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Produced by Joshua Hutchinson, Josephine Paolucci and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net.
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by Cornell University Digital Collections.)
THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE
Of Literature, Art, and Science.
Vol. V.--NEW-YORK, MARCH 1, 1852--No. III.
[Illustration]
THE AZTECS AT THE SOCIETY LIBRARY.
For several weeks the attention of the curious has been more and more
attracted to a remarkable ethnological exhibition at the Society
Library. Two persons, scarcely larger than the fabled gentlemen of
Lilliput, (though one is twelve or thirteen and the other eighteen years
of age), of just and even elegant proportions, and physiognomies
striking and peculiar, but not deficient in intellect or refinement,
have been visited by throngs of idlers in quest of amusement,
wonder-seekers, and the profoundest inquirers into human history. Until
very recently, Mexico was properly described as _Terra Incognita_. The
remains of nations are there shrouded in oblivion, and cities, in their
time surpassing Tadmor and Thebes, untrodden except by the jaguar and
the ocelot. A few persons, indeed, attracted by uncertain rumors of
ancient grandeur in Palenque, have visited her temples and tombs--
There to track
Fallen states and empires o'er a land
Which was the mightiest in her high command,
And is the loveliest--
but no one has been found to read the hieroglyphics of Tolteca, to
disclose the history of the dwellers in Anahuac, to make known the
annals of the rise and fall of Tlascala, Otumba, Copan, or Papantla. In
the great work of Lord Kingsborough are collected many important remains
of Mexican and Aztec art and learning; Mr. Prescott has combined with a
masterly hand the traditions of the country; and Mr. Stevens and Mr.
Squier have done much in the last few years to render us familiar with
the more accessible and probably most significant ruins which illustrate
the civilization of the race subdued by the Spaniards; but still Central
America is unexplored. In the second volume of the work of Mr. Stevens,
he mentions that a Roman Catholic priest of Santa Cruz del Quiche told
him marvellous stories of a "large city, with turrets white and
glittering in the sun," beyond the Cordilleras, where a people still
existed in the condition of the subjects of Montezuma. He proceeds:
"The interest awakened in us, was the most thrilling I ever
experienced. One look at that city, was worth ten years of an
every-day life. If he is right, a place is left where Indians
and a city exist, as Cortez and Alvarado found them; there are
living men who can solve the mystery that hangs over the ruined
cities of America; who can, perhaps, go to Copan and read the
inscription on its monuments. No subject more exciting and
attractive presents itself to any mind, and the deep impression
in my mind will never be effaced. Can it be true? Being now in
my sober senses, I do verily believe there is much ground to
suppose that what the Padre told us is authentic. That the
region referred to does not acknowledge the government of
Gautamala, and has never been explored, and that no white man
has ever pretended to have entered it; I am satisfied. From
other sources we heard that a large _ruined_ city was visible;
and we were told of another person who had climbed to the top
of the sierra, but on account of the dense clouds rising upon
it, he had not been able to see any thing. At all events, the
belief at the village of Chajul is general, and a curiosity is
aroused that burns to be satisfied. We had a craving desire to
reach the mysterious city. No man if so willing to peril his
life, could undertake the enterprise, with any hope of success,
without hovering for one or two years on the borders of the
country, studying the language and character of the adjoining
Indians, and making acquaintance with some of the natives. Five
hundred men could probably march directly to the city, and the
invasion would be more justifiable than any made by Spaniards;
but the government is too much occupied with its own wars, and
the knowledge could not be procured except at the price of
blood. Two young men of good constitution, and who could afford
to spend five years, might succeed. If the object of search
prove a phantom, in the wild scenes of a new and unexplored
country, there are other objects of interest; but, if real,
besides the glorious excitement of such a novelty, they will
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In the Whirl of the Rising, by Bertram Mitford.
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
IN THE WHIRL OF THE RISING, BY BERTRAM MITFORD.
PROLOGUE.
"You coward!"
The word cut crisply and sharp through the clear frosty air, lashing and
keen as the wind that stirred the crystal-spangled pines, and the
musical ring of skate-blades upon the ice-bound surface of the mere.
She who uttered it stood, her flower-like face and deep blue eyes all
a-quiver with contemptuous disgust. He to whom it was addressed,
started, blenched ever so slightly, his countenance immediately resuming
its mask of bronze impassibility. Those who heard it echoed it,
secretly or in deep and angry mutter, the while proceeding with their
task--to wit, the restoring of animation to a very nearly drowned human
being, rescued, at infinite risk, from the treacherous spring hole which
had let him through the surface of the ice.
"Say it again," was the answer. "It is such a kind and pleasant thing
to hear, coming from you. So just, too. Do say it again."
"I will say it again," went on the first speaker; and, exasperated by
the bitter sneering tone of the other, her voice rang out high and
clear, "You coward!"
Piers Lamont's dark face took on a change, but it expressed a sneer as
certain retrospective pictures rose before his mental gaze. Such
indeed, in his case, drew the sting of about the most stinging epithet
that lips can frame; yet, remembering that the lips then framing it were
those of the girl with whom he was passionately in love, and to whom he
had recently become engaged, it seemed to hurt.
"Say something. Oh, do say something!" she went on, speaking quickly.
"The boy might have been drowned, and very nearly was, while you stood,
with your hands in your pockets, looking on."
"If your people see fit to throw open the mere to the rabble, the rabble
must take care of itself," he answered. "I daresay I can risk my life,
with an adequate motive. That--isn't one."
The words, audible to many of the bystanders, the contemptuous tone, and
nod of the head in the direction of the ever-increasing group on the
bank, deepened the prevailing indignation. Angry murmurs arose, and
some "booing." Perhaps the presence of the Squire's daughter alone
restrained this demonstration from taking a more active form of
hostility; or it may even have been a something in the hard, bronzed
face and firm build of the man who had just been publicly dubbed
"coward."
"For shame!" hotly retorted the girl. "I have no wish to talk to you
any more, or ever again. Please go."
He made no reply. Lifting his hat ceremoniously he turned away. A few
yards' glide brought him to the bank. He sat down, deliberately removed
his skates, lit a cigar, then started upon his way; the no-longer
restrained jeers which followed him falling upon his ears with no other
effect than to cause him to congratulate himself upon having given
others the opportunity of performing the feat from which he had
refrained.
The subject of all this disturbance was showing signs of restoration to
life and consciousness. Seen in the midst of the gaping--and for the
most part useless--crowd which hemmed him in, he was an urchin of about
thirteen or fourteen, with a debased type of countenance wherein the
characteristics of the worst phase of guttersnipe--low cunning,
predatoriness, boundless impudence, and aggressive brutality--showed
more than incipient. Such a countenance was it, indeed, as to suggest
that the rescue of its owner from a watery death went far to prove the
truth of a certain homely proverb relating to hanging and drowning. And
now, gazing upon it, Violet Courtland was conscious of an unpleasant
truth in those last words spoken by her _fiance_. She was forced to own
to herself that the saving of this life assuredly was not worth the
risking of his. Yet she had implored him to do something towards the
rescue, and he had done nothing. He had replied that there was nothing
to be done; had stood, calmly looking on while others had risked their
lives, he fearing for his. Yes, _fearing_. It looked like that.
And yet--and yet! She knew but little of his past, except what he had
told her. She had taken him on trust. He had led something of an
adventurous life in wild parts of Africa. Two or three times, under
pressure, he had told of an adventurous incident, wherein assuredly he
himself had not played a coward's part. Yet the recollection so far
from clearing him in her estimation produced a contrary effect, and her
lips curled as she decided that he had merely been bragging on these
occasions; that if the events had happened at all they must have
happened to somebody else.
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THE
GERRARD STREET MYSTERY
AND OTHER
WEIRD TALES.
BY
JOHN CHARLES DENT.
PREFATORY SKETCH.
John Charles Dent, the author of the following remarkable stories, was
born in Kendal, Westmorland, England, in 1841. His parents emigrated to
Canada shortly after that event, bringing with them, of course, the
youth who was afterwards to become the Canadian author and historian.
Mr. Dent received his primary education in Canadian schools, and
afterwards studied law, becoming in due course a member of the Upper
Canada Bar. He only practised for a few years. He found the profession
profitable enough but uncongenial--as it could not well help being, in
an obscure Canadian, village, twenty years ago--and very probably he
was already cherishing ambitious dreams of literary labors, which he
was eager to begin in the world's literary centre, London. He
accordingly relinquished his practice as soon as he felt himself in a
position to do so, and went to England. He had not miscalculated his
powers, as too many do under like circumstances. He soon found
remunerative literary work, and as he became better known, was engaged
to write for several high-class periodicals, notably, _Once a
Week_, for which he contributed a series of articles on interesting
topics. But in England Mr. Dent produced no very long or ambitious
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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
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Produced by Suzanne Shell, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
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by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
A WONDER BOOK
AND
TANGLEWOOD TALES
FOR GIRLS AND BOYS
BY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE
WITH PICTURES BY
MAXFIELD PARRISH
NEW YORK
DUFFIELD & COMPANY
MCMX
COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY DUFFIELD & COMPANY
THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A.
[Illustration: JASON AND THE TALKING OAK
(From the original in the collection of Austin M. Purves, Esqu're
Philadelphia)]
Preface
The author has long been of opinion that many of the classical myths
were capable of being rendered into very capital reading for children.
In the little volume here offered to the public, he has worked up half a
dozen of them, with this end in view. A great freedom of treatment was
necessary to his plan; but it will be observed by every one who attempts
to render these legends malleable in his intellectual furnace, that they
are marvellously independent of all temporary modes and circumstances.
They remain essentially the same, after changes that would affect the
identity of almost anything else.
He does not, therefore, plead guilty to a sacrilege, in having sometimes
shaped anew, as his fancy dictated, the forms that have been hallowed by
an antiquity of two or three thousand years. No epoch of time can claim
a copyright in these immortal fables. They seem never to have been made;
and certainly, so long as man exists, they can never perish; but, by
their indestructibility
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ANDREW MELVILLE
BY
WILLIAM MORISON
FAMOUS
SCOTS:
SERIES
PUBLISHED BY
OLIPHANT ANDERSON
FERRIER EDINBVRGH
AND LONDON
The designs and ornaments of this volume are by Mr. Joseph Brown, and
the printing from the press of Messrs. T. and A. Constable, Edinburgh.
Transcriber's notes: Minor typos have been corrected. Footnotes have
been placed at the end of the paragraph to which they refer. Greek has
been changed to Latin letters and placed in brackets.
PREFATORY NOTE
Let it be understood that the quotations in Scots, where the author is
not mentioned, are from the Autobiography and Diary of James Melville.
_March_ 1899.
CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTORY 9
CHAPTER II
BIRTH--EDUCATION--YEARS ABROAD 15
CHAPTER III
SERVICES TO SCOTTISH EDUCATION--PRINCIPALSHIP OF
GLASGOW AND ST. ANDREWS 23
CHAPTER IV
THE 'DINGING DOWN' OF THE BISHOPS--MELVILLE
AND MORTON 31
CHAPTER V
THE 'BIGGING UP' OF THE BISHOPS UNDER LENNOX
AND ARRAN--MELVILLE'S FLIGHT TO ENGLAND 43
CHAPTER VI
THE KING'S SURRENDER TO THE CHURCH 56
CHAPTER VII
THE POPISH LORDS--MELVILLE AND THE KING AT
FALKLAND PALACE 71
CHAPTER VIII
THE KING'S GREEK GIFT TO THE CHURCH 93
CHAPTER IX
MELVILLE AT HAMPTON COURT 116
CHAPTER X
THE KING'S ASSEMBLIES 134
CHAPTER XI
THE TOWER: SEDAN 140
ANDREW MELVILLE
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTORY
While Andrew Melville has other claims on the lasting honour of his
countrymen than the part he took in securing for Scotland the
ecclesiastical system which has been the most powerful factor in her
history, it may be held as certain that where this service which filled
his life is disesteemed, his biography, if read at all, will be read
with only a languid interest. It will be our first endeavour, therefore,
to show that such a prejudice in regard to our subject is mistaken and
misleading.
Melville, and all from first to last who joined in the Scottish
resistance to Episcopacy, were persuaded that the controversy in which
they were engaged was one not academic merely but vital, and that, as it
was settled one way or the other, so would the people be left in a
position in which they would be able to develop their religious life
with freedom and effect, or in one which would incalculably <DW36> it.
That is a contention which history has amply vindicated.
The best justification of the struggle carried on during the period
from Melville to the Revolution (1574-1688) to preserve the Presbyterian
system in the Church is to be found in the benefits which that system
has conferred upon the country. It has penetrated the whole Christian
people with a sense of their individual responsibility in connection
with the principles and government of the Church; it has saved the
Church from being dwarfed into a mere clerical corporation; it has laid
for it a broad and strong basis by winning to it the attachment of its
common members, and by exercising their intelligence, sympathy, and
interest in regard to all its institutions and enterprises. It may be
truly said of the Scottish people that their highest patriotism has been
elicited and exercised over the religious problems of the nation; that
they have shown more sensitiveness concerning their religious rights,
liberties, and duties than concerning any other interest of their life;
and that they have been more readily and deeply touched when the honour
and efficiency of their Church was at stake than by any other cause
whatever. How should an ecclesiastical system better vindicate its
claim? Nothing so ennobles a people as the care of matters of high
concern--such a care as Presbyterianism has laid on the Scottish people.
But it was not only the conviction of the excellence of their own
economy that led the Presbyterians to maintain it at all hazards--it was
also their fear of many tendencies in the
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THE DIVINE COMEDY
THE VISION
OF
HELL, PURGATORY, AND PARADISE
BY
DANTE ALIGHIERI
PARADISE
Complete
TRANSLATED BY
THE REV. H. F. CARY, M.A.
PARADISE
LIST OF CANTOS
Canto 1
Canto 2
Canto 3
Canto 4
Canto 5
Canto 6
Canto 7
Canto 8
Canto 9
Canto 10
Canto 11
Canto 12
Canto 13
Canto 14
Canto 15
Canto 16
Canto 17
Canto 18
Canto 19
Canto 20
Canto 21
Canto 22
Canto 23
Canto 24
Canto 25
Canto 26
Canto 27
Canto 28
Canto 29
Canto 30
Canto 31
Canto 32
Canto 33
CANTO I
His glory, by whose might all things are mov'd,
Pierces the universe, and in one part
Sheds more resplendence, elsewhere less. In heav'n,
That largeliest of his light partakes, was I,
Witness of things, which to relate again
Surpasseth power of him who comes from thence;
For that, so near approaching its desire
Our intellect is to such depth absorb'd,
That memory cannot follow. Nathless all,
That in my thoughts I of that sacred realm
Could store, shall now be matter of my song.
Benign Apollo! this last labour aid,
And make me such a vessel of thy worth,
As thy own laurel claims of me belov'd.
Thus far hath one of steep Parnassus' brows
Suffic'd me; henceforth there is need of both
For my remaining enterprise Do thou
Enter into my bosom, and there breathe
So, as when Marsyas by thy hand was dragg'd
Forth from his limbs unsheath'd. O power divine!
If thou to me of shine impart so much,
That of that happy realm the shadow'd form
Trac'd in my thoughts I may set forth to view,
Thou shalt behold me of thy favour'd tree
Come to the foot, and crown myself with leaves;
For to that honour thou, and my high theme
Will fit me. If but seldom, mighty Sire!
To grace his triumph gathers thence a wreath
Caesar or bard (more shame for human wills
Deprav'd) joy to the Delphic god must spring
From the Pierian foliage, when one breast
Is with such thirst inspir'd. From a small spark
Great flame hath risen: after me perchance
Others with better voice may pray, and gain
From the Cirrhaean city answer kind.
Through diver passages, the world's bright lamp
Rises to mortals, but through that which joins
Four circles with the threefold cross, in best
Course, and in happiest constellation set
He comes, and to the worldly wax best gives
Its temper and impression. Morning there,
Here eve was by almost such passage made;
And whiteness had o'erspread that hemisphere,
Blackness the other part; when to the left
I saw Beatrice turn'd, and on the sun
Gazing, as never eagle fix'd his ken.
As from the first a second beam is wont
To issue, and reflected upwards rise,
E'en as a pilgrim bent on his return,
So of her act, that through the eyesight pass'd
Into my fancy, mine was form'd; and straight,
Beyond our mortal wont, I fix'd mine eyes
Upon the sun. Much is allowed us there,
That here exceeds our pow'r; thanks to the place
Made for the dwelling of the human kind
I suffer'd it not long, and yet so long
That I beheld it bick'ring sparks around,
As iron that comes boiling from the fire.
And suddenly upon the day appear'd
A day new-ris'n, as he, who hath the power,
Had with another sun bedeck'd the sky.
Her eyes fast fix'd on the eternal wheels,
Beatrice stood unmov'd; and I with ken
Fix'd upon her, from upward gaze remov'd
At her aspect, such inwardly became
As Glaucus, when he tasted of the herb,
That made him peer among the ocean gods;
Words may not tell of that transhuman change:
And therefore let the example serve, though weak,
For those whom grace hath better proof in store
If I were only what thou didst create,
Then newly, Love! by whom the heav'n is rul'd,
Thou know'st, who by thy light didst bear me up.
Whenas the wheel which thou dost ever guide,
Desired Spirit! with its harmony
Temper'd of thee and measur'd, charm'd mine ear,
Then seem'd to me so much of heav'n to blaze
With the sun's flame, that rain or flood ne'er made
A lake so broad. The newness of the sound,
And that great light, inflam'd me with desire,
Keener than e'er was felt, to know their cause.
Whence she who saw me, clearly as myself,
To calm my troubled mind, before I ask'd,
Open'd her lips, and gracious thus began:
"With false imagination thou thyself
Mak'st dull, so that thou seest not the thing,
Which thou hadst seen, had that been shaken off.
Thou art not on the earth as thou believ'st;
For light'ning scap'd from its own proper place
Ne'er ran, as thou hast hither now return'd."
Although divested of my first-rais'd doubt,
By those brief words, accompanied with smiles,
Yet in new doubt was I entangled more,
And said: "Already satisfied, I rest
From admiration deep, but now admire
How I above those lighter bodies rise."
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[Illustration: “TRIUMPHS AND WONDERS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.”
This picture explains and is symbolic of the most progressive one
hundred years in history. In the center stands the beautiful
female figure typifying Industry. To the right are the goddesses
of Music, Electricity, Literature and Art. Navigation is noted in
the anchor and chain leaning against the capstan; the Railroad,
in the rails and cross-ties; Machinery, in the cog-wheels,
steam governor, etc.; Labor, in the brawny smiths at the anvil;
Pottery, in the ornamented vase; Architecture, in the magnificent
Roman columns; Science, in the figure with quill in hand. In the
back of picture are suggestions of the progress and development
of our wonderful navy. Above all hovers the angel of Fame ready
to crown victorious Genius and Labor with the laurel wreaths of
Success.
]
TRIUMPHS AND WONDERS
OF THE
19TH CENTURY
THE
TRUE MIRROR OF A PHENOMENAL ERA
A VOLUME OF ORIGINAL, ENTERTAINING AND INSTRUCTIVE HISTORIC
AND DESCRIPTIVE WRITINGS, SHOWING THE MANY AND
MARVELLOUS ACHIEVEMENTS WHICH DISTINGUISH
AN HUNDRED YEARS
OF
Material, Intellectual, Social and Moral Progress
EMBRACING AS SUBJECTS ALL THOSE WHICH BEST TYPE THE GENIUS,
SPIRIT AND ENERGY OF THE AGE, AND SERVE TO BRING INTO
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Arcadian Adventures With the Idle Rich
By
Stephen Leacock, 1869-1944
CONTENTS
I A Little Dinner with Mr. Lucullus Fyshe
II The Wizard of Finance
III The Arrested Philanthropy of Mr. Tomlinson
IV The Yahi-Bahi Oriental Society of Mrs. Rasselyer-Brown
V The Love Story of Mr. Peter Spillikins
VI The Rival Churches of St. Asaph and St. Osoph
VII The Ministrations of the Rev. Uttermust Dumfarthing
VIII The Great Fight for Clean Government
CHAPTER ONE: A Little Dinner with Mr. Lucullus Fyshe
The Mausoleum Club stands on the quietest corner of the best
residential street in the City. It is a Grecian building of white
stone. About it are great elm trees with birds--the most expensive kind
of birds--singing in the branches.
The street in the softer hours of the morning has an almost reverential
quiet. Great motors move drowsily along it, with solitary chauffeurs
returning at 10.30 after conveying the earlier of the millionaires to
their downtown offices. The sunlight flickers through the elm trees,
illuminating expensive nurse-maids wheeling valuable children in little
perambulators. Some of the children are worth millions and millions. In
Europe, no doubt, you may see in the Unter den Linden avenue or the
Champs Elysees a little prince or princess go past with a clattering
military guard of honour. But that is nothing. It is not half so
impressive, in the real sense, as what you may observe every morning on
Plutoria Avenue beside the Mausoleum Club in the quietest part of the
city. Here you may see a little toddling princess in a rabbit suit who
owns fifty distilleries in her own right. There, in a lacquered
perambulator, sails past a little hooded head that controls from its
cradle an entire New Jersey corporation. The United States
attorney-general is suing her as she sits, in a vain attempt to make
her dissolve herself into constituent companies. Near by is a child of
four, in a khaki suit, who represents the merger of two trunk-line
railways. You may meet in the flickered sunlight any number of little
princes and princesses far more real than the poor survivals of Europe.
Incalculable infants wave their fifty-dollar ivory rattles in an
inarticulate greeting to one another. A million dollars of preferred
stock laughs merrily in recognition of a majority control going past in
a go-cart drawn by an imported nurse. And through it all the sunlight
falls through the elm trees, and the birds sing and the motors hum, so
that the whole world as seen from the boulevard of Plutoria Avenue is
the very pleasantest place imaginable.
Just below Plutoria Avenue, and parallel with it, the trees die out and
the brick and stone of the City begins in earnest. Even from the Avenue
you see the tops of the sky-scraping buildings in the big commercial
streets, and can hear or almost hear the roar of the elevated railway,
earning dividends. And beyond that again the City sinks lower, and is
choked and crowded with the tangled streets and little houses of the
slums.
In fact, if you were to mount to the roof of the Mausoleum Club itself
on Plutoria Avenue you could almost see the slums from there. But why
should you? And on the other hand, if you never went up on the roof,
but only dined inside among the palm trees, you would never know that
the slums existed which is much better.
There are broad steps leading up to the club, so broad and so agreeably
covered with matting that the physical exertion of lifting oneself from
one's motor to the door of the club is reduced to the smallest compass.
The richer members are not ashamed to take the steps one at a time,
first one foot and then the other; and at tight money periods, when
there is a black cloud hanging over the Stock Exchange, you may see
each and every one of the members of the Mausoleum Club dragging
himself up the steps after this fashion, his restless eyes filled with
the dumb pathos of a man wondering where he can put his hand on half a
million dollars.
But at gayer times, when there are gala receptions at the club, its
steps are all buried under expensive carpet, soft as moss and covered
over with a long pavilion of red and white awning to catch the
snowflakes; and beautiful ladies are poured into the club by the
motorful. Then, indeed, it is turned into a veritable Arcadia; and for
a beautiful pastoral scene, such as would have gladdened the heart of a
poet who understood the cost of things, commend me to the Mausoleum
Club on just such an evening. Its broad corridors and deep recesses are
filled with shepherdesses such as you never saw, dressed in beautiful
shimmering gowns, and wearing feathers in their hair that droop off
sideways at every angle known to trigonometry. And there are shepherds,
too, with broad white waistcoats and little patent leather shoes and
heavy faces and congested cheeks. And there is dancing and conversation
among the shepherds and shepherdesses, with such brilliant flashes of
wit and repartee about the rise in Wabash and the fall in Cement that
the soul of Louis Quatorze would leap to hear it. And later there is
supper at little tables, when the shepherds and shepherdesses consume
preferred stocks and gold-interest bonds in the shape of chilled
champagne and iced asparagus, and great platefuls of dividends and
special quarterly bonuses are carried to and fro in silver dishes by
Chinese philosophers dressed up to look like waiters.
But on ordinary days there are no ladies in the club, but only the
shepherds. You may see them sitting about in little groups of two and
three under the palm trees drinking whiskey and soda; though of course
the more temperate among them drink nothing but whiskey and Lithia
water, and those who have important business to do in the afternoon
limit themselves to whiskey and Radnor, or whiskey and Magi water.
There are as many kinds of bubbling, gurgling, mineral waters in the
caverns of the Mausoleum Club as ever sparkled from the rocks of
Homeric Greece. And when you have once grown used to them, it is as
impossible to go back to plain water as it is to live again in the
forgotten house in a side street that you inhabited long before you
became a member.
Thus the members sit and talk in undertones that float to the ear
through the haze of Havana smoke. You may hear the older men explaining
that the country is going to absolute ruin, and the younger ones
explaining that the country is forging ahead as it never did before;
but chiefly they love to talk of great national questions, such as the
protective tariff and the need of raising it, the sad decline of the
morality of the working man, the spread of syndicalism and the lack of
Christianity in the labour class, and the awful growth of selfishness
among the mass of the people.
So they talk, except for two or three that drop off to directors'
meetings; till the afternoon fades and darkens into evening, and the
noiseless Chinese philosophers turn on soft lights here and there among
the palm trees. Presently they dine at white tables glittering with cut
glass and green and yellow Rhine wines; and after dinner they sit again
among the palm-trees, half-hidden in the blue smoke, still talking of
the tariff and the labour class and trying to wash away the memory and
the sadness of it in floods of mineral waters. So the evening passes
into night, and one by one the great motors come throbbing to the door,
and the Mausoleum Club empties and darkens till the last member is
borne away and the Arcadian day ends in well-earned repose.
* * * * *
"I want you to give me your opinion very, very frankly," said Mr.
Lucullus Fyshe on one side of the luncheon table to the Rev. Fareforth
Furlong on the other.
"By all means," said Mr. Furlong.
Mr. Fyshe poured out a wineglassful of soda and handed it to the rector
to drink.
"Now tell me very truthfully," he said, "is there too much carbon in
it?"
"By no means," said Mr. Furlong.
"And--quite frankly--not too much hydrogen?"
"Oh, decidedly not."
"And you would not say that the percentage of sodium bicarbonate was
too great for the ordinary taste?"
"I certainly should not," said Mr. Furlong, and in this he spoke the
truth.
"Very good then," said Mr. Fyshe, "I shall use it for the Duke of
Dulham this afternoon."
He uttered the name of the Duke with that quiet, democratic
carelessness which meant that he didn't care whether half a dozen other
members lunching at the club could hear or not. After all, what was a
duke to a man who was president of the People's Traction and Suburban
Co., and the Republican Soda and Siphon Co-operative, and chief
director of the People's District Loan and Savings? If a man with a
broad basis of popular support like that was proposing to entertain a
duke, surely there could be no doubt about his motives? None at all.
Naturally, too, if a man manufactures soda himself, he gets a little
over-sensitive about the possibility of his guests noticing the
existence of too much carbon in it.
In fact, ever so many of the members of the Mausoleum Club manufacture
things, or cause them to be manufactured, or--what is the same
thing--merge them when they are manufactured. This gives them their
peculiar chemical attitude towards their food. One often sees a member
suddenly call the head waiter at breakfast to tell him that there is
too much ammonia in the bacon; and another one protest at the amount of
glucose in the olive oil; and another that there is too high a
percentage of nitrogen in the anchovy. A man of distorted imagination
might think this tasting of chemicals in the food a sort of nemesis of
fate upon the members. But that would be very foolish, for in every
case the head waiter, who is the chief of the Chinese philosophers
mentioned above, says that he'll see to it immediately and have the
percentage removed. And as for the members themselves, they are about
as much ashamed of manufacturing and merging things as the Marquis of
Salisbury is ashamed of the founders of the Cecil family.
What more natural, therefore, than that Mr. Lucullus Fyshe, before
serving the soda to the Duke, should try it on somebody else? And what
better person could be found for this than Mr. Furlong, the saintly
young rector of St. Asaph's, who had enjoyed the kind of expensive
college education calculated to develop all the faculties. Moreover, a
rector of the Anglican Church who has been in the foreign mission field
is the kind of person from whom one can find out, more or less
incidentally, how one should address and converse with a duke, and
whether you call him, "Your Grace," or "His Grace," or just "Grace," or
"Duke," or what. All of which things would seem to a director of the
People's Bank and the president of the Republican Soda Co. so trivial
in importance that he would scorn to ask about them.
So that was why Mr. Fyshe had asked Mr. Furlong to lunch with him, and
to dine with him later on in the same day at the Mausoleum Club to meet
the Duke of Dulham. And Mr. Furlong, realizing that a clergyman must be
all things to all men and not avoid a man merely because he is a duke,
had accepted the invitation to lunch, and had promised to come to
dinner, even though it meant postponing the Willing Workers' Tango
Class of St. Asaph's until the following Friday.
Thus it had come about that Mr. Fyshe was seated at lunch, consuming a
cutlet and a pint of Moselle in the plain downright fashion of a man so
democratic that he is practically a revolutionary socialist, and
doesn't mind saying so; and the young rector of St. Asaph's was sitting
opposite to him in a religious ecstasy over a _salmi_ of duck.
"The Duke arrived this morning, did he not?" said Mr. Furlong.
"From New York," said Mr. Fyshe. "He is staying at the Grand Palaver. I
sent a telegram through one of our New York directors of the Traction,
and his Grace has very kindly promised to come over here to dine."
"Is he here for pleasure?" asked the rector.
"I understand he is--" Mr. Fyshe was going to say "about to invest a
large part of his fortune in American securities," but he thought
better of it. Even with the clergy it is well to be careful. So he
substituted "is very much interested in studying American conditions."
"Does he stay long?" asked Mr. Furlong.
Had Mr. Lucullus Fyshe replied quite truthfully, he would have said,
"Not if I can get his money out of him quickly," but he merely
answered, "That I don't know."
"He will find much to interest him," went on the rector in a musing
tone. "The position of the Anglican Church in America should afford him
an object of much consideration. I understand," he added, feeling his
way, "that his Grace is a man of deep piety."
"Very deep," said Mr. Fyshe.
"And of great philanthropy?"
"Very great."
"And I presume," said the rector, taking a devout sip of the unfinished
soda, "that he is a man of immense wealth?"
"I suppose so," answered Mr. Fyshe quite carelessly. "All these fellows
are." (Mr. Fyshe generally referred to the British aristocracy as
"these fellows.") "Land, you know, feudal estates; sheer robbery, I
call it. How the working-class, the proletariat, stand for such tyranny
is more than I can see. Mark my words, Furlong, some day they'll rise
and the whole thing will come to a sudden end."
Mr. Fyshe was here launched upon his favourite topic; but he
interrupted himself, just for a moment, to speak to the waiter.
"What the devil do you mean," he said, "by serving asparagus half-cold?"
"Very sorry, sir," said the waiter, "shall I take it out?"
"Take it out? Of course take it out, and see that you don't serve me
stuff of that sort again, or I'll report you."
"Very sorry, sir," said the waiter.
Mr. Fyshe looked at the vanishing waiter with contempt upon his
features. "These pampered fellows are getting unbearable." he said. "By
Gad, if I had my way I'd fire the whole lot of them: lock 'em out, put
'em on the street. That would teach 'em. Yes, Furlong, you'll live to
see it that the whole working-class will one day rise against the
tyranny of the upper classes, and society will be overwhelmed."
But if Mr. Fyshe had realized that at that moment, in the kitchen of
the Mausoleum Club, in those sacred precincts themselves, there was a
walking delegate of the Waiters' International Union leaning against a
sideboard, with his bowler hat over one corner of his eye, and talking
to a little group of the Chinese philosophers, he would have known that
perhaps the social catastrophe was a little nearer than even he
suspected.
* * * * *
"Are you inviting anyone else tonight?" asked Mr. Furlong.
"I should have liked to ask your father," said Mr. Fyshe, "but
unfortunately he is out of town."
What Mr. Fyshe really meant was, "I am extremely glad not to have to
ask your father, whom I would not introduce to the Duke on any account."
Indeed, Mr. Furlong, senior, the father of the rector of St. Asaph's,
who was President of the New Amalgamated Hymnal Corporation, and
Director of the Hosanna Pipe and Steam Organ, Limited, was entirely the
wrong man for Mr. Fyshe's present purpose. In fact, he was reputed to
be as smart a man as ever sold a Bible. At this moment he was out of
town, busied in New York with the preparation of the plates of his new
Hindu Testament (copyright); but had he learned that a duke with
several millions to invest was about to visit the city, he would not
have left it for the whole of Hindustan.
"I suppose you are asking Mr. Boulder," said the rector.
"No," answered Mr. Fyshe very decidedly, dismissing the name absolutely.
Indeed, there was even better reason not to introduce Mr. Boulder to
the Duke. Mr. Fyshe had made that sort of mistake once, and never
intended to make it again. It was only a year ago, on the occasion of
the visit of young Viscount FitzThistle to the Mausoleum Club, that Mr.
Fyshe had introduced Mr. Boulder to the Viscount and had suffered
grievously thereby. For Mr. Boulder had no sooner met the Viscount than
he invited him up to his hunting-lodge in Wisconsin, and that was the
last thing known of the investment of the FitzThistle fortune.
This Mr. Boulder of whom Mr. Fyshe spoke might indeed have been seen at
that moment at a further table of the lunch room eating a solitary
meal, an oldish man with a great frame suggesting broken strength, with
a white beard and with falling under-eyelids that made him look as if
he were just about to cry. His eyes were blue and far away, and his
still, mournful face and his great bent shoulders seemed to suggest all
the power and mystery of high finance.
Gloom indeed hung over him. For, when one heard him talk of listed
stocks and cumulative dividends, there was as deep a tone in his quiet
voice
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Produced by sp1nd, Sam W. 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 contains a small number of characters which are not
available in this file encoding. These are a and e with a macron
(straight line) above, which are rendered as [=a] and [=e]
respectively, and u with a breve (upward curve) above, which is
rendered as [)u].
THE
WASHER OF THE FORD
LEGENDARY MORALITIES
AND BARBARIC TALES
BY FIONA MACLEOD
[Decoration]
NEW YORK
STONE & KIMBALL
M DCCC XCVI
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
Pharais: _A Romance of the Isles_
The Mountain Lovers: _A Romance_
The Sin-Eater
IN PREPARATION:
Green Fire: _A Romance_
Lyric Rimes and Founsheen
CONTENTS
PAGE
Prologue 3
The Washer of the Ford 25
St. Bride of the Isles 51
The Fisher of Men 97
The Last Supper 117
The Dark Nameless One 135
The Three Marvels of Hy 149
I. The Festival of the Birds 151
II. The Sabbath of the Fishes and the Flies 161
III. The Moon-Child 170
The Annir-Choille 183
The Shadow-Seers 237
I. The Sight 239
II. The Dark Hour of Fergus 244
III. The White Fever 254
IV. The Smoothing of the Hand 260
Seanachas 267
The Song of the Sword 271
The Flight of the Culdees 289
Mircath 301
The Laughter of Scathach the Queen 309
Ula and Urla 321
"Here are told the stories of these pictures of the imagination, of
magic and romance. Yet they were gravely chosen withal, and for
reasons manifold.... What if they be but dreams? 'We are such stuff as
dreams are made of.' What if they be but magic and romance? These
things are not ancient and dead, but modern and increasing. For
wherever a man learns power over Nature, there is Magic; wherever he
carries out an ideal into Life there is Romance."
Patrick Geddes:
"_The Interpreter_."
PROLOGUE
(TO KATHIA)
_I find, under the boughs of love and hate,
Eternal Beauty wandering on her way._
The Rose upon the Rood of Time.
To you, in your far-away home in Provence, I send these tales out of
the remote North you love so well, and so well understand. The same
blood is in our veins, a deep current somewhere beneath the tide that
sustains us. We have meeting-places that none knows of; we understand
what few can understand; and we share in common a strange and
inexplicable heritage. It is because you, who are called Kathia of the
Sunway, are also Kathia nan Ciar, Kathia of the Shadow, it is because
you are what you are that I inscribe this book to you. In it you will
find much that is familiar to you, though you may never have read or
heard anything of the kind; for there is a reality, beneath the
unfamiliar accident, which may be recognised in a moment as native to
the secret life that lives behind the brain and the wise nerves with
their dim ancestral knowledge.
The greater portion of this book deals with the remote life of a
remote past. "The Shadow-Seers," however, though of to-day, may
equally be of yesterday or to-morrow; and as for "The Last Supper" or
"The Fisher of Men," they are of no time or date, for they are founded
upon elemental facts which are modified but not transformed by the
changing years.
It may be the last of its kind I shall write--at any rate, for a time.
I would like it to be associated with you, to whom not only the
mystery but the pagan sentiment and the old barbaric emotion are so
near. With the second sight of the imagination we can often see more
clearly in the perspectives of the past than in the maze of the
present; and most clearly when we recognise that, below the accidents
of time and
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The Project Gutenberg Etext of On Conducting
by Richard Wagner (translated by Edward Dannreuther)
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Title: On Conducting (Ueber das Dirigiren):
A Treatise on Style in the Execution of Classical Music
Author: Richard Wagner (translated by Edward Dannreuther)
Release Date: October, 2003 [Etext# 4523]
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| 336.277927 | 1,610 |
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OAK OPENINGS
By James Fennimore Cooper
PREFACE.
It ought to be matter of surprise how men live in the midst of marvels,
without taking heed of their existence. The slightest derangement of
their accustomed walks in political or social life shall excite all
their wonder, and furnish themes for their discussions, for months;
while the prodigies that come from above are presented daily to their
eyes, and are received without surprise, as things of course. In a
certain sense, this may be well enough, inasmuch as all which comes
directly from the hands of the Creator may be said so far to exceed the
power of human comprehension, as to be beyond comment; but the truth
would show us that the cause of this neglect is rather a propensity to
dwell on such interests as those over which we have a fancied control,
than on those which confessedly transcend our understanding. Thus is it
ever with men. The wonders of creation meet them at every turn, without
awakening reflection, while their minds labor on subjects that are not
only ephemeral and illusory, but which never attain an elevation higher
than that the most sordid interests can bestow.
For ourselves, we firmly believe that the finger of Providence is
pointing the way to all races, and colors, and nations, along the path
that is to lead the east and the west alike to the great goal of
human wants. Demons infest that path, and numerous and unhappy are
the wanderings of millions who stray from its course; sometimes in
reluctance to proceed; sometimes in an indiscreet haste to move faster
than their fellows, and always in a forgetfulness of the great rules of
conduct that have been handed down from above. Nevertheless, the main
course is onward; and the day, in the sense of time, is not distant,
when the whole earth is to be filled with the knowledge of the Lord, "as
the waters cover the sea."
One of the great stumbling-blocks with a large class of well-meaning,
but narrow-judging moralists, are the seeming wrongs that are permitted
by Providence, in its control of human events. Such persons take a
one-sided view of things, and reduce all principles to the level of
their own understandings. If we could comprehend the relations which the
Deity bears to us, as well as we can comprehend the relations we bear
to him, there might be a little seeming reason in these doubts; but when
one of the parties in this mighty scheme of action is a profound mystery
to the other, it is worse than idle, it is profane, to attempt to
explain those things which our minds are not yet sufficiently cleared
from the dross of earth to understand. Look at Italy, at this very
moment. The darkness and depression from which that glorious peninsula
is about to emerge are the fruits of long-continued dissensions and an
iron despotism, which is at length broken by the impulses left behind
him by a ruthless conqueror, who, under the appearance and the phrases
of Liberty, contended only for himself. A more concentrated egotism than
that of Napoleon probably never existed; yet has it left behind it seeds
of personal rights that have sprung up by the wayside, and which are
likely to take root with a force that will bid defiance to eradication.
Thus is it ever, with the progress of society. Good appears to arise
out of evil, and the inscrutable ways of Providence are vindicated by
general results, rather than by instances of particular care. We leave
the application of these remarks to the intelligence of such of our
readers as may have patience to peruse the work that will be found in
the succeeding pages.
We have a few words of explanation to say, in connection with the
machinery of our tale. In the first place, we would remark, that the
spelling of "burr-oak," as given in this book, is less our own than
an office spelling. We think it should be "bur-oak," and this for the
simple reason, that the name is derived from the fact that the acorn
borne by this tree is partially covered with a bur. Old Sam Johnson,
however, says that "burr" means the lobe, or lap of the ear; and those
who can fancy such a resemblance between this and the covering of our
acorn, are at liberty to use the two final consonants. Having commenced
stereotyping with this supernumerary, for the sake of uniformity that
mode of spelling, wrong as we think it, has been continued through-out
the book.
There is nothing imaginary in the fertility of the West. Personal
observation has satisfied us that it much surpasses anything that exists
in the Atlantic States, unless in exceptions, through
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Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at Free Literature (online soon
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GLEANINGS IN BUDDHA-FIELDS
STUDIES OF HAND AND SOUL
IN THE FAR EAST
BY
LAFCADIO HEARN
LECTURER ON ENGLISH LITERATURE IN THE
IMPERIAL UNIVERSITY OF JAPAN
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
1897
CONTENTS
I. A LIVING GOD
II. OUT OF THE STREET
III. NOTES OF A TRIP TO KYŌTO
IV. DUST
V. ABOUT FACES EN JAPANESE ART
VI. NINGYŌ-NO-HAKA
VII. IN ŌSAKA
VIII. BUDDHIST ALLUSIONS IN JAPANESE FOLK-SONG
IX. NIRVANA
X. THE REBIRTH OF KATSUGORŌ
XI. WITHIN THE CIRCLE
GLEANINGS IN BUDDHA-FIELDS
I
A LIVING GOD
I
Of whatever dimension, the temples or shrines of pure Shintō are all
built in the same archaic style. The typical shrine is a windowless
oblong building of unpainted timber, with a very steep overhanging
roof; the front is the gable end; and the upper part of the perpetually
closed doors is wooden lattice-work,--usually a grating of bars
closely set and crossing each other at right angles. In most cases
the structure is raised slightly above the ground on wooden pillars;
and the queer peaked façade, with its visor-like apertures and the
fantastic projections of beam-work above its gable-angle, might remind
the European traveler of certain old Gothic forms of dormer. There is
no artificial color. The plain wood[1] soon turns, under the action of
rain and sun, to a natural grey, varying according to surface exposure
from the silvery tone of birch bark to the sombre grey of basalt. So
shaped and so tinted, the isolated country _yashiro_ may seem less like
a work of joinery than a feature of the scenery,--a rural form related
to nature as closely as rocks and trees,--a something that came into
existence only as a manifestation of Ohotsuchi-no-Kami, the Earth-god,
the primeval divinity of the land.
Why certain architectural forms produce in the beholder a feeling of
weirdness is a question about which I should like to theorize some
day: at present I shall venture only to say that Shinto shrines evoke
such a feeling. It grows with familiarity instead of weakening; and a
knowledge of popular beliefs is apt to intensify it. We have no English
words by which these queer shapes can be sufficiently described,--much
less any language able to communicate the peculiar impression which
they make. Those Shinto terms which we loosely render by the words
"temple" and "shrine" are really untranslatable;--I mean that the
Japanese ideas attaching to them cannot be conveyed by translation. The
so-called "august house" of the Kami is not so much a temple, in the
classic meaning of the term, as it is a haunted room, a spirit-chamber,
a ghost-house; many of the lesser divinities being veritably
ghosts,--ghosts of great warriors and heroes and rulers and teachers,
who lived and loved and died hundreds or thousands of years ago. I
fancy that to the Western mind the word "ghost-house" will convey,
better than such terms as "shrine" and "temple," some vague notion of
the strange character of the Shinto _miya_ or _yashiro,_--containing
in its perpetual dusk nothing more substantial than symbols or tokens,
the latter probably of paper. Now the emptiness behind the visored
front is more suggestive than anything material could possibly be;
and when you remember that millions of people during thousands of
years have worshipped their great dead before such _yashiro,--_that
a whole race still believes those buildings tenanted by viewless
conscious personalities,--you are apt also to reflect how difficult
it would be to prove the faith absurd. Nay! in spite of Occidental
reluctances,--in spite of whatever you may think it expedient to say
or not to say at a later time about the experience,--you may very
likely find yourself for a moment forced into the attitude of respect
toward possibilities. Mere cold reasoning will not help you far in the
opposite direction. The evidence of the senses counts for little: you
know there are ever so many realities which can neither be seen nor
heard nor felt, but which exist as forces,--tremendous forces. Then
again you cannot mock the conviction of forty millions of people while
that conviction thrills all about you like the air,--while conscious
that it is pressing upon your psychical being just as the atmosphere
presses upon your physical being. As for myself, whenever I am alone in
the presence of a Shinto shrine, I have the sensation of being haunted;
and I cannot help thinking about the possible apperceptions of the
haunter. And this tempts me to fancy how I should feel if I myself were
a god,--dwelling in some old Izumo shrine on the summit of a hill,
guarded by stone lions and shadowed by a holy
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ERCHIE
My Droll Friend
By Hugh Foulis
(Neil Munro)
(The Looker-On)
William Blackwood and Sons Edinburgh and London
MCMIV
[Illustration: 0008]
[Illustration: 0009]
PREFACE.
The majority of the following chapters are selections from “Erchie”
articles contributed to the pages of the ‘Glasgow Evening News’ during
the past three years. A number of the sketches are now published for the
first time.
ERCHIE
I INTRODUCTORY TO AN ODD CHARACTER
|On Sundays he is the beadle of our church; at other times he Waits.
In his ecclesiastical character there is a solemn dignity about his
deportment that compels most of us to call him Mr MacPherson; in his
secular hours, when passing the fruit at a city banquet, or when at the
close of the repast he sweeps away the fragments of the dinner-rolls,
and whisperingly expresses in your left ear a fervent hope that “ye’ve
enjoyed your dinner,” he is simply Erchie.
Once I forgot, deluded a moment into a Sunday train of thought by his
reverent way of laying down a bottle of Pommery, and called him Mr
MacPherson. He reproved me with a glance of his eye.
“There’s nae Mr MacPhersons here,” said he afterwards; “at whit ye might
call the social board I’m jist Erchie, or whiles Easy-gaun Erchie wi’
them that kens me langest. There’s sae mony folks in this world don’t
like to hurt your feelings that if I was kent as Mr MacPherson on this
kind o’ job I wadna mak’ enough to pay for starchin’ my shirts.”
I suppose Mr MacPherson has been snibbing-in preachers in St Kentigern’s
Kirk pulpit and then going for twenty minutes’ sleep in the vestry since
the Disruption; and the more privileged citizens of Glasgow during
two or three generations of public dinners have experienced the kindly
ministrations of Erchie, whose proud motto is “A flet fit but a warm
hert.” I think, however, I was the first to discover his long pent-up
and precious strain of philosophy.
On Saturday nights, in his office as beadle of St Kentigern’s, he lights
the furnaces that take the chill off the Sunday devotions. I found him
stoking the kirk fires one Saturday, not very much like a beadle in
appearance, and much less like a waiter. It was what, in England, they
call the festive season.
“There’s mair nor guid preachin’ wanted to keep a kirk gaun,” said he;
“if I was puttin’ as muckle dross on my fires as the Doctor whiles
puts in his sermons, efter a Setturday at the gowf, ye wad see a bonny
difference on the plate. But it’s nae odds-a beadle gets sma’ credit,
though it’s him that keeps the kirk tosh and warm, and jist at that
nice easy-osy temperature whaur even a gey cauldrife member o’ the
congregation can tak’ his nap and no’ let his lozenge slip doon his
throat for chitterin wi’ the cauld.”
There was a remarkably small congregation at St Kentigern’s on the
following day, and when the worthy beadle had locked the door after
dismissal and joined me on the pavement, “Man,” he said, “it was a puir
turn-oot yon--hardly worth puttin’ on fires for. It’s aye the wye; when
I mak’ the kirk a wee bit fancy, and jalouse there’s shair to be twa
pound ten in the plate, on comes a blash o’ rain, and there’s hardly
whit wid pay for the starchin’ o’ the Doctor’s bands.
“Christmas! They ca’t Christmas, but I could gie anither name for’t. I
looked it up in the penny almanac, and it said, ‘Keen frost; probably
snow,’ and I declare-to if I hadna nearly to soom frae the hoose.
“The almanacs is no’ whit they used to be; the auld chaps that used to
mak’ them maun be deid.
“They used to could do’t wi’ the least wee bit touch, and tell ye in
January whit kind o’ day it wad be at Halloween, besides lettin’ ye ken
the places whaur the Fair days and the ‘ool-markets was, and when they
were to tak’ place-a’ kind o’ information that maist o’ us that bocht
the almanacs couldna sleep at nicht wantin’. I’ve seen me get up at
three on a cauld winter’s mornin’ and strikin’ a licht to turn up Orr’s
Penny Commercial and see whit day was the Fair at Dunse. I never was
at Dunse in a’ my days, and hae nae intention o’ gaun, but it’s a grand
thing knowledge, and it’s no’ ill to cairry. It’s like poetry-’The Star
o’ Rabbie Burns’ and that kind o’ thing-ye can aye be givin’ it a ca’
roond in your mind when ye hae naething better to dae.
“Oh, ay! A puir turn-oot the day for Kenti-gern’s; that’s the drawback
o’ a genteel congregation like oors-mair nor half o’ them’s sufferin’
frae Christmas turkey and puttin’ the blame on the weather.”
“The bubbly-jock is the symbol o’ Scotland’s decline and fa’; we maybe
bate the English at Bannockburn, but noo they’re haein’ their revenge
and underminin’ oor constitution wi’ the aid o’ a bird that has neither
a braw plumage nor a bonny sang, and costs mair nor the price o’ three
or four ducks. England gave us her bubbly-jock and took oor barley-bree.
“But it’s a’ richt; Ne’erday’s comin’; it’s begun this year gey early,
for I saw Duffy gaun up his close last nicht wi’ his nose peeled.
“‘Am I gaun hame, or am I comin’ frae’t, can ye tell me?’ says he, and
he was carryin’ something roond-shaped in his pocket-naipkin.
“‘Whit’s wrang wi’ ye, puir cratur?’ I says to him.
“‘I was struck wi’ a sheet o’ lichtnin’,’ says he, and by that I ken’t
he had been doon drinkin’ at the Mull o’ Kintyre Vaults, and that the
season o’ peace on earth, guid-will to men was fairly started.
“‘MacPherson,’ he says, wi’ the tear at his e’e, ‘I canna help it, but
I’m a guid man.’
“‘Ye are that, Duffy,’ I says, ‘when ye’re in your bed sleepin’; at
ither times ye’re like the rest o’ us, and that’s gey middlin’. Whit
hae’ye in the naipkin?’
“He gied a dazed look at it, and says, ‘I’m no shair, but I think it’s a
curlin’-stane, and me maybe gaun to a bonspiel at Carsbreck.’
“He opened it oot, and found it was a wee, roond, red cheese.
“‘That’s me, a’ ower,’ says he--‘a Christmas for the wife,’ and I
declare there was as much drink jaupin’ in him as wad hae done for a
water-’shute.’
“Scotland’s last stand in the way o’ national customs is bein’ made at
the Mull o’ Kintyre Vaults, whaur the flet half-mutchkin, wrapped up in
magenta tissue paper so that it’ll look tidy, is retreatin’ doggedly,
and fechtin’ every fit o’ the way, before the invadin’ English Christmas
caird. Ten years ago the like o’ you and me couldna’ prove to a freen’
that we liked him fine unless we took him at this time o’ the year into
five or six public-hooses, leaned him up against the coonter, and
grat on his dickie. Whit dae we dae noo? We send wee Jennie oot for a
shilling box o’ the year afore last’s patterns in Christmas cairds, and
show oor continued affection and esteem at the ha’penny postage rate.
“Instead o’, takin’ Duffy roon’ the toon on Ne’erday, and hurtin’ my
heid wi’ tryin’ to be jolly, I send him a Christmas caird, wi’ the
picture o’ a hayfield on the ootside and ‘Wishin’ you the Old, Old Wish,
Dear,’ on the inside, and stay in the hoose till the thing blaws bye.
“The shilling box o’ Christmas cairds is the great peace-maker; a gross
or twa should hae been sent oot to Russia and Japan, and it wad hae
stopped the war.’ Ye may hae thocht for a twelvemonth the MacTurks were
a disgrace to the tenement, wi’ their lassie learnin’ the mandolin’,
and them haein’ their gas cut aff at the meter for no’ payin’ the last
quarter; but let them send a comic caird to your lassie--‘Wee Wullie to
Wee Jennie,’ and they wad get the len’ o’ your wife’s best jeely-pan.
“No’ but whit there’s trouble wi’ the Christmas caird. It’s only when ye
buy a shillin’ box and sit doon wi’ the wife and weans to consider wha
ye’ll send them to that ye fin’ oot whit an awfu’ lot o’ freen’s ye hae.
A score o’ shillin’ boxes wadna gae ower half the kizzens I hae, wi’ my
grandfaither belangin’ to the Hielan’s, so Jinnet an’ me jist let’s on
to some o’ them we’re no’ sendin’ ony cairds oot this year because it’s
no’ the kin’ o’ society go ony langer. And ye have aye to keep pairt
o’ the box till Ne’erday to send to some o’ the mair parteeclar anes ye
forgot a’ thegither were freen’s o’ yours till they sent ye a caird.
“Anither fau’t I hae to the Christmas cairds is that the writin’ on
them’s generally fair rideeculous.
“‘May Christmas Day be Blythe and Gay, and bring your household Peace
and Joy,’ is on the only caird left ower to send to Mrs Maclure; and
when ye’re shearin’ aff the selvedges o’t to mak’ it fit a wee envelope,
ye canna but think that it’s a droll message for a hoose wi’ five weans
lyin’ ill wi’ the whoopin’-cough, and the man cairryin’ on the wye
Maclure does.
“‘Old friends, old favourites, Joy be with you at this Season,’ says
the caird for the MacTurks, and ye canna but mind that every third
week there’s a row wi’ Mrs MacTurk and your wife aboot the key o’ the
washin’-hoose and lettin’ the boiler rust that bad a’ the salts o’
sorrel in the Apothecaries’ll no tak’ the stains aff your shirts.
“Whit’s wanted is a kin’ o’ slidin’ scale o’ sentiment on Christmas
cairds, so that they’ll taper doon frae a herty greetin’ ye can
truthfully send to a dacent auld freen’ and the kind o’ cool ‘here’s to
ye!’ suited for an acquaintance that borrowed five shillin’s frae ye at
the Term, and hasna much chance o’ ever payin’t back again.
“If it wasna for the Christmas cairds a lot o’ us wad maybe never
jalouse there was onything parteecular merry aboot the season. Every man
that ye’re owin’ an accoont to sends it to ye then, thinkin’ your
hert’s warm and your pouches rattlin’. On Christmas Day itsel’ ye’re
aye expectin’ something; ye canna richt tell whit it is, but there’s ae
thing certain--that it never comes. Jinnet, my wife, made a breenge for
the door every time the post knocked on Thursday, and a’ she had for’t
at the end o’ the day was an ashet fu’ o’ whit she ca’s valenteens, a’
written on so that they’ll no even dae for next year.
“I used to wonder whit the banks shut for at Christmas, but I ken noo;
they’re feart that their customers, cairried awa’ wi’ their feelin’
o’ guid-will to men, wad be makin’ a rush on them to draw money for
presents, and maybe create a panic.
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The Pillar of Light
By Louis Tracy
_Author of "The Wings of the Morning"_
"_And the rain descended, and the
floods came, and the winds blew,
and beat upon that house; and
it fell not; for it was founded
upon a rock._"
_Matthew vii: 25_
New York
EDWARD J. CLODE
156 Fifth Avenue
1904
Copyright 1904, by EDWARD J. CLODE
_All rights reserved_
May, 1904
_Plimpton Press Norwood Mass._
[Illustration: LOW WATER--THE REEF]
[Illustration: THE GULF ROCK LIGHTHOUSE SECTION]
CONTENTS
I _Flotsam_ 1
II _A Christening_ 19
III _The Signal_ 37
IV _The Voice of the Reef_ 57
V _The Hurricane_ 72
VI _The Middle Watch_ 92
VII _The Lottery_ 110
VIII _An Interlude_ 124
IX _Mrs. Vansittart_ 141
X _Pyne's Progress_ 156
XI _Mrs. Vansittart's Fear_ 172
XII _Preparations_ 188
XIII _Before the Dawn_ 206
XIV _The Way They Have in The Navy_ 223
XV _Enid's New Name_ 241
XVI _Stephen Brand Explains_ 258
XVII _Mrs. Vansittart Goes Home_ 281
XVIII _Enid Wears an Old Ornament_ 301
XIX _The House that Stood Upon a Rock_ 319
CHAPTER I
FLOTSAM
All night long the great bell of the lighthouse, slung to a stout beam
projecting seaward beneath the outer platform, had tolled its warning
through the fog. The monotonous ticking of the clockwork attachment that
governed it, the sharp and livelier click of the occulting hood's
machinery, were the only sounds which alternated with its deep boom. The
tremendous clang sent a thrill through the giant column itself and
pealed away into the murky void with a tremolo of profound diminutions.
Overhead, the magnificent lantern, its eight-ringed circle of flame
burning at full pressure, illumined the drifting vapor with an intensity
that seemed to be born of the sturdy granite pillar of which it was the
fitting diadem. Hard and strong externally as the everlasting rock on
which it stood,--replete within with burnished steel and polished brass,
great cylinders and powerful pumps,--the lighthouse thrust its glowing
torch beyond the reach of the most daring wave. Cold, dour, defiant it
looked. Yet its superhuman eye sought to pierce the very heart of the
fog, and the furnace-white glare, concentrated ten thousand-fold by the
encircling hive of the dioptric lens, flung far into the gloom a silvery
cloak of moon-like majesty.
At last an irresistible ally sprang to the assistance of the
unconquerable light. About the close of the middle watch a gentle breeze
from the Atlantic followed the tide and swept the shivering wraith
landward to the northeast, whilst the first beams of a June sun
completed the destruction of the routed specter.
So, once more, as on the dawn of the third day, the waters under the
heaven were gathered into one place, and the dry land appeared, and
behold, it was good.
On the horizon, the turquoise rim of the sea lay with the sheen of
folded silk against the softer canopy of the sky. Towards the west a
group of islands, to which drifting banks of mist clung in melting
despair, were etched in shadows of dreamy purple. Over the nearer
sea-floor the quickly dying vapor spread a hazy pall of opal tints.
Across the face of the waters glistening bands of emerald green and
serene blue quivered in fairy lights. The slanting rays of the sun threw
broadcast a golden mirage and gilded all things with the dumb gladness
of an English summer's day.
A man, pacing the narrow gallery beneath the lantern, halted for a
moment to flood his soul afresh with a beauty made entrancing by the
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L
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TYPOGRAPHIC TECHNICAL SERIES FOR APPRENTICES--PART VI, NO. 36
COMPOUND WORDS
A STUDY OF THE PRINCIPLES
OF COMPOUNDING, THE COMPONENTS
OF COMPOUNDS, AND THE
USE OF THE HYPHEN
BY
FREDERICK W. HAMILTON, LL. D.
EDUCATIONAL DIRECTOR
UNITED TYPOTHETAE OF AMERICA.
PUBLISHED BY THE COMMITTEE ON EDUCATION
UNITED TYPOTHETAE OF AMERICA
1918
COPYRIGHT, 1918
UNITED TYPOTHETAE OF AMERICA
CHICAGO, ILL.
PREFACE
The subject of compounds is one of the most difficult of the matters
relating to correct literary composition. The difficulty arises from the
fact that usage, especially in the matter of the presence or absence of
the hyphen, is not clearly settled. Progressive tendencies are at work
and there is great difference of usage, even among authorities of the
first rank, with regard to many compounds in common use.
An attempt is made to show first the general character of the problems
involved. Then follows a discussion of the general principles of
compounding. The general rules for the formation of compounds are stated
and briefly discussed. The various components of compounds are fully
analyzed and tabulated. The best modern usage in the matter of the
employment of the hyphen is set forth in a series of rules. The whole is
concluded by practical advice to the compositor as to the use of the
rules in the actual work of the office.
CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTION 1
GENERAL PRINCIPLES 4
ACCENT IN COMPOUNDING 5
THE FORMATION OF COMPOUNDS 6
COMPONENTS OF COMPOUNDS 7
RULES FOR THE USE OF THE HYPHEN 9
SUPPLEMENTARY READING 16
REVIEW QUESTIONS 17
COMPOUND WORDS
INTRODUCTION
The English language contains a great many words and phrases which are
made up of two or more words combined or related in such a way as to
form a new verbal phrase having a distinct meaning of its own and
differing in meaning from the sum of the component words taken singly.
_Income_ and _outgo_, for example, have quite definite meanings related,
it is true, to _come_ and _go_ and to _in_ and _out_, but sharply
differentiated from those words in their ordinary and general
signification. We use these compound words and phrases so commonly that
we never stop to think how numerous they are, or how frequently new ones
are coined. Any living language is constantly growing and developing new
forms. New objects have to be named, new sensations expressed, new
experiences described.
Sometimes these words are mere aggregations like _automobile_,
_monotype_, _sidewalk_, _policeman_ and the like. Sometimes, indeed very
often, they are short cuts. A _hatbox_ is a box for carrying a hat, a
_red-haired_ man is a man with red hair. A _bookcase_ is a case to
contain books, etc.
Sometimes the phrase consists of two or more separate words, such as
_well known_ or _nicely kept_. Sometimes it consists of words joined by
a hyphen, such as _boarding-house_, _sleeping-car_. Sometimes it
consists of a single word formed by amalgamating or running together the
components, such as _penholder_, _nevertheless_.
In which of these forms shall we write the phrase we speak so easily?
How shall we shape the new word we have just coined? Which of these
three forms shall we use, and why? Ordinarily we look for the answer to
such questions from three sources, historical development, the past of
the language; some logical principle of general application; or some
recognized standard of authority. Unfortunately we get little help from
either of these sources in this special difficulty.
The history of the language is a history of constant change. The
Anglo-Saxon tongue was full of compounds, but the hyphen was an unknown
device to those who spoke it. The English of Chaucer, the period when
our new-born English tongue was differentiated from those which
contributed to its composition, is full of compounds, and the compounds
were generally written with a hyphen. Shakespeare used many compound
words and phrases some of which sound strange, if not uncouth,
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The Scribner English Classics
EDITED BY
FREDERICK H. SYKES, PH.D.
TEACHERS COLLEGE, COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY
COLERIDGE'S ANCIENT MARINER AND SELECT POEMS
1908
PREFATORY NOTE
The text of the poems in this volume is that of J. <DW18>s Campbell in the
Globe edition of Coleridge's poems. For the introduction I have depended
also largely upon his Memoir of Coleridge, and upon the two volumes of
the "Letters of Samuel Taylor Coleridge," edited by the poet's grandson,
Mr. E.H. Coleridge. In the Notes, as will be seen, I am indebted
particularly to the general editor of this series, Dr. F.H. Sykes, to
Dr. Lane Cooper of Cornell University, and again to Mr. Coleridge,
through whose kindness I have been able to get a reproduction of the
Marshmills crayon, undoubtedly the most satisfactory portrait of the
poet in existence, for the frontispiece.
H.M.B.
CONTENTS
BIBLIOGRAPHY
INTRODUCTION:
I. SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE
II. COLERIDGE'S POEMS
TEXT:
THE ANCIENT MARINER
CHRISTABEL
KUBLA KHAN
LOVE
FRANCE: AN ODE
DEJECTION: AN ODE
YOUTH AND AGE
WORK WITHOUT HOPE
EPITAPH
NOTES
*SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY*
EDITIONS:
Globe Edition. Edited by J. <DW18>s Campbell. 1 vol. Muses' Library.
Edited by Richard Garnett.
LIFE AND CRITICISM:
Stephen, Leslie, Article "Coleridge" in "The Dictionary of National
Biography."
H.D. Traill, "Coleridge" ("English Men of Letters Series").
Caine, T.H., "Coleridge" ("Great Writers Series").
Coleridge, S.T., "Biographia Literaria" ("Everyman's Library").
De Quincey, T., "Lake Poets."
Hazlitt, W., "First Acquaintance with Poets."
Cottle, J., "Reminiscences of Coleridge and Southey."
Pater, W., "Appreciations."
Shairp, J.C., "Studies in Poetry and Philosophy."
Sarrazin, Gabriel, "La Renaissance de la Poesie Anglaise, 1798-1889."
Brandl, Alois, "S.T. Coleridge and the English Romantic School."
BIBLIOGRAPHY:
Haney, J.L., "A Bibliography of Samuel Taylor Coleridge."
INTRODUCTION
I. SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE
I. THE BEGINNINGS
Coleridge lived in what may safely be called the most momentous period
of modern history. In the year following his birth Warren Hastings was
appointed first governor-general of India, where he maintained English
empire during years of war with rival nations, and where he committed
those acts of cruelty and tyranny which called forth the greatest
eloquence of the greatest of English orators, in the famous impeachment
trial at Westminster, when Coleridge was a sixteen-year-old schoolboy in
London. A few years before his birth the liberal philosophy of France
had found a popular voice in the writings of Rousseau, which became the
gospel of revolution throughout Europe in Coleridge's youth and early
manhood. "The New Heloise" in the field of sentiment and of the relation
of the sexes, "The Social Contract" In political theory, and "Emile" in
matters of education, were books whose influence upon Coleridge's
generation it would be hard to estimate. When Coleridge was four years
old the English colonies in America declared their independence and
founded a new nation upon the natural rights of man,--a nation that has
grown to be the mightiest and most beneficent on the globe. Coleridge
was seventeen when the French Revolution broke out; he was forty-three
when Napoleon was sent to St. Helena. He saw the whole career of the
greatest political upheaval and of the greatest military genius of the
modern world. Fox, Pitt, and Burke,--the greatest Liberal orator, the
greatest Parliamentary leader, and the greatest philosophic statesman
that England has produced--were at the height of their glory when
Coleridge went up to Cambridge in 1791.
In literature--naturally, since literature is but an interpretation of
life--the age was not less remarkable. Dr. Johnson was still alive when
Coleridge came up to school at Christ's Hospital, Goldsmith had died
eight years before. But a new spirit was abroad in the younger
generation. Macpherson's "Fingal," alleged to be a translation from the
ancient Gaelic poet Ossian, had appeared in 1760; Thomas Percy's
"Reliques of Ancient English Poetry," a collection of folk-ballads and
rude verse-romances such as the common people cherished but critics had
long refused to consider as poetry, was published in 1765. These two
books were of prime importance in fostering a new taste in
literature,--a love of natural beauty, of simplicity, and of rude
strength. The new taste hailed with delight the appearance of a native
lyric genius in Burns, whose first volume of poems was printed in 1786.
It welcomed also the homely, simple sweetness, what Coleridge and Lamb
called the "divine chit-chat," of Cowper, whose "Task" appeared in the
preceding year. But it was in Coleridge himself and his close
contemporaries and followers that the splendor of the new poetry showed
itself. He was two years younger than Wordsworth, a year younger than
Scott; he was sixteen at the birth of Byron, twenty at that of Shelley,
twenty-four at that of Keats; and he outlived all of them except
Wordsworth. His genius blossomed early. "The Ancient Mariner," his
greatest poem, was published some years before Wordsworth's "Ode on the
Intimations of Immortality" was written, or Scott's "Lay of the Last
Minstrel." He was in the prime of life, or what should have been the
prime of life--forty years old--when Byron burst into sudden fame with
the first two cantos of "Childe Harold" in 1812; he was forty-six when
Keats published "Endymion"; he was fifty-one when Shelley was drowned.
And of all this gifted company Coleridge, though not the strongest
character or the most prolific poet, was the profoundest intellect and
the _most originative poetic spirit_.
There was little hint, however, of future greatness or of fellowship
with great names in his birth and early circumstances. His father was a
country clergyman and schoolmaster in the village of Ottery St. Mary, in
Devonshire, a simple-hearted unworldly man, full of curious learning and
not very attentive to practical affairs. His mother managed the
household and brought up the children. Both his parents were of simple
West-country stock; but his father, having a natural turn for study and
having done well in his early manhood as a schoolmaster, went at the age
of thirty-one as a sizar, or poor student, to Sidney-Sussex College,
Cambridge, took orders, and was afterwards given the living of Ottery
St. Mary. Here he continued his beloved work of teaching, in addition to
his pastoral duties, and by means of this combination won the humble
livelihood which, through his wife's careful economy, sufficed for
rearing his large family. Coleridge tells us that his father "had so
little of parental ambition in him that he had destined his children to
be blacksmiths, etc." (though he had "resolved that I should be a
parson"), "and had accomplished his intention but for my mother's pride
and spirit of aggrandizing her family." Several of the children rewarded
their mother's care by distinguishing themselves in a modest way in the
army or in the church, but the only one about whom the world is curious
now was the youngest of the ten, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, who was born
at Ottery St. Mary, October 21, 1772.
The essential traits of his later character appeared in his early
childhood. Almost from infancy he lived in his imagination rather than
in the world of reality. "The schoolboys drove me from play, and were
always tormenting me, and hence I took no pleasure in boyish sports, but
read incessantly.... I became a _dreamer_, and acquired an indisposition
to all bodily activity; and I was fretful, and inordinately
passionate." "Sensibility, imagination, vanity, sloth," were "prominent
and manifest" in his character before he was eight years old. Such is
his own account of his childhood, written to his friend Poole in 1797;
and it is an accurate description, as far as it goes, of the grown man.
But of the religious temper, too, the love of freedom and of virtue, the
hatred of injustice, cruelty, and falsehood that guided his uneven steps
through all the pitiful struggle of his middle life, of the conscience
that made his weakness hell to him--of these, too, we may be sure that
the beginnings were to be seen in the boy at Ottery St. Mary, as indeed
they were before his eyes in the person of his father, who, if not a
first-rate genius, was, says his son, "a first-rate Christian."
The good vicar died in 1781; and the next year, a "presentation" to
Christ's Hospital having been secured for him, little Samuel, not yet
eleven years old, went up to London to enter the famous old city school.
Here,
"In the great city, pent'mid cloisters dim,"
where he
"Saw nought lovely but the sky and stars,"
one of some seven hundred Blue-Coat boys, Coleridge lived for nine
years.
Most of the boys at Christ's Hospital, then as now, were given a
"commercial" education (which none the less included a very thorough
training in Latin); but a few of the most promising students were each
year selected by the masters for a classical training in preparation for
the universities, whence they were known as Grecians. Coleridge was
elected a Grecian in 1788. The famous Boyer--famous for his enthusiasm
alike in teaching the classics and in wielding the birch--laid the
foundation of Coleridge's later scholarship. Here, too, Coleridge did a
great amount of reading not laid down in the curriculum,--Latin and
Greek poetry and philosophy, mediaeval science and metaphysics--and won
the approval of his teachers by the excellence of his verses in Greek
and Latin, such as boys at school and students at the universities were
expected to write in those days. In the great city school, as in the
Devonshire vicarage, he lived in the imagination, inert of body and
rapacious of intellect; but he was solitary no longer, having found his
tongue and among his more intellectual schoolfellows an interested
audience. While yet a boy, he would hold an audience spellbound by his
eloquent declamation or the fervor of his argument till, as Lamb, who
was one of his hearers, tells us, "the walls of the old Grey Friars
re-echoed to the accents of the _inspired charity boy_!" That is the way
his conversation,--or monologue, as it often was,--affected not boys
only, but men, and especially young men, to his dying day. He cast a
spell upon men by his speech; upon his schoolfellows, upon young men at
the universities in the Pantisocracy days, upon Lloyd and Poole at
Nether Stowey, upon earnest young thinkers in his last days at Highgate;
so that even if he had never written "The Ancient Mariner" and the
_Biographia, Literaria_ he would still be remembered for the inspiration
of his talk.
Further details of the life at Christ's Hospital must be sought in
Lamb's two essays, especially that on "Christ's Hospital Five-and-Thirty
Years Ago." In 1791, having secured a Christ's Hospital "exhibition," he
entered Jesus College, Cambridge.
His university life extended over three years, from October, 1791, to
December, 1794. It was an unhappy time for him and an uneasy time for
his respectable relatives, for reasons that were partly in his own
nature and partly in the temper of the times.
Even Boyer's severe training, while it had made him a hard student and
an unusual scholar for his years, had failed to give him what he most
needed as a balance to his intellect and imagination, stability of
character. There is evidence that after the first few months, during
which the habits of his hard school life had not yet broken, the new
liberty of university life led him into extravagance, if not
dissipation. Work he doubtless did (he won the Browne medal for a Greek
ode on the slave-trade in 1792), but fitfully, giving less and less
attention to his regular studies and more to conviviality and, above
all, to dreams of literary fame. He wrote verses after various models,
sentimental, fanciful, or gallant; he was enthusiastic in praise of a
contemporary sonneteer, the Rev. William Bowles, whose "divine
sensibility" seemed to him the height of poetic feeling; and in
connection with Wordsworth's younger brother Christopher, who entered
Cambridge in 1793, he formed a literary society that discussed, among
other things, Wordsworth's volume of early poetry, "Descriptive
Sketches," published in that year. Wordsworth himself was a Cambridge
man, but had taken his degree in 1791 and gone abroad, so that the two
men whose personal friendship was to mean so much in English poetry did
not meet until 1796. Already in 1793, however, Coleridge had developed
political theories, or rather sympathies, which were preparing him for
fellowship with Wordsworth.
The French Revolution, which, after years of preparation, took concrete
shape in 1789, did not look to young Englishmen in 1791-4 as it looks to
us now, nor even as it was to look to those same Englishmen in 1800. In
those first years warm-hearted young enthusiasts at the universities saw
in the violence of their fellow-men across the Channel only the
struggles of the beautiful Spirit of Liberty bursting the chains of
age-long tyranny and corruption and calling men up to the heights to
breathe diviner air.
"Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive,
But to be young was very Heaven!"
wrote Wordsworth afterwards; and in the glow of his young idealism he
had gone over to France in the autumn of 1791 and was on the point of
throwing in his lot with the revolutionists, when his parents compelled
his return by cutting off his supplies. And many who, like Coleridge,
merely watched from afar shared his faith that a new order of things was
to be established, wherein Love should be Law and man's inhumanity to
man become but a memory of things outworn.
Less generous men, with a selfish interest in established privileges;
timid men, who looked with terror upon any prospect of change; older and
wiser men, who better understood the foundations of social order and the
nature of man--all these looked with distrust upon the revolutionary
idealism that was spreading from France through the younger generation
of Englishmen. The new notions of liberty, it was felt, threatened not
only the vested rights of property and the prescriptions of rank, but
the Church, too, and religion. Some of the would-be reformers were
avowed atheists; some (Coleridge and his friends, for instance, in the
Pantisocracy period) were communists. In general, they ascribed all the
evils of society to "institutions," and wanted them abolished.
Just how far Coleridge had gone in this direction by the autumn of 1793
we do not know; far enough at least to disturb his view of the future,
to worry his elder brother George, a clergyman and school-teacher, who
had in some measure filled a father's place to the young genius, and,
most important of all, to alarm and distress a gentle girl in London.
For before he left Christ's Hospital for Cambridge he had become
intimate at the house of a Mrs. Evans, and most of the letters preserved
from his first two years at the University were addressed to her or to
one of her two daughters, Anne and Mary. With the latter Coleridge was
in love; and that she had some regard for him is apparent from a letter
she sent him in 1794. Before that, however, Coleridge had taken a step
that seemed likely to close at once his college career and his prospects
of literary fame. The reasons have not been recorded: probably pecuniary
embarrassment, the yeasty state of his religious and political ideas,
and impatience or despondency over his love-affair with Mary Evans,
combined to precipitate his flight; what we know is that he ran away
from Cambridge and in December, 1793, enlisted as a dragoon in the
army.
Coleridge had hardly taken the step before he repented of it. His
letters to his brother George, who with other friends bestirred himself
for Coleridge's release as soon as his whereabouts was discovered, are
rather distressing in their self-abasement. The efforts of his friends
were successful and in April he returned to the University, where a
public admonition was the extent of his punishment, and he continued in
receipt of his Christ's Hospital exhibition.
But Coleridge's college days were practically over. He was now nearly
twenty-two years old, and the revolutionary unrest which had doubtless
contributed to his first escapade soon resulted in the formation of
schemes that took him away from Cambridge for good and all. In June,
1794, he made a visit to an old schoolfellow at Oxford. Here he met
Robert Southey of Balliol
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Produced by Charles Bowen from scans provided by Google
Books "The Grey Monk" in THE ARGOSY (Vol.s 57 & 58)
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source: Chapters 1-25. "The Argosy. Vol. LVII.
January to June, 1894."
https://books.google.com/books?id=xCY2AAAAMAAJ
(the University of Michigan)
Chapters 26-51. "The Argosy. Vol. LVIII.
July to December, 1894."
https://books.google.com/books?id=A-kYAQAAIAAJ
(the University of California)
2. Illustrations (by M. L. Gow) are not reproduced here.
THE GREY MONK.
By T. W. SPEIGHT.
CONTENTS.
Chap. I. Alec's Sentence.
II. An Old Family and its Home.
III. Alec's Proposition.
IV. An Offer and its Acceptance.
V. At One Fell Blow.
VI. Alec's Fate.
VII. Too Late.
VIII. The Ebony Casket.
IX. Ethel and Tamsin.
X. Launce Keymer.
XI. Hopes and Fears.
XII. A Recreant Lover.
XIII. Captain Verinder and his Visitor.
XIV. The Captain Takes a Little Journey.
XV. Conspirators Three.
XVI. How Sir Gilbert received the News.
XVII. Sir Gilbert and Giovanna.
XVIII. The False Heir.
XIX. Luigi Acknowledged.
XX. Sir Gilbert's Decision.
XXI. Affairs at St. Oswyth's.
XXII. Father and Son.
XXIII. Ethel's Confession
XXIV. Tamsin Speaks her Mind.
XXV. Lady Pell.
XXVI. Giovanna at Maylings.
XXVII. "Mr. Lewis Clare."
XXVIII. The Progress of Events.
XXIX. Arrivals at the Chase.
XXX. An Unexpected Meeting.
XXXI. Luigi's Escapade.
XXXII. Sir Gilbert's Decision.
XXXIII. Uncle and Nephew.
XXXIV. A Desperate Resolve.
XXXV. Matters at the Chase.
XXXVI. A Deed of Darkness.
XXXVII. The Defeat of Roguery.
XXXVIII. Unanswered Questions.
XXXIX. The Counsel of Experience.
XL. "Love took up the Harp of Life."
XLI. Sir Gilbert's Strange Experience.
XLII. Sir Gilbert's Theory.
XLIII. The Root of the Mystery.
XLIV. Back at St. Oswyth's.
XLV. "Come Back to Me."
XLVI. Unknitted Threads.
XLVII. Husband and Wife.
XLVIII. Sir Gilbert's Great Surprise.
XLIX. Payment in Full.
L. The Veiled Stranger.
LI. Safe in Port.
THE ARGOSY.
_JANUARY, 1894_.
----------------
THE GREY MONK.
By The Author Of "The Mysteries Of Heron <DW18>."
CHAPTER I.
ALEC'S SENTENCE.
It was a wild and stormy October night. The big moon-faced clock in
the entrance-hall, in its slow and solemn fashion, as of a horologe
that felt the burden of its years, had just announced the hour of
eleven.
In his study alone, busy among his coins and curios, sat Sir Gilbert
Clare of Withington Chase, Hertfordshire, and Chase Ridings,
Yorkshire, a handsome, well-preserved man, in years somewhere between
fifty and sixty. He had a tall, thin, upright figure, strongly marked
features of an aquiline type, a snow-white moustache, and an
expression at once proud and imperious.
It would, indeed, have been difficult to find a prouder man than Sir
Gilbert. He was proud of the long line of his ancestors, of the brave
men and beautiful women who, from their faded frames in the picture
gallery, seemed to smile approval on the latest representative of
their race. He was proud of the unsullied name which had come down to
him from them, on which no action of his had ever cast the shadow of a
stain. He was proud of the position, which he accepted as his by
right, in his native county; he was proud of his three sturdy boys, at
this hour wrapped in the sleep of innocent childhood. But his pride
was strictly locked up in his own bosom. No syllable ever escaped him
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Produced by the Mormon Texts Project
(MormonTextsProject.org), with thanks to Kimball Gardner,
Intern, for proofreading.
SCRAPS
OF
BIOGRAPHY.
TENTH BOOK OF THE
FAITH-PROMOTING SERIES.
Designed for the Instruction and Encouragement of Young Latter-day
Saints
JUVENILE INSTRUCTOR OFFICE.
Salt Lake City.
1883
Copyright applied for at the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at
Washington, D. C., by A. H. Cannon.
PREFACE.
There is a gradually increasing interest among the young of this people
for reading and study. It is now the ambition of nearly every son and
daughter of the Saints to become well educated. Parents, also, are more
deeply interested in the intellectual growth of the youth. Thus we are
gradually ascending to a higher plane, and our influence is being felt
in a more extended sphere.
The desire, however, to place matter in the hands of the young for
reading and study, should not cause parents to be less careful in
the selection of books. Truth expands the mind and quickens the
understanding, while fiction dulls the perceptions and impairs the
memory. The acquisition of the one is a source of joy to the possessor,
while the constant perusal of the other unfits a person for the study
of that which endures.
That truth is the foundation of all righteousness, and that
righteousness is what we desire, no person among this people will
deny. Hence our anxiety to teach the child from its earliest infancy
the principle of the gospel. In order to assist in this great work of
teaching the gospel principles, we have been led to publish the SERIES
of which this book forms a part. Whether or not our endeavors have met
with any success, we leave for others to say, but we can safely state
that all who have read these little works cannot but realize the fact
that "Truth is stranger than fiction."
That these "SCRAPS OF BIOGRAPHY" may help to instil the great principle
of faith in the
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Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Mary Meehan, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
The Mystery of the Four Fingers
BY FRED M. WHITE
Author of "THE MIDNIGHT GUEST," "THE CRIMSON BLIND," Etc., Etc.
1908
CONTENTS
I. THE BLACK PATCH
II. THE FIRST FINGER
III. THE LOST MINE
IV. IN THE LIFT
V. A PUZZLE FOR VENNER
VI. A PARTIAL FAILURE
VII. THE WHITE LADY
VIII. MISSING
IX. A NEW PHASE
X. THE SECOND FINGER
XI. AN UNEXPECTED MOVE
XII. THE HOUSE NEXT DOOR
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Produced by Steven desJardins and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
THRICE ARMED
BY HAROLD BINDLOSS
Author of "Winston of the Prairie," "Delilah of the
Snows," "By Right of Purchase," "Lorimer
of the Northwest," etc.
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1908, by
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. JIMMY RENOUNCES HIS CAREER 1
II. TO WINDWARD 12
III. JIMMY MAKES FRIENDS 24
IV. IN THE TOILS 35
V. VALENTINE'S PAID HAND 46
VI. A VISION OF THE SEA 60
VII. BLOWN OFF 73
VIII. JIMMY TAKES COMMAND 84
IX. MERRIL TIGHTENS THE SCREW 97
X. ELEANOR WHEELOCK 108
XI. AT AUCTION 120
XII. THE "SHASTA" SHIPPING COMPANY 134
XIII. THE "SHASTA" GOES TO SEA 145
XIV. IN DISTRESS 159
XV. ELEANOR'S BITTERNESS 172
XVI. UNDER RESTRAINT 184
XVII. THE RANCHER'S ANSWER 196
XVIII. ELEANOR SPEAKS HER MIND 209
XIX. WOOD PULP 220
XX. ANTHEA MAKES A DISCOVERY 233
XXI. JIMMY GROWS RESTLESS 244
XXII. ASHORE 254
XXIII. ANTHEA GROWS ANXIOUS 265
XXIV. JORDAN KEEPS HIS PROMISE 276
XXV. AN UNDERSTANDING 285
XXVI. ELEANOR HOLDS THE CLUE 296
XXVII. JORDAN'S SCHEME 306
XXVIII. DISABLED ENGINES 317
XXIX. UNDER COMPULSION 329
XXX. AN EYE FOR AN EYE 344
XXXI. MERRIL CAPITULATES 354
XXXII. ELEANOR RELENTS 364
Thrice Armed
CHAPTER I
JIMMY RENOUNCES HIS CAREER
It was with somewhat mixed feelings, and a curious little smile in his
eyes, that Jim Wheelock stood with a brown hand on the _Tyee_'s wheel as
the deep-loaded schooner slid out through Vancouver Narrows before a
fresh easterly breeze. Dim heights of snow rose faintly white against
the creeping dusk above her starboard hand, and the busy British
Columbian city, girt with mazy wires and towering telegraph poles, was
fading slowly amidst the great black pines astern. An aromatic smell of
burning followed the schooner, and from the levels at the head of the
Inlet a long gray smear blew out across the water. A fire which had, as
not infrequently happens, passed the bounds of somebody's clearing was
eating its way into that part of the great coniferous forest that rolls
north from Oregon to Alaska along the wet seaboard of the Pacific <DW72>.
The schooner was making her six knots, with mainboom well out on her
quarter and broad wisps of froth washing off beneath her bows, slanted
until her leeward scuppers were close above the sliding foam. Wheelock
stood right aft, with his shoulders just above the roof of the little
deckhouse, and, foreshortened as the vessel was, she seemed from that
point of view a mere patch of scarred and somewhat uncleanly deck
surmounted by a towering mass of sail. Two partly seen figures were busy
bending on a gaff-topsail about the foot of her foremast, and Wheelock
turned as one of them came slouching aft when the sail had been sent
aloft. The man wore dungaree and jean, with a dilapidated oilskin coat
over them, for the wind was keen. He appeared to be at least fifty years
of age. Leaning against the rail, he grinned at
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Produced by Afra Ullah, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team
ONLY AN INCIDENT
BY GRACE DENIO LITCHFIELD
1883
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
I. JOPPA
II. PHEBE
III. GERALD
IV. MRS. UPJOHN'S ENTERTAINMENT
V. FRIENDS
VI. THE PICNIC
VII. TRIED AS BY FIRE
VIII. GERALD OBEYS ORDERS
IX. JOPPA'S MINISTRATIONS TO THE SICK
X. AN APOLOGY AND ITS CONSEQUENCES
XI. "MY SON DICK"
XII. WHY DO SUMMER ROSES FADE?
XIII. JOPPA'S TRIAL
XIV. PHEBE'S GOOD-BY
XV. ONLY AN INCIDENT
TO
GRACE HILL AND EDWIN C. LITCHFIELD.
TO HER FOR WHOSE DEAR SAKE THE STORY WAS PENNED, ALTHOUGH HER EYES HAVE
NEVER REST UPON ITS PAGES, AND TO HIM WHOSE TENDER WATCH OVER ITS GROWTH
HAS BEEN ITS VITAL INSPIRATION--TO THE TWO WHO ARE BUT ONE FOREVER IN THE
HEART OF THEIR DAUGHTER, THIS LITTLE FIRST BOOK IS MOST LOVINGLY
INSCRIBED.
ONLY AN INCODENT
CHAPTER I.
JOPPA.
Joppa was the very centre of all things. That was the opening clause in
the creed of every well-educated and right-thinking Joppite.
Geographically, however, it was not the centre of any thing, being
considerably off from the great lines of railway travel, but possessing
two little independent branch roads of its own, that connected it with
all the world, or rather that connected all the world with it. For though
there were larger places than Joppa even in the county in which it
condescended to find itself, and though New York, and Philadelphia, and
even Boston, were undeniably larger, as its inhabitants reluctantly
admitted when hard pressed, yet they were unanimous in agreeing,
nevertheless, that the sun rose and set wholly and entirely for the
benefit of their one little aristocratic community.
Yes; the world was created for Joppa, that the Joppites might live, move,
and have their being with as much convenience and as little trouble as
possible. Bethany, a considerable town near by, was built to be its
shopping emporium; Galilee, a little farther off, to accommodate its art
needs; Morocco, a more considerable town still farther off, to be the
birthplace of those ancestors who were so unfortunate as to come into the
world before there was any Joppa to be born in. Even New York was erected
mainly to furnish it with a place of comfortable resort once a year, when
it transplanted itself there bodily in a clan, consoling itself for its
temporary aberration of body by visiting exclusively and diligently back
and forth among its own people, and conforming life in all particulars as
far as possible to home rules, still doing when in New York, not as the
New Yorkers but as the Joppites did, and never for a moment abandoning
its proud position as the one only place in the world worth living in.
There certainly was much to say in favor of Joppa. In the first place,
it was remarkably salubrious. Its inhabitants died only of old
age,--seldom even of that,--or of diseases contracted wholly in other
localities. Measles had indeed been known to break out there once in the
sacred person of the President of the village, but had been promptly
suppressed; besides, it was universally conceded that being in his second
childhood he should be considered liable. The last epidemic of small-pox
even had swept by them harmless. Only two old and extremely ugly women
took it, whereas Bethany and Upper Jordan were decimated. So Joppa was
decidedly healthy, for one thing. For another, it was moral. There had
not been a murder heard of in ever so long, or a forgery, and the last
midnight burglar was such a nice, simple fellow that he did not know real
silver when he saw it, and ran off with the plated ware instead. And
Joppa was not only moral, but religious; went to church no end of times
on Sundays, and kept as many of the commandments as it conveniently
could. It had four churches: one Methodist, frequented exclusively by the
plebeians; one Baptist, of a mixed congregation; one Presbyterian, where
three fourths of the best people went; and one Episcopal, which the best
quarter of the best people attended, and which among the Presbyterians
was popularly supposed to be, if not exactly the entrance to the infernal
regions, yet certainly only one short step removed from it. And added to
all these good traits, Joppa was a beautiful place. There were a few
common, ugly little houses in it, of course, but they were all tucked
away out of sight at one end, constituting what was known as "the
village," while the real Joppa meant in the thoughts of the inhabitants
only the West End so to speak, where was a series of pretty villas and
commodious mansions running along a broad, handsome street, and
stretching for quite a distance along the border of the lake. For, oh!
best
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*Shakespeare*
Ben Jonson
Beaumont And Fletcher
Notes and Lectures
by S. T. Coleridge
New Edition
Liverpool
Edward Howell
MDCCCLXXIV
CONTENTS
Shakespeare
Definition Of Poetry.
Greek Drama.
Progress Of The Drama.
The Drama Generally, And Public Taste.
Shakespeare, A Poet Generally.
Shakespeare's Judgment equal to his Genius.
Recapitulation, And Summary Of the Characteristics of Shakespeare's
Dramas.
Outline Of An Introductory Lecture Upon Shakespeare.
Order Of Shakespeare's Plays.
Notes On The "Tempest."
"Love's Labour's Lost."
"Midsummer Night's Dream."
"Comedy Of Errors."
"As You Like It."
"Twelfth Night."
"All's Well That Ends Well."
"Merry Wives Of Windsor."
"Measure For Measure."
"Cymbeline."
"Titus Andronicus."
"Troilus And Cressida."
"Coriolanus."
"Julius Caesar."
"Antony And Cleopatra."
"Timon Of Athens."
"Romeo And Juliet."
Shakespeare's English Historical Plays.
"King John."
"Richard II."
"Henry IV.--Part I."
"Henry IV.--Part II."
"Henry V."
"Henry VI.--Part I."
"Richard III."
"Lear."
"Hamlet."
"Macbeth."
"Winter's Tale."
"Othello."
Notes on Ben Jonson.
Whalley's Preface.
"Whalley's 'Life Of Jonson.' "
"Every Man Out Of His Humour."
"Poetaster."
"Fall Of Sejanus."
"Volpone."
"Apicaene."
"The Alchemist."
"Catiline's Conspiracy."
"Bartholomew Fair."
"The Devil Is An Ass."
"The Staple Of News."
"The New Inn."
Notes On Beaumont And Fletcher.
Harris's Commendatory Poem On Fletcher.
Life Of Fletcher In Stockdale's Edition, 1811.
"Maid's Tragedy."
"A King And No King."
"The Scornful Lady."
"The Custom Of The Country."
"The Elder Brother."
"The Spanish Curate."
"Wit Without Money."
"The Humorous Lieutenant."
"The Mad Lover."
"The Loyal Subject."
"Rule A Wife And Have A Wife."
"The Laws Of Candy."
"The Little French Lawyer."
"Valentinian."
"Rollo."
"The Wildgoose Chase."
"A Wife For A Month."
"The Pilgrim."
"The Queen Of Corinth."
"The Noble Gentleman."
"The Coronation."
"Wit At Several Weapons."
"The Fair Maid Of The Inn."
"The Two Noble Kinsmen."
"The Woman Hater."
SHAKESPEARE, WITH INTRODUCTORY MATTER ON POETRY, THE DRAMA, AND THE STAGE.
Definition Of Poetry.
Poetry is not the proper antithesis to prose, but to science. Poetry is
opposed to science, and prose to metre. The proper and immediate object of
science is the acquirement, or communication, of truth; the proper and
immediate object of poetry is the communication of immediate pleasure.
This definition is useful; but as it would include novels and other works
of fiction, which yet we do not call poems, there must be some additional
character by which poetry is not only divided from opposites, but likewise
distinguished from disparate, though similar, modes of composition. Now
how is this to be effected? In animated prose, the beauties of nature, and
the passions and accidents of human nature, are often expressed in that
natural language which the contemplation of them would suggest to a pure
and benevolent mind; yet still neither we nor the writers call such a work
a poem, though no work could deserve that name which did not include all
this, together with something else. What is this? It is that pleasurable
emotion, that peculiar state and degree of excitement, which arises in the
poet himself in the act of composition;--and in order to understand this,
we must combine a more than ordinary sympathy with the objects, emotions,
or incidents contemplated by the poet, consequent on a more than common
sensibility, with a more than ordinary activity of the mind in respect of
the fancy and the imagination. Hence is produced a more vivid reflection
of the truths of nature and of the human heart, united with a constant
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DISCIPLINE
by
MARY BRUNTON
CONTENTS
Chapter I 1
Chapter II 11
Chapter III 19
Chapter IV 32
Chapter V 41
Chapter VI 51
Chapter VII 61
Chapter VIII 73
Chapter IX 83
Chapter X 101
Chapter XI 114
Chapter XII 124
Chapter XIII 143
Chapter XIV 156
Chapter XV 165
Chapter XVI 178
Chapter XVII 193
Chapter XVIII 210
Chapter XIX 217
Chapter XX 231
Chapter XXI 244
Chapter XXII 257
Chapter XXIII 269
Chapter XXIV 286
Chapter XXV 301
Chapter XXVI 313
Chapter XXVII 327
Chapter XXVIII 340
Chapter XXIX 351
Chapter XXX 367
CHAPTER I
_--I was wayward, bold, and wild;
A self-willed imp; a grandame's child;
But, half a plague and half a jest,
Was still endured, beloved, carest._
Walter Scott
I have heard it remarked, that he who writes his own history ought to
possess Irish humour, Scotch prudence, and English sincerity;--the
first, that his work may be read; the second that it may be read without
injury to himself; the third, that the perusal of it may be profitable
to others. I might, perhaps, with truth declare, that I possess only the
last of these qualifications.
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THE CHAUTAUQUAN.
_A MONTHLY MAGAZINE DEVOTED TO THE PROMOTION OF TRUE CULTURE.
ORGAN OF THE CHAUTAUQUA LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC CIRCLE._
VOL. IV. JULY, 1884. No. 10.
Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circle.
_President_—Lewis Miller, Akron, Ohio.
_Superintendent of Instruction_—Rev. J. H. Vincent, D.D., New Haven, Conn.
_Counselors_—Rev. Lyman Abbott, D.D.; Rev. J. M. Gibson, D.D.; Bishop H.
W. Warren, D.D.; Prof. W. C. Wilkinson, D.D.
_Office Secretary_—Miss Kate F. Kimball, Plainfield, N. J.
_General Secretary_—Albert M. Martin, Pittsburgh, Pa.
Contents
Transcriber’s Note: This table of contents of this periodical was created
for the HTML version to aid the reader.
The White House 557
Sunday Readings
[_July 6_] 560
[_July 13_] 560
[_July 20_] 560
[_July 27_] 561
Growth 561
Tenement House Life in New York 561
The Cañons of the Colorado 564
The Courts of Three Presidents 566
Astronomy of the Heavens
For July 569
For August 570
For September 570
Rise Higher 571
Landmarks of Boston in Seven Days 572
Vanishing Types 577
The Council of Nice 580
Sonnet on Chillon 582
An Ocean Monarch 582
Eccentric Americans
IX.—A Pioneer Eccentric Woman 584
The Imperial College in Peking 587
Eight Centuries with Walter Scott 589
Alaska—Its Missions 592
Our Naval Force 595
The Coming Summer Meetings at Chautauqua 597
Going to Europe 598
C. L. S. C. Work 600
The C. L. S. C. Course for 1884-’85 600
Local Circles 601
C. L. S. C. Testimony 606
Editor’s Outlook 607
Editor’s Note-Book 610
Talk About Books 612
THE WHITE HOUSE.
By MRS. PATTIE L. COLLINS.
When Washington was in its infancy, and the patriots of that early day
bethought themselves of the propriety of building a residence for the
President, it was with some difficulty that they could decide what it
should be called. In truth, this seemed a more serious question than
location, expense, or architecture. Anything that suggested monarchies
or kingdoms, such as the word “palace,” could not be entertained; not a
trace of the effete despotisms of the Old World should be tolerated, even
in our nomenclature. At last “Executive Mansion” was settled upon as a
proper title. Any gentleman, provided it was sufficiently pretentious,
might style his house a “mansion,” and the chosen executor of laws for
the nation was not therefore set apart and above his fellow countrymen,
when installed as chief magistrate. In the course of a few years, when
only its blackened walls were left standing as mute witnesses that our
British cousins still loved us, so much paint was required to efface the
marks of the destroyer, when it was restored, that it gleamed white as
snow in the distance, and naturally, nay almost inevitably, came to be
called the “White House” by popular consent. And by this pretty, simple
name the home of the Presidents will doubtless continue to be known as
long as republican institutions endure. It is as different as possible in
external appearance from the habitations of royalty in European cities;
no iron-barred windows, better fitted for a fortress than ordinary
outlook, no gloomy, gray walls, chilly and forbidding, frowning down upon
you, no squalid tenements thronged with degraded specimens of humanity
press upon its outskirts to accentuate the beauties of the one and the
miseries of the other. Instead of this, the White House rises fair and
inviting from an elevation which seems just sufficient to bring it into
relief as a conspicuous feature of the landscape. Its north front looks
toward Pennsylvania Avenue, commanding a view of Lafayette Square—itself
a most interesting spot, containing the celebrated equestrian statue of
Jackson, by Clark Mills, and grouped about it the cannon captured at the
battle of New Orleans—while around it stand some of the many historic
residences of the capitol. To the east and west of the President’s
grounds, respectively, may be seen the Treasury, and the War, State
and Navy Departments; the southern aspect is the most charming of all;
flowers, trees and emerald lawn, with the music of falling water make up
a picture as bewildering in loveliness as it is arcadian in simplicity,
its boundary line being the Potomac, shining in the distance like a bit
of blue
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THE HOLYHEAD ROAD
[Illustration: EARLY DAYS ON THE LONDON AND BIRMINGHAM RAILWAY.]
THE HOLYHEAD ROAD: THE MAIL-COACH ROAD TO DUBLIN
By CHARLES G. HARPER
Author of “_The Brighton Road_,” “_The Portsmouth Road_,” “_The Dover
Road_,” “_The Bath Road_,” “_The Exeter Road_,” “_The Great North
Road_,” and “_The Norwich Road_”
[Illustration]
_Illustrated by the Author, and from Old-Time Prints and Pictures_
_Vol. II. BIRMINGHAM TO HOLYHEAD_
LONDON: CHAPMAN & HALL
LTD. 1902
[_All rights reserved_]
PRINTED BY
HAZELL, WATSON, AND VINEY, LD.
LONDON AND AYLESBURY.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration]
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
SEPARATE PLATES
PAGE
EARLY DAYS ON THE LONDON AND BIRMINGHAM RAILWAY. _Frontispiece_
BULL RING. (_From a Print after David Cox_) 5
OLD BIRMINGHAM COACHING BILL. 13
DUDLEY. (_After J. M. W. Turner, R.A._) 31
HIGH GREEN, WOLVERHAMPTON, 1797. (_After
Rowlandson_) 47
HIGH GREEN, WOLVERHAMPTON, 1826. (_From an
Old Print_) 51
HIGH GREEN, WOLVERHAMPTON, 1860. (_From a
Contemporary Photograph_) 55
SHIFFNAL. 67
THE COUNCIL HOUSE. 141
THE HONOURABLE THOMAS KENYON. (_From an Old Print_) 153
THE VALE OF LLANGOLLEN. 177
LLANGOLLEN. 183
LLANGOLLEN. (_After J. M. W. Turner, R. A._) 187
VALLE CRUCIS ABBEY. (_After J. M. W. Turner, R.A._) 207
CERNIOGE. 227
THE SWALLOW FALLS. (_From an Old Print_) 247
LLYN OGWEN AND TRIFAEN MOUNTAIN. 255
PENMAENMAWR. (_After J. M. W. Turner, R.A._) 275
THE OLD LANDING-PLACE ON THE ANGLESEY SHORE. 283
ILLUSTRATIONS IN TEXT
Vignette: Prince Rupert _Title Page_
List of Illustrations: The Black Country vii
The Holyhead Road 1
The “Hen and Chickens,” 1830 18
The “Old Royal” 24
Wednesbury 37
Old Hill, Tettenhall 59
The Sabbath-breaking Seamstress 60
Snedshill Furnaces 71
Haygate Inn 76
The Wrekin 79
The “Old Wall” 84
Wroxeter Church 85
Atcham Bridge 91
Lord Hill’s Monument 92
The English Bridge 97
Wyle Cop and the “Lion” 107
The “Lion” Yard 132
The Market-Place, Shrewsbury 138
Shelton Oak 144
The Breidden Hills 147
Queen’s Head 156
Offa’s <DW18> 176
The Ladies of Llangollen. (_From an Old Print_) 198
Plas Newydd 203
Owain Glyndwr’s Mount 211
Cerrig-y-Druidion 224
The Waterloo Bridge 232
The Old Church, Bettws-y-Coed 234
Sign of the “Royal Oak” 238
Pont-y-Pair 245
Cyfyng Falls 250
Capel Curig 252
The Falls of Ogwen 257
Nant Ffran
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TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
Some minor changes are noted at the end of the book.
HISTORICAL RECORDS
OF
THE BRITISH ARMY.
GENERAL ORDERS.
_HORSE-GUARDS_,
_1st January, 1836_.
His Majesty has been pleased to command, that, with a 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 Honourable
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 honourable 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 Approbation, constitute the reward which the
soldier most highly prizes.
It has not, however, until late years, been the practice (which
appears to have long prevailed in some of the Continental armies)
for British Regiments to keep regular records of their services
and achievements. Hence some difficulty has been experienced in
obtaining, particularly from the old Regiments, an authentic
account of their origin and subsequent services.
This defect will now be remedied, in consequence of His Majesty
having been pleased to command, that every Regiment shall in future
keep a full and ample record of its services at home and abroad.
From the materials thus collected, the country will henceforth
derive information as to the difficulties and privations which
chequer the career of those who embrace the military profession. In
Great Britain, where so large a number of persons are devoted to
the active concerns of agriculture, manufactures, and commerce, and
where these pursuits have, for so long a period, been undisturbed
by the _presence of war_, which few other countries have escaped,
comparatively little is known of the vicissitudes of active
service, and of the casualties of climate, to which, even during
peace, the British Troops are exposed in every part of the globe,
with little or no interval of repose.
In their tranquil enjoyment of the blessings which the country
derives from the industry and the enterprise of the agriculturist
and the trader, its happy inhabitants may be supposed not often to
reflect on the perilous duties of the soldier and the sailor,--on
their sufferings,--and on the sacrifice of valuable life, by which
so many national benefits are obtained and preserved.
The conduct of the British Troops, their valour, and endurance,
have shone conspicuously under great and trying difficulties; and
their character has been established in Continental warfare by the
irresistible spirit with which they have effected debarkations in
spite of the most formidable opposition, and by the gallantry and
steadiness with which they have maintained their advantages against
superior numbers.
In the official Reports made by the respective Commanders, ample
justice has generally been done to the gallant exertions of the
Corps employed; but the details of their services, and of acts of
individual bravery, can only be fully given in the Annals of the
various Regiments.
These Records are now preparing for publication, under His
Majesty's special authority, by Mr. RICHARD CANNON, Principal Clerk
of the Adjutant-General's Office; and while the perusal of
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TREMENDOUS TRIFLES
By G. K. Chesterton
PREFACE
These fleeting sketches are all republished by kind permission of the
Editor of the DAILY NEWS, in which paper they appeared. They amount
to no more than a sort of sporadic diary--a diary recording one day in
twenty which happened to stick in the fancy--the only kind of diary the
author has ever been able to keep. Even that diary he could only keep
by keeping it in public, for bread and cheese. But trivial as are the
topics they are not utterly without a connecting thread of motive.
As the reader's eye strays, with hearty relief, from these pages, it
probably alights on something, a bed-post or a lamp-post, a window
blind or a wall. It is a thousand to one that the reader is looking at
something that he has never seen: that is, never realised. He could not
write an essay on such a post or wall: he does not know what the post
or wall mean. He could not even write the synopsis of an essay; as "The
Bed-Post; Its Significance--Security Essential to Idea of Sleep--Night
Felt as Infinite--Need of Monumental Architecture," and so on. He could
not sketch in outline his theoretic attitude towards window-blinds, even
in the form of a summary. "The Window-Blind--Its Analogy to the Curtain
and Veil--Is Modesty Natural?--Worship of and Avoidance of the Sun,
etc., etc." None of us think enough of these things on which the eye
rests. But don't let us let the eye rest. Why should the eye be so lazy?
Let us exercise the eye until it learns to see startling facts that
run across the landscape as plain as a painted fence. Let us be ocular
athletes. Let
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Produced by Annie R. McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE]
* * * * *
VOL. II.--NO. 97. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.
Tuesday, September 6, 1881. Copyright, 1881, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50
per Year, in Advance.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE SMALL PASSENGER WITH THE LARGE VALISE.]
[Begun in No. 92 of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, August 2]
TIM AND TIP;
OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A BOY AND A DOG
BY JAMES OTIS.
CHAPTER VI.
TIM MAKES AN ACQUAINTANCE.
When Tim left old Mose's kitchen it was nearly time for the steamer to
start on her regular trip, and the passengers were coming on board
quite fast. The bustle and excitement which always attend the sailing of
steamers, even though the trip be a short one, were all so new and
strange to Tim that he forgot his own troubles in watching the scene
around him. He saw Mr. Rankin near the kitchen, and was told by him that
he could remain on deck until the Captain should ring his bell, when he
would let him know of it.
Therefore Tim had an opportunity to take in all the details of the
interesting scene. The deck hands were scurrying to and fro, wheeling in
freight or baggage on funny little trucks with very small wheels and
very long handles; passengers were running around excitedly, as if they
thought they ought to attend to matters which did not concern them;
newsboys were crying the latest editions of the papers; old women were
trying to sell fruit that did not look very fresh, and everything
appeared to be in the greatest confusion.
While Tim was leaning on the after-rail of the main-deck, his attention
was attracted by a very small boy, who was trying to get himself and a
large valise on board at the same time. The valise was several sizes too
large for the boy, and some one of the four corners would persist in
hitting against his legs each time he stepped, and then, swinging
around, would almost throw him off his feet.
Twice the boy started to go on board, and each time the valise grew
unruly, frightening him from continuing the attempt lest he should be
thrown into the water. Then he stood still and gazed longingly at the
plank upon which he did not dare to venture.
It was a comical sight, and Tim laughed at it until he saw the boy was
really in distress, when he started to aid him.
"Let me help you carry your valise," he said to the small passenger, as
he darted across the narrow plank, and took hold of one side of the
offending baggage. "Two can lug it better'n one."
The boy looked up as if surprised that a stranger should offer to help
him, and then gave up one-half the burden to this welcome aid. This time
the journey was made successfully; and as the valise was deposited on
the steamer's deck, the little passenger gave a deep sigh of relief.
"So much done!" he said, in a satisfied way, as he took off his hat and
wiped his forehead with a handkerchief that did not look much larger
than a postage stamp. "Where are you goin'?" he then asked, turning to
Tim.
"Why, I ain't goin' anywhere," replied the Captain's boy, not fully
understanding the other's question.
"Oh!"--and the boy's face grew troubled--"I thought maybe you was goin'
in the boat."
"So I am," answered Tim, now understanding the question. "I work here."
"Now that's nice;" and the little fellow sat down on his valise
contentedly.
"You may think so; but if you knew Captain Pratt, you'd talk different."
"Why?"
"Perhaps you'll find out if you come on this boat much; but I guess I'd
better not tell you."
The boy was silent for a moment, as if he was trying to understand what
Tim meant, and then he said, abruptly: "Look here, I live down on
Minchen's Island, an' I come up here to see my aunt. I'm goin' home on
this boat, an' I want you to show me where I can get a ticket. If you
will, I'll show you lots of things I've got in this valise."
"I don't know where it is myself, 'cause I ain't been on the boat only
two days; but if you'll wait here, I'll go an' ask the cook."
The boy nodded his head as if to say that he would wait any reasonable
length of time, and Tim started off to gain the desired information of
old Mose.
In a few moments he returned, and taking his new acquaintance by the
hand, would have led him to the clerk's office at once, had not the
small boy pulled back in evident alarm.
"We've got to take the valise with us, 'cause somebody might steal it,
an' there's two bundles of torpedoes, a whole bunch of fire-crackers,
an' a heap of little sky-rockets in it."
Tim understood at once, and with a serious look on his face, as he
thought of the great risk he came near running, took hold of one of the
handles of the valise, the boy grasped the other, and the two marched up
to the clerk's office. There, after some little discussion, the ticket
was purchased, and the two retired to a more secluded spot for
conversation.
"What's your name?" the boy asked of Tim. "Mine's Bobby Tucker."
Tim gave the desired information, and then asked in turn, "How long have
you been up here?"
"'Most a whole week, an' I've had lots of fun. I had five dollars an'
twenty cents that I earned all myself, an' I've got'most half a dollar
left. Let's go out on the wharf an' buy something."
There was no chance that Tim would object to any such brilliant idea,
and the valise was left with old Mose for safe-keeping. Once on the
wharf, both they and the apple women were very busy for five minutes,
during which time they--or rather Bobby--bought fruit and candies enough
to make both of them as contented as a boy could hope to be.
Luckily for Tim he got on the steamer again just as one of the waiters
came to tell him that the Captain had rung for him, and he lost no time
in making his way to the wheel-house. He had the good fortune to get
there as quickly as Captain Pratt thought he ought to have done, and
then got his employer's coat from his state-room as he was ordered.
After that he went back to his newly made friend, who was awaiting his
return with considerable impatience, for he did not feel exactly certain
that his valise with its precious contents was perfectly safe.
Tim took him to the cook-room, and while there showed him "one of the
finest dogs in the country," which he led back to his old quarters, so
that he would be out of the way at dinner-time.
At first Bobby was not inclined to look upon Tip either as a beautiful
or a valuable animal; but Tim sounded his pet's praises so loudly that
Bobby could hardly prevent himself from being convinced, even though the
appearances were so decidedly against his companion's words.
Among other stories which Tim related as showing that Tip was one of the
most intelligent of his species was the incident of his finding the cow
so suddenly for Sam Simpson, which pleased Bobby greatly, and he said,
in a wise tone both of praise and blame,
"He looks like a good dog, an' he acts like a good dog, but 'pears to me
his legs is kinder short if you wanted to make him run after a bear."
"I never tried to make him do that, 'cause we don't have bears up where
I come from. Are there any where you live?"
"Well, I never saw any, an' father says there ain't any; but I've heard
'em in the woods, an' I know they was bears 'cause they made such an
awful noise. You come down to the island and see me, an' bring the dog
with you, an' we'll kill some."
Tim was perfectly sure that Tip was able to kill any number of bears,
and he told his companion so, adding that he hardly thought he could get
away from the steamer long enough to make any kind of a visit; but Bobby
felt sure it could be arranged somehow.
While they had been talking about Tip, the boat had started, but, among
the freight as they were, they did not know it until the pitching of
the steamer as she left the harbor told that some change had been and
was being made in their position.
Running hastily out to the rail, where they expected to see the wharf
with its bustling crowd of hucksters and passengers, they saw to their
astonishment the green rolling billows of the ocean. To Bobby, who lived
on an island, the sea was no new sight, and his astonishment was only
occasioned by the fact that the steamer had left the dock; but to Tim,
who had never seen a body of water larger than the river in Selman, the
scene was one that filled him with the greatest wonder.
He remained by the rail, only able to look over the top of it by
standing on his toes, gazing on the sea, until Bobby asked, impatiently,
"What's the matter? ain't sick, are yer?"
Until that question was asked, Tim had not thought of such a thing as
being seasick; but the moment Bobby spoke, it seemed as if the entire
appearance of the water changed. Instead of looking grand and beautiful,
it began to have a sidelong motion, and to rise up and down in an
uncomfortable way.
"No, I ain't sick," he said to Bobby, "but I feel kinder queer."
"That's it! that's it!" cried Bobby, eagerly; "that's the way folks
begin when they're goin' to be awful sick."
Tim looked up in despair. Each succeeding motion of the boat made him
feel worse, and that was speedily giving place to a very uncomfortable
sensation in the region of his stomach.
"What shall I do?" he asked, in a piteous whisper.
"Go to bed, an' you'll be all right in the mornin'. Where's your berth?"
Tim made a motion toward the forecastle, but did not trust himself to
speak. His stomach was already in too queer a condition to permit of
words.
"I'll go down with you, an' see that you're all right," said Bobby,
sagely. "I'm used to goin' fishin' with father, and I won't be sick."
Tim was about to follow his friend's suggestion, when the horrible
thought occurred to him of what the result might be in case Captain
Pratt knew of his being in bed in the daytime, and he went to ask advice
of old Mose.
The old cook's advice was the same as that given by Bobby, and was
followed at once, because it came from a semi-official source, and in a
few moments afterward Tim was groaning in his berth, while Bobby sat by
his side, and tried to persuade him to partake of some of the candy he
had bought just before leaving port.
Tim refused the offering, and for the first time in his life looked upon
candy as the stickiest kind of a fraud. He felt as though the kindest
thing any one could do would be to throw him overboard in the
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NINA BALATKA
by
ANTHONY TROLLOPE
INTRODUCTION
Anthony Trollope was an established novelist of great renown when _Nina
Balatka_ was published in 1866, twenty years after his first novel.
Except for _La Vendee_, his third novel, set in France during the
Revolution, all his previous works were set in England or Ireland and
dealt with the upper levels of society: the nobility and the landed
gentry (wealthy or impoverished), and a few well-to-do merchants--people
several strata above the social levels of the characters popularized by
his contemporary Dickens. Most of Trollope's early novels were set in
the countryside or in provincial towns, with occasional forays into
London. The first of his political novels, _Can You Forgive Her_, dealing
with the Pallisers was published in 1864, two years before _Nina_. By the
time he began writing _Nina_, shortly after a tour of Europe, Trollope
was a master at chronicling the habits, foibles, customs, and ways of
life of his chosen subjects.
_Nina Balatka_ is, on the surface, a love story--not an unusual theme for
Trollope. Romance and courtship were woven throughout all his previous
works, often with two, three, or even more pairs of lovers per novel.
Most of his heroes and heroines, after facing numerous hurdles, often
of their own making, were eventually happily united by the next-to-last
chapter. A few were doomed to disappointment (Johnny Eames never won
the heart of Lily Dale through two of the "Barsetshire" novels), but
marital bliss--or at least the prospect of bliss--was the usual outcome.
Even so, the reader of Trollope soon notices his analytical description
of Victorian courtship and marriage. In the circles of Trollope's
characters, only the wealthy could afford to marry for love; those
without wealth had to marry for money, sometimes with disastrous
consequences. By the time of _Nina_, Trollope's best exploration of
this subject was the marriage between Plantagenet Palliser and Lady
Glencora M'Cluskie, the former a cold fish and the latter a hot-blooded
heiress in love with a penniless scoundrel (_Can You Forgive Her?_
1865). Yet to come was the disastrous marriage of intelligent Lady
Laura Standish to the wealthy but old-maidish Robert Kennedy in _Phineas
Finn_ and its sequel.
But _Nina Balatka_ is different from Trollope's previous novels in four
respects. First, Trollope was accustomed to include in his novels his
own witty editorial comments about various subjects, often paragraphs
or even several pages long. No such comments are found in _Nina_.
Second, the story is set in Prague instead of the British isles. Third,
the hero and heroine are already in love and engaged to one another
at the opening; we are not told any details about their falling in
love. The hero, Anton Trendellsohn is a successful businessman in his
mid-thirties--not the typical Trollopian hero in his early twenties, still
finding himself, and besotted with love. Anton is rather cold as lovers
go, seldom whispering words of endearment to Nina. But it is the fourth
difference which really sets this novel apart and makes it both a
masterpiece and an enigma. That fourth--and most important--difference
is clearly stated in the remarkable opening sentence of the novel:
Nina Balatka was a maiden of Prague, born of Christian parents,
and herself a Christian--but she loved a Jew; and this is her
story.
Marriage--even worse, love--between a Christian and a Jew would have
been unacceptable to Victorian British readers. Blatant anti-semitism
was prevalent--perhaps ubiquitous--among the upper classes.
Let us consider the origins of this anti-semitism. Jews were first
allowed into England by William the Conqueror. For a while they
prospered, largely through money-lending, an occupation to which
they were restricted. In the 13th century a series of increasingly
oppressive laws and taxes reduced the Jewish community to poverty, and
the Jews were expelled from England in 1290. They were not allowed to
return until 1656, when Oliver Cromwell authorized their entry over
the objections of British merchants. Legal protection for the Jews
increased gradually; even the "Act for the More Effectual Suppressing
of Blasphemy
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Produced by David Widger
ROUGHING IT
by Mark Twain
1880
TO
CALVIN H. HIGBIE,
Of California,
an Honest Man, a Genial Comrade, and a Steadfast Friend.
THIS BOOK IS INSCRIBED
By the Author,
In Memory of the Curious Time
When We Two
WERE MILLIONAIRES FOR TEN DAYS.
ROUGHING IT
BY
MARK TWAIN.
(SAMUEL L. CLEMENS.)
PREFATORY.
This book is merely a personal narrative, and not a pretentious history
or a philosophical dissertation. It is a record of several years of
variegated vagabondizing, and its object is rather to help the resting
reader while away an idle hour than afflict him with metaphysics, or goad
him with science. Still, there is information in the volume; information
concerning an interesting episode in the history of the Far West, about
which no books have been written by persons who were on the ground in
person, and saw the happenings of the time with their own eyes. I allude
to the rise, growth and culmination of the silver-mining fever in Nevada
-a curious episode, in some respects; the only one, of its peculiar kind,
that has occurred in the land; and the only one, indeed, that is likely
to occur in it.
Yes, take it all around, there is quite a good deal of information in the
book. I regret this very much; but really it could not be helped:
information appears to stew out of me naturally, like the precious ottar
of roses out of the otter. Sometimes it has seemed to me that I would
give worlds if I could retain my facts; but it cannot be. The more I calk
up the sources, and the tighter I get, the more I leak wisdom. Therefore,
I can only claim indulgence at the hands of the reader, not
justification.
THE AUTHOR.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
My Brother appointed Secretary of Nevada--I Envy His Prospective
Adventures--Am Appointed Private Secretary Under Him--My Contentment
Complete--Packed in One Hour--Dreams and Visions--On the Missouri River
--A Bully Boat
CHAPTER II.
Arrive at St. Joseph--Only Twenty-five Pounds Baggage Allowed--Farewell
to Kid Gloves and Dress Coats--Armed to the Teeth--The “Allen”--A
Cheerful Weapon--Persuaded to Buy a Mule--Schedule of Luxuries--We Leave
the “States”--“Our Coach”--Mails for the Indians--Between a Wink and an
Earthquake--A Modern Sphynx and How She Entertained Us--A Sociable Heifer
CHAPTER III.
“The Thoroughbrace is Broke”--Mails Delivered Properly--Sleeping Under
Difficulties--A Jackass Rabbit Meditating, and on Business--A Modern
Gulliver--Sage-brush--Overcoats as an Article of Diet--Sad Fate of a
Camel--Warning to Experimenters
CHAPTER IV.
Making Our Bed--Assaults by the Unabridged--At a Station--Our Driver a
Great and Shining Dignitary--Strange Place for a Frontyard
--Accommodations--Double Portraits--An Heirloom--Our Worthy Landlord
--“Fixings and Things”--An Exile--Slumgullion--A Well Furnished Table--The
Landlord Astonished--Table Etiquette--Wild Mexican Mules--Stage-coaching
and Railroading
CHAPTER V.
New Acquaintances--The Cayote--A Dog’s Experiences--A Disgusted Dog--The
Relatives of the Cayote--Meals Taken Away from Home
CHAPTER VI.
The Division Superintendent--The Conductor--The Driver--One Hundred and
Fifty Miles’ Drive Without Sleep--Teaching a Subordinate--Our Old Friend
Jack and a Pilgrim--Ben Holliday Compared to Moses
CHAPTER VII.
Overland City--Crossing the Platte--Bemis’s Buffalo Hunt--Assault by a
Buffalo--Bemis’s Horse Goes Crazy--An Impromptu Circus--A New Departure
--Bemis Finds Refuge in a Tree--Escapes Finally by a Wonderful Method
CHAPTER VIII.
The Pony Express--Fifty Miles Without Stopping--“Here he Comes”--Alkali
Water--Riding an Avalanche--Indian Massacre
CHAPTER IX.
Among the Indians--An Unfair Advantage--Laying on our Arms--A Midnight
Murder--Wrath of Outlaws--A Dangerous, yet Valuable Citizen
CHAPTER X.
History of Slade--A Proposed Fist-fight--Encounter with Jules--Paradise
of Outlaws--Slade as Superintendent--As Executioner--A Doomed Whisky
Seller--A Prisoner--A Wife’s Bravery--An Ancient Enemy Captured--Enjoying
a Luxury--Hob-nobbing with Slade--Too Polite--A Happy Escape
CHAPTER XI.
Slade in Montana--“On a Spree”--In Court--Attack on a Judge--Arrest by
the Vigilantes--Turn out of the Miners--Execution of Slade--Lamentations
of His Wife--Was Slade a Coward?
CHAPTER XII.
A Mormon Emigrant Train--The Heart of the Rocky Mountains--Pure
Saleratus--A Natural Ice-House--An Entire Inhabitant--In Sight of
“Eternal Snow”--The South Pass--The Parting Streams--An Unreliable Letter
Carrier--Meeting of Old Friends--A Spoiled Watermelon--Down the
Mountain--A Scene of Desolation--Lost in the Dark--Unnecessary Advice
--U.S. Troops and Indians--Sublime Spectacle--Another Delusion Dispelled
--Among the Angels
CHAPTER XIII.
Mormons and Gentiles--Exhilarating Drink, and its Effect on Bemis--Salt
Lake City--A Great Contrast--A Mormon Vagrant--Talk with a Saint--A Visit
to the “King”--A Happy Simile
CHAPTER XIV.
Mormon Contractors--How Mr. Street Astonished Them--The Case Before
Brigham Young, and How he Disposed of it--Polygamy Viewed from a New
Position
CHAPTER XV.
A Gentile Den--Polygamy Discussed--Favorite Wife and D. 4--Hennery for
Retired Wives--Children Need Marking--Cost of a Gift to No. 6
--A Penny-whistle Gift and its Effects--Fathering the Foundlings
--It Resembled Him--The Family Bedstead
CHAPTER XVI
The Mormon Bible--Proofs of its Divinity--Plagiarism of its Authors
--Story of Nephi--Wonderful Battle--Kilkenny Cats Outdone
CHAPTER XVII.
Three Sides to all Questions--Everything “A Quarter”--Shriveled Up
--Emigrants and White Shirts at a Discount--“Forty-Niners”--Above Par--Real
Happiness
CHAPTER XVIII.
Alkali Desert--Romance of Crossing Dispelled--Alkali Dust--Effect on the
Mules--Universal Thanksgiving
CHAPTER XIX.
The Digger Indians Compared with the Bushmen of Africa--Food, Life and
Characteristics--Cowardly Attack on a Stage Coach--A Brave Driver--The
Noble Red Man
CHAPTER XX.
The Great American Desert--Forty Miles on Bones--Lakes Without Outlets
--Greely’s Remarkable Ride--Hank Monk, the Renowned Driver--Fatal Effects
of “Corking” a Story--Bald-Headed Anecdote
CHAPTER XXI.
Alkali Dust--Desolation and Contemplation--Carson City--Our Journey
Ended--We are Introduced to Several Citizens--A Strange Rebuke--A Washoe
Zephyr at Play--Its Office Hours--Governor’s Palace--Government Offices
--Our French Landlady Bridget O’Flannigan--Shadow Secrets--Cause for a
Disturbance at Once--The Irish Brigade--Mrs. O’Flannigan’s Boarders--The
Surveying Expedition--Escape of the Tarantulas
CHAPTER XXII.
The Son of a Nabob--Start for Lake Tahoe--Splendor of the Views--Trip on
the Lake--Camping Out--Reinvigorating Climate--Clearing a Tract of Land
--Securing a Title--Outhouse and Fences
CHAPTER XXIII.
A Happy Life--Lake Tahoe and its Moods--Transparency of the Waters--A
Catastrophe--Fire! Fire!--A Magnificent Spectacle--Homeless Again--We
take to the Lake--A Storm--Return to Carson
CHAPTER XXIV.
Resolve to Buy a Horse--Horsemanship in Carson--A Temptation--Advice
Given Me Freely--I Buy the Mexican Plug--My First Ride--A Good Bucker--I
Loan the Plug--Experience of Borrowers--Attempts to Sell--Expense of the
Experiment--A Stranger Taken In
CHAPTER XXV.
The Mormons in Nevada--How to Persuade a Loan from Them--Early History of
the Territory--Silver Mines Discovered--The New Territorial Government--A
Foreign One and a Poor One--Its Funny Struggles for Existence--No Credit,
no Cash--Old Abe Currey Sustains it and its Officers--Instructions and
Vouchers--An Indian’s Endorsement--Toll-Gates
CHAPTER XXVI.
The Silver Fever--State of the Market--Silver Bricks--Tales Told--Off for
the Humboldt Mines
CHAPTER XXVII.
Our manner of going--Incidents of the Trip--A Warm but Too Familiar a
Bedfellow--Mr. Ballou Objects--Sunshine amid Clouds--Safely Arrived
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Arrive at the Mountains--Building Our Cabin--My First Prospecting Tour
--My First Gold Mine--Pockets Filled With Treasures--Filtering the News to
My Companions--The Bubble Pricked--All Not Gold That Glitters
CHAPTER XXIX.
Out Prospecting--A Silver Mine At Last--Making a Fortune With Sledge and
Drill--A Hard Road to Travel--We Own in Claims--A Rocky Country
CHAPTER XXX.
Disinterested Friends--How “Feet” Were Sold--We Quit Tunnelling--A Trip
to Esmeralda--My Companions--An Indian Prophesy--A Flood--Our Quarters
During It
CHAPTER XXXI.
The Guests at “Honey Lake Smith’s”--“Bully Old Arkansas”--“Our Landlord”
--Determined to Fight--The Landlord’s Wife--The Bully Conquered by Her
--Another Start--Crossing the Carson--A Narrow Escape--Following Our Own
Track--A New Guide--Lost in the Snow
CHAPTER XXXII.
Desperate Situation--Attempts to Make a Fire--Our Horses leave us--We
Find Matches--One, Two, Three and the Last--No Fire--Death Seems
Inevitable--We Mourn Over Our Evil Lives--Discarded Vices--We Forgive
Each Other--An Affectionate Farewell--The Sleep of Oblivion
CHAPTER XXXIII.
Return of Consciousness--Ridiculous Developments--A Station House--Bitter
Feelings--Fruits of Repentance--Resurrected Vices
CHAPTER XXXIV.
About Carson--General Buncombe--Hyde vs. Morgan--How Hyde Lost His Ranch
--The Great Landslide Case--The Trial--General Buncombe in Court--A
Wonderful Decision--A Serious Afterthought
CHAPTER XXXV.
A New Travelling Companion--All Full and No Accommodations--How Captain
Nye found Room--and Caused Our Leaving to be Lamented--The Uses of
Tunnelling--A Notable Example--We Go into the “Claim” Business and Fail
--At the Bottom
CHAPTER XXXVI.
A Quartz Mill--Amalgamation--“Screening Tailings”--First Quartz Mill in
Nevada--Fire Assay--A Smart Assayer--I stake for an advance
CHAPTER XXXVII.
The Whiteman Cement Mine--Story of its Discovery--A Secret Expedition--A
Nocturnal Adventure--A Distressing Position--A Failure and a Week’s
Holiday
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
Mono Lake--Shampooing Made Easy--Thoughtless Act of Our Dog and the
Results--Lye Water--Curiosities of the Lake--Free Hotel--Some Funny
Incidents a Little Overdrawn
CHAPTER XXXIX.
Visit to the Islands in Lake Mono--Ashes and Desolation--Life Amid Death
Our Boat Adrift--A Jump For Life--A Storm On the Lake--A Mass of Soap
Suds--Geological Curiosities--A Week On the Sierras--A Narrow Escape From
a Funny Explosion--“Stove Heap Gone”
CHAPTER XL.
The “Wide West” Mine--It is “Interviewed” by Higbie--A Blind Lead--Worth
a Million--We are Rich At Last--Plans for the Future
CHAPTER XLI.
A Rheumatic Patient--Day Dreams--An Unfortunate Stumble--I Leave
Suddenly--Another Patient--Higbie in the Cabin--Our Balloon Bursted
--Worth Nothing--Regrets and Explanations--Our Third Partner
CHAPTER XLII.
What to do Next?--Obstacles I Had Met With--“Jack of All Trades”--Mining
Again--Target Shooting--I Turn City Editor--I Succeed Finely
CHAPTER XLIII.
My Friend Boggs--The School Report--Boggs Pays Me An Old Debt--Virginia
City
CHAPTER XLIV.
Flush Times--Plenty of Stock--Editorial Puffing--Stocks Given Me--Salting
Mines--A Tragedian In a New Role
CHAPTER XLV.
Flush Times Continue--Sanitary Commission Fund--Wild Enthusiasm of the
People--Would not wait to Contribute--The Sanitary Flour Sack--It is
Carried to Gold Hill and Dayton--Final Reception in Virginia--Results of
the Sale--A Grand Total
CHAPTER XLVI.
The Nabobs of Those Days--John Smith as a Traveler--Sudden Wealth--A
Sixty-Thousand-Dollar Horse--A Smart Telegraph Operator--A Nabob in New
York City--Charters an Omnibus--“Walk in, It’s All Free”--“You Can’t Pay
a Cent”--“Hold On, Driver, I Weaken”--Sociability of New Yorkers
CHAPTER XLVII.
Buck Fanshaw’s Death--The Cause Thereof--Preparations for His Burial
--Scotty Briggs the Committee Man--He Visits the Minister--Scotty Can’t
Play His Hand--The Minister Gets Mixed--Both Begin to See--“All Down
Again But Nine”--Buck Fanshaw as a Citizen--How To “Shook Your Mother”
--The Funeral--Scotty Briggs as a Sunday School Teacher
CHAPTER XLVIII.
The First Twenty-Six Graves in Nevada--The Prominent Men of the County
--The Man Who Had Killed His Dozen--Trial by Jury--Specimen Jurors--A
Private Grave Yard--The Desperadoes--Who They Killed--Waking up the Weary
Passenger--Satisfaction Without Fighting
CHAPTER XLIX.
Fatal Shooting Affray--Robbery and Desperate Affray--A Specimen City
Official--A Marked Man--A Street Fight--Punishment of Crime
CHAPTER L.
Captain Ned Blakely--Bill Nookes Receives Desired Information--Killing of
Blakely’s Mate--A Walking Battery--Blakely Secures Nookes--Hang First and
Be Tried Afterwards--Captain Blakely as a Chaplain--The First Chapter of
Genesis Read at a Hanging--Nookes Hung--Blakely’s Regrets
CHAPTER LI.
The Weekly Occidental--A Ready Editor--A Novel--A Concentration of
Talent--The Heroes and the Heroines--The Dissolute Author Engaged
--Extraordinary Havoc With the Novel--A Highly Romantic Chapter--The Lovers
Separated--Jonah Out-done--A Lost Poem--The Aged Pilot Man--Storm On the
Erie Canal--Dollinger the Pilot Man--Terrific Gale--Danger Increases--A
Crisis Arrived--Saved as if by a Miracle
CHAPTER LII.
Freights to California--Silver Bricks--Under Ground Mines--Timber
Supports--A Visit to the Mines--The Caved Mines--Total of Shipments in
1863
CHAPTER LIII.
Jim Blaine and his Grandfather’s Ram--Filkin’s Mistake--Old Miss Wagner
and her Glass Eye--Jacobs, the Coffin Dealer--Waiting for a Customer--His
Bargain With Old Robbins--Robbins Sues for Damage and Collects--A New Use
for Missionaries--The Effect--His Uncle Lem and the Use Providence Made
of Him--Sad Fate of Wheeler--Devotion of His Wife--A Model Monument--What
About the Ram?
CHAPTER LIV.
Chinese in Virginia City--Washing Bills--Habit of Imitation--Chinese
Immigration--A Visit to Chinatown--Messrs. Ah Sing, Hong Wo, See Yup, &c.
CHAPTER LV.
Tired of Virginia City--An Old Schoolmate--A Two Years’ Loan--Acting as
an Editor--Almost Receive an Offer--An Accident--Three Drunken Anecdotes
--Last Look at Mt. Davidson--A Beautiful Incident
CHAPTER LVI.
Off for San Francisco--Western and Eastern Landscapes--The Hottest place
on Earth--Summer and Winter
CHAPTER LVII.
California--Novelty of Seeing a Woman--“Well if it ain’t a Child!”--One
Hundred and Fifty Dollars for a Kiss--Waiting for a turn
CHAPTER LVIII.
Life in San Francisco--Worthless Stocks--My First Earthquake--Reportorial
Instincts--Effects of the Shocks--Incidents and Curiosities--Sabbath
Breakers--The Lodger and the Chambermaid--A Sensible Fashion to Follow
--Effects of the Earthquake on the Ministers
CHAPTER LIX.
Poor Again--Slinking as a Business--A Model Collector--Misery loves
Company--Comparing Notes for Comfort--A Streak of Luck--Finding a Dime
--Wealthy by Comparison--Two Sumptuous Dinners
CHAPTER LX.
An Old Friend--An Educated Miner--Pocket Mining--Freaks of Fortune
CHAPTER LXI.
Dick Baker and his Cat--Tom Quartz’s Peculiarities--On an Excursion
--Appearance On His Return--A Prejudiced Cat--Empty Pockets and a Roving
Life
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Produced by WebRover, Peter Vachuska, Chuck Greif and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
THE ESCULENT FUNGUSES OF ENGLAND.
A TREATISE
ON THE
ESCULENT FUNGUSES
OF
ENGLAND,
CONTAINING
AN ACCOUNT OF THEIR CLASSICAL HISTORY, USES, CHARACTERS,
DEVELOPMENT, STRUCTURE, NUTRITIOUS PROPERTIES,
MODES OF COOKING AND PRESERVING, ETC.
BY
CHARLES DAVID BADHAM, M.D.
EDITED BY FREDERICK CURREY, M.A., F.R.S., F.L.S.
Πολλὰ μὲν ἔσθλά μεμιγμένα πολλὰ δὲ λυγρά.—HOMER.
[Illustration]
LONDON:
LOVELL REEVE & CO., HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN.
1863.
PRINTED BY
JOHN EDWARD TAYLOR, LITTLE QUEEN STREET,
LINCOLN’S INN FIELDS.
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.
My lamented friend Dr. Badham having died since the first publication of
this work, my advice was asked upon the subject of the preparation of a
new edition. It was wished that the text of the work should be altered as
little as possible, and that the price of the book should be materially
lessened. The latter object could not be effected without reducing the
number of the Plates; but it appeared to me that some plates relating to
details of structure might very well be omitted, as well as the figures
of a few Italian species which, although interesting in themselves, are
quite unnecessary in a book on British Esculent Fungi. With the exception
of the omission of the description of these latter species, and the
addition of the description of two other species hereafter referred to,
the alterations in the text are too trifling to require notice. With
regard to the Figures in this edition, most of them are those of the
former plates, somewhat reduced; a few have been taken from the plates of
Mr. Berkeley’s ‘Outlines of British Fungology,’ and a few from original
and other sources.
By a re-arrangement of the whole, the reduction in the number of the
Plates has been effected, and, at the same time, figures of all the Fungi
represented in the first edition have been given, as well as of two other
species not there noticed. I should observe, however, that by a mistake
of the artist an extra figure of the Horse Mushroom has been inserted in
Plate IV. instead of one of the Common Mushroom.
The two species above alluded to which were not figured in the first
edition, are _Tuber æstivum_ and _Helvella esculenta_. The former must
have been inadvertently omitted by Dr. Badham, as it has long been known
as abundant in certain parts of England. _Helvella esculenta_, although
alluded to by Dr. Badham, was not at that time known to be a British
species. It has since been observed near Weybridge in Surrey, where
it occurs almost every spring. The plant figured in Pl. XV. fig. 6 of
the first edition under the name of _Lycoperdon plumbeum_, is not that
species, but _Lycoperdon pyriforme_; it will be found at Pl. VIII. fig.
5. Dr. Badham states that all puff-balls are esculent, but, judging from
the smell of _Lycoperdon pyriforme_, I should much doubt whether it would
make an agreeable dish. _Lycoperdon plumbeum_ is now better known as
_Bovista plumbea_, and _Lycoperdon Bovista_ as _Lycoperdon giganteum_.
There is some confusion about the synonymy of the plants described by Dr.
Badham as _Agaricus prunulus_ and _Ag. exquisitus_. It is unnecessary
to discuss the matter here, and I have thought it not desirable under
the circumstances to alter Dr. Badham’s nomenclature. They appear to
be described in Mr. Berkeley’s work as _Ag. gambosus_, Fr., and _Ag.
arvensis_, Schœff.
Dr. Badham’s observations on the spores of Fungi must be read in
connection with the note added by him at the conclusion of the work;
and to those who are interested in that part of the subject I should
recommend the perusal of the seventh chapter of Mr. Berkeley’s ‘Outlines
of British Fungology,’ and Tulasne’s recent work, ‘Selecta Fungorum
Carpologia.’
Mr. Cooke, in his ‘Plain and Easy Account of British Fungi,’ recently
published, mentions some species as esculent which are not noticed in
this work. I have however no experience of their qualities, and must
refer the reader to Mr. Cooke
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Produced by Al Haines.
*A PRINCE*
*OF*
*SWINDLERS*
BY
GUY BOOTHBY
ARTHUR WESTBROOK
COMPANY
CLEVELAND, OHIO, U. S. A.
Copyright, 1907, by Bainbridge Cayll
*CONTENTS.*
CHAPTER I.
A Criminal in Disguise
CHAPTER II.
The Den of Iniquity
CHAPTER III.
The Duchess of Wiltshire's Diamonds
CHAPTER IV.
How Simon Carne Won the Derby
CHAPTER V.
A Service to the State
CHAPTER VI.
A Visit in the Night
CHAPTER VII.
The Man of Many Crimes
CHAPTER VIII.
An Imperial Finale
*A PRINCE OF SWINDLERS*
*CHAPTER I.*
*A CRIMINAL IN DISGUISE.*
After no small amount of deliberation, I have come to the conclusion
that it is only fit and proper I should set myself right with the world
in the matter of the now famous 18--swindles. For, though I have never
been openly accused of complicity in those miserable affairs, yet I
cannot rid myself of the remembrance that it was I who introduced the
man who perpetrated them to London society, and that in more than one
instance I acted, innocently enough, Heaven knows, as his _Deus ex
machina_, in bringing about the very results he was so anxious to
achieve. I will first allude, in a few words, to the year in which the
crimes took place, and then proceed to describe the events that led to
my receiving the confession which has so strangely and unexpectedly come
into my hands.
Whatever else may be said on the subject, one thing at least is
certain--it will be many years before London forgets that season of
festivity. The joyous occasion which made half the sovereigns of Europe
our guests for weeks on end, kept foreign princes among us until their
faces became as familiar to us as those of our own aristocracy, rendered
the houses in our fashionable quarters unobtainable for love or money,
filled our hotels to repletion, and produced daily pageants the like of
which few of us have ever seen or imagined, can hardly fail to go down
to posterity as one of the most notable in English history. Small
wonder, therefore, that the wealth, then located in our great
metropolis, should have attracted swindlers from all parts of the globe.
That it should have fallen to the lot of one who has always prided
himself on steering clear of undesirable acquaintances, to introduce to
his friends one of the most notorious adventurers our capital has ever
seen, seems like the irony of fate. Perhaps, however, if I begin by
showing how cleverly our meeting was contrived, those who would
otherwise feel inclined to censure me, will pause before passing
judgment, and will ask themselves whether they would not have walked
into the snare as unsuspectedly as I did.
It was during the last year of my term of office as Viceroy, and while I
was paying a visit to the Governor of Bombay, that I decided upon making
a tour of the Northern Provinces, beginning with Peshawur, and winding
up with the Maharajah of Malar-Kadir. As the latter potentate is so well
known, I need not describe him. His forcible personality, his
enlightened rule, and the progress his state has made within the last
ten years, are well known to every student of the history of our
magnificent Indian Empire.
My stay with him was a pleasant finish to an otherwise monotonous
business, for his hospitality has a world-wide reputation. When I
arrived he placed his palace, his servants, and his stables at my
disposal to use just as I pleased. My time was practically my own. I
could be as solitary as a hermit if I so desired; on the other hand, I
had but to give the order, and five hundred men would cater for my
amusement. It seems therefore the more unfortunate that to this pleasant
arrangement I should have to attribute the calamities which it is the
purpose of this series of stories to narrate.
On the third morning of my stay I woke early. When I had examined my
watch I discovered that it wanted an hour of daylight, and, not feeling
inclined to go to sleep again, I wondered how I should employ my time
until my servant should bring me my _chota hazri_, or early breakfast.
On proceeding to my window I found a perfect morning, the stars still
shining, though in the east they were paling before the approach of
dawn. It was difficult to realize that in a few hours the earth which
now looked so cool and wholesome would be lying, burnt up and quivering,
beneath the blazing Indian sun.
I stood and watched the picture presented to me for some minutes, until
an overwhelming desire came over me to order a horse and go for a long
ride before the sun should make his appearance above the jungle trees.
The temptation was more than I could resist, so I crossed the room and,
opening the door, woke my servant, who was sleeping in the
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Separation and Service
OR
THOUGHTS ON
NUMBERS VI, VII.
BY
J. HUDSON TAYLOR.
London
MORGAN & SCOTT, 12, PATERNOSTER BUILDINGS, E.C.
CHINA INLAND MISSION, NEWINGTON GREEN, N.
PRINTED BY
WOODFALL AND KINDER, LONG ACRE
LONDON
CONTENTS.
Separation and Service.
PAGE
Introductory 7
PART I.
SEPARATION TO GOD: Numbers vi, 1-21.
Institution of the Order of Nazarites 11
Implicit Obedience 13
Entire Consecration 16
Holiness to the LORD 19
Unwitting Defilement 22
The Heinousness of Sin 23
Cleansing only through Sacrifice 25
Acceptance only in CHRIST 27
The Presentation of the Nazarites 33
The Law of the Offerings 35
The Burnt-Offering 39
The Sin and Peace-Offerings 41
PART II.
THE BLESSING OF GOD: Numbers vi, 22-27.
Why Found Here? 44
The Real Meaning of Blessing 49
The Three-fold Benediction 52
The Blessing of the FATHER 53
The Second Person of the Trinity 60
The Blessing of the SON and BRIDEGROOM 63
The LORD, the SPIRIT 70
The Blessing of the HOLY SPIRIT 73
Sealing with the Name of GOD 80
PART III.
PRINCELY SERVICE: Numbers vii.
The Constraint of Love 89
GOD'S Delight in Love-gifts 90
Free-will Offerings 93
Gladsome Acceptance 96
According to his Service 101
The Dedicatory Offerings 107
The Display of the Gifts 109
The Person of the Offerer 113
The Importance of the Altar 117
Separation and Service.
Numbers vi, vii.
INTRODUCTORY.
For many years these chapters had no special interest to me; but I have
never ceased to be thankful that I was early led to read the Word of GOD
in regular course: it was through this habit that these chapters first
became specially precious to me. I was travelling on a missionary tour
in the province of CHEH-KIANG, and had to pass the night in a very
wicked town. All the inns were dreadful places; and the people seemed to
have their consciences seared, and their hearts sealed against the
Truth. My own heart was oppressed, and could find no relief; and I awoke
the next morning much cast down, and feeling spiritually hungry and
thirsty indeed.
On opening my Bible at the seventh chapter of Numbers, I felt as though
I could not then read that long chapter of repetitions; that I _must_
turn to some chapter that would feed my soul. And yet I was not happy in
leaving my regular portion; so after a little conflict I resolved to
read it, praying to GOD to bless me, even through Numb. vii. I fear
there was not much faith in the prayer; but oh! how abundantly it was
answered, and what a feast GOD gave me! He revealed to me His own great
heart of love, and gave me the key to understand this and the previous
chapter as never before. May GOD make our meditations upon them as
helpful to others as they were then and have ever since continued to be
to myself.
Much is revealed in these chapters in germ which is more fully brought
out in the New Testament. Under the Old Covenant many blessings were
enjoyed in measure and for a season, which in this dispensation are ours
in their fulness and permanence. For instance, the atoning sacrifices of
the seventh month had to be repeated every year; but CHRIST, in offering
Himself once for all, perfected for ever them that are sanctified. The
Psalmist needed to pray, "Take not Thy HOLY SPIRIT from me;" but CHRIST
has given us the COMFORTER to abide with us for ever. In like manner the
Israelite might vow the vow of a Nazarite and separate himself unto GOD
for a season; but it is the privilege of the Christian believer to know
himself as always separated to GOD. Many other lessons, which are
hidden from careless and superficial readers, are suggested by these
chapters, which the HOLY SPIRIT
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The Boy Slaves, by Captain Mayne Reid.
________________________________________________________________________
This is an excellent book, telling of the adventures of three midshipmen
and a much older sailor from a British warship that goes aground off the
coast of Africa, well offshore, and sinks with all hands. However these
four find themselves afloat on a spar, which they paddle with their
hands for several days until they reach the shore of Africa. Shortly
after this they are taken prisoner by some Arabs, who intend to take
them north to a town where they can be sold as slaves.
The book deals with their adventures as they are driven north to be
sold. In those days Arab pirate ships, known as Barbary pirates, and
also Algerine pirates, used to capture European vessels and make their
white crews and passengers into slaves, demanding ransoms from their
families. Even if the ransom was received, the captors usually
pretended it hadn't been. The practice had been going on for centuries,
and was terminated in 1816 when Admiral Lord Exmouth attacked Algiers,
and obtained the release of 1300 white slaves. Following this the
French were charged with the responsibility of keeping the Arabs of
North Africa in order. The date of 1816 is wrongly given as 1856 on
page xi of Guy Pocock's introduction to the Everyman Edition of the
book.
The audiobook takes about ten hours to play.
________________________________________________________________________
THE BOY SLAVES, BY CAPTAIN MAYNE REID.
CHAPTER ONE.
THE LAND OF THE SLAVE.
Land of Ethiope! whose burning centre seems unapproachable as the frozen
Pole!
Land of the unicorn and the lion, of the crouching panther and the
stately elephant, of the camel, the camel-leopard, and the camel-bird!
Land of the antelopes, of the wild gemsbok, and the gentle gazelle, land
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A Veldt Official, by Bertram Mitford.
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
A VELDT OFFICIAL, BY BERTRAM MITFORD.
CHAPTER ONE.
"WHERE'S DOPPERSDORP?"
"Now where the very mischief _is_ Doppersdorp?"
He who thus uttered his thoughts aloud looked up from the sheet of paper
in his hand, and gazed forth over the blue waters of Algoa Bay. Over
the vessels riding at their anchorage his gaze wandered, over the
stately hulls of two or three large mail steamships similar to that upon
whose deck he then stood; over the tall, tapering masts and web-like
rigging of numerous sailing craft; over the flotilla of cargo-boats and
lighters; over the low, sandy shores and sunbaked buildings of busy,
dusty Port Elizabeth, right away to the bold ridges of the Winterhoek
range looming black and hazy to the blue heavens; then returned to
re-peruse the large official communication. Thus it began:--
Sir,--I have the honour to inform you that His Excellency the Governor,
with the advice of the Executive Council, has been pleased to appoint
you to be--provisionally--clerk to the Resident Magistrate of
Doppersdorp, and distributer of stamps... Then followed particulars as
to salary, and, with the request that the recipient would be good enough
to proceed to that place as soon as possible, somebody whose name he
could not quite decipher, but whose style was "Acting Under Colonial
Secretary," had the honour to be his obedient servant.
The letter was dated from the Colonial Secretary's Office, and was
directed to "Roden Musgrave, Esq."
"The pay is not profuse," soliloquised the fortunate recipient of this
missive, "especially to make a fresh start upon at my time of life.
Well, the old saw about beggars and choosers holds good, but--where the
very deuce _is_ Doppersdorp?"
"Hallo, Musgrave! Had ten thousand a year left you?" cried a jolly,
hail-the-maintop sort of voice behind him.
Its owner was a powerfully built man of middle age, whose handsome face,
bronzed and bearded, was lit up by a pair of keen brown eyes with a
merry twinkle in them which was more than half satirical. He was clad
in a dark blue, gold-laced, quasi-naval uniform.
"You know something about this country, eh, skipper?" said the other,
turning away from the taffrail, over which he had been leaning.
"I ought to by now, considering the number of years I've had to do with
it," was the confident reply.
"So? Well, I'll bet you a bottle of Heidsieck you don't answer the
first question I put to you concerning it. But whether I win or lose
it'll be our parting drink together."
"Our parting drink? Man alive, what sort of humbug are you talking?
Aren't we going on as far as Natal together, and haven't we only just
begun our unlading? That means two days more here, if not three. Then
we are sure to be kept a couple of days at East London. So this day
week we can talk about our parting drink, not to-day."
"Never mind that for a moment. Is that bet on?"
"All right--yes. Now then, what's the question?"
"Where is Doppersdorp?"
"Eh?"
"To be more explicit--what section of this flourishing colony is
distinguished by the proud possession of the town or village of
Doppersdorp?"
"I'll be hanged if I know."
"I thought not. Skipper, you've lost; so order up the Monopole, while I
dive down and roll up my traps, for to that unpromising township, of so
far nebulous locality, I am officially directed to proceed without loss
of time."
"The dickens you are! That's a nuisance, Musgrave; especially as all
the other fellows are leaving us here. I thought you were going on to
Natal with us."
"So did I. But nothing is certain in this world, let alone the plans of
such a knock-about as yours truly. Well, we've done more than our share
of lie-splitting during the last three weeks, Cheyne, and it'll be for
your moral good now to absorb some of the improving conversation of that
elderly party who is dying to come down to your end of the table; also
of Larkins, who can succeed to my chair."
"Oh, Larkins!" grunted the other contemptuously. "Every voyage the
saloon has its percentage of fools, but Larkins undoubtedly is the prize
fool of the lot. Now, if there's one thing more than another I cannot
stand, it's a fool."
The commander of the _Siberian_ was not exactly a popular captain, a
fact perhaps readily accounted for by the prejudice we have just heard
him enunciate; yet he was more feared than disliked, for he was
possessed of a shrewd insight into character, and a keen and biting wit,
and those who came under its lash were not moved thereby precisely to
love its owner. But, withal, he was a genial and sociable man, ever
willing to promote and assist in
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THE GIRL FROM SUNSET RANCH
------------------------------------------------------------------------
BOOKS FOR GIRLS
By AMY BELL MARLOWE
12mo. Cloth. Illustrated.
THE OLDEST OF FOUR
Or Natalie's Way Out
THE GIRLS OF HILLCREST FARM
Or The Secret of the Rocks
A LITTLE MISS NOBODY
Or With the Girls of Pinewood Hall
THE GIRL FROM SUNSET RANCH
Or Alone in a Great City
WYN'S CAMPING DAYS
Or The Outing of the Go-Ahead Club
FRANCES OF THE RANGES
Or The Old Ranchman's Treasure
THE GIRLS OF RIVERCLIFF SCHOOL
Or Beth Baldwin's Resolve
THE ORIOLE BOOKS
WHEN ORIOLE CAME TO HARBOR LIGHT
WHEN ORIOLE TRAVELED WESTWARD
(Other volumes in preparation)
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS--NEW YORK
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: "CAB, MISS? TAKE YOU ANYWHERE YOU SAY."
Frontispiece (Page 67).]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE GIRL FROM SUNSET RANCH
OR
ALONE IN A GREAT CITY
BY
AMY BELL MARLOWE
AUTHOR OF
THE OLDEST OF FOUR, THE GIRLS OF HILLCREST
FARM, WYN'S CAMPING DAYS, ETC.
Illustrated
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
Made in the United States of America
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Copyright, 1914, by
GROSSET & DUNLAP
The Girl from Sunset Ranch
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I.
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SAILORS' KNOTS
By W.W. Jacobs
1909
"THE TOLL-HOUSE"
"It's all nonsense," said Jack Barnes. "Of course people have died in the
house; people die in every house. As for the noises--wind in the chimney
and rats in the wainscot are very convincing to a nervous man. Give me
another cup of tea, Meagle."
"Lester and White are first," said Meagle, who was presiding at the
tea-table of the Three Feathers Inn. "You've had two."
Lester and White finished their cups with irritating slowness, pausing
between sips to sniff the aroma, and to discover the sex and dates of
arrival of the "strangers" which floated in some numbers in the beverage.
Mr. Meagle served them to the brim, and then, turning to the grimly
expectant Mr. Barnes, blandly requested him to ring for hot water.
"We'll try and keep your nerves in their present healthy condition," he
remarked. "For my part I have a sort of half-and-half belief in the
super-natural."
"All sensible people have," said Lester. "An aunt of mine saw a ghost
once."
White nodded.
"I had an uncle that saw one," he said.
"It always is somebody else that sees them," said Barnes.
"Well, there is a house," said Meagle, "a large house at an absurdly low
rent, and nobody will take it. It has taken toll of at least one life of
every family that has lived there--however short the time--and since it
has stood empty caretaker after care-taker has died there. The last
caretaker died fifteen years ago."
"Exactly," said Barnes. "Long enough ago for legends to accumulate."
"I'll bet you a sovereign you won't spend the night there alone, for all
your talk," said White, suddenly.
"And I," said Lester.
"No," said Barnes slowly. "I don't believe in ghosts nor in any
supernatural things whatever; all the same I admit that I should not care
to pass a night there alone."
"But why not?" inquired White.
"Wind in the chimney," said Meagle with a grin.
"Rats in the wainscot," chimed in Lester. "As you like," said Barnes
coloring.
"Suppose we all go," said Meagle. "Start after supper, and get there
about eleven. We have been walking for ten days now without an
adventure--except Barnes's discovery that ditchwater smells longest. It
will be a novelty, at any rate, and, if we break the spell by all
surviving, the grateful owner ought to come down handsome."
"Let's see what the landlord has to say about it first," said Lester.
"There is no fun in passing a night in an ordinary empty house. Let us
make sure that it is haunted."
He rang the bell, and, sending for the landlord, appealed to him in the
name of our common humanity not to let them waste a night watching in a
house in which spectres and hobgoblins had no part. The reply was more
than reassuring, and the landlord, after describing with considerable art
the exact appearance of a head which had been seen hanging out of a
window in the moonlight, wound up with a polite but urgent request that
they would settle his bill before they went.
"It's all very well for you young gentlemen to have your fun," he said
indulgently; "but supposing as how you are all found dead in the morning,
what about me? It ain't called the Toll-House for nothing, you know."
"Who died there last?" inquired Barnes, with an air of polite derision.
"A tramp," was the reply. "He went there for the sake of half a crown,
and they found him next morning hanging from the balusters, dead."
"Suicide," said Barnes. "Unsound mind."
The landlord nodded. "That's what the jury brought it in," he said
slowly; "but his mind was sound enough when he went in there. I'd known
him, off and on, for years. I'm a poor man, but I wouldn't spend the
night in that house for a hundred pounds."
[Illustration: "I'm a poor man, but I wouldn't spend the night in that
house for a hundred pounds."]
He repeated this remark as they started on their expedition a few hours
later. They left as the inn was closing for the night;
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by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
ANOTHER SUMMER
THE
YELLOWSTONE PARK
and
ALASKA
BY
CHARLES J. GILLIS
Printed for
Private Distribution
COPYRIGHT, 1893, BY
CHARLES J. GILLIS.
Press of J. J. Little & Co.
Astor Place, New York
The more I think of it, the more I find this conclusion
impressed upon me, that the greatest thing a human soul ever
does in this world is to _see_ something and tell what it saw in
a plain way.--RUSKIN.
With the Compliments
of the Author.
PREFACE.
In the spring of 1892, a party was made up for a trip to Alaska. The
different members thereof were to cross the continent by such routes
as they pleased, and meet at Portland, Oregon, on the second of July.
This plan was followed, and all the party boarded the steamer _Queen_
at Tacoma, prepared for the journey of a thousand miles up the coast
of Alaska.
Some account of this, and also of an excursion to the Yellowstone
Park, made on the way westward, is given in the following pages.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
I.--THE START FOR ALASKA,
II.--ON THE WAY TO THE YELLOWSTONE,
III.--YELLOWSTONE PARK,
IV.--THE GEYSERS AND PAINT POT,
V.--THE UPPER GEYSER BASIN,
VI.--THE GRAND CANYON, AND THE FALLS OF THE YELLOWSTONE,
VII.--DOWN THE COLUMBIA RIVER TO PORTLAND,
VIII.--TACOMA AND SEATTLE,
IX.--ON BOARD THE "QUEEN" FROM TACOMA TO VICTORIA,
X.--ALASKA,
XI.--THE MUIR GLACIER,
XII.--SITKA,
XIII.--AN ACCIDENT TO THE "QUEEN,"
XIV.--ICY BAY, TREADWELL, AND JUNEAU,
XV.--THE RETURN VOYAGE, AND SOME STORIES TOLD ON THE WAY,
XVI.--ON THE CANADIAN PACIFIC,
XVII.--BANFF SPRINGS,
XVIII.--CONCLUSION,
THE YELLOWSTONE PARK AND ALASKA.
CHAPTER I.
THE START FOR ALASKA.
Our long trip to Alaska and return, nine thousand miles in all,
commenced on June 17, 1892, at the Grand Central Station, New York.
Arriving at Chicago the next afternoon, we obtained a good view of the
great exposition buildings from our car windows as we passed along the
lake front. Shortly afterward we were dumped down at the wretched
sheds of the Michigan Central Railroad. It rained very heavily, and
ourselves and hand baggage were somewhat wet passing a short distance
to a carriage. We soon crossed the Chicago River to the Northwestern
Depot, boarded the train, which left at 11 P.M., and arrived at the
beautiful modern city of St. Paul at 1 P.M. the next day. The Hotel
Ryan was found to be very comfortable, and everything in and around
the city is bright and cheerful. Great business activity, and immense
and costly buildings are especially noticeable.
Running along the streets are great numbers of spacious and elegant
cars drawn by cables. We hailed a passing one, got in, and went slowly
and carefully through the crowded streets, up and down hills, with
great speed and ease, into the country for some miles, passing many
elegant private residences, as costly and fine as any to be seen in
any city in the world--notably one built and occupied by Mr. Hill,
president of the Great Northern Railroad, now about completed to the
Pacific Ocean, whose name you hear mentioned often as one of the great
railroad magnates of the West. The streets are clean, the sidewalks
wide, the front yards of the houses crowded with beautiful plants and
flowers, and in all respects we concluded that St. Paul is a most
delightful city.
CHAPTER II.
ON THE WAY TO THE YELLOWSTONE.
LIVINGSTON, MONTANA, June 22, 1892.
We left the city of St. Paul at 4.25 P.M. on the 20th, by the Northern
Pacific Railroad, and arrived here at 8 A.M. this morning. A section
on the sleeping-car had been previously engaged, and we found it and
the dining-room car attached to the train all that could be desired,
so
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VOLUME IV.
WORKS OF PLOTINOS.
PLOTINOS
Complete Works
In Chronological Order, Grouped in Four Periods;
With
BIOGRAPHY by PORPHYRY, EUNAPIUS, & SUIDAS,
COMMENTARY by PORPHYRY,
ILLUSTRATIONS by JAMBLICHUS & AMMONIUS,
STUDIES in Sources, Development, Influence;
INDEX of Subjects, Thoughts and Words.
by
KENNETH SYLVAN GUTHRIE,
Professor in Extension, University of the South, Sewanee;
A.M., Sewanee, and Harvard; Ph.D., Tulane, and Columbia.
M.D., Medico-Chirurgical College, Philadelphia.
VOL. IV
Eustochian Books, 46-54; Comment.
COMPARATIVE LITERATURE PRESS
P.O. Box 42, ALPINE, N.J., U.S.A.
Copyright, 1918, by Kenneth Sylvan Guthrie.
All Rights, including that of Translation, Reserved.
Entered at Stationers' Hall, by
George Bell and Sons, Portugal Street, Lincoln's Inn, London.
FIRST ENNEAD, BOOK FOUR.
Whether Animals May Be Termed Happy.[1]
DEFINITIONS OF HAPPINESS.
1. The (Aristotelian) ideal of living well and happiness are
(practically) identical. Should we, on that account, grant even to
animals the privilege of achieving happiness? Why might we not say
that they live well, if it be granted them, in their lives, to follow
the course of nature, without obstacles? For if to live well consist
either in pleasure (pleasant passions, as the Epicureans taught), or in
realizing one's own individual aim (the Stoic ideal), then this living
well is, in either case, possible for animals, who can both enjoy
pleasure, and accomplish their peculiar aim. Thus singing birds live a
life desirable for them, if they enjoy pleasure, and sing conformably
to their nature. If further we should define happiness as achieving
the supreme purpose towards which nature aspires (the Stoic ideal), we
should, even in this case, admit that animals share in happiness when
they accomplish this supreme purpose. Then nature arouses in them no
further desires, because their whole career is completed, and their
life is filled from beginning to end.
WHETHER PLANTS MAY BE TERMED HAPPY.
There are no doubt some who may object to our admitting to happiness
living beings other than man. They might even point out that on this
basis happiness could not be refused to even the lowest beings, such
as plants: for they also live, their life also has a purpose, by
which they seek to fulfil their development. However, it would seem
rather unreasonable to say, that living beings other than humans
cannot possess happiness by this mere reason that to us they seem
pitiable. Besides, it would be quite possible to deny to plants what
may be predicated of other living beings, on the grounds that plants
lack emotion. Some might hold they are capable of happiness, on the
strength of their possessing life, for a being that lives can live
well or badly; and in this way we could say that they possess or
lack well-being, and bear, or do not bear fruits. If (as Aristippus
thought), pleasure is the goal of man, and if to live well is
constituted by enjoying it, it would be absurd to claim that no living
beings other than man could live well. The same argument applies if we
define happiness as (a state of imperturbable tranquility, by Epicurus
called) ataraxy;[2] or as (the Stoic ideal,[3] of) living conformably
to nature.
LIVING WELL NEED NOT BE EXTENDED EVEN TO ALL ANIMALS.
2. Those who deny the privilege of living well to plants, because these
lack sensation, are not on that account obliged to grant it to all
animals. For, if sensation consist in the knowledge of the experienced
affection, this affection must already be good before the occurrence of
the knowledge. For instance, the being must be in a state conformable
to nature even though ignorant thereof. He must fulfil his proper
function even when he does not know it. He must possess pleasure before
perceiving it. Thus if, by the possession of this pleasure, the being
already possesses the
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{Transcriber's Note: Quotation marks have been standardized to modern
usage. Footnotes have been placed to immediately follow the paragraphs
referencing them. Transcriber's notes are in curly braces; square brackets
and parentheses indicate original content.}
{Illustration: Cover}
INDIAN BIOGRAPHY:
OR,
AN HISTORICAL ACCOUNT
OF THOSE
INDIVIDUALS WHO HAVE BEEN DISTINGUISHED AMONG
THE NORTH AMERICAN NATIVES
AS
ORATORS, WARRIORS, STATESMEN,
AND
OTHER REMARKABLE CHARACTERS.
* * * * *
BY
B. B. THATCHER, ESQ.
* * * * *
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
* * * * *
NEW-YORK:
PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS,
No. 82 CLIFF-STREET
* * * * *
1836.
[Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1834, by
Harper & Brothers in the Clerk's Office of the Southern District
of New-York.]
PREFACE.
The Author does not propose an elaborate explanation, nor an apology of
any kind, for the benefit of the following work. If it absolutely requires
either, he must even be content to have written it in vain, as no
statement or argument can give it any degree of vitality or popularity in
the one case or in the other.
He has regarded it, historically, as an act of mere Justice to the fame
and the memories of many wise, brilliant, brave and generous
men,--patriots, orators, warriors and statesmen,--who ruled over barbarian
communities, and were indeed themselves barbarians, but whose influence,
eloquence and success of every description were _therefore_ but the nobler
objects of admiration and the worthier subjects for record. Nor can
Philosophy look upon them without predilection. Comparatively
unopinionated and unaffected as they were,--governed by impulse and guided
by native sense,--owing little to circumstances, and struggling much
amidst and against them,--their situation was the best possible for
developing both genius and principle, and their education at the sane time
the best for disclosing them. Their Lives, then, should illustrate the
true constitution of man. They should have, above all other history, the
praise and the interest of "philosophy teaching, by example."
The strictly moral inducements which have operated on the Author's mind,
must be too obvious to require dissertation. We owe, and our Fathers owed,
too much to the Indians,--too much from man to man,--too much from race to
race,--to deny them the poor restitution of historical justice at least,
however the issue may have been or may be with themselves. Nor need it be
suggested, that selfishness alone might dictate the policy of a collection
such as the Author has endeavored to make this, were it only for the
collateral light which it constantly throws on the history and biography of
our own nation.
Nothing of the same character is before the public. What may be called an
Indian Biographical Dictionary has indeed recently appeared, and to that
the Author has gladly referred in the course of his researches; but the
extreme difficulty of doing justice to any individuals of the race, and at
the same time to _all,_ may be inferred from the fact that the writer
alluded to has noticed such men as Uncas in some six or eight lines, while
he has wholly omitted characters so important as Buckongahelas, White-eyes,
Pipe, and Occonoetota. On these, and on all their more eminent countrymen,
the Author has intended to bestow the notice they deserve, by passing over
the vast multitude distinguished only by detached anecdote, or described
only in general terms.
In fine, conscious of many imperfections, but also conscious of a strenuous
exertion to render them as few and small as might be, the Author submits
the Biography to the public, and especially to the candor of those whose
own labors, if not the results of them, have shown them the essential
fallibility of every composition like this. He will have reason to be
satisfied if it do good, as he will assuredly be gratified if it give
pleasure.
Boston, Sept. 10, 1832.
CONTENTS
CHAP. I.--The Indian tribes of Virginia at the date of the Jamestown
settlement; their names, numbers and power--The Powhatan
confederacy--The Indian Village of that name--Powhatan--The
circumstances of the first interview between him and the
English--Opechancanough, his brother--Opitchipan--Reception of Captain
Smith by Powhatan--Interposition of Pocahontas in his favor--Second
visit of the colonists--Third visit, and coronation--Entertainment of
Smith by Pocahontas--Contest of ingenuity between Powhatan and Smith;
and between the latter and Opechancanough--Smith saved again by
Pocahontas--Political manoeuvres of Powhatan and Opechancanough--Smith's
return to Jamestown.
page 9
CHAP. II.--Conduct of Powhatan after Smith's departure for England, and
causes of it--Hostilities resumed--Peace finally effected by the capture
of Pocahontas--Manner of gaining this point--Marriage of Pocahontas with
John Rolfe--Death and character of Powhatan--His person, manner of
living, talents, influence. His method and means of warfare--The
discipline of his warriors--The manner in which he availed himself of
the English arms and science--Causes of his hostility towards the
colonists--His dignity--Shrewdness--Independence--Courtesy--Liberality--
Simplicity--Affection for his relatives--A review of various opinions
entertained of him by various historians.
40
CHAP. III.--The family of Powhatan--His successor--Sequel of the history
of Pocahontas--Her acts of kindness to the colonists at various times,
and especially to Smith--His gratitude--Her civilisation, and
instruction in Christianity--Her visit to England in 1616
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(http://www.freeliterature.org)
THE PIONEERS
by
KATHARINE S. PRICHARD
CHAPTER I
The wagon had come to rest among the trees an hour or two before sunset.
It was a covered-in dray, and had been brought to in a little clearing
of the scrubby undergrowth. Two horses had drawn it all the way from the
coast. Freed of their harness, they stood in the lee of a great gum,
their flanks matted with the dust which had caked with the run of sweat
on them. The mongrel that had followed at their heels lay stretched on
the sward beside them. A red-dappled cow and her calf were tethered to a
wheel of the wagon, and at a little distance from them were two battered
crates of drooping and drowsy fowls.
On a patch of earth scraped clear of grass and leaves, the fire threw
off wisps of smoke and the dry, musky incense of burning eucalyptus and
dogwood. It had smouldered; and a woman, stooping beside it, was feeding
it with branches of brushwood and sticks that she broke in her hands or
across her knees.
A man was busy in the interior of the wagon, moving heavy casks and
pieces of furniture. He lifted them out, piled them on the ground and
spread a couple of sheepskins over them. Then he threw a sheepskin and a
blanket of black and brown tweed on the floor for the night's resting.
It had been climbing the foothills for days, this heavy, old-fashioned
vehicle, and the man and the woman had climbed with it, she driving the
cow and calf, he giving his attention to the horses and clearing the
track. So slowly had it toiled along that at a little distance it looked
like some weary, indefatigable insect creeping among the trees. The
horses--a sturdy young sandy-grey mare and a raw, weedy, weather-worn
bay--seemed as much part of it as its wooden frame, ironshod wheels, and
awning of grimy sailcloth.
They tugged at their load with dull, dumb patience and obstinacy,
although the bay had stumbled rather badly the whole way. The man had
put his shoulder to the wheel, helping the horses up the steep banks and
long, slippery sidings. He had stood trembling and sweating with them
when heavy places in the road were past, the veins knotted in his
swarthy forehead, the bare column of his throat gasping for the mountain
air. There was the same toiling faculty in him that there was in the
horses--an instinct to overcome all difficulties by exertion of the
muscles of his back.
The wagon had creaked garrulously on the long <DW72>s, and stuttered and
groaned up the steep hill sides. It had forded creeks, the horses
splashing soberly through them and sending the spray into the air on
either side. It had crashed over the undergrowth that encroached on the
track, an ill-blazed stock route among the trees, and again and again
the man had been obliged to haul aside fallen timber, or burn it where
it lay, and cut away saplings, in order to make a new path.
The wagon was filled with boxes and bags of food stuffs and pieces of
furniture. Inside it smelt like a grocer's shop; and it had trailed the
mingled odour of meal, corned meat, hemp, iron, seed wheat, crude oil
and potatoes through the virgin purity of the forest air. Beneath its
floor, in wrappings of torn bags, straw and hessian, were lashed a
wooden plough, a broad-bladed shovel, and half a dozen farming and
carpentering tools. The fowls--a game rooster, a buff hen and a speckled
pullet--hung in wicker baskets from wooden pegs at the back. They and
the cow and her calf had wakened strange echoes in the forest, the
rooster heralding every morning at dawn this advance guard of
civilisation.
When the vehicle had reached the summit of the foothills, the track fell
wavering into the green depths of the forest behind it, a wale of broken
ferns, slain saplings, blue gums and myrtles, mown down as with a scythe
by its wheels. The timbered hills fell away, wave upon wave, into the
mists of the distance, and the plains stretched outward from them to the
faintly glittering line the sea made on the dim horizon. Somewhere to
the west on those grey plains, against the shore of an inlet, was the
township of Port Southern from which they had come.
Donald Cameron, after studying a roughly-made plan and the wall of the
forest about him, had taken the mare by her sandy forelock and turned
the wagon in among the trees on the far side of a giant gum, blazed with
a cross, on which the congealing sap had dried like blood. Steering a
north-westerly course, the wagon had tacked among the trees and come to
the clearing.
And now that all preparations for the night were made, he took the
animals to the creek for water. It ran at the foot of the long, low
hillside and could be heard crooning and gurgling under the leafy murmur
of the forest.
Leaving the fire, the woman went to a fallen trunk, sat down and gazed
into the shadows gathering among the trees. A rosy and saffron mist hung
between their thronging boles. The peace of the after-glow held the
hills, the chirring of insects and the shrill sweet calling of birds had
quivered into silence. Only a leafy whispering stirred the quiet.
For a moment the fire of her clear spirit burnt low. Hope and courage
were lost in dreams. There was wistfulness in her grey eyes as they went
out before her, wistfulness and heartache. She seemed to be reading the
scroll of the future, seeing a dim, mysterious unrolling of joys and
sorrows with the eyes of her inner vision.
The sun had set when Cameron returned. He tethered the cow to the wheel
of the wagon and clamped rusty hobbles about the horses' fetlocks. Then
he looked towards the woman.
"Mary!" he called.
She did not hear, and he walked towards her.
A man of few words, Cameron did not speak as he searched his wife's
face.
"I--I was dreaming," she said, looking up, startled at the sight of him.
"You're not grieving?" he asked.
There was a tremor in his voice, though its roughness almost covered
that.
"No, not grieving," she said. "But thinking what it will be to us and
our children, by and by, in this place. It is a new country and a new
people we're making, they said at home, and I'm realising what they
meant now."
"Aye. But it's a fine country!"
Cameron's eyes travelled the length of the clearing, over the <DW72> of
the hill. They took in the silent world of the trees, the rosy mist that
still glowed between their slender, thronging stems. There was pride and
an expression of sated hunger in his glance.
"It's all ours, this land about here," he said.
"Yes?"
Her eyes wandered too.
"I have worked all my days, till now," he said, reviving a bitter
memory, "without so much as a plot of sour earth as big as y're
handkerchief to call my own. Worked for other men, sweated the body and
soul out of me... and now, this is mine... all this... hundred acres
... and more when I'm ready for it, more, and more, and more...."
He paused a moment, all the emotion in him stirred and surging. Then,
with a short-drawn breath that dismissed the past and dedicated thought
and energy to the future, he went on:
"I marked this place when I came through to the Port with Middleton's
cattle, last year. I'll run cattle--but I want to clear and cultivate
too. Up there where there are trees now will be ploughed fields and an
orchard soon. The house and barns'll be on the brow of the hill. By and
by... we shall have a name and a place in the country."
His wife's eyes were on his face. He had spoken as though he were taking
an oath.
"No doubt it will be as you say, Donald," she said, with a faint sigh.
"But it is a strange lonely land, indeed, without the sight of a roof in
all the long miles we have come by. Never the sound of a human voice, or
the lowing of cattle."
Donald Cameron did not reply. He was envisaging his schemes for the
future. Not a man given to dreams, the thoughtful mood had taken him;
his breath came and went in steady draughts. His face was set to the
mould of his musing; there was determination in every line of it. A
gloomy face it was, rough-cast, with deep set eyes.
His wife's words and the sigh that went with them were repeated in a
remote brain cell.
"You should be giving thanks, not complaining," he said, his gaze
returning to her. "We must do that now--give thanks for the journey
accomplished."
And, as if it were the last duty of a well-spent day, he knelt on the
grassy earth, and Mary knelt beside him.
Donald Cameron addressed his God as man speaks to man; yet his voice had
a vibrating note as he prayed.
"O Lord," he said, "we thank Thee for having brought us in safety to our
new home. We thank Thee for having brought us over the sea, through the
storms and the troubles on the ship when there was nothing to eat but
weevily biscuits, and the water stank, and there was like to be mutiny
with the men in the chained gangs. We--we thank Thee, this woman and I.
She is a good woman for a man to have with him when he goes to the ends
of the earth to carve out a name and a place for himself."
He paused thoughtfully for a moment; and then went on:
"I have said all that before; but I have been thinking that it would do
no harm to say it again now that we are ready to begin the new life, and
will need all Thy help and protection, Lord. We thank Thee for having
brought us all the miles from the coast, and the beasts and the wagon,
in safety--though the bay horse I bought of Middleton's storekeeper is
turning out badly. He was a poor bargain at the best of it--weak in the
knee and spring-halted. Do Thou have a care of him. Lord. It will be a
big loss to me if he is no use... with all the clearing and carting
there will be to do soon."
He talked a little longer to the Almighty, asking no favour, but
intimating that he expected to be justly dealt by as he himself dealt by
all men. In the matter of the bay, he said that he did not think a
God-fearing man had been treated quite as well as, under the
circumstances, he might have been; but he imputed no blame--except to
Middleton's storekeeper--and gave thanks again.
A man of middle height, squarely built, Donald Cameron had the loosely
slung frame of a farm labourer. The woman beside him, although her
clothes were as poor and heavy as his, was more finely and delicately
made. The hands clasped before her were long and slender.
The prayer ended, they rose from the grass. Cameron's eyes covered his
wife. A gust of tenderness swept him.
"There was not what you might call much sentiment about our mating," he
said. "But I doubt not it has come, Mary."
"Yes, Donald." Her clear eyes were lifted to his. "May I be a true and
faithful wife to you."
"Y're not regretting at the long journey's end?" he asked.
"It's not that,"--a sigh went from her--"but that I'm not worthy of
you."
"Whist," he said. "You're my woman--my wife. It's all done with, the
past."
CHAPTER II
A few months later Mary Cameron's voice, as she sang lullabies to her
baby, mingled with the forest murmur and the sounds that came from the
clearing--the lowing of the cow, the clucking and cackle of fowls, the
clang of Donald's axe as he ring-barked trees near the house.
A one-roomed hut, built of long, rough-barked saplings, ranged one above
the other, and thatched with coarse reddish-brown bark, laid on in
slabs, it stood on the brow of the hill not far from the wagon's first
resting place. Its two doors, set opposite each other, opened, one
towards the back hills and the other towards the creek and the cleared
land on which a stubble of stumps still stood. The walls of the hut,
inside, were plastered with the clayey hill soil which Mary had rammed
into crevices between the saplings when daylight had at first showed in
thin shining streaks, and the mountain breezes had crept chilly through
them in the early mornings. She had made the floor of beaten clay too,
and had gathered from the creek bed the grey and brown stones which
Donald had built into the hearth and chimney with seams of lime and fine
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[Illustration: MARCONI READING A MESSAGE]
STORIES OF INVENTORS
The Adventures Of Inventors And Engineers.
True Incidents And Personal Experiences
By
RUSSELL DOUBLEDAY
1904
ACKNOWLEDGMENT
The author and publishers take pleasure in acknowledging the courtesy of
_The Scientific American_
_The Booklovers Magazine_
_The Holiday Magazine_, and
Messrs. Wood & Nathan Company
for the use of a number of illustrations in this book.
From _The Scientific American_, illustrations facing pages 16, 48,
78, 80, 88, 94, 118, 126, 142, and 162.
From _The Booklovers Magazine_, illustrations facing pages 184, 190,
194, and 196.
From _The Holiday Magazine_, illustrations facing pages 100 and 110.
CONTENTS
How Guglielmo Marconi Telegraphs Without Wires
Santos-Dumont and His Air-Ship
How a Fast Train Is Run
How Automobiles Work
The Fastest Steamboats
The Life-Savers and Their Apparatus
Moving Pictures--Some Strange Subjects and How They Were Taken
Bridge Builders and Some of Their Achievements
Submarines in War and Peace
Long-Distance Telephony--What Happens When You Talk into a
Telephone Receiver
A Machine That Thinks--A Type-Setting Machine That Makes
Mathematical Calculations
How Heat Produces Cold--Artificial Ice-Making
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Marconi Reading a Message _Frontispiece_
Marconi Station at Wellfleet, Massachusetts
The Wireless Telegraph Station at Glace Bay
Santos-Dumont Preparing for a Flight
Rounding the Eiffel Tower
The Motor and Basket of "Santos-Dumont No. 9"
Firing a Fast Locomotive
Track Tank
Railroad Semaphore Signals
Thirty Years' Advance in Locomotive Building
The "Lighthouse" of the Rail
A Giant Automobile Mower-Thrasher
An Automobile Buckboard
An Automobile Plow
The _Velox_, of the British Navy
The Engines of the _Arrow_
A Life-Saving Crew Drilling
Life-Savers at Work
Biograph Pictures of a Military Hazing
Developing Moving-Picture Films
Building an American Bridge in Burmah
Viaduct Across Canyon Diablo
Beginning an American Bridge in Mid-Africa
Lake's Submarine Torpedo-Boat _Protector_
Speeding at the Rate of 102 Miles an Hour
Singing Into the Telephone
"Central" Telephone Operators at Work
Central Making Connections
The Back of a Telephone Switchboard
A Few Telephone Trunk Wires
The Lanston Type-Setter Keyboard
Where the "Brains" are Located
The Type Moulds and the Work They Produce
INTRODUCTION
There are many thrilling incidents--all the more attractive because of
their truth--in the study, the trials, the disappointments, the
obstacles overcome, and the final triumph of the successful inventor.
Every great invention, afterward marvelled at, was first derided. Each
great inventor, after solving problems in mechanics or chemistry, had to
face the jeers of the incredulous.
The story of James Watt's sensations when the driving-wheels of his
first rude engine began to revolve will never be told; the visions of
Robert Fulton, when he puffed up the Hudson, of the fleets of vessels
that would follow the faint track of his little vessel, can never be put
in print.
It is the purpose of this book to give, in a measure, the adventurous
side of invention. The trials and dangers of the builders of the
submarine; the triumphant thrill of the inventor who hears for the first
time the vibration of the long-distance message through the air; the
daring and tension of the engineer who drives a locomotive at one
hundred miles an hour.
The wonder of the mechanic is lost in the marvel of the machine; the
doer is overshadowed by the greatness of his achievement.
These are true stories of adventure in invention.
STORIES OF INVENTORS
HOW GUGLIELMO MARCONI TELEGRAPHS WITHOUT WIRES
A nineteen-year-old boy, just a quiet, unobtrusive young fellow, who
talked little but thought much, saw in the discovery of
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PHYLLIS OF PHILISTIA
By Frank Frankfort Moore
CHAPTER I.
AN ASTRONOMER WITHOUT A TELESCOPE.
"After all," said Mr. Ayrton, "what is marriage?"
"Ah!" sighed Phyllis. She knew that her father had become possessed of
a phrase, and that he was anxious to flutter it before her to see how it
went. He was a connoisseur in the bric-a-brac of phrases.
"Marriage means all your eggs in one basket," said he.
"Ah!" sighed Phyllis once more. She wondered if her father really
thought that she would be comforted in her great grief by a phrase. She
did not want to know how marriage might be defined. She knew that
all definitions are indefinite. She knew that in the case of marriage
everything depends upon the definer and the occasion.
"So you see there is no immediate cause to grieve, my dear," resumed her
father.
She did not quite see that this was the logical conclusion of the whole
matter; but that was possibly because she was born a woman, and felt
that marriage is to a woman what a keel is to a ship.
"I think there is a very good cause to grieve when we find a man like
George Holland turning deliberately round from truth to falsehood," said
Phyllis sternly.
"And what's worse, running a very good chance of losing his living,"
remarked the father. "Of course it will have to be proved that Moses and
Abraham and David and the rest of them were not what he says they
were; and it strikes me that all the bench of bishops, and a royal
commissioner or two thrown in, would have considerable difficulty in
doing that nowadays."
"What! You take his part, papa?" she cried, starting up. "You take his
part? You think I was wrong to tell him--what I did tell him?"
"I don't take his part, my dear," said Mr. Ayrton. "I think that he's a
bit of a fool to run his head into a hornet's nest because he has come
to the conclusion that Abraham's code of morality was a trifle shaky,
and that Samson was a shameless libertine. Great Heavens! has the man
got no notion of the perspective of history?"
"Perspective? History? It's the Bible, papa!"
Indignation was in Phyllis' eyes, but there was a reverential tone in
her voice. Her father looked at her--listened to her. In the pause he
thought:
"Good Heavens! What sort of a man is George Holland, who is ready to
relinquish the love and loveliness of that girl, simply because he
thinks poorly of the patriarchs?"
"He attacks the Bible, papa," resumed Phyllis gravely. "What horrible
things he said about Ruth!"
"Ah, yes, Ruth--the heroine of the harvest festival," said her father.
"Ah, he might have left us our Ruth. Besides, she was a woman. Heavens
above! is there no chivalry remaining among men?"
"Ah, if it was only chivalry! But--the Bible!"
"Quite so--the--yes, to be sure. But don't you think you may take the
Bible too seriously, Phyllis?"
"Oh, papa! too seriously?"
"Why not? That's George Holland's mistake, I fear. Why should he work
himself to a fury over the peccadillos of the patriarchs? The principle
of the statute of limitations should be applied to such cases. If the
world, and the colleges of theology, have dealt lightly with Samson and
David and Abraham and Jacob and the rest of them for some thousands of
years, why should George Holland rake up things against them, and that,
too, on very doubtful evidence? But I should be the last person in the
world to complain of the course which he has seen fit to adopt, since
it has left you with me a little longer, my dearest child. I did not,
of course, oppose your engagement, but I have often asked myself what I
should do without you? How should I ever work up my facts, or, what
is more important, my quotations, in your absence, Phyllis? On some
questions, my dear, you are a veritable Blue-book--yes, an _edition de
luxe_ of a Blue-book."
"And I meant to be so useful to him as well," said Phyllis, taking her
father's praises more demurely than she had taken his phrases. "I meant
to help him in his work."
"Ah, what a fool the man is! How could any man in his senses give up a
thing of flesh and blood like you, for the sake of proving or trying
to prove, that some people who lived five or six thousand years ago--if
they ever lived at all--would have rendered themselves liable to
imprisonment, without the option of a fine, if they lived in England
since the passing of certain laws--recent laws, too, we must remember!"
"Papa!"
"Anyhow, you have done with him, my dear. A man who can't see that crime
is really a question of temperament, and sin invariably a question of
geography--well, we'll say no more about it. At what hour did you say he
was coming?"
"Four. I don't think I shall break down."
"Break down? Why on earth should you break down? You have a mind to
know, and you know your own mind. That's everything. But of course
you've had no experience of matters of this sort. He was your first real
lover?"
Phyllis' face became crimson. She retained sufficient presence of mind,
however, to make a little fuss with the window-blind before letting it
down. Her father stared at her for a moment, and there was rather a long
pause before he laughed.
"I said'real lover,' my dear," he remarked.
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PHARAOH'S BROKER
BEING THE VERY REMARKABLE EXPERIENCES
IN ANOTHER WORLD OF
ISIDOR WERNER
(WRITTEN BY HIMSELF)
EDITED, ARRANGED, AND WITH AN INTRODUCTION
BY ELLSWORTH DOUGLASS
[Device]
LONDON
C. ARTHUR PEARSON LIMITED
HENRIETTA STREET W.C.
1899
Transcriber's Note:
Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note.
Obsolete spellings have been retained. The oe ligature is
represented by [oe].
CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTION: ELUSIVE TRUTH 7
BOOK I. SECRETS OF SPACE
CHAPTER
I. DR. HERMANN ANDERWELT 19
II. THE GRAVITY PROJECTILE 27
III. STRUCTURE OF THE PROJECTILE 37
IV. WHAT IS ON MARS? 48
V. FINAL PREPARATIONS 57
VI. FAREWELL TO EARTH 67
VII. THE TERRORS OF LIGHT 81
VIII. THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 91
IX. TRICKS OF REFRACTION 99
X. THE TWILIGHT OF SPACE 108
XI. TELLING THE TIME BY GEOGRAPHY 117
XII. SPACE FEVER 126
XIII. THE MYSTERY OF A MINUS WEIGHT 141
BOOK II. OTHER WORLD LIFE
I. WHY MARS GIVES A RED LIGHT 157
II. THE TERROR BIRDS 170
III. TWO OF US AGAINST THE ARMIES OF MARS 182
IV. THE STRANGE BRAVERY OF MISS BLANK 192
V. ZAPHNATH, RULER OF THE KEMI 204
VI. THE IRON MEN FROM THE BLUE STAR 220
VII. PARALLEL PLANETARY LIFE 240
VIII. A PLAGIARIST OF DREAMS 249
IX. GETTING INTO THE CORNER 260
X. HUMANITY ON PTAH 275
XI. REVOLUTIONIST AND EAVESDROPPER 283
XII. THE DOCTOR DISAPPEARS 292
XIII. THE REVELATION OF HOTEP 304
INTRODUCTION
Elusive Truth
It was the Chicago _Tribune_ of June 13th, 189-, which contained this
paragraph under the head-line: "Big Broker Missing!"
"The friends of Isidor Werner, a young man prominent in Board of
Trade circles, are much concerned about him, as he has not been seen
for several days. He made his last appearance in the wheat pit as a
heavy buyer Tuesday forenoon. That afternoon he left his office at
Room 87 Board of Trade, and has not been seen since, nor can his
whereabouts be learned. He is six feet two inches high, of athletic
build, with black hair and moustache, a regular nose, and an
unpronounced Jewish appearance. His age is hardly more than
twenty-seven, but he has often made himself felt as a market force on
the Board of Trade, where he was well thought of."
But it was the _Evening Post_ of the same date which prided itself on
unearthing the real sensation. A scare-head across the top of a first
page column read:
"A PLUNGER'S LAST PLUNGE!"
"The daring young broker who held the whole wheat market in his hands
a few months ago, amassing an independent fortune in three days, but
losing most of it gamely on subsequent changes in the market, has
made his last plunge. This time he has gone into the cold, kind bosom
of Lake Michigan. Isidor Werner evened up his trades in the wheat
market last Tuesday forenoon, and then applied for his balance-sheet
at a higher clearing house! No trace of him or clue to his
whereabouts was found, until the _Evening Post_, on the principle of
setting one mystery to solve another, sent its representative to
examine a strange steel rocket, discovered half-buried in the sands
of Lake Michigan, near Berrien Springs, two days ago. Our reporter
investigated this bullet-shaped contrivance and found an opening into
it, and within he discovered a scrap of paper on which were written
the words: 'Farewell to Earth for ever!' Werner's friends, when
interviewed by the _Evening Post_, all positively identified
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by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries.)
THE CANDY MAKER'S GUIDE
A COLLECTION OF
CHOICE RECIPES FOR SUGAR BOILING
COMPILED AND PUBLISHED BY
THE FLETCHER MNF'G. CO.
MANUFACTURERS OF
Confectioners' and Candy Makers' Tools and Machines
TEA AND COFFEE URNS
BAKERS' CONFECTIONERS AND HOTEL SUPPLIES
IMPORTERS AND DEALERS IN
PURE FRUIT JUICES,
FLAVORING EXTRACTS,
FRUIT OILS,
ESSENTIAL OILS,
MALT EXTRACT,
XXXX GLUCOSE, ETC.
[Illustration]
Prize Medal and Diploma awarded at Toronto Industrial Exhibition
1894, for General Excellence in Style and Finish of our goods.
440-442 YONGE ST.,--TORONTO, CAN.
TORONTO
J JOHNSTON PRINTER & STATIONER 105 CHURCH ST
1896
FLETCHER MNF'G. CO.
TORONTO.
Manufacturers and dealers in Generators, Steel and Copper Soda Water
Cylinders, Soda Founts, Tumbler Washers, Freezers, Ice Breaking
Machines, Ice Cream Refrigerators, Milk Shakers, Ice Shaves, Lemon
Squeezers, Ice Cream Cans, Packing Tubs, Flavoring Extracts, Golden and
Crystal Flake for making Ice Cream, Ice Cream Bricks and Forms, and
every article necessary for Soda Water and Ice Cream business.
INTRODUCTION.
In presenting this selection of choice recipes for Candy Makers we have
endeavored to avoid everything that is not practical and easy to
understand. The recipes given are from the most experienced and notable
candy makers of America and Europe, and are such, that, if followed out
with care and attention will be sure to lead to success. Practice is
only to be had by experiment, and little failures are overcome by
constant perseverance.
After the rudiments have been thoroughly mastered, the reader has ample
scope to distinguish himself in the Candy world, and will do so with
patience and perseverance. We trust our patrons will look upon this
work, not as a literary effort, but as instruction from a practical
workman to a would-be workman.
FLETCHER MNF'G. Co.,
440 & 442 Yonge St., Toronto,
Publishers.
Manufacturers of Candy Makers Tools and Machines, and every article
required in Confectionery and Candy Making.
ASK FOR OUR CATALOGUE.
SUGAR BOILING.
This branch of the trade or business of a confectioner is perhaps the
most important. All manufacturers are more or less interested in it, and
certainly no retail shop could be considered orthodox which did not
display a tempting variety of this class. So inclusive is the term
"boiled goods" that it embraces drops, rocks, candies, taffies, creams,
caramels, and a number of different sorts of hand-made, machine-made,
and moulded goods. It is the most ancient method of which we have any
knowledge, and perhaps the most popular process of modern times; the
evidence of our everyday experience convinces us that (notwithstanding
the boom which heralds from time to time a new sweet, cooked in a
different manner, composed of ingredients hitherto unused in business),
it is the exception when such goods hold the front rank for more than a
few months, however pretty, tasty, or tempting they may be, the public
palate seems to fall back on those made in the old lines which, though
capable of improvement, seem not to be superceded. Of the entire make of
confectionery in Canada, at least two-thirds of it may be written down
under the name of boiled sugar. They are undoubtedly the chief features
with both manufacturers and retailers, embracing, as they do, endless
facilities for fertile brains and deft fingers for inventing novelties
in design, manipulation, combination, and finish. Notwithstanding the
already great variety, there is always daily something new in this
department brought into market. Many of the most successful houses owe
their popularity more to their heads than their hands, hence the
importance of studying this branch in all its ramifications. The endless
assortment requiring different
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Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by Google Books
Transcriber's Note:
1. Page scan source:
http://books.google.com/books?id=PWUTAAAAYAAJ&dq
Regina
or
The Sins of the Fathers
REGINA
OR THE SINS OF THE FATHERS
BY
HERMANN SUDERMANN
_TRANSLATED BY_
_BEATRICE MARSHALL_
LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD
NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY. MCMVII
COPYRIGHT, 1898, BY
John Lane.
* * *
COPYRIGHT, 1905, BY
John Lane Company.
REGINA
OR THE SINS OF THE FATHERS
CHAPTER I
Peace was signed, and the world, which for so long had been the great
Corsican's plaything, came to itself again. It came to itself, bruised
and mangled, bleeding from a thousand wounds, and studded with
battle-fields like a body with festering sores. Yet, in the rebound
from bondage to freedom, men did not realise that there was anything
very pitiable in their condition. The ground from which their wheat
sprang, they reflected, would bear all the richer fruit from being
soaked in blood, and if bullets and bayonets had thinned their ranks,
there was now more elbow-room for those who were left.
The yawning vacuums in the seething human caldron gave a man space to
breathe in. One great chorus of rejoicing from the Rock of Gibraltar to
the North Cape ascended heavenwards. Bells in every steeple were set in
motion, and from every altar and from every humble hearth arose prayers
of thanksgiving. Mourners hid their diminished heads, for the burst of
victorious song drowned their lamentations, and the earth absorbed
their tears as indifferently as it had sucked in the blood of their
fallen.
In glorious May weather the Peace of Paris was concluded. Lilies
bloomed once more out of lakes of blood, and from the obscurity of
lumber-rooms the blood-saturated banner of the _fleur de lys_ was
dragged forth into the light of day. The Bourbons crept from their
hiding-places, whither they had been driven by fear of Robespierre's
knife. They rubbed their eyes and forthwith began to reign. They had
forgotten nothing and learnt nothing, except a new catchword from
Talleyrand's _en tout cas_ vocabulary, _i.e_. Legitimacy. The rest of
the world was too busily engaged in wreathing laurels to crown the
conquerors, and filling up bumpers to drink their health in, to pay any
attention to this farce of Bourbon government. All eyes were turned in
a fever of expectancy towards the West, whence were to come the
conquering heroes, the laurel-crowned warriors who had been willing to
sacrifice their lives for the honour of wife and child, for justice,
and for the sacred soil of their fatherland. They had been under the
fire of the Corsican Demon, the oppressor whom they in their turn had
hunted and run to earth, till at last he lay in shackles at their feet.
When the victors began the homeward march, the German oaks were
bursting into leaf, soon to be laughingly plundered of their young
green foliage. On they came in swarms, first, joyous and lighthearted,
the pride and flower of the Fatherland, the sons of the wealthy, who,
as Volunteer Jaegers, with their own horses and their own arms, had gone
forth to the war of Liberation. Their progress through Germany was one
magnificent ovation. Wherever they came, their path was strewn with
roses, the most beautiful of maidens longed for the honour of winning
their love, and the most costly wines flowed like water. Behind them
followed a stream of Kossacks, riding over the German fields with a
loose rein. A year before, when they had galloped like a troop of
furies in the rear of the hunted remnant of the Grande Armee, the whole
country had greeted them as saviours of Germany. Public receptions had
been organised in their honour, hymns composed in their praise, and all
sorts of blue-eyed German sentiment was lavishly poured out on the
unwashed Tartar horde. To-day, too, they were conscientiously feted,
but the gaze of all true-hearted Germans was directed with intensest
longing beyond them, looking for those who were still to come, of whom
they seemed but the heralding shadows.
And at last these came, the men of the people, who had taken all their
capital, their bare lives, in their hand, and gone forth to offer it up
for the Fatherland. They advanced with a sound as of bursting trumpets,
half hidden by dense columns of dust. Not exalted and splendid
beings as they had often been painted in the imagination of the
"stay-at-homes," with a halo of diamonds flashing round their heads,
and a cloak flung proudly like a toga round their shoulders. No; they
were faded and haggard, tired as overdriven horses, covered with
vermin, filthy and in rags; their beards matted with sweat and dust.
This was the plight in which they came home. Some were so emaciated and
ghastly pale that they looked as if they could hardly drag one weary
foot after the other; others wore a greedy, brutalised expression, and
the reflection of the lurid glare of war seemed yet to linger in their
sunken, hollow eyes. They held their knotty fists still clenched in the
habitual cramp of murderous lust. Only here and there shone tears of
pure, inspired emotion; only here and there hands were folded on the
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JOAN OF ARC
The Warrior Maid
By Lucy Foster Madison
author of "The Peggy Owen Books"
With Illustrations & Decorations by
Frank E Schoonover
The Penn Publishing Company
Philadelphia
1919
COPYRIGHT 1918 BY
THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY
Joan of Arc
[Illustration: THE WARRIOR MAID]
INTRODUCTION
In presenting this story for the young the writer has endeavored to give
a vivid and accurate life of Jeanne D'Arc (Joan of Arc) as simply told as
possible. There has been no pretence toward keeping to the speech of the
Fifteenth Century, which is too archaic to be rendered literally for
young readers, although for the most part the words of the Maid have been
given verbatim.
The name of this wonderful girl has been variously written. In the
Fifteenth Century the name of the beloved disciple was preferred for
children above all others; so we find numerous Jeans and Jeannes. To
render these holy names more in keeping with the helplessness of little
ones the diminutive forms of Jeannot and Jeannette were given them. So
this girl was named Jeannette, or Jehannette in the old spelling, and so
she was called in her native village. By her own account this was changed
to Jeanne when she came into France. The English translation of Jeanne
D'Arc is Joan of Arc; more properly it should be Joanna. Because it seems
more beautiful to her than the others the writer has retained the name of
Jeanne in her narrative.
It is a mooted question which form of the name of Jeanne's father is
correct: D'Arc or Darc. It is the writer's belief that D'Arc was the
original writing, when it would follow that Jacques D'Arc would be James
of the Bow or James Bowman, as he would have been called had he been an
English peasant. For this reason the Maid's surname has been given as
D'Arc; though there are many who claim that Darc is the nearest the
truth.
Acknowledgments are due to the following authorities into the fruit of
whose labours the writer has entered: M. Jules Quicherat, "Condamnation
et Rehabilitation de Jeanne d'Arc"; H. A. Wallon, "Jeanne d'Arc"; M.
Simeon Luce, "Jeanne d'Arc a Domremy"; M. Anatole France, "Jeanne d'Arc";
Jules Michelet, "Jeanne d'Arc"; Monstrelet's "Chronicles"; Andrew Lang,
"The Maid of France"; Lord Ronald Gower, "Joan of Arc"; F. C. Lowell,
"Joan of Arc"; Mark Twain, "Joan of Arc"; Mrs. Oliphant, "Jeanne D'Arc";
Mrs. M. R. Bangs, "Jeanne D'Arc"; Janet Tuckey, "Joan of Arc, the Maid,"
and many others.
The thanks of the writer are also due to the librarians of New York City,
Albany and Glens Falls who kindly aided her in obtaining books and
information. Thanks are also due to the Rev. Matthew Fortier, S. J., Dean
of Fordham University, New York City, for information upon a point for
which search had been vainly made.
That this book may make a little niche for itself among other books upon
the most marvellous girl the world has ever known, is the wish of
THE WRITER.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I A CHILDREN'S FESTIVAL 11
II THE KNIGHT'S STORY 23
III THE WAVES OF WAR REACH DOMREMY 35
IV THE AFTERMATH 43
V JEANNE'S VISION 53
VI JEANNE'S HARSH WORDS 62
VII FURTHER VISIONS 71
VIII JEANNE RECEIVES A GIFT AND AN ANNOUNCEMENT 79
IX THE CHARGE IS ACCEPTED 90
X THE FIRST STEP 98
XI A TRYING TIME 108
XII A WORSTED SUITOR 119
XIII FAREWELL TO HOME 131
XIV VICTORY OVER DOUBTING HEARTS 140
XV STARTING THE GREAT ADVENTURE 155
XVI JEANNE COMES TO HER KING 166
XVII THE IMPOSSIBLE HAPPENS 181
XVIII THE WARRIOR MAID 196
XIX THE HOUR AND THE GIRL 214
XX JEANNE SHOWS HER SIGN 230
XXI A WEEK OF WONDERS 243
XXII THE CULMINATION 263
XXIII THE TURNING OF THE TIDE 285
XXIV JEANNE'S LAST FIELD 308
XXV IN PRISON CELLS 332
XXVI ON TRIAL 346
XXVII FOR HER COUNTRY 374
XXVIII AT DOMREMY 384
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
The Warrior Maid Frontispiece
The Gooseberry Spring 20
Often they appeared in the little garden 74
"The holy man has been to Rome" 80
There was no smile on his face 142
Far into the night they rode 156
"France and St. Denys!" 234
"Forward! They are ours!" 326
JOAN OF ARC
CHAPTER I
A CHILDREN'S FESTIVAL
"_There is a fountain in the forest called
The Fountain of the Fairies. An ancient oak,
The goodliest of the forest, grows
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THE FOOLISH VIRGIN
By Thomas Dixon
TO GERTRUDE ATHERTON WITH GRATITUDE AND ADMIRATION
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. A FRIENDLY WARNING
II. TEMPTATION
III. FATE
IV. DOUBTS AND FEARS
V. WINGS OF STEEL
VI. BESIDE THE SEA
VII. A VAIN APPEAL
VIII. JIM'S TRIAL
IX. ELLA'S SECRET
X. THE WEDDING
XI. "UNTIL DEATH"
XII. THE LOTOS-EATERS
XIII. THE REAL MAN
XIV. UNWELCOME GUESTS
XV. A LITTLE BLACK BAG
XVI. THE AWAKENING
XVII. THE SURRENDER
XVIII. TO THE NEW GOD
XIX. NANCE'S STOREHOUSE
XX. TRAPPED
XXI. THE DEVIL'S DISCIPLE
XXII. DELIVERANCE
XXIII. THE DOCTOR
XXIV. THE CALL DIVINE
XXV. THE MOTHER
XXVI. A SOUL IS BORN
XXVII. THE BABY
XXVIII. WHAT IS LOVE?
XXIX. THE NEW MAN
LEADING CHARACTERS OF THE STORY
MARY ADAMS, An Old-Fashioned Girl.
JIM ANTHONY, A Modern Youth.
JANE ANDERSON, An Artist.
ELLA, A Scrubwoman.
NANCE OWENS, Jim Anthony's Mother.
A DOCTOR, Whose Call was Divine.
THE BABY, A Mascot.
THE FOOLISH VIRGIN
CHAPTER I. A FRIENDLY WARNING
"Mary Adams, you're a fool!"
The single dimple in a smooth red cheek smiled in answer.
"You're repeating yourself, Jane----"
"You won't give him one hour's time for just three sittings?"
"Not a second for one sitting----"
"Hopeless!"
Mary smiled provokingly, her white teeth gleaming in obstinate good
humor.
"He's the most distinguished artist in America----"
"I've heard so."
"It would be a liberal education for a girl of your training to know
such a man----"
"I'll omit that course of instruction."
The younger woman was silent a moment, and a flush of anger slowly
mounted her temples. The blue eyes were fixed reproachfully on her
friend.
"You really thought that I would pose?"
"I hoped so."
"Alone with a man in his studio for hours?"
Jane Anderson lifted her dark brows.
"Why, no, I hardly expected that! I'm sure he would take his easel and
palette out into the square in front of the Plaza Hotel and let you sit
on the base of the Sherman monument. The crowds would cheer and inspire
him--bah! Can't you have a little common-sense? There are a few
brutes among artists, as there are in all professions--even among the
superintendents of your schools. Gordon's a great creative genius. If
you'd try to flirt with him, he'd stop his work and send you home. You'd
be as safe in his studio as in your mother's nursery. I've known him
for ten years. He's the gentlest, truest man I've ever met. He's doing a
canvas on which he has set his whole heart."
"He can get professional models."
"For his usual work, yes--but this is the head of the Madonna. He saw
you walking with me in the Park last week and has been to my studio a
half-dozen times begging me to take you to see him. Please, Mary dear,
do this for my sake. I owe Gordon a debt I can never pay. He gave me
the cue to the work that set me on my feet. He was big and generous
and helpful when I needed a friend. He asked nothing in return but the
privilege of helping me again if I ever needed it. You can do me an
enormous favor--please."
Mary Adams rose with a gesture of impatience, walked to her window and
gazed on the torrent of humanity pouring through Twenty-third Street
from the beehives of industry that have changed this quarter of New York
so rapidly in the last five years. She turned suddenly and confronted
her friend.
"How could you think that I would stoop to such a thing?"
"Stoop!"
"Yes," she snapped, "--pose for an artist! I'd as soon think of rushing
stark naked through Twenty-third Street at noon!"
The older woman looked at her flushed face, suppressed a sharp answer,
b
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OR THE EAST SUFFOLK, REGIMENT OF FOOT, CONTAINING AN ACCOUNT OF THE
FORMATION OF THE REGIMENT IN 1685, AND OF ITS SUBSEQUENT SERVICES TO
1847***
E-text prepared by Brian Coe, John Campbell, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made
available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 54054-h.htm or 54054-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/54054/54054-h/54054-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/54054/54054-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/recordoftwentyfi00canniala
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
A carat character is used to denote superscription. A
single character following the carat is superscripted
(example: SEPT^R). Multiple superscripted characters are
enclosed by curly brackets (example: 13^{TH}).
More detail can be found at the end of the book.
HISTORICAL RECORD
OF
THE TWELFTH, OR THE EAST SUFFOLK,
REGIMENT OF FOOT,
CONTAINING
AN ACCOUNT OF THE FORMATION OF THE
REGIMENT IN 1685,
AND OF ITS SUBSEQUENT SERVICES
TO 1847.
Compiled by
RICHARD CANNON, ESQ.
Adjutant-General's Office, Horse Guards.
Illustrated with Plates.
London:
Parker, Furnivall & Parker,
30 Charing Cross.
M DCCC XLVIII.
London: Printed by W. Clowes & 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 a 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 Honourable
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 honourable 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
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Produced by Judith Boss
THE EARLY SHORT FICTION OF EDITH WHARTON
By Edith Wharton
A Ten-Volume Collection
Volume One
Contents of Volume One
Stories
KERFOL.........................March 1916
MRS. MANSTEY'S VIEW............July 1891
THE BOLTED DOOR................March 1909
THE DILETTANTE.................December 1903
THE HOUSE OF THE DEAD HAND.....August 1904
The following works not included in the present eBook:
Verse
THE PARTING DAY................February 1880
AEROPAGUS......................March 1880
A FAILURE......................April 1880
PATIENCE.......................April 1880
WANTS..........................May 1880
THE LAST GIUSTIANINI...........October 1889
EURYALUS.......................December 1889
HAPPINESS......................December 1889
Bibliography
EDITH WHARTON BIBLIOGRAPHY:
SHORT STORIES AND POEMS........Judy Boss
KERFOL
As first published in Scribner's Magazine, March 1916
I
"You ought to buy it," said my host; "it's just the place for a
solitary-minded devil like you. And it would be rather worth while to
own the most romantic house in Brittany. The present people are dead
broke, and it's going for a song--you ought to buy it."
It was not with the least idea of living up to the character my friend
Lanrivain ascribed to me (as a matter of fact, under my unsociable
exterior I have always had secret yearnings for domesticity) that I took
his hint one autumn afternoon and went to Kerfol. My friend was motoring
over to Quimper on business: he dropped me on the way, at a cross-road
on a heath, and said: "First turn to the right and second to the left.
Then straight ahead till you see an avenue. If you meet any peasants,
don't ask your way. They don't understand French, and they would pretend
they did and mix you up. I'll be back for you here by sunset--and don't
forget the tombs in the chapel."
I followed Lanrivain's directions with the hesitation occasioned by the
usual difficulty of remembering whether he had said the first turn
to the right and second to the left, or the contrary. If I had met a
peasant I should certainly have asked, and probably been sent astray;
but I had the desert landscape to myself, and so stumbled on the right
turn and walked on across the heath till I came to an avenue. It was so
unlike any other avenue I have ever seen that I instantly knew it must
be THE avenue. The grey-trunked trees sprang up straight to a great
height and then interwove their pale-grey branches in a long tunnel
through which the autumn light fell faintly. I know most trees by name,
but I haven't to this day been able to decide what those trees were.
They had the tall curve of elms, the tenuity of poplars, the ashen
colour of olives under a rainy sky; and they stretched ahead of me for
half a mile or more without a break in their arch. If ever I saw an
avenue that unmistakably led to something, it was the avenue at Kerfol.
My heart beat a little as I began to walk down it.
Presently the trees ended and I came to a fortified gate in a long wall.
Between me and the wall was an open space of grass, with other grey
avenues radiating from it. Behind the wall were tall slate roofs mossed
with silver, a chapel belfry, the top of a keep. A moat filled with
wild shrubs and brambles surrounded the place; the drawbridge had been
replaced by a stone arch, and the portcullis by an iron gate. I stood
for a long time on the hither side of the moat, gazing about me, and
letting the influence of the place sink in. I said to myself: "If I wait
long enough, the guardian will turn up and show me the tombs--" and I
rather hoped he wouldn't turn up too soon.
I sat down on a stone and lit a cigarette. As soon as I had done it, it
struck me as a puerile and portentous thing to do, with that great blind
house looking down at me, and all the empty avenues converging on me. It
may have been the depth of the silence that made me so conscious of my
gesture. The squeak of my match sounded as loud as the scraping of a
brake, and I almost fancied I heard it fall when I tossed it onto
the grass. But there was more than that: a sense of irrelevance,
of littleness, of childish bravado, in sitting there puffing my
cigarette-smoke into the face of such a past.
I knew nothing of the history of Kerfol--I was new to Brittany, and
Lanrivain had never mentioned the name to me till the day before--but
one couldn't as much as glance at that pile without feeling in it a
long accumulation of history. What kind of history I was not prepared to
guess: perhaps only the sheer weight of many associated lives and deaths
which gives a kind of majesty to all old houses. But the aspect of
Kerfol suggested something more--a perspective of stern and cruel
memories
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Produced by WebRover, Lisa Anne Hatfield, Chris Curnow and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber’s Notes
Italic text enclosed with _underscores_.
Small-caps replaced by ALL CAPS.
More notes appear at the end of the file.
[Illustration:
Price, 20 Cents.
Grocers’ Goods: A Family Guide.
THE TRADESMAN’S PUBLISHING COMPANY,
Tribune Building,
NEW YORK CITY.
]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
GROCERS’ GOODS:
A FAMILY GUIDE
TO THE PURCHASE OF
FLOUR, SUGAR, TEA, COFFEE, SPICES,
CANNED GOODS, CIGARS, WINES,
AND ALL OTHER ARTICLES
Usually Found in American Grocery Stores.
BY F. B. GODDARD.
COPYRIGHTED 1888.
THE TRADESMEN’S PUBLISHING COMPANY,
TRIBUNE BUILDING,
NEW YORK CITY.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Index List of Grocers’ Goods.
Housekeepers will find this list suggestive and helpful in making up
orders for the Grocer, as well as useful for page reference.
PAGE.
Adulterations 6
Ale 62
Allspice 41
Almonds 50
Apples 44
Apples, Dried 48
Artificial Butter 30
Asparagus 47
Bacon 35
Baking Powders 16
Bananas 45
Barley 13
Bath Brick 58
Beans 47-48
Beef, Dried 35
Beef, Fresh 34
Beer 62
Berries 45-49
Beeswax 58
Bird Seed 57
Biscuit 16
Blacking 57
Blended Tea 24
Bluing 55
Brandies 63
Brazil Nuts 50
Bread 15
Brooms 56
Brushes 56
Buckwheat 14
Burgundy Wines 60-64
Butter 28
Butterine 30
Cabbage 46
California Wines 61-64
Candies 19
Candles 55
Canned Goods 36
“ Meats 37
“ Fish 37
“ Vegetables 38
“ Fruits 38
Cans, Tin 38
Capers 43
Carrots 47
Cassia and Buds 41
Catsups 44
Cauliflower 47
Celery 47
Celery Salt 42
Cereals 10
Champagne 61
Cheese 31
Cherries 44
Chicory 27
Chocolate 27
Cider 63
Cigars 51
Cigarettes 52
Cinnamon 41
Claret Wines 60-64
Clothes Pins 56
Cloves 41
Cocoa 27
Cocoanuts 45
Cod Fish 35
Coffee 24
Condensed Milk 28
Condiments 39
Cordials 64
Corn 12
Corn Starch 12
Crackers 16
Cranberries 45
Cream 28
Cream of Tartar 16
Cucumbers 47
Currants 45-49
Curry Powders 41
Dates 50
Disinfectants 58
Distilled Liquors 63
Dried Fruits 48
Eggs 33
Egg Plant 48
Essences 39
Extracts 39
Farinaceous Foods 14
Feed, for Stock 15
Figs 49
Filberts 50
Fish 35
Flavoring Extracts 32
Flour 11
Fruits 44
“ Domestic 44
“ Tropical 45
“
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MARK TWAIN A BIOGRAPHY
THE PERSONAL AND LITERARY LIFE OF SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS
BY ALBERT BIGELOW PAINE
VOLUME I, Part 1: 1835-1866
TO
CLARA CLEMENS GABRILOWITSCH WHO STEADILY UPHELD THE
AUTHOR'S PURPOSE TO WRITE HISTORY RATHER THAN EULOGY AS
THE STORY OF HER FATHER'S LIFE
AN ACKNOWLEDGMENT
Dear William Dean Howells, Joseph Hopkins Twichell, Joseph T. Goodman,
and other old friends of Mark Twain:
I cannot let these volumes go to press without some grateful word to you
who have helped me during the six years and more that have gone to their
making.
First, I want to confess how I have envied you your association with Mark
Twain in those days when you and he "went gipsying, a long time ago."
Next, I want to express my wonder at your willingness to give me so
unstintedly from your precious letters and memories, when it is in the
nature of man to hoard such treasures, for himself and for those who
follow him. And, lastly, I want to tell you that I do not envy you so
much, any more, for in these chapters, one after another, through your
grace, I have gone gipsying with you all. Neither do I wonder now, for I
have come to know that out of your love for him grew that greater
unselfishness (or divine selfishness, as he himself might have termed
it), and that nothing short of the fullest you could do for his memory
would have contented your hearts.
My gratitude is measureless; and it is world-wide, for there is no land
so distant that it does not contain some one who has eagerly contributed
to the story. Only, I seem so poorly able to put my thanks into words.
Albert Bigelow Paine.
PREFATORY NOTE
Certain happenings as recorded in this work will be found to differ
materially from the same incidents and episodes as set down in the
writings of Mr. Clemens himself. Mark Twain's spirit was built of the
very fabric of truth, so far as moral intent was concerned, but in his
earlier autobiographical writings--and most of his earlier writings were
autobiographical--he made no real pretense to accuracy of time, place, or
circumstance--seeking, as he said, "only to tell a good story"--while in
later years an ever-vivid imagination and a capricious memory made
history difficult, even when, as in his so-called "Autobiography," his
effort was in the direction of fact.
"When I was younger I could remember anything, whether it happened or
not," he once said, quaintly, "but I am getting old, and soon I shall
remember only the latter."
The reader may be assured, where discrepancies occur, that the writer of
this memoir has obtained his data from direct and positive sources:
letters, diaries, account-books, or other immediate memoranda; also from
the concurring testimony of eye-witnesses, supported by a unity of
circumstance and conditions, and not from hearsay or vagrant printed
items.
MARK TWAIN
A BIOGRAPHY
I
ANCESTORS
On page 492 of the old volume of Suetonius, which Mark Twain read until
his very last day, there is a reference to one Flavius Clemens, a man of
wide repute "for his want of energy," and in a marginal note he has
written:
"I guess this is where our line starts."
It was like him to write that. It spoke in his whimsical fashion the
attitude of humility, the ready acknowledgment of shortcoming, which was
his chief characteristic and made him lovable--in his personality and in
his work.
Historically, we need not accept this identity of the Clemens ancestry.
The name itself has a kindly meaning, and was not an uncommon one in
Rome. There was an early pope by that name, and it appears now and again
in the annals of the Middle Ages. More lately there was a Gregory
Clemens, an English landowner who became a member of Parliament under
C
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"THERE IS SORROW ON THE SEA"
By Gilbert Parker
I
"YORK FACTORY, HUDSON'S BAY,
"23rd September, 1747.
"MY DEAR COUSIN FANNY,--It was a year last April Fool's Day, I left you
on the sands there at Mablethorpe, no more than a stone's throw from the
Book-in-Hand Inn, swearing that you should never see me or hear from me
again. You remember how we saw the coast-guards flash their lights here
and there, as they searched the sands for me? how one came bundling down
the bank, calling, 'Who goes there?' You remember that when I said, 'A
friend,' he stumbled, and his light fell to the sands and went out,
and in the darkness you and I stole away: you to your home, with a
whispering, 'God-bless-you, Cousin Dick,' over your shoulder, and I with
a bit of a laugh that, maybe, cut to the heart, and that split in a sob
in my own throat--though you didn't hear that.
"'Twas a bad night's work that, Cousin Fanny, and maybe I wish it
undone, and maybe I don't; but a devil gets into the heart of a man when
he has to fly from the lass he loves, while the friends of his youth go
hunting him with muskets, and he has to steal out of the backdoor of his
own country and shelter himself, like a cold sparrow, up in the eaves of
the world.
"Ay, lass, that's how I left the fens of Lincolnshire a year last April
Fool's Day. There wasn't a <DW18> from, Lincoln town to Mablethorpe that
I hadn't crossed with a running jump; and there wasn't a break in the
shore, or a sink-hole in the sand, or a clump of rushes, or a samphire
bed, from Skegness to Theddlethorpe, that I didn't know like every line
of your face. And when I was a slip of a lad-ay, and later too--how you
and I used to snuggle into little nooks of the sand-hills, maybe
just beneath the coast-guard's hut, and watch the tide come swilling
in-water-daisies you used to call the breaking surf, Cousin Fanny. And
that was like you, always with a fancy about everything you saw.
And when the ships, the fishing-smacks with their red sails, and the
tall-masted brigs went by, taking the white foam on their canvas, you
used to wish that you might sail away to the lands you'd heard tell
of from old skippers that gathered round my uncle's fire in the
Book-in-Hand. Ay, a grand thing I thought it would be, too, to go riding
round the world on a well-washed deck, with plenty of food and grog, and
maybe, by-and-by, to be first mate, and lord it from fo'castle bunk to
stern-rail.
"You did not know, did you, who was the coast-guardsman that stumbled as
he came on us that night? It looked a stupid thing to do that, and let
the lantern fall. But, lass, 'twas done o' purpose. That was the one man
in all the parish that would ha' risked his neck to let me free. 'Twas
Lancy Doane, who's give me as many beatings in his time as I him. We
were always getting foul one o' t'other since I was big enough to shy a
bit of turf at him across a <DW18>, and there isn't a spot on's body that
I haven't hit, nor one on mine that he hasn't mauled. I've sat on his
head, and he's had his knee in my stomach till I squealed, and we never
could meet without back-talking and rasping 'gainst the grain. The night
before he joined the coast-guardsmen, he was down at the Book-in-Hand,
and 'twas little like that I'd let the good chance pass--I might never
have another; for Gover'ment folk will not easy work a quarrel on their
own account. I mind him sittin' there on the settle, his shins against
the fire, a long pipe going, and Casey of the Lazy Beetle, and Jobbin
the mate of the Dodger, and Little Faddo, who had the fat Dutch wife
down by the Ship Inn, and Whiggle the preaching blacksmith. And you were
standin' with your back to the shinin' pewters, and the great jug of ale
with the white napkin behind you; the light o' the fire wavin' on your
face, and your look lost in the deep hollow o' the chimney. I think of
you most as you were that minute, Cousin Fanny, when I come in. I tell
you straight and fair, that was the prettiest picture I ever saw; and
I've seen some rare fine things in my travels. 'Twas as if the thing had
been set by some one, just to show you off to your best. Here you were,
a slip of a lass, straight as a bulrush, and your head hangin' proud on
your shoulders; yet modest too, as you can see off here in the North the
top of the golden-rod flower swing on its stem. You were slim as slim,
and yet there wasn't a corner on you; so soft and full and firm you
were, like the breast of a quail; and I mind me how the shine of your
cheeks was like the glimmer of an apple after you've rubbed it with
a bit of cloth. Well, there you stood in some sort of smooth, plain,
clingin' gown, a little bit loose and tumblin' at the throat, and your
pretty foot with a brown slipper pushed out, just savin' you from bein'
prim. That's why the men liked you--you didn't carry a sermon in your
waist-ribbon, and the Lord's Day in the lift o' your chin; but you had
a smile to give when 'twas the right time for it, and men never said
things with you there that they'd have said before many another maid.
"'Twas a thing I've thought on off here, where I've little to do but
think, how a lass like you could put a finger on the lip of such rough
tykes as Faddo, Jobbin, and the rest, keepin' their rude words under
flap and button. Do you mind how, when I passed you comin' in, I laid my
hand on yours as it rested on the dresser? That hand of yours wasn't
a tiny bit of a thing, and the fingers weren't all taperin' like a
simperin' miss from town, worked down in the mill of quality and got
from graftin' and graftin', like one of them roses from the flower-house
at Mablethorpe Hall--not fit to stand by one o' them that grew strong
and sweet with no fancy colour, in the garden o' the Book-in-Hand.
Yours was a hand that talked as much as your lips or face, as honest and
white; and the palm all pink, and strong as strong could be, and warmin'
every thread in a man's body when he touched it. Well, I touched your
hand then, and you looked at me and nodded, and went musin' into the
fire again, not seemin' to hear our gabble.
"But, you remember--don't you?--how Jobbin took to chaffin' of Lancy
Doane, and how Faddo's tongue got sharper as the time got on, and many
a nasty word was said of coast-guards and excisemen, and all that had
to do with law and gover'ment. Cuts there were at some of Lancy's wild
doings in the past, and now and then they'd turn to me, saying what they
thought would set me girdin' Lancy too. But I had my own quarrel, and
I wasn't to be baited by such numskulls. And Lancy--that was a thing I
couldn't understand--he did no more than shrug his shoulder and call for
more ale, and wish them all good health and a hundred a year. I never
thought he could ha' been so patient-like. But there was a kind of
little smile, too, on his face, showin' he did some thinkin'; and I
guessed he was bidin' his time.
"I wasn't as sharp as I might ha' been, or I'd ha' seen what he was
waitin' for, with that quiet provokin' smile on his face, and his eyes
smoulderin' like. I don't know to this day whether you wanted to leave
the room when you did, though 'twas about half after ten o'clock, later
than I ever saw you there before. But when my uncle come in from Louth,
and give you a touch on the shoulder, and said: 'To bed wi' you, my
lass,' you waited for a minute longer, glancin' round on all of us, at
last lookin' steady at Lancy; and he got up from his chair, and took off
his hat to you with a way he had. You didn't stay a second after that,
but went away straight, sayin' good-night to all of us, but Lancy was
the only one on his feet.
"Just as soon as the door was shut behind you, Lancy turned round to
the fire, and pushed the log with his feet in a way a man does when he's
think-in' a bit. And Faddo give a nasty laugh, and said:
"' Theer's a dainty sitovation. Theer's Mr. Thomas Doane, outlaw and
smuggler, and theer's Mr. Lancy Doane his brother, coast-guardsman. Now,
if them two should 'appen to meet on Lincolnshire coast, Lord, theer's
a sitovation for ye--Lord, theer's a cud to chew! 'Ere's one gentleman
wants to try 'is 'and at 'elpin' Prince Charlie, and when 'is Up doesn't
amount to anythink, what does the King on 'is throne say? He says, "As
for Thomas Doane, Esquire, aw've doone wi' 'im." And theer's another
gentleman, Mr. Lancy Doane, Esquire. He turns pious, and says, "Aw'm
goin' for a coast-guardsman." What does the King on his throne say? 'E
says, "Theer's the man for me."'"
But aw says, "Aw've doone, aw've doone wi' Mr. Lancy Doane, Esquire, and
be damned to 'im!" He! he! Theer's a fancy sitovation for ye. Mr. Thomas
Doane, Esquire, smuggler and outlaw, an' Mr. Lancy Doane, Esquire,
coast-guardsman. Aw've doone. Ho! ho! That gits into my crop.'
"I tell you these things, Cousin Fanny, because I'm doubtin' if you ever
heard them, or knew exactly how things stood that night. I never was a
friend of Lancy Doane, you understand, but it's only fair that the truth
be told about that quarrel, for like as not he wouldn't speak himself,
and your father was moving in and out; and, I take my oath, I wouldn't
believe Faddo and the others if they was to swear on the Bible. Not that
they didn't know the truth when they saw it, but they did love just to
let their fancy run. I'm livin' over all the things that happened that
night--livin' them over to-day, when everything's so quiet about me
here, so lonesome. I wanted to go over it all, bit by bit, and work it
out in my head, just as you and I used to do the puzzle games we played
in the sands. And maybe, when you're a long way off from things you once
lived, you can see them and understand them better. Out here, where it's
so lonely, and yet so good a place to live in, I seem to get the hang o'
the world better, and why some things are, and other things aren't; and
I thought it would pull at my heart to sit down and write you a long
letter, goin' over the whole business again; but it doesn't. I suppose
I feel as a judge does when he goes over a lot of evidence, and sums it
all up for the jury. I don't seem prejudiced one way or another. But I'm
not sure that I've got all the evidence to make me ken everything; and
that's what made me bitter wild the last time that I saw you. Maybe you
hadn't anything to tell me, and maybe you had, and maybe, if you ever
write to me out here, you'll tell me if there's anything I don't know
about them days.
"Well, I'll go back now to what happened when Faddo was speakin' at my
uncle's bar. Lancy Doane was standin' behind the settle, leanin' his
arms on it, and smokin' his pipe quiet. He waited patient till Faddo
had done, then he comes round the settle, puts his pipe up in the rack
between the rafters, and steps in front of Faddo. If ever the devil was
in a man's face, it looked out of Lancy Doane's that minute. Faddo had
touched him on the raw when he fetched out that about Tom Doane. All of
a sudden Lancy swings, and looks at the clock.
"'It's half-past ten, Jim Faddo,' said he, 'and aw've got an hour an' a
half to deal wi' you as a Lincolnshire lad. At twelve o'clock aw'm the
Gover'ment's, but till then aw'm Lancy Doane, free to strike or free to
let alone; to swallow dirt or throw it; to take a lie or give it. And
now list to me; aw'm not goin' to eat dirt, and aw'm goin' to give you
the lie, and aw'm goin' to break your neck, if I swing for it to-morrow,
Jim Faddo. And here's another thing aw'll tell you. When the clock
strikes twelve, on the best horse in the country aw'll ride to
Theddlethorpe, straight for the well that's dug you know where, to
find your smuggled stuff, and to run the irons round your wrists. Aw'm
dealin' fair wi' you that never dealt fair by no man. You never had
an open hand nor soft heart; and because you've made money, not out o'
smugglin' alone, but out o' poor devils of smugglers that didn't know
rightly to be rogues, you think to fling your dirt where you choose. But
aw'll have ye to-night as a man, and aw'll have ye to-night as a King's
officer, or aw'll go damned to hell.'
"Then he steps back a bit very shiny in the face, and his eyes like
torchlights, but cool and steady. 'Come on now,' he says, 'Jim Faddo,
away from the Book-in-Hand, and down to the beach under the sand-hills,
and we'll see man for man--though, come to think of it, y 'are no man,'
he said--'if ye'll have the right to say when aw'm a King's officer that
you could fling foul words in the face of Lancy Doane. And a word more,'
he says; 'aw wouldn't trust ye if an Angel o' Heaven swore for ye. Take
the knife from the belt behind your back there, and throw it on the
table, for you wouldn't bide by no fair rules o' fightin'. Throw the
knife on the table,' he says, comin' a step forward.
"Faddo got on to his feet. He was bigger built than Lancy, and a bit
taller, and we all knew he was devilish strong in his arms. There was
a look in his face I couldn't understand. One minute I thought it was
fear, and another I thought it was daze; and maybe it was both. But all
on a sudden something horrible cunnin' come into it, and ugly too.
"'Go to the well, then, since ye've found out all about it,' he says,
'but aw've an hour and a half start o' ye, Lancy Doane.'
"'Ye've less than that,' says Lancy back to him, 'if ye go with me to
the sands first.'
"At that my uncle stepped in to say a word for peacemakin', but Lancy
would have none of it. 'Take the knife and throw it on the table,' he
said to Faddo once more, and Faddo took it out and threw it down.
"'Come on, then,' Faddo says, with a sneerin' laugh; 'we'll see by
daybreak who has the best o' this night's work,' and he steps towards
the door.
"'Wait a minute,' says Lancy, gettin' in front of him. 'Now take the
knife from your boot. Take it,' he says again, 'or aw will. That's like
a man, to go to a fist fight wi' knives. Take it,' he said. 'Aw'll gi'
ye till aw count four, and if ye doan't take it, aw'll take it meself.
One!' he says steady and soft. 'Two!' Faddo never moved. 'Three!' The
silence made me sick, and the clock ticked like hammers. 'Four!' he
said, and then he sprang for the boot, but Faddo's hand went down like
lightnin' too. I couldn't tell exactly how they clinched but once or
twice I saw the light flash on the steel. Then they came down together,
Faddo under, and when I looked again Faddo was lying eyes starin' wide,
and
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The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Celt and Saxon, v1
by George Meredith
#95 in our series by George Meredith
Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the
copyright laws
| 345.739693 | 1,655 |
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E-text prepared by Ruth Hart [email protected]
Transcriber's note:
In the original book, the Table of Contents was located after
the Preface, but I have placed it at the beginning of the text
for this online version.
PRACTICAL MYSTICISM
by
EVELYN UNDERHILL
Author of "Mysticism," "The Mystic Way," "Immanence: A Book of Verses."
"If the doors of perception were cleansed,
everything would appear to man as it is, infinite.
For man has closed himself up,
till he sees all things through the narrow chinks of his cavern."
WILLIAM BLAKE
New York
E.P. Dutton & Company
681 Fifth Avenue
Copyright 1915 by
E.P. Dutton & Company
TO THE UNSEEN FUTURE
CONTENTS
Preface vii
I. What is Mysticism 1
II. The World of Reality 13
III. The Preparation of the Mystic 21
IV. Meditation and Recollection 56
V. Self-Adjustment 29
VI. Love and Will 74
VII. The First Form of Contemplation 87
VIII. The Second Form of Contemplation 105
XI. The Third Form of Contemplation 126
X. The Mystical Life 148
PREFACE
This little book, written during the last months of peace, goes to
press in the first weeks of the great war. Many will feel that in
such a time of conflict and horror, when only the most ignorant,
disloyal, or apathetic can hope for quietness of mind, a book
which deals with that which is called the "contemplative
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Produced by Suzanne Shell, Mary Akers and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
Transcriber's note:
Minor spelling and punctuation inconsistencies been harmonized.
Italic text has been marked with _underscores_.
THE
IMPORTED BRIDEGROOM
AND OTHER STORIES OF
THE NEW YORK
GHETTO
BY
ABRAHAM CAHAN
[Illustration]
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
The Riverside Press, Cambridge
1898
THE IMPORTED BRIDEGROOM
I
Flora was alone in the back parlor, which she had appropriated for a
sort of boudoir. She sat in her rocker, in front of the parlor stove,
absorbed in "Little Dorrit." Her well-groomed girlish form was
enveloped in a kindly warmth whose tender embrace tinged her interest
in the narrative with a triumphant consciousness of the snowstorm
outside.
Little by little the rigid afternoon light began to fade into a
melancholy gray. Dusk was creeping into the room in almost visible
waves. Flora let the book rest on her lap and fixed her gaze on the
twinkling scarlet of the stove-glass. The thickening twilight, the
warmth of the apartment, and the atmosphere of the novel blended
together, and for some moments Flora felt far away from herself.
She was the only girl of her circle who would read Dickens, Scott, or
Thackeray in addition to the "Family Story Paper" and the "Fireside
Companion," which were the exclusive literary purveyors to her former
classmates at the Chrystie Street Grammar School. There were a piano
and a neat little library in her room.
She was rather tall and well formed. Her oblong ivory face,
accentuated by a mass of unruly hair of a lustreless black, was never
deserted by a faint glimmer of a smile, at once pensive and arch. When
she broke into one of her hearty, good-natured laughs, her deep, dark,
appealing eyes would seem filled with grief. Her nose, a trifle too
precipitous, gave an unexpected tone to the extreme picturesqueness of
the whole effect, and, when she walked, partook of the dignity of her
gait.
A month or two before we make Flora's acquaintance she had celebrated
her twentieth birthday, having been born in this little private house
on Mott Street, which was her father's property.
A matchmaker had recently called, and he had launched into a eulogy of
a young Jewish physician; but old Stroon had cut him short, in his
blunt way: his only child was to marry a God-fearing business man, and
no fellow deep in Gentile lore and shaving his beard need apply. As
to Flora, she was burning to be a doctor's wife. A rising young
merchant, a few years in the country, was the staple matrimonial
commodity in her set. Most of her married girl friends, American-born
themselves, like Flora, had husbands of this class--queer fellows,
whose broken English had kept their own sweethearts chuckling. Flora
hated the notion of marrying as the other Mott or Bayard Street girls
did. She was accustomed to use her surroundings for a background,
throwing her own personality into high relief. But apart from this,
she craved a more refined atmosphere than her own, and the vague ideal
she had was an educated American gentleman, like those who lived
up-town.
Accordingly, when the word "doctor" had left the matchmaker's lips,
she seized upon it as a great discovery. In those days--the early
eighties--a match of this kind was an uncommon occurrence in the New
York Ghetto.
Flora pictured a clean-shaven, high-hatted, spectacled gentleman
jumping out of a buggy, and the image became a fixture in her mind. "I
won't marry anybody except a doctor," she would declare, with
conscious avoidance of bad grammar, as it behooved a doctor's wife.
But what was to be done with father's opposition? Asriel Stroon had
never been the man to yield, and now that he grew more devout every
day, her case seemed hopeless. But then Flora was her father's
daughter, and when she took a resolve she could not imagine herself
otherwise than carrying it out, sooner or later.
Flora's thoughts were flowing in this direction when her father's
gruff voice made itself heard from the dining-room below. It was the
anniversary of his father's death. In former years he would have
contented himself with
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FERNLEY HOUSE
BOOKS FOR GIRLS
By Laura E. Richards
_The_ MARGARET SERIES
Three Margarets
Margaret Montfort
Peggy
Rita
Fernley House
_The_ HILDEGARDE SERIES
Queen Hildegarde
Hildegarde's Holiday
Hildegarde's Home
Hildegarde's Neighbors
Hildegarde's Harvest
DANA ESTES & COMPANY
Publishers
Estes Press, Summer St., Boston
[Illustration: "HUGH AND MARGARET, ALL UNCONSCIOUS OF HER SCRUTINY, WERE
ENJOYING THEMSELVES EXTREMELY."]
FERNLEY HOUSE
BY
LAURA E. RICHARDS
AUTHOR OF "CAPTAIN JANUARY," "MELODY," "QUEEN HILDEGARDE," "GEOFFREY
STRONG," ETC.
Illustrated by
ETHELDRED B. BARRY
[Illustration]
BOSTON
DANA ESTES & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
_Copyright, 1901_
BY DANA ESTES & COMPANY
_All rights reserved_
FERNLEY HOUSE
Colonial Press
Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co.
Boston, Mass., U.S.A.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A DUET 11
II. MRS. PEYTON'S COMPANION 23
III. AN ARRIVAL 33
IV. UNCLE JOHN'S IDEA 46
V. A VISION 58
VI. ALI BABA 70
VII. MORE ARRIVALS 86
VIII. HISTORY REPEATS ITSELF 100
IX. ABOUT NOTHING IN PARTICULAR 114
X. GRACE'S SYSTEM 128
XI. THE MYSTERIES OF FERNLEY 143
XII. THE EGG OF COLUMBUS 161
XIII. IN THE TWILIGHT 168
XIV. THE FIRE 183
XV. JEWELS: AND AN AWAKENING 195
XVI. FOR AULD LANG SYNE 205
XVII. IN THE GARDEN 217
XVIII. UNCLE JOHN'S BIRTHDAY 225
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
"HUGH AND MARGARET, ALL UNCONSCIOUS OF HER SCRUTINY,
WERE ENJOYING THEMSELVES EXTREMELY" _Frontispiece_
"MARGARET DID THE HONORS, STILL FEELING VERY SHY" 29
"AT THIS MOMENT POLLY APPEARED, RED-CHEEKED AND BREATHLESS" 33
"SHE WAS A SLENDERER PEGGY, WITH THE SAME BLUE, HONEST EYES" 86
"SHE LOOKED UP, AND SAW GRACE SITTING ON A BROAD, LOW BRANCH" 137
"ON THE SECOND LANDING THEY PAUSED TO SALUTE THE OLD PORTRAITS" 148
"A TALL, SLENDER FIGURE HALF RAN, HALF TOTTERED INTO THE ROOM" 181
"'I PROPOSE... THE HEALTH OF THE BEST MAN... THAT LIVES
UPON THIS EARTH TO-DAY;... THE HEALTH OF MY UNCLE JOHN!'" 238
FERNLEY HOUSE
CHAPTER I.
A DUET
"Well, Margaret!"
"Well, Uncle John!"
"Not a word to throw at a dog, as Rosalind says?"
"You are not a dog, Uncle John. Besides, you know all about it without
my saying a word, so why should I be silly, and spoil your comfortable
cigar? Dear children! They will have a delightful time, I hope; and of
course it is perfectly right that they should go to their father when he
wants them; and--the summer will pass quickly."
"Very quickly!" Mr. Montfort assented, watching his smoke rings float
upward.
"And Peggy is coming; and--oh, we shall be all right, of course we
shall; only--we do miss them, don't we, Uncle?"
"I should think we did! A house is a poor place without children; and we
flatter ourselves that our two--eh, Margaret?"
"Oh, they are the dearest children in the world," said Margaret with
conviction. "There
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FOOTFALLS
In the cell over mine at night
A step goes to and fro
From barred door to iron wall--
From wall to door I hear it go,
Four paces, heavy and slow,
In the heart of the sleeping jail:
And the goad that drives, I know!
I never saw his face or heard him speak;
He may be Dutchman, <DW55>, Yankee, Greek;
But the language of that prisoned step
Too well I know!
Unknown brother of the remorseless bars,
Pent in your cage from earth and sky and stars,
The hunger for lost life that goads you so,
I also know!
Hour by hour, in the cell overhead,
Four footfalls, to and fro
'Twixt iron wall and barred door--
Back and forth I hear them go--
Four footfalls come and go!
I wake and listen in the night:
Brother, I know!
_(Written in Atlanta Penitentiary,
May, 1913.)_
THE SUBTERRANEAN BROTHERHOOD
By JULIAN HAWTHORNE
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I INTRODUCTORY
II THE DEVIL'S ANTECHAMBER
III THE ROAD TO OBLIVION
IV INITIATION
V ROUTINE
VI SOME PRISON FRIENDS OF MINE
VII THE MEN ABOVE
VIII FOR LIFE
IX THE TOIL OF SLAVERY
X OUR BROTHER'S KEEPER
XI THE GRASP OF THE TENTACLES
XII THE PRISON SILENCE
XIII THE BANQUETS OF THE DAMNED
XIV THE POLICY OF FALSEHOOD
XV THE FRUIT OF PRISONS
XVI IF NOT PRISONS--WHAT?
APPENDIX
PREFACE
These chapters were begun the day after I got back to New York from the
Atlanta penitentiary, and went on from day to day to the end. I did not
know, at the start, what the thing would be like at the finish, and I made
small effort to make it look shapely and smooth; but the inward impulse in
me to write it, somehow, was irresistible, in spite of the other impulse
to go off somewhere and rest and forget it all. But I felt that if it were
not done then it might never be done at all; and done it must be at any
cost. I had promised my mates in prison that I would do it, and I was
under no less an obligation, though an unspoken one, to give the public an
opportunity to learn at first hand what prison life is, and means. I had
myself had no conception of the facts and their significance until I
became myself a prisoner, though I had read as much in "prison literature"
as most people, perhaps, and had for many years thought on the subject of
penal imprisonment. Twenty odd years before, too, I had been struck by
William Stead's saying, "Until a man has been in jail, he doesn't know
what human life means." But one does not pay that price for knowledge
voluntarily, and I had not expected to have the payment forced upon me. I
imagined I could understand the feelings of a prisoner without being one.
I was to live to acknowledge myself mistaken. And I conceive that other
people are in the same deceived condition. So, with all the energy and
goodwill of which I am capable, I set myself to do what I could to make
them know the truth, and to ask themselves what should or could be done to
end a situation so degrading to every one concerned in it, from one end of
the line to the other. The situation, indeed, seems all but incredible.
Your first thought on being told of it is, It must be an exaggeration or a
fabrication. On the contrary, words cannot convey the whole horror and
shamefulness of it.
I am conscious of having left out a great deal of it. I found as I went on
with this writing that the things to be said were restricted to a few
categories. First, the physical prison itself and the routine of life in
it must be stated. That is the objective part. Then must be indicated the
subjective conditions, those of the prisoner, and of his keepers--what the
effect of prison was upon them. Next was to come a presentation of the
consequences, deductions and inferences suggested by these conditions.
Finally, we would be confronted with the question, What is to be done
about it? Such are the main heads of the theme.
But I was tempted to run into detail. Here I will make a pertinent
disclosure. During my imprisonment I was made the confidant of the life
stories of many of my brethren in the cells. I am receiving through the
mails, from day to day, up to the present time, other such tales from
released convicts. The aim of them is not to get their tellers before the
public and win personal sympathy, but to hold up
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BIRDS and NATURE
IN NATURAL COLORS
A MONTHLY SERIAL
FORTY ILLUSTRATIONS BY COLOR PHOTOGRAPHY
A GUIDE IN THE STUDY OF NATURE
Two Volumes Each Year
VOLUME XII
June, 1902, to December, 1902
EDITED BY WILLIAM KERR HIGLEY
CHICAGO
A. W. MUMFORD, Publisher
203 Michigan Ave.
1902
Copyright, 1902, by
A. W. MUMFORD
BIRDS AND NATURE.
ILLUSTRATED BY COLOR PHOTOGRAPHY.
Vol. XII. JUNE, 1902. No. 1.
CONTENTS.
JUNE. 1
WAY OF JUNE. 1
THE SWALLOW-TAILED KITE. (_Elanoides forficatus_.) 2
TO THE BIRDS. 5
OLD-FASHIONED OUTINGS. PART I. 6
THE ALICE’S THRUSH. (_Turdus aliciae_.) 11
A BIT OF FICTION FROM BIRDLAND. 12
THE CAROLINA CHICKADEE. (_Parus carolinensis_.) 14
DICK. (THE STORY OF A DOG.) 17
THE VIOLET-GREEN SWALLOW. (_Tachycineta thalassina_.) 23
Isn’t it
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Transcriber's Note:
Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have
been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
MARY OF PLYMOUTH
A STORY OF THE PILGRIM SETTLEMENT
BY
JAMES OTIS
NEW YORK -:- CINCINNATI -:- CHICAGO
AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY
JAMES OTIS KALER
ENTERED AT STATIONERS' HALL, LONDON
FOREWORD
The purpose of this series of stories is to show the children, and
even those who have already taken up the study of history, the _home
life_ of the colonists with whom they meet in their books. To this end
every effort has been made to avoid anything savoring of romance, and
to deal only with facts, so far as that is possible, while describing
the daily life of those people who conquered the wilderness whether for
conscience sake or for gain.
That the stories may appeal more directly to the children, they are
told from the viewpoint of a child, and purport to have been related
by a child. Should any criticism be made regarding the seeming neglect
to mention important historical facts, the answer would be that these
books are not sent out as histories,--although it is believed that they
will awaken a desire to learn more of the building of the nation,--and
only such incidents as would be particularly noted by a child are used.
Surely it is entertaining as well as instructive for young people to
read of the toil and privations in the homes of those who came into a
new world to build up a country for themselves, and such homely facts
are not
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[Illustration: A test with books open. (Fairhope, Alabama.)
_Frontispiece_.]
SCHOOLS OF
TO-MORROW
BY
JOHN DEWEY
AND
EVELYN DEWEY
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY
681 FIFTH AVENUE
COPYRIGHT, 1915
BY
E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY
_First Printing, May, 1915._
_Second Printing, August, 1915._
_Third Printing, March, 1916._
_Fourth Printing, March, 1916._
_Fifth Printing, July, 1916._
_Sixth Printing, July, 1916._
_Seventh Printing, Jan’y, 1917._
_Eighth Printing, Jan’y, 1917._
_Ninth Printing, April, 1919._
The Knickerbocker Press, New York
PREFACE
There has been no attempt in this book to develop a complete theory
of education nor yet review any “systems” or discuss the views of
prominent educators. This is not a text book of education, nor yet an
exposition of a new method of school teaching, aimed to show the weary
teacher or the discontented parent how education should be carried on.
We have tried to show what actually happens when schools start out to
put into practice, each in its own way, some of the theories that have
been pointed to as the soundest and best ever since Plato, to be then
laid politely away as precious portions of our “intellectual heritage.”
Certain views are well known to every teacher who has studied
pedagogy, and portions of them form an accepted part of every theory
of education. Yet when they are applied in a classroom the public in
general and other teachers in particular cry out against that classroom
as a place of fads and caprices; a place lacking in any far reaching
aim or guiding principle. We have hoped to suggest to the reader the
practical meaning of some of the more widely recognized and accepted
views of educational reformers by showing what happens when a teacher
applies these views.
The schools we have used for purposes of illustration are all of them
directed by sincere teachers trying earnestly to give their children
the best they have by working out concretely what they consider
the fundamental principles of education. More and more schools are
growing up all over the country that are trying to work out definite
educational ideas. It is the function of this book to point out how the
applications arise from their theories and the direction that education
in this country seems to be taking at the present time. We hope that
through the description of classroom work we may help to make some
theories living realities to the reader. On the other hand, we have
dwelt on theoretical aspects in order to point out some of the needs of
modern education and the way in which they are being met.
The schools that are used for illustration were chosen more or less
at random; because we already knew of them or because they were
conveniently located. They do not begin to represent all that is
being done to-day to vitalize the school life of children. Schools
with like traits may be found in every part of the country. Space
has forced us to omit a very important movement--the reorganization
of the rural school and the utilization of agriculture in education.
But this movement shows the tendencies that mark the schools we have
described; tendencies towards greater freedom and an identification of
the child’s school life with his environment and outlook; and, even
more important, the recognition of the rôle education must play in a
democracy. These tendencies seem truly symptoms of the times, and with
a single exception proved to be the most marked characteristics of all
the schools visited.
Without the very material help and interest of the teachers and
principals of the schools visited this book would not have been
possible. We thank them most sincerely for the unfailing courtesy they
have shown in placing their time and the material of their classrooms
at our disposal. Our thanks are especially due to Mrs. Johnson of
Fairhope and to Miss Georgia Alexander of Indianapolis for information
and suggestions. The visiting of the schools with one exception was
done by Miss Dewey, who is also responsible for the descriptive
chapters of the book.
J.D.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I EDUCATION AS NATURAL DEVELOPMENT 1
II AN EXPERIMENT IN EDUCATION AS NATURAL DEVELOPMENT 17
III FOUR FACTORS IN NATURAL GROWTH 41
IV THE REORGANIZATION OF THE CURRICULUM 60
V PLAY 103
VI FREEDOM AND INDIVIDUALITY 132
VII THE RELATION OF THE SCHOOL TO THE COMMUNITY 164
VIII THE SCHOOL AS A SOCIAL SETTLEMENT 205
IX INDUSTRY AND EDUCATIONAL READJUSTMENT 229
X EDUCATION THROUGH INDUSTRY 251
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SERAPHITA
By Honore De Balzac
Translated by Katharine Prescott Wormeley
DEDICATION
To Madame Eveline de Hanska, nee Comtesse Rzewuska.
Madame,--Here is the work which you asked of me. I am happy, in
thus dedicating it, to offer you a proof of the respectful
affection you allow me to bear you. If I am reproached for
impotence in this attempt to draw from the depths of mysticism a
book which seeks to give, in the lucid transparency of our
beautiful language, the luminous poesy of the Orient, to you the
blame! Did you not command this struggle (resembling that of
Jacob) by telling me that the most imperfect sketch of this
Figure, dreamed of by you, as it has been by me since childhood,
would still be something to you?
Here, then, it is,--that something. Would that this book could
belong exclusively to noble spirits, preserved like yours from
worldly pettiness by solitude! THEY would know how to give to it
the melodious rhythm that it lacks, which might have made it, in
the hands of a poet, the glorious epic that France still awaits.
But from me they must accept it as one of those sculptured
balustrades, carved by a hand of faith, on which the pilgrims
lean, in the choir of some glorious church, to think upon the end
of man.
I am, madame, with respect,
Your devoted servant,
De Balzac.
SERAPHITA
CHAPTER I. SERAPHITUS
As the eye glances over a map of the coasts of Norway, can the
imagination fail to marvel at their fantastic indentations and serrated
edges, like a granite lace, against which the surges of the North Sea
roar incessantly? Who has not dreamed of the majestic sights to be seen
on those beachless shores, of that multitude of creeks and inlets and
little bays, no two of them alike, yet all trackless abysses? We may
almost fancy that Nature took pleasure in recording by ineffaceable
hieroglyphics the symbol of Norwegian life, bestowing on these coasts
the conformation of a fish's spine, fishery being the staple commerce of
the country, and well-nigh the only means of living of the hardy men who
cling like tufts of lichen to the arid cliffs. Here, through fourteen
degrees of longitude, barely seven hundred thousand souls maintain
existence. Thanks to perils devoid of glory, to year-long snows which
clothe the Norway peaks and guard them from profaning foot of traveller,
these sublime beauties are virgin still; they will be seen to harmonize
with human phenomena, also virgin--at least to poetry--which here took
place, the history of which it is our purpose to relate.
If one of these inlets, mere fissures to the eyes of the eider-ducks, is
wide enough for the sea not to freeze between the prison-walls of
rock against which it surges, the country-people call the little bay
a "fiord,"--a word which geographers of every nation have adopted into
their respective languages. Though a certain resemblance exists
among all these fiords, each has its own characteristics. The sea has
everywhere forced its way as through a breach, yet the rocks about each
fissure are diversely rent, and their tumultuous precipices defy the
rules of geometric law. Here the scarp is dentelled like a saw; there
the narrow ledges barely allow the snow to lodge or the noble crests of
the Northern pines to spread themselves; farther on, some convulsion of
Nature may have rounded a coquettish curve into a lovely valley flanked
in rising terraces with black-plumed pines. Truly we are tempted to call
this land the Switzerland of Ocean.
Midway between Trondhjem and Christiansand lies an inlet called the
Strom-fiord. If the Strom-fiord is not the loveliest of these rocky
landscapes, it has the merit of displaying the terrestrial grandeurs
of Norway, and of enshrining the scenes of a history that is indeed
celestial.
The general outline of the Strom-fiord seems at first sight to be that
of a funnel washed out by the sea. The passage which the waves have
forced present to the eye an image of the eternal struggle between old
Ocean and the granite rock,--two creations of equal power, one through
inertia, the other by ceaseless motion. Reefs of fantastic shape run out
on either side, and bar the way of ships and forbid their entrance. The
intrepid sons of Norway cross these reefs on foot, springing from rock
to rock, undismayed at the abyss--a hundred fathoms deep and only six
feet wide--which yawns beneath them. Here a tottering block of gneiss
falling athwart two rocks gives an uncertain footway; there the
hunters or the fishermen, carrying their loads, have flung the stems of
fir-trees in guise of bridges, to join the projecting reefs, around and
beneath which the surges roar incessantly. This dangerous entrance to
the little bay bears obliquely to the right with a serpentine movement,
and there encounters a mountain rising some twenty-five hundred feet
above sea-level, the base of which is a vertical palisade of solid
rock more than a mile and a half long, the inflexible
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THE PAN-ANGLES
{ii}
{iii}
THE PAN-ANGLES
A CONSIDERATION OF THE FEDERATION OF THE SEVEN ENGLISH-SPEAKING
NATIONS
BY
SINCLAIR KENNEDY
_WITH A MAP_
SECOND IMPRESSION
LONGMANS, GREEN AND CO.
FOURTH AVENUE & 30TH STREET, NEW YORK
LONDON, BOMBAY. CALCUTTA AND MADRAS
1915
_All Rights Reserved_
{iv}
{v}
TO
THE PAN-ANGLES
{vi}
PREFATORY NOTE
THE Author is indebted to the following publishers and authors
for kind permission to make quotations from copyright matter: to
Mr. Edward Arnold for _Colonial Nationalism_, by Richard Jebb;
to Mr. B. H. Blackwell for _Imperial Architects_, by A. L. Burt;
to the Delegates of the Clarendon Press for _Federations and
Unions_, by H. E. Egerton; to Messrs. Constable & Co. for
_Alexander Hamilton_, by F. S. Oliver, and _The Nation and the
Empire_, edited by Lord Milner; to the publishers of the
_Encyclopedia Britannica_; to Messrs. Macmillan & Co. for
Seeley's _Expansion of England_, and G. L. Parkin's _Imperial
Federation_; to Admiral Mahan; to Mr. John Murray for _English
Colonization and Empire_, by A. Caldecott; to Sir Isaac Pitman &
Sons Ltd. for _The Union of South Africa_, by W. B. Worsfold; to
the Executors of the late W. T. Stead for the _Last Will and
Testament of C. J. Rhodes_; to Messrs. H. Stevens, Son, & Stiles
for _Thomas Pownall_, by C. A. W. Pownall; to Messrs. Houghton,
Mifflin Company for Thayer's _John Marshall_ and Woodrow
Wilson's _Mere Literature_; to Messrs. D. C. Heath & Co. for
Woodrow Wilson's _The State_; to Messrs. G. P. Putnam's Sons for
_The Works of Benjamin Franklin_, edited by John Bigelow; to the
Yale University Press for _Popular Government_, by W. H. Taft;
and also to _The Times_; _The Round Table_; _The Outlook_; and
_The Springfield Weekly Republican_.
{vii}
FOREWORD
THE English-speaking, self-governing white people of the world
in 1914 number upwards of one hundred and forty-one millions.
Since December 24, 1814, there has been unbroken peace between
the two independent groups of this race--a fact that contravenes
the usual historical experiences of peoples between whom there
has been uninterrupted communication during so long an epoch.
The last few decades have seen increasingly close understandings
between both the governments and the peoples of this
civilization.
In 1900 the British navy controlled the seas--all seas. From
1910 to 1914 the British navy has controlled the North Sea
only.[vii-1] Some doubt whether this control can long be
maintained. If it is lost, the British Empire is
finished.[vii-2] The adhesion of the dependencies to their
various governments and also the voluntary cohesion of the
self-governing units would be at an end. "The disorders which
followed the fall of Rome would be insignificant compared with
those which would {viii} ensue were the British Empire to break
in pieces."[viii-1] Such a splitting up would place each
English-speaking nation in an exposed position, and would
strengthen its rivals, Germany, Japan, Russia, and China. It
would compel America to protect with arms, or to abandon to its
enemies, not only the countries to which the Monroe Doctrine has
been considered as applicable, but those lands still more
important to the future of our race, New Zealand and Australia.
If this catastrophe is to be averted, the English-speaking
peoples must regain control of the seas.
These pages are concerned with the English-speaking people of
1914. Here will be found no jingoism, if this be defined as a
desire to flaunt power for its own sake; no altruism, if this
means placing the welfare of others before one's own; and no
sentiment except that which leads to self-preservation. No
technical discussion of military or naval power is here
attempted. The purpose of these pages is to indicate some of the
common heritages of these English-speaking peoples, their need
of land and their desire for the sole privilege of taxing
themselves for their own purposes and in their own way.
Federation is here recognized as the method by which
English-speaking people ensure the freedom of the individual. It
utilizes ideals and methods common to them all. Where it has
been applied, it fulfils its dual
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THE RISE OF SILAS LAPHAM
by
William Dean Howells
JTABLE 5 27 1
I.
WHEN Bartley Hubbard went to interview Silas Lapham for the "Solid Men
of Boston" series, which he undertook to finish up in The Events, after
he replaced their original projector on that newspaper, Lapham received
him in his private office by previous appointment.
"Walk right in!" he called out to the journalist, whom he caught sight
of through the door of the counting-room.
He did not rise from the desk at which he was writing, but he gave
Bartley his left hand for welcome, and he rolled his large head in the
direction of a vacant chair. "Sit down! I'll be with you in just half
a minute."
"Take your time," said Bartley, with the ease he instantly felt. "I'm
in no hurry." He took a note-book from his pocket, laid it on his knee,
and began to sharpen a pencil.
"There!" Lapham pounded with his great hairy fist on the envelope he
had been addressing.
"William!" he called out, and he handed the letter to a boy who came to
get it. "I want that to go right away. Well, sir," he continued,
wheeling round in his leather-cushioned swivel-chair, and facing
Bartley, seated so near that their knees almost touched, "so you want
my life, death, and Christian sufferings, do you, young man?"
"That's what I'm after," said Bartley. "Your money or your life."
"I guess you wouldn't want my life without the money," said Lapham, as
if he were willing to prolong these moments of preparation.
"Take 'em both," Bartley suggested. "Don't want your money without
your life, if you come to that. But you're just one million times more
interesting to the public than if you hadn't a dollar; and you know
that as well as I do, Mr. Lapham. There's no use beating about the
bush."
"No," said Lapham, somewhat absently. He put out his huge foot and
pushed the ground-glass door shut between his little den and the
book-keepers, in their larger den outside.
"In personal appearance," wrote Bartley in the sketch for which he now
studied his subject, while he waited patiently for him to continue,
"Silas Lapham is a fine type of the successful American. He has a
square, bold chin, only partially concealed by the short reddish-grey
beard, growing to the edges of his firmly closing lips. His nose is
short and straight; his forehead good, but broad rather than high; his
eyes blue, and with a light in them that is kindly or sharp according
to his mood. He is of medium height, and fills an average arm-chair
with a solid bulk, which on the day of our interview was
unpretentiously clad in a business suit of blue serge. His head droops
somewhat from a short neck, which does not trouble itself to rise far
from a pair of massive shoulders."
"I don't know as I know just where you want me to begin," said Lapham.
"Might begin with your birth; that's where most of us begin," replied
Bartley.
A gleam of humorous appreciation shot into Lapham's blue eyes.
"I didn't know whether you wanted me to go quite so far back as that,"
he said. "But there's no disgrace in having been born, and I was born
in the State of Vermont, pretty well up under the Canada line--so well
up, in fact, that I came very near being an adoptive citizen; for I was
bound to be an American of SOME sort, from the word Go! That was
about--well, let me see!--pretty near sixty years ago: this is '75, and
that was '20. Well, say I'm fifty-five years old; and I've LIVED 'em,
too; not an hour of waste time about ME, anywheres! I was born on a
farm, and----"
"Worked in the fields summers and went to school winters: regulation
thing?" Bartley cut in.
"Regulation thing," said Lapham, accepting this irreverent version of
his history somewhat dryly.
"Parents poor, of course," suggested the journalist. "Any barefoot
business? Early deprivations of any kind, that would encourage the
youthful reader to go and do
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Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
[Illustration: Coverpage]
PUBLICATIONS
OF THE
SCOTTISH HISTORY SOCIETY
VOLUME XX
THE LYON IN MOURNING
VOL. I
OCTOBER 1895
THE
LYON IN MOURNING
OR A COLLECTION OF SPEECHES LETTERS
JOURNALS ETC. RELATIVE TO THE AFFAIRS
OF PRINCE CHARLES EDWARD STUART
BY THE REV. ROBERT FORBES, A.M.
BISHOP OF ROSS AND CAITHNESS
1746-1775
Edited from his Manuscript, with a Preface by
HENRY PATON, M.A.
IN THREE VOLUMES
I
[Illustration: printer logo]
EDINBURGH
Printed at the University Press by T. and A. CONSTABLE
for the Scottish History Society
1895
CONTENTS
PAGE
PREFACE, xi
Letter from the Rev. Mr. Robert Lyon to his mother and
sisters, 3
The last and dying speech of Robert Lyon, A.M., presbyter
at Perth, 12
A Conversation between Mr. Lyon and Mr. Buchanan, of
Arnprior, about the murder of Mr. Stewart of Glenbuckie, 21
A short account of Mr. Lyon, 21
Speech of Mr. Thomas Theodore Deacon, 22
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Transcriber's Note:
[=XVII] = XVII with a line above.
* * * * *
A Line-o'-Verse or Two
By
Bert Leston Taylor
The Reilly & Britton Co.
Chicago
Copyright, 1911
by
The Reilly & Britton Co.
NOTE
For the privilege of reprinting the rimes gathered here I am indebted to
the courtesy of the _Chicago Tribune_ and _Puck_, in whose pages most of
them first appeared. "The Lay of St. Ambrose" is new.
One reason for rounding up this fugitive verse and prisoning it between
covers was this: Frequently--more or less--I receive a request for a
copy of this jingle or that, and it is easier to mention a publishing
house than to search through ancient and dusty files.
The other reason was that I wanted to.
B. L. T.
_TO MY READERS_
_Not merely of this book,--but a larger company, with whom, through the
medium of the_ Chicago Tribune, _I have been on very pleasant terms for
several years,--this handful of rime is joyously dedicated._
THE LAY OF ST. AMBROSE
"_And hard by doth dwell, in St. Catherine's cell,_
_Ambrose, the anchorite old and grey._"
--THE LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS.
Ambrose the anchorite old and grey
Larruped himself in his lonely cell,
And many a welt on his pious pelt
The scourge evoked as it rose and fell.
For hours together the flagellant leather
Went whacketty-whack with his groans of pain;
And the lay-brothers said, with a wag of the head,
"Ambrose has been at the bottle again."
And such, in sooth, was the sober truth;
For the single fault of this saintly soul
Was a desert thirst for the cup accurst,--
A quenchless love for the Flowing Bowl.
When he woke at morn with a head forlorn
And a taste like a last-year swallow's nest,
He would kneel and pray, then rise and flay
His sinful body like all possessed.
Frequently tempted, he fell from grace,
And as often he found the devil to pay;
But by diligent scourging and diligent purging
He managed to keep Old Nick at bay.
This was the plight of our anchorite,--
An endless penance condemned to dree,--
When it chanced one day there came his way
A Mystical Book with a golden Key.
This Mystical Book was a guide to health,
That none might follow and go astray;
While a turn of the Key unlocked the wealth
That all unknown in the Scriptures lay.
Disease is sin, the Book defined;
Sickness is error to which men cling;
Pain is merely a state of mind,
And matter a non-existent thing.
If a tooth should ache, or a leg should break,
You simply "affirm" and it's sound again.
Cut and contusion are only delusion,
And indigestion a fancied pain.
For pain is naught if you "hold a thought,"
Fevers fly at your simple say;
You have but to affirm, and every germ
Will fold up its tent and steal away.
..........
From matin gong to even-song
Ambrose pondered this mystic lore,
Till what had seemed fiction took on a conviction
That words had never possessed before.
"If pain," quoth he, "is a state of mind,
If a rough hair shirt to silk is kin,--
If these things are error, pray where's the terror
In scourging and purging oneself of sin?
"It certainly seemeth good to me,
By and large, in part and in whole.
I'll put it in practice and find if it fact is,
Or only a mystical rigmarole."
..........
The very next night our anchorite
Of the Flowing Bowl drank long and deep.
He argued this wise: "New Thought applies
No fitter to lamb than it does to sheep."
When he woke at morn with a head forlorn
And a taste akin to a parrot's cage,
He knelt and prayed, then up and flayed
His sinful flesh in a righteous rage.
Whacketty-whack on breast and back,
Whacketty-whack, before, behind;
But he held the thought as he laid it on,
"Pain is merely a state of mind."
Whacketty-whack on breast and back,
Whacketty-whack on calf and shin;
And the lay-brothers said, with a wag of the head,
"_Ain't_ he the glutton for discipline!"
..........
Now every night our anchorite
Was exceedingly tight when he went to bed.
The scourge that once pained him no longer restrained him,
Nor even the fear of an aching head.
For he woke at morn with a pate as clear
As the silvery chime of the matin bell;
And without any jogging he fell to his flogging,
And larruped himself in his lonely cell.
But the leather had lost its power to sting;
To pangs of the flesh he was now immune;
His rough hair shirt no longer hurt,
Nor the pebbles he wore in his wooden shoon.
When conscience was troubled he cheerfully doubled
His matinal dose of discipline;--
A deuce of a scourging, sufficient for purging
The Devil himself of original sin.
Whacketty-whack on breast and back,
Whacketty-whack from morn to noon;
Whacketty-whacketty-whacketty-whack!--
Till the abbey rang with the dismal tune.
Deacon and prior, lay-brother and friar
Exclaimed at these whoppings spectacular;
And even the Abbot remarked that the habit
Of scourging oneself might be carried too far.
"My son," said he, "I am pleased to see
Such penance as never was known before;
But you raise such a racket in dusting your jacket,
The noise is becoming a bit of a bore.
"How would it do if you whaled yourself
From eight to ten or from one to three?
Or if 'More' is your motto, pray hire a grotto;
I know of one you can have rent free."
..........
Ambrose the anchorite bowed his head,
And girded his loins and went away.
He rented a cavern not far from a tavern,
And tippled by night and scourged by day.
The more the penance the more the sin,
The more he whopped him the more he drank;
Till his hair fell out and his cheeks fell in,
And his corpulent figure grew long and lank.
At Whitsuntide he up and died,
While flaying himself for his final spree.
And who shall say whether 'twas liquor or leather
That hurried him into eternity?
They made him a saint, as well they might,
And gave him a beautiful aureole.
And--somehow or other, this circle of light
Suggests the rim of the Flowing Bowl.
TO A TALL SPRUCE
Pride of the forest primeval,
Peer of the glorious pine,
Doomed to an end that is evil,
Fearful the fate that is thine!
Peer of the glorious pine,
Now the landlooker has found you,
Fearful the fate that is thine--
Fate of the spruces around you.
Now the landlooker has found you,
Stripped of your beautiful plume--
Fate of the spruces around you--
Swiftly you'll draw to your doom.
Stripped of your beautiful plume,
Bzzng! into logs they will whip you.
Swiftly you'll draw to your doom;
To the pulp mill they will ship you.
Bzzng! into logs they will whip you,
Lumbermen greedy for gold.
To the pulp mill they will ship you.
Hearken, there's worse to be told!
Lumbermen greedy for gold
Over your ruins will caper.
Hearken, there's worse to be told:
You will be made into paper!
Over your ruins will caper
Murderous shavers and hooks.
You will be made into paper!
You will be made into books!
Murderous shavers and hooks
Swiftly your pride will diminish.
You will be made into books!
Horrible, horrible finish!
Swiftly your pride will diminish.
You will become a romance!
Horrible, horrible finish!
Fate has no sadder mischance.
You will become a romance,
Filled with "Gadzooks!" and "Have at you!"
Fate has no sadder mischance;
It would wring tears from a statue.
Filled with "Gadzooks!" and "Have at you!"
You may become a "Lazarre"--
(It would wring tears from a statue)--
"Graustark," "Stovepipe of Navarre."
You may become a "Lazarre";
Fate has still worse it can turn on--
"Graustark," "Stovepipe of Navarre,"
Even a "Dorothy Vernon"!
Fate has still worse it can turn on--
Lower you cannot descend;
Even a "Dorothy Vernon"!--
That is the limit--the end.
Lower you cannot descend.
Doomed to an end that is evil,
That _is_ the limit--the _end_!
Pride of the forest primeval.
IN THE LAMPLIGHT
The dinner done, the lamp is lit,
And in its mellow glow we sit
And talk of matters, grave and gay,
That went to make another day.
Comes Little One, a book in hand,
With this request, nay, this command--
(For who'd gainsay the little sprite)--
"Please--will you read to me to-night?"
Read to you, Little One? Why, yes.
What shall it be to-night? You guess
You'd like to hear about the Bears--
Their bowls of porridge, beds and chairs?
Well, that you shall.... There! that tale's done!
And now--you'd like another one?
To-morrow evening, Curly Head.
It's "hass-pass seven." Off to bed!
So each night another story:
Wicked dwarfs and giants gory;
Dragons fierce and princes daring,
Forth to fame and fortune faring;
Wandering tots, with leaves for bed;
Houses made of gingerbread;
Witches bad and fairies good,
And all the wonders of the wood.
"I like the witches best," says she
Who nightly nestles on my knee;
And why by them she sets such store,
Psychologists may puzzle o'er.
Her likes are mine, and I agree
With all that she confides to me.
And thus we travel, hand in hand,
The storied roads of Fairyland.
Ah, Little One, when years have fled,
And left their silver on my head,
And when the dimming eyes of age
With difficulty scan the page,
Perhaps _I'll_ turn the tables then;
Perhaps _I'll_ put the question, when
I borrow of your better sight--
"Please--will you read to me to-night?"
THE BREAKFAST FOOD FAMILY
John Spratt will eat no fat,
Nor will he touch the lean;
He scorns to eat of any meat,
He lives upon Foodine.
But Mrs. Spratt will none of that,
Foodine she cannot eat;
Her special wish is for a dish
Of Expurgated Wheat.
To William Spratt that food is flat
On which his mater dotes.
His favorite feed--his special need--
Is Eata Heapa Oats.
But sister Lil can't see how Will
Can touch such tasteless food.
As breakfast fare it can't compare,
She says, with Shredded Wood.
Now, none of these Leander please,
He feeds upon Bath Mitts.
While sister Jane improves her brain
With Cero-Grapo-Grits.
Lycurgus votes for Father's Oats;
Proggine appeals to May;
The junior John subsists upon
Uneeda Bayla Hay.
Corrected Wheat for little Pete;
Flaked Pine for Dot; while "Bub"
The infant Spratt is waxing fat
On Battle Creek Near-Grub.
"TREASURE ISLAND"
Comes little lady, a book in hand,
A light in her eyes that I understand,
And her cheeks aglow from the faery breeze
That sweeps across the uncharted seas.
She gives me the book, and her word of praise
A ton of critical thought outweighs.
"I've finished it, daddie!"--a sigh thereat.
"Are there any more books in the world like that?"
No, little lady. I grieve to say
That of all the books in the world to-day
There's not another that's quite the same
As this magic book with the magic name.
Volumes there be that are pure delight,
Ancient and yellowed or new and bright;
But--little and thin, or big and fat--
There are no more books in the world like that.
And what, little lady, would I not give
For the wonderful world in which you live!
What have I garnered one-half as true
As the tales Titania whispers you?
Ah, late we learn that the only truth
Was that which we found in the Book of Youth.
Profitless others, and stale, and flat;--
There are no more books in the world like that.
A BALLADE OF SPRING'S UNREST
Up in the woodland where Spring
Comes as a laggard, the breeze
Whispers the pines that the King,
Fallen, has yielded the keys
To his White Palace and flees
Northward o'er mountain and dale.
Speed then the hour that frees!
Ho, for the pack and the trail!
Northward my fancy takes wing,
Restless am I, ill at ease.
Pleasures the city can bring
Lose now their power to please.
Barren, all barren, are these,
Town life's a tedious tale;
That cup is drained to the lees--
Ho, for the pack and the trail!
Ho, for the morning I sling
Pack at my back, and with knees
Brushing a thoroughfare, fling
Into the green mysteries:
One with the birds and the bees,
One with the squirrel and quail,
Night, and the stream's melodies--
Ho, for the pack and the trail!
_L'Envoi_
Pictures and music and teas,
Theaters--books even--stale.
Ho, for the smell of the trees!
Ho, for the pack and the trail!
WHY?
Why, when the sun is gold,
The weather fine,
The air (this phrase is old)
Like Gascon wine;--
Why, when the leaves are red,
And yellow, too,
And when (as has been said)
The skies are blue;--
Why, when all things promote
One's peace and joy,--
A joy that is (to quote)
Without alloy;--
Why, when a man's well off,
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ANALYSIS OF MR. MILL'S SYSTEM OF LOGIC.
* * * * *
WORKS BY JOHN STUART MILL, M.P. FOR WESTMINSTER.
A SYSTEM of LOGIC, RATIOCINATIVE and INDUCTIVE. Sixth Edition. 2
vols. 8vo. 25_s._
An EXAMINATION of SIR WILLIAM HAMILTON'S PHILOSOPHY, and of the
Principal Philosophical Questions discussed in his Writings. Third
Edition, revised. 8vo. 14_s._
PRINCIPLES of POLITICAL ECONOMY, with some of their Applications to
Social Philosophy. Sixth Edition. 2 vols. 8vo. 30_s._
PRINCIPLES of POLITICAL ECONOMY. By JOHN STUART MILL, M.P. People's
Edition. Crown 8vo. 5_s._
CONSIDERATIONS on REPRESENTATIVE GOVERNMENT. Third Edition. 8vo.
9_s._
On REPRESENTATIVE GOVERNMENT. By JOHN STUART MILL, M.P. People's
Edition. Crown 8vo. 2_s._
On LIBERTY. Third Edition. Post 8vo. 7_s._ 6_d._
On LIBERTY. By JOHN STUART MILL, M.P. People's Edition. Crown 8vo.
1_s._ 4_d._
DISSERTATIONS and DISCUSSIONS, POLITICAL, PHILOSOPHICAL, and
HISTORICAL. Second Edition of VOLS. I. and II. price 24_s._; VOL.
III., price 12_s._
INAUGURAL ADDRESS delivered to the University of St. Andrew's, Feb.
1, 1867. By JOHN STUART MILL, M.P. Rector of the University.
Library Edition (the Second), post 8vo. 5_s._ People's Edition,
crown 8vo. 1_s._
UTILITARIANISM. Second Edition. 8vo. 5_s._
THOUGHTS on PARLIAMENTARY REFORM. Second Edition, with SUPPLEMENT.
8vo. 1_s._ 6_d._
London: LONGMANS and CO. Paternoster Row.
* * * * *
ANALYSIS OF MR. MILL'S SYSTEM OF LOGIC.
BY
W. STEBBING, M.A.
FELLOW OF WORCESTER COLLEGE, OXFORD.
_NEW EDITION._
LONDON:
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
1867.
LONDON
PRINTED BY SPOTTISWOODE AND CO.
NEW-STREET SQUARE
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.
The author's aim has been to produce such a condensation of the original
work as may recall its contents to those who have read it, and may serve
those who are now reading it in the place of a full body of marginal
notes. Mr. Mill's conclusions on the true province and method of Logic
have a high substantive value, independent even of the arguments and
illustrations by which they are supported; and these conclusions may be
adequately, and, it is believed, with much practical utility, embodied
in an epitome. The processes of reasoning on which they depend, can, on
the other hand, be represented in outline only. But it is hoped that the
substance of every paragraph, necessary for the due comprehension of the
several steps by which the results have been reached, will be here
found at all events suggested.
The author may be allowed to add, that Mr. Mill, before publication,
expressed a favourable opinion of the manner in which the work had been
executed. Without such commendation the volume would hardly have been
offered to the public.
LONDON: _Dec. 21, 1865_.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTION 1
BOOK I.
NAMES AND PROPOSITIONS.
CHAP.
I. On the Necessity of commencing with an Analysis of
Language in Logic 3
II. Names 3
III. The Things denoted by Names 7
IV. Propositions 17
V. The Import of Propositions 19
VI. Propositions merely Verbal 24
VII. The Nature of Classification, and the Five Predicables 26
VIII. Definition 30
BOOK II.
REASONING.
I. Inference, or Reasoning in General 35
II. Ratiocination, or Syllogism 36
III. The Functions and Logical Value of the Syllogism 39
IV. Trains of Reasoning, and Deductive Sciences 43
V. & VI. Demonstration and Necessary Truths 46
BOOK III.
INDUCTION.
I. Preliminary Observations on Induction in general 53
II. Inductions improperly so called 54
III. The ground of Induction 57
IV. Laws of Nature 58
V. The Law of Universal Causation 60
VI. The Composition of Causes 66
VII. Observation and Experiment 67
VIII. & Note to IX. The Four Methods of Experimental
Enquiry 69
X. Plurality of Causes, and intermixture of Effects 73
XI. The Deductive Method 76
XII. & XIII. The Explanation and Examples of the Explanation
of Laws of Nature 77
XIV. The Limits to the Explanation of Laws of Nature;
and Hypotheses 79
XV. Progressive Effects, and continued Action of
Causes 81
XVI. Empirical Laws 83
XVII. Chance, and its Elimination 85
XVIII. The Calculation of Chances 87
XIX. The Extension of Derivative Laws to Adjacent Cases 89
XX. Analogy 91
XXI. The Evidence of the Law of Universal Causation 92
XXII. Uniformities of Coexistence not dependent on Causation 94
XXIII. Approximate Generalisations, and Probable Evidence 96
XXIV. The remaining Laws of Nature 99
XXV. The grounds of Disbelief 103
BOOK IV.
OPERATIONS SUBSIDIARY TO INDUCTION.
I. Observation and Description 107
II. Abstraction, or the Formation of Conceptions 108
III. Naming as Subsidiary to Induction 111
IV. The Requisites of a Philosophical Language, and the
Principles of Definition 112
V. The Natural History of the Variation in the Meaning
of Terms 115
VI. Terminology and Nomenclature 117
VII. Classification, as Subsidiary to Induction 121
VIII. Classification by Series 124
BOOK V.
FALLACIES.
I. Fallacies in general 127
II. Classification of Fallacies 128
III. Fallacies of Simple Inspection; or, a priori Fallacies 130
IV. Fallacies of Observation 134
V. Fallacies of Generalisation 137
VI. Fallacies of Ratiocination 141
VII. Fallacies of Confusion 143
BOOK VI.
ON THE LOGIC OF THE MORAL SCIENCES.
I. Introductory Remarks 148
II. Liberty and Necessity 148
III. There is, or may be, a Science of Human Nature 150
IV. The Laws of Mind 151
V. Ethology, or the Science of the Formation of Character 153
VI. General Considerations on
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THE ABORIGINAL POPULATION
OF THE SAN JOAQUIN VALLEY,
CALIFORNIA
BY
S. F. COOK
ANTHROPOLOGICAL RECORDS
Vol. 16, No. 2
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA
ANTHROPOLOGICAL RECORDS
Editors (Berkeley): R. L. Olson, R. F. Heizer, T. D. McCown, J. H. Rowe
Volume 16, No. 2, pp. 31-80
6 maps
Submitted by editors October 8, 1954
Issued July 11, 1955
Price, 75 cents
University of California Press
Berkeley and Los Angeles
California
Cambridge University Press
London, England
Manufactured in the United States of America
CONTENTS
Page
Introduction 31
The population of the San Joaquin Valley in approximately 1850 33
Contemporary estimates and counts for the entire region 33
Analysis based upon restricted areas 34
Stanislaus and Tuolumne rivers 34
Merced River, Mariposa Creek, and Chowchilla River 35
The Cosumnes, Mokelumne, and Calaveras rivers 36
The Fresno and the upper San Joaquin rivers 36
The Kings and Kaweah rivers 38
The Tulare Lake basin 40
The Tule River, the Kern River, and the Buenavista Basin 40
The aboriginal population 42
The Tulare Lake basin 42
The Kaweah River 45
The Merced River 48
The Kings River 49
The Upper San Joaquin, Fresno, and Chowchilla rivers and
Mariposa Creek 50
The Southern San Joaquin Valley 54
The Northern San Joaquin Valley 56
The Miwok Foothill Area 68
Summary and conclusions 70
Appendix 71
Bibliography 72
MAPS
1. The San Joaquin Valley from the Cosumnes River
to the Tehachapi facing page 74
2. Habitat areas 1A-2: the southern Yokuts and
peripheral tribes 75
3. Habitat areas 3A-4C: the basins of the Kaweah
and Kings rivers 76
4. Habitat areas 5A-6B: the Yokuts, a part of the
Mono, and the southern Miwok 76
5. Habitat areas 7A-14: the northern Yokuts, central
and northern Miwok 77
6. The Lower San Joaquin River and Delta areas 78
THE ABORIGINAL POPULATION OF THE SAN JOAQUIN VALLEY, CALIFORNIA
BY
S. F. COOK
INTRODUCTION
Ecologically the great central valley of California forms a single
unit. Nevertheless it is convenient for the purposes of this paper to
divide the entire area into two portions, north and south. The vast
expanse from Red Bluff to the Tehachapi is too extensive to cover
demographically in a single exposition. Moreover, the northern tribes,
the Wintun and Maidu, are physiographically clearly segregated from the
southern by the northern extension of San Francisco Bay and the delta
of the rivers. Hence we shall consider here only those peoples south of
the Sacramento and American River watersheds.
The area possesses definite natural limits but its exact boundaries
must be to some extent arbitrary. On the north the line has already
been indicated: the south bank of the upper Bay and the Sacramento
River as far upstream as a point five miles below the city of
Sacramento and thence easterly along the El Dorado--Amador County line
into the high mountains. This follows Kroeber's tribal boundary between
the Maidu and the Sierra Miwok. On the west the line starts northeast
of Mt. Diablo and follows the western edge of the San Joaquin Valley to
the Tehachapi Mountains. On the east we include the Sierra Nevada as
far as was reached by permanent habitation on the west <DW72>. The
southern extremity is represented by the crest of the Tehachapi.
The region designated embraces the territory of the Plains and Sierra
Miwok, the Yokuts, the Western Mono, the Tubatulabal, and the Kawaiisu.
From the standpoint of habitat the area is diversified since it extends
from the swampy valley floor through the oak country of the lower
foothills into the transition life-zone of the middle altitudes.
Perhaps an ecological segregation would be desirable. Such a procedure,
however, would cut across tribal boundaries and make an accurate
evaluation of population difficult. On the accompanying maps, areas are
delineated, and numbered
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_THE DAILY CHRONICLE WAR LIBRARY_
THE WAR
STORIES
OF PRIVATE
THOMAS ATKINS
A SELECTION OF THE BEST
THINGS IN HIS PERSONAL
LETTERS FROM THE FRONT &
SO A STIRRING TALE OF GREAT
DEEDS DONE FOR A GREAT
CAUSE IN A SPIRIT OF SIMPLE
DUTY AND GALLANT GAIETY
PUBLISHED FOR THE DAILY CHRONICLE
BY GEORGE NEWNES LIMITED OF
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_No one with a sense of Humour
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NOBBY CLARK
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SPUD MURPHY
By EDGAR WALLACE
The most entertaining Stories ever written
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_at all Booksellers and Railway Bookstalls, 1/-
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THE WAR
STORIES
OF PRIVATE
THOMAS ATKINS
“_Are we downhearted?_” “_No-o-o!_”
THE WAR CRY OF PRIVATE ATKINS.
_It’s a long way to Tipperary
It’s a long way to go,
It’s a long way to Tipperary,
To the sweetest girl I know!
Good-bye, Piccadilly!
Farewell, Leicester Square!
It’s a long, long way to Tipperary,
But my heart’s right there._
THE MARCHING SONG OF PRIVATE ATKINS.
PUBLISHED FOR THE DAILY CHRONICLE
BY GEORGE NEWNES LIMITED OF
SOUTHAMPTON ST., STRAND, LONDON
PRINTED AT
THE BALLANTYNE PRESS
LONDON
CONTENTS
Page
“BLOW! BUGLES, BLOW!” 5
I MARCHING TO WAR 9
II THINGS BY THE WAY 14
III THE FRIENDLY FRENCH 20
IV THE ENEMY GERMAN 26
V CAMPAIGNING IN GENERAL 32
VI BATTLES IN BEING 41
VII WHAT THE SOLDIER SEES 56
VIII HOW IT FEELS UNDER FIRE 67
IX CORNERS IN THE FIGHT 78
X HIT AND MISSED 92
XI ADVANCE AND RETREAT 103
XII IN THE TRENCHES 115
XIII GALLANT DEEDS 125
XIV TALES OF TRAGEDY 134
XV ANECDOTES OF HUMOUR 142
XVI STORIES OF SACRIFICE 150
XVII THE MAN AMID WAR 159
XVIII THE COMMON TASK 169
XIX MATTERS IN GENERAL 179
XX SUMMING IT UP 186
_Now all the youth of England are on fire,
And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies;
Now thrive the armourers, and honour’s thought
Reigns solely in the breast of every man._
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.
“BLOW! BUGLES, BLOW!”
_Boot, saddle, to horse, away!
Rescue my castle before the hot day
Brightens to blue from its silvery grey.
Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!_
ROBERT BROWNING.
You like song, dear Private Atkins, its lilt and its sentiment, and you
have been singing your way through battle, on the hills of France and
the plains of Belgium. You are really a poet, as well as a first-rate
fighting man, though the very idea will make your camp-fire rock with
laughter. Well, in your letters from the war to the old folk and the
young folk at home, you have written things worthy to be bound in cloth
of gold.
You have, in particular, being a natural fellow, written yourself to
them, and you are just splendid, singly and collectively. You look out
from your epistles with a smile on your lips, humour in one eye and a
touch of the devil in the other, and you cry, “Are we downhearted?”
“No!” gladly answer we, who have been listening to the news of battle
ringing down the street, and for a moment, perhaps, forgetting you and
your writing on the wall with the bayonet point.
You do get the red, living phrases, don’t you, Private Atkins? “The
hottest thing in South Africa was frost-bitten compared with what’s
going on here.” “The Boer War was a mothers’ meeting beside this
affair.” “Another shell dropped at me and I went like Tod Sloan.” “Did
you see that German man’s face when I told him about our victories?
Poor devil
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Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was
produced from scanned images of public domain material
from the Google Print project.)
[Illustration: GEORGE FREDERICK HANDEL
(_From a Portrait by Mercier in the possession of the Earl of
Malmesbury._)
_Frontispiece._]]
HANDEL
BY
ROMAIN ROLLAND
TRANSLATED BY
A. EAGLEFIELD HULL
MUS. DOC. (OXON.)
_WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY THE EDITOR_
_17 MUSICAL ILLUSTRATIONS AND 4 PLATES_
[Illustration: colophon]
NEW YORK
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
1916
PREFACE
For a proper appreciation of the colossal work of Handel many years of
study and a book of some two hundred pages are very insufficient. To
treat at all adequately of Handel's life and work needs a whole lifetime
in itself, and even the indefatigable and enthusiastic Chrysander, who
devoted his life to this subject, has hardly encompassed the task.... I
have done what I could; my faults must be excused. This little book does
not pretend to be anything more than a very brief sketch of the life and
technique of Handel. I hope to study his character, his work, and his
times, more in detail in another volume.
ROMAIN ROLLAND.
CONTENTS
PAGE
HIS LIFE 1
HIS TECHNIQUE AND WORKS 111
(1) THE OPERAS 122
(2) THE ORATORIOS 134
(3) THE CLAVIER COMPOSITIONS 143
(4) THE CHAMBER MUSIC (SONATAS AND TRIOS) 154
(5) THE ORCHESTRAL WORKS 158
APPENDICES--
LIST OF HANDEL'S WORKS 193
BIBLIOGRAPHY 201
INDEX 204
PLATES
PORTRAIT BY THORNHILL _frontispiece_
GEORGE I AND HANDEL'S WATER MUSIC _to face page_ 69
HANDEL'S MONUMENT IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY 107
HANDEL DIRECTING AN ORATORIO 165
INTRODUCTION
BY THE EDITOR
Here in England we are supposed to know our Handel by heart, but it is
doubtful whether we do. Who can say from memory the titles of even six
of his thirty-nine operas, from whence may be culled many of his
choicest flowers of melody? M. Rolland rightly emphasises the importance
of the operas of Handel in the long chain of musical evolution, and it
seems impossible for anyone to lay down his book without having a more
all-round impression than heretofore of this giant among composers.
M. Saint-Saens once compared the position of a conductor in front of the
score of a Handel oratorio to that of a man who sought to settle with
his family in some old mansion which has been uninhabited for centuries.
The music was different altogether from that to which he was accustomed.
No nuances, no bowing, frequently no indication of rate, and often
merely a "sketched-in" bass.... Tradition only could guide him, and the
English, who alone could have preserved this, he considers, have lost
it.
Can it be recovered to any extent, and, if so, how?
Behind each towering figure of genius are to be found numbers of
eloquent men who prepared the way for him; and amongst these precursors
there is frequently discovered one who exercised a dominating influence
over the young budding genius. Such an influence was exercised by Zachau
on Handel, and M. Rolland rightly gives due importance to the
consideration of this old master's teachings and compositions, a careful
study of which should go far to supplying the right key to Handel's
music. One of the great shortcomings in the general musical listener is
a lack of the historical view of music. It is a long cry from Bach and
Handel to Debussy and Scriabin, but we shall be all the better for
looking well at both ends of the long musical chain which connects the
unvoiced expression of the past with the vague yet certain hopes of the
future.
No doubt we have hardly yet recovered from the false position into which
we have all helped to place Handel. He was never the great Church
composer which has been assumed for so long. Perhaps, rather, he leaned
to the pagan side of life in his art. As Mr. Streatfeild says, "You can
no more call the _Messiah_ a work of art than you can call the _Book of
Common Prayer_ popular as a masterpiece of literature.... Handel the
preacher is laid for ever in the tomb, but Handel the artist with his
all-em
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Produced by David Reed and Dale R. Fredrickson
HISTORY OF THE DECLINE AND FALL OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE
Edward Gibbon, Esq.
With notes by the Rev. H. H. Milman
Vol. 6
1782 (Written), 1845 (Revised)
Transcriber's Note
This is the sixth volume of the six volumes of Edward Gibbon's History
Of The Decline And Fall Of The Roman Empire. If you find any errors
please feel free to notify me of them. I want to make this the best
etext edition possible for both scholars and the general public. I
would like to thank those who have helped in making this text better.
Especially Dale R. Fredrickson who has hand entered the Greek characters
in the footnotes and who has suggested retaining the conjoined ae
character in the text. [email protected] and [email protected] are my
email addresses for now. Please feel free to send me your comments and I
hope you enjoy this.
David Reed
Chapter LIX: The Crusades.--Part I.
Preservation Of The Greek Empire.--Numbers, Passage, And
Event, Of The Second And Third Crusades.--St. Bernard.--
Reign Of Saladin In Egypt And Syria.--His Conquest Of
Jerusalem.--Naval Crusades.--Richard The First Of England.--
Pope Innocent The Third; And The Fourth And Fifth Crusades.--
The Emperor Frederic The Second.--Louis The Ninth Of
France; And The Two Last Crusades.--Expulsion Of The Latins
Or Franks By The Mamelukes.
In a style less grave than that of history, I should perhaps compare the
emperor Alexius [1] to the jackal, who is said to follow the steps, and
to devour the leavings, of the lion. Whatever had been his fears and
toils in the passage of the first crusade, they were amply recompensed
by the subsequent benefits which he derived from the exploits of the
Franks. His dexterity and vigilance secured their first conquest of
Nice; and from this threatening station the Turks were compelled to
evacuate the neighborhood of Constantinople. While the crusaders, with
blind valor, advanced into the midland countries of Asia, the crafty
Greek improved the favorable occasion when the emirs of the sea-coast
were recalled to the standard of the sultan. The Turks were driven from
the Isles of Rhodes and Chios: the cities of Ephesus and Smyrna, of
Sardes, Philadelphia, and Laodicea, were restored to the empire, which
Alexius enlarged from the Hellespont to the banks of the Maeander, and
the rocky shores of Pamphylia. The churches resumed their splendor: the
towns were rebuilt and fortified; and the desert country was peopled
with colonies of Christians, who were gently removed from the more
distant and dangerous frontier. In these paternal cares, we may forgive
Alexius, if he forgot the deliverance of the holy sepulchre; but, by
the Latins, he was stigmatized with the foul reproach of treason and
desertion. They had sworn fidelity and obedience to his throne; but _he_
had promised to assist their enterprise in person, or, at least, with
his troops and treasures: his base retreat dissolved their obligations;
and the sword, which had been the instrument of their victory, was the
pledge and title of their just independence. It does not appear that
the emperor attempted to revive his obsolete claims over the kingdom of
Jerusalem; [2] but the borders of Cilicia and Syria were more recent in
his possession, and more accessible to his arms. The great army of the
crusaders was annihilated or dispersed; the principality of Antioch
was left without a head, by the surprise and captivity of Bohemond; his
ransom had oppressed him with a heavy debt; and his Norman followers
were insufficient to repel the hostilities of the Greeks and Turks. In
this distress, Bohemond embraced a magnanimous resolution, of leaving
the defence of Antioch to his kinsman, the faithful Tancred; of arming
the West against the Byzantine empire; and of executing the design which
he inherited from the lessons and example of his father Guiscard.
His embarkation was clandestine: and, if we may credit a tale of the
princess Anne, he passed the hostile sea closely secreted in a coffin.
[3] But his reception in France was dignified by the public applause, and
his marriage with the king's daughter: his return was glorious, since
the bravest spirits of the age enlisted under his veteran command; and
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CAPTAIN KYD;
OR,
THE WIZARD OF THE SEA.
A ROMANCE.
BY THE AUTHOR OF
"THE SOUTHWEST," "LAFITTE," "BURTON," &c.
"There's many a one who oft has heard
The name of Robert Kyd,
Who cannot tell, perhaps, a word
Of him, or what he did.
"So, though I never saw the man,
And lived not in his day,
I'll tell you how his guilt began--
To what it led the way."
H. F. Gould.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
NEW-YORK:
HARPER & BROTHERS, 82 CLIFF-STREET.
1839.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1838,
By HARPER & BROTHERS,
In the Clerk's Office of the Southern District of New-York.
CAPTAIN KYD;
OR,
THE WIZARD OF THE SEA.
BOOK I.
CONTINUED.
CHAPTER VIII.
"The wind blows fair! the vessel feels
The pressure of the rising breeze,
And swiftest of a thousand keels,
She leaps to the careering seas."
WILLIS.
"Commanding, aiding, animating all,
Where foe appear'd to press, or friend to fall,
Cheers Lara's voice."
_Lara._
Towards noon of the day on which the events related in the last chapter
transpired, a signal was displayed on one of the towers of Castle Cor,
and shortly afterward the yacht, which hitherto had appeared so
lifeless, got under weigh. Like a snowy seabird seeking her nest, she
spread her broad white sails and stood in towards the land, fired a gun,
and hove to within cable's length of the beach. A well-manned boat, with
a crimson awning stretched above the stern-sheets, and gay with the
flags of England and of Bellamont, presently put off from her, and
pulled to the foot of the path that led up to the castle. In a few
minutes afterward a party was seen descending the cliff, consisting of
Lady Bellamont, Grace Fitzgerald, Kate Bellamont and the earl, on the
arm of whom the latter leaned pale and sad, followed by a large number
of attendants, and others who had come to witness the embarcation. On
arriving at the boat, which lay against the rock so that they could
easily step into it, they were received by the commander of the yacht in
person--a bluff, middle-aged seaman, his manners characterized by a
sailor's frankness, united with the ease and courtesy of a well-bred
gentleman.
"How is the wind, Kenard?" asked the earl of the officer, as he came to
the place of embarking; "'tis somewhat light and contrary, methinks, for
our voyage."
"It comes from the south by west, my lord, but we can lay our course
till we clear the cape, when it will be full fair. I trust our cabin
will be honoured with a larger share of loveliness than I had
anticipated," he said, smiling with gallantry as he saw Kate Bellamont
and the countess were of the party.
"So you did not give me the credit for being so _very_ lovely until you
had seen me, Master Kenard," said Grace, wilfully misapplying his words.
"When I look on your face, I assuredly can have no wish that my cabins
should be graced with more beauty than I behold there, fair lady,"
answered the seaman, lifting his cap gallantly.
"A pretty speech to come from the sea," said Grace, laughing.
"Come, fair niece, the winds wait for no one," said the earl, stepping
from the rock upon the cushioned seats of the gig, after having taken a
tender leave of his countess and daughter.
"Adieu, then, sweet cousin!"
"Adieu, dear Grace!"
And, for a moment, the lovely girls lingered in a parting embrace,
kissing again and again each other's cheeks, while their full eyes ran
over. It seemed as if they never would separate!
"Nay, my sweet Grace, will you give all your adieus and affectionate
partings to your cousin?" said the countess, interrupting their
lingering parting.
With another warm embrace, another kiss, and a fresh shower of tears,
Grace released herself from Kate's entwining arms and threw herself into
those of Lady Bellamont
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SOWING AND REAPING
BY
D. L. MOODY.
_'Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.'_
Gal. vi: 7.
Chicago: New York: Toronto
Fleming H. Revell Company
Publishers of Evangelical Literature
_Copyright 1896 by_
_Fleming H. Revell Company._
CONTENTS
Chap.
I. Sowing and Reaping
II. Be Not Deceived: God Is Not Mocked
III. When a Man Sows, He Expects to Reap
IV. A Man Reaps the Same Kind as He Sows
V. A Man Reaps More than He Sows
VI. Ignorance of the Seed Makes No Difference
VII. Forgiveness and Retribution
VIII. Warning
SOWING AND REAPING
SOWING AND REAPING.
CHAPTER I.
"Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth,
that shall he also reap. For he that soweth to his flesh shall of
the flesh reap corruption; but he that soweth to the Spirit shall of
the Spirit reap life everlasting." Galatians vi: 7, 8.
I think this passage contains truths that no infidel or sceptic will
dare to deny. There are some passages in the Word of God that need
no other proof than that which we can easily find in our daily
experience. This is one of them. If the Bible were to be blotted out
of existence, the words I have quoted would be abundantly verified
by what is constantly happening around us. We have only to take up
the daily papers to see them being fulfilled before our eyes.
I remember giving out this text once when a man stood right up in
the audience and said:
"I don't believe it."
I said, "My friend, that doesn't change the fact. Truth is truth
whether you believe it or not, and a lie is a lie whether you
believe it or not."
He didn't want to believe it. When the meeting broke up, an officer
was at the door to arrest him. He was tried and sent to the
penitentiary for twelve months for stealing. I really believe that
when he got into his cell, he believed that he had to reap what he
sowed.
We might as well try to blot the sun out of the heavens as to blot
this truth out of the Word of God. It is heaven's eternal decree.
The law has been enforced for six thousand years. Did not God make
Adam reap even before he left Eden? Had not Cain to reap outside of
Eden? A king on the throne, like David, or a priest behind the
altar, like Eli; priest and prophet, preacher and hearer, every man
must reap what he sows. I believed it ten years ago, but I believe
it a hundred times more to-day.
My text applies to the individual, whether he be saint or sinner or
hypocrite who thinks he is a saint; it applies to the family; it
applies to society; it applies to nations. I say the law that the
result of actions must be reaped is _as true for nations as for
individuals;_ indeed, some one has said that as nations have no
future existence, the present world is the only place to punish them
as nations. See how God has dealt with them. See if they have not
reaped what they sowed. Take Amalek: "Remember what Amalek did unto
thee by the way, when ye were come forth out of Egypt; how he met
thee, by the way, and smote the hindmost of thee, even all that were
feeble behind thee, when thou wast faint and weary; and he feared
not God." What was to be the result of this attack? Was it to go
unpunished? God ordained that Amalek should reap as they sowed, and
the nation was all but wiped out of existence under King Saul.
What has become of the monarchies and empires of the world? What
brought ruin on Babylon? Her king and people would not obey God, and
ruin came upon them. What has become of Greece and all her power?
She once ruled the world. What has become of Rome and all her
greatness? When their cup of iniquity was full, it was dashed to the
ground. What has become of the Jews? They rejected salvation,
persecuted God's messengers, and crucified their Redeemer; and we
find that eleven hundred thousand
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MY FRIEND THE MURDERER
By A. Conan Doyle
"Number 481 is no better, doctor," said the head-warder, in a slightly
reproachful accent, looking in round the corner of my door.
"Confound 481" I responded from behind the pages of the _Australian
Sketcher_.
"And 61 says his tubes are paining him. Couldn't you do anything for
him?"
"He is a walking drug-shop," said I. "He has the whole British
pharmacopaae inside him. I believe his tubes are as sound as yours are."
"Then there's 7 and 108, they are chronic," continued the warder,
glancing down a blue slip of paper. "And 28 knocked off work
yesterday--said lifting things gave him a stitch in the side. I want you
to have a look at him, if you don't mind, doctor. There's 81, too--him
that killed John Adamson in the Corinthian brig--he's been carrying on
awful in the night, shrieking and yelling, he has, and no stopping him
either."
"All right, I'll have a look at him afterward," I said, tossing my paper
carelessly aside, and pouring myself out a cup of coffee. "Nothing else
to report, I suppose, warder?"
The official protruded his head a little further into the room. "Beg
pardon, doctor," he said, in a confidential tone, "but I notice as 82
has a bit of a cold, and it would be a good excuse for you to visit him
and have a chat, maybe."
The cup of coffee was arrested half-way to
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Produced by Tiffany Vergon, Mary Meehan, and Project
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THE CALLING OF DAN MATTHEWS
BY
HAROLD BELL WRIGHT
1909
AUTHOR OF
"THE SHEPHERD OF THE HILLS"
"THAT PRINTER OF UDELL'S"
_With Illustrations by_
ARTHUR I. KELLER
TO
WILLIAM WILLIAMS, M.D.
CONTENTS
I. THE HOME OF THE ALLY
II. A REVELATION
III. A GREAT DAY IN CORINTH
IV. WHO ARE THEY?
V. HOPE FARWELL'S MINISTRY
VI. THE CALLING OF DAN MATTHEWS
VII. FROM DEBORAH'S PORCH
VIII. THE WORK OF THE ALLY
IX. THE EDGE OF THE BATTLEFIELD
X. A MATTER OF OPINION
XI. REFLECTIONS
XII. THE NURSE FORGETS
XIII. DR. HARRY'S CASE
XIV. THAT GIRL OF CONNER'S
XV. THE MINISTER'S OPPORTUNITY
XVI. DAN SEES THE OTHER SIDE
XVII. THE TRAGEDY
XVIII. TO SAVE A LIFE
XIX. ON FISHING
XX. COMMON GROUND
XXI. THE WARNING
XXII. AS DR. HARRY SEES IT
XXIII. A PARABLE
XXIV. THE WAY OUT
XXV. A LABORER AND HIS HIRE
XXVI. THE WINTER PASSES
XXVII. DEBORAH'S TROUBLE
XXVIII. A FISHERMAN
XXIX. A MATTER OF BUSINESS
XXX. THE DAUGHT
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Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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See 53675-h.htm or 53675-h.zip:
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Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/storyofgravelyst00saunuoft
THE STORY OF THE GRAVELYS
* * * * * *
Works of Marshall Saunders
Beautiful Joe’s Paradise. Net $1.20
Postpaid $1.32
The Story of the Gravelys. Net $1.20
Postpaid $1.35
’Tilda Jane. $1.50
Rose à Charlitte. $1.50
For His Country. $.50
L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
New England Building, Boston, Mass.
* * * * * *
[Illustration: “BENT THEIR HEADS OVER THE PAPER”
(_See page 40_)]
THE STORY OF THE GRAVELYS
A Tale for Girls
by
MARSHALL SAUNDERS
Author of
“Beautiful Joe,” “Beautiful Joe’s Paradise,”
“’Tilda Jane,” etc.
“A child’s needless tear is a blood-blot upon this earth.”
--CARDINAL MANNING
Illustrated
[Illustration]
Boston
L. C. Page & Company
1904
Copyright, 1902, 1903
By Perry Mason Company
Copyright, 1903
By L. C. Page & Company
(Incorporated)
All rights reserved
Published September, 1903
Colonial Press
Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co.
Boston, Mass., U. S. A.
TO
MY DEAR SISTER
Grace,
MY FAITHFUL HELPER IN LITERARY WORK,
THIS STORY IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED
BY HER APPRECIATIVE SISTER,
MARSHALL SAUNDERS
ACKNOWLEDGMENT
Certain chapters of this story first appeared in The _Youth’s
Companion_. The author wishes to acknowledge the courtesy of the
editors in permitting her to republish them in the present volume.
Messrs. L. C. Page and Company wish also to acknowledge the courtesy
of the editors in granting them permission to use the original
illustrations.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE QUARREL 11
II. GRANDMA’S WATCHWORD 23
III. A SUDDEN COUNTERMARCH 34
IV. A LIFTED BURDEN 43
V. THE TRAINING OF A BOY 54
VI. BONNY’S ORDEAL 68
VII. BERTY IMPARTS INFORMATION 76
VIII. THE HEART OF THE MAYOR 88
IX. THE MAYOR’S DILEMMA 99
X. A GROUNDLESS SUSPICION 113
XI. A PROPOSED SUPPER-PARTY 130
XII. A DISTURBED HOSTESS 139
XIII. AN ANXIOUS MIND 150
XIV. THE OPENING OF THE PARK 162
XV. UP THE RIVER 175
XVI. BERTY’S TRAMP 188
XVII. TOM’S INTERVENTION 195
XVIII. TRAMP PHILOSOPHY 204
XIX. AT THE BOARD OF WATER-WORKS 217
XX. SELINA’S WEDDING 229
XXI. TO STRIKE OR NOT TO STRIKE 244
XXII. DISCOURAGED 257
XXIII. GRANDMA’S REQUEST 262
XXIV. DOWN THE RIVER 270
XXV. LAST WORDS 277
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
“BENT THEIR HEADS OVER THE PAPER” (_see page 40_) _Frontispiece_
“LEANING OVER THE STAIR RAILING” 33
“‘WHY DON’T SOME OF YOU GOOD PEOPLE TRY TO REFORM ME?’” 54
“‘YOU HAVE TOO MUCH HEART’” 92
“‘YOU’RE DYING TO TEASE ME’” 177
“‘A RIVER STREET DELEGATION,’ SAID TOM” 235
THE STORY OF THE GRAVELYS
CHAPTER I.
THE QUARREL
“I won’t live on my brother-in-law,” said the slight, dark girl.
“Yes, you will,” said the fair-haired beauty, her sister, who was
standing over her in a somewhat theatrical attitude.
“I will not,” said Berty again. “You think because you have just been
married you are going to run the family. I tell you, I will not do it.
I will not live with you.”
“I don’t want to run the family, but I am a year and a half older than
you, and I know what is for your good better than you do.”
“You do not--you butterfly!”
“Alberta Mary Francesca Gravely--you ought to be ashamed of yourself,”
said the beauty, in concentrated wrath.
“I’m not ashamed of myself,” replied her sister, scornfully. “I’m
ashamed of you. You’re just as extravagant as you can be. You spend
every cent of your husband’s income, and now you want to saddle him
with a big boy, a girl, and an--”
“An old lady,” said Margaretta.
“Grandma isn’t old. She’s only sixty-five.”
“Sixty-five is old.”
“It is not.”
“Well, now, can you call her young?” said Margaretta. “Can you say she
is a girl?”
“Yes,” replied Berty, obstinately, “I can call her a girl, or a duck,
or anything I like, and I can call you a goose.”
“A goose!” repeated Mrs. Stanisfield, chokingly; “oh, this is too much.
I wish my husband were here.”
“I wish he were,” said Berty, wickedly, “so he could be sorry he mar--”
“Children,” said a sudden voice, “what are you quarrelling about?”
Both girls turned their flushed faces toward the doorway. A little
shrewd old lady stood there. This was Grandma, one of their bones of
contention, and this particular bone in deep amusement wanted to laugh,
but knew better than to do so.
“Won’t you sit down, Margaretta?” she said, calmly coming into the room
and taking a chair near Berty, who was lounging provokingly on the foot
of the bed.
It was Grandma’s bed, and they were in Grandma’s room. She had brought
them up--her two dear orphan granddaughters, together with their
brother Boniface.
“What are you quarrelling about?” repeated the little old lady, taking
a silk stocking from her pocket, and beginning to knit in a leisurely
way.
“We’re quarrelling about keeping the family together,” said Margaretta,
vehemently, “and I find that family honour is nothing but a rag in
Berty’s estimation.”
“Well, I’d rather have it a nice clean rag put out of sight,” said
Berty, sharply, “than a great, big, red flag shaken in everybody’s
face.”
“Sit down, Margaretta,” said Grandma, soothingly.
“Oh, I am too angry to sit down,” said Margaretta, shaking herself
slightly. “I got your note saying you had lost your money. I came to
sympathize and was met with insults. It’s dreadful!”
“Sit down, dear,” said Grandma, gently, pushing a rocking-chair toward
her.
Margaretta took the chair, and, wiping her white forehead with a morsel
of lace and muslin, glared angrily at her sister.
“Roger says,” she went on, excitedly, “that you are all--”
“All!” groaned Berty.
“All,” repeated Margaretta, furiously, “or one or two, whichever you
like, to come and live with us. He insists.”
“No, _you_ insist,” interrupted Berty. “He has too much sense.”
Margaretta gave a low cry. “Isn’t this ingratitude abominable--I hear
of your misfortune, I come flying to your relief--”
“Dear child,” said Grandma, “I knew you’d come.”
“But what do you make of Berty, Grandma? Do say something cutting. You
could if you tried. The trouble is, you don’t try.”
Grandma tried not to laugh. She, too, had a tiny handkerchief that she
pressed against her face, but the merriment would break through.
“You laugh,” said Margaretta, in awe, “and you have just lost every
cent you own!”
Grandma recovered herself. “Thank fortune, I never chained my
affections to a house and furniture and a bank-account.”
“Roger says you are the bravest woman he ever saw,” murmured Margaretta.
“Did he say that?” replied Grandma, with twinkling eyes.
“Yes, yes, dear Grandma,” said Margaretta, fondly, “and he told me to
offer you all a home with us.”
The little old lady smiled again, and this time there was a dimple in
her cheek. “What a dear grandson-in-law! What a good man!”
“He is just perfection,” said Margaretta, enthusiastically, “but,
Grandma, darling, tell me your plans! I am just dying to know, and
Berty has been so provoking.”
“Berty is the mainstay of the family now,” said Grandma,
good-naturedly; “don’t abuse her.”
“The mainstay!” repeated Margaretta, with a bewildered air; “oh, yes, I
see. You mean that the little annuity left her by our great-aunt, your
sister, is all that you have to depend on.”
“Just those few hundred dollars,” said Grandma, tranquilly, “and a
little more.”
“That is why she is so toploftical,” said Margaretta. “However, it is
well that she was named for great-aunt Alberta--but, Grandma, dear,
don’t knit.”
“Why not?”
“It is so prosaic, after all you have gone through,” said Margaretta.
“When I think of your trials, it makes me sick.”
“My trials are nothing to what Job had,” remarked her grandmother. “I
read of his tribulations and they make mine seem very insignificant.”
“Poor Grandma, you have had about as many as Job.”
“What have I had?” asked the old lady, softly.
Margaretta made a gesture of despair. “Your mother died at your birth.”
“The Lord took her,” said the old lady, gently, “and when I needed a
mother he sent me a good stepmother.”
“Your father perished in a burning hotel,” said the girl, in a low
voice.
“And went to heaven in a chariot of fire,” replied Grandma, firmly.
“You married and were happy with your husband.”
“Yes, bless the Lord!”
“But your daughter, our mother, kissed you good-bye one day to go on a
pleasure excursion with her husband, and never came back--oh, it breaks
my heart to think of that day--my father and mother lost, both at
once!” and, dropping miserably on her knees, Margaretta hid her face in
her grandmother’s lap.
The old lady’s lip trembled, but she said, steadily, “The Lord
giveth--He also taketh away.”
“And now,” said Margaretta, falteringly, “you are not old, but you have
come to an age when you are beginning to think about getting old, and
you have lost everything--everything.”
“All save the greatest thing in the world,” said Grandma, patting the
bowed head.
“You always had that,” exclaimed Margaretta, lifting her tear-stained
face. “Everybody has loved you since you were born--how could any one
help it?”
“If everybody loves me, why is it?” inquired Grandma, guilelessly, as
she again took up her knitting.
Margaretta wrinkled her fair brows. “I don’t know--I guess it is
because you don’t talk much, and you seem to like every one, and you
don’t contradict. You’re exceedingly canny, Grandma.”
“Canny, child?”
“Yes, canny. I don’t know what the Scottish people mean by it, but I
mean clever, and shrewd, and smart, and quiet, and you keep out of
scrapes. Now, when I’m with that provoking creature there,” and she
looked disdainfully at Berty, “I feel as if I were a fifty-cornered
sort of person. _You_ make me feel as if I were round, and smooth, and
easy to get on with.”
Grandma picked up a dropped stitch and said nothing.
“If you’d talk more, I’d like it better,” said Margaretta, dolefully,
“but I dare say I should not get on so well with you.”
“Women do talk too much,” said Grandma, shortly; “we thresh everything
out with our tongues.”
“Grandma, dear, what are you going to do?” asked Margaretta, coaxingly.
“Do tell me.”
“Keep the family together,” said Grandma, serenely.
“The old cry,” exclaimed Margaretta. “I’ve heard that ever since I was
born. What makes you say it so much?”
“Shall I tell you?”
“Yes, yes--it is a regular watchword with you.”
“When my father found himself trapped in that burning building,”
said Grandma, knitting a little more rapidly than before, “he looked
down from his window into the street and saw a man that he knew.
‘Jefferson,’ he called out, ‘will you take a message to my wife?’
“‘I’ll take fifty, sir,’ answered the man, in an agony.
“My father was quite calm. ‘Then, Jefferson,’ he went on, ‘tell my wife
that I said “God bless her,” with my last breath, and that I want her
to keep the family together. Mind, Jefferson, she is to keep the family
together.’
“‘I’ll tell her,’ said the man, and, groaning and dazed with the heat,
he turned away. Now, that wife was my stepmother, but she did as her
husband bade her. She kept the family together, in sickness and in
health, in adversity and in prosperity.”
Margaretta was crying nervously.
“If you will compose yourself, I will go on,” said Grandma.
Margaretta dried her tears.
“Those four dying, living words were branded on my memory, and your
mother was taught to lisp them with her earliest breath, though she
was an only child. When she left me that sunny spring day to go on her
long, last journey, she may have had a presentiment--I do not know--but
I do know that as she pressed her blooming face to mine, she glanced at
her three children playing on the grass, and whispered, lovingly, ‘Keep
the family together.’”
“And you did it,” cried Margaretta, flinging up her head, “you did it
nobly. You have been father, mother, grandfather and grandmother to us.
You are a darling.” And seizing the little, nimble hands busy with the
stocking, she kissed them fervently.
Grandma smiled at her, picked up her work, and went on, briskly: “Keep
the family together, and you keep the clan together. Keep the clan
together, and you keep the nation together. Foster national love and
national pride, and you increase the brotherhood of man.”
“Then the family is the rock on which the nation is built,” said
Margaretta, her beautiful face a flood of colour.
“Certainly.”
“Then I am a helping stone in the building of a nation,” continued
Margaretta. “I, only a young woman in a small city of this great Union?”
“You are a wife,” said Grandma, composedly, “a young and inexperienced
one, but still the head of a family.”
Margaretta shivered. “What a responsibility--what kind of a wife am I?”
Grandma maintained a discreet silence.
“Berty says I am extravagant,” exclaimed Margaretta, with a gesture
toward the bed.
Again her grandmother said nothing.
“Am I, Grandma, darling, am I?” asked the young woman, in a wheedling
voice.
Grandma’s lips trembled, and her dimple displayed itself again.
“I am,” cried Margaretta, springing up and clasping her hands
despairingly. “I spend all Roger gives me. We have no fortune back of
us, only his excellent income from the iron works. If that were to
fail, we should be ruined. I am a careless, poorly-turned stone in the
foundation of this mighty nation. I must shape and strengthen myself,
and, Grandma, dear, let me begin by helping you and Berty and Bonny.
You will have to give up this house--oh, my darling Grandma, how can
you--this handsome house that grandfather built for you? What will you
do without your velvet carpets, and lace curtains, and palms and roses?
Oh, you will come to me! I shall save enough to keep you, and I shall
lose my reason if you don’t.”
CHAPTER II.
GRANDMA’S WATCHWORD
“See here,” said Grandma, feeling in her pocket. “Look at these
telegrams.”
Margaretta hastily ran her eye over them. “I don’t understand.”
“Let me explain,” said Grandma, softly. “Brother John sends regrets for
loss--will guarantee so many hundreds a year. Brother Henry sympathizes
deeply to the extent of a tenth of his income. Sister Mary and Sister
Lucy will come to see me as soon as possible. Substantial financial aid
to be reckoned on.”
“Oh, Grandma! Grandma!” said the girl, still only half-enlightened.
“What do they mean?”
Grandma smiled complacently. “You notice that not one of them offers me
a home, though, Heaven knows, their homes are as wide as their hearts.
They are not rich, not one is exceedingly rich, yet they all
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WITH HAIG ON THE SOMME
WITH HAIG ON THE SOMME
BY
D. H. PARRY
_Author of "Gilbert the Outlaw"; "The Scarlet Scouts"; "The V.C.: Its
Heroes and their Valour," etc. etc._
WITH FOUR COLOUR PLATES BY
ARCHIBALD WEBB
CASSELL AND COMPANY, LTD
London, New York, Toronto and Melbourne
First Published 1917 [Illustration: "The Commandant threw up his arms
and pitched backward; Dennis dropped his weapon and caught him as he
fell"]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
1. AN UNCENSORED LETTER READ ALOUD 1
2. OFF TO THE FRONT 14
3. "AT TEN O'CLOCK SHARP!" 22
4. HIS FIRST TIME UNDER FIRE 33
5. HOW DENNIS CAME IN FOR A TASTE OF DISPATCH RIDING 42
6. A TERRIBLE ADVENTURE AT DAWN 50
7. A FRIEND IN NEED 60
8. IN THE ENEMY TRENCHES 70
9. IN THE SNIPER'S LAIR 78
10. IN WHICH DENNIS MEETS CLAUDE LAVAL, PILOTE AVIATEUR 87
11. A DARING DASH 97
12. IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY 107
13. A MAD GAMBLE FOR LIBERTY 116
14. THE SING-SONG IN THE DUG-OUT 128
15. "REEDSHIRES!--GET OVER!" 136
16. THE SILENCING OF THE GUNS 146
17. THE EXPLOITS OF A COMPANY 155
18. WITH THE LEWIS GUN--AND AFTER 163
19. WHAT THEY LEARNED ON THE GERMAN TELEPHONE 173
20. THE LAST RUNG OF A BROKEN LADDER 183
21. VON DUSSEL'S REVENGE 191
22. THE ROW IN THE RESTAURANT 200
23. "GAS!" 210
24. THE CHATEAU AT THE TRENCH END 219
25. FROM KITE BALLOON TO SADDLE 229
26. UNDER THE GERMAN EAGLE 240
27. ON THE PART DENNIS PLAYED IN THE RECAPTURE OF BIACHES 247
28. THE EXCITING ADVENTURES OF "CARL HEFT" 255
29. AN OLD FRIEND--AND A BITTER ENEMY! 265
30. UNDER THE ENEMY WALL 275
31. WITH DASHWOOD'S BRIGADE 284
32. THE REWARDS OF VALOUR 295
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
"THE COMMANDANT THREW UP HIS ARMS AND PITCHED _Frontispiece_
BACKWARD; DENNIS DROPPED HIS WEAPON, CAUGHT HIM
AS HE FELL"
PAGE
"DENNIS FLUNG HIS BOMBS INTO THE SPACE AND
TREMENDOUS EXPLOSIONS ENSUED" 96
"BEFORE THE GERMANS REALISED WHAT WAS HAPPENING,
THERE WAS AN UGLY BIT OF BAYONET WORK" 150
"NOTHING COULD CHECK THE VICTORIOUS RUSH" 286
WITH HAIG ON THE SOMME
CHAPTER I
An Uncensored Letter Read Aloud
Private Harry Hawke, of the 2/12th Battalion Royal Reedshire Regiment
(T.F.), sat on the step of the fire trench, his back against the
parapet, busy with the bolt of his rifle.
There were two things he loved more than anything else in life, and that
rifle was one of them. The other was his platoon commander, Captain Bob
Dashwood, who chanced to be coming along the communication at the
moment, and the Cockney private's eyes lit up as he saw him.
"Hallo, Hawke! All quiet?" said Captain Dashwood with a jerk of his head
in the direction of the German lines, only one hundred and twenty yards
across the mangled strip of Dead Man's Land that intervened.
"Quiet as the bloomin' grave, sir," replied Harry Hawke with a grin,
though he had almost to shout to make himself heard.
A howitzer battery was shelling the enemy from the wood on the left, and
the Germans were replying with "crumps," which luckily all went wide.
"Seen anything more of that sniper that picked Marshall and Brown off
last night?" questioned the captain.
"Not likely, sir. I got 'im 'arf an hour after we took over the relief,"
grinned the marksman of A Company, pointing with an oily finger to a
fresh notch cut on the rifle stock. "He tumbled out of the willer tree
flat, same as if you chucked a
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by Cornell University Digital Collections)
VOL. XXXIV. NO. 10.
THE
AMERICAN MISSIONARY.
* * * * *
“To the Poor the Gospel is Preached.”
* * * * *
OCTOBER, 1880.
_CONTENTS_:
EDITORIAL.
OUR ANNUAL MEETING—PARAGRAPHS 289
PARAGRAPHS 290
JUBILEE SINGERS 291
ATLANTA’S <DW52> PEOPLE—COMMON SENSE FOR <DW52> MEN 292
OUR SCHOOLS AND THE COMMON SCHOOL SYSTEM 293
A NEW SOUTH, NOT A NEW ENGLAND IN THE SOUTH 294
MTESA AND THE RELIGION OF HIS ANCESTORS 296
BEGGING LETTER 297
AFRICAN NOTES 299
ITEMS FROM THE FIELD 300
THE FREEDMEN.
CADETSHIP 302
NORTH CAROLINA, MCLEANSVILLE—Revival Interest 302
SOUTH CAROLINA, GREENWOOD 303
GEORGIA—Midway Anniversary 304
GEORGIA—Atlanta University and Temperance 305
ALABAMA—Shelby Ironworks 305
ALABAMA—FLORENCE—Outside Work 306
MISSISSIPPI—Tougaloo University 307
THE INDIANS.
S’KOKOMISH AGENCY: Rev. Myron Eells 308
SISSETON AGENCY: Chas. Crissey 309
THE CHINESE.
SERMON BY JEE GAM 310
CHILDREN’S PAGE.
CHINESE AND CHINESE CUSTOMS 312
RECEIPTS 313
CONSTITUTION 317
AIM, STATISTICS, WANTS 318
* * * * *
NEW YORK:
Published by the American Missionary Association,
ROOMS, 56 READE STREET.
* * * * *
Price, 50 Cents a Year, in advance.
Entered at the Post Office at New York, N. Y., as second-class matter.
* * * * *
AMERICAN MISSIONARY ASSOCIATION
56 READE STREET, N. Y.
* * * * *
PRESIDENT.
HON. E. S. TOBEY, Boston.
VICE-PRESIDENTS.
Hon. F. D. PARISH, Ohio.
Hon. E. D. HOLTON, Wis.
Hon. WILLIAM CLAFLIN, Mass.
ANDREW LESTER, Esq., N. Y.
Rev. STEPHEN THURSTON, D. D., Me.
Rev. SAMUEL HARRIS, D. D., Ct.
WM. C. CHAPIN, Esq., R. I.
Rev. W. T. EUSTIS, D. D., Mass.
Hon. A. C. BARSTOW, R. I.
Rev. THATCHER THAYER, D. D., R. I.
Rev. RAY PALMER, D. D., N. J.
Rev. EDWARD BEECHER, D. D., N. Y.
Rev. J. M. STURTEVANT, D. D., Ill.
Rev. W. W. PATTON, D. D., D. C.
Hon. SEYMOUR STRAIGHT, La.
HORACE HALLOCK, Esq., Mich.
Rev. CYRUS W. WALLACE, D. D., N. H.
Rev. EDWARD HAWES, D. D., Ct.
DOUGLAS PUTNAM, Esq., Ohio.
Hon. THADDEUS FAIRBANKS, Vt.
SAMUEL D. PORTER, Esq., N. Y.
Rev. M. M. G. DANA, D. D., Minn.
Rev. H. W. BEECHER, N. Y.
Gen. O. O. HOWARD, Oregon.
Rev. G. F. MAGOUN, D. D., Iowa.
Col. C. G. HAMMOND, Ill.
EDWARD SPAULDING, M. D., N. H.
DAVID RIPLEY, Esq., N. J.
Rev. WM. M. BARBOUR, D. D., Ct.
Rev. W. L. GAGE, D. D., Ct.
A.
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Produced by David Widger
THE LITTLE MANX NATION
By Hall Caine
Published by William Heinemann - 1891
To the REVEREND T. S. BROWN, M.A.
You see what I send you--my lectures at the Royal Institution in the
Spring. In making a little book of them I have thought it best to
leave them as they were delivered, with all the colloquialisms that are
natural to spoken words frankly exposed to cold print. This does not
help them to any particular distinction as literature, but perhaps it
lends them an ease and familiarity which may partly atone to you and to
all good souls for their plentiful lack of dignity. I have said so often
that I am not an historian, that I ought to add that whatever history
lies hidden here belongs to Train, our only accredited chronicler,
and, even at the risk of bowing too low, I must needs protest, in our
north-country homespun, that he shall have the pudding if he will
also take the pudding-bag. You know what I mean. At some points our
history--especially our early history--is still so vague, so dubious,
so full of mystery. It is all the fault of little Mannanan, our ancient
Manx magician, who enshrouded our island in mist. Or should I say it
is to his credit, for has he not left us through all time some shadowy
figures to fight about, like "rael, thrue, reg'lar" Manxmen. As for the
stories, the "yarns" that lie like flies--like blue-bottles, like bees,
I trust not like wasps--in the amber of the history, you will see that
they are mainly my own. On second thought it occurs to me that maybe
they are mainly yours. Let us say that they are both yours and mine,
or perhaps, if the world finds anything good in them, any humour, any
pathos, any racy touches of our rugged people, you will permit me to
determine their ownership in the way of this paraphrase of Coleridge's
doggerel version of the two Latin hexameters--
"They're mine and they are likewise yours, But an if that will not do,
Let them be mine, good friend! for I Am the poorer of the two."
Hawthorns, Keswick, June 1891.
CONTENTS
THE STORY OF THE MANX KINGS
Islanders--Our Island--The Name of our Island--Our History--King
Orry--The Tynwald--The Lost Saga--The Manx Macbeth--The Manx
Glo'ster--Scotch and English Dominion--The Stanley Dynasty--Iliam
Dhoan--The Athol Dynasty--Smuggling and Wrecking--The Revestment--Home
Rule--Orry's Sons
THE STORY OF THE MANX BISHOPS
The Druids--Conversion to Christianity--The Early Bishops of
Man--Bishops of the Welsh Dynasty--Bishops of the Norse Dynasty--Sodor
and Man--The Early Bishops of the House of Stanley--Tithes in
Kind--The Gambling Bishop--The Deemsters--The Bishopric Vacant--Bishop
Wilson--Bishop Wilson's Censures--The Great Corn Famine--The Bishop at
Court--Stories of Bishop Wilson--Quarrels of Church and State--Some
Old Ordeals--The Herring Fishery--The Fishermen's Service--Some Old
Laws--Katherine Kinrade--Bishop Wilson's last Days--The Athol Bishops.
THE STORY OF THE MANX PEOPLE
The Manx Language--Manx Names--Manx imagination--Manx Proverbs--Manx
Ballads--Manx Carols--Decay of the Manx Language--Manx
Superstitions--Manx Stories--Manx "Characters"--Manx
Characteristics--Manx Types--Literary Associations--Manx
Progress--Conclusion
THE LITTLE MANX NATION
THE STORY OF THE MANX KINGS
There are just two ideas which are associated in the popular imagination
with the first thought of the Isle of Man. The one is that Manxmen have
three legs, and the other that Manx cats have no tails. But whatever
the popular conception, or misconception, of Man and its people, I shall
assume that what you ask from me is that simple knowledge of simple
things which has come to me by the accident of my parentage. I must
confess to you at the outset that I am not much of a hand at grave
history. Facts and figures I cannot expound with authority. But I know
the history of the Isle of Man, can see it clear, can see it whole, and
perhaps it will content you if I can show you the soul of it and make
it to live before you. In attempting to traverse the history I feel like
one who carries a dark lantern through ten dark centuries. I turn the
bull's eye on this incident and that, take a peep here and there, a
white light now, and then a blank darkness. Those ten centuries are
full of lusty fights, victories, vanquishments, quarrels, peacemaking,
shindies big and little, rumpus solemn and ridiculous, clouds of dust,
regal dust, political dust
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Produced by Annie R. McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE]
* * * * *
VOL. II.--NO. 81. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.
Tuesday, May 17, 1881. Copyright, 1881, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50 per
Year, in Advance.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
[Begun in No. 80 of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, May 10.]
THE CRUISE OF THE "GHOST."
BY W. L. ALDEN,
AUTHOR OF THE "THE MORAL PIRATES," ETC.
CHAPTER II.
The next day Charley had the boat drawn up on the shore, and went to
work at her, assisted by the other boys. It took two weeks of constant
work to lengthen her, but when she was finished, everybody admitted that
she was greatly improved.
The jib halyards and sheets, as well as the throat and peak halyards,
were all led aft so that they could be reached by the helmsman without
leaving his post. When all the other work was finished, Charley made a
gun-carriage for the cannon, and it was lashed to the deck just forward
of the mast. Nothing now remained to be done but to name the boat, and
this proved to be the most difficult task of all. Each of the boys could
think of a dozen names that he did not like, but not one that he really
did like. Tom thought that perhaps they could not do better than to call
her the _America_, or the _George Washington_, but admitted that both of
those names were in rather too common use. Harry said that he didn't
much like the idea of calling her the _Red Revenger_, but if they
couldn't find any better name they might have to come to it. Charley
ridiculed the idea of calling her the _Red Revenger_, since she was not
intended to revenge anything, and instead of being red was as white as a
ghost. "Then suppose we call her the _Ghost_," exclaimed Joe.
The other boys asked if he was in earnest, said that it would never do
to call the boat the _Ghost_, and finally agreed that they rather liked
the name than otherwise, on account of its oddity. The end of it was
that Joe's suggestion was adopted, and _Ghost_ was painted in large
letters on the stern.
Three days before the cruise was to begin Jim Sharpe fell down an open
cellarway and broke his leg. The boys at first thought of abandoning
their cruise altogether, but Jim wouldn't hear of it. He told them to
go, and write him letters every few days, and convinced them that he
would really feel hurt if they did not go, so they bade him good-by, and
set sail from Harlem the following Monday morning, half in doubt whether
they ought to enjoy themselves while poor Jim was lying on a sick-bed,
where he was to pass most of his vacation.
The breeze blew gently from the west, and the _Ghost_, with the tide in
her favor, slipped rapidly down the river under full sail. As soon as
the yacht was fairly off, Charley, who was at the helm, divided his crew
into watches. The starboard watch consisted of the Captain and Joe, and
the port watch consisted of Tom and Harry, the former being in command
of it as mate. Each watch was to take charge of the boat in turn, and to
remain in charge four hours, except when the _Ghost_ might be lying at
anchor. The officer in charge of the watch was to steer, while his
companion was to be stationed in the forward part of the cockpit, where
he could handle the centre-board and attend to the jib sheets. Whenever
the officer gave an order, it was to be executed by his companion, and
the other boys were to remain quiet unless "all hands" were called.
Charley had been in the navy long enough to know that no vessel, however
small or however big she may be, can be properly sailed unless every
member of the crew knows what his duty is, and how to do it, and
refrains from interfering with the duty of other men, unless especially
ordered to do so.
The river was crowded with sailing craft and steamboats, and it was no
easy matter to steer the _Ghost_ so as to avoid collision. Every little
while a ferry-boat or tug would whistle hoarsely, and the boys noticed
that very often Charley altered the course he had been steering as soon
as he heard the whistle. "Do those whistles mean anything except for us
to get out of the way?" asked Harry, presently.
"A long whistle or a lot of little short wh
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CITIZEN BIRD
Scenes from Bird-Life in Plain English for Beginners
BY
MABEL OSGOOD WRIGHT AND ELLIOTT COUES
With One Hundred and Eleven Illustrations by Louis Agassiz Fuertes
1897
[Illustration: Long-eared owl.]
TO ALL BOYS AND GIRLS
WHO LOVE BIRDS
AND WISH TO PROTECT THEM
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED
BY THE AUTHORS
_SCENE_:
THE ORCHARD FARM.
_TIME_:
FROM SPRING TO AUTUMN.
_CHARACTERS_:
DR. ROY HUNTER, a naturalist.
OLIVE, the Doctor's daughter.
NAT and DODO, the Doctor's nephew and niece.
RAP, a country boy.
MAMMY BUN, an old nurse.
OLAF, a fisherman.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
OVERTURE BY THE BIRDS
CHAPTER II
THE DOCTOR'S WONDER ROOM
CHAPTER III
A SPARROW SETTLES THE QUESTION
CHAPTER IV
THE BUILDING OF A BIRD
CHAPTER V
CITIZEN BIRD
CHAPTER VI
THE BIRD AS A TRAVELLER
CHAPTER VII
THE BIRD'S NEST
CHAPTER VIII
BEGINNING OF THE BIRD STORIES
CHAPTER IX
A SILVER-TONGUED FAMILY
Bluebird--Robin--Wood Thrush--Wilson's Thrush--Hermit
Thrush--Olive-backed Thrush.
CHAPTER X
PEEPERS AND CREEPERS
Golden-crowned Kinglet--White-breasted
Nuthatch--Chickadee--Brown Creeper.
CHAPTER XI
MOCKERS AND SCOLDERS
Sage Thrasher--Mockingbird--Catbird--Brown
Thrasher--Rock Wren--House Wren--Long-billed Marsh Wren.
CHAPTER XII
WOODLAND WARBLERS
Black-and-white Warbler--Yellow Warbler--Yellow-rumped
Warbler--Ovenbird--Maryland Yellow-throat--Yellow-breasted
Chat--American Redstart.
CHAPTER XIII
AROUND THE OLD BARN
Red-eyed Vireo--Great Northern Shrike--Cedar Waxwing.
CHAPTER XIV
THE SWALLOWS
Purple Martin--Barn Swallow--Tree Swallow--Bank
Swallow.
CHAPTER XV
A BRILLIANT PAIR
Scarlet Tanager--Louisiana Tanager.
CHAPTER XVI
A TRIBE OF WEED WARRIORS
Pine Grosbeak--American Crossbill--American
Goldfinch--Snowflake--Vesper Sparrow--White-throated
Sparrow--Chipping Sparrow--Slate- Junco--Song
Sparrow--Towhee--Cardinal--Rose-breasted Grosbeak--Indigo
Bird.
CHAPTER XVII
A MIDSUMMER EXCURSION
Bobolink--Orchard Oriole--Baltimore
Oriole--Cowbird--Red-winged Blackbird--Purple
Grackle--Meadowlark.
CHAPTER XVIII
CROWS AND THEIR COUSINS
American Crow--Blue Jay.
CHAPTER XIX
A FEATHERED FISHERMAN
The Osprey.
CHAPTER XX
SOME SKY SWEEPERS
Kingbird--Phoebe--Wood Pewee.
CHAPTER XXI
HUMMERS AND CHIMNEY SWEEPS
Ruby-throated Hummingbird--Chimney Swift.
CHAPTER XXII
TWO WINGED MYSTERIES
Nighthawk--Whip-poor-will.
CHAPTER XXIII
A LAUGHING FAMILY
Downy Woodpecker--Red-headed
Woodpecker--Flicker--Yellow-bellied Sapsucker.
CHAPTER XXIV
TWO ODD FELLOWS
Kingfisher--Yellow-billed Cuckoo.
CHAPTER XXV
CANNIBALS IN COURT
Bald Eagle--Golden Eagle--Screech Owl--Long-eared
Owl--Snowy Owl--Great Horned Owl--Marsh Hawk--Sharp-shinned
Hawk--Red-shouldered Hawk--Sparrow Hawk.
CHAPTER XXVI
A COOING PAIR
Passenger Pigeon--Mourning Dove.
CHAPTER XX
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See 52902-h.htm or 52902-h.zip:
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Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
A carat character is used to denote superscription. A
single character following the carat is superscripted
(example: D^o). Multiple superscripted characters are
enclosed by curly brackets (example: 15^{inch}).
A
Naval Expositor,
_Shewing and Explaining
The Words and Terms of Art belonging to
the Parts, Qualities and Proportions of Building,
Rigging, Furnishing, & Fitting a Ship for Sea_.
Also
_All Species that are received into the Magazines,
and on what Services they are Used and Issued._
Together with
_The Titles of all the Inferior Officers belonging to a Ship,
with an Abridgment of their respective Duties._
_By Thomas Riley Blanckley._
_LONDON Printed by E. Owen, in Warwick Lane, and
Engraved by Paul Fourdrinier at Charing Cross._
MDCCL.
_To the Right Honourable the Lords Commissioners for Executing the
Office of Lord High Admiral of_ Great Britain _and_ Ireland, _and of
all His Majesty's Plantations_, &c.
As the following Sheets have been published by your Lordships
Approbation, they are, with the greatest Submission and Gratitude,
dedicated to your Lordships,
_By,
My Lords,
Your Lordships
Most Obedient,
Most Dutiful,
and
Most Humble Servant_,
Thomas Riley Blanckley.
A LIST OF THE SUBSCRIBERS.
A.
Right Honourable the Lords of the _Admiralty_ (as a Board.)
Joseph Allin, _Esq_; _Surveyor of His Majesty's Navy_.
Governors and Company of the _Royal Exchange Assurance Office_.
Capt. Mariot Arbuthnot.
Capt. Thomas Andrewes.
George Atkins, _Esq_;
William Allix, _Esq_;
Charles Alexander, _Esq_;
Michael Atkins, _Esq_;
Roger Altham, _Esq_;
William Allix, _Esq_; _Commissioner of the Six-penny Office_.
Mr Gabriel Acworth.
Mr John Andrews.
Mr Elias Arnaud.
Mr Thomas Adney.
Mr Charles Allen.
Mr Samuel Allin.
Mr Williams Arthur.
Mr D. H. S. Augier.
Mr George Allen.
Lieutenant John Angier.
Mr William Atwick.
Mr James Atkins.
Mr Edward Allin.
B.
His Grace the Duke of Bedford, _Principal Secretary of State_.
Right Honourable Lord Viscount Barrington, _Lord of the Admiralty_,
6 Books.
Charles Brown, _Esq_; _Commissioner of the Navy at Chatham_.
Capt. Wm. Bladwell, 2 Books.
Capt. Patrick Baird.
Capt. Henry Barnfley.
Capt. Mathew Buckle.
Sir William Baird, _Bart_.
George Bellas, _Esq_; 14 Books.
James Bankes, _Esq_;
Edward Busby, _Esq_;
Robert Bennett, _Esq_;
Charles Burley, _Esq_;
Mr Edward Bentham.
Mr Richard Bowers.
Mr John Barker.
Mr James Bucknall.
Mr William Bruce.
Mr Jonas Botting.
Mr Bryan Bentham.
Mr John Baynard.
Mr William Bately.
Mr John Bately.
Mr John Bannick.
Mr Jonas Benjamin.
Mr Thomas Barnfield.
Mr Owen Bird.
Mr Richard Burry.
Mr Daniel Baverstock.
Lieut. Thomas Burnett.
Mr Pentecost Barker.
Mr Nathaniel Bishop.
Mr Robert Bogg.
Mr Charles Bowes.
Mr Thomas Brewer.
Mr Francis Benson.
Mr John Bromfall.
Mr Richard Brett.
C.
Right Honourable Lord Viscount Cobham.
Right. Hon. Lord Colville.
Thomas Corbett, _Esq_; _Secretary
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Produced by Sandra Laythorpe
THE CLEVER WOMAN OF THE FAMILY
by Charlotte M. Yonge
From the 1880 edition published by MacMillan and Co., London.
CHAPTER I. IN SEARCH OF A MISSION
"Thou didst refuse the daily round
Of useful, patient love,
And longedst for some great emprise
Thy spirit high to prove."--C. M. N.
"Che mi sedea con l'antica Rachele."--DANTE.
"It is very kind in the dear mother."
"But--what, Rachel? Don't you like it! She so enjoyed choosing it for
you."
"Oh yes, it is a perfect thing in its way. Don't say a word to her; but
if you are consulted for my next birthday present, Grace, couldn't you
suggest that one does cease to be a girl."
"Only try it on, Rachel dear, she will be pleased to see you in it."
"Oh yes, I will bedizen myself to oblige her. I do assure you I am not
ungrateful. It is beautiful in itself, and shows how well nature can be
imitated; but it is meant for a mere girl, and this is the very day I
had fixed for hauling down the flag of youth."
"Oh, Rachel."
"Ah, ha! If Rachel be an old maid, what is Grace? Come, my dear, resign
yourself! There is nothing more unbecoming than want of perception of
the close of young-ladyhood."
"Of course I know we are not quite young girls now," said Grace, half
perplexed, half annoyed.
"Exactly, from this moment we are established as the maiden sisters of
Avonmouth, husband and wife to one another, as maiden pairs always are."
"Then thus let me crown, our bridal," quoth Grace, placing on her
sister's head the wreath of white roses.
"Treacherous child!" cried Rachel, putting up her hands and tossing her
head, but her sister held her still.
"You know brides always take liberties. Please, dear, let it stay till
the mother has been in, and pray don't talk, before her of being so very
old."
"No, I'll not be a shock to her. We will silently assume our immunities,
and she will acquiesce if they come upon her gradually."
Grace looked somewhat alarmed, being perhaps in some dread of
immunities, and aware that Rachel's silence would in any one else have
been talkativeness.
"Ah, mother dear, good morning," as a pleasant placid-looking lady
entered, dressed in black, with an air of feeble health, but of comely
middle age.
Birthday greetings, congratulations, and thanks followed, and the mother
looked critically at the position of the wreath, and Rachel for
the first time turned to the glass and met a set of features of an
irregular, characteristic cast, brow low and broad, nose retrousse, with
large, singularly sensitive nostrils quivering like those of a high-bred
horse at any emotion, full pouting lips, round cheeks glowing with
the freshest red, eyes widely opened, dark deep grey and decidedly
prominent, though curtained with thick black lashes. The glossy chestnut
hair partook of the redundance and vigour of the whole being, and the
roses hung on it gracefully though not in congruity with the thick
winter dress of blue and black tartan, still looped up over the dark
petticoat and hose, and stout high-heeled boots, that like the grey
cloak and felt hat bore witness to the early walk. Grace's countenance
and figure were in the same style, though without so much of mark or
animation; and her dress was of like description, but less severely
plain.
"Yes, my dear, it looks very well; and now you will oblige me by not
wearing that black lace thing, that looks fit for your grandmother."
"Poor Lovedy Kelland's aunt made it, mother, and it was very expensive,
and wouldn't sell."
"No wonder, I am sure, and it was very kind in you to take it off their
hands; but now it is paid for, it can't make much difference whether you
disfigure yourself with it or not."
"Oh yes, dear mother, I'll bind my hair when you bid me do it and really
these buds do credit to the makers. I wonder whether they cost them
as dear in health as lace does," she added, taking off the flowers and
examining them with a grave sad look.
"I chose white roses," proceeded the well-pleased mother, "because I
thought they would suit either of the silks you have now, though I own I
should like to see you in another white muslin."
"I have done with white muslin," said Rachel, rousing from her reverie.
"It is an affectation of girlish simplicity not becoming at our age."
"Oh Rachel!" thought Grace in despair; but to her great relief in at
that moment filed the five maids, the coachman, and butler, and the
mother began to read prayers.
Breakfast over, Rachel gathered up her various gifts
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THE SALAMANDER
[Illustration: Dore]
THE
SALAMANDER
_By_
OWEN JOHNSON
_Author of_
THE VARMINT, STOVER AT YALE
THE SIXTY-FIRST SECOND, ETC.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
EVERETT SHINN
INDIANAPOLIS
THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT 1914
THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
PRESS OF
BRAUNWORTH & CO.
BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS
BROOKLYN, N. Y.
TO MY WIFE
FOREWORD
Precarious the lot of the author who elects to show his public what it
does not know, but doubly exposed he who in the indiscreet exploration
of customs and manners publishes what the public knows but is unwilling
to confess! In the first place incredulity tempers censure, in the
second resentment is fanned by the necessity of self-recognition. For
the public is like the defendant in matrimony, amused and tolerant when
unconvinced of the justice of a complaint, but fiercely aroused when
defending its errors.
In the present novel I am quite aware that where criticism is most
risked is at the hands of those entrenched moralists who, while
admitting certain truths as fit subjects for conversation, aggressively
resent the same when such truths are published. Many such will believe
that in the following depiction of a curious and new type of modern
young women, product of changing social forces, profoundly significant
of present unrest and prophetic of stranger developments to come, the
author, in depicting simply what does exist, is holding a brief for what
should exist.
If the type of young girls here described were an ephemeral
manifestation or even a detached fragment of our society, there might be
a theoretical justification for this policy of censure by silence. But
the Salamanders are neither irrelevant nor the product of unrelated
forces. The rebellious ideas that sway them are the same ideas that are
profoundly at work in the new generation of women, and while for this
present work I have limited my field, be sure that the young girl of
to-day, from the age of eighteen to twenty-five, whether facing the
world alone or peering out at it from the safety of the family, whether
in the palaces of New York, the homesteads of New England, the manors of
the South or the throbbing cities and villages of the West, whatever her
station or her opportunity, has in her undisciplined and roving
imagination a little touch of the Salamander.
That there exists a type of young girl that heedlessly will affront
every appearance of evil and can yet remain innocent; that this
innocence, never relinquished, can yet be tumultuously curious and
determined on the exploration of the hitherto forbidden sides of life,
especially when such reconnoitering is rendered enticing by the presence
of danger--here are two apparent contradictions difficult of belief. Yet
in the case of the Salamander's brother, society finds no such
difficulty--it terms that masculine process, "seeing the world," a study
rather to be recommended for the sake of satisfied future tranquillity.
That the same can be true of the opposite sex, that a young girl without
physical temptation may be urged by a mental curiosity to see life
through whatever windows, that she may feel the same impetuous frenzy of
youth as her brother, the same impulse to sample each new excitement,
and that in this curiosity may be included the safe and the dangerous,
the obvious and the complex, the casual and the strange, that she may
arrogate to herself the right to examine everything, question
everything, peep into everything--tentatively to project herself into
every possibility and after a few years of this frenzy of excited
curiosity can suddenly be translated into a formal and discreet mode of
life--here is an exposition which may well appear incredible on the
printed page. I say on the printed page because few men are there who
will not recognize the justice of the type of Salamander here portrayed.
Only as their experience has been necessarily individual they do not
proceed to the recognition of a general type. They know them well as
accidents in the phantasmagoria of New York but they do not comprehend
them in the least.
The Salamander in the last analysis is a little atom possessed of a
brain, thrown against the great tragic luxury of New York, which has
impelled her to it as the flame the moth.
She comes ro
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Produced by Charles Keller and David Widger
THE MERRY ADVENTURES OF ROBIN HOOD
by Howard Pyle
PREFACE
FROM THE AUTHOR TO THE READER
You who so plod amid serious things that you feel it shame to give
yourself up even for a few short moments to mirth and joyousness in the
land of Fancy; you who think that life hath nought to do with innocent
laughter that can harm no one; these pages are not for you. Clap to the
leaves and go no farther than this, for I tell you plainly that if you
go farther you will be scandalized by seeing good, sober folks of real
history so frisk and caper in gay colors and motley that you would
not know them but for the names tagged to them. Here is a stout, lusty
fellow with a quick temper, yet none so ill for all that, who goes by
the name of Henry II. Here is a fair, gentle lady before whom all the
others bow and call her Queen Eleanor. Here is a fat rogue of a fellow,
dressed up in rich robes of a clerical kind, that all the good folk call
my Lord Bishop of Hereford. Here is a certain fellow with a sour temper
and a grim look--the worshipful, the Sheriff of Nottingham. And here,
above all, is a great, tall, merry fellow that roams the greenwood and
joins in homely sports, and sits beside the Sheriff at merry feast,
which same beareth the name of the proudest of the Plantagenets--Richard
of the Lion's Heart. Beside these are a whole host of knights, priests,
nobles, burghers, yeomen, pages, ladies, lasses, landlords, beggars,
peddlers, and what not, all living the merriest of merry lives, and all
bound by nothing but a few odd strands of certain old ballads (snipped
and clipped and tied together again in a score of knots) which draw
these jocund fellows here and there, singing as they go.
Here you will find a hundred dull, sober, jogging places, all tricked
out with flowers and what not, till no one would know them in their
fanciful dress. And here is a country bearing a well-known name, wherein
no chill mists press upon our spirits, and no rain falls but what rolls
off our backs like April showers off the backs of sleek drakes; where
flowers bloom forever and birds are always singing; where every fellow
hath a merry catch as he travels the roads, and ale and beer and wine
(such as muddle no wits) flow like water in a brook.
This country is not Fairyland. What is it? 'Tis the land of Fancy, and
is of that pleasant kind that, when you tire of it--whisk!--you clap
the leaves of this book together and 'tis gone, and you are ready for
everyday life, with no harm done.
And now I lift the curtain that hangs between here and No-man's-land.
Will you come with me, sweet Reader? I thank you. Give me your hand.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I HOW ROBIN HOOD CAME TO BE AN OUTLAW 1
II ROBIN HOOD AND THE TINKER 14
III THE SHOOTING MATCH AT NOTTINGHAM TOWN 27
IV WILL STUTELY RESCUED BY HIS COMPANIONS 38
V ROBIN HOOD TURNS BUTCHER 50
VI LITTLE JOHN GOES TO NOTTINGHAM FAIR 61
VII HOW LITTLE JOHN LIVED AT THE SHERIFF'S 68
VIII LITTLE JOHN AND THE TANNER OF BLYTH 81
IX ROBIN HOOD AND WILL SCARLET 92
X THE ADVENTURE WITH MIDGE, THE MILLER'S SON 102
Xl ROBIN HOOD AND ALLAN A DALE 115
XII ROBIN HOOD SEEKS THE CURTAL FRIAR 129
XIII ROBIN HOOD COMPASSES A MARRIAGE 145
XIV ROBIN HOOD AIDS A SORROWFUL KNIGHT 156
XV HOW SIR RICHARD OF THE LEA PAID HIS DEBTS 172
XVI LITTLE JOHN TURNS BAREFOOT FRIAR 186
XVII ROBIN HOOD TURNS BEGGAR 202
XVIII
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project.)
OBSERVATIONS
ON
MOUNT VESUVIUS,
MOUNT ETNA,
AND OTHER VOLCANOS:
IN
A SERIES OF LETTERS,
Addressed to THE ROYAL SOCIETY,
From the Honourable Sir W. HAMILTON,
K.B. F.R.S.
His Majesty's Envoy Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary
at the Court of NAPLES.
To which are added,
Explanatory NOTES by the AUTHOR,
hitherto unpublished.
A NEW EDITION.
LONDON,
Printed for T. CADELL, in the Strand.
M DCC LXXIV.
THE EDITOR
TO
THE PUBLIC.
Having mentioned to Sir WILLIAM HAMILTON the general Desire of all
Lovers of Natural History, that his Letters upon the Subject of VOLCANOS
should be collected together in one Volume, particularly for the
Convenience of such as may have an Opportunity of visiting the curious
Spots described in them: He was not only pleased to approve of my
having undertaken this Publication, but has likewise favoured with the
additional explanatory Notes and Drawings,
The PUBLIC's most obliged,
and devoted
humble Servant,
T. CADELL.
May 30, 1772.
OBSERVATIONS
ON
MOUNT VESUVIUS, &c.
LETTER I.
To the Right Honourable the Earl of MORTON, President of the Royal
Society.
Naples, June 10, 1766.
My LORD,
As I have attended particularly to the various changes of Mount
Vesuvius, from the 17th of November 1764, the day of my arrival at this
capital; I flatter myself, that my observations will not be unacceptable
to your Lordship, especially as this Volcano has lately made a very
considerable eruption. I shall confine myself merely to the many
extraordinary appearances that have come under my own inspection, and
leave their explanation to the more learned in Natural Philosophy.
During the first twelvemonth of my being here, I did not perceive any
remarkable alteration in the mountain; but I observed, the smoke from
the Volcano was much more considerable in bad weather than when it was
fair[1]; and I often heard (even at Naples, six miles from Vesuvius) in
bad weather, the inward explosions of the mountain. When I have been at
the top of Mount Vesuvius in fair weather, I have sometimes found so
little smoke, that I have been able to see far down the mouth of the
Volcano; the sides of which were incrusted with salts and mineral of
various colors, white, green, deep and pale yellow. The smoke that
issued from the mouth of the Volcano in bad weather was white, very
moist, and not near so offensive as the sulphureous steams from various
cracks on the sides of the mountain.
Towards the month of September last, I perceived the smoke to be more
considerable, and to continue even in fair weather; and in October I
perceived sometimes a puff of black smoke shoot up a considerable height
in the midst of the white, which symptom of an approaching eruption grew
more frequent daily; and soon after, these puffs of smoke appeared in
the night tinged like clouds with the setting sun.
About the beginning of November, I went up the mountain: it was then
covered with snow; and I perceived a little hillock of sulphur had been
thrown up, since my last visit there, within about forty yards of the
mouth of the Volcano; it was near six feet high, and a light blue flame
issued constantly from its top. As I was examining this phaenomenon, I
heard a violent report; and saw a column of black smoke, followed by a
reddish flame, shoot up with violence from the mouth of the Volcano; and
presently fell a shower of stones, one of which, falling near me, made
me retire with some precipitation, and also rendered me more cautious of
approaching too near, in my subsequent journies to Vesuvius.
From November to the 28th of March, the date of the beginning of this
eruption, the smoke increased, and was mixed with ashes, which fell, and
did great damage to the vineyards in the neighbourhood of the
mountain[2]. A few days before the eruption I saw (what Pliny the
younger mentions having seen, before that eruption of Vesuvius which
proved fatal to his uncle) the black smoke take the form of a pine-tree.
The smoke, that appeared black in the day-time, for near two months
before the eruption, had the
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OF UNIFORMITY***
Transcribed from the 1864 Hatchard and Co. edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
CLERICAL SUBSCRIPTION
AND
THE ACT OF UNIFORMITY.
* * * * *
BY THE
REV. EDWARD HOARE, M.A.,
INCUMBENT OF TRINITY CHURCH, TUNBRIDGE WELLS.
* * * * *
LONDON:
HATCHARD AND CO., 187, PICCADILLY.
1864.
* * * * *
ALEX. MACINTOSH,
PRINTER,
GREAT NEW-STREET, LONDON.
* * * * *
CLERICAL SUBSCRIPTION AND THE ACT OF UNIFORMITY.
As it has pleased Her Majesty to appoint a Royal Commission to consider
the subject of Clerical Subscription, the time has clearly come when
those who regard the principle of Subscription to be one of essential
importance to the well-being of our Church should consider carefully by
what arrangements that principle may be best maintained and carried out.
It is the opinion of many that the wisest course is to endeavour to
secure the present system without alteration, and earnestly to oppose any
change of any kind whatever. Under many circumstances, I could believe
in the wisdom of so doing; but if it can be shown that there are great
objections
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Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org
(Images generously made available by the Hathi Trust.)
EMINENT AUTHORS
OF THE
NINETEENTH CENTURY.
_LITERARY PORTRAITS_
BY
Dr. GEORG BRANDES
_TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL BY_
RASMUS B. ANDERSON,
UNITED STATES MINISTER TO DENMARK; AUTHOR OF "NORSE MYTHOLOGY,"
"VIKING TALES OF THE NORTH," "AMERICA NOT DISCOVERED
BY COLUMBUS," AND OTHER WORKS.
NEW YORK:
THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO.
1886
[Illustration: Georg Brandes]
NOTE.
This volume is published by special arrangement with the author. At my
request Dr. Georg Brandes has designated me as his American translator
and takes a personal interest in the enterprise.
To Auber Forestier, who kindly aided me in translating the stories of
Björnstjerne Björnson, I have to express my cordial thanks for valuable
assistance in the preparation of this translation.
RASMUS B. ANDERSON.
COPENHAGEN, DENMARK,
July, 1886.
AUTHOR'S PREFACE.
It is a well-known fact that at the beginning of this century several
prominent Danes endeavored to acquire citizenship in German literature.
Since then the effort has not been repeated by any Danish author. To
say nothing of the political variance between Germany and Denmark,
these examples are far from alluring on the one hand, and on the
other hand they furnish no criterion of the Danish mind. The great
remodeler of the Danish language, Oehlenschläger, placed his works
before the German public in German so wholly lacking in all charm,
that he only gained the rank of a third-class poet in Germany. The
success, however, which lower grades of genius, such as Baggesen and
Steffens, have attained, was the result, in the first case, of a
veritable chameleon-like nature and a talent for language that was
unique of its kind, and in the second, of a complete renunciation of
the mother-tongue.
The author of this volume, who is far from being a chameleon, and who
has by no means given up his native tongue, who stands, indeed, in the
midst of the literary movement which has for some time agitated the
Scandinavian countries, knows very well that a human being can only
wield a powerful influence in the country where he was born, where
he was educated by and for prevailing circumstances. In the present
volume, as in other writings, his design has simply been to write in
the German language for Europe; in other words, to treat his materials
differently than he would have treated them for a purely Scandinavian
public. He owes a heavy debt to the poetry, the philosophy, and the
systematic æsthetics of Germany; but feeling himself called to be
the critic, not the pupil, of the history of German literature, he
cherishes the hope that he may be able to repay at least a small
portion of his debt to Germany.
The nine essays of which this book consists, and of which even those
that have already appeared in periodicals, have been thoroughly
revised, are not to be regarded as "Chips from the Workshop" of a
critic; they are carefully treated literary portraits, united by a
spiritual tie. Men have sat for them, with whom the author, with one
exception (Esaias Tegnér), has been personally acquainted, or of whom
he has at least had a close view. To be sure, the same satisfactory
survey cannot always be taken of a living present as of a completed
past epoch; but perhaps a picture of the present as a whole may be
furnished, the general physiognomy may be arrived at, by characterizing
as faithfully and vividly as possible, some of its typical forms.
The mode of treatment in these essays is greatly diversified. In some
of them the individuality of the author portrayed is represented as
exhaustively as possible; in others, an attempt has simply been made to
present the man in actual person before the eyes of the reader; some
are purely psychological; others offer a fragment of æsthetics; others,
again, are eminently biographical and historical. In all of them the
characteristics of the individual are so chosen as to bring out the
most important features of the author's life and works.
Even the personalities described are of a very heterogeneous nature.
They belong to not less than six nationalities. Common to all of them,
however, there is a something which is more easily felt than defined;
they are modern authors. By this I do not mean that they all, without
exception, with full consciousness, and with their whole hearts, have
paid homage to the "modern" in art and in thought, but merely that
they, even though in a very unequal degree,--which heightens the charm
to the observer,--represent the modern style of
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THE STORY OF POCAHONTAS
AND CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH
TOLD AND PICTURED BY E. BOYD SMITH
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
[Illustration]
COPYRIGHT, 1906, BY E. BOYD SMITH
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
_Published November 1906._
[Illustration]
LIST OF COLORED PLATES
PLATE
1. POCAHONTAS
2. JOHN SMITH
3. HOW CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH WON HIS SPURS
4. STRANGE TALES OF A STRANGE PEOPLE
5. THE COMING OF THE WHITE MAN
6. THE LANDING OF THE COLONISTS--1607
7. THE AMBUSH
8. BATTLE WITH THE INDIANS
9. CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH A PRISONER
10. THE DANCE OF VICTORY
11, 12. POCAHONTAS SAVES CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH'S LIFE
13. CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH AGAIN FREE
14. POCAHONTAS BRINGS FOOD TO THE COLONISTS
15. CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH GOES IN SEARCH OF CORN
16. POCAHONTAS'S WARNING
17. CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH SAILS FOR ENGLAND
18. POCAHONTAS IS CAPTURED BY ARGALL
19. MARRIAGE OF POCAHONTAS
20. THE LANDING OF POCAHONTAS IN ENGLAND
21, 22. POCAHONTAS AT THE COURT OF JAMES THE FIRST
23. THE MEETING OF POCAHONTAS AND CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH
24. CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH GOES TO SEA AGAIN
25. POCAHONTAS LONGS FOR HOME
26. THE END OF THE STORY OF POCAHONTAS
THE STORY OF POCAHONTAS AND CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH
1. POCAHONTAS
Long, long ago, when the Indians owned the land, there lived in
Virginia, near the river afterwards called the James, a little girl, the
Princess Pocahontas, daughter of the great chief Powhatan.
Pocahontas was her father's favorite child, and the pet of the whole
tribe; even the fierce warriors loved her sunny ways.
She was a child of nature, and the birds trusted her and came at her
call. She knew their songs, and where they built their nests. So she
roamed the woods, and learned the ways of all the wild things, and grew
to be a care-free maiden.
[Illustration]
2. JOHN SMITH
In far-away England was a doughty youth, John Smith, who dreamed of
battle and adventure. Though but a boy, he had already fought as a
soldier in the wars of France, and later in Flanders.
And these two, the wild little Indian girl and the warrior boy, now so
far apart, in time were to meet and become great friends.
At home again in Lincolnshire after dangerous travels, the youth still
longed for the strife and glory of the fray.
He retired to a quiet spot in the wood, and lived in a camp of his own
making, where he read tales of war and knights-errant, and in his
enthusiasm fought imaginary enemies. At last he could bear dreaming no
longer, and started off again to roam the world in search of adventure.
[Illustration]
3. HOW CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH WON HIS SPURS
He journeyed across France to join the armies fighting the Turks, but
was robbed on the way by false companions, and suffered much hardship.
At last he reached Marseilles, where he took ship with a party of
pilgrims going to the East. A great storm arising, the pilgrims
superstitiously blamed him for it, and threw him overboard. By good
fortune he was able to swim to a small island, whence he was soon
rescued by a Breton ship. He stayed for some time on this ship, taking
part in a sea fight with a Venetian vessel, and received, after the
victory, a share of the spoils.
Now, with money again in his pocket, he wandered through Italy, and then
crossed over to Styria. Here he joined the army of the Emperor Rudolph
and was appointed captain of a company of cavalry, and did good service.
During the siege of the town of Regal, the
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CHAPTERS OF OPERA
Being
Historical and Critical Observations
And Records Concerning the Lyric
Drama in New York from Its
Earliest Days Down to
The Present Time
by
HENRY EDWARD KREHBIEL
Musical Editor of "The New York Tribune";
Author of "How To Listen To Music,"
"Studies In The Wagnerian Drama,"
"Music And Manners In The Classical Period,"
"The Philharmonic Society Of New York," etc., etc.
To MARIE--WIFE
and
DAUGHTER HELEN
Who have shared with the Author many of the
Experiences described in this book.
"Joy shared is Joy doubled."
--GOETHE.
PREFACE
The making of this book was prompted by the fact that with the season
1907-08 the Metropolitan Opera House in New York completed an existence
of twenty-five years. Through all this period at public representations
I have occupied stall D-15 on the ground floor as reviewer of musical
affairs for The New York Tribune newspaper. I have, therefore, been a
witness of the vicissitudes through which the institution has passed
in a quarter-century, and a chronicler of all significant musical
things which were done within its walls. I have seen the failure of
the artistic policy to promote which the magnificent theater was built;
the revolution accomplished by the stockholders under the leadership
of Leopold Damrosch; the progress of a German régime, which did much
to develop tastes and create ideals which, till its coming, were
little-known quantities in American art and life; the overthrow of that
régime in obedience to the command of fashion; the subsequent dawn and
development of the liberal and comprehensive policy which marked the
climax of the career of Maurice Grau as an operatic director, I have
witnessed since then, many of the fruits of wise endeavor and astute
management frittered away by managerial incapacity and greed, and fad
and fashion come to rule again, where for a brief, but eventful period,
serious artistic interest and endeavor had been dominant.
The institution will enter upon a new régime with the season 1908-09.
The time, therefore, seemed fitting for a review of the twenty-five
years that are past. The incidents of this period are fixed; they
may be variously viewed, but they cannot be changed. They belong to
history, and to a presentation of that history I have devoted most
of the pages which follow. I have been actuated in my work by deep
seriousness of purpose, and have tried to avoid everything which
could not make for intellectual profit, or, at least, amiable and
illuminative entertainment.
The chapters which precede the more or less detailed history of the
Metropolitan Opera House (I-VII) were written for the sake of the
light which they shed on existing institutions and conditions, and to
illustrate the development of existing taste, appreciation, and interest
touching the lyrical drama. To the same end much consideration has been
paid to significant doings outside the Metropolitan Opera House since
it has been the chief domicile of grand opera in New York. Especial
attention has been given for obvious reasons to the two seasons of
opera at Mr. Hammerstein's Manhattan Opera House.
H. E. KREHBIEL.
Blue Hill, Maine, the Summer of 1908.
AUTHOR'S NOTE TO THIRD EDITION
For the purposes of a new and popular edition of this book, the
publishers asked the author to continue his historical narrative, his
record of performances, and his critical survey of the operas produced
at the two chief operatic institutions of New York, from the beginning
of the season 1908-1909 down to the close of the season 1910-1911. This
invitation the author felt compelled to decline for several reasons,
one of which (quite sufficient in itself), was that he had already
undertaken a work of great magnitude which would occupy all his working
hours during the period between the close of the last season and the
publication of this edition.
Thereupon the publishers, who seemed to place a high valuation on
the historical element in the book, suggested that the record of
performances at least be brought up to date even if the criticism of new
operas and the discussion of the other incidents of the season--such as
the dissensions between the directors of the Metropolitan Opera House,
the rivalry between them and the director of the Manhattan, the quarrels
with artists, the successes achieved by some operas and the failure
suffered by others--be postponed for the present at least for want of
time on the part of the author to carry on the work on the scale of the
original edition.
It was finally agreed that the author should supply the record for
the period intervening between the appearance of the first edition of
"Chapters of Opera" and the present publication by revised excerpts
from the annual summaries of the activities of the seasons in question
published by him in the New York Tribune, of which newspaper he has had
the honor of being the musical critic for thirty years past. For the
privilege of using this material the author is deeply beholden to the
Tribune
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[Illustration: WEDGWOOD PORTLAND VASE]
POTTERY
AND
PORCELAIN,
_FROM EARLY TIMES
DOWN TO THE PHILADELPHIA EXHIBITION OF 1876_.
BY
CHARLES WYLLYS ELLIOTT.
WITH ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-FIVE ILLUSTRATIONS, AND THE MORE IMPORTANT MARKS
AND MONOGRAMS.
NEW YORK:
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY,
549 & 551 BROADWAY.
1878.
COPYRIGHT BY
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY,
1877.
PREFACE.
What we have attempted has been to gather and present, in a way to be
easily understood, the most important facts respecting "Pottery and
Porcelain."
The study of this interesting subject has for more than a century been
constant in Europe, and notably so during the last twenty-five years. A
correct knowledge of it may now almost be called a liberal education. In
the United States something has been done; and the public mind is now
asking, "What is it that makes 'pottery and porcelain' so attractive to
scholars, statesmen, women, and wits?"
In some degree we have answered this question. My part of the work has
been to gather where I could such historical and technical facts and
such illustrations as seemed most valuable, not only to the student but
to the collector.
Many of these came from Europe, of course, where since Queen Anne's day
the love of "old china" has at times risen to enthusiasm. But I have
drawn from our own collections whenever it has been possible. In the
preparation and engraving of the illustrations I hope the judicious
critic, as well as the judicious public, will give due credit to the
publishers and their artists, who, it seems to me, deserve great praise
for having so well done what they have undertaken to do. Permit me to
say a word for _collectors_.
Busy men who are making railways and coal-pits, under the pleasing
illusion that they are developing the country more than the rest of us,
are apt to think a man with any hobby except that of making money is
wasting his time.
I would like to remind the reader that there are a few--many of them
young men and young women too--who have money enough for all reasonable
wants, and who do not care to waste time and life in getting _more_
money, for which they have no special uses; these persons find a
perennial occupation in the study, the comparison, the purchasing, the
collecting, of all that will illustrate their subject of study--their
hobby. Around this subject of pottery and porcelain may be grouped, if
one so pleases, all the habits, the wants, the inventions, the growths,
of human society.
Some have yet a notion that the study of the politics and the fightings
of man is most important; others, how man came to be an Arminian or an
Augustinian; others, whether the sun is or is not gradually cooling
down, and must finally cease to be, or whether, on the contrary, its
flames are fed by the self-sacrificing stars.
Without detracting from their labors, I beg leave to say that my great
hobby or central fact being the _home_, I hold that whatever makes that
interesting, beautiful, or useful, is, or should be, interesting,
beautiful, and useful, to all the world. I believe that what we call
politics, or government, is only valuable in that it helps to create and
to protect desirable homes; all the rest--all the speeches, and
processions, and crownings, and court-balls, and receptions, and
dinners--are "leather and prunella."
Therefore I believe the "art of living" is first and foremost; to know
how to make _this_ life comfortable and beautiful is all-important. Yet
there is not a teacher of this great art in all the land, although
"professors" are legion.
We may well ask, when we go to a house: "What have they there to tell
us--what to show us? What have they collected to interest, to please, to
instruct?"
If a person has only many bonds bearing coupons locked up in his
safe--del
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My Lady Caprice
by
Jeffery Farnol
CONTENTS
I. TREASURE TROVE
II. THE SHERIFF OF NOTTINGHAM
III. THE DESPERADOES
IV. MOON MAGIC
V. THE EPISODE OF THE INDIAN'S AUNT
VI. THE OUTLAW
VII. THE BLASTED OAK
VIII. THE LAND OF HEART'S DELIGHT
I
TREASURE TROVE
I sat fishing. I had not caught anything, of course--I rarely do, nor
am I fond of fishing in the very smallest degree, but I fished
assiduously all the same, because circumstances demanded it.
It had all come about through Lady Warburton, Lisbeth's maternal aunt.
Who Lisbeth is you will learn if you trouble to read these veracious
narratives--suffice it for the present that she has been an orphan from
her youth up, with no living relative save her married sister Julia and
her Aunt (with a capital A)--the Lady Warburton aforesaid.
Lady Warburton is small and somewhat bony, with a sharp chin and a
sharper nose, and invariably uses lorgnette; also, she is possessed of
much worldly goods.
Precisely a week ago Lady Warburton had requested me to call upon
her--had regarded me with a curious exactitude through her lorgnette,
and gently though firmly (Lady Warburton is always firm) had suggested
that Elizabeth, though a dear child, was young and inclined to be a
little self-willed. That she (Lady Warburton) was of opinion that
Elizabeth had mistaken the friendship which had existed between us so
long for something stronger. That although she (Lady Warburton) quite
appreciated the fact that one who wrote books, and occasionally a play,
was not necessarily immoral-- Still I was, of course, a terrible
Bohemian, and the air of Bohemia was not calculated to conduce to that
degree of matrimonial harmony which she (Lady Warburton) as Elizabeth's
Aunt, standing to her in place of a mother, could wish for. That,
therefore, under these circumstances my attentions were--etc., etc.
Here I would say in justice to myself that despite the torrent of her
eloquence I had at first made some attempt at resistance; but who could
hope to contend successfully against a woman possessed of such an
indomitable nose and chin, and one, moreover, who could level a pair of
lorgnette with such deadly precision? Still, had Lisbeth been beside
me things might have been different even then; but she had gone away
into the country--so Lady Warburton had informed me. Thus alone and at
her mercy, she had succeeded in wringing from me a half promise that I
would cease my attentions for the space of six months, "just to give
dear Elizabeth time to learn her own heart in regard to the matter."
This was last Monday. On the Wednesday following, as I wandered
aimlessly along Piccadilly, at odds with Fortune and myself, but
especially with myself, my eye encountered the Duchess of Chelsea.
The Duchess is familiarly known as the "Conversational Brook" from the
fact that when once she begins she goes on forever. Hence, being in my
then frame of mind, it was with a feeling of rebellion that I obeyed
the summons of her parasol and crossed over to the brougham.
"So she's gone away?" was her greeting as I raised my hat--"Lisbeth,"
she nodded, "I happened to hear something about her, you know."
It is strange, perhaps, but the Duchess generally does "happen to hear"
something about everything. "And you actually allowed yourself to be
bullied into making that promise--Dick! Dick! I'm ashamed of you."
"How was I to help myself?" I began. "You see--"
"Poor boy!" said the Duchess, patting me affectionately with the handle
of her parasol, "it wasn't to be expected, of course. You see, I know
her--many, many years ago I was at school with Agatha Warburton."
"But she probably didn't use lorgnettes then, and--"
"Her nose was just as sharp though--'peaky' I used to call it," nodded
the Duchess. "And she has actually sent Lisbeth away--dear child--and
to such a horrid, quiet little place, too, where she'll have nobody to
talk to but that young Selwyn.
"I beg pardon, Duchess, but--"
"Horace Selwyn, of Selwyn Park--cousin to Lord Selwyn, of Brankesmere.
Agatha has been scheming for it a long time, under the rose, you know.
Of course, it would be a good match, in a way--wealthy, and all
that--but I must say he bores me horribly--so very serious and precise!"
"Really!" I exclaimed, "do you mean to say--"
"I expect she will have them married before they know it--Agatha's
dreadfully determined. Her character lies in her nose and chin."
"But Lis
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Transcriber's Note:
Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as
possible. Some changes have been made. They are listed at the end of
the text.
The illustration "On Saddle and Pillion" is the frontispiece, but the
list of illustrations has it "Face p. 28".
Italic text has been marked with _underscores_.
Bold text has been marked with =equals signs=.
HORSES PAST AND PRESENT
[Illustration: SADDLE AND PILLION.
(From "The Procession of the Flitch of Bacon," by THOMAS STOTHARD,
R.A.)]
HORSES
PAST AND PRESENT
BY
SIR WALTER GILBEY, BART.
ILLUSTRATED
VINTON & Co., LTD.
9, NEW BRIDGE STREET, LONDON, E.C.
1900
CONTENTS.
PAGE
Introduction 1
Before the Conquest 2
William the Conqueror 5
William Rufus 7
Henry I. 7
Henry II. 8
Richard I. 9
John 10
Edward II. 11
Edward III. 12
Richard II. 15
Henry VII. 17
Henry VIII. 18
Edward VI. and Queen Mary 22
Elizabeth 24
James I. 30
Charles I. 33
The Commonwealth 36
Charles II. 38
William III. 41
Queen Anne 43
George I. 46
George II. 48
George III. 52
George IV. 59
William IV. 60
Her Majesty Queen Victoria 62
Light Horses: Breed--Societies 88
Heavy Horses: Breed--Societies 89
ILLUSTRATIONS.
A Cart-Horse of the XVth Century Face p. 16
On Saddle and Pillion " 28
Guy, Earl of Warwick, XVIth Century " 32
The Darley Arabian " 46
Jacob Bates, The Trick Rider " 52
Grey Diomed " 55
Hunter Sire, Cognac " 64
The Hack Hunter " 70
The Norfolk Phenomenon " 80
_This brief history of the Horse in England to the close of the
nineteenth century is a compilation which, it is hoped, may prove
useful as well as interesting._
_So much has been done to improve our breeds of horses since the year
1800, and so many and important have been the changes in our methods
of travel, in the use of heavy horses in agriculture, in hunting,
racing and steeplechasing, that the latter portion of the book might be
amplified indefinitely._
_It is not thought necessary to do more than touch briefly upon the
more important events which have occurred during Her Majesty's reign._
_The interesting and instructive work by Mr. Huth, which contains the
titles of all the books written in all languages relating to the Horse
shows that the number published up to the year 1886 exceeds 4,060: and
since that date, works on the Horse, embracing veterinary science,
breeding, cavalry, coaching, racing, hunting and kindred subjects,
have been issued from the publishing houses of Europe at the rate of
about two per month. During the ten years 1886-95 upwards of 232 such
works were issued, and there has been no perceptible decrease during
the last four years._
_Under these circumstances an apology for adding to the mass of
literature on the Horse seems almost necessary._
WG
_Elsenham Hall, Essex,
November, 1900._
HORSES PAST AND PRESENT.
First among animals which man has domesticated, or brought under
control to do him service, stands the horse. The beauty of his form,
his strength, speed and retentive memory, alike commend him to
admiration; the place he holds, whether in relation to our military
strength, our commercial and agricultural pursuits, or our pleasures,
is unique. Whether as servant or companion of man the horse stands
alone among animals.
There can be no doubt but that the horse was broken to man's service at
an early period of the world's history. The art of taming him was first
practised by the peoples of Asia and Africa, who earliest attained to
a degree of civilisation; but whether he was first ridden or driven is
a question which has often been debated with no definite result. The
earliest references to the use of horses occur in the Old Testament,
where numerous passages make mention of chariots and horsemen in
connection with all warlike operations.
BEFORE THE CONQUEST.
From very remote times England has possessed horses which her
inhabitants turned to valuable account, as we find occasion to note
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Produced by Eric Eldred
[Illustration: 01 GLIMPSE OUTSIDE OF MODERN ROME]
ROMAN HOLIDAYS AND OTHERS
By W. D. Howells
ILLUSTRATED
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
Copyright, 1908, by HARPER & BROTHERS.
Copyright, 1908, by THE SUN PRINTING AND PUBLISHING ASSOCIATION.
Published October, 1908.
CONTENTS
I. UP AND DOWN MADEIRA
II. TWO UP-TOWN BLOCKS INTO SPAIN
III. ASHORE AT GENOA
IV. NAPLES AND HER JOYFUL NOISE
V. POMPEII REVISITED
VI. ROMAN HOLIDAYS
VII. A WEEK AT LEGHORN
VIII. OVER AT PISA
IX.. BACK AT GENOA
X. EDEN AFTER THE FALL
ROMAN HOLIDAYS AND OTHERS
I. UP AND DOWN MADEIRA.
No drop-curtain, at any theatre I have seen, was ever so richly
imagined, with misty tops and shadowy clefts and frowning cliffs and
gloomy valleys and long, plunging cataracts, as the actual landscape of
Madeira, when we drew nearer and nearer to it, at the close of a tearful
afternoon of mid-January. The scenery of drop-curtains is often very
boldly beautiful, but here Nature, if she had taken a hint from art, had
certainly bettered her instruction. During the waits between acts at the
theatre, while studying the magnificent painting beyond the trouble of
the orchestra, I have been most impressed by the splendid variety which
the artist had got into his picture, where the spacious frame lent
itself to his passion for saying everything; but I remembered his
thronging fancies as meagre and scanty in the presence of the stupendous
reality before me. I have, for instance, not even mentioned the sea,
which swept smoother and smoother in toward the feet of those precipices
and grew more and more trans-lucently purple and yellow and green, while
half a score of cascades shot straight down their fronts in shafts of
snowy foam, and over their pachydermatous shoulders streamed and hung
long reaches of gray vines or mosses. To the view from the sea the
island is all, with its changing capes and promontories and bays and
inlets, one immeasurable mountain; and on the afternoon of our approach
it was bestridden by a steadfast rainbow, of which we could only see one
leg indeed, but that very stout and athletic.
There were breadths of dark woodland aloft on this mountain, and
terraced vineyards lower down; and on the shelving plateaus yet farther
from the heights that lost themselves in the clouds there were scattered
white cottages; on little levels close to the sea there were set white
villas. These, as the ship coquetted with the vagaries of the shore,
thickened more and more, until after rounding a prodigious headland we
found ourselves in face of the charming little city of Funchal: long
horizontal lines of red roofs, ivory and pink and salmon walls, evenly
fenestrated, with an ancient fortress giving the modern look of things a
proper mediaeval touch. Large hotels, with the air of palaces, crowned
the upland vantages; there were bell-towers of churches, and in one
place there was a wide splotch of vivid color from the red of the
densely flowering creeper on the side of some favored house. There was
an acceptable expanse of warm brown near the quay from the withered but
unfailing leaves of a sycamore-shaded promenade, and in the fine
roadstead where we anchored there lay other steamers and a lead-
Portuguese war-ship. I am not a painter, but I think that here are the
materials of a water-color which almost any one else could paint. In the
hands of a scene-painter they would yield a really unrivalled
drop-curtain. I stick to the notion of this because when the beautiful
goes too far, as it certainly does at Madeira, it leaves you not only
sated but vindictive; you wish to mock it.
The afternoon saddened more and more, and one could not take an interest
in the islanders who came out in little cockles and proposed to dive for
shillings and sixpences, though quarters and dimes would do. The
company's tender also came out, and numbers of passengers went ashore in
the mere wantonness of paying for their dinner and a night's lodging in
the annexes of the hotels, which they were told beforehand were full.
The lights began to twinkle from the windows of
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LITERARY BYWAYS.
Literary Byways
By William Andrews
LONDON:
WILLIAM ANDREWS & CO., 5, FARRINGDON AVENUE, E.C.
1898.
Preface.
In the following pages no attempt has been made to add to the many
critical works authors bring under the notice of the public. My aim in
this collection of leisure-hour studies is to afford entertaining reading
on some topics which do not generally attract the reader's attention.
It is necessary for me to state that three of the chapters were originally
contributed to the columns of the _Chambers's Journal_, and by courtesy of
the Editor are reproduced in this volume.
WILLIAM ANDREWS.
THE HULL PRESS,
_July 5th, 1898_.
Contents.
PAGE
AUTHORS AT WORK 1
THE EARNINGS OF AUTHORS 43
DECLINED WITH THANKS 67
EPIGRAMS ON AUTHORS 76
POETICAL GRACES 90
POETRY ON PANES 94
ENGLISH FOLK-RHYMES 100
THE POETRY OF TOAST LISTS AND MENU CARDS 110
TOASTS AND TOASTING 120
CURIOUS AMERICAN OLD-TIME GLEANINGS 131
THE EARLIEST AMERICAN POETESS: ANNE BRADSTREET 143
A PLAYFUL POET: MISS CATHERINE FANSHAWE 149
A POPULAR SONG WRITER: MRS. JOHN HUNTER 160
A POET OF THE POOR: MARY PYPER 167
THE POET OF THE FISHER-FOLK: MRS. SUSAN K. PHILLIPS 176
A POET AND NOVELIST OF THE PEOPLE: THOMAS MILLER 186
THE COTTAGE COUNTESS 199
THE COMPILER OF "OLD MOORE'S ALMANAC": HENRY ANDREWS 206
JAMES NAYLER, THE MAD QUAKER, WHO CLAIMED TO BE THE MESSIAH 213
A BIOGRAPHICAL ROMANCE: SWAN'S STRANGE STORY 222
SHORT LETTERS 228
INDEX 237
LITERARY BYWAYS.
Authors at Work.
The interest of the public in those who write for its entertainment
naturally extends itself to their habits of life. All such habits, let it
be said at once, depend on individual peculiarities. One will write only
in the morning, another only at night, a third will be able to force
himself into effort only at intervals, and a fourth will, after the manner
of Anthony Trollope, be almost altogether independent of times and places.
The nearest approach to a rule was that which was formulated by a great
writer of the last generation, who said that morning should be employed in
the production of what De Quincey called "the literature of knowledge,"
and the evening in impassioned work, "the literature of power."
But habits, however unreasonable they may be, are ordinarily very powerful
with authors. One of the most renowned writers always attired himself in
evening dress before sitting down to his desk. The influence of his
attire, he said, gave dignity and restraint to his style. Another author,
of at least equal celebrity, could only write in dressing gown and
slippers. In order that he might make any progress, it was absolutely
essential that he should be unconscious of his clothes. Most authors
demand quiet and silence as the conditions of useful work. Carlyle padded
his room, in order that he might not be annoyed by the clatter of his
neighbours. On the other hand, Jean Paul Richter, whose influence is
visible throughout nearly the whole of Carlyle's writings, would work
serenely in the kitchen with his mother attending to her domestic duties,
and the children playing around him. In an article contributed by Carlyle
to the _Edinburgh Review_ on Richter, we get some interesting facts about
this truly great man. The following is reproduced from Doering. "Richter's
studying or sitting apartment, offered about this time (1793),[1] a true
and beautiful emblem of his simple and noble way of thought, which
comprehended at once the high and the low. Whilst his mother, who then
lived with him, busily pursued her household work, occupying herself about
stove and dresser, Jean Paul was sitting in a corner of the same
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STANDARD ELOCUTIONARY BOOKS
=FIVE-MINUTE READINGS FOR YOUNG LADIES.= Selected and adapted by
WALTER K. FOBES. Cloth. 50 cents.
=FIVE-MINUTE DECLAMATIONS.= Selected and adapted by WALTER K.
FOBES, teacher of elocution and public reader; author of
"Elocution Simplified." Cloth. 50 cents.
=FIVE-MINUTE RECITATIONS.= By WALTER K. FOBES. Cloth. 50 cents.
Pupils in public schools on declamation days are limited to five
minutes each for the delivery of "pieces." There is a great
complaint of the scarcity of material for such a purpose, while
the injudicious pruning of eloquent extracts has often marred the
desired effects. To obviate these difficulties, new "Five-Minute"
books have been prepared by a competent teacher.
=ELOCUTION SIMPLIFIED.= With an appendix on Lisping, Stammering,
and other Impediments of Speech. By WALTER K. FOBES, graduate of
the "Boston School of Oratory." 16mo. Cloth. 50 cents. Paper, 30
cents.
"The whole art of elocution is succinctly set forth in this small
volume, which might be judiciously included among the text-books of
schools."--_New Orleans Picayune._
=ADVANCED READINGS AND RECITATIONS.= By AUSTIN B. FLETCHER, A.M.,
LL.B., Professor of Oratory, Brown University, and Boston
University School of Law. This book has been already adopted in a
large number of Universities, Colleges, Post-graduate Schools of
Law and Theology, Seminaries, etc. 12mo. Cloth. $1.50.
"Professor Fletcher's noteworthy compilation has been made with
rare rhetorical judgment, and evinces a sympathy for the best forms
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Seminary_.
=THE COLUMBIAN SPEAKER.= Consisting of choice and animated pieces
for declamation and reading. By LOOMIS J. CAMPBELL, and ORIN
ROOT, Jun. 16mo. Cloth. 75 cents.
Mr. Campbell, as one of the editors of "Worcester's Dictionaries,"
the popular "Franklin Readers," and author of the successful
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as a thorough scholar. Mr. Root is an accomplished speaker and
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genuine success._
=VOCAL AND ACTION-LANGUAGE, CULTURE AND EXPRESSION.= By E. N.
KIRBY, teacher of elocution in the Lynn High Schools. 12mo.
English cloth binding. Price, $1.25.
"Teachers and students of the art of public speaking, in any of
its forms, will be benefited by a liberal use of this practical
hand-book."--_Prof. Churchill._
=KEENE'S SELECTIONS.= Selection for reading and elocution. A
hand-book for teachers and students. By J. W. KEENE, A.M., M.D.
Cloth. $1.
"An admirable selection of practical pieces."
=LITTLE PIECES FOR LITTLE SPEAKERS.= The primary school teacher's
assistant. By a practical teacher. 16mo. Illustrated. 75 cents.
Also in boards, 50 cents. Has had an immense sale.
=THE MODEL SUNDAY-SCHOOL SPEAKER.= Containing selections in prose
and verse, from the most popular pieces and dialogues for
Sunday-school exhibitions. Illust. Cloth. 75 cents. Boards, 50
cents "A book very much needed."
LEE AND SHEPARD Publishers Boston
_BAKER'S DIALECT SERIES_
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EDITED BY
GEORGE M. BAKER
COMPILER OF "
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THE ROMANCE OF POLAR EXPLORATION
INTERESTING DESCRIPTIONS OF ARCTIC AND
ANTARCTIC ADVENTURE FROM THE EARLIEST
TIME TO THE VOYAGE OF THE "DISCOVERY"
BY
G. FIRTH SCOTT
AUTHOR OF "FROM FRANKLIN TO NANSEN," "THE ROMANCE
OF AUSTRALIAN EXPLORING," "COLONIAL BORN," _&c._
WITH TWENTY-FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS
LONDON
SEELEY AND CO. LIMITED
38 GREAT RUSSELL STREET
1909
[Illustration: THE _STELLA POLARE_ NIPPED IN THE ICE.
"The stores were unloaded with the greatest rapidity."]
_UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME_
THE LIBRARY OF ROMANCE
_Extra Crown 8vo. With many illustrations. 5s. each_
"Splendid volumes."--_The Outlook._
"This series has now won a considerable and well deserved
reputation."--_The Guardian._
"Each volume treats its allotted theme with accuracy, but at the same
time with a charm that will commend itself to readers of all ages. The
root idea is excellent, and it is excellently carried out, with full
illustrations and very prettily designed covers."--_The Daily
Telegraph._
By Prof. G. F. SCOTT ELLIOT, M.A., B.Sc.
THE ROMANCE OF SAVAGE LIFE
THE ROMANCE OF PLANT LIFE
THE ROMANCE OF EARLY BRITISH LIFE
By EDWARD GILLIAT, M.A.
THE ROMANCE OF MODERN SIEGES
By JOHN LEA, M.A.
THE ROMANCE OF BIRD LIFE
By JOHN LEA, M.A., & H. COUPIN, D.Sc.
THE ROMANCE OF ANIMAL ARTS AND CRAFTS
By SIDNEY WRIGHT
THE ROMANCE OF THE WORLD'S FISHERIES
By the Rev. J. C. LAMBERT, M.A., D.D.
THE ROMANCE OF MISSIONARY HEROISM
By G. FIRTH SCOTT
THE ROMANCE OF POLAR EXPLORATION
By ARCHIBALD WILLIAMS, B.A. (Oxon.), F.R.G.S.
THE ROMANCE OF EARLY EXPLORATION
THE ROMANCE OF MODERN EXPLORATION
THE ROMANCE OF MODERN MECHANISM
THE ROMANCE OF MODERN INVENTION
THE ROMANCE OF MODERN ENGINEERING
THE ROMANCE OF MODERN LOCOMOTION
THE ROMANCE OF MODERN MINING
By CHARLES R. GIBSON, A.I.E.E.
THE ROMANCE OF MODERN PHOTOGRAPHY
THE ROMANCE OF MODERN ELECTRICITY
By EDMUND SELOUS
THE ROMANCE OF THE ANIMAL WORLD
THE ROMANCE OF INSECT LIFE
By AGNES GIBERNE
THE ROMANCE OF THE MIGHTY DEEP
By E. S. GREW, M.A.
THE ROMANCE OF MODERN GEOLOGY
SEELEY & CO., LIMITED
Preface
While stories of the Polar explorers and their efforts to reach the
Poles have been told again and again, the constant renewal of
expeditions adds, every year, fresh incidents to the record, until it
may almost be said that the fascination of the frozen regions is as
inexhaustible as the list of Polar heroes is illimitable. Nor is the
interest confined solely to the achievement of modern explorers. However
great the results of their exertions may be, the fact that, in spite of
all the advantages conferred by recent scientific discovery and modern
appliances, the explorers of to-day have failed to penetrate the
uttermost secrets of the worlds of ice, renders more impressively heroic
the struggles of the earlier travellers, whose equipment, viewed in
comparison with that of modern man, was apparently so inadequate and
often inappropriate.
No series of Polar adventure stories would be complete without a
prominent place being given to the earlier explorers, and especially to
that British hero, Franklin, whose name is so inseparably associated
with the history of Arctic exploration. The account of his daring
voyages and of his tragic end, at the moment of victory, has already
been given in many a form; but the tale is one which will stand
re-telling for generations yet to come. In the present instance it has
been of necessity briefly written, but in such a manner as will, it is
hoped, without loss of interest, render clear a comparison of the
conditions under which he and his brave companions worked and fought to
their death, with those that existed for later expeditions and
especially the expeditions of Nansen, Peary, and Abruzzi.
The Antarctic, equally with the Arctic, now commands the attention of
man. In the South, as in the North, the British race has again produced
explorers who have fought their way into the icy fastnesses. From the
time that Captain Cook sailed round the unknown southern ocean, more
than a century ago, the British flag has waved in the forefront of the
advance. The work which Sir James Ross began, over half a century since,
has now been carried farther than ever it was anticipated it could be.
By the voyage of the _Discovery_, the Antarctic continent has been
revealed to within five hundred miles of the Pole, and in the gallant
exploits of the commander, Captain Robert Scott, there are many who see
a repetition of all that made the name of Franklin so immortal.
The source of the information on which these stories are based (as is
frequently mentioned in the text) is the personal narrative of the
explorer concerned, where available; and if the interest aroused in any
of them requires more to satisfy it than the exigencies of space renders
possible in this volume, the attention which will thereby be drawn to
the more comprehensive records will stand as a slight acknowledgment of
the indebtedness of the writer of these re-told stories to the authors
of the original narratives.
G. FIRTH SCOTT.
LONDON, 1906.
Publishers' Note
Our thanks are due to Lieut. Shackleton, R.N.R., of the
_Discovery_, for the use of the original drawing facing page 344,
and also for permission to use the Illustrations facing pages 310,
340, 348. To Messrs. Alston Rivers, Limited, for permission to use
the Illustration facing page 320 from Dr. H. R. Mill's "Siege of
the South Pole." To Messrs. Hutchinson and Co., for the use of
Illustrations facing pages 28 and 272, and Frontispiece, from "The
Voyage of the Polar Star," by the Duke of the Abruzzi. To Messrs.
Geo. Newnes, Limited, for the Illustration facing page 305 from
"First on the Antarctic Continent," by C. E. Borchgrevinck. To
Messrs. Longmans, Green & Co., for permission to reproduce the
Illustration facing page 256 from "New Land," by Otto Sverdrup.
Contents
CHAPTER I
THE ARCTIC REGION
PAGE
The Mystery of the North Pole--The First Explorer--"The Great
Dark Wall at the End of the World"--"Frost-Smoke"--The
Lights and Sounds of the North--The Aurora Borealis--Mock
Moons--The Early Adventurers: Willoughby, Frobisher, Davis,
Hudson, Baffin, Ross, and Parry--The North-West Passage 17
CHAPTER II
SIR JOHN FRANKLIN
Young Franklin--His Dreams of Adventure--He becomes a Sailor--His
First Arctic Expedition--Fails to get through Behring
Straits--Explores Baffin's Bay--The 1845 Expedition--The
_Erebus_ and _Terror_--The "Good-bye" at Greenland--Wellington
Channel--They select Winter Quarters--Discovery of the
North-West Passage--Death of Franklin--Prisoned in the Ice--The
Crew Abandon the Ships--Defeat and Death 25
CHAPTER III
THE SEARCH FOR FRANKLIN
Captain Parker's Report--Government offers a Reward--Dr. Rae's
Expedition--Captain McClure's Voyage in the _Investigator_--Hardships
and Perils--The Meeting with the _Herald_--Lady Franklin still
Hopeful--Sir F. L. McClintock's Expedition in the _Fox_ with Lieutenant
Hobson--Their Sad and Fatal Discoveries--Lieutenant Schwatka recovers
the Body of Lieutenant Irving 42
CHAPTER IV
THE VOYAGE OF THE _POLARIS_
Death of Captain Hall--Crew determine to Return--Are Frozen in--A
Party take to the Ice and are Cast Away--They build themselves
Snow Huts--They find some Seals--An Adventure with Bears--The
Perils of the Spring--They sight the _Tigress_ and are
Saved--The Ship-party's Story and Rescue 69
CHAPTER V
THE _ALERT_ AND _DISCOVERY_
Sir George Nares appointed to the _Alert_ and _Discovery_--Overtaking
a Season--Red Snow--The Greenland Mosquito--Peculiarities
of Eskimo Dogs--And Dog Whips--Dangers of Kayaks--Advantages
of Steam for Polar Regions--An Unpleasant Experience--A Huge
Walrus--Arctic Scenery--A Big "Bag"--The Ships part
Company--The _Alert_ reaches the Polar Sea--Winter Quarters--The
North Pole attempted--Adventures and Sufferings of the
Party--Lieutenant Parr's Heroism--Deliverance--The Greenland
Attempt--Scurvy and Snow--Repulse Bay--In Pitiable
Plight--Lieutenant Rawson to the Rescue 83
CHAPTER VI
THE GREELY EXPEDITION
The Scheme of the Expedition--Fort Conger--Arctic Wolves--Atmospheric
Marvels--A Terrific Storm--Influence of the Sun--Lieutenant
Lockwood's Expedition--The Second Winter--Preparations
for Departure--They leave Fort Conger--A Remarkable Ice
Passage--They fail to make Cape Sabine--A New Camp--Rations running
Short--Fruitless Efforts to reach Food Depots--Starvation and
Death--A Bitter Blow--The Arrival of the _Thetis_ 114
CHAPTER VII
PEARY IN GREENLAND
The Greenland Question--Departure of the _Kite_--Peary breaks his
Leg--A Camp made--Habits of the Eskimo--A Brush with
Walrus--"Caching" Food--An Arctic Christmas Feast--Peary starts
for the Great Ice-Cap--A Snow Sahara--The Ice-Cap Crossed--A
Marvellous Discovery--Sails on Sledges--A Safe Return 146
CHAPTER VIII
NANSEN AND THE _FRAM_
Nansen's Theories of Arctic Currents and Shipbuilding--His Theories
adopted--The _Fram_ Built--A Start made--The Kara Sea
reached--Good Hunting--The Ice Current reached--Frozen
in--A Raid by a Bear--Will the _Fram_ stand the Pressure?--Preparing
for Calamity--A Conclusive Test--Causes of Ice
Movements--Life on the _Fram_--Nansen and Johansen leave
the _Fram_--They reach their "Farthest North"--Incidents of
their Return Journey--Some Narrow Escapes--The Meeting
with Jackson--Arrival of the _Fram_ 173
CHAPTER IX
FRANZ JOSEF LAND AND SPITZBERGEN
The Jackson-Harmsworth Expedition--Object of the Expedition--An
Interesting Experiment--The Franz Josef Land Question settled--A Group
of Islands, not a Continent--Conway at Spitzbergen--Ancient
History--Bygone Splendours--Scenery in the Making--The Romance of
Andree--Another Riddle 220
CHAPTER X
THE POLAR METEORITES
Eskimo Iron--A Mystery of 1818--Search and Failure--Peary and
his Huskies--The Secret revealed--An Eskimo Legend--At
the Iron Mountain--Removing the Trophies--A Massive Giant--Attack
and Defence--The Giant Objects--A Narrow Escape--Conquered 236
CHAPTER XI
THE SECOND VOYAGE OF THE _FRAM_
Norwegian Enterprise--Mapping the Islands--Nearly Frozen--A Novel
Warming-Pan--Eskimo Melody--Arctic Bull Fights--Death of the
Doctor--Fire on the _Fram_--New Lands--Prehistoric People 249
CHAPTER XII
ITALY CLAIMS THE RECORD
Norwegian Aid--A Northerly Station--Premature Enthusiasm--Cold
Comfort--An Arctic Greeting--A Hasty Landing--Disorganised
Plans--Homeless Dogs--Making Fresh Plans--The Leader
Frost-bitten--The Start for the Pole--Driven Back by Cold--A
Second Start--First Detachment Lost--Anxiety for the Second--A
Struggle for Life--Third Detachment Overdue--Fears of
Disaster--Safe at Last--Italy sets the Record 265
CHAPTER XIII
THE ANTARCTIC REGION
The Mystery of the South Pole--Ignored by Early Navigators--An
Accidental Dutch Discovery--Captain Cook Sets Sail--Discouraged
by the Ice--Turns back in Despair--A Second Accidental
Discovery--Weddell breaks the Barrier--Antarctic Land
revealed--British resume the Search 283
CHAPTER XIV
VOYAGES OF THE _EREBUS_ AND _TERROR_
A Fortunate Choice--Characteristic Southern Bergs--First Sight of
the Continent--More British Territory--A Mighty Volcanic
Display--Nearing the Magnetic Pole--The Antarctic Barrier--A
Myth dispelled--A Second Attempt--Held by the Ice--Third
and Last Voyage--A Double Discovery 294
CHAPTER XV
THE _SOUTHERN CROSS_ EXPEDITION
British continue the Work--Carrier Pigeons in the Ice--Withstanding
a Nip--A Sea-quake--Cape Adare Station--A Cosy Camp--Edible
Fish--Death visits the Camp--Penguin Peculiarities--A Derelict
Blue-bottle--The Welcome Postman--A Thrilling Episode 305
CHAPTER XVI
THE REVIVAL OF ANTARCTIC INTEREST
Modern Means and Methods--Private Enterprise leads--The
_Valdavia_--The _Belgica_ Expedition--International Action
adopted--The German Expedition--An Ice-bound Land--Fresh
Trade-Winds 318
CHAPTER XVII
THE SWEDISH EXPEDITION
Sails in the _Antarctica_--Argentine Co-operation--First Antarctic
Fossil--Building the Winter Station--A Breezy Corner--Electric
Snow--A Spare Diet--New Year Festivities--The Missing
Ship--Relief that never Came--A Devastating Nip--Castaway--The
Unexpected Happens--A Dramatic Meeting--Rescued 323
CHAPTER XVIII
BRITAIN HOLDS HER OWN
A Capable Crew--A Modern Franklin--Early Discoveries--Frozen
in--An Historic Journey--The Record of "Farthest South"--How
the Record was Won--Speedy Travelling--Receding Ice
Limits--A Dying Glacier--The Secret of the Barrier--A Fatal
Gale--Lost in the Snow--An Antarctic Chute--Prolonged
Slumber--Antarctic Coal--Home with Honour 339
List of Illustrations
THE _STELLA POLARE_ NIPPED IN THE ICE _Frontispiece_
W. E. PARRY'S ATTEMPT TO REACH THE POLE _Facing page_ 28
AN IMMENSE ICEBERG " " 48
AN ADDITION TO THE EXPLORERS' SUPPLY OF PROVISIONS " " 78
SHOOTING MUSK OX IN THE ARCTIC REGIONS " " 116
GROUP OF SMITH SOUND ESKIMO " " 152
TWO NORTH GREENLAND HUNTERS " " 160
MAP OF THE ARCTIC REGIONS SHOWING ROUTE
OF NANSEN AND THE _FRAM_ " " 173
THE _FRAM_ IN THE ICE " " 185
NANSEN AND JOHANSEN START ON THEIR DASH FOR THE POLE " " 198
THE MEETING OF JACKSON AND NANSEN " " 216
THE FRONT EDGE OF KING'S GLACIER, WESTERN SPITZBERGEN " " 230
ESKIMO ARMS AND TOOLS " " 240
ESKIMO VISITORS TO THE _FRAM_ IN NIGHT ATTIRE " " 256
ONE OF THE DIFFICULTIES ENCOUNTERED
BY THE _STELLA POLARE_ " " 272
SKETCH MAP SHOWING CAPTAIN AGNI'S FARTHEST NORTH " " 280
THE _SOUTHERN CROSS_ IN THE ICE PACK " " 305
THE AURORA AUSTRALIS " " 310
EMPEROR PENGUINS " " 312
POLAR OUTFIT USED BY THE _BELGICA_ EXPEDITION " " 320
MAP OF SOUTH POLAR REGIONS " " 339
THE _DISCOVERY_ LYING IN WINTER QUARTERS, FROZEN IN " " 340
THE FARTHEST SOUTH SLEDGE PARTY IN A BLIZZARD " " 344
A DRIFTING ICE FLOE ATTACHED TO THE
_DISCOVERY_ BY A ROPE " " 348
The Romance of Polar Exploration
CHAPTER I
THE ARCTIC REGION
The Mystery of the North Pole--The First Explorer--"The Great Dark
Wall at the End of the World"--"Frost-Smoke"--The Lights and Sounds
of the North--The Aurora Borealis--Mock Moons--The Early
Adventurers: Willoughby, Frobisher, Davis, Hudson, Baffin, Ross,
and Parry--The North-West Passage.
In all the range of romantic adventure to be found in the history of
man
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