort of sliding
scale of intimacy, which, unless explained, might be puzzling to the
casual reader. I am especially indebted to Mr. Bowles for extended
material upon the nesting of the birds; and my only regret is that the
varying requirements of the task so often compelled me to condense his
excellent sketches into the meager sentences which appear under the head
"Nesting." Not infrequently, however, I have thrown a few adjectives
into Mr. Bowles's paragraphs and incorporated them without
distinguishing comment, in expectation that our joint indebtedness will
hardly excite the curiosity of any disengaged "higher critic" of
ornithology. Let me, then, express my very deep gratitude to Mr. Bowles
for his generosity and my sincere appreciation of his abilities so
imperfectly exhibited, I fear, in the following pages, where I have
necessarily usurped the opportunity.
It is matter of regret to the author that the size of these volumes, now
considerably in excess of that originally contemplated, has precluded
the possibility of an extended physical and climatic survey of
Washington. The striking dissimilarity of conditions which obtain as
between the eastern side of the State and the western are familiar to
its citizens and may be easily inferred by others from a perusal of the
following pages. Our State is excelled by none in its diversity of
climatic and physiographic features. The ornithologist, therefore, may
indulge his proclivities in half a dozen different bird-worlds without
once leaving our borders. Especially might the taxonomist, the
subspecies-hunter, revel in the minute shades of difference in plumage
which characterize the representatives of the same species as they
appear in different sections of our State. We have not gone into these
matters very carefully, because our interests are rather those of avian
psychology, and of the domestic and social relations of the birds,--in
short, the _life_ interests.
While the author's point of view has been that of a bird-lover, some
things herein recorded may seem inconsistent with the claim of that
title. The fact is that none of us are quite consistent in our attitude
toward the bird-world. The interests of sport and the interests of
science must sometimes come into conflict with those of sentiment; and
if one confesses allegiance to all three at once he will inevitably
appear to the partisans of either in a bad light. However, a real
principle of unity is found when we come to regard the bird's value to
society. The question then becomes, not, Is this bird worth more to _me_
in my collection or upon my plate than as a living actor in the drama of
life? but, In what capacity can this bird best serve the interests of
mankind? There can be no doubt that the answer to the latter question is
usually and increasingly, _As a living bird_. Stuffed specimens we need,
but only a representative number of them; only a limited few of us are
fitted to enjoy the pleasures of the chase, and the objects of our
passion are rapidly passing from view anyway; but never while the hearts
of men are set on peace, and the minds of men are alert to receive the
impressions of the Infinite, will there be too many birds to speak to
eye and ear, and to minister to the hidden things of the spirit. The
birds belong to the people, not to a clique or a coterie, but to all the
people as heirs and stewards of the good things of God.
It is of the esthetic value of the bird that we have tried to speak, not
alone in our descriptions but in our pictures. The author has a pleasant
conviction, born of desire perhaps, that the bird in art is destined to
figure much more largely in future years than heretofore. We have
learned something from the Japanese in this regard, but more perhaps
from the camera, whose revelations have marvelously justified the
conventional conclusions of Japanese decorative art. Nature is ever the
nursing mother of Art. While our function in the text has necessarily
been interpretative, we have preferred in the pictures to let Nature
speak for herself, and we have held ourselves and our artists to the
strictest accounting for any retouching or modification of photographs.
Except, therefore, as explicitly noted, the half-tones from photographs
are faithful presentations of life. If they inspire any with a sense of
the beauty of things as they are, or suggest to any the theme for some
composition, whether of canvas, fresco, vase, or tile, in things as they
might be, then our labor shall not have been in vain.
In this connection we have to congratulate ourselves upon the discovery,
virtually in our midst, of such a promising bird-artist as Mr. Allan
Brooks. I can testify to the fidelity of his work, as all can to the
delicacy and artistic feeling displayed even under the inevitable
handicap of half-tone reproduction. My sincerest thanks are due Mr.
Brooks for his hearty and generous cooperation in this enterprise; and
if our work shall meet with approval, I shall feel that a large measure
of credit is due to him.
The joy of work is in the doing of it, while as for credit, or "fame,"
that is a mere by-product. He who does not do his work under a sense of
privilege is a hireling, a clock-watcher, and his sufficient as coveted
meed is the pay envelope. But those of us who enjoy the work are
sufficiently rewarded already. What tho the envelope be empty! We've had
our fun and--well, yes, we'd do it again, especially if you thought it
worth while.
But the chief reward of this labor of love has been the sense of
fellowship engendered. The progress of the work under what seemed at
times insuperable difficulties has been, nevertheless, a continuous
revelation of good will. "Everybody helps" is the motto of the Seattle
spirit, and it is just as characteristic of the entire Pacific
Northwest. Everybody has helped and the result is a composite
achievement, a monument of patience, fidelity, and generosity far other
than my own.
I gratefully acknowledge indebtedness to Professor Robert Ridgway for
counsel and assistance in determining State records; to Dr. A. K. Fisher
for records and for comparison of specimens; to Dr. Chas. W. Richmond
for confirmation of records; to Messrs. William L. Finley, Herman T.
Bohlman, A. W. Anthony, W. H. Wright, Fred. S. Merrill, Warburton Pike,
Walter I. Burton, A. Gordon Bowles, and Walter K. Fisher, for the use of
photographs; to Messrs. J. M. Edson, D. E. Brown, A. B. Reagan, E. S.
Woodcock, and to a score of others beside for hospitality and for
assistance afield; to Samuel Rathbun, Prof. E. S. Meany, Prof. O. B.
Johnson, Prof. W. T. Shaw, Miss Adelaide Pollock, and Miss Jennie V.
Getty, for generous cooperation and courtesies of many sorts; to Francis
Kermode, Esq., for use of the Provincial Museum collections, and to
Prof. Trevor Kincaid for similar permission in case of the University of
Washington collections. My special thanks are due my friend, Prof. Lynds
Jones, the proven comrade of many an ornithological cruise, who upon
brief notice and at no little sacrifice has prepared the Analytical Key
which accompanies this work.
My wife has rendered invaluable service in preparing manuscript for
press, and has shared with me the arduous duties of proof-reading. My
father, Rev. W. E. Dawson, of Blaine, has gone over most of the
manuscript and has offered many highly esteemed suggestions.
To our patrons and subscribers, whose timely and indulgent support has
made this enterprise possible, I offer my sincerest thanks. To the
trustees of the Occidental Publishing Company I am under a lasting debt
of gratitude, in that they have planned and counselled freely, and in
that they have so heartily seconded my efforts to make this work as
beautiful as possible with the funds at command.
One's roll of obligations cannot be reckoned complete without some
recognition also of the dumb things, the products of stranger hearts and
brains, which have faithfully served their uses in this undertaking: my
Warner-and-Swasey binoculars (8-power)--I would not undertake to write a
bird-book without them; the Graflex camera, which has taken most of the
life portraits; the King canvas boat which has made study of the
interior lake life possible;--all deserve honorable mention.
Then there is the physical side of the book itself. One cannot reckon up
the myriad hands that have wrought upon it, engravers, printers,
binders, paper-makers, messengers, even the humble goatherds in far-off
Armenia, each for a season giving of his best--out of love, I trust.
Brothers, I thank you all!
Of the many shortcomings of this work no one could be more sensible than
its author. We should all prefer to spend a life-time writing a book,
and having written it, to return and do it over again, somewhat
otherwise. But book-making is like matrimony, for better or for worse.
There is a finality about it which takes the comfort from one's muttered
declaration, "I could do it better another time." What I have written I
have written. I go now to spend a quiet day--with the birds.
William Leon Dawson.
CONTENTS OF VOLUME I.
NOS. PAGE.
Dedication i.
Explanatory iii.
Preface v.
List of Full-page Illustrations xv.
Description of Species Nos. 1-181.
Order Passeres--Perching Birds.
Suborder _OSCINES_--Song Birds.
Family _Corvidae_--The Crows and Jays 1-14 1
_Icteridae_--The Troupials 15-22 43
_Fring | 3,302.602686 |
2023-11-16 19:12:06.5828230 | 2,643 | 10 |
THE PARASITE
A Story
BY
A. CONAN DOYLE
AUTHOR OF "THE REFUGEES" "MICAH CLARKE" ETC.
1894
THE PARASITE
I
March 24. The spring is fairly with us now. Outside my laboratory
window the great chestnut-tree is all covered with the big, glutinous,
gummy buds, some of which have already begun to break into little green
shuttlecocks. As you walk down the lanes you are conscious of the
rich, silent forces of nature working all around you. The wet earth
smells fruitful and luscious. Green shoots are peeping out everywhere.
The twigs are stiff with their sap; and the moist, heavy English air is
laden with a faintly resinous perfume. Buds in the hedges, lambs
beneath them--everywhere the work of reproduction going forward!
I can see it without, and I can feel it within. We also have our
spring when the little arterioles dilate, the lymph flows in a brisker
stream, the glands work harder, winnowing and straining. Every year
nature readjusts the whole machine. I can feel the ferment in my blood
at this very moment, and as the cool sunshine pours through my window I
could dance about in it like a gnat. So I should, only that Charles
Sadler would rush upstairs to know what was the matter. Besides, I
must remember that I am Professor Gilroy. An old professor may afford
to be natural, but when fortune has given one of the first chairs in
the university to a man of four-and-thirty he must try and act the part
consistently.
What a fellow Wilson is! If I could only throw the same enthusiasm
into physiology that he does into psychology, I should become a Claude
Bernard at the least. His whole life and soul and energy work to one
end. He drops to sleep collating his results of the past day, and he
wakes to plan his researches for the coming one. And yet, outside the
narrow circle who follow his proceedings, he gets so little credit for
it. Physiology is a recognized science. If I add even a brick to the
edifice, every one sees and applauds it. But Wilson is trying to dig
the foundations for a science of the future. His work is underground
and does not show. Yet he goes on uncomplainingly, corresponding with
a hundred semi-maniacs in the hope of finding one reliable witness,
sifting a hundred lies on the chance of gaining one little speck of
truth, collating old books, devouring new ones, experimenting,
lecturing, trying to light up in others the fiery interest which is
consuming him. I am filled with wonder and admiration when I think of
him, and yet, when he asks me to associate myself with his researches,
I am compelled to tell him that, in their present state, they offer
little attraction to a man who is devoted to exact science. If he
could show me something positive and objective, I might then be tempted
to approach the question from its physiological side. So long as half
his subjects are tainted with charlatanerie and the other half with
hysteria we physiologists must content ourselves with the body and
leave the mind to our descendants.
No doubt I am a materialist. Agatha says that I am a rank one. I tell
her that is an excellent reason for shortening our engagement, since I
am in such urgent need of her spirituality. And yet I may claim to be
a curious example of the effect of education upon temperament, for by
nature I am, unless I deceive myself, a highly psychic man. I was a
nervous, sensitive boy, a dreamer, a somnambulist, full of impressions
and intuitions. My black hair, my dark eyes, my thin, olive face, my
tapering fingers, are all characteristic of my real temperament, and
cause experts like Wilson to claim me as their own. But my brain is
soaked with exact knowledge. I have trained myself to deal only with
fact and with proof. Surmise and fancy have no place in my scheme of
thought. Show me what I can see with my microscope, cut with my
scalpel, weigh in my balance, and I will devote a lifetime to its
investigation. But when you ask me to study feelings, impressions,
suggestions, you ask me to do what is distasteful and even
demoralizing. A departure from pure reason affects me like an evil
smell or a musical discord.
Which is a very sufficient reason why I am a little loath to go to
Professor Wilson's tonight. Still I feel that I could hardly get out
of the invitation without positive rudeness; and, now that Mrs. Marden
and Agatha are going, of course I would not if I could. But I had
rather meet them anywhere else. I know that Wilson would draw me into
this nebulous semi-science of his if he could. In his enthusiasm he is
perfectly impervious to hints or remonstrances. Nothing short of a
positive quarrel will make him realize my aversion to the whole
business. I have no doubt that he has some new mesmerist or
clairvoyant or medium or trickster of some sort whom he is going to
exhibit to us, for even his entertainments bear upon his hobby. Well,
it will be a treat for Agatha, at any rate. She is interested in it,
as woman usually is in whatever is vague and mystical and indefinite.
10.50 P. M. This diary-keeping of mine is, I fancy, the outcome of
that scientific habit of mind about which I wrote this morning. I like
to register impressions while they are fresh. Once a day at least I
endeavor to define my own mental position. It is a useful piece of
self-analysis, and has, I fancy, a steadying effect upon the character.
Frankly, I must confess that my own needs what stiffening I can give
it. I fear that, after all, much of my neurotic temperament survives,
and that I am far from that cool, calm precision which characterizes
Murdoch or Pratt-Haldane. Otherwise, why should the tomfoolery which I
have witnessed this evening have set my nerves thrilling so that even
now I am all unstrung? My only comfort is that neither Wilson nor Miss
Penclosa nor even Agatha could have possibly known my weakness.
And what in the world was there to excite me? Nothing, or so little
that it will seem ludicrous when I set it down.
The Mardens got to Wilson's before me. In fact, I was one of the last
to arrive and found the room crowded. I had hardly time to say a word
to Mrs. Marden and to Agatha, who was looking charming in white and
pink, with glittering wheat-ears in her hair, when Wilson came
twitching at my sleeve.
"You want something positive, Gilroy," said he, drawing me apart into a
corner. "My dear fellow, I have a phenomenon--a phenomenon!"
I should have been more impressed had I not heard the same before. His
sanguine spirit turns every fire-fly into a star.
"No possible question about the bona fides this time," said he, in
answer, perhaps, to some little gleam of amusement in my eyes. "My
wife has known her for many years. They both come from Trinidad, you
know. Miss Penclosa has only been in England a month or two, and knows
no one outside the university circle, but I assure you that the things
she has told us suffice in themselves to establish clairvoyance upon an
absolutely scientific basis. There is nothing like her, amateur or
professional. Come and be introduced!"
I like none of these mystery-mongers, but the amateur least of all.
With the paid performer you may pounce upon him and expose him the
instant that you have seen through his trick. He is there to deceive
you, and you are there to find him out. But what are you to do with
the friend of your host's wife? Are you to turn on a light suddenly
and expose her slapping a surreptitious banjo? Or are you to hurl
cochineal over her evening frock when she steals round with her
phosphorus bottle and her supernatural platitude? There would be a
scene, and you would be looked upon as a brute. So you have your
choice of being that or a dupe. I was in no very good humor as I
followed Wilson to the lady.
Any one less like my idea of a West Indian could not be imagined. She
was a small, frail creature, well over forty, I should say, with a
pale, peaky face, and hair of a very light shade of chestnut. Her
presence was insignificant and her manner retiring. In any group of
ten women she would have been the last whom one would have picked out.
Her eyes were perhaps her most remarkable, and also, I am compelled to
say, her least pleasant, feature. They were gray in color,--gray with
a shade of green,--and their expression struck me as being decidedly
furtive. I wonder if furtive is the word, or should I have said
fierce? On second thoughts, feline would have expressed it better. A
crutch leaning against the wall told me what was painfully evident when
she rose: that one of her legs was crippled.
So I was introduced to Miss Penclosa, and it did not escape me that as
my name was mentioned she glanced across at Agatha. Wilson had
evidently been talking. And presently, no doubt, thought I, she will
inform me by occult means that I am engaged to a young lady with
wheat-ears in her hair. I wondered how much more Wilson had been
telling her about me.
"Professor Gilroy is a terrible sceptic," said he; "I hope, Miss
Penclosa, that you will be able to convert him."
She looked keenly up at me.
"Professor Gilroy is quite right to be sceptical if he has not seen any
thing convincing," said she. "I should have thought," she added, "that
you would yourself have been an excellent subject."
"For what, may I ask?" said I.
"Well, for mesmerism, for example."
"My experience has been that mesmerists go for their subjects to those
who are mentally unsound. All their results are vitiated, as it seems
to me, by the fact that they are dealing with abnormal organisms."
"Which of these ladies would you say possessed a normal organism?" she
asked. "I should like you to select the one who seems to you to have
the best balanced mind. Should we say the girl in pink and
white?--Miss Agatha Marden, I think the name is."
"Yes, I should attach weight to any results from her."
"I have never tried how far she is impressionable. Of course some
people respond much more rapidly than others. May I ask how far your
scepticism extends? I suppose that you admit the mesmeric sleep and
the power of suggestion."
"I admit nothing, Miss Penclosa."
"Dear me, I thought science had got further than that. Of course I
know nothing about the scientific side of it. I only know what I can
do. You see the girl in red, for example, over near the Japanese jar.
I shall will that she come across to us."
She bent forward as she spoke and dropped her fan upon the floor. The
girl whisked round and came straight toward us, with an enquiring look
upon her face, as if some one had called her.
"What do you think of that, Gil | 3,302.602863 |
2023-11-16 19:12:07.3848980 | 2,379 | 21 |
Produced by Malcolm Farmer, Lesley Halamek, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
* * * * *
Punch, or the London Charivari
Volume 105, November 25th 1893
_edited by Sir Francis Burnand_
* * * * *
POPULAR SONGS RE-SUNG.--"AFTER THE BALL."
[The authors of the various versions of this "popular song"
will not, _Mr. Punch_ is sure, object to its refrain being
used in a far wider sense--being applied, so to speak, to a
more extensive _sphere_--than they contemplated.]
[Illustration]
Man, youth or maiden, amateurs, pros.,
Season of snow-storms, time of the rose,
'Tis the same story all have to tell!
Not even KIPLING'S go half as well.
Nay: and _this_ story is real and true.
All England over, Colonies too,
Cricketers, golfers, footballers, all
One pursuit follow--they're After the Ball!
_Chorus_--
After one ball-game's over,
Promptly the next seems born;
Quickly the Blackburn Rover
Treads on the "Corn Stalk's" corn.
GRACE, GUNN, and READ, the Brothers
RENSHAW, fall off with the Fall;
But there come hosts of others--
After the Ball!
Lords and the Oval, crowded and bright,
Send King Willow's subjects wild with delight.
What are they doing'midst shout and cheer?
Smiting and chasing a small brown sphere!
Fielded. Sir! Well hit!! Played, _indeed!!!_ Wide!!!!
Oh, well returned, Sir! Caught! No! _Well_ tried!
Cheering! Half-maddened! And what means it all?
Grown men grown boys again--After the Ball!
_Chorus_--
Sixer, or maiden over,
Misfield that moves young scorn,
Every true cricket-lover
Stares at from early morn.
Watching the "champion" scoring,
Ring and pavilion, all
Chattering, cheering, roaring,
After the Ball!
Then in October's chill and gloom,
Wickets for goals make reluctant room.
Talk is of "forwards," and "backs," and "tries."
"_Footbawl Herdition!_" the newsboy cries.
Fancy _that_, for a sportsman's fad!
Players go frantic, and critics mad;
Pros. and amateurs squabble and squall,
And <DW36>s seek hospital--After the Ball!
_Chorus_--
After the Ball the "Rovers"
Rush, and the "Villans" troop;
"Wolves"--who have lamb-like lovers--
Worry and whirl and whoop.
Scrimmages fierce, wild jostles,
Many a crashing fall,
Follow as "Blade" hunts "Throstle,"
After the Ball!
Balls are not all of leather, alas!
Cricket, golf, tennis, and football pass;
But ROBERTS the marvellous, PEALL the clever,
Like the Laureate's Brook, can go on for ever!
The ivory ball--like the carvings odd
In a Buddhist shrine--seems an ivory god;
And "A Million Up" will be next the call
Of the "exhibitionists"--After the Ball!
_Chorus_--
After the Ball is over?
Nay, it is _never_ done!
All the year round _some_ lover
Keeps up the spheric fun!
Ivory ball or leather,
Someone will run or sprawl,
Whate'er the hour or weather,
After the Ball!
Is't that our earth, which, after all,
Itself's a "dark terrestrial ball,"
Robs all "sportsmen" of sober sense
Within its "sphere of influence"?
"Special Editions" just to record
How many kicks at a ball are scored?!?!
Doesn't it prove that we mortals all
Have gone sheer "dotty"--After the Ball?
_Chorus_--
After the Ball!--as batter,
Handler of club, racquet, cue.
Or kicker of goals--what matter?
A Ballomaniac you!
Each is as mad as a hatter,
Who is so eager to sprawl,
Scrimmage, scout, smash, smite, clatter,
After the Ball!
* * * * *
THE HEIGHT OF COMFORT.
_Q._ I want to consult you about Flats. You must know all about them,
as you have tried this kind of "high life" for a year. And I am quite
charmed with the idea of getting one. Now, don't you find that they
have many advantages over the old-fashioned separate house system?
_A._ Oh, a great many!
_Q._ I suppose that even in such paradises a few drawbacks do exist?
_A._ A few. For instance, did you notice, during your painful progress
upstairs, a doctor coming out of the rooms just below us? No? Then you
were fortunate. There's a typhoid case there, we hear.
_Q._ Dear me! Now I think of it, I did meet a woman dressed as a
hospital nurse. But she was coming down from somewhere above you.
_A._ Yes. The people over our heads. It's a scarlet fever patient they
have, I believe. We can hear the nurse moving about in the middle
of the night. And chemists' boys with medicines call at our door, by
mistake, at all hours.
_Q._ Still, they can't get in. Your flat is your castle, surely?
_A._ Quite so. It's a pity it isn't a roomier castle. Our bedrooms are
like cupboards, and look out on a dark court. We have to keep the gas
burning there all day.
_Q._ Oh, indeed! But then, being on one floor, living must be much
cheaper, because you can do with only one servant?
_A._ That is true; but we find that the difficulty is to get servants
to do with us. They hate being mastheaded like this; they miss the
area, and the talks with the tradesmen, and so on.
_Q._ But they must go downstairs to take dust and cinders away?
_A._ No, those go down the shoot. At least, a good many of the cinders
do, though some seem to stop on the way. Our downstair neighbours
complain horribly, and threaten to summon us.
_Q._ Do they? On the whole, however, you find your fellow-residents
obliging?
_A._ Oh, very! The landing window leads to some disputes. We like it
open. The people upstairs prefer it shut. The case comes on at the
police court next week.
_Q._ You surprise me! Then, as regards other expenses, you save, don't
you, by paying no rates?
_A._ We do. That is why our landlord charges us for these eight rooms
on one floor just double what we should have to pay for a large house
all to ourselves.
_Q._ Thanks for giving me so much information. Of course, I knew there
must be some disadvantages. And you won't be surprised to hear that we
have taken a flat after all, as they are so fashionable?
_A._ On the contrary, I should be quite surprised if you didn't.
* * * * *
WELCOME TO "JOEY!"
[Illustration: "HERE WE ARE AGAIN!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: SAD!
_Sportsman_ (_proud of his favourite_). "NOW THAT'S A MARE I _MADE_
ENTIRELY MYSELF! MARVELLOUSLY CLEVER, I CAN TELL YOU!"
_Non-Sportsman_ (_from town, startled_). "EH, WHAT? DEAR ME!
WONDERFULLY CLEVER, CERTAINLY." (_Mentally._) "POOR FELLOW, POOR
FELLOW! WHAT A MOST EXTRAORDINARY HALLUCINATION!"]
* * * * *
HOME RAILS.
(_By a Mournful Moralist._)
Each day my heart with pity throbs;
Can sympathy refuse
The ready tears, the frequent sobs,
When reading City news?
Not long ago I daily found
That you were good and "strong"--
You gained but little, I'll be bound,
Nor kept that little long;
Yet I was happy, since it meant
That, for a blissful term,
You were so very excellent,
So "steady" and so "firm."
Prosperity brings pride to all;
You rose too high to sell.
Then--pride must always have a fall--
You lamentably fell.
Think what your altered state has cost.
Alas, you must confess
That you are ruined since you lost
Your noble steadiness!
"Unsettled" then--oh, feeble will!--
"Inactive" you were too.
There's Someone "finds some mischief still
For idle hands to do."
"Why be inactive? All should work.
Rise then, and do not seek
Good honest enterprise to shirk,
Because you're rather "weak."
Alas, what use exhorting that
Your fall you should annul?
When some remark that you are "flat,"
And others call you "dull."
At times I hoped that you would turn,
And mend your evil ways,
That you were "better," I would learn,
And "quiet" on some days.
But now your baseness fitly ends,
"Irregular"--and so
You are "neglected" by your friends,
Who all pronounce you "low."
This conduct gives me such a shock,
I wipe my streaming eyes--
I want to sell some railway stock;
I'm waiting for the rise!
* * * * *
THE "ULTRA FASHIONABLE DINNER-HOUR" WHEN DICKENS WROTE _MARTIN
CHUZZLEWIT_.--It is mentioned by _Montague Tigg_, when that typical
swindler gives _Jonas Chuzzlewit_ an invitation to a little dinner.
It was "seven." Very few have guessed it, but most correspondents have
referred to the dinner-hour at _Todgers's_. But _Todgers's_ was a very
second-class establishment.
SOMEBODY proposes another Dickensian query:--SCENE--_The wedding at | 3,303.404938 |
2023-11-16 19:12:07.4802740 | 4,906 | 18 | TIBER***
E-text prepared by Frank van Drogen, Greg Bergquist, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
Transcriber's note:
The punctuation and spelling from the original text have been
preserved faithfully. Only obvious typographical errors have
been corrected.
PILGRIMAGE FROM THE ALPS TO THE TIBER.
Or
The Influence of Romanism on Trade, Justice, and Knowledge.
by
REV. J.A. WYLIE, LL.D.
Author of "The Papacy," &c. &.c.
Edinburgh
Shepherd & Elliot, 15, Princes Street.
London: Hamilton, Adams, & Co.
MDCCCLV.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
THE INTRODUCTION, 1
CHAPTER II.
THE PASSAGE OF THE ALPS, 8
CHAPTER III.
RISE AND PROGRESS OF CONSTITUTIONALISM IN PIEDMONT, 23
CHAPTER IV.
STRUCTURE AND CHARACTERISTICS OF THE VAUDOIS VALLEYS, 43
CHAPTER V.
STATE AND PROSPECTS OF THE VAUDOIS CHURCH, 62
CHAPTER VI.
FROM TURIN TO NOVARA--PLAIN OF LOMBARDY, 83
CHAPTER VII.
FROM NOVARA TO MILAN--DOGANA--CHAIN OF THE ALPS, 94
CHAPTER VIII.
CITY AND PEOPLE OF MILAN, 105
CHAPTER IX.
ARCO DELLA PACE--ST AMBROSE, 119
CHAPTER X.
THE DUOMO OF MILAN, 126
CHAPTER XI.
MILAN TO BRESCIA--THE REFORMERS, 137
CHAPTER XII.
THE PRESENT THE IMAGE OF THE PAST, 152
CHAPTER XIII.
SCENERY OF LAKE GARDA--PESCHIERA--VERONA, 158
CHAPTER XIV.
FROM VERONA TO VENICE--THE TYROLESE ALPS, 168
CHAPTER XV.
VENICE--DEATH OF NATIONS, 178
CHAPTER XVI.
PADUA--ST ANTONY--THE PO--ARREST, 198
CHAPTER XVII.
FERRARA--RENEE AND OLYMPIA MORATA, 209
CHAPTER XVIII.
BOLOGNA AND THE APENNINES, 216
CHAPTER XIX.
FLORENCE AND ITS YOUNG EVANGELISM, 237
CHAPTER XX.
FROM LEGHORN TO ROME--CIVITA VECCHIA, 262
CHAPTER XXI.
MODERN ROME, 276
CHAPTER XXII.
ANCIENT ROME--THE SEVEN HILLS, 289
CHAPTER XXIII.
SIGHTS IN ROME--CATACOMBS--PILATE'S STAIRS--PIO NONO, &C., 302
CHAPTER XXIV.
INFLUENCE OF ROMANISM ON TRADE, 333
CHAPTER XXV.
INFLUENCE OF ROMANISM ON TRADE--(CONTINUED), 352
CHAPTER XXVI.
JUSTICE AND LIBERTY IN THE PAPAL STATES, 366
CHAPTER XXVII.
EDUCATION AND KNOWLEDGE IN THE PAPAL STATES, 401
CHAPTER XXVIII.
MENTAL STATE OF THE PRIESTHOOD IN ITALY, 415
CHAPTER XXIX.
SOCIAL AND DOMESTIC CUSTOMS OF THE ROMANS, 430
CHAPTER XXX.
THE ARGUMENT FROM THE WHOLE, OR, ROME HER OWN WITNESS, 447
ROME,
AND
THE WORKINGS OF ROMANISM
IN ITALY.
CHAPTER I.
THE INTRODUCTION.
I did not go to Rome to seek for condemnatory matter against the Pope's
government. Had this been my only object, I should not have deemed it
necessary to undertake so long a journey. I could have found materials
on which to construct a charge in but too great abundance nearer home.
The cry of the Papal States had waxed great, and there was no need to go
down into those unhappy regions to satisfy one's self that the
oppression was "altogether according to the cry of it." I had other
objects to serve by my journey.
There is one other country which has still more deeply influenced the
condition of the race, and towards which one is even more powerfully
drawn, namely, Judea. But Italy is entitled to the next place, as
respects the desire which one must naturally feel to visit it, and the
instruction one may expect to reap from so doing. Some of the greatest
minds which the pagan world has produced have appeared in Italy. In that
land those events were accomplished which have given to modern history
its form and colour; and those ideas elaborated, the impress of which
may still be traced upon the opinions, the institutions, and the creeds
of Europe. In Italy, too, empire has left her ineffaceable traces, and
art her glorious footsteps. There is, all will admit, a peculiar and
exquisite pleasure in visiting such spots: nor is there pleasure only,
but profit also. One's taste may be corrected, and his judgment
strengthened, by seeing the masterpieces of ancient genius. New trains
of thought may be suggested, and new sources of information opened, by
the sight of men and of manners wholly new. But more than this,--I
believed that there were lessons to be learned there, which it was
emphatically worth one's while going there to learn, touching the
working of that politico-religious system of which Italy has so long
been the seat and centre. I had previously been at some little pains to
make myself acquainted with this system in its principles, and wished to
have an opportunity of studying it in its effects upon the government of
the country, and the condition of the people, as respects their trade,
industry, knowledge, liberty, religion, and general happiness. All I
shall say in the following pages will have a bearing, more or less
direct, upon this main point.
It is impossible to disjoin the present of these countries from the
past; nor can the solemn and painful enigma which they exhibit be
unriddled but by a reference to the past, and that not the immediate,
but the remote past. There is truth, no doubt, in the saying of the old
moralist, that nations lose in moments what they had acquired in years;
but the remark is applicable rather to the accelerated speed with which
the last stages of a nation's ruin are accomplished, than to the slow
and imperceptible progress which usually marks its commencement. Unless
when cut off by the sudden stroke of war, it requires five centuries at
least to consummate the fall of a great people. One must pass,
therefore, over those hideous abuses which are the immediate harbingers
of national disaster, and which exclusively engross the attention of
ordinary inquirers, and go back to those remote ages, and those minute
and apparently insignificant causes, amid which national declension,
unsuspected often by the nation itself, takes its rise. The destiny of
modern Europe was sealed so long ago as A.D. 606, when the Bishop of
Rome was made head of the universal Church by the edict of a man stained
with the double guilt of usurpation and murder. Religion is the parent
of liberty. The rise of tyrants can be prevented in no other way but by
maintaining the supremacy of God and conscience; and in the early
corruptions of the gospel, the seeds were sown of those frightful
despotisms which have since arisen, and of those tremendous convulsions
which are now rending society. The evil principle implanted in the
European commonwealth in the seventh century appeared to lie dormant for
ages; but all the while it was busily at work beneath those imposing
imperial structures which arose in the middle ages. It had not been cast
out of the body politic; it was still there, operating with noiseless
but resistless energy and terrible strength; and while monarchs were
busily engaged founding empires and consolidating their rule, it was
preparing to signalize, at a future day, the superiority of its own
power by the sudden and irretrievable overthrow of theirs. Thus society
had come to resemble the lofty mountain, whose crown of white snows and
robe of fresh verdure but conceal those hidden fires which are
smouldering within its bowels. Under the appearance of robust health, a
moral cancer was all the while preying upon the vitals of society,
eating out by slow degrees the faith, the virtue, the obedience of the
world. The ground at last gave way, and thrones and hierarchies came
tumbling down. Look at the Europe of our day. What is the Papacy, but an
enormous cancer, of most deadly virulency, which has now run its course,
and done its work upon the nations of the Continent. The European
community, from head to foot, is one festering sore. Soundness in it
there is none. The Papal world is a wriggling mass of corruption and
suffering. It is a compound of tyrannies and perjuries,--of lies and
blood-red murders,--of crimes abominable and unnatural,--of priestly
maledictions, socialist ravings, and atheistic blasphemies. The whine of
mendicants, the curses, groans, and shrieks of victims, and the demoniac
laughter of tyrants, commingle in one hoarse roar. Faugh! the spectacle
is too horrible to be looked at; its effluvia is too fetid to be
endured. What is to be done with the carcase? We cannot dwell in its
neighbourhood. It would be impossible long to inhabit the same globe
with it: its stench were enough to pollute and poison the atmosphere of
our planet. It must be buried or burned. It cannot be allowed to remain
on the surface of the earth: it would breed a plague, which would
infect, not a world only, but a universe. It is in this direction that
we are to seek for instruction; and here, if we are able to receive it,
thirty generations are willing to impart to us their dear-bought
experience. Lessons which have cost the world so much are surely worth
learning.
But I do not mean to treat my readers to lectures on history, instead of
chapters on travel. It is not an abstract disquisition on the influence
of religion and government, such as one might compose without stirring
from his own fire-side, which I intend to write. It is a real journey we
are about to undertake. You shall have facts as well as
reflections,--incidents as well as disquisitions. I shall be grave,--as
who would not at the sight of fallen nations?--but "when time shall
serve there shall be smiles." You shall climb the Alps; and when their
tops begin to burn at sunrise, you shall join heart and song with the
music of the shepherd's horn, and the thunder of a thousand torrents, as
they rush headlong down amid crags and pine-forests from the icy
summits. You shall enter, with pilgrim feet, the gates of proud
capitals, where puissant kings once reigned, but have passed away, and
have left no memorial on earth, save a handful of dust in a
stone-coffin, or a half-legible name on some mouldering arch. The solemn
and stirring voice of Monte Viso, speaking from the midst of the Cottian
Alps, will call you from afar to the martyr-land of Europe. You shall
worship with the Waldenses beneath their own Castelluzzo, which covers
with its mighty shadow the ashes of their martyred forefathers, and the
humble sanctuary of their living descendants. You shall count the towns
and campaniles on the broad Lombardy. You shall pass glorious days on
the top of renowned cathedrals, and sit and muse in the face of the
eternal Alps, as the clouds now veil, now reveal, their never-trodden
snows. You shall cross the Lagunes, and see the winged lion of St Mark
soaring serenely amid the bright domes and the ever calm seas of Venice,
where you may list
"The song and oar of Adria's gondolier,
Mellowed by distance, o'er the waters sweep."
You shall travel long sleepless nights in the _diligence_, and be
ferried at day-break over "ancient rivers." You shall tread the
grass-grown streets of Ferrara, and the deserted halls of Bologna, where
the wisdom-loving youth of Europe erst assembled, but whose solitude now
is undisturbed, save by the clank of the Croat's sabre, or the
wine-flagon of the friar. You shall visit cells dim and dank, around
which genius has thrown a halo which draws thither the pilgrim, who
would rather muse in the twilight of the naked vault, than wander amid
the marble glories of the palace that rises proudly in its
neighbourhood. You shall go with me, at the hour of vespers, to aisled
cathedrals, which were ages a-building, and the erection of which
swallowed up the revenues of provinces,--beneath whose roof, ample
enough to cover thousands and tens of thousands, you may see a solitary
priest, singing a solemn dirge over a "Religion" fallen as a dominant
belief, and existing only as a military organization; while statues,
mute and solemn, of mailed warriors, grim saints, angels and winged
cherubs, ranged along the walls, are the only companions of the
surpliced man, if we except a few beggars pressing with naked knees the
stony floor. You shall see Florence,--
"The brightest star of star-bright Italy."
You shall be stirred by the craggy grandeur of the Apennines, and
soothed by the living green of the Tuscan vales, with their hoar
castles, their olives, their dark cypresses, and their forests,--
"Where beside his leafy hold
The sullen boar hath heard the distant horn,
And whets his tusks against the gnarled thorn."
You shall taste the vine of Italy, and drink the waters of the Arno. You
shall wander over ancient battle-fields, encounter the fierce Apennine
blast, and be rocked on the Mediterranean wave, which the sirocco heaps
up, huge and dark, and pours in a foaming cataract upon the strand of
Italy. Finally, we shall tread together the sackcloth plain on which
Rome sits, with the leaves of her torn laurel and the fragments of her
shivered sceptre strewn around her, waiting with discrowned and
downcast head the bolt of doom. Entering the gates of the "seven-hilled
city," we shall climb the Capitol, and survey a scene which has its
equal nowhere on the earth. Mouldering arches, fallen columns, buried
palaces, empty tombs, and slaves treading on the dust of the conquerors
of the world, are all that now remain of Imperial Rome. What a scene of
ruin and woe! When the twilight falls, and the moon begins to climb the
eastern arch, mark how the Coliseum projects, as if in pity, its mighty
shadow across the Forum, and covers with its kindly folds the mouldering
trophies of the past, and draws its mantle around the nakedness of the
Caesars' palace, as if to screen it from the too curious eye of the
visitor. Rome, what a history is thine! One other tragedy, terrible as
befits the drama it closes, and the curtain will drop in solemn, and, it
may be, eternal silence.
CHAPTER II.
THE PASSAGE OF THE ALPS.
The Rhone--Plains of Dauphiny--Mont Blanc and the "Reds"--Landscape
by Night--Democratic Club in the _Diligence_--Approach the
Alps--Festooned Vines--Begin the Ascent--Chamberry--Uses of War--An
Alpine Valley--Sudden Alternations of Beauty and
Grandeur--Travellers--Evening--Grandeur of Sunset--Supper at
Lanslebourg--Cross the Summit at Midnight--Morning--Sunrise among
the Alps--Descent--Italy.
It was wearing late on an evening of early October 1851 when I crossed
the Rhone on my way to the Alps. It had rained heavily during the day,
and sombre clouds still rested on the towers of Lyons behind me. The
river was in flood, and the lamps on the bridge threw a troubled gleam
upon the impetuous current as it rolled underneath. It was impossible
not to recollect that this was the stream on the banks of which Irenaeus,
the disciple of Polycarp, himself the disciple of John, had, at almost
the identical spot where I crossed it, laboured and prayed, and into the
floods of which had been flung the ashes of the first martyrs of Gaul.
These murky skies formed no very auspicious commencement of my journey;
but I cherished the hope that to-morrow would bring fair weather, and
with fair weather would come the green valleys and gleaming tops of the
Alps, and, the day after, the sunny plains of Italy. This fair vision
beckoned me on through the deep road and the scudding shower.
We struck away into the plains of Dauphiny,--those great plains that
stretch from the Rhone to the Alps, and which offer to the eye, as seen
from the heights that overhang Lyons, a vast and varied expanse of wood
and meadow, corn-field and vineyard, city and hamlet, with the snowy
pile of Mont Blanc rising afar in the horizon. On the previous evening I
had climbed these heights, so stately and beautiful, with convents
hanging on their sides, and a chapel to Mary crowning their summit, to
renew my acquaintance, after an interval of some years' absence, with
the monarch of the Alps. I was greatly pleased to find, especially in
these times, that my old friend had not grown "red." Since I saw him
last, changes not a few had passed upon Europe, and more than one
monarch had fallen; but Mont Blanc sat firmly in his seat, and wore his
icy crown as proudly as ever.
Since my former visit to Lyons the "Reds" had made great progress in all
the countries at the foot of the Alps. Their party had been especially
progressive in Lyons; so much so as to affect the nomenclature of the
hills that overlook that city on the north. That hill, which is nearly
wholly covered with the houses and workshops of the silk-weavers, is now
known as the "red mountain," its inhabitants being mostly of that
faction; while the hill on the west of it, that, namely, which I had
ascended on the evening before, and which is chiefly devoted to
ecclesiastical persons and uses, is called the "white mountain." But
while men had been changing their faith, and hills their names, Mont
Blanc stood firmly by his old creed and his old colours. There he was,
dazzlingly, transcendently white, defying the fuller's art to whiten
him, and shading into dimness the snowy robe of the priest; looking
with royal majesty over his wide realm; standing unchanged in the midst
of a theatre of changes; abiding for ever, though kingdoms at his feet
were passing away; pre-eminent in grace and glory amidst his princely
peers; and looking the earthly type of that eternal and all-glorious
One, who stands supreme and unapproachable amid the powers, dominions,
and royalties of the universe.
The night wore on without any noticeable event, or any special
interruption, save what was occasioned necessarily by our arrival at the
several stages, and the changes consequent thereon of horses and
postilions. There was a rag of a moon overhead,--at least so one might
judge from the hazy light that struggled through the fog,--by the help
of which I kept watching the landscape till past midnight. Then a spirit
of drowsiness invaded me. It was not sleep, but sleep's image, or
sleep's counterfeit,--an uneasy trance, in which a confused vision of
tall trees, with their head in the clouds, and very long and very narrow
fields, marked off by straight rows of very upright poplars, and large
heavy-looking houses, with tall antique roofs, kept marching past,
without variety and without end. I would wake up at times and look out.
There was the same picture before me. I would fall back into my trance
again, and, an hour or so after, I would again wake up; still the
identical picture was there. I could not persuade myself that the
_diligence_ had moved from the spot, despite the rumbling of its wheels
and the jingling of the horses' bells. All night long the same
changeless picture kept moving on and on, ever passing, yet never past.
I may be said to have crossed the Alps amid a torrent of curses. My
place was in the _banquette_, the roomiest and loftiest part of the
lofty _diligence_, and which, perched in front, and looking down upon
the inferior compartments of the _diligence_, much as the attics of a
three-storey house look down upon the lower suits of apartments,
commands a fine view of the country, when it is daylight and clear
weather. There sat next me in the _banquette_ a young Savoyard, who
travelled with us as far as Chamberry, in the heart of the Alps; and on
the other side of the Savoyard sat the _conducteur_. This last was a
Piedmontese, a young, clever, obliging fellow, with a voluble tongue,
and a keen dark eye in his head. Scarce had we extricated ourselves from
the environs of Lyons, or had got beyond the reach of the guns that look
so angrily down upon it from the heights, till these two broke into a
conversation on politics. The conversation soon warmed into an energetic
and vehement discussion, or philippic I should rather say. Their
discourse | 3,303.500314 |
2023-11-16 19:12:07.4855100 | 6,418 | 37 | PRISONS***
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Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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Images of the original pages are available through
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[Illustration: C. M. PRUTSMAN.]
A SOLDIER'S EXPERIENCE IN SOUTHERN PRISONS
by
C. M. PRUTSMAN
Lieut. in Seventh Regiment, Wisconsin Volunteers
A Graphic
Description of the Author's Experiences
in Various Southern Prisons
[Illustration]
New York
Andrew H. Kellogg
1901
Copyright, 1901,
By C. M. Prutsman,
Lexington, Neb.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
Events preceding my capture--The last day of freedom--A
major's folly--My picket line captured--Warrenton--I
lose a valuable pair of boots--Culpepper--Farewell
to the boots--A disappointing test of good faith 5
CHAPTER II.
Libby--Now I lose my money--"Fresh fish"--Quarters and
rations--Boxes from home--Two majors escape--A general
conspiracy--Bad news and new prisoners--General
Butler saves two Union officers by threatening to hang
Captains Fitzhugh Lee and Winder--Two female prisoners
discovered in male attire in Belle Isle--We secure
their release 13
CHAPTER III.
Sick in the smallpox ward--A new plan of escape--Over a
powder mine--The plan fails--Filling the roll, one hundred
and nine men "short"--Shot at through windows--"Bread!
bread!"--Hopes of exchange--May 1st--Boxes
which had passed in the night--Brutes--More boxes--Danville,
May 8th--Two weeks later, Macon 20
CHAPTER IV.
A tunnel spoiled by the rain--Captain Tabb's cruelties--Corn
pone bakers--July 4th squelched--Beyond the "dead
line"--Caught--Sherman sixty miles away--Charleston--<DW64>
regimental prisoners--In the gallows' shadow--Whipping-post--Paroles
--Money exchange drafts--The Anderson men 29
CHAPTER V.
Sherman devastates Northern Georgia--Columbia "Camp
Sorghum"--A "dug-out"--I get away--Free--An unexpected
plunge--Trouble ahead--Recaptured--A meal--The
"debtor's cell" at Abbeville--Back to "Sorghum" 41
CHAPTER VI.
An "underground railway"--More paroles--Bloodhounds--Bribing
the guard--Bloodhound steaks--Two hundred
and fifty prisoners "short"--Back to Columbia--Building
barracks--A good tunnel started 50
CHAPTER VII.
Five of us have a narrow escape from the train--Friendly
<DW64>s--A good old "shakedown" 57
CHAPTER VIII.
Surrounded by rebel forces--Undiscovered--Skirmishing for
food--<DW71>--<DW71>'s schemes--<DW71> brings succor--At
headquarters--<DW71>'s reward 65
CHAPTER IX.
General Logan--General Sherman--Clean at last--General
Hobart's hospitality--Luxurious ease--A ghastly reminder
of horrors escaped--Washington "short"--Ordered
back to my regiment--An honorable discharge 74
A SOLDIER'S EXPERIENCE IN SOUTHERN PRISONS.
CHAPTER I.
Events preceding my capture--The last day of freedom--A major's
folly--My picket line captured--Warrenton--I lose a valuable pair of
boots--Culpepper--Farewell to the boots--A disappointing test of good
faith.
My enlistment in the service of the United States as a soldier to
aid in putting down the rebellion of 1861-5 bears the date, August
2, 1861. I was mustered into the service as a second sergeant of Co.
I, 7th Regiment, Wisconsin Infantry, August 28, 1861, which regiment
afterwards formed a part of the famous "Iron Brigade." I was afterwards
promoted to the rank of orderly sergeant, serving as such until April
15, 1863, when I was commissioned second lieutenant, and finally on May
4, 1863, received my commission as first lieutenant, in which capacity
I was serving at the time of the opening of my story.
On or about the first day of October, 1863, after an attack of
sickness, I was discharged from the Seminary Hospital at Georgetown,
D.C., and ordered to report for duty to my regiment which was then
stationed near the Rapidan River, south of Culpepper, Virginia. A few
days after I reached my regiment the whole army in great haste started
north for Centerville, in order to head off the rebel army which was
threatening to get between us and Washington City, _via_ the Shenandoah
Valley. We arrived at Centerville just in time to frustrate their well
laid plans.
On the morning of October 19th, we started out, Kilpatrick's Cavalry
in advance, in search of the rebs and found them in full retreat,
_via_ the Orange and Alexandria Railroad, Warrenton and Leesburg pike,
and Thoroughfare Gap. We arrived near Gainesville, where, some months
previous, we had fought our first battle. Here we halted a few moments,
to mourn over the long mound of earth, which but partly covered the
remains of our dead, who on this very ground with our brigade and
Stewart's Battery ("B" of the 4th Regulars) had fought the whole of
Stonewall Jackson's division for four hours, repeatedly repulsing
every attack and holding our ground until, finally, Longstreet's
column coming up in our rear, our position became too critical. With
Jackson's Division between us and Washington, and Longstreet in our
rear, discretion became the better part of valor and we were obliged to
retreat, leaving our dead on the field, where this mound now made shift
to cover them. History relates that Fitz John Porter had been ordered
to check and repulse Longstreet at 4 P.M., and failing to do so was
afterwards court martialed, but this is a digression and I must proceed
with my story.
Resuming our march south, we arrived at the Manassas Gap Railroad,
which we crossed, pursuing our course until we came to a little place
called Haymarket, where our division was halted in the fields and a
detail sent out for picket duty. Forty of this detail were from my
regiment, and I was put in command of the quota furnished from the
brigade. We advanced about one mile further south and then west,
leaving the roads to be picketed by details furnished from the other
brigades of the division.
Hardly had I established my line, and chosen a place for the support to
bivouac, before the enemy slipped in at a place called Buckley's Mills,
between the picket and the cavalry in our front, and after a short and
sharp engagement they forced Kilpatrick's Cavalry to leave the pike and
flee to the south-east, in order to pass around the enemy's flank and
return to our lines. The corps was compelled to fall back about three
miles in order to get north of the rebel army, which was endeavoring
by advancing _via_ the Bristo station from the east and Thoroughfare
Gap road from the west, to get in its rear. The major in command of the
lines covering both roads, Bristo station and Warrenton pike, gathered
up all the men who could be conveniently reached, and following the
corps, left me in ignorance of our dangerous position and entirely at
the mercy of the enemy. (This major was afterwards court martialed for
conduct unbecoming an officer in the face of the enemy, and dismissed
from the service.)
In my position I could hear heavy trains moving on the pike, but could
not see them on account of the woods. Finally a couple of rebels,
chasing a few sheep, approached our lines, and naturally I undertook to
capture them, but failed in the attempt. This revealed our position,
and shortly after a long, heavy skirmish line appeared in sight,
advancing upon us from the south. I concentrated my line by drawing in
my right, which was the most exposed flank, dropped back a few yards
in order to give my men the benefit of the timber for protection, and
awaited the result.
As soon as the advancing line was within range we poured in a volley by
file, confusing and staggering that section directly in our front, but
as each flank of their line extended beyond ours and they continued to
advance we were compelled to retreat, disputing the way from tree to
tree until we reached a point where the Bristo road crossed the pike at
nearly right angles; here I commanded my men to rally on the reserve by
the left flank, but the men on the left, to my surprise, informed me
that the road was full of rebels. I then directed another retreat by
the left oblique, in order to get away from the road and make our way
back to the fields, where we had left the brigade, but upon arriving
there and jumping the fence we found ourselves in the midst of a rebel
battery; the rebels had been massing there for more than an hour.
I had no alternative but to surrender. My casualty list was two men
wounded, both in their legs. Ah! what a sorry plight we were in. My men
were footsore and weary from their hard marching and maneuvering and
our animals were completely fagged.
We were gathered in line; I was their first victim, without hat or
sword, both of which had been taken away by the first rebel who had
approached me.
All and each of the men had shared the same fate.
We heard a few volleys of musketry north and west of us; then spherical
case shot from our own guns began to fly among us, which caused the
rebs to beat a hasty retreat to protect themselves from the murderous
fire of our artillery.
As soon as we reached the pike we turned south and, after marching a
couple of miles, we were halted in the woods, and there put in charge
of a guard, which was to take us to Warrenton.
It was now getting quite dark, and to add to our wretched condition it
began to rain, notwithstanding which we resumed our march to Warrenton,
eight miles distant. Upon our arrival there we were put into an old
storeroom, which had been improvised as a prison, and in which we found
a number of others prisoners who had been captured or picked up from
our army on its retreat from the Rapidan.
Those prisoners were crowded into one end of the room, while we were
confined in the opposite. The next step was to examine us for boots and
shoes. Previous to this I had secretly taken three twenty-dollar bills
from my wallet, dampened them in my mouth, flattened them out a little,
then slipped them into my watch pocket. But it was not money they
wanted; they were looking for footwear.
It was my misfortune to have on a new pair of shop made boots, which I
had just received by express from northern Pennsylvania, having been
made to order. The provost marshal came in with a small guard and a
couple of lanterns and proceeded with his examination. I think I was
the first man approached, the officer giving the order, "Examine
that man's feet." The order was quickly obeyed. The guards rolled up
my pant legs to observe the length of their boot tops and the quality
thereof. Their report was "Good." Another of the guard carried an
old sack filled with old shoes which had been cast off by men of our
army. The officer politely told me "to pick out a pair of shoes from
the sack, and get out of them boots." Having no option in the matter
I very reluctantly surrendered my new boots, and replaced them with a
pair of the cast-off shoes. Later we will hear from those boots. They
examined every man's feet, made a number of good trades, then raised
the blockade. After this we were allowed the privilege of the whole
room, and laid ourselves down for a good night's rest.
Next morning (October 20th) we were marshaled out into the street,
put under a mounted guard in command of a lieutenant, and started for
Culpepper. This guard proved to be an exception to most guards; they
were very gentlemanly, worthy of the responsibility they had undertaken
and would frequently dismount and give some one of the poor fagged and
footsore prisoners a seat in the saddle. We reached Culpepper about
dark, and were ushered into another old storeroom, similar to that
at Warrenton, for the night. Here we found the first infantry we had
seen since our capture, and were turned over to their charge. The next
morning, two other officers and myself were taken across the street
to the provost marshal's office and were asked to give our parole not
to leave the building, except to look after the welfare of our men
when they wanted to report their grievances to the provost marshal,
Major Richardson, whose office we were to be permitted to visit. We
willingly gave the parole. Major Richardson assured us that our private
property should and would be protected, and enjoined upon us to report,
for the benefit of all the prisoners, any and all cases of extortion
that came to our knowledge.
During the afternoon I observed a good-looking cavalryman stepping
around the provost marshal's office, wearing a fine pair of long
legged, newly blacked, boots. The thought struck me that those boots
were private property and mine, and probably all that I would have to
do to regain them would be to report to the major. I did so, and the
following colloquy took place:
"Major, I beg pardon, but I believe you made us the promise that our
private property would be respected, and asked that we should report
all extortions to you."
"Yes, yes, certainly, lieutenant; have you lost anything?"
"Yes, major, I have."
"What?"
"A pair of new boots."
"Where?" was the major's query.
"While in prison," I replied.
"You don't think that I can find them, do you?" he questioned.
"No, sir, but I can."
"Where are they?" asked the major.
"Upon that soldier's feet," pointing to the man with the boots on.
"Ah, ah, that is one of General Stewart's men and I do not have
anything to do with him."
This ended both the dialogue and all chance of ever recovering my
treasured boots, so I bid a fond farewell to my late pedal coverings,
and went back to my quarters a sadder but wiser man. I knew then
just how much faith I could pin in the future upon the pledges of my
captors.
CHAPTER II.
Libby--Now I lose my money--"Fresh fish"--Quarters and rations--Boxes
from home--Two majors escape--A general conspiracy--Bad news and new
prisoners--General Butler saves two Union officers by threatening to
hang Captains Fitzhugh Lee and Winder--Two female prisoners discovered
in male attire in Belle Isle--We secure their release.
After remaining in this prison two nights, we were marched out and
south across the Rapidan River, where we found a train of cars awaiting
us. We embarked and were conveyed to Gordonsville, where we were taken
to the court house for the night. Next day, (October 23d) we were again
placed aboard the train and taken to Richmond, where we arrived about 3
P.M.
At the depot we were separated, the enlisted men being taken to Belle
Isle, and we three officers placed in the now notorious Libby Prison.
The prison was in command of Major Turner, whom I now saw for the first
time. He was a very gentlemanly looking man, well dressed and a smooth
talker, and assured us he was quite willing to make our short stay with
him as pleasant as possible.
After taking our names, rank and regiment, he informed us that the
Confederate Government would not allow us to use or even carry United
States money; that we would have to deposit our wealth with him for a
short time, and that we would be entertained by his brother Dick.
He demanded our pocketbooks, (how thankful I was to know that I had
extracted the three twenty-dollar bills and that he was only to get
about three dollars) and very deliberately opened them, counted out
the money, gave us credit for it in his book, then told a sergeant
that stood nearby to search us. Up stepped the sergeant like a man of
business, thrust his thumb and finger into my watch pocket and fished
out the three twenty-dollar bills. Alas! how soon was my joy converted
to sadness! When I saw those bills vanish I knew that they would meet
the fate of my custom-made boots.
After serving all alike, we were handed each a chunk of corn bread
about one inch thick and four inches square. We then followed the
sergeant upstairs, and were ushered into the presence of the other
prisoners, where we first heard the cry of "Fresh fish! fresh fish!!
fresh fish!!!"
The words came back from every room in the building, of which there
were six, and a rush of the prisoners followed the echo, all anxious to
get the latest news from our army and the North. We were besieged with
such questions as:
"What army are you from?"
"Army of the Potomac."
"Where were you captured?"
"At Haymarket."
"Are they having a big battle?"
"What corps engaged?"
"Have you any news from the Western armies?"
"Is there any hope or prospects of an exchange of prisoners?"
Every one showed the most intense interest and loyalty for Uncle Sam.
Finally the crowd began to scatter and one prisoner came to me saying
that, as I was from the Potomac army, I had better go with him to the
room occupied by the Potomac officers, which was the upper east room.
He led the way and I, following, was shortly installed and assigned in
his squad. After posting me in the rules and customs of the prison,
my new friend showed me a place near the center of the room where he
thought I might find room to lie down that night. He further told me
that I would get my rations from him, which would consist of a hunk of
corn bread, four inches square by one thick, every morning, and that
once a week we would get a meat ration, which would be prepared by the
squad cook before being issued.
Night came on and I found a place where I could lay my poor weary bones
upon the bare floor, favoring my head a little by using my old shoes
for a pillow.
After a couple of days I learned that I might write to my friends, and
would be permitted to receive a box from them filled with eatables,
bedding, clothing and books. I at once wrote a letter, and in a short
time received a well filled box, and was then able to support a bed
consisting of a blanket and a quilt. The prisoners also at that time
were permitted to send out to the stores once a week and purchase such
necessaries as they were able to buy, but like other promised favors
this luxury was later denied.
We had among us two chaplains (non-combatants) who were expecting to
take the next boat down the river and be put through the lines. When
the boat got ready to start their names were called but, not responding
to the call promptly, a couple of majors answered to their names and
were given a few minutes to get ready, which they did with alacrity.
They were soon marched out, went down on the truce boat, and were
delivered over to the Union authorities. A few days after the chaplains
made another demand for their liberty to the great astonishment of
"Dick" Turner, who had to confess that he had "learned another Yankee
trick."
After getting acquainted and having my loyalty to the Union thoroughly
tested, I was sworn into an organization whose purpose was to overpower
the guard, seize their weapons and effect an escape. We were also to
receive more guns from loyal citizens, then go to the arsenal and get
both guns and ammunition with which to arm the prisoners on Belle Isle,
then capture and hold the city until our army from the peninsula could
meet us at or near Bottoms Bridge, four miles from the city, and with
their assistance, hold the prize.
At that time it was reported that there were nine thousand five hundred
men on Belle Isle, two thousand five hundred in the Scott building,
(just in sight) and between eight and nine hundred in "Castle Thunder,"
making in all an army of about twelve or fourteen thousand, though, of
course, there were some non-effectives; and, too, at that time nearly
ninety per cent. of the men could carry and shoot a gun.
The only difficulty in my mind was to secure arms and ammunition,
but we had been informed that they were to be had if we could get
possession of the armory. But our plan was soon frustrated, for it was
not long before we heard from the <DW64>s that the prison had been
undermined.
The next bad news we heard was that Colonel Dahlgreen, who had come
within four miles of the city, had been killed on his retreat and a
portion of his command captured. The officers captured from his command
were brought to Libby prison, and placed in a cell in the middle cellar
on the north side, far from light or ventilation. Communication was had
with them through a hole in the floor, through which they were also fed
by their friends from above.
From this time our luck began to go against us. First the meat ration
was stopped; next we were denied the privilege of sending out to make
purchases at the stores; then the boxes which arrived for us from our
Northern friends were stored away in an old warehouse and we were
forbidden access to them. This warehouse was only thirty feet away from
us, and, as the boxes continued to arrive, nearly every night, we could
plainly hear the guards bursting them open and plundering them of their
contents for their own use; another proof of the utter faithlessness
of the promises made us by these self-styled "chivalrous southern
gentlemen."
The only reason I ever heard given for this change of tactics on the
part of our captors was, that they could not negotiate with that "Beast
Butler." I learned afterwards that General Butler, who had superseded
General Mulford, had, a short time previous to this, notified the
rebel authorities at Richmond that he held, as prisoners, Captains
Fitzhugh Lee and John S. Winder, and that if they dared as they had
threatened, to execute Captains Sawyer and Flyn, he would retaliate by
HANGING Lee and Winder. This order had effect in saving the lives of
these officers.
At one time during the winter some sanitary goods in the shape of
clothing, blankets and provisions, were received and issued to the
enlisted men on Belle Isle. Six officers from the prison were taken
over to the island to distribute these, and while engaged in that duty
they were approached by two rather peculiar looking persons wearing
the uniforms of the Union army. They proved to be regularly enlisted
soldiers who had been captured with their comrades, as prisoners of
war. Upon inquiry it was discovered, or, rather, they voluntarily
gave the information, that they were of the gentler sex. This was a
surprise that came very near taking away the breath of the officers.
They explained how, imbued by a spirit of loyalty to the flag of their
country, and being so situated that a disguise was feasible, they had
donned the garb of the male sex, eluded the vigilance of the examining
surgeon and succeeded in enlisting in the service of Uncle Sam. Up to
this time they had kept their identity concealed and had taken part in
several engagements as valiant soldiers, but by the fortune of war,
were now lying as prisoners at Belle Isle. The treatment received
in prison was more than they felt like submitting to, so now they
confessed their deception and asked to be released. The officers told
them that if they would consent to be released on the ground of being
non-combatants, he would make the effort. Their consent was readily
given. The next day he reported the case and demanded their release,
which was immediately obtained, after which they were brought to
Libby, where they remained until a purse could be raised with which to
purchase suitable female wearing apparel. They were then taken aboard
the truce boat at City Point, amid the "God bless yous" of those who
had secured their release. I never heard what became of them, but they
said their home was in West Virginia, and that they belonged to a
regiment from that State. I have always had a curiosity to know what
our Government did for these and other similar cases that were events
of our Civil War.
CHAPTER III.
Sick in the smallpox ward--A new plan of escape--Over a powder
mine--The plan fails--Filling the roll, one hundred and nine
men "short"--Shot at through windows--"Bread! bread!"--Hopes of
exchange--May 1st--Boxes which had passed in the night--Brutes--More
boxes--Danville, May 8th--Two weeks later, Macon.
By this time my health had become so poor that I was taken to the
hospital, which was in the east room on the first floor of the prison.
I remained there one night, when it was reported by the surgeon in
charge that there were two cases of smallpox in the room and that if I
preferred I might return upstairs, which you may be sure I immediately
did. Then we were all vaccinated; it did not "take" on me, but there
was many a groan for a while from the effects of sore arms.
One night as I lay sick upon the floor I noticed that one of my nearest
bedfellows was missing. After a few days he returned early one morning,
spoke to his next neighbor in bed and asked him to lie over and give
him his warm place in the bed, as he had been on guard for the last
four hours and was nearly frozen. His friend, who was Lieutenant Wise,
complied with his wish. When he laid down his head nearly touched mine
and I heard the man who had given up his warm place (Wise) ask him
very secretly how near the end was, and heard the reply, "It is done
now; we would have opened it to-night but thought it was too near
morning."
Now I had a nut to crack; all thought of sleep was gone and I found
myself constantly repeating the question, "Has the time arrived when we
are to overpower the guard?"
In the morning I approached Lieutenant Wise for further information,
but he was as "mum as an oyster" regarding any intended movement toward
escape.
I told him what I had heard him say about the end and he assured me I
had been dreaming. But I was not to be so easily evaded, and reasoning
with myself that if it were a tunnel which had been prepared it must
start from the middle room, the one we were allowed to use from 9 A.M.
to 4 P.M. I took my station at the door and was the first to enter the
room as it swung open. I could plainly see tracks on the floor coming
from the east end and began an examination, but without result. It was
plain that I was not in the secret. The day passed--taps were sounded
and all retired. An instant later everybody was up, dressing and
packing. An Illinois captain came over to me and said:
"Lieutenant, you are not able to make the effort, lie down again."
I mused to myself thus: "What can be the result; if I lie here I may
be blown up, if I go and faint by the wayside I shall die, so I may as
well be in one place as another." Accordingly I obeyed orders, laid
down and in a few moments was entirely alone in that great, cold,
desolate and deserted room. My heart fluttered as I thought of the
three kegs of powder in the mine underneath me and I tried to keep my
pulse still by holding my breath, but it would flutter on in spite of
every effort, when, suddenly, even before I realized | 3,303.50555 |
2023-11-16 19:12:07.6845300 | 6,419 | 16 |
Produced by Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper, Anne Storer, some
images courtesy of The Internet Archive and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's Note: Title page added.
* * * * *
BIRDS
A MONTHLY SERIAL
ILLUSTRATED BY COLOR PHOTOGRAPHY
DESIGNED TO PROMOTE
KNOWLEDGE OF BIRD-LIFE
VOLUME II.
CHICAGO.
NATURE STUDY PUBLISHING COMPANY.
COPYRIGHT, 1897
BY
NATURE STUDY PUBLISHING CO.
CHICAGO.
BIRDS.
ILLUSTRATED BY COLOR PHOTOGRAPHY
================================
VOL. II. OCTOBER NO. 4
================================
BIRDS IN CAPTIVITY.
It was our intention in this article to give a number of instances of
a pathetic nature concerning the sufferings of the various species of
birds which it has been, and still is, a habit with many people to keep
confined in cages totally inadequate for any other purpose than that of
cruelty. The argument that man has no moral right to deprive an innocent
creature of liberty will always be met with indifference by the majority
of people, and an appeal to their intelligence and humanity will rarely
prove effective. To capture singing birds for any purpose is, in many
states, prohibited by statute. But the law is violated. Occasionally an
example is made of one or more transgressors, but as a rule the officers
of the law, whose business it should be to prevent it, manifest no
interest whatever in its execution. The bird trappers as well know that
it is against the law, but so long as they are unmolested by the police,
they will continue the wholesale trapping. A contemporary recently said:
"It seems strange that this bird-catching industry should increase so
largely simultaneously with the founding of the Illinois Audubon
Society. The good that that society has done in checking the habit of
wearing birds in bonnets, seems to have been fairly counterbalanced by
the increase in the number of songsters captured for cage purposes.
These trappers choose the nesting season as most favorable for their
work, and every pair of birds they catch means the loss of an entire
family in the shape of a set of eggs or a nestful of young left to
perish slowly by starvation."
This is the way the trappers proceed. They are nearly all Germans. Bird
snaring is a favorite occupation in Germany and the fondness for the
cruel work was not left behind by the emigrants. More's the pity. These
fellows fairly swarm with their bird limes and traps among the suburbs,
having an eye only to the birds of brightest plumage and sweetest song.
"They use one of the innocents as a bait to lure the others to a
prison." "Two of the trappers," says one who watched them, "took their
station at the edge of an open field, skirted by a growth of willows.
Each had two cage traps. The device was divided into two parts by wires
running horizontally and parallel to the plane of the floor. In the
lower half of each cage was a male American Goldfinch. In the roof of
the traps were two little hinged doors, which turned backward and
upward, leaving an opening. Inside the upper compartment of the trap,
and accessible through the doorway in the roof, was a swinging perch.
The traps were placed on stumps among the growth of thistles and dock
weed, while the trappers hid behind the trees. The Goldfinches confined
in the lower sections of the traps had been the victims of the trappers
earlier in the season, and the sight of their familiar haunts, the
sunlight, the breeze, and the swaying willow branches, where so often
they had perched and sung, caused them to flutter about and to utter
pathetically the call note of their days of freedom. It is upon this
yearning for liberty and its manifestation that the bird trappers depend
to secure more victims. No sooner does the piping call go forth from the
golden throats of the little prisoners, than a reply comes from the
thistle tops, far down the field. A moment more and the traps are
surrounded with the black and yellow beauties. The fact that one of
their own kind is within the curious little house which confronts them
seems to send all their timidity to the winds and they fairly fall over
one another in their endeavor to see what it all means. Finally one
finds the doorway in the roof and drops upon the perch within. Instantly
the doors close and a Goldfinch is a prisoner."
Laurence Sterne alone, of sentimental writers, has put in adequate
language something of the feeling that should stir the heart of the
sympathetic, at least, on seeing the unjust confinement of innocent
birds. The Starling, which is the subject of his elevated sentiment,
will appear in an early number of BIRDS. Sterne had just been
soliloquizing somewhat favorably of the Bastile, when a voice, which he
took to be that of a child, complained "it could not get out." "I looked
up and down the passage, and seeing neither man, woman, nor child, I
went out without further attention. In my return back through the
passage, I heard the same words repeated twice over, and looking up, I
saw it was a Starling hung in a little cage. 'I can't get out, I can't
get out,' said the Starling. I stood looking at the Bird, and to every
person who came through the passage, it ran fluttering to the side,
towards which they approached it, with the same lamentation of its
captivity. 'I can't get out,' said the Starling. 'God help thee!' said
I, 'but I'll let thee out, cost what it will;' so I turned about the
cage to get the door. It was twisted and double-twisted so fast with
wire, there was no getting it open without pulling the cage to pieces. I
took both hands to it. The bird flew to the place where I was attempting
its deliverance, and thrusting his head through the trellis, pressed his
breast against it as if impatient. 'I fear, poor creature,' said I, 'I
can't set thee at liberty.' 'No,' said the Starling, 'I can't get out,'
'I can't get out,' said the Starling. I vow I never had my affections
more tenderly awakened; or do I remember an incident in my life where
the dissipated spirits, to which my reason had been a bubble, were so
suddenly called home. Mechanical as the notes were, yet so true in tune
to Nature were they chanted, that disguise thyself as thou wilt, still,
'Slavery,' said I,'still thou art a bitter draught; and though
thousands in all ages have been made to drink of thee, thou art no less
bitter on that account. No, thou thrice sweet and gracious goddess
liberty, whose taste is grateful, and ever will be so, till nature
herself shall change; no tint of woods can spot thy snowy mantle.'"
The bird in his cage pursued Sterne into his room, where he composed
his apostrophe to liberty. It would be well indeed, if a sentiment
could be aroused which would prohibit absolutely the caging of birds,
as well as their wanton destruction, and if the children are taught that
"tenderness which is the charm of youth," another generation will see it
accomplished.
C. C. MARBLE.
[Illustration: From col. Chi. Acad. Sciences.
BLACKBURNIAN WARBLER.
Copyrighted by Nature Study Pub. Co., 1897, Chicago.]
THE BLACKBURNIAN WARBLER.
If the children had had the naming of birds we venture to say that it
would have been more appropriately done, and "Blackburnian," as many
other names of Warblers, would have had no place in literature. There
are about seventy-five well known Warblers, nearly all with common
names indicating the most characteristic colors or habits, or partly
descriptive of the bird itself. The common names of this beautiful
Warbler are Orange-throated Warbler and Hemlock Warbler. Some one has
suggested that it should be called the Torch Bird, for "half a dozen
of them as they flash about in the pines, raising their wings and
jerking their tails, make the darkest shadows seem breaking into
little tongues of flame."
The Orange-throat is only migratory in Illinois, passing through in
spring and fall, its summer home being chiefly if not wholly, to
the northward, while it passes the winter in Central America and
northern South America. It is found in New York and in portions of
Massachusetts, frequenting the coniferous forests, and building its
nest in bushes or small trees a few feet above the ground. Dr. C. Hart
Merriam found a pair of these birds nesting in a grove of large white
pines in Lewis County, New York. In the latter part of May the female
was observed building, and on the second of June the nest contained
four fresh eggs of the Warbler and one of the Cow bird. The nest was
saddled on the horizontal limb about eight feet from the ground and
about ten feet from the trunk. Nests have been found in pine trees in
Southern Michigan at an elevation of forty feet. In all cases the
nests are placed high in hemlocks or pines, which are the bird's
favorite resorts. From all accounts the nests of this species are
elegantly and compactly made, consisting of a densely woven mass of
spruce twigs, soft vegetable down, rootlets, and fine shreds of bark.
The lining is often intermixed with horse hairs and feathers. Four
eggs of greenish-white or very pale bluish-green, speckled or spotted,
have usually been found in the nests.
The autumnal male Warblers resemble the female. They have two white
bands instead of one; the black stripes on the side are larger; under
parts yellowish; the throat yellowish, passing into purer yellow
behind. Few of our birds are more beautiful than the full plumaged
male of this lovely bird, whose glowing orange throat renders it a
conspicuous object among the budding and blossoming branches of the
hemlocks. Chapman says, coming in May, before the woods are fully
clad, he seems like some bright plumaged tropical bird who has lost
his way and wandered to northern climes. The summer is passed among
the higher branches in coniferous forests, and in the early fall the
bird returns to surroundings which seem more in keeping with its
attire.
Mr. Minot describes the Blackburnian Warbler's summer song as
resembling the syllables _wee-see-wee-see_, while in the spring its
notes may be likened to _wee-see-wee-see, tsee, tsee, tsee_, repeated,
the latter syllables being on ascending scale, the very last shrill
and fine.
THE LOST MATE.
Shine! Shine! Shine!
Pour down your warmth, great Sun!
While we bask--we two together.
Two together!
Winds blow south, or winds blow north,
Day come white, or night come black,
Home, or rivers and mountains from home,
Singing all time, minding no time,
If we two but keep together.
Till of a sudden,
May be killed, unknown to her mate,
One forenoon the she-bird crouched not on the nest,
Nor returned that afternoon, nor the next,
Nor ever appeared again.
And thence forward, all summer, in the sound of the sea,
And at night, under the full of moon, in calmer weather,
Over the hoarse surging of the sea,
Or flitting from briar to briar by day,
I saw, I heard at intervals, the remaining one.
Blow! blow! blow!
Blow up, sea-winds, along Paumanok's shore!
I wait and I wait, till you blow my mate to me.
--WALT WHITMAN.
[Illustration: From col. F. M. Woodruff.
GOLDFINCH.
Copyrighted by Nature Study Pub. Co., 1897, Chicago.]
THE AMERICAN GOLDFINCH.
"Look, Mamma, look!" cried a little boy, as one day late in June my
mate and I alighted on a thistle already going to seed. "Such a lovely
bird! How jolly he looks, with that black velvet hat drawn over his
eyes!"
"That's a Goldfinch," replied his mamma; "sometimes called the Jolly
Bird, the Thistle Bird, the Wild Canary, and the Yellow Bird. He
belongs to the family of Weed Warriors, and is very useful."
"He sings like a Canary," said Bobbie. "Just hear him talking to that
little brown bird alongside of him."
That was my mate, you see, who _is_ rather plain looking, so to please
him I sang my best song, "_Per-chic-o-ree, per-chic-o-ree_."
"That sounds a great deal better," said Bobbie; "because it's not sung
by a little prisoner behind cage bars, I guess."
"It certainly is wilder and more joyous," said his mamma. "He is very
happy just now, for he and his mate are preparing for housekeeping.
Later on, he will shed his lemon-yellow coat, and then you won't be
able to tell him from his mate and little ones."
"How they are gobbling up that thistle-down," cried Bobbie. "Just
look!"
"Yes," said his mamma, "the fluff carries the seed, like a sail to
which the seed is fastened. By eating the seed, which otherwise would
be carried by the wind all over the place, these birds do a great
amount of good. The down they will use to line their nests."
"How I should like to peep into their nest," said Bobbie; "just to
peep, you know; not to rob it of its eggs, as boys do who are not well
brought up."
My mate and I were so pleased at that, we flew off a little way,
chirping and chattering as we went.
"Up and down, up and down," said Bobbie; "how prettily they fly."
"Yes," said his mamma; "that is the way you can always tell a
Goldfinch when in the air. A dip and a jerk, singing as he flies."
"What other seeds do they eat, mamma?" presently asked Bobbie.
"The seeds of the dandelion, the sunflower, and wild grasses
generally. In the winter, when these are not to be had, the poor
little fellows have a very hard time. People with kind hearts, scatter
canary seed over their lawns to the merry birds for their summer
songs, and for keeping down the weeds."
THE GOLDFINCH.
According to one intelligent observer, the Finches are, in Nature's
economy, entrusted with the task of keeping the weeds in subjection,
and the gay and elegant little Goldfinch is probably one of the most
useful, for its food is found to consist, for the greater part, of
seeds most hurtful to the works of man. "The charlock that so often
chokes his cereal crops is partly kept in bounds by his vigilance, and
the dock, whose rank vegetation would, if allowed to cast all its
seeds, spread barrenness around, is also one of his store houses, and
the rank grasses, at their seeding time, are his chief support."
Another writer, whose study of this bird has been made with care,
calls our American Goldfinch one of the loveliest of birds. With his
elegant plumage, his rhythmical, undulatory flight, his beautiful
song, and his more beautiful soul, he ought to be one of the best
beloved, if not one of the most famous; but he has never yet had half
his deserts. He is like the Chickadee, and yet different. He is not so
extremely confiding, nor should I call him merry. But he is always
cheerful, in spite of his so-called plaintive note, from which he gets
one of his names, and always amiable. So far as I know, he never
utters a harsh sound; even the young ones asking for food, use only
smooth, musical tones. During the pairing season, his delight often
becomes rapturous. To see him then, hovering and singing,--or, better
still, to see the devoted pair hovering together, billing and
singing,--is enough to do even a cynic good. The happy lovers! They
have never read it in a book, but it is written on their hearts:
"The gentle law that each should be
The other's heaven and harmony."
In building his nest, the Goldfinch uses much ingenuity, lichens and
moss being woven so deeply into the walls that the whole surface is
quite smooth. Instead of choosing the forks of a bough, this Finch
likes to make its nest near the end of a horizontal branch, so that
it moves about and dances up and down as the branch is swayed by the
wind. It might be thought that the eggs would be shaken out by a
tolerably sharp breeze, and such would indeed be the case, were they
not kept in their place by the form of the nest. On examination, it
will be seen to have the edge thickened and slightly turned inward, so
that when the nest is tilted on one side by the swaying of the bough,
the eggs are still retained within. It is lined with vegetable down,
and on this soft bed repose five pretty eggs, white, tinged with blue,
and diversified with small grayish purple spots.
* * *
A curious story is told of a caged Goldfinch, which in pleasant
weather always hung in a window. One day, hearing strange bird voices,
the owner looked up from her seat and saw a Catbird trying to induce
the Finch to eat a worm it had brought for it. By dint of coaxing and
feeding the wild bird, she finally induced it to come often to the
window, and one day, as she sat on the porch, the Catbird brought a
berry and tried to put it into her mouth. We have often seen sparrows
come to the window of rooms where canaries were imprisoned, but it has
uniformly been to get food and not to administer it. The Catbird
certainly thus expressed its gratitude.
[Illustration: From col. Eugene Bliss.
CHIMNEY SWIFT.
Copyrighted by Nature Study Pub. Co., 1897, Chicago.]
THE CHIMNEY SWIFT.
Chief Pokagon, of the Pottawattamie Indians, in an article in _The
Osprey_, writes delightfully of the Chimney Swift, and we quote a
portion of it describing a peculiar habit of the bird. The chief was
a youth when he made the observation, and he writes in the second
person:
"As you look, you see the head of the young chief is turning slowly
around, watching something high in air above the stream; you now begin
to look in the same direction, catching glimpses every now and then,
of the segment of a wild revolving ring of small unnumbered birds
circling high above the trees. Their twittering notes and whizzing
wings create a musical, but wild, continued roar. You now begin to
realize he is determined to understand all about the feathered bees,
as large as little birds, the village boy had seen. The circle
continues to decrease in size, but increases the revolution until
all the living, breathing ring swings over the stream in the field
of your vision, and you begin to enquire what means all this mighty
ingathering of such multitude of birds. The young chief in admiration
claps his hands, leaping towards the stream. The twittering, whizzing
roar continues to increase; the revolving circle fast assumes a funnel
shape, moving downward until the point reaches the hollow in the stub,
pouring its living mass therein until the last bird dropped out of
sight. Rejoicing in wonder and admiration, the youth walks round the
base of the stub, listening to the rumbling roar of fluttering wings
within. Night comes on, he wraps his blanket closer about him, and
lies down to rest until the coming day, that he may witness the
swarming multitudes pass out in early morning. But not until the hour
of midnight does he fall asleep, nor does he wake until the dawn of
day, when, rising to his feet, he looks upward to the skies. One by
one the stars disappear. The moon grows pale. He listens. Last night's
familiar roar rings in his ears. He now beholds swarming from out the
stub the living, breathing mass, forming in funnel shape, revolving
like a top, rising high in air, then sweeping outward into a wide
expanding ring, until the myriads of birds are scattered wide, like
leaves before the whirlwind."
And then what do they do? Open the mouth of a swallow that has been
flying, and turn out the mass of small flies and other insects that
have been collected there. The number packed into its mouth is almost
incredible, for when relieved from the constant pressure to which it
is subjected, the black heap begins to swell and enlarge, until it
attains nearly double its former size.
Chimney Swallow is the name usually applied to this Swift. The habit
of frequenting chimneys is a recent one, and the substitution of this
modern artificial home for hollow trees illustrates the readiness with
which it adapts itself to a change in surroundings. In perching, they
cling to the side of the chimney, using the spine-pointed tails for a
support. They are most active early in the morning and late in the
afternoon, when one may hear their rolling twitter as they course
about overhead.
The question whether Chimney Swifts break off twigs for their nests
with their feet is now being discussed by ornithologists. Many curious
and interesting observations have been made, and the momentous
question will no doubt in time be placed beyond peradventure.
THE LARK.
Up with me! up with me into the clouds!
For thy song, Lark, is strong;
Up with me! Up with me into the clouds!
Singing, singing,
With clouds and sky about thee ringing.
Lift me, guide me till I find
That spot which seems so to thy mind.
I have walked through wildernesses dreary,
And to-day my heart is weary;
Had I now the wings of a Fairy
Up to thee would I fly.
There is madness about thee, and joy divine
In that song of thine;
Lift me, guide me high and high
To thy banqueting place in the sky.
--WORDSWORTH.
SHORE LARK.
If the variety of names by which this Lark is known is any indication
of its popularity, its friends must be indeed numerous. Snow Lark,
Snowbird, Prairie Lark, Sky Lark, American Sky Lark, Horned Lark, are
a few of them. There is only one American Species, so far as known. It
breeds in northeastern North America and Greenland, wintering in the
United States. It also inhabits northern portions of the old world.
The common name is derived from the tufts of black feathers over each
ear, which the birds have the power of erecting at will like the
so-called horns of some owls.
In the Eastern States, during the winter months, flocks of Horned
Larks, varying in size from a dozen to those of a hundred or more, may
be seen frequenting open plains, old fields, dry shores of bays, and
the banks of rivers. According to Davie, as there are a number of
geographical varieties of the Horned Lark, the greatest uncertainty
has always attended their identification even by experts, and the
breeding and winter ranges of the various subspecies do not yet seem
to be clearly defined.
Audubon found this species on the low, mossy and sheltered hills along
the dreary coast of Labrador. In the midst of the mosses and lichens
that covered the rocks the bird imbedded its nest, composed of fine
grasses, arranged in a circular form and lined with the feathers of
grouse and other birds.
Chapman says these Larks take wing with a sharp, whistled note, and
seek fresh fields or, hesitating, finally swing about and return to
near the spot from which they were flushed. They are sometimes found
associated with Snowflakes. The pinkish grey coloring is very
beautiful, but in the Middle and Eastern States this bird is rarely
seen in his spring garb, says an observer, and his winter plumage
lacks the vivid contrasts and prime color.
As a singer the Shore Lark is not to be despised, especially in his
nesting haunts. He has a habit of singing as he soars in the air,
after the manner of the European Skylark.
[Illustration: From col. F. M. Woodruff.
HORNED LARK.
Copyrighted by Nature Study Pub. Co., 1897, Chicago.]
THE YELLOW-BELLIED SAPSUCKER.
When the veins of the birch overflow in the spring,
Then I sharpen my bill and make the woods ring,
Till forth gushes--rewarding my tap, tap, tap!
The food of us Suckers--the rich, juicy sap.
--C. C. M.
Many wild birds run up and down trees, and it seems to make little
difference which end up they are temporarily, skirmishing ever to the
right and left, whacking the bark with their bills, then quiet a brief
moment, and again skirmishing around the tree. Sometimes an apple
tree, says a recent writer, will have a perfect circle, not seldom
several rings or holes round the tree--holes as large as a buck shot.
The little skirmisher makes these holes, and the farmer calls it a
Sapsucker. And such it is. Dr. Coues, however, says it is not a bird,
handsome as it is, that you would care to have come in great numbers
to your garden or orchard, for he eats the sap that leaks out through
the holes he makes in the trees. When a great many holes have been
bored near together, the bark loosens and peels off, so that the tree
is likely to die. The Sapsucker also eats the soft inner bark which is
between the rough outside bark and the hard heart-wood of the tree,
which is very harmful. Nevertheless the bird does much good in
destroying insects which gather to feed on the oozing sap. It sweeps
them up in its tongue, which is not barbed, like that of other
woodpeckers, but has a little brush on the end of it. It lacks the
long, extensile tongue which enables the other species to probe the
winding galleries of wood-eating larvae.
Mr. William Brewster states that throughout the White Mountains of New
Hampshire, and in most sections of Northern Maine, the Yellow-Bellied
Woodpeckers outnumber all the other species in the summer season.
Their favorite nesting sites are large dead birches, and a decided
preference is manifested for the vicinity of water, though some nests
occur in the interior of woods. The average height of the nesting hole
from the ground is about forty feet. Many of the nests are gourd-like
in shape, with the ends very smoothly and evenly chiseled, the average
depth being about fourteen inches. The labors of excavating the nest
and those of rearing the young are shared by both sexes. While this
Sapsucker is a winter resident in most portions of Illinois, and may
breed sparingly in the extreme northern portion, no record of it has
been found.
A walk in one of our extensive parks is nearly always rewarded by the
sight of one or more of these interesting and attractive birds. They
are usually so industriously engaged that they seem to give little
attention to your presence, and hunt away, tapping the bole of the
tree, until called elsewhere by some more promising field of
operations. Before taking flight from one tree to another, they stop
the insect search and gaze inquisitively toward their destination. If
two of them meet, there is often a sudden stopping in the air, a
twisting upward and downward, followed by a lively chase across the
open to the top of a dead tree, and then a sly peeping round or over a
limb, after the manner of all Woodpeckers. A rapid drumming with the
bill on the tree, branch or trunk, it is said, serves for a love-song,
and it has a screaming call note.
THE WARBLING VIREO.
The Vireos are a family of singers and are more often heard than seen,
but the Warbler has a much | 3,303.70457 |
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[Transcriber's Note: Bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and
italic text is surrounded by _underscores_.]
Our Little Russian Cousin
THE | 3,303.803388 |
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file was produced from images generously made available
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Transcriber's Notes:
Italics have been marked with underscores, like '_this_'.
Greek passages have been transcribed, using '+', like '+ate+'.
OE ligature and oe ligature have been changed to 'OE' or 'oe'.
Corrections, as listed in the "ERRATA" paragraph, have been made.
Besides,
Page 4, "disance" changed to "distance" (owing to the long distance,).
Page 16, "circulalation" changed to "circulation" (and many of them
helped on the circulation).
Pages 83 and 167, "Barrere" equalized to "Barere" (according to Index).
Page 104, "imdiately" changed to "immediately" (which was immediately
granted.).
Page 208, "Moellendorff" equalized to "Moellendorf" ( | 3,303.803528 |
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A PHILOSOPHICAL DICTIONARY
VOLUME X
By
VOLTAIRE
EDITION DE LA PACIFICATION
THE WORKS OF VOLTAIRE
A CONTEMPORARY VERSION
With Notes by Tobias Smollett, Revised and Modernized
New Translations by William F. Fleming, and an
Introduction by Oliver H.G. Leigh
A CRITIQUE AND BIOGRAPHY
BY
THE RT. HON. JOHN MORLEY
FORTY-THREE VOLUMES
One hundred and sixty-eight designs, comprising reproductions
of rare old engravings, steel plates, photogravures,
and curious fac-similes
VOLUME XIV
E.R. DuMONT
PARIS--LONDON--NEW YORK--CHICAGO
1901
_The WORKS of VOLTAIRE_
_"Between two servants of Humanity, who appeared eighteen hundred
years apart, there is a mysterious relation. * * * * Let us say it
with a sentiment of profound respect: JESUS WEPT: VOLTAIRE SMILED.
Of that divine tear and of that human smile is composed the
sweetness of the present civilization."_
_VICTOR HUGO._
LIST OF PLATES--VOL. X
VOLTAIRE'S REMAINS ON THE BASTILLE--_Frontispiece_
THE DEATH OF SOCRATES
THE VISION
PIERRE CORNEILLE
[Illustration: Throned Upon The Ruins Of The Bastille. "For one night,
upon the ruins of the Bastille, rested the body of Voltaire, on fallen
wall and broken aroh, above the dungeons where light had faded from the
lives of men, and hope had died in breaking hearts. The conqueror,
resting upon the conquered; throned upon the Bastille, the fallen
fortress of night."--INGERSOLL.]
VOLTAIRE
A PHILOSOPHICAL DICTIONARY
IN TEN VOLUMES
VOL. X
STYLE--ZOROASTER
AND DECLARATION OF THE AMATEURS, INQUIRERS, AND DOUBTERS
STYLE.
It is very strange that since the French people became literary they
have had no book written in a good style, until the year 1654, when the
"Provincial Letters" appeared; and why had no one written history in a
suitable tone, previous to that of the "Conspiracy of Venice" of the
Abbe St. Real? How is it that Pellisson was the first who adopted the
true Ciceronian style, in his memoir for the superintendent Fouquet?
Nothing is more difficult and more rare than a style altogether suitable
to the subject in hand.
The style of the letters of Balzac would not be amiss for funeral
orations; and we have some physical treatises in the style of the epic
poem or the ode. It is proper that all things occupy their own places.
Affect not strange terms of expression, or new words, in a treatise on
religion, like the Abbe Houteville; neither declaim in a physical
treatise. Avoid pleasantry in the mathematics, and flourish and
extravagant figures in a pleading. If a poor intoxicated woman dies of
an apoplexy, you say that she is in the regions of death; they bury her,
and you exclaim that her mortal remains are confided to the earth. If
the bell tolls at her burial, it is her funeral knell ascending to the
skies. In all this you think you imitate Cicero, and you only copy
Master Littlejohn....
Without style, it is impossible that there can be a good work in any
kind of eloquence or poetry. A profusion of words is the great vice of
all our modern philosophers and anti-philosophers. The "_Systeme de la
Nature_" is a great proof of this truth. It is very difficult to give
just ideas of God and nature, and perhaps equally so to form a good
style.
As the kind of execution to be employed by every artist depends upon the
subject of which he treats--as the line of Poussin is not that of
Teniers, nor the architecture of a temple that of a common house, nor
music of a serious opera that of a comic one--so has each kind of
writing its proper style, both in prose and verse. It is obvious that
the style of history is not that of a funeral oration, and that the
despatch of an ambassador ought not to be written like a sermon; that
comedy is not to borrow the boldness of the ode, the pathetic expression
of the tragedy, nor the metaphors and similes of the epic.
Every species has its different shades, which may, however, be reduced
to two, the simple and the elevated. These two kinds, which embrace so
many others, possess essential beauties in common, which beauties are
accuracy of idea, adaptation, elegance, propriety of expression, and
purity of language. Every piece of writing, whatever its nature, calls
for these qualities; the difference consists in the employment of the
corresponding tropes. Thus, a character in comedy will not utter sublime
or philosophical ideas, a shepherd spout the notions of a conqueror, not
a didactic epistle breathe forth passion; and none of these forms of
composition ought to exhibit bold metaphor, pathetic exclamation, or
vehement expression.
Between the simple and the sublime there are many shades, and it is the
art of adjusting them which contributes to the perfection of eloquence
and poetry. It is by this art that Virgil frequently exalts the eclogue.
This verse: _Ut vidi ut perii, ut me malus abstulit error!_ (Eclogue
viii, v. 41)--I saw, I perished, yet indulged my pain! (Dryden)--would
be as fine in the mouth of Dido as in that of a shepherd, because it is
nature, true and elegant, and the sentiment belongs to any condition.
But this:
_Castaneasque nuces me quas Amaryllis amabat._
--_Eclogue, ii, v. 52._.
And pluck the chestnuts from the neighboring grove,
Such as my Amaryllis used to love.
--DRYDEN.
belongs not to an heroic personage, because the allusion is not such as
would be made by a hero.
These two instances are examples of the cases in which the mingling of
styles may be defended. Tragedy may occasionally stoop; it even ought to
do so. Simplicity, according to the precept of Horace, often relieves
grandeur. _Et tragicus plerumque dolet sermone pedestri_ (_Ars Poet._,
v. 95)--And oft the tragic language humbly flows (Francis).
These two verses in Titus, so natural and so tender:
_Depuis cinq ans entiers chaque jour je la vois._
_Et crois toujours la voir pour la premiere fois._
--BERENICE, acte ii, scene 1.
Each day, for five years, have I seen her face,
And each succeeding time appears the first.
would not be at all out of place in serious comedy; but the following
verse of Antiochus: _Dans l'orient desert quel devint mon ennui!_ (Id.,
acte i, scene 4)--The lonely east, how wearisome to me!--would not suit
a lover in comedy; the figure of the "lonely east" is too elevated for
the simplicity of the buskin. We have already remarked, that an author
who writes on physics, in allusion to a writer on physics, called
Hercules, adds that he is not able to resist a philosopher so powerful.
Another who has written a small book, which he imagines to be physical
and moral, against the utility of inoculation, says that if the smallpox
be diffused artificially, death will be defrauded.
The above defect springs from a ridiculous affectation. There is another
which is the result of negligence, which is that of mingling with the
simple and noble style required by history, popular phrases and low
expressions, which are inimical to good taste. We often read in Mezeray,
and even in Daniel, who, having written so long after him, ought to be
more correct, that "a general pursued at the heels of the enemy,
followed his track, and utterly basted him"--_a plate couture_. We read
nothing of this kind in Livy, Tacitus, Guicciardini, or Clarendon.
Let us observe, that an author accustomed to this kind of style can
seldom change it with his subject. In his operas, La Fontaine composed
in the style of his fables; and Benserade, in his translation of Ovid's
"Metamorphoses," exhibited the same kind of pleasantry which rendered
his madrigals successful. Perfection consists in knowing how to adapt
our style to the various subjects of which we treat; but who is
altogether the master of his habits, and able to direct his genius at
pleasure?
VARIOUS STYLES DISTINGUISHED.
_The Feeble._
Weakness of the heart is not that of the mind, nor weakness of the soul
that of the heart. A feeble soul is without resource in action, and
abandons itself to those who govern it. The _heart_ which is weak or
feeble is easily softened, changes its inclinations with facility,
resists not the seduction or the ascendency required, and may subsist
with a strong _mind_; for we may think strongly and act weakly. The weak
mind receives impressions without resistance, embraces opinions without
examination, is alarmed without cause, and tends naturally to
superstition.
A work may be feeble either in its matter or its style; by the
thoughts, when too common, or when, being correct, they are not
sufficiently profound; and by the style, when it is destitute of images,
or turns of expression, and of figures which rouse attention. Compared
with those of Bossuet, the funeral orations of Mascaron are weak, and
his style is lifeless.
Every speech is feeble when it is not relieved by ingenious turns, and
by energetic expressions; but a pleader is weak, when, with all the aid
of eloquence, and all the earnestness of action, he fails in
ratiocination. No philosophical work is feeble, notwithstanding the
deficiency of its style, if the reasoning be correct and profound. A
tragedy is weak, although the style | 3,303.807483 |
2023-11-16 19:12:07.7877000 | 18 | 10 |
E-text prepared by Richard Tonsing and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team | 3,303.80774 |
2023-11-16 19:12:07.7886270 | 6,431 | 21 |
College Voluntary Study Courses
Fourth Year--Part 1
The Social Principles Of Jesus
By
Walter Rauschenbusch
Professor of Church History, Rochester Theological Seminary
Written under the Direction of Sub-Committee on College Courses, Sunday
School Council of Evangelical Denominations, and Committee on Voluntary
Study, Council of North American Student Movements
The Woman's Press
600 Lexington Avenue
New York City
1917
Copyright, 1916, by
The International Committee of Young Men's Christian Associations
Entered at Stationers' Hall, London, 1916
All Rights Reserved
CONTENTS
Introduction
Part I. The Axiomatic Social Convictions Of Jesus
Chapter I. The Value Of Life
Chapter II. The Solidarity Of The Human Family
Chapter III. Standing With The People
Part II. The Social Ideal Of Jesus
Chapter IV. The Kingdom Of God: Its Values
Chapter V. The Kingdom Of God: Its Tasks
Chapter VI. A New Age And New Standards
Part III. The Recalcitrant Social Forces
Chapter VII. Leadership For Service
Chapter VIII. Private Property And The Common Good
Chapter IX. The Social Test Of Religion
Part IV. Conquest By Conflict
Chapter X. The Conflict With Evil
Chapter XI. The Cross As A Social Principle
Chapter XII. A Review And A Challenge
Footnotes
COLLEGE VOLUNTARY STUDY COURSES
"The Social Principles of Jesus" takes seventh place in a series of
text-books known as College Voluntary Study Courses. The general outline
for this curriculum has been prepared by the Committee on Voluntary Study
of the Council of North American Student Movements, representing the
Student Young Men's and Young Women's Christian Associations and the
Student Volunteer Movement, and the Sub-Committee on College Courses of
the Sunday School Council of Evangelical Denominations, representing
twenty-nine communions. Therefore the text-books are planned for the use
of student classes in the Sunday School, as well as for the supplementary
groups on the campus. The present text-book has been written under the
direction of these Committees.
The text-books are not suitable for use in the academic curriculum, as
they have been definitely planned for voluntary study groups.
This series, covering four years, is designed to form a minimum curriculum
for the voluntary study of the Bible, foreign missions, and North American
problems. Daily Bible Readings are printed with each text-book. The
student viewpoint is given first emphasis--what are the student interests?
what are the student problems?
The Bible text printed in short measure (indented both sides) is
taken from the American Standard Edition of the Revised Bible,
copyright, 1901, by Thomas Nelson & Sons, and is used by
permission.
INTRODUCTION
This book is not a life of Christ, nor an exposition of his religious
teachings, nor a doctrinal statement about his person and work. It is an
attempt to formulate in simple propositions the fundamental convictions of
Jesus about the social and ethical relations and duties of men.
Our generation is profoundly troubled by the problems of organized
society. The most active interest of serious men and women in the colleges
is concentrated on them. We know that we are in deep need of moral light
and spiritual inspiration in our gropings. There is an increasing
realization, too, that the salvation of society lies in the direction
toward which Jesus led. And yet there is no clear understanding of what he
stood for. Those who have grown up under Christian teaching can sum up the
doctrines of the Church readily, but the principles which we must
understand if we are to follow Jesus in the way of life, seem enveloped in
a haze. The ordinary man sees clearly only Christ's law of love and the
golden rule. This book seeks to bring to a point what we all vaguely know.
It does not undertake to furnish predigested material, or to impose
conclusions. It spreads out the most important source passages for
personal study, points out the connection between the principles of Jesus
and modern social problems, and raises questions for discussion. It was
written primarily for voluntary study groups of college seniors, and their
intellectual and spiritual needs are not like those of an average church
audience. It challenges college men and women to face the social
convictions of Jesus and to make their own adjustments.
PART I. THE AXIOMATIC SOCIAL CONVICTIONS OF JESUS
Chapter I. The Value Of Life
Whatever our present conceptions of Jesus Christ may be, we ought to
approach our study of his teachings with a sense of reverence. With the
slenderest human means at his disposal, within a brief span of time, he
raised our understanding of God and of human life to new levels forever,
and set forces in motion which revolutionized history.
Of his teachings we have only fragments, but they have an inexhaustible
vitality. In this course we are to examine these as our source material in
order to discover, if possible, what fundamental ethical principles were
in the mind of Jesus. This part of his thought has been less understood
and appropriated than other parts, and it is more needed today than ever.
Let us go at this study with the sense of handling something great, which
may have guiding force for our own lives. Let us work out for ourselves
the social meaning of the personality and thought of Jesus Christ, and be
prepared to face his challenge to the present social and economic order of
which we are part.
How did Jesus view the life and personality of the men about him? How did
he see the social relation which binds people together? What was the
reaction of his mind in face of the inequalities and sufferings of actual
society? If we can get hold of the convictions which were axiomatic and
immediate with him on these three questions, we shall have the key to his
social principles. We shall take them up in the first three chapters.
DAILY READINGS
First Day: The Worth of a Child
And they were bringing unto him little children, that he should
touch them: and the disciples rebuked them. But when Jesus saw it,
he was moved with indignation, and said unto them, Suffer the
little children to come unto me; forbid them not: for to such
belongeth the kingdom of God. Verily I say unto you, Whosoever
shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child, he shall
in no wise enter therein. And he took them in his arms, and
blessed them, laying his hands upon them.--Mark 10:13-16.
The child is humanity reduced to its simplest terms. Affectionate joy in
children is perhaps the purest expression of social feeling. Jesus was
indignant when the disciples thought children were not of sufficient
importance to occupy his attention. Compared with the selfish ambition of
grown-ups he felt something heavenly in children, a breath of the Kingdom
of God. They are nearer the Kingdom than those whom the world has smudged.
To inflict any spiritual injury on one of these little ones seemed to him
an inexpressible guilt. See Matthew 18:1-6.
_Can the moral standing of a community be fairly judged by the statistics
of child labor and infant mortality?_
_What prompts some young men to tyrannize over their younger brothers?_
_How does this passage and the principle of the sacredness of life bear on
the problem of eugenics?_
Second Day: The Humanity of a Leper
And when he was come down from the mountain, great multitudes
followed him. And behold, there came to him a leper, and
worshipped him, saying, Lord, if thou wilt, thou canst make me
clean. And he stretched forth his hand, and touched him, saying, I
will; be thou made clean. And straightway his leprosy was
cleansed. And Jesus saith unto him, See thou tell no man; but go,
show thyself to the priest, and offer the gift that Moses
commanded, for a testimony unto them.--Matt. 8:1-4.
Whenever Jesus healed he rendered a social service to his fellows. The
spontaneous tenderness which he put into his contact with the sick was an
expression of his sense of the sacredness of life. A leper with fingerless
hands and decaying joints was repulsive to the aesthetic feelings and a
menace to selfish fear of infection. The community quarantined the lepers
in waste places by stoning them when they crossed bounds. (Remember Ben
Hur's mother and sister.) Jesus not only healed this man, but his sense of
humanity so went out to him that "he stretched forth his hand and touched
him." Even the most wretched specimen of humanity still had value to him.
_What is the social and moral importance of those professions which cure
or prevent sickness?_
_How would a strong religious sense of the sacredness of life affect
members of these professions?_
Third Day: The Moral Quality of Contempt
Ye have heard that it was said to them of old time, Thou shalt not
kill; and whosoever shall kill shall be in danger of the judgment:
but I say unto you, that every one who is angry with his brother
shall be in danger of the judgment; and whosoever shall say to his
brother, Raca, shall be in danger of the council; and whosoever
shall say, Thou fool, shall be in danger of the hell of
fire.--Matt. 5:21, 22.
In the Sermon on the Mount Jesus demanded that the standards of social
morality be raised to a new level. He proposed that the feeling of anger
and hate be treated as seriously as murder had been treated under the old
code, and if anyone went so far as to use hateful and contemptuous
expressions toward a fellow-man, it ought to be a case for the supreme
court. Of course this was simply a vivid form of putting it. The important
point is that Jesus ranged hate and contempt under the category of murder.
To abuse a man with words of contempt denies his worth, breaks down his
self-respect, and robs him of the regard of others. It is an attempt to
murder his soul. The horror which Jesus feels for such action is an
expression of his own respect for the worth of personality.
_How is the self-respect and sense of personal worth of men built up or
broken down in college communities?_
_How in industrial communities?_
Fourth Day: Bringing Back the Outcast
Now all the publicans and sinners were drawing near unto him to
hear him. And both the Pharisees and the scribes murmured, saying,
This man receiveth sinners, and eateth with them.
And he spake unto them this parable, saying, What man of you,
having a hundred sheep, and having lost one of them, doth not
leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go after that
which is lost, until he find it? And when he hath found it, he
layeth it on his shoulders, rejoicing. And when he cometh home, he
calleth together his friends and his neighbors, saying unto them,
Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep which was lost. I say
unto you, that even so there shall be joy in heaven over one
sinner that repenteth, more than over ninety and nine righteous
persons, who need no repentance.
Or what woman having ten pieces of silver, if she lose one piece,
doth not light a lamp, and sweep the house, and seek diligently
until she find it? And when she hath found it, she calleth
together her friends and neighbors, saying, Rejoice with me, for I
have found the piece which I had lost. Even so, I say unto you,
there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner
that repenteth.--Luke 15:1-10.
Every Jewish community had a fringe of unchurched people, who could not
keep up the strict observance of the Law and had given up trying. The
pious people, just because they were pious, felt they must cold-shoulder
such. Jesus walked across the lines established. What seems to have been
the motive that prompted him? Why did the Pharisee withdraw, and why did
Jesus mix with the publicans?
_What groups in our own communities correspond to the __"__publicans and
sinners,__"__ and what is the attitude of religious people toward them?_
_What social groups in college towns are spoken of with contempt by
college men, and why?_
_Is there a Pharisaism of education? Define and locate it._
Fifth Day: The Problem of the Delinquents
For the Son of man came to seek and to save that which was
lost.--Luke 19:10.
Here Jesus formulates the inner meaning and mission of his life as he
himself felt it. He was here for social restoration and moral salvage. No
human being should go to pieces if he could help it. He was not only
willing to help people who came to him for help, but he proposed to go
after them. The "lost" man was too valuable and sacred to be lost.
_How does the Christian impulse of salvation connect with the activities
represented in the National Conference of Charities and Correction?_
_How does a college community regard its __"__sinners__"__?_ Suppose a man
has an instinct for low amusements and a yellow sense of honor, how do the
higher forces in college life get at that man to set him right?
Sixth Day: Going Beyond Justice
For the kingdom of heaven is like unto a man that was a
householder, who went out early in the morning to hire laborers
into his vineyard. And when he had agreed with the laborers for a
shilling a day, he sent them into his vineyard. And he went out
about the third hour, and saw others standing in the marketplace
idle; and to them he said, Go ye also into the vineyard, and
whatsoever is right I will give you. And they went their way.
Again he went out about the sixth and the ninth hour, and did
likewise. And about the eleventh hour he went out and found others
standing: and he saith unto them, Why stand ye here all the day
idle? They say unto him, Because no man hath hired us. He said
unto them, Go ye also into the vineyard. And when even was come,
the lord of the vineyard said unto his steward, Call the laborers,
and pay them their hire, beginning from the last unto the first.
And when they came that were hired about the eleventh hour, they
received every man a shilling. And when the first came, they
supposed that they would receive more; and they likewise received
every man a shilling. And when they received it, they murmured
against the householder, saying, These last have spent but one
hour, and thou hast made them equal unto us, who have borne the
burden of the day and the scorching heat. But he answered and said
to one of them, Friend, I do thee no wrong: didst not thou agree
with me for a shilling? Take up that which is thine, and go thy
way; it is my will to give unto this last, even as unto thee. Is
it not lawful for me to do what I will with mine own? or is thine
eye evil, because I am good? So the last shall be first, and the
first last.--Matt. 20:1-16.
Judaism rested on legality. So much obedience to the law earned so much
reward, according to the contract between God and Israel. Theoretically
this was just; practically it gave the inside track to the respectable and
well to do, for it took leisure and money to obey the minutiae of the Law.
In this parable the employer rises from the level of justice to the higher
plane of human fellow-feeling. These eleventh-hour men had been ready to
work; they had to eat and live; he proposed to give them a living wage
because he felt an inner prompting to do so. In the parable of the
Prodigal Son the father does more for his son than justice required,
because he was a father. Here the employer does more because he is a man.
Each acted from a sense of the worth of the human life with which he was
dealing. It was the same sense of worth and sacredness in Jesus which
prompted him to invent these parables.
_Do we find ourselves valuing people according to their utility to us, or
do we have an active feeling of their human interest and worth?_ Let us
run over in our minds our family and relatives, our professors and
friends, and the people in town who serve us, and see with whom we are on
a human footing.
Seventh Day: The Courtesy of Jesus
And early in the morning he came again into the temple, and all
the people came unto him; and he sat down, and taught them. And
the scribes and the Pharisees bring a woman taken in adultery; and
having set her in the midst, they say unto him, Teacher, this
woman hath been taken in adultery, in the very act. Now in the law
Moses commanded us to stone such: what then sayest thou of her?
And this they said, trying him that they might have whereof to
accuse him. But Jesus stooped down, and with his finger wrote on
the ground. But when they continued asking him, he lifted up
himself, and said unto them, He that is without sin among you, let
him first cast a stone at her. And again he stooped down and with
his finger wrote on the ground. And they, when they heard it, went
out one by one, beginning from the eldest, even unto the last: and
Jesus was left alone, and the woman, where she was, in the midst.
And Jesus lifted up himself, and said unto her, Woman, where are
they? did no man condemn thee? And she said, No man, Lord. And
Jesus said, Neither do I condemn thee: go thy way; from henceforth
sin no more.--John 8:2-11.
Was there ever a more gentlemanly handling of a raw situation? This woman
was going through one of the most harrowing experiences conceivable,
exposed to the gaze of a leering and scornful crowd, her good name torn
away, her self-respect crushed. Jesus shielded her from stoning by the
power of his personality and his consummate skill in handling men. He got
inside their guard, aroused their own sense of past guilt, and so awakened
some human fellow-feeling for the woman. When he was alone with her, what
a mingling of kindness and severity! Surely she would carry away the
memory of a wonderful friend who came to her in her dire need. Why did
Jesus twice turn his eyes away to the ground? Was he ashamed to look at
her shame?
Such a sudden, tragic happening is a severe test of a man's qualities. It
brought out the courtesy of Jesus, his respect for human personality even
in its shame. _How can we train ourselves so that we may be equal to such
emergencies?_ Would continued spiritual contact with Jesus be likely to
make a difference?
Study for the Week
The passages we have studied are inductive material. Can there be any
doubt that Jesus had a spontaneous love for his fellow-men and a deep
sense of the sacredness of human personality? Physical deformity and moral
guilt could not obscure the divine worth of human life to him. To cause
any soul to stumble and go down, or to express contempt for any human
being, was to him a horrible guilt.
I
This regard for human life was based on the same social instinct which
every normal man possesses. But with Jesus it was so strong that it
determined all his viewpoints and activities. He affirmed the humane
instinct consciously and intelligently, and raised it to the dignity of a
social principle. This alone would be enough to mark him out as a new
type, prophetic and creative of a new development of the race.
Whence did Jesus derive the strength and purity of his social feeling? Was
it simply the endowment of a finely attuned nature? Other fine minds of
the ancient world valued men according to their wealth, their rank, their
power, their education, their beauty. Jesus valued men as such, apart from
any attractive equipment. Why? "The deeper our insight into human destiny
becomes, the more sacred does every individual human being seem to us"
(Lotze). The respect of Jesus for every concrete person whom he met was
due to his religious insight into human life and destiny. But how did he
get his insight?
Love and religion have the power of idealistic interpretation. To a mother
her child is a wonderful being. To a true lover the girl he loves has
sacredness. With Jesus the consciousness of a God of love revealed the
beauty of men. The old gods were despotic supermen, mythical duplicates of
the human kings and conquerors. The God of Jesus was the great Father who
lets his light shine on the just and the unjust, and offers forgiveness
and love to all. Jesus lived in the spiritual atmosphere of that faith.
Consequently he saw men from that point of view. They were to him children
of that God. Even the lowliest was high. The light that shone on him from
the face of God shed a splendor on the prosaic ranks of men. In this way
religion enriches and illuminates social feeling.
Jesus succeeded in transmitting something of his own sense of the
sacredness of life to his followers. As Wundt says: "Humanity in this
highest sense was brought into the world by Christianity." The love of men
became a social dogma of the Church. Some other convictions of Jesus left
few traces on the common thought of Christendom, but the Church has always
stood for a high estimate of the potential worth of the soul of man. It
has always taught that man was made in God's image and that he is destined
to share in the holiness and eternal life of God.
II
What effects has this registered on social conduct? Has the Church
intelligently resisted social forces or conditions which brutalized or
shamed men?
It is most difficult to estimate accurately the historic influence of
religious ideas. They are subtle and hard to trace. But we can justly
reason from our own observations in evangelism and foreign mission work.
Those of us who have gone through a clearly marked conversion to
Christianity will probably remember that we realized our fellow-men with a
new warmth and closeness, and under higher points of view. We were then
entering into the Christian valuation of human life. In foreign missions
the influence of Christianity can be contrasted with non-Christian social
life, and there is often a striking rise in the respect for life and
personality as compared with the hardness and callousness of heathen
society. This is one of the distinctive marks of the modern and Western
world compared with the ancient and the Oriental. Those individuals among
us who have really duplicated something of the spirit of Jesus are always
marked by their loving regard for human life, even its wreckage. That
sense of sacredness is the basis for the whole missionary and
philanthropic activity of Christian men and women.
It is also an important force in the social movements. Have there been any
widespread, continuous, and successful movements for social justice
outside of the territory influenced by Christianity? Was there any causal
connection between the historic reformation and purification of
Christianity since the sixteenth century and the rise of civil and social
democracy? Does the spread of Christian ideas and feelings predispose the
powerful classes to make concessions? What contribution did the Wesleyan
revival among the working people of England make toward the rise of the
trade union movement, the education of stable leaders, and the faith in
democracy? It takes idealistic convictions a long time to permeate large
social classes, but they often spring into effectiveness suddenly.
Certainly a belief in the worth and capacity of the common man is a
spiritual support of democratic institutions, and where the Church really
spread the Christian sense of the worth and sacredness of human life, it
has been a great stabilizer of civil liberty.
Jesus asserted with religious power what all men feel. Sometimes it
requires the solemn presence of death to brush aside the artificial
distinctions of society and to make us realize that a life is a life, and
precious as such. But when we are at our best, we do feel the sacredness
of human life.
III
Does our present social order develop or neutralize that feeling in us?
Presumably it works both ways. For those who want to spread the spirit of
Christ, it becomes important to inquire at what points our social
institutions cheapen life and take the value out of personality.
The class differences inherited from the past are designed to hedge the
upper classes about with honor, but they necessarily depreciate the lower
classes by contrast and neutralize the tie of the common blood. In some
countries the self-respect of the lower classes is affronted by degrading
forms of legal punishment reserved for them. Forms of servility are
exacted from servants and peasants. The practical working of class
differences is most clearly seen in the relation of the sexes. Love is a
great equalizer; hence it clashes with class pride. The plot of
innumerable dramas and novels turns on the efforts of love to overcome the
laws of social caste. Where class spirit is traditional and fully
developed, men have a double code for the women of their own class, and
those of the lower classes. It is a far greater offense for a gentleman to
marry a girl of the lower class than to ruin her.
It is the glory of America that our laws do not intend to recognize class
differences. The conditions of life on a raw continent and the principles
embodied in religious and political idealism fortunately cooperated. Will
this last, or are the great differences in wealth once more resulting in
definite class lines and in class pride and contempt? What does the phrase
"of good family" imply by contrast? What evidence does college fraternity
life offer as to the existence of social classes? How is immigration
likely to increase the cleavages by adding differences of race and color,
religion, language, and manners? What light does the history of
immigration in America cast on our valuation of human life in strangers?
Political oligarchies have usually defended their rule by the assumption
that the masses are incapable and the few are superior. The laws made by
them, however, have usually shown ignorance and indifference as to the
human needs of the working masses. The same fundamental adjustment exists
in industry. It is not an expression of the worth of the working people if
they have no right to organize or to share in governing the conditions
under which they work, and if years of good work earn a man no ownership
or equity, no legal standing or even tenure of employment in a business.
Is the right to petition for a redress of grievances an adequate
industrial expression of the Christian doctrine of the worth and
sacredness of personality? Is not property essential to the real freedom
and self-expression of a human personality?
War and prostitution are the most flagrant offenses against this social
principle. War is a wholesale waster of life. Prostitution is the worst
form of contempt for personality.
Does our intellectual and scientific work ever tend to chill the warm
sense of human values? Do we acquire something of the impassiveness of
Nature in studying her enormous waste of life? Do we transfer to human
affairs her readiness to use up the masses in order to produce a higher
type? Jesus did not talk about eliminating the unfit. He talked about
saving them, which requires greater constructive energy if it is really to
be done. It also requires a higher faith in the latent recuperative
capacities of human nature. The detached attitude of scientific study may
combine with our plentiful natural egotism to create a cold indifference
toward the less attractive masses of humanity. We need the glow of
Christ's feeling for men to come unharmed out of this intellectual
temptation.
IV
Doubtless the objection has arisen in our minds that it is not in the
interest of the future of the race that religious pity shall coddle and
multiply the weak, or put them in control of society.
But did Jesus want the weak to stay weak? Was his social feeling ever
maudlin? He was himself a powerful and free personality, who refused to be
suppressed or conformed to the dominant type. He challenged the existing
authorities, one against the field. Even in the slender record we have of
him we can see him running the gamut of emotions from wrath and invective
to tenderness and humor. It was precisely his own powerful individuality
which made him demand for others the right to become free and strong
souls. Other powerful individuals have used up the rest as means to their
end. What human life or character did Jesus weaken or break down? He was
| 3,303.808667 |
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E-text prepared by Afra Ullah, Sjaani, and Project Gutenberg Distributed
Proofreaders
AUNT JANE'S NIECES IN SOCIETY
BY
EDITH VAN DYNE
1910
LIST OF CHAPTERS
CHAPTER
I UNCLE JOHN'S DUTY
II A QUESTION OF "PULL"
III DIANA
IV THE THREE NIECES
V PREPARING FOR THE PLUNGE
VI THE FLY IN THE BROTH
VII THE HERO ENTERS AND TROUBLE BEGINS
VIII OPENING THE CAMPAIGN
IX THE VON TAER PEARLS
X MISLED
XI LIMOUSINE
XII FOGERTY
XIII DIANA REVOLTS
XIV A COOL ENCOUNTER
XV A BEWILDERING EXPERIENCE
XVI MADAME CERISE, CUSTODIAN
XVII THE MYSTERY DEEPENS
XVIII A RIFT IN THE CLOUDS
XIX POLITIC REPENTANCE
XX A TELEPHONE CALL
XXI THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS
XXII GONE
XXIII THE CRISIS
XXIV A MATTER OF COURSE
CHAPTER I
UNCLE JOHN'S DUTY
"You're not doing your duty by those girls, John Merrick!"
The gentleman at whom this assertion was flung in a rather angry tone
did not answer his sister-in-law. He sat gazing reflectively at the
pattern in the rug and seemed neither startled nor annoyed. Mrs.
Merrick, a pink-cheeked middle-aged lady attired in an elaborate morning
gown, knitted her brows severely as she regarded the chubby little man
opposite; then, suddenly remembering that the wrinkles might leave their
dreadful mark on her carefully rolled and massaged features, she
banished them with a pass of her ringed hand and sighed dismally.
"It would not have mattered especially had the poor children been left
in their original condition of friendless poverty," she said. "They were
then like a million other girls, content to struggle for a respectable
livelihood and a doubtful position in the lower stratas of social
communion. But you interfered. You came into their lives abruptly,
appearing from those horrid Western wilds with an amazing accumulation
of money and a demand that your three nieces become your special
_protegees_. And what is the result?"
The little man looked up with a charming smile of good humored raillery.
His keen gray eyes sparkled as mischievously as a schoolboy's. Softly he
rubbed the | 3,303.901429 |
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Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive
REMEDIA A MORIS;
or,
THE REMEDY OF LOVE.
By Ovid
Literally Translated into English Prose, with Copious Notes, by Henry T. Riley
1885
REMEDIA A MORIS; or, THE REMEDY OF LOVE.
|The God of Love had read the title and the name of this treatise,
when he said, "War, I see, war is being meditated against me." Forbear,
Cupid, to accuse thy Poet of such a crime; me, who so oft have borne
thy standards with thee for my leader. I am no son of Tydeus, wounded by
whom, [1201] thy mother returned into the yielding air with the steeds of
Mars. Other youths full oft grow cool; I have ever loved; and shouldst
thou inquire what I am doing even now, I am still in love. Besides,
I have taught by what arts thou mayst be won; and that which is now a
system, was an impulse before. Neither thee do I betray, sweet Boy, nor
yet my own arts; nor has my more recent Muse unravelled her former work.
If any one loves an object which he delights to love, enraptured, in his
happiness, let him rejoice, and let him sail with prospering gales. But
if any one impatiently endures the sway of some cruel fair, that he
may not be undone, let him experience relief from my skill. Why has
one person, tying up his neck [1202] by the tightened halter, hung, a
sad burden, from the lofty beam? Why, with the hard iron, has another
pierced his own entrails? Lover of peace, thou dost bear the blame
of their deaths. He, who, unless he desists, is about to perish by a
wretched passion, let him desist; and then thou wilt prove the cause of
death to none. Besides, thou art a boy; and it becomes thee not to do
aught but play. Play on; a sportive sway befits thy years. Far thou
mayst use thy arrows, when drawn from the quiver for warfare; but thy
weapons are free from deadly blood.
Let thy stepfather Mars wage war both with the sword and the sharp
lance; and let him go, as victor, blood-stained with plenteous
slaughter. Do thou cherish thy mother's arts, which, in safety, we
pursue; and by the fault of which no parent he comes bereft. Do thou
cause the portals to be burst open in the broils of the night; and
let many a chaplet cover the decorated doors. Cause the youths and the
bashful damsels to meet in secret; and by any contrivance they can, let
them deceive their watchful husbands. And at one moment, let the
lover utter blandishments, at another, rebukes, against the obdurate
door-posts; and, shut out, let him sing some doleful ditty. Contented
with these tears, thou wilt be without the imputation of any death. Thy
torch is not deserving to be applied to the consuming pile.
These words said I. Beauteous Love waved his resplendent wings, and
said to me, "Complete the work that thou dost design." Come, then, ye
deceived youths, for my precepts; ye whom your passion has deceived in
every way. By him, through whom you have learned how to love, learn
how to be cured; for you, the same hand shall cause the wound and the
remedy. The earth nourishes wholesome plants, and the same produces
injurious ones; and full oft is the nettle the neighbour of the rose.
That lance which once made a wound in the enemy, the son of Hercules,
afforded a remedy [1203] for that wound. But whatever is addressed to the
men, believe, ye fair, to be said to you as well; to both sides am I
giving arms. If of these any are not suited to your use, still by
their example they may afford much instruction. My useful purpose is to
extinguish the raging flames, and not to have the mind the slave of its
own imperfections. Phyllis would have survived, if she had employed me
as her teacher; and along that road, by which nine times she went,[1204] she would have gone oftener still. And Dido, dying, | 3,303.90485 |
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Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Matthew Wheaton and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
PETER AND POLLY IN WINTER
BY
ROSE LUCIA
Formerly Principal of the Primary School
Montpelier, Vermont
_Author of "Peter and Polly in Spring," "Peter and Polly in
Summer," and "Peter and Polly in Autumn."_
AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY
NEW YORK CINCINNATI CHICAGO
BOSTON ATLANTA
COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY
ROSE LUCIA.
COPYRIGHT, 1914, IN GREAT BRITAIN.
PETER AND POLLY IN WINTER.
E. P. 21
To
C. M. G.
[Illustration: _Frontispiece_ MAP]
CONTENTS
PETER AND POLLY
THE BIRDS' GAME OF TAG
THE STONE-WALL POST OFFICE
PLAYING IN THE LEAVES
"HOW THE LEAVES COME DOWN"
THE BONFIRE
THE HEN THAT HELPED PETER
THE FIRST ICE
THE THREE GUESSES
THE FIRST SNOWSTORM
THE STAR SNOWFLAKE
HOW PETER HELPED GRANDMOTHER
THE SNOW MAN
PETER'S DREAM
CUTTING THE CHRISTMAS TREE
THE GIVE-AWAY BOX
CHRISTMAS MORNING
THE SNOW HOUSE
THE FALL OF THE IGLOO
PULLING PETER'S TOOTH
DRIVING WITH FATHER
THE STAG
POLLY'S BIRD PARTY
THE NEW SLED
BROWNIE
DISH-PAN SLEDS
CAT AND COPY-CAT
POLLY'S SNOWSHOES
THE WOODS IN WINTER
THE WINTER PICNIC
THE SEWING LESSON
FISHING THROUGH THE ICE
MAKING MOLASSES CANDY
GRANDMOTHER | 3,303.997461 |
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Produced by Geoff Horton, Richard Hulse and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
┌────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ │
│ Transcriber’s Notes │
│ │
│ │
│ Punctuation has been standardized. │
│ │
│ Characters in small caps have been replaced by all caps. │
│ │
│ Non-printable characteristics have been given the following │
│ transliteration: │
│ Italic text: --> _text_ │
│ │
│ This book was written in a period when many words had │
│ not become standardized in their spelling. Words may have │
│ multiple spelling variations or inconsistent hyphenation in │
│ the text. These have been left unchanged unless indicated │
│ with a Transcriber’s Note. │
│ │
│ Footnotes are identified in the text with a number in │
│ brackets [2] and have been accumulated in a single section │
│ at the end of the text. │
│ │
│ Transcriber’s Notes are used when making corrections to the │
│ text or to provide additional information for the modern │
│ reader. These notes are not identified in the text, but have │
│ been accumulated in a single section at the end of the book. │
│ │
└────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘
_Only Complete and Unabridged Edition with nearly 100 pages of
Chronological and General Index, Alphabetical and Centenary Table,
etc._
THE
LIVES
OF
THE FATHERS, MARTYRS,
AND OTHER
PRINCIPAL SAINTS;
COMPILED FROM
ORIGINAL MONUMENTS, AND OTHER AUTHENTIC RECORDS;
ILLUSTRATED WITH THE
REMARKS OF JUDICIOUS MODERN CRITICS AND HISTORIANS.
BY THE REV. ALBAN BUTLER.
_With the approbation of
MOST REV. M. A. CORRIGAN, D.D.,
Archbishop of New York._
VOL. VII.
NEW YORK:
P. J. KENEDY,
PUBLISHER TO THE HOLY SEE,
EXCELSIOR CATHOLIC PUBLISHING HOUSE,
5 BARCLAY STREET.
1908
CONTENTS.
JULY.
1.
St. Rumold, Bishop and Martyr
SS. Julius and Aaron, Martyrs
St. Theobald, Confessor
St. Gal, Bishop
Another St. Gal, Bishop
St. Calais, Abbot
St. Leonorus, Bishop
St. Simeon
St. Thierri, Abbot
St. Cybar, Recluse
2.
The Visitation of the Blessed Virgin
SS. Processus and Martinian, Martyrs
St. Otho, Bishop and Confessor
St. Monegondes, Recluse
St. Oudoceus, Bishop
3.
St. Phocas, Martyr
St. Guthagon, Recluse
St. Gunthiern, Abbot
St. Bertran, Bishop
4.
St. Ulric, Bishop and Confessor
St. Odo, Bishop and Confessor
St. Sisoes, Anchoret
St. Bertha, Widow, Abbess
St. Finbar, Abbot in Ireland
St. Bolcan, Abbot in Ireland
5.
St. Peter, Bishop and Confessor
St. Modwena, Virgin in Ireland
St. Edana, Virgin in Ireland
6.
St. Palladius, Bishop and Confessor, Apostle of the Scots
Account of ancient principal Scottish Saints commemorated in
an ancient Scottish Calendar published by Mr. Robert Keith
St. Julian, Anchoret
St. Sexburgh, Abbess
St. Goar, Priest, Confessor
St. Moninna, Virgin in Ireland
7.
| 3,304.002852 |
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Produced by Al Haines
[Illustration: Cover art]
[Frontispiece: "Until I come to you as--as you have never known me
yet!"]
THE BLIND MAN'S EYES
By WILLIAM MACHARG & EDWIN BALMER
With Frontispiece
By WILSON C. DEXTER
A. L. BURT COMPANY
Publishers ---- New York
Published by Arrangements with LITTLE, BROWN & COMPANY
_Copyright, 1916,_
BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
_All rights reserved_
To
R. G.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I A FINANCIER DIES
II THE EXPRESS IS HELD FOR A PERSONAGE
III MISS DORNE MEETS EATON
IV TRUCE
V ARE YOU HILLWARD?
VI THE HAND IN THE AISLE
VII "ISN'T THIS BASIL SANTOINE?"
VIII SUSPICION FASTENS ON EATON
IX QUESTIONS
X THE BLIND MAN'S EYES
XI PUBLICITY NOT WANTED
XII THE ALLY IN THE HOUSE
XIII THE MAN FROM THE TRAIN
XIV IT GROWS PLAINER
XV DONALD AVERY IS MOODY
XVI SANTOINE'S "EYES" FAIL HIM
XVII THE FIGHT IN THE STUDY
XVIII UNDER COVER OF DARKNESS
XIX PURSUIT
XX WAITING
XXI WHAT ONE CAN DO WITHOUT EYES
XXII THE MAN HUNT
XXIII NOT EATON--OVERTON
XXIV THE FLAW IN THE LEFT EYE
XXV "IT'S ALL RIGHT, HUGH"--AT LAST
THE BLIND MAN'S EYES
CHAPTER I
A FINANCIER DIES
Gabriel Warden--capitalist, railroad director, owner of mines and
timber lands, at twenty a cow-puncher, at forty-eight one of the
predominant men of the Northwest Coast--paced with quick, uneven steps
the great wicker-furnished living room of his home just above Seattle
on Puget Sound. Twice within ten minutes he had used the telephone in
the hall to ask the same question and, apparently to receive the same
reply--that the train from Vancouver, for which he had inquired, had
come in and that the passengers had left the station.
It was not like Gabriel Warden to show nervousness of any sort; Kondo,
the Japanese doorman, who therefore had found something strange in this
telephoning, watched him through the portieres which shut off the
living-room from the hall. Three times Kondo saw him--big, uncouth in
the careless fit of his clothes, powerful and impressive in his
strength of feature and the carriage of his well-shaped head--go to the
window and, watch in hand, stand staring out. It was a Sunday evening
toward the end of February--cold, cloudy and with a chill wind driving
over the city and across the Sound. Warden evidently saw no one as he
gazed out into the murk; but each moment, Kondo observed, his
nervousness increased. He turned suddenly and pressed the bell to call
a servant. Kondo, retreating silently down the hall, advanced again
and entered the room; he noticed then that Warden's hand, which was
still holding the watch before him, was shaking.
"A young man who may, or may not, give a name, will ask for me in a few
moments. He will say he called by appointment. Take him at once to my
smoking-room, and I will see him there. I am going to Mrs. Warden's
room now."
He went up the stairs, Kondo noticed, still absently holding his watch
in his hand.
Warden controlled his nervousness before entering his wife's
room,--where she had just finished dressing to go out,--so that she did
not at first sense anything unusual. In fact, she talked with him
casually for a moment or so before she even sent away her maid. He had
promised a few days before to accompany her to a concert; she thought
he had come simply to beg off. When they were alone, she suddenly saw
that he had come to her to discuss some serious subject.
"Cora," he said, when he had closed the door after the maid, "I want
your advice on a business question."
"A business question!" She was greatly surprised. She was a number of
years younger than he; he was one of those men who believe all business
matters should be kept from their wives.
"I mean it came to me through some business--discoveries."
"And you cannot decide it for yourself?"
"I had decided it." He looked again at his watch. "I had quite
decided it; but now--It may lead to some result which I have suddenly
felt that I haven't the right to decide entirely for myself."
Warden's wife for the first time felt alarmed. She could not well
describe his manner; it did not suggest fear for himself; she could not
imagine his feeling such fear; but she was frightened. She put her
hand on his arm.
"You mean it affects me directly?"
"It may. For that reason I feel I must do what you would have me do."
He seized both her hands in his and held her before him; she waited for
him to go on.
"Cora," he said, "what would you have me do if you knew I had found out
that a young man--a man who, four or five years ago, had as much to
live for as any man might--had been outraged in every right by men who
are my friends? Would you have me fight the outfit for him? Or would
you have me--lie down?"
His fingers almost crushed hers in his excitement. She stared at him
with only pride then; she was proud of his strength, of his ability to
fight, of the power she knew he possessed to force his way against
opposition. "Why, you would fight them!"
"You mean you want me to?"
"Isn't that what you had decided to do?"
He only repeated. "You want me to fight them?"
"Of course."
"No matter what it costs?"
She realized then that what he was facing was very grave.
"Cora," he said, "I didn't come to ask your advice without putting this
squarely to you. If I go into this fight, I shall be not only an
opponent to some of my present friends; I shall be a threat to
them--something they may think it necessary to remove."
"Remove?"
"Such things have happened--to better men than I, over smaller matters."
She cried out. "You mean some one might kill you?"
"Should that keep me from going in?"
She hesitated. He went on: "Would you have me afraid to do a thing
that ought to be done, Cora?"
"No," she said; "I would not."
"All right, then. That's all I had to know now. The young man is
coming to see me to-night, Cora. Probably he's downstairs. I'll tell
you all I can after I've talked with him."
Warden's wife tried to hold him a moment more, but he loosed himself
from her and left her.
He went directly downstairs; as he passed through the hall, the
telephone bell rang. Warden himself answered it. Kondo, who from his
place in the hall overheard Warden's end of the conversation, made out
only that the person at the other end of the line appeared to be a
friend, or at least an acquaintance, of Warden's. Kondo judged this
from the tone of the conversation; Warden spoke no names. Apparently
the other person wished to see Warden at once. Warden finished, "All
right; I'll come and get you. Wait for me there." Then he hung up.
Turning to Kondo, he ordered his limousine car. Kondo transmitted the
order and brought Warden's coat and cap; then Kondo opened the house
door for him and the door of the limousine, which had been brought
under the porte-cochere. Kondo heard Warden direct the chauffeur to a
drug store near the center of the city; the chauffeur was Patrick
Corboy, a young Irishman who had been in Warden's employ for more than
five years; his faithfulness to Warden was never questioned. Corboy
drove to the place Warden had directed. As they stopped, a young man
of less than medium height, broad-shouldered and wearing a mackintosh,
came to the curb and spoke to Warden. Corboy did not hear the name,
but Warden immediately asked the man into the car; he directed Corboy
to return home. The chauffeur did this, but was obliged on the way to
come to a complete stop several times, as he met streetcars or other
vehicles on intersecting streets.
Almost immediately after Warden had left the house, the door-bell rang
and Kondo answered it. A young man with a quiet and pleasant bearing
inquired for Mr. Warden and said he came by appointment. Kondo ushered
him into the smoking room, where the stranger waited. The <DW61> did not
announce this arrival to any one, for he had already received his
instructions; but several times in the next half hour he looked in upon
him. The stranger was always sitting where he had seated himself when
Kondo showed him in; he was merely waiting. In about forty minutes,
Corboy drove the car under the porte-cochere again and got down and
opened the door. Kondo had not heard the car at once, and the
chauffeur had not waited for him. There was no motion inside the
limousine. The chauffeur looked in and saw Mr. Warden lying back
quietly against the cushions in the back of the seat; he was alone.
Corboy noticed then that the curtains all about had been pulled down;
he touched the button and turned on the light at the top of the car,
and then he saw that Warden was dead; his cap was off, and the top of
his head had been smashed in by a heavy blow.
The chauffeur drew back, gasping; Kondo, behind him on the steps, cried
out and ran into the house calling for help. Two other servants and
Mrs. Warden, who had remained nervously in her room, ran down. The
stranger who had been waiting, now seen for the first time by Mrs.
Warden, came out from the smoking room to help them. He aided in
taking the body from the car and helped to carry it into the living
room and lay it on a couch; he remained until it was certain that
Warden had been killed and nothing could be done. When this had been
established and further confirmed by the doctor who was called, Kondo
and Mrs. Warden looked around for the young man--but he was no longer
there.
The news of the murder brought extras out upon the streets of Seattle,
Tacoma, and Portland at ten o'clock that night; the news took the first
page in San Francisco, Chicago, and New York papers, in competition
with the war news, the next morning. Seattle, stirred at once at the
murder of one of its most prominent citizens, stirred still further at
the new proof that Warden had been a power in business and finance;
then, as the second | 3,304.005776 |
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Produced by Col Choat
JOURNALS OF TWO EXPEDITIONS INTO THE INTERIOR OF NEW SOUTH WALES,
BY ORDER OF THE BRITISH GOVERNMENT IN THE YEARS 1817-18.
BY JOHN OXLEY,
SURVEYOR GENERAL OF THE TERRITORY AND LIEUTENANT OF THE ROYAL NAVY.
WITH MAPS AND VIEWS OF THE INTERIOR, OR NEWLY DISCOVERED COUNTRY.
Production notes:
* 12 items of errata listed in the book have been corrected in this eBook.
* Illustrations, Maps and Charts have not been included in this eBook.
* Notes included within the text have been included in square
brackets [] in the text at the point referenced.
* Italics have been converted to upper case.
CONTENTS
PART I
LIST OF PLATES
LIST OF CHARTS
INRODUCTION
JOURNAL OF AN EXPEDITION IN AUSTRALIA PART I.
PART II
PREFACE
JOURNAL OF AN EXPEDITION IN AUSTRALIA PART II.
APPENDIX PART I.
No. I. Instructions for conducting and leading first expedition.
No. II Report of tour over Blue Mountains in 1815 by the Governor.
No. III Letter from Oxley to Governor advising of his return from first
expedition.
APPENDIX PART II.
No. IV Diary of Mr. Evans, from 8th to 18th of July, 1818.
No. V. Governor's report on the return of Oxley from the second
expedition, together with a letter from Oxley on his arrival
at Port Stephens..
No. VI. Governor's report on Oxley's discovery of Port Stephens together
with a letter from Oxley to the Governor on this subject.
A brief abstract of the population of N.S.W in 1815, 1816 and 1817.
A statement of land in cultivation, quantities of stock, etc. from
1813 to 1817 inclusive.
LIST OF PLATES (NOT INCLUDED IN THIS EBOOK).
Field Plains from Mount Aymot.
The Grave of a Native of Australia.
Arbuthnot's Range, from the West.
Liverpool Plains. West Prospect from View Hill.
Bathurst's Falls.
A Native Chief of Bathurst.
LIST OF CHARTS (NOT INCLUDED IN THIS EBOOK).
Range of the Thermometer from April 9th to August 30th 1817 by John
Oxley.
A Chart of Part of the Interior of New South Wales, 1817.
First Expedition.
A Chart of Part of the Interior of New South Wales, 1818.
Second Expedition.
Reduced Sketch of the Two Expeditions.
A Plan of Port Macquarie Including a Sketch of Part of Hastings River,
on the East Coast of New South Wales.
A General Statement of the Inhabitants of New South Wales as per General
Muster commencing 28th September 1818, with an account of same
at Van Diemmens Land.
A General Statement of the Land in Cultivation etc., the quantities
of Stock etc., as accounted for at the General Muster, with an
account of same at Van Diemmens Land..
JOURNAL OF AN EXPEDITION IN AUSTRALIA
Part I.
TO HIS EXCELLENCY LACHLAN MACQUARIE, ESQ.
MAJOR GENERAL IN THE ARMY,
AND CAPTAIN GENERAL AND GOVERNOR IN CHIEF IN AND OVER THE TERRITORY
OF NEW SOUTH WALES AND ITS DEPENDENCIES,
THE FOLLOWING JOURNAL OF AN EXPEDITION,
PERFORMED UNDER HIS ADMINISTRATION AND DIRECTION,
IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED, BY HIS VERY OBEDIENT HUMBLE SERVANT,
JOHN OXLEY.
INTRODUCTION.
The colony had been established many years before any successful attempt
had been made to penetrate into the interior of the country, by crossing
the range of hills, known to the colonists as the Blue Mountains: these
mountains were considered as the boundary of the settlements westward,
the country beyond them being deemed inaccessible.
The year 1813 proving extremely dry, the grass was nearly all destroyed,
and the water failed; the horned cattle suffered severely from this
drought, and died in great numbers. It was at this period that three
gentlemen, Lieutenant Lawson, of the Royal Veteran Company, Messrs.
Blaxland, and William Wentworth, determined upon attempting a passage
across these mountains, in hopes of finding a country which would afford
support to their herds during this trying season.
They crossed the Nepean River at Emu Plains, and ascending the first
range of mountains, were entangled among gullies and deep ravines for a
considerable time, insomuch that they began to despair of ultimate
success. At length they were fortunate enough to find a main dividing
range, along the ridge of which they travelled, observing that it led
them westward. After suffering many hardships, their distinguished
perseverance was at length rewarded by the view of a country, which at
first sight promised them all they could wish.
Into this Land of Promise they descended by a steep mountain, which
Governor Macquarie has since named Mount York [Note: This mountain was
found to be 795 feet in perpendicular height above the vale of Clwydd.].
The valley [Note: Named by Governor Macquarie the Vale of Clwydd.] to
which it gave them access was covered with grass, and well watered by a
small stream | 3,304.006723 |
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Produced by David Widger
THE POETICAL WORKS
OF
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES
[Volume 2 of the 1893 three volume set]
SONGS OF MANY SEASONS
1862-1874
OPENING THE WINDOW
PROGRAMME
IN THE QUIET DAYS
AN OLD-YEAR SONG
DOROTHY Q: A FAMILY PORTRAIT
THE ORGAN-BLOWER
AT THE PANTOMIME
AFTER THE FIRE
A BALLAD OF THE BOSTON TEA-PARTY
NEARING THE SNOW-LINE
IN WAR TIME
TO CANAAN: A PURITAN WAR-SONG
"THUS SAITH THE LORD, I OFFER THEE THREE THINGS"
NEVER OR NOW
ONE COUNTRY
GOD SAVE THE FLAG!
HYMN AFTER THE EMANCIPATION PROCLAMATION
HYMN FOR THE FAIR AT CHICAGO
UNDER THE WASHINGTON ELM, CAMBRIDGE
FREEDOM, OUR QUEEN
ARMY HYMN
PARTING HYMN
THE FLOWER OF LIBERTY
THE SWEET LITTLE MAN
UNION AND LIBERTY
SONGS OF WELCOME AND FAREWELL
AMERICA TO RUSSIA
WELCOME TO THE GRAND DUKE ALEXIS
AT THE BANQUET TO THE GRAND DUKE ALEXIS
AT THE BANQUET TO THE CHINESE EMBASSY
AT THE BANQUET TO THE JAPANESE EMBASSY
BRYANT'S SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY
A FAREWELL TO AGASSIZ
AT A DINNER TO ADMIRAL FARRAGUT
AT A DINNER TO GENERAL GRANT
To H W LONGFELLOW
To CHRISTIAN GOTTFRIED EHRENBERG
A TOAST TO WILKIE COLLINS
MEMORIAL VERSES
FOR THE SERVICES IN MEMORY OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN, BOSTON, 1865
FOR THE COMMEMORATION SERVICES, CAMBRIDGE JULY 21, 1865
EDWARD EVERETT: JANUARY 30, 1865
SHAKESPEARE TERCENTENNIAL CELEBRATION, APRIL 23, 1864
IN MEMORY OF JOHN AND ROBERT WARE, MAY 25, 1864
HUMBOLDT'S BIRTHDAY: CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION, SEPTEMBER 14, 1869
POEM AT THE DEDICATION OF THE HALLECK MONUMENT, JULY 8, 1869
HYMN FOR THE CELEBRATION AT THE LAYING OF THE CORNER-STONE OF
HARVARD MEMORIAL HALL, CAMBRIDGE, OCTOBER 6, 1870
HYMN FOR THE DEDICATION OF MEMORIAL HALL AT CAMBRIDGE, 1874
HYMN AT THE FUNERAL SERVICES OF CHARLES SUMNER, APRIL 29, 1874
RHYMES OF AN HOUR
ADDRESS FOR THE OPENING OF THE FIFTH AVENUE THEATRE, N. Y. 1873
A SEA DIALOGUE
CHANSON WITHOUT MUSIC
FOR THE CENTENNIAL DINNER, PROPRIETORS OF BOSTON PIER, 1873
A POEM SERVED TO ORDER
THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH
No TIME LIKE THE OLD TIME
A HYMN OF PEACE, TO THE MUSIC OF KELLER'S "AMERICAN HYMN"
OPENING THE WINDOW
THUS I lift the sash, so long
Shut against the flight of song;
All too late for vain excuse,--
Lo, my captive rhymes are loose.
Rhymes that, flitting through my brain,
Beat against my window-pane,
Some with gayly colored wings,
Some, alas! with venomed stings.
Shall they bask in sunny rays?
Shall they feed on sugared praise?
Shall they stick with tangled feet
On the critic's poisoned sheet?
Are the outside winds too rough?
Is the world not wide enough?
Go, my winged verse, and try,--
Go, like Uncle Toby's fly!
PROGRAMME
READER--gentle--if so be
Such still live, and live for me,
Will it please you to be told
What my tenscore pages hold?
Here are verses that in spite
Of myself I needs must write,
Like the wine that oozes first
When the unsqueezed grapes have burst.
Here are angry lines, "too hard!"
Says the soldier, battle-scarred.
Could I smile his scars away
I would blot the bitter lay,
Written with a knitted brow,
Read with placid wonder now.
Throbbed such passion in my heart?
Did his wounds once really smart?
Here are varied strains that sing
All the changes life can bring,
Songs when joyous friends have met,
Songs the mourner's tears have wet.
See the banquet's dead bouquet,
Fair and fragrant in its day;
Do they read the selfsame lines,--
He that fasts and he that dines?
Year by year, like milestones placed,
Mark the record Friendship traced.
Prisoned in the walls of time
Life has notched itself in rhyme.
As its seasons slid along,
Every year a notch of song,
From the June of long ago,
When the rose was full in blow,
Till the scarlet sage has come
And the cold chrysanthemum.
Read, but not to praise or blame;
Are not all our hearts the same?
For the rest, they take their chance,--
Some may pay a passing glance;
Others,-well, they served a turn,--
Wherefore written, would you learn?
Not for glory, not for pelf,
Not, be sure, to please myself,
Not for any meaner ends,--
Always "by request of friends."
Here's the cousin of a king,--
Would I do the civil thing?
Here's the first-born of a queen;
Here's a slant-eyed Mandarin.
Would I polish off Japan?
Would I greet this famous man,
Prince or Prelate, Sheik or Shah?--
Figaro gi and Figaro la!
Would I just this once comply?--
So they teased and teased till I
(Be the truth at once confessed)
Wavered--yielded--did my best.
Turn my pages,--never mind
If you like not all you find;
Think not all the grains are gold
Sacramento's sand-banks hold.
Every kernel has its shell,
Every chime its harshest bell,
Every face its weariest look,
Every shelf its emptiest book,
Every field its leanest sheaf,
Every book its dullest leaf,
Every leaf its weakest line,--
Shall it not be so with mine?
Best for worst shall make amends,
Find us, keep us, leave us friends
Till, perchance, we meet again.
Benedicite.--Amen!
October 7, 1874.
IN THE QUIET DAYS
AN OLD-YEAR SONG
As through the forest, disarrayed
By chill November, late I strayed,
A lonely minstrel of the wood
Was singing to the solitude
I loved thy music, thus I said,
When o'er thy perch the leaves were spread
Sweet was thy song, but sweeter now
Thy carol on the leafless bough.
Sing, little bird! thy note shall cheer
The sadness of the dying year.
When violets pranked the turf with blue
And morning filled their cups with dew,
Thy slender voice with rippling trill
The budding April bowers would fill,
Nor passed its joyous tones away
When April rounded into May:
Thy life shall hail no second dawn,--
Sing, little bird! the spring is gone.
And I remember--well-a-day!--
Thy full-blown summer roundelay,
As when behind a broidered screen
Some holy maiden sings unseen
With answering notes the woodland rung,
And every tree-top found a tongue.
How deep the shade! the groves how fair!
Sing, little bird! the woods are bare.
The summer's throbbing chant is done
And mute the choral antiphon;
The birds have left the shivering pines
To flit among the trellised vines,
Or fan the air with scented plumes
Amid the love-sick orange-blooms,
And thou art here alone,--alone,--
| 3,304.007893 |
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Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
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 | 3,304.101073 |
2023-11-16 19:12:47.1366980 | 1,498 | 12 |
Produced by far 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 COMPLETE WORKS OF
COUNT TOLSTOY
VOLUME XX.
[Illustration: The Yellow Peril
_Photogravure after Original Design by Emperor William II._]
THE KINGDOM OF GOD
IS WITHIN YOU
CHRISTIANITY
AND PATRIOTISM
MISCELLANIES
By COUNT LEV N. TOLSTOY
Translated from the Original Russian and Edited by
LEO WIENER
Assistant Professor of Slavic Languages at Harvard University
[Illustration: Tolstoy]
BOSTON--DANA ESTES &
COMPANY--PUBLISHERS
EDITION DE LUXE
Limited to One Thousand Copies,
of which this is
No. ____
_Copyright, 1905_
BY DANA ESTES & COMPANY
_Entered at Stationers' Hall_
Colonial Press: Electrotyped and Printed by
C. H. Simonds & Co., Boston, Mass., U. S. A.
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE KINGDOM OF GOD IS WITHIN YOU 1
CHRISTIANITY AND PATRIOTISM 381
REASON AND RELIGION 459
PATRIOTISM OR PEACE 467
LETTER TO ERNEST HOWARD CROSBY 481
INTRODUCTIONS TO BOOKS
A. STOCKHAM'S TOKOLOGY 499
AMIEL'S DIARY 501
S. T. SEMENOV'S PEASANT STORIES 506
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 509
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
THE YELLOW PERIL (_p. 477_) _Frontispiece_
WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON 6
RUSSIAN PEASANTS AT MASS 75
CHURCH OF VASILI THE BLESSED, MOSCOW 85
MALEVANNIANS 395
ALEXANDER III. 449
THE KINGDOM OF GOD IS
WITHIN YOU
Or, Christianity Not as a Mystical Teaching but
as a New Concept of Life
1893
THE KINGDOM OF GOD IS
WITHIN YOU
Or, Christianity Not as a Mystical Teaching but
as a New Concept of Life
And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free
(John viii. 23).
And fear not them which kill the body, but are not able to kill
the soul: but rather fear him which is able to destroy both soul
and body in hell (Matt. x. 28).
Ye are bought with a price; be not ye the servants of men (1.
Cor. vii. 23).
In the year 1884 I wrote a book under the title, _My Religion_. In
this book I really expounded what my religion is.
In expounding my belief in Christ's teaching, I could not help but
express the reason why I do not believe in the ecclesiastic faith,
which is generally called Christianity, and why I consider it to be
a delusion.
Among the many deviations of this teaching of Christ, I pointed
out the chief deviation, namely, the failure to acknowledge the
commandment of non-resistance to evil, which more obviously than
any other shows the distortion of Christ's teaching in the church
doctrine.
I knew very little, like the rest of us, as to what had been
done and preached and written in former days on this subject of
non-resistance to evil. I knew what had been said on this subject
by the fathers of the church, Origen, Tertullian, and others, and
I knew also that there have existed certain so-called sects of the
Mennonites, Herrnhuters, Quakers, who do not admit for a Christian
the use of weapons and who do not enter military service, but what
had been done by these so-called sects for the solution of this
question was quite unknown to me.
My book, as I expected, was held back by the Russian censor, but,
partly in consequence of my reputation as a writer, partly because
it interested people, this book was disseminated in manuscripts and
lithographic reprints in Russia and in translations abroad, and
called forth, on the one hand, on the part of men who shared my
views, a series of references to works written on the subject, and,
on the other, a series of criticisms on the thoughts expressed in
that book itself.
Both, together with the historical phenomena of recent times, have
made many things clear to me and have brought me to new deductions
and conclusions, which I wish to express.
First I shall tell of the information which I received concerning
the history of the question of non-resistance to evil, then of
the opinions on this subject which were expressed by ecclesiastic
critics, that is, such as profess the Christian religion, and also
by laymen, that is, such as do not profess the Christian religion;
and finally, those deductions to which I was brought by both and by
the historical events of recent times.
I.
Among the first answers to my book there came some letters from the
American Quakers. In these letters, which express their sympathy
with my views concerning the unlawfulness for Christianity of all
violence and war, the Quakers informed me of the details of their
so-called sect, which for more than two hundred years has in fact
professed Christ's teaching about non-resistance to evil, and which
has used no arms in order to defend itself. With their letters,
the Quakers sent me their pamphlets, periodicals, and books. From
these periodicals, pamphlets, and books which they sent me I
learned to what extent they had many years ago incontestably proved
the obligation for a Christian to fulfil the commandment about
non-resistance to evil and had laid bare the incorrectness of the
church teaching, which admitted executions and wars.
Having proved, by a whole series of considerations and texts, that
war, that is, the maiming and killing of men, is incompatible with
a religion which is based on love of peace and good-will to men,
the Quakers affirm and prove that nothing has so much contributed
to the obscuration of Christ's truth in the eyes of the pagans
and impeded the dissemination of Christianity in the world as the
non-acknowledgment of this commandment by men who called themselves
Christians,--as the permission granted to a Christian to wage war
and use violence.
"Christ's teaching, which entered into the consciousness | 3,343.156738 |
2023-11-16 19:12:47.4178760 | 5,036 | 8 |
Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
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produced from images available at The Internet Archive)
[The chapters in the original book pass from CHAPTER FIVE to CHAPTER
SEVEN; there is no chapter numbered SIX. A list of typographical errors
corrected follows the etext. (note of etext transcriber)]
UNDER COVER
[Illustration: HE FOUND DENBY'S GUN UNDER HIS NOSE.
Frontispiece. _See page 266_.]
UNDER COVER
BY
ROI COOPER MEGRUE
NOVELIZED BY WYNDHAM MARTYN
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
WILLIAM KIRKPATRICK
[Illustration]
BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
1914
_Copyright_, _1914_,
BY ROI COOPER MEGRUE AND
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
_All rights reserved_
Published August, 1914
THE COLONIAL PRESS
C. H. SIMONDS CO., BOSTON, U. S. A.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
HE FOUND DENBY'S GUN UNDER HIS NOSE _Frontispiece_
HE TURNED TO AMY. "YOUNG WOMAN, YOU'RE UNDER ARREST" PAGE 105
"DO MAKE ANOTHER BREAK SOMETIME, WON'T YOU--DICK?" 186
"NOW WE UNDERSTAND ONE ANOTHER," HE SAID. "HERE'S YOUR MONEY" 288
UNDER COVER
CHAPTER ONE
Paris wears her greenest livery and puts on her most gracious airs in
early summer. When the National Fete commemorative of the Bastille's
fall has gone, there are few Parisians of wealth or leisure who remain
in their city. Trouville, Deauville, Etretat and other pleasure cities
claim them and even the bourgeoisie hie them to their summer villas.
The city is given up to those tourists from America and England whom
Paris still persists in calling _Les Cooks_ in memory of that
enterprising blazer of cheap trails for the masses. Your true Parisian
and the stranger who has stayed within the city's gates to know her
well, find themselves wholly out of sympathy with the eager crowds who
follow beaten tracks and absorb topographical knowledge from
guide-books.
Monty Vaughan was an American who knew his Paris in all months but those
two which are sacred to foreign travelers, and it irritated him one
blazing afternoon in late July to be persistently mistaken for a tourist
and offered silly useless toys and plans of the Louvre. The _camelots_,
those shrewd itinerant merchants of the Boulevards, pestered him
continually. These excellent judges of human nature saw in him one who
lacked the necessary harshness to drive them away and made capital of
his good nature.
He was a slim, pleasant-looking man of five and twenty, to whom the good
things of this world had been vouchsafed, with no effort on his part to
obtain them; and in spite of this he preserved a certain frank and
boyish charm which had made him popular all his life.
Presently on his somewhat aimless wanderings he came down the Avenue de
l'Opera and took a seat under the awning and ordered an innocuous drink.
He was in a city where he had innumerable friends, but they had all left
for the seashore and this loneliness was unpleasant to his friendly
spirit. But even in the Cafe de Paris he was not to be left alone and he
was regarded as fair game by alert hawkers. One would steal up to his
table and deposit a little measure of olives and plead for two sous in
exchange. Another would place some nuts by his side and demand a like
amount. And when they had been driven forth and he had lighted a
cigarette, he observed watching him with professional eagerness a
_ramasseur de megot_, one of those men who make a livelihood of picking
up the butts of cigars and cigarettes and selling them.
When Monty flung down the half-smoked cigarette in hope that the man
would go away he was annoyed to find that the fellow was congratulating
himself that here was a tourist worth following, who smoked not the
wispy attenuated cigarettes of the native but one worth harvesting. He
probed for it with his long stick under the table and stood waiting for
another.
The heat, the absence of his friends and the knowledge that he must
presently dine alone had brought the usually placid Monty into a wholly
foreign frame of mind and he rose abruptly and stalked down the Avenue.
A depressed-looking sandwich-man, bearing a device which read, "One can
laugh uproariously at the Champs Elysees every night during the summer
months," blocked his way, and permitted a woman selling fans of the kind
known to the _camelots_ as _les petits vents du nord_ to thrust one upon
him. "Monsieur does not comprehend our heat in Paris," she said. "Buy a
little north wind. Two sous for a little north wind."
Monty thrust a franc in her hand and turned quickly from her to carom
against a tall well-dressed man who was passing. As Monty began to utter
his apology the look of gloom dropped from his face and he seized the
stranger's hand and shook it heartily.
"Steve, old man!" he cried, "what luck to find you amid this mob! I've
been feeling like a poor shipwrecked orphan, and here you come to my
rescue again."
The man he addressed as Steve seemed just as pleased to behold Monty
Vaughan. The two were old comrades from the days at their preparatory
school and had met little during the past five years. Monty's ecstatic
welcome was a pleasant reminder of happy days that were gone.
"I might ask what you are doing here," Steven Denby returned. "I
imagined you to be sunning yourself in Newport or Bar Harbor, not doing
Paris in July."
"I've been living here for two years," Monty explained, when they were
sheltered from interruption at the cafe Monty had just left.
"Doing what?"
Monty looked at him with a diffident smile. "I suppose you'll grin just
like everybody else. I'm here to learn foreign banking systems. My
father says it will do me good."
Denby laughed. "I'll bet you know less about it than I do." The idea of
Monty Vaughan, heir to the Vaughan millions, working like a clerk in the
Credit Lyonnais was amusing.
"Does your father make you work all summer?" he demanded.
"I'm not working now," Monty explained. "I never do unless I feel like
it. I'm waiting for a friend who is sailing with me on the Mauretania
next week and I've just had a wire to say she'll be here to-morrow."
"She!" echoed Denby. "Have you married without my knowledge or consent?
Or is this a honey-moon trip you are taking?"
A look of sadness came into the younger man's face.
"I shall never marry," he returned.
But Steven Denby knew him too well to take such expressions of gloom as
final. "Nonsense," he cried. "You are just the sort they like. You're
inclined to believe in people too much if you like them, and a husband
who believes in his wife as you will in yours is a treasure. They'll
fight for you, Monty, when you get home again. For all you know the trap
is already baited."
"Trap!" Monty cried reproachfully. "I've been trying to make a girl
catch me for three years now and she won't."
"Do you mean you've been finally turned down?" Steven Denby asked
curiously. It was difficult to suppose that a man of his friend's wealth
and standing would experience much trouble in offering heart and
fortune.
"I haven't asked yet," Monty admitted. "I've been on the verge of it
hundreds of times, but she always laughs as I'm coming around to it, and
someone comes in or something happens and I've never done it." He sighed
with the deprecating manner of the devout lover. "If you'd only seen
her, Steve, you'd see what mighty little chance I stood. I feel it's a
bit of impertinence to ask a girl like that to marry me."
Steven patted him on the arm. "You're just the same," he said, "exactly
the silly old Monty I used to know. Next time you see your charmer, risk
being impertinent and ask her to marry you. Women hate modesty nowadays.
It's just a confession of failure and we're all hitched up to success. I
don't know the girl you are speaking of but when you get home again
instead of declaring your great unworthiness, tell her you've left Paris
and its pleasures simply to marry her. Say that the Bourse begged you to
remain and guide the nation through a financial panic, but you left
them weeping and flew back on a fast Cunarder."
"I believe you are right," Monty said. "I'll do it. I ought to have done
it years ago. Alice is frightfully disappointed with me."
"Who is Alice?" the other demanded. "The lady you're crossing with on
the Mauretania?"
"Yes," said Monty. "A good pal of mine; one of those up-to-date women of
the world who know what to do and say at the right moment. She's a sort
of elder sister to me. You'll like her, Steve."
Denby doubted it but pursued the subject no further. He conceived Alice
to be one of those capable managing women who do so much good in the
world and give so little pleasure.
"What are you doing in Paris now?" Monty presently demanded. It occurred
to him that it was odd that Denby, too, should be in the city now.
"Writing a book on the Race Courses of the World," he said, smiling. "I
am now in the midst of Longchamps."
Monty looked at him doubtfully. He had never known that his friend had
any literary aspirations, but he did remember him as one who, if he did
not choose to tell, would invent airy fairy fancies to deceive.
"I don't believe it," he said.
"You are quite right," Denby admitted. "You've got the key to the
mystery. I'll confess that I have been engaged to guard Mona Lisa.
Suspicious looking tourists such as you engage my special attention.
Don't get offended, Monty," he added, "I'm just wandering through the
city on my way to England and that's the truth, simple as it may seem. I
was desolate and your pleasing countenance as you bought a franc's worth
of north wind was good to see. I wondered if you'd remember me."
"Remember you!" Monty snorted. "Am I the kind to forget a man who saved
my life?"
"Who did that?" Denby inquired.
"Why, you did," he returned, "You pulled me out of the Nashua river at
school!"
The other man laughed. "Why, it wasn't five feet deep there."
"I can drown anywhere," Monty returned firmly. "You saved my life and
I've never had the opportunity to do anything in return."
"The time will come," Denby said lightly. "You'll get a mysterious
message sometime and it will be up to you to rescue me from dreadful
danger."
"I'd like to," the other retorted, "but I'm not sure I'm cut out for
that rescue business."
"Have you ever been--" Denby hesitated. "Have you ever been in any sort
of danger?"
"Yes," Monty replied promptly, "but you pulled me out."
"Please don't go about repeating it," Denby entreated, "I have enemies
enough without being blamed for pulling you out of the Nashua river."
Monty looked at him in astonishment. Here was the most popular boy in
Groton School complaining of enemies. Monty felt a thrill that had
something of enjoyment in it. His own upbringing had been so free from
any danger and his parents had safeguarded him from so much trouble that
he had found life insipid at times. Yet here was a man talking of
enemies. It was fascinating.
"Do you mean it?" he demanded.
"Why not?" said Denby, rolling himself a cigarette.
"You hadn't any at school," Monty insisted.
"That was a dozen years ago nearly," Denby insisted. "Since then--" He
paused. "My career wouldn't interest you, my financial expert, but I am
safe in saying I have accumulated a number of persons who do not wish me
well."
"You must certainly meet Alice," Monty asserted. "She's like you. She
often says I'm the only really uninteresting person she's fond of."
Denby assured himself that Alice would not interest him in the slightest
degree and made haste to change the subject, but Monty held on to his
chosen course.
"We'll all dine together to-morrow night," he cried.
"I'm afraid I'm too busy."
"Too busy to dine with Alice Harrington when you've the opportunity?"
Monty exclaimed. "Are you a woman-hater?"
A more observant man might have noted the sudden change in expression
that the name Harrington produced in Steven Denby. He had previously
been bored at the idea of meeting a woman who he concluded would be
eager to impart her guide-book knowledge. Alice evidently had meant
nothing to him, but Alice Harrington roused a sudden interest.
"Not by any chance Mrs. Michael Harrington?" he queried.
Monty nodded. "The same. She and Michael are two of the best friends I
have. He's a great old sport and she's hurrying back because he has to
stay on and can't get over this year." Monty flushed becomingly. "I'm
going back with her because Nora is going to stay down in Long Island
with them."
"Introduce me to Nora," Denby insisted. "She is a new motif in your
jocund song. Who is Nora, what is she, that Monty doth commend her?"
"She's the girl," Monty explained. He sighed. "If you only knew how
pretty she was, you wouldn't talk about a trap being baited. I don't
think women are the good judges they pretend to be!"
"Why not?" Denby demanded.
"Because Alice says she'd accept me and I don't believe I stand a ghost
of a chance."
"Women are the only judges," Denby assured him seriously. "If I were you
I'd bank on your friend Alice every time."
"Then you'll dine with me to-morrow?" Monty asked.
"Of course. You don't suppose I am going to lose sight of you, do you?"
And Monty, grateful that this admired old school friend was so ready to
join him, forgot the previous excuse about inability to spare the time.
"That's fine," he exclaimed. "But what are we going to do to-night?"
"You are going to dine with me," Denby told him. "I haven't seen you,
let me see," he reflected, "I haven't seen you for about ten years and I
want to talk over the old days. What do you say to trying some of
Marguery's _sole a la Normandie?_"
During the course of the dinner Monty talked frankly and freely about
his past, present and future. Denby learned that in view of the great
wealth which would devolve upon him, his father had determined that he
should become grounded in finance. When he had finished, he reflected
that while he had opened his soul to his old friend, his old friend had
offered no explanation of what in truth brought him to Europe, or why he
had for almost a decade dropped out of his old set.
"But what have you been doing?" Monty gathered courage to ask. "I've
told you all about me and mine, Steve."
"There isn't much to tell," Denby responded slowly. "I left Groton
because my father died. I'm afraid he wasn't a shrewd man like your
father, Monty. He was one of the last relics of New York's brown-stone
age and he tried to keep the pace when the marble age came in. He
couldn't do it."
"You were going into the diplomatic service," Monty reminded him. "You
used to specialize in modern languages, I remember. I suppose you had to
give that up."
"I had to try to earn my own living," Denby explained, "and diplomacy
doesn't pay much at first even if you have the luck to get an
appointment."
Monty looked at him shrewdly. He saw a tall, well set up man who had
every appearance of affluence.
"You've done pretty well for yourself."
Denby smiled, "The age demands that a man put up a good appearance. A
financier like you ought not to be deceived."
Monty leaned over the table. "Steve, old man," he said, a trifle
nervously, "I don't want to butt in on your private affairs, but if you
ever want any money you'll offend me if you don't let me know. I've too
much and that's a fact. Except for putting a bit on Michael's horses
when they run and a bit of a flutter occasionally at Monte Carlo I don't
get rid of much of it. I've got heaps. Do you want any?"
"Monty," the other man said quietly, "you haven't altered. You are still
the same generous boy I remember and it's good for a man like me to know
that. I don't need any money, but if ever I do I'll come to you."
Monty sighed with relief. His old idol was not hard up and he had not
been offended at the suggestion. It was a good world and he was happy.
"Steve," he asked presently, "what did you mean about having enemies and
being in danger? That was a joke, wasn't it?"
"We most of us have enemies," Steven said lightly, "and we are all in
danger. For all you know ptomaines are gathering their forces inside you
even now."
"You didn't mean that," Monty said positively. "You were serious. What
enemies?"
"Enemies I have made in the course of my work," the other returned.
"Well, what work is it?" Monty queried. It was odd, he thought, that
Denby would not let him into so harmless a secret as the nature of his
work. He felt an unusual spirit of persistence rising within him. "What
work?" he repeated.
Denby shrugged his shoulders. "You might call it a little irregular," he
said in a lowered voice. "You represent high finance. Your father is one
of the big men in American affairs. You probably have his set views on
things. I don't want to shock you, Monty."
"Shock be damned!" cried Monty in an aggrieved voice. "I'm tired of
having to accommodate myself to other people's views."
Denby looked at him with mock wonder.
"Monty in revolt at the established order of things is a most remarkable
phenomenon. Have you a pirate in your family tree that you sigh for
sudden change and a life on the ocean wave?"
Monty laughed. "I don't want to do anything like that but I'm tired of
a life that is always the same. You've enemies. I don't believe I've
one. I'd like to have an enemy, Steve. I'd like to feel I was in danger;
it would be a change after being wrapped in wool all my life. You've
probably seen the world in a way I never shall. I've been on a
personally conducted tour, which isn't the same thing."
"Not by a long shot," Steven Denby agreed. "But," he added, "why should
you want to take the sort of risks that I have had to take, when there's
no need? I have been in danger pretty often, Monty, and I shall again.
Why? Because I have my living to make and that way suits me best. You
notice I am sitting with my back to the wall so that none can come
behind me. I do that because two revengeful gentlemen have sworn
bloodthirsty oaths to relieve my soul of its body."
Monty tingled with a certain pleasurable apprehension which had never
before visited him. He was experiencing in real life what had only
revealed itself before in novels or on the stage.
"What are they like?" he demanded in a low voice, looking around.
"Disappointing, I'm afraid," Steven answered. "You are looking for a
tall man with a livid scar running from temple to chin and a look before
which even a waiter would blanch. Both my men have mild expressions and
wouldn't attract a second glance, but they'll either get me or I'll get
them."
"Steve!" Monty cried. "What did they do?"
Denby made a careless gesture. "It was over a money matter," he
explained.
Monty thought for a moment in silence. Never had his conventional lot
seemed less attractive to him. He approached the subject again as do
timid men who fearfully hang on the outskirts of a street fight,
unwilling to miss what they have not the heart to enjoy.
"I wish some excitement like that would come my way," he sighed.
"Excitement? Go to Monte and break the bank. Become the Jaggers of your
country."
"There's no danger in that," Monty answered almost peevishly.
"Nor of it," laughed his friend.
"That's just the way it always is," Monty complained. "Other fellows
have all the fun and I just hear about it."
Denby looked at him shrewdly and then leaned across the table.
"So you want some fun?" he queried.
"I do," the other said firmly.
"Do you think you've got the nerve?" Steven demanded.
Monty hesitated. "I don't want to be killed," he admitted. "What is it?"
"I didn't tell you how I made a living, but I hinted my ways were a bit
irregular. What I have to propose is also a trifle out of the usual. The
law and the equator are both imaginary lines, Monty, and I'm afraid my
little expedition may get off the line. I suppose you don't want to hear
any more, do you?"
Monty's eyes were shining with excitement. "I'm going to hear everything
you've got to say," he asserted.
"It means I've got to put myself in your power in a way," Denby said
hesitatingly, "but I'll take a chance because you're the kind of man who
can keep things secret."
"I am," Monty said fervently. "Just you try me out, Steve!"
"It has to do with a string of pearls," Denby explained, "and I'm afraid
I shall disappoint you when I tell you I'm proposing to pay | 3,343.437916 |
2023-11-16 19:12:47.6361950 | 7,436 | 25 |
Produced by Juliet Sutherland and the Online Distributed
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CONTEMPORARY
RUSSIAN NOVELISTS
Translated from the French of Serge Persky
By FREDERICK EISEMANN
JOHN W. LUCE AND COMPANY
BOSTON 1913
_Copyright, 1912_
BY C. DELAGRAVE
_Copyright, 1913_
BY L. E. BASSETT
To
THE MEMORY OF
F. N. S.
BY
THE TRANSLATOR
PREFACE
The principal aim of this book is to give the reader a good general
knowledge of Russian literature as it is to-day. The author, Serge
Persky, has subordinated purely critical material, because he wants
his readers to form their own judgments and criticize for
themselves. The element of literary criticism is not, however, by
any means entirely lacking.
In the original text, there is a thorough and exhaustive treatment
of the "great prophet" of Russian literature--Tolstoy--but the
translator has deemed it wise to omit this essay, because so much
has recently been written about this great man.
As the title of the book is "Contemporary Russian Novelists," the
essay on Anton Tchekoff, who is no longer living, does not rightly
belong here, but Tchekoff is such an important figure in modern
Russian literature and has attracted so little attention from
English writers that it seems advisable to retain the essay that
treats of his work.
Finally, let me express my sincerest thanks to Dr. G. H. Maynadier
of Harvard for his kind advice; to Miss Edna Wetzler for her
unfailing and valuable help, and to Miss Carrie Harper, who has gone
over this work with painstaking care.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A Brief Survey of Russian Literature 1
II. Anton Tchekoff 40
III. Vladimir Korolenko 76
IV. Vikenty Veressayev 108
V. Maxim Gorky 142
VI. Leonid Andreyev 199
VII. Dmitry Merezhkovsky 246
VIII. Alexander Kuprin 274
IX. Writers in Vogue 289
CONTEMPORARY RUSSIAN NOVELISTS
I
A BRIEF SURVEY OF RUSSIAN LITERATURE
In order to get a clear idea of modern Russian literature, a
knowledge of its past is indispensable. This knowledge will help us
in understanding that which distinguishes it from other European
literatures, not only from the viewpoint of the art which it
expresses, but also as the historical and sociological mirror of the
nation's life in the course of centuries.
The dominant trait of this literature is found in its very origins.
Unlike the literatures of other European countries, which followed,
in a more or less regular way, the development of life and
civilization during historic times, Russian literature passed
through none of these stages. Instead of being a product of the
past, it is a protestation against it; instead of retracing the old
successive stages, it appears, intermittently, like a light
suddenly struck in the darkness. Its whole history is a long
continual struggle against this darkness, which has gradually melted
away beneath these rays of light, but has never entirely ceased to
veil the general trend of Russian thought.
As a result of the unfortunate circumstances which characterize her
history, Russia was for a long time deprived of any relations with
civilized Europe. The necessity of concentrating all her strength on
fighting the Mongolians laid the corner-stone of a sort of
semi-Asiatic political autocracy. Besides, the influence of the
Byzantine clergy made the nation hostile to the ideas and science of
the Occident, which were represented as heresies incompatible with
the orthodox faith. However, when she finally threw off the
Mongolian yoke, and when she found herself face to face with Europe,
Russia was led to enter into diplomatic relations with the various
Western powers. She then realized that European art and science were
indispensable to her, if only to strengthen her in warfare against
these States. For this reason a number of European ideas began to
come into Russia during the reigns of the last Muscovite sovereigns.
But they assumed a somewhat sacerdotal character in passing through
the filter of Polish society, and took on, so to speak, a dogmatic
air. In general, European influence was not accepted in Russia
except with extreme repugnance and restless circumspection, until
the accession of Peter I. This great monarch, blessed with unusual
intelligence and a will of iron, decided to use all his autocratic
power in impressing, to use the words of Pushkin, "a new direction
upon the Russian vessel;"--Europe instead of Asia.
Peter the Great had to contend against the partisans of ancient
tradition, the "obscurists" and the adversaries of profane science;
and this inevitable struggle determined the first character of
Russian literature, where the satiric element, which in essence is
an attack on the enemies of reform, predominates. In organizing
grotesque processions, clownish masquerades, in which the
long-skirted clothes and the streaming beards of the honorable
champions of times gone by were ridiculed, Peter himself appeared as
a pitiless destroyer of the ancient costumes and superannuated
ideas.
The example set by the practical irony of this man was followed,
soon after the death of the Tsar, by Kantemir, the first Russian
author who wrote satirical verses. These verses were very much
appreciated in his time. In them, he mocks with considerable fervor
the ignorant contemners of science, who taste happiness only in the
gratification of their material appetites.
At the same time that the Russian authors pursued the enemies of
learning with sarcasm, they heaped up eulogies, which bordered on
idolatry, on Peter I, and, after him, on his successors. In these
praises, which were excessively hyperbolical, there was always some
sincerity. Peter had, in fact, in his reign, paved the way for
European civilization, and it seemed merely to be waiting for the
sovereigns, Peter's successors, to go on with the work started by
their illustrious ancestor. The most powerful leaders, and the first
representatives of the new literature, strode ahead, then, hand in
hand, but their paths before long diverged. Peter the Great wanted
to use European science for practical purposes only: it was only to
help the State, to make capable generals, to win wars, to help
savants find means to develop the national wealth by industry and
commerce; he--Peter--had no time to think of other things. But
science throws her light into the most hidden corners, and when it
brings social and political iniquities to light, then the government
hastens to persecute that which, up to this time, it has encouraged.
The protective, and later hostile, tendencies of the government in
regard to authors manifested themselves with a special violence
during the reign of Catherine II. This erudite woman, an admirer of
Voltaire and of the French "encyclopedistes," was personally
interested in writing. She wrote several plays in which she
ridiculed the coarse manners and the ignorance of the society of her
time. Under the influence of this new impulse, which had come from
one in such a high station in life, a legion of satirical journals
flooded the country. The talented and spiritual von Vizin wrote
comedies, the most famous of which exposes the ignorance and cruelty
of country gentlemen; in another, he shows the ridiculousness of
people who take only the brilliant outside shell from European
civilization. Shortly, Radishchev's "Voyage from Moscow to
St. Petersburg" appeared. Here the author, with the fury of
passionate resentment, and with sad bitterness, exposes the
miserable condition of the people under the yoke of the high and
mighty. It was then that the empress, Catherine the Great, so gentle
to the world at large and so authoritative at home, perceiving that
satire no longer spared the guardian principles necessary for the
security of the State, any more than they did popular superstitions,
manifested a strong displeasure against it. Consequently, the
satirical journals disappeared as quickly as they had appeared. Von
Vizin, who, in his pleasing "Questions to Catherine" had touched on
various subjects connected with court etiquette, and on the miseries
of political life, had to content himself with silence. Radishchev
was arrested, thrown into a fortress, and then sent to Siberia.
They went so far as to accuse Derzhavin, the greatest poet of this
time, the celebrated "chanter of Catherine," in his old age, of
Jacobinism for having translated into verse one of the psalms of
David; besides this, the energetic apostle of learning, Novikov, a
journalist, a writer, and the founder of a remarkable society which
devoted itself to the publication and circulation of useful books,
was accused of having had relations with foreign secret societies.
He was confined in the fortress at Schluesselburg after all his
belongings had been confiscated. The critic and the satirist had had
their wings clipped. But it was no longer possible to check this
tendency, for, by force of circumstances, it had been planted in the
very soul of every Russian who compared the conditions of life in
his country with what European civilization had done for the
neighboring countries.
Excluded from journalism, this satiric tendency took refuge in
literature, where the novel and the story trace the incidents of
daily life. Since the writers could not touch the evil at its
source, they showed its consequences for social life. They
represented with eloquence the empty and deplorable banality of the
existence forced upon most of them. By expressing in various ways
general aspirations towards something better, they let literature
continue its teaching, even in times particularly hostile to
freedom of thought, like the reign of Nicholas I, the most typical
and decided adversary of the freedom of the pen that Europe has ever
seen. Literature was, then, considered as an inevitable evil, but
one from which the world wanted to free itself; and every man of
letters seemed to be under suspicion. During this reign, not only
criticisms of the government, but also praises of it, were
considered offensive and out of place. Thus, the chief of the secret
police, when he found that a writer of that time, Bulgarine, whose
name was synonymous with accuser and like evils, had taken the
liberty to praise the government for some insignificant improvements
made on a certain street, told him with severity: "You are not asked
to praise the government, you must only praise men of letters."
Nothing went to print without the authorization of the general
censor, an authorization that had to be confirmed by the various
parts of the complex machine, and, finally, by a superior committee
which censored the censors. The latter were themselves so terrorized
that they scented subversive ideas even in cook-books, in technical
musical terms, and in punctuation marks. It would seem that under
such conditions no kind of literature, and certainly no satire,
could exist. Nevertheless, it was at this period that Gogol produced
his best works. The two most important are, his comedy "The
Revizor," where he stigmatizes the abuses of administration, and
"Dead Souls," that classic work which de Voguee judges worthy of
being given a place in universal literature, between "Don Quixote"
and "Gil Blas," and which, in a series of immortal types,
flagellates the moral emptiness and the mediocrity of life in high
Russian society at that time.
At the same time, Griboyedov's famous comedy, "Intelligence Comes to
Grief," which the censorship forbade to be produced or even
published, was being circulated in manuscript form. This comedy, a
veritable masterpiece, has for its hero a man named Chatsky, who was
condemned as a madman by the aristocratic society of Moscow on
account of his independent spirit and patriotic sentiments. It is
true that in all of these works the authors hardly attack important
personages or the essential bases of political organization. The
functionaries and proprietors of Gogol's works are "petites gens,"
and the civic pathos of Chatsky aims at certain individuals and not
at the national institutions. But these attacks, cleverly veiling
the general conditions of Russian life, led the intelligent reader
to meditate on certain questions, and it also permitted satire to
live through the most painful periods. Later, with the coming of the
reforms of Alexander II, satire manifested itself more openly in
the works of Saltykov, who was not afraid to use all his talent in
scourging, with his biting sarcasm, violence and arbitrariness.
Another salient trait of Russian literature is its tendency toward
realism, the germ of which can be seen even in the most
old-fashioned works, when, following the precepts of the West, they
were taken up first with pseudo-classicism, and then with the
romantic spirit which followed.
Pseudo-classicism had but few worthy representatives in Russia, if
we omit the poet Derzhavin, whom Pushkin accused of having a poor
knowledge of his mother tongue, and whose monotonous work shows
signs of genius only here and there.
As to romanticism! Here we find excellent translations of the German
poets by Zhukovsky, and the poems of Lermontov and Pushkin, all
impregnated with the spirit of Byron. But these two movements came
quickly to an end. Soon realism, under the influence of Dickens and
Balzac, installed itself as master of this literature, and, in spite
of the repeated efforts of the symbolist schools, nothing has yet
been able to wipe it out. Thus, the triumph of realism was not, as
in the case of earlier tendencies, the simple result of the spirit
of imitation which urges authors to choose models that are in
vogue, but it was a response to a powerful instinct. The truth of
this statement is very evident in view of the fact that realism
appeared in Russian literature at a time when it was still a novelty
in Europe. The need of representing naked reality, without any
decorations, is, so to speak, innate in the Russian author, who
cannot, for any length of time, be led away from this practice. This
is the very reason why the Byronian influence, at the time of
Pushkin and Lermontov, lasted such a short time. After having
written several poems inspired by the English poet, Pushkin soon
disdained this model, which was the sole object of European
imitation. "Byron's characters," he says, "are not real people, but
rather incarnations of the various moods of the poet," and he ends
by saying that Byron is "great but monotonous." We find the same
thing in Lermontov, who was fond of Byron, not only in a transient
mood of snobbery, but because the very strong and sombre character
of his imagination naturally led him to choose this kind of intense
poetry. He was exerting himself to regard reality seriously and to
reproduce it with exactitude, at the very time when he was killed in
a duel at the youthful age of twenty-seven.
Pushkin's best work, his novel in verse, "Evgeny Onyegin," although
it came so early, was constructed according to realistic
principles; and although we still distinguish romantic tints, it is
a striking picture of Russian society at the beginning of the 19th
century. We find the same tendency in Lermontov's prose novel, "A
Hero of Our Times," in which the hero, Pechorin, has many traits in
common with Evgeny Onyegin. This book immediately made a deep
impression. It was really nothing more than a step taken in a new
direction by its author. But it was a step that promised much. An
absurd fatality destroyed this promise, and hindered the poet,
according to the expression of an excellent critic of that time,
from "rummaging with his eagle eye, among the recesses of the
world."
The works of writers of secondary rank, contemporaneous with the
above mentioned, also reveal a realistic tendency. Then appeared, to
declare it with a master's power, that genius of a realist, of whom
we have already made mention, Gogol. There was general enthusiasm;
Gogol absorbed almost the entire attention of the public and men of
letters. The great critic and publicist Byelinsky, in particular,
took it upon himself to elaborate in his works the theories of
realism; he formulated the program about 1850 under the name of the
"naturalistic school." Thus the germs of the past had expanded
triumphantly in the work of Gogol, and the way was now clear for
Turgenev, Dostoyevsky, Tolstoy, Goncharov, Ostrovsky, and Pisemsky,
who, while enlarging the range and perfecting the methods of the
naturalistic school, conquered for their native literature the place
which it has definitely assumed in the world.
Although we may infer that Russian realism has its roots in a
special spiritual predilection, we must not nevertheless forget the
historical conditions which prepared the way for it and made its
logical development easy. Russian literature, called on to struggle
against tremendous obstacles, could hardly have gone astray in the
domain of a nebulous idealism.
The third distinctive trait of this literature is found in its
democratic spirit. Most of the heroes are not titled personages;
they are peasants, bourgeois, petty officials, students, and,
finally, "intellectuals." This democratic taste is explained by the
very constitution of Russian society.
The spirit of the literature of a nation is usually a reflection of
the social class which possesses the preponderant influence from a
political or economic standpoint or which is marked by the strength
of its numbers. The preponderance of the upper middle class in
England has impressed on all the literature of that country the seal
of morality belonging to that class; while in France, where
aristocracy predominated, one still feels the influence of the
aristocratic traditions which are so brilliantly manifested in the
pseudo-classic period of its literature. But many reasons have
hindered the aristocracy and the bourgeoisie from developing in
Russia. The Russian bourgeois was, for a long time, nothing but a
peasant who had grown rich, while the noble was distinguished more
by the number of his serfs and his authority than by his moral
superiority. Deprived of independence, these two classes blended and
still blend with the immense number of peasants who surround them on
all sides and submerge them irresistibly, however they may wish to
free themselves.
Very naturally, the first Russian authors came from the class of
proprietors, rural lords, who were the most intelligent, not to say
the only intelligent people. In general, the life of the lord was
barely distinguishable from that of the peasant. As he was usually
reared in the country, he passed his childhood among the village
children; the people most dear to his heart, often more dear to him
than his father or mother, were his nurse and the other
servants,--simple people, who took care of him and gave him the
pleasures of his youthful existence. Before he entered the local
government school, he had been impregnated with goodness and popular
poetry, drawn from stories, legends, and tales to which he had been
an ardent listener. We find the great Pushkin dedicating his most
pathetic verses to his old nurse, and we often see him inspired by
the most humble people. In this way, to the theoretic democracy
imported from Europe is united, in the case of the Russian author, a
treasure of ardent personal recollections; democracy is not for him
an abstract love of the people, but a real affection, a tenderness
made up of lasting reminiscences which he feels deeply.
This then was the mental state of the most intelligent part of this
Russian nobility, which showed itself a pioneer of the ideas of
progress in literature and life. There were even singular political
manifestations produced. Rostopchin said: "In France the shoemakers
want to become noble; while here, the nobles would like to turn
shoemakers." But, in spite of all, the greater part of this caste,
with its essential conservative instincts, was nothing more than an
inert mass, without initiative, and incapable even of defending its
own interests except by the aid of the government.
Rostopchin did not suspect the profound truth of his capricious
saying.
This truth burst forth in all its strength about 1870, the time of
the great reforms undertaken by Alexander II, when the interests of
the people were, for the first time, the order of the day. It was
at this period that a great deal of studying was being done with
great enthusiasm and that a general infatuation for folklore and for
a "union with the masses" was being shown. The desire to become
"simplified," that is to say to have all people live the same kind
of life, the appearance of a type, celebrated under the sarcastic
name of "noble penitent" (meaning the titled man who is ashamed of
his privileged position as if it were a humiliating and infamous
thing), the politico-socialistic ideology of the first Slavophiles,
still half conservative, but wholly democratic; all these things
were the results of the manifestations which astonished Rostopchin
and made the more intelligent class of Russians fraternize more with
the masses. In our day, this tendency has been eloquently
illustrated by the greatest Russian artist and thinker, Tolstoy, who
was the very incarnation of the ideas named above, and who always
appears to us as a highly cultured peasant. The hero of
"Resurrection" sums up in a few words this sympathy for the people:
"This is it, the big world, the true world!" he says, on seeing the
crowd of peasants and workingmen packed into a third-class
compartment.
In the last half of the 19th century, Russian literature took a
further step in the way of democracy. It passed from the hands of
the nobility into the hands of the middle class, as the conditions
under which it existed brought it closer to the people and made it
therefore more accessible to their aspirations. It is no longer the
great humanitarians of the privileged class who paint the miserable
conditions among which people vegetate; it is the people themselves
who are beginning to speak of their miseries and of their hopes for
a better life. The result is a deep penetration of the popular mind,
in conjunction with an acute, and sometimes sickly, nervousness,
which is shown in the works of the great Uspensky, and, more
recently still, in Tchekoff, Andreyev, and many others.
None of these writers belong to the aristocracy, and two of
them--Tchekoff and Gorky--have come up from the masses: the former
was the son of a serf, and the latter the son of a workingman. Let
me add that, among the women of letters, the one who is most
distinguished by her talent in describing scenes from popular
life--Mme. Dmitrieva--is the daughter of a peasant woman.
Thus, as we have shown, the Russian writers alone, under the cover
of imaginative works which became expressive symbols, could
undertake a truly efficacious struggle against tyranny and
arbitrariness. They found themselves in that way placed in a
peculiar social position with corresponding duties. Men expected
from them, naturally, a new gospel and also a plan of conduct
necessary in order to escape from the circle of oppression. The best
of the Russian writers have undertaken a difficult and perilous
task; they have become the guides, and, so to speak, the "masters"
of life. This tendency constitutes a new trait in Russian
literature, one of its most characteristic; not that other
literatures have neglected it, but no other literature in the world
has proclaimed this mission with such a degree of energy and with
such a spirit of sacrifice. Never, in any other country, have
novelists or poets felt with such intensity the burden on their
souls. At this point Gogol, first of all, became the victim of this
state of things.
The enthusiasm stirred up by his works and by the immense hopes that
he had evoked suddenly elevated him to such a height in the minds of
his contemporaries that he felt real anguish. Artist he was, and now
he forced himself to become a moralist; he rushed into philosophical
speculations which led him on to a nebulous mysticism, from which
his talent suffered severely. When he realized what had happened,
despair seized him, his ideas troubled him, and he died in terrible
intellectual distress.
We see also the great admirer of Gogol--Dostoyevsky--under different
pretexts making known in almost all his novels and especially in
his magazine articles, "Recollections of an Author," his opinions on
the reforms about to be realized. He studies the problems of
civilization which concern humanity in general, and particularly
insists upon the mission of the Russian people, who are destined, he
believes, to end all the conflicts of the world by virtue of a
system based upon Christian love and pity.
Turgenev, himself, although above all an artist, does not remain
aloof from this educational work. In his "Annals of a Sportsman," he
attacks bondage. And when it was abolished, and when in the very
heart of Russian society, among the younger generation, the
revolutionists appeared, Turgenev attempted to paint these "new
men." Thus in his novel, "Fathers and Sons," he sketches in bold
strokes the character of the nihilist Bazarov. This celebrated type
cannot, however, be considered a true representative of the
mentality of the "new men," for it gave only a few aspects of their
character, which, besides, did not have Turgenev's sympathy.
They are valued in an entirely different way by Chernyshevsky in his
novel, "What Is To Be Done?" where the author, one of the most
powerful representatives of the great movement toward freedom from
1860 to 1870, carefully studied the bases of the new morals and the
means to be used in struggling against the prejudices of the old
society. Finally let us mention Tolstoy, whose entire literary
activity was a constant search for truth, till the day when his mind
found an answer to his doubts in the religion of love and harmony
which he preached from then on.
The earnestness which sees an apostle in a writer has not ceased to
grow and has almost blinded the public.
For example, Gorky needed only to write some stories in which he
places before us beings belonging to the most miserable classes of
society, to be suddenly, and perhaps against his own will, elevated
to the role of prophet of a new gospel, of annunciator from whom
they were waiting for the Word, although one could also find the
Word in the anti-socialistic circles which he depicts. Another
contemporaneous author, Tchekoff, once wrote a story about the
precarious position of the workingman in the city; he showed how
this man, after he had become old and had gone back to his native
village, suffered even more misery than before instead of getting
the rest he had hoped for. Immediately an ardent controversy took
place between the two factions of the youth of that time, the
Populists and the Marxists. The former, defending the rural
population, accused the author of having exaggerated and of having
only superficially considered the question, while the others
triumphed, confident in the activity of the people of the city.
The literary critic, however, in carefully studying the works of
these authors, tried to get at the real meaning,--the idea between
the lines. Gorky's philosophy has often been discussed; a great many
men of letters have tried to unravel what there was of pessimism, of
indifference or of mystic idealism in the soul of Tchekoff. This
everlasting habit, not to say this mania, of analyzing the mind or
soul of an author in order to get at his conception, his personal
doctrine of life, often leads to partial and erroneous conclusions,
especially when, as in most cases, the critic has only a very vague
idea of the main current of thought which formed the genesis of the
work.
The hopes and emotions which are aroused by every original
expression in literature, show more than ever what hopes are based
upon its role, the mission which has devolved on it to serve life,
by formulating the facts of the ideal to be realized.
But what is this ideal? What are these ideal aspirations? Of what
elements are they made up? What is the state of mind of the great
majority of Russian "intellectuals" in the midst of the enmity which
compromises and menaces them?
Thanks to the window pierced by Peter the Great in the thick
Muscovite wall, the Russian "intellectuals" have begun to have a
general idea of European civilization. They have admired the beauty
of this culture, and the greatness of European political and social
institutions, guarantees of the dignity of human beings; they have
endured mental suffering because they have found that in Russia such
independence would be impossible, and, consequently, they have had a
feeling of extreme bitterness, which has forced them either to deny
or calumniate the moral forces of their country, or to formulate
very strange theories about this situation. Thus at the end of the
first twenty-five years of the century, Chadayev, one of the most
original and brilliant thinkers of Russia, developed the following
thesis in his "Philosophical Letters":--the fatal course of history
having opposed the union of the Russian people with Catholicism,
through which European civilization developed, Russia found herself
reduced forever to the existence of an inert mass, deprived of all
interior energy, as can be shown adequately by her history, her
customs, and even the aspect of her national type with its
ill-defined traits and apathetic expression.
* * * * *
In the course of the terrible struggle which he waged against the
censorship and against influential persons evilly disposed toward
him, Pushkin cried out: "It was the idea of the devil himself that
made me be born in Russia!" And in one of his letters, he says,
"Naturally, I despise my country from east to west, but,
nevertheless, I hate to hear a stranger speak of it with scorn."
Lermontov, exiled to the Caucasus, ironically takes leave of his
country, which he calls, "a squalid country of slaves and masters."
And he salutes the Caucasian mountains as the immense screen which
may hide him from the eyes of the Russian pachas. The Slavophiles
themselves, the patriots who in their way idealized both Russian
orthodoxy and autocracy, and who were wrongly considered the
champions of the existing order of things, showed themselves no less
hostile. One of their most celebrated representatives, Khomyakov,
sees in Russia "a land stigmatized" by serfdom, where all is
injustice, lies, morbid laziness and turpitude.
Dostoyevsky, who shared some of the illusions of the Slavophiles,
speaks of Europe as "a land of sacred miracles." Nevertheless,
yielding to his desire to heighten the prestige of his country, he
adds: "The Russian is not partially European, but essentially so, in
the very largest sense of the word, because he watches, with an
impartial love, the progress achieved by the various peoples of
Europe, while each one of _them_ appreciates, above all, the
progress of his own country, and often does not want to let the
others share it."
In spite of the seductive powers which European civilization
exercised upon Russia, the Russians perceived its weak sides, which
they studied by the light of the ideal which they promised
themselves to attain in some indefinite future, a future which they
nevertheless hoped was near at hand.
To them, enthusiastic observers that they were, these defects became
more apparent than to the Europeans themselves; as their critical
sense was not deadened by the wear of constant use, they saw in a
clear light the inconveniences of certain institutions, they
perceived the sad consequences of the excessive triumph of
individualism in its struggle for life, the enfranchisement of the
proletariat, the satisfaction of the few at the cost of the many. At
times the bases of this civilization seemed fragile to the Russians;
they had a feeling that it was not finished; they also aspired more
and more to the harmonious equilibrium of society which appealed to
their ideal.
In a word, that which has always been called socialism, has had an
irresistible attraction for the more intelligent Russians; all of
Russian literature is permeated with it, and it has developed all
the more easily because it found a favorable basis in Russia's
natural democracy.
During the period when this literature was most persecuted--that is
to say in the second half of the 19th century--its most influential
representatives were ardent socialists | 3,343.656235 |
2023-11-16 19:12:47.7342920 | 156 | 46 |
Produced by Charles Bowen from page images published as
a serial on page 2 in the Cheshire Observer starting 18
January 1902
(http://newspapers.library.wales/view/4281236/4281238) and
ending with 26 April 1902 as provided on the internet by
Welsh Newspapers Online.
Transcriber's Notes: 1. Transcribed from page images published as a
serial on page 2 in the Cheshire Observer starting 18 January 1902
(http://newspapers.library.wales/view/4281236/4281238) and ending with
26 April 1902 as provided on the internet by Welsh Newspapers Online.
THE TURNPIKE HOUSE.
By | 3,343.754332 |
2023-11-16 19:12:47.8357290 | 98 | 78 |
Produced by Chuck Greif, ellinora and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
THE HUMAN INTEREST
THE
HUMAN INTEREST
A STUDY IN INCOMPATIBILITIES
BY
VIOLET HUNT
AUTHOR OF
“A HARD WOMAN,” “ | 3,343.855769 |
2023-11-16 19:12:48.1346740 | 1,376 | 204 |
Produced by David Widger
DON QUIXOTE
Volume II.
Part 24.
by Miguel de Cervantes
Translated by John Ormsby
CHAPTER XXI.
IN WHICH CAMACHO'S WEDDING IS CONTINUED, WITH OTHER DELIGHTFUL INCIDENTS
While Don Quixote and Sancho were engaged in the discussion set forth the
last chapter, they heard loud shouts and a great noise, which were
uttered and made by the men on the mares as they went at full gallop,
shouting, to receive the bride and bridegroom, who were approaching with
musical instruments and pageantry of all sorts around them, and
accompanied by the priest and the relatives of both, and all the most
distinguished people of the surrounding villages. When Sancho saw the
bride, he exclaimed, "By my faith, she is not dressed like a country
girl, but like some fine court lady; egad, as well as I can make out, the
patena she wears rich coral, and her green Cuenca stuff is thirty-pile
velvet; and then the white linen trimming--by my oath, but it's satin!
Look at her hands--jet rings on them! May I never have luck if they're
not gold rings, and real gold, and set with pearls as white as a curdled
milk, and every one of them worth an eye of one's head! Whoreson baggage,
what hair she has! if it's not a wig, I never saw longer or fairer all
the days of my life. See how bravely she bears herself--and her shape!
Wouldn't you say she was like a walking palm tree loaded with clusters of
dates? for the trinkets she has hanging from her hair and neck look just
like them. I swear in my heart she is a brave lass, and fit 'to pass over
the banks of Flanders.'"
Don Quixote laughed at Sancho's boorish eulogies and thought that, saving
his lady Dulcinea del Toboso, he had never seen a more beautiful woman.
The fair Quiteria appeared somewhat pale, which was, no doubt, because of
the bad night brides always pass dressing themselves out for their
wedding on the morrow. They advanced towards a theatre that stood on one
side of the meadow decked with carpets and boughs, where they were to
plight their troth, and from which they were to behold the dances and
plays; but at the moment of their arrival at the spot they heard a loud
outcry behind them, and a voice exclaiming, "Wait a little, ye, as
inconsiderate as ye are hasty!" At these words all turned round, and
perceived that the speaker was a man clad in what seemed to be a loose
black coat garnished with crimson patches like flames. He was crowned (as
was presently seen) with a crown of gloomy cypress, and in his hand he
held a long staff. As he approached he was recognised by everyone as the
gay Basilio, and all waited anxiously to see what would come of his
words, in dread of some catastrophe in consequence of his appearance at
such a moment. He came up at last weary and breathless, and planting
himself in front of the bridal pair, drove his staff, which had a steel
spike at the end, into the ground, and, with a pale face and eyes fixed
on Quiteria, he thus addressed her in a hoarse, trembling voice:
"Well dost thou know, ungrateful Quiteria, that according to the holy law
we acknowledge, so long as live thou canst take no husband; nor art thou
ignorant either that, in my hopes that time and my own exertions would
improve my fortunes, I have never failed to observe the respect due to
thy honour; but thou, casting behind thee all thou owest to my true love,
wouldst surrender what is mine to another whose wealth serves to bring
him not only good fortune but supreme happiness; and now to complete it
(not that I think he deserves it, but inasmuch as heaven is pleased to
bestow it upon him), I will, with my own hands, do away with the obstacle
that may interfere with it, and remove myself from between you. Long live
the rich Camacho! many a happy year may he live with the ungrateful
Quiteria! and let the poor Basilio die, Basilio whose poverty clipped the
wings of his happiness, and brought him to the grave!"
And so saying, he seized the staff he had driven into the ground, and
leaving one half of it fixed there, showed it to be a sheath that
concealed a tolerably long rapier; and, what may be called its hilt being
planted in the ground, he swiftly, coolly, and deliberately threw himself
upon it, and in an instant the bloody point and half the steel blade
appeared at his back, the unhappy man falling to the earth bathed in his
blood, and transfixed by his own weapon.
His friends at once ran to his aid, filled with grief at his misery and
sad fate, and Don Quixote, dismounting from Rocinante, hastened to
support him, and took him in his arms, and found he had not yet ceased to
breathe. They were about to draw out the rapier, but the priest who was
standing by objected to its being withdrawn before he had confessed him,
as the instant of its withdrawal would be that of this death. Basilio,
however, reviving slightly, said in a weak voice, as though in pain, "If
thou wouldst consent, cruel Quiteria, to give me thy hand as my bride in
this last fatal moment, I might still hope that my rashness would find
pardon, as by its means I attained the bliss of being thine."
Hearing this the priest bade him think of the welfare of his soul rather
than of the cravings of the body, and in all earnestness implore God's
pardon for his sins and for his rash resolve; to which Basilio replied
that he was determined not to confess unless Quiteria first gave him her
hand in marriage, for that happiness would compose his mind and give him
courage to make his | 3,344.154714 |
2023-11-16 19:12:48.5002980 | 971 | 8 |
Produced by Chris Curnow, Paul Mitchell 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. In the section SAND WHEEL--PLATE 21, third
paragraph, the word "on" was added as the most likely word to correct
a typographical omission and "drawn" changed to "draw". Otherwise only a
very few minor typographical errors have been corrected.
[Illustration: TESTING THE KITE-STRING SAILBOAT]
MANUAL TRAINING TOYS
_for_ THE BOY'S WORKSHOP
_By_ HARRIS W. MOORE
SUPERVISOR OF MANUAL TRAINING
WATERTOWN, MASSACHUSETTS
[Illustration]
THE MANUAL ARTS PRESS
PEORIA, ILLINOIS
DEDICATED
TO THE BOY WHO LIKES
TO TINKER 'ROUND
Copyright, 1912
HARRIS W. MOORE
CONTENTS.
Frontispiece Testing the Kite-string Sailboat
Introduction-- PAGE.
Bench, Marking Tools 7
Saws 8
Planes, Bits, Nails 9
Screws, Glue 10
Sandpaper, Dowels, Drills, Sharpening 11
Holding Work 12
Directions for Planing 13
Dart 16
Spool Dart 18
Dart for Whip-Bow 19
Buzzer 20
Flying Top (Plate 3) 22
Flying Top (Plate 4) 24
Top 26
Tom-Tom Drum 28
Pop-gun 30
Whistle 32
Arrow 33
Bow 34
Sword 36
Magic Box 38
Pencil-Box 41
Telephone 42
Happy Jack Windmill 44
Gloucester "Happy Jack" Windmill 46
Paddling Indian Windmill 48
Kite 50
Tailless Kite 53
Box Kite 54
Kite-String Sailboat 56
The Hygroscope or Weather Cottage 59
Electrophorus 62
Waterwheel 64
Water Motor 67
Sand Wheel 70
Running Wheel 73
Rattle 76
Cart 78
Cannon 81
Automobile 84
Bow Pistol 86
Elastic Gun 88
Rattle-Bang Gun 92
Boat 95
Pile-Driver 98
Windmill 100
Kite-String Reel 103
String Machine 106
Windmill Force-Pump 108
INTRODUCTION.
The wise man learns from the experience of others. That is the reason
for this introduction--to tell the boy who wants to make the toys
described in this book some of the "tricks of the trade." It is
supposed, however, that he has had some instruction in the use of tools.
This book is written after long experience in teaching boys, and because
of that experience, the author desires to urge upon his younger readers
two bits of advice: First, study the drawing carefully,--every line has
a meaning; second, printed directions become clearer by actually taking
the tool in hand and beginning to do the work described.
BENCH.
If he buys the vise-screw, an ambitious boy can make a bench that will
answer his needs, provided, also, that he can fasten it to floor or
wall. It should be rigid. A beginner will find a hard wood board,
10"x2"x1/4", fastened to the forward end of the bench, a more convenient
stop than the ordinary bench-dog. If he has a nicely finished bench, he
should learn to work without injuring the bench. A _cutting board_
should always be at hand to chisel and pound upon and to save the
bench-top from all ill use. The _bench-hook_ should have one side for
sawing and one for planing, the former having a block | 3,344.520338 |
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