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Produced by Charles Keller
UNCLE JOSH'S PUNKIN CENTRE STORIES
By Cal Stewart
Preface
To the Reader.
The one particular object in writing this book is to furnish you with an
occasional laugh, and the writer with an occasional dollar. If you get
the laugh you have your equivalent, and the writer has his.
In Uncle Josh Weathersby you have a purely imaginary character, yet one
true to life. A character chuck full of sunshine and rural simplicity.
Take him as you find him, and in his experiences you will observe there
is a bright side to everything.
Sincerely Yours
Cal Stewart
Contents PREFACE
LIFE SKETCH OF AUTHOR
MY OLD YALLER ALMANAC
ARRIVAL IN NEW YORK
UNCLE JOSH IN SOCIETY
UNCLE JOSH IN A CHINESE LAUNDRY
UNCLE JOSH IN A MUSEUM
UNCLE JOSH IN WALL STREET
UNCLE JOSH AND THE FIRE DEPARTMENT
UNCLE JOSH IN AN AUCTION ROOM
UNCLE JOSH ON A FIFTH AVENUE 'BUS
UNCLE JOSH IN A DEPARTMENT STORE
UNCLE JOSH'S COMMENTS ON THE SIGNS SEEN IN NEW YORK
UNCLE JOSH ON A STREET CAR
MY FUST PAIR OF COPPER TOED BOOTS
UNCLE JOSH IN POLICE COURT
UNCLE JOSH AT CONEY ISLAND
UNCLE JOSH AT THE OPERA
UNCLE JOSH AT DELMONICO'S
IT IS FALL
SI PETTINGILL'S BROOMS
UNCLE JOSH PLAYS GOLF
JIM LAWSON'S HOGS
UNCLE JOSH AND THE LIGHTNING ROD AGENT
A MEETING OF THE ANNANIAS CLUB
JIM LAWSON'S HOSS TRADE
A MEETING OF THE SCHOOL DIRECTORS
THE WEEKLY PAPER AT PUNKIN CENTRE
UNCLE JOSH AT A CAMP MEETING
THE UNVEILING OF THE ORGAN
UNCLE JOSH PLAYS A GAME OF BASE BALL
THE PUNKIN CENTRE AND PAW PAW VALLEY RAILROAD
UNCLE JOSH ON A BICYCLE
A BAPTISIN' AT THE HICKORY CORNERS CHURCH
A REMINISCENCE OF MY RAILROAD DAYS
UNCLE JOSH AT A CIRCUS
UNCLE JOSH INVITES THE CITY FOLKS TO VISIT HIM
YOSEMITE JIM, OR A TALE OF THE GREAT WHITE DEATH
UNCLE JOSH WEATHERSBY'S TRIP TO BOSTON
WHO MARCHED IN SIXTY-ONE
Life Sketch of Author
THE author was born in Virginia, on a little patch of land, so poor we
had to fertilize it to make brick. Our family, while having cast their
fortunes with the South, was not a family ruined by the war; we did not
have anything when the war commenced, and so we held our own. I secured
a common school education, and at the age of twelve I left home, or
rather home left me--things just petered out. I was slush cook on an
Ohio River Packet; check clerk in a stave and heading camp in the knobs
of Tennessee, Virginia and Georgia; I helped lay the track of the M.
K. & T. R. R., and was chambermaid in a livery stable. Made my first
appearance on the stage at the National Theatre in Cincinnati, Ohio,
and have since then chopped cord wood, worked in a coal mine, made cross
ties (and walked them), worked on a farm, taught a district school (made
love to the big girls), run a threshing machine, cut bands, fed the
machine and ran the engine. Have been a freight and passenger brakeman,
fired and ran a locomotive; also a freight train conductor and check
clerk in a freight house; worked on the section; have been a shot
gun messenger for the Wells, Fargo Company. Have been with a circus,
minstrels, farce comedy, burlesque and dramatic productions; have been
with good shows, bad shows, medicine shows, and worse, and some shows
where we had landlords singing in the chorus. Have played variety houses
and vaudeville houses; have slept in a box car one night, and a swell
hotel the next; have been a traveling salesman (could spin as many
yarns as any of them). For the past four years have made the Uncle Josh
stories for the talking machine. The Lord only knows what next!
My Old Yaller Almanac
Hangin' on the
Kitchen Wall
I'M sort of fond of readin' one
thing and another,
So I've read promiscus like
whatever cum my way,
And many a friendly argument's cum up 'tween
me and mother,
'Bout things that I'd be readin' settin' round
a rainy day.
Sometimes it jist seemed to me thar wa'nt
no end of books,
Some made fer useful readin' and some jist
made fer looks;
But of all the different books I've read,
thar's none comes up at all
To My Old Yaller Almanac, Hangin' on
the Kitchen Wall.
I've always liked amusement, of the good
and wholesome kind,
It's better than a doctor, and it elevates the
mind;
So, often of an evening, when the farm
chores all were done,
I'd join the games the boys would play, gosh
how I liked the fun;
And once thar wuz a minstrel troop, they
showed at our Town Hall,
A jolly lot of fellers, 'bout twenty of 'em all.
Wall I went down to see 'em, but their
jokes, I knowed 'em all,
Read 'em in My Old Yaller Almanac,
Hangin' on the Kitchen Wall.
Thar wuz Ezra Hoskins, Deacon Brown and
a lot of us old codgers,
Used to meet down at the grocery store,
what wuz kept by Jason Rogers.
There we'd set and argufy most every market
day,
Chawin' tobacker and whittlin' sticks to pass
the time away;
And many a knotty problem has put us on
our mettle,
Which we felt it wuz our duty to duly solve
and settle;
Then after they had said their say, who
thought they knowed it all,
I'd floor 'em with some facts I'd got
From My Old Yaller Almanac, Hangin' on
the Kitchen Wall.
It beats a regular cyclopedium, that old
fashioned yeller book,
And many a pleasant hour in readin' it I've
took;
Somehow I've never tired of lookin' through
its pages,
Seein' of the different things that's happened
in all ages.
One time I wuz elected a Justice of the
Peace,
To make out legal documents, a mortgage
or a lease,
Them tricks that lawyers have, you bet I
knowed them all,
Learned them in My Old Yaller Almanac,
Hangin' on the Kitchen Wall.
So now I've bin to New York, and all your
sights I've seen,
I s'pose that to you city folks I must look
most awful green,
Gee whiz, what lots of fun I've had as I
walked round the town,
Havin' Bunco Steerers ask me if I wasn't
Mr. Hiram Brown.
I've rode on all your trolloly cars, and hung
onto the straps,
When we flew around the corners, sat on
other peoples' laps,
Hav'nt had no trouble, not a bit at all,
Read about your city in My Old Yaller
Almanac, Hangin' on the Kitchen Wall.
Uncle Josh Weathersby's Arrival in New York
WALL, fer a long time I had my mind made up that I'd cum down to New
York, and so a short time ago, as I had my crops all gathered in and
produce sold I calculated as how it would be a good time to come down
here. Folks at home said I'd be buncoed or have my pockets picked fore
I'd bin here mor'n half an hour; wall, I fooled 'em a little bit, I wuz
here three days afore they buncoed me. I spose as how there are a good
many of them thar bunco fellers around New York, but I tell you them
thar street keer conductors take mighty good care on you. I wuz ridin'
along in one of them keers, had my pockit book right in my hand, I
alowed no feller would pick my pockits and git it long as I had it in
my hand, and it shet up tight as a barrel when the cider's workin'. Wall
that conductor feller he jest kept his eye on me, and every little bit
he'd put his head in the door and say "hold fast." But I'm transgressin'
from what I started to tell ye. I wuz ridin' along in one of them
sleepin' keers comin' here, and along in the night some time I felt a
feller rummagin' around under my bed, and I looked out jest in time to
see him goin' away with my boots, wall I knowed the way that train wuz a
runnin' he couldn't git off with them without breakin' his durned neck,
but in about half an hour he brot them back, guess they didn't fit him.
Wall I wuz sort of glad he took em cause he hed em all shined up slicker
'n a new tin whistle. Wall when I got up in the mornin' my trubbles
commenced. I wuz so crouded up like, durned if I could git my clothes
on, and when I did git em on durned if my pants wa'nt on hind side
afore, and my socks got all tangled up in that little fish net along
side of the bed and I couldn't git em out, and I lost a bran new collar
button that I traded Si Pettingill a huskin' peg fer, and I got my right
boot on my left foot and the left one on the right foot, and I wuz so
durned badly mixed up I didn't know which way the train wuz a runnin',
and I bumped my head on the roof of the bed over me, and then sot
down right suddin like to think it over when some feller cum along and
stepped right squar on my bunion and I let out a war whoop you could a
heerd over in the next county. Wall, along cum that durned porter and
told me I wuz a wakin' up everybody in the keer. Then I started in
to hunt fer my collar button, cause I sot a right smart store by that
button, thar warns another one like it in Punkin Centre, and I thought
it would be kind of doubtful if they'd have any like it in New York,
wall I see one stuck right in the wall so I tried to git it out with my
jack knife, when along came that durned black jumpin' jack dressed in
soldier clothes and ast me what I wanted, and I told him I didn't want
anything perticler, then he told me to quit ringin' the bell, guess he
wuz a little crazy, I didn't see no bell. Wall, finally I got my clothes
on and went into a room whar they had a row of little troughs to wash
in, and fast as I could pump water in the durned thing it run out of a
little hole in the bottom of the trough so I jest had to grab a handful
and then pump some more. Wall after that things went along purty well
fer a right smart while, then I et a snack out of my carpet bag and felt
purty good. Wall that train got to runnin' slower and slower 'till it
stopped at every house and when it cum to a double house it stopped
twice. I hed my ticket in my hat and I put my head out of the window to
look at suthin
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Produced by David Edwards, David E. Brown and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
LOVE SONNETS OF AN
OFFICE BOY
[Illustration]
Love Sonnets of an
Office Boy
By
Samuel Ellsworth Kiser
Illustrated by
John T. McCutcheon
Forbes & Company
Boston and Chicago
1902
_Copyright, 1902_
BY SAMUEL ELLSWORTH KISER
Published by arrangement with
THE CHICAGO RECORD-HERALD
Colonial Press: Electrotyped and Printed
by C. H. Simonds & Co., Boston, U.S.A.
LOVE SONNETS OF AN
OFFICE BOY
I.
Oh, if you only knowed how much I like
To stand here, when the "old man" ain't around,
And watch your soft, white fingers while you pound
Away at them there keys! Each time you strike
It almost seems to me as though you'd found
Some way, while writin' letters, how to play
Sweet music on that thing, because the sound
Is something I could listen to all day.
You're twenty-five or six and I'm fourteen,
And you don't hardly ever notice me--
But when you do, you call me Willie! Gee,
I wisht I'd bundles of the old long green
And could be twenty-eight or nine or so,
And something happened to your other beau.
II.
I heard the old man scoldin' yesterday
Because your spellin' didn't suit him quite;
He said you'd better go to school at night,
And you was rattled when he turned away;
You had to tear the letter up and write
It all again, and when nobody seen
I went and dented in his hat for spite:
That's what he got for treatin' you so mean.
I wish that you typewrote for me and we
Was far off on an island, all alone;
I'd fix a place up under some nice tree,
And every time your fingers struck a key
I'd grab your hands and hold them in my own,
And any way you spelt would do for me.
[Illustration]
III.
I wish a fire'd start up here, some day,
And all the rest would run away from you--
The boss and that long-legged bookkeeper, too,
That you keep smilin' at--and after they
Was all down-stairs you'd holler out and say:
"Won't no one come and save me? Must I choke
And die alone here in the heat and smoke?
Oh, cowards that they was to run away!"
And then I'd come and grab you up and go
Out through the hall and down the stairs, and when
I got you saved the crowd would cheer, and then
They'd take me to the hospital, and so
You'd come and stay beside me there and cry
And say you'd hate to live if I would die.
[Illustration]
IV.
Yesterday I stood behind your chair
When you was kind of bendin' down to write,
And I could see your neck, so soft and white,
And notice where the poker singed your hair,
And then you looked around and seen me there,
And kind of smiled, and I could seem to feel
A sudden empty, sinkish feelin' where
I'm all filled up when I've just e't a meal.
Dear Frankie, where your soft, sweet finger tips
Hit on the keys I often touch my lips,
And wunst I kissed your little overshoe,
And I have got a hairpin that you wore--
One day I found it on the office floor--
I'd throw my job up if they fired you.
V.
She's got a dimple in her chin, and, oh,
How soft and smooth it looks; her eyes are blue;
The red seems always tryin' to peep through
The middle of her cheeks. I'd like to go
And lay my face up next to hers and throw
My arms around her neck, with just us two
Alone together, but not carin' who
Might scold if they should see us actin' so.
If I would know that some poor girl loved me
As much as I do her, sometimes I'd take
Her in my arms a little while and make
Her happy just for kindness, and to see
| 424.665752 | 2,001 |
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The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Mayflower and Her Log by Ames, v1
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SUPPER***
Transcribed from the 1877 Hatchards edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
THE DOCTRINE
OF
THE LORD’S SUPPER.
AS TAUGHT BY
The Church of England.
* * * * *
BY THE
REV. E. HOARE,
VICAR OF TRINITY, TUNBRIDGE WELLS, AND HONORARY CANON OF
CANTERBURY.
* * * * *
LONDON:
HATCHARDS, PICCADILLY.
1877.
* * * * *
INTRODUCTION.
IT is a very easy thing to make a confident assertion, and such
assertions produce a greater effect on many minds than the most careful
and best-established proof. Thus it is not at all an uncommon thing to
hear it asserted with the utmost confidence that what is termed ‘The
Doctrine of the Real Presence,’ is taught by the Church of England; and
the result is that a considerable number of persons believe in the
assertion, and place reliance on those who make it, as if they, and they
only, were the true expositors of the Church’s doctrine. In many cases a
blind consent is blindly given. The Scriptures are not investigated
because the point is supposed to have been settled by the Church, and the
documents of the Church are not studied because the doctrine is regarded
as beyond the reach of doubt; whereas, if the real groundwork of that
opinion were examined, it would be found to consist in nothing more than
confident assertion. But those who are loyal to the Church of England
ought not to be satisfied with any such representation of its teaching.
The issues at stake are far too serious, and, now that after three
hundred years of faithful service the Church of England is entering on
such a sifting time as she has never yet experienced, it is only fair to
her that her own language should be patiently heard, and her own teaching
honestly examined. This, then, is the object of this address. I am not
about to discuss the teaching of Scripture, but of the Church of England;
and my desire is to ascertain by the careful and candid examination of
her own documents whether there is, or is not, any authority for the
assertion that she teaches what is commonly called ‘The Doctrine of the
Real Presence.’ In doing this, our first business is to ascertain what
is the real point at issue, and this is not so easy a task as it may
appear, as amongst those who maintain that doctrine there are no
authoritative documents on the subject to which we can refer. But, I
believe, I am perfectly safe in arranging the three principal points at
issue under the three heads of the Real Presence, Adoration, and
Sacrifice; and these three I propose to investigate in that order.
CHAPTER I.
THE REAL PRESENCE.
THIS lies at the foundation of the whole controversy, and to this our
first and chief attention must be directed. Now, there can be no doubt
on the minds of those who take the Word of God as their true and only
guide that it is the sacred privilege of the Children of God to feed by
faith on the most precious body and blood of our blessed Saviour. I am
not now discussing in what way we feed on Him, or whether His words in
the 6th chapter of St. John refer, or do not refer, to the Sacrament of
the Lord’s Supper. It is my own belief that they do not; but that is not
the present question. My present concern is with the fact that, however
we explain His words, we are taught by our Lord Himself that such a
feeding is essential to our life: ‘Except ye eat the flesh of the Son of
Man, and drink His blood, ye have no life in you.’ Nor can there be any
doubt that in 1 Cor. x. 16, 17, the partaking (_κοινωνία_) of the body
and blood of Christ is connected with the Lord’s Supper. I am not now
making any assertion as to the way in which it is connected, for that is
the great point to be determined. All that I now say is that there
clearly is a connexion, for the words are: ‘The cup of blessing which we
bless, is it not the communion of the blood of Christ? The bread which
we break, is it not the communion of the body of Christ? For we being
many, are one bread and one body; for we are all partakers of that one
bread.’
Two things, therefore, seem plain from Scripture: that there is a feeding
on the body and blood of our most blessed Saviour, without which none can
live, and that the Sacrament of the Lord’s Supper is in some way or other
connected with that sacred privilege. Thus far, I presume, we are all
agreed. But as to the nature of
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SELECT SPEECHES
OF
KOSSUTH.
Condensed and abridged,
_with Kossuth's express sanction_,
by
Francis W. Newman.
PREFACE TO KOSSUTH'S SPEECHES.
Nothing appears in history similar to the enthusiasm roused by Kossuth
in nations foreign to him, except perhaps the kindling for the First
Crusade by the voice of Peter the Hermit. Then bishops, princes, and
people alike understood the danger which overshadowed Europe from the
Mohammedan powers; and by soundly directed, though fanatical instinct,
all Christendom rushed eastward, till the chivalry of the Seljuk Turks
was crippled on the fields of Palestine. Now also the multitudes of
Europe, uncorrupted by ambition, envy, or filthy lucre, forebode the
deadly struggle impending over us all from the conspiracy of crowned
heads. Seeing the apathy of their own rulers, and knowing, perhaps by
dim report, the deeds of Kossuth, they look to him as the Great Prophet
and Leader, by whom Policy is at length to be moulded into Justice; and
are ready to catch his inspiration before he has uttered a word. Kossuth
undoubtedly is a mighty Orator; but no one is better aware than he, that
the cogency of his arguments is due to the atrocity of our common
enemies, and the enthusiasm which he kindles to the preparations of the
people's heart.
His orations are a tropical forest, full of strength and majesty,
tangled in luxuriance, a wilderness of self-repetition. Utterly
unsuited to form a book without immense abridgment, they contain
materials adapted equally for immediate political service and for
permanence as a work of wisdom and of genius. To prepare them for the
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file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
PHIL MAY'S
GUTTER-SNIPES
The impressions herein are extra carefully printed as _PROOFS_ on fine
paper, and the issue is limited to one thousand and fifty copies, of
which this is No. =462=.
A paper-covered edition, on thinner paper, at a popular price, will
follow.
[Illustration: GRACE!]
[Illustration]
PHIL MAY'S
GUTTER-SNIPES
50
ORIGINAL SKETCHES
IN PEN & INK.
LONDON:
THE LEADENHALL PRESS, LIMITED.
(THESE SKETCHES xxHAVE BEENxx ARE SEPARATELY COPYRIGHTED)
COPYRIGHT 1896
IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
[Illustration: DEDICATION
THIS TO THAT.]
DRAWINGS
1 GRACE! FRONTISPIECE
2 TITLE.
3 DEDICATION.
4 INTRODUCTION.
5 SHUTTLECOCK.
6 A GUTTER-BALL.
7 PLAYING AT SOLDIERS.
8 WATER-WORKS.
9 A GAME AT BALL.
10 LONGING FOR LICKINGS.
11 LUXURIES.
12 "ORRIBLE AND RE-VOLTIN' DETAILS, SIR!"
13 PLUNDERERS.
14 LOST.
15 HOMELESS.
16 THE SLIDE.
17 THE FIRST SMOKE.
18 BROTHER ARTISTS.
19 BITS & SCRAPS.
20 PEG-TOP.
21 TANTALIZING!
22 SEE-SAW.
23 HONEY-POTS.
24 SNOWBALLING.
25 "BOX O' LIGHTS, MY LORD?"
26 MUDLARKS.
27 A SWELL.
28 BUTTONS.
29 FAIRIES.
30 "WHIP-BEHIND."
31 "WILL IT BE ME?"
32 "'EAR Y'ARE SIR!"
33 "THREE SHIES A PENNY."
34 "GIVE US A BITE."
35 WHAT BETSY-ANN MAKES OF IT.
36 HOP-SCOTCH.
37 MARBLES.
38 OLD FRIENDS.
39 AN ADEPT.
40 "REMEMBER, REMEMBER!"
41 PLAYING AT HORSES.
42 "SWEEP YOUR DOOR AWAY, MUM?"
43 A DAY IN THE COUNTRY.
44 HIDE & SEEK.
45 TWO PENNORTH.
46 RUGBY RULES.
47 LITTLE MOTHERS.
48 WHISTLING THE LAST NEW TUNE.
49 A MISUNDERSTANDING.
50 LEAP-FROG.
51 BOB-IN-THE-CAP.
52 TIP-CAT.
53 ACROBATS.
54 GUTTER GYMNASTICS.
[Illustration: Andrew Tuer]
June 30th. 96.
My Dear Tuer
Here is the last of the Gutter snipe drawings and sorry I am to
leave them! Children of the gutter roam about free and are often
hungry, but what would one give for such appetites? You and I smoke
big cigars while they--all too soon, poor little chaps--smoke what
you and I and others throw away. Sometimes I wonder whether they
don't lead the happier lives?
Yours always
Phil May
[Illustration: Phil May]
[Illustration: SHUTTLECOCK.]
* * * * *
[Illustration: A GUTTER-BALL.]
* * * * *
[Illustration: PLAYING AT SOLDIERS.]
* * * * *
[Illustration: WATER-WORKS.]
* * * * *
[Illustration: A GAME AT BALL.]
* * * * *
[Illustration: LONGING FOR LICKINGS.]
* * * * *
[Illustration: BOY. "NO? WHY DON'T YOU =NEVER= TREAT YOURSELF TO NO
LUXURIES, GUVNER?"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: "ORRIBLE AND RE-VOLTIN' DETAILS, SIR!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: PLUNDERERS.]
*
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AMERICA, VOL. II (OF 8)***
E-text prepared by Giovanni Fini, Dianna Adair, Bryan Ness, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images
generously made available by Internet Archive/American Libraries
(https://archive.org/details/americana)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file
which includes the more than 300 original illustrations.
See 50883-h.htm or 50883-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/50883/50883-h/50883-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/50883/50883-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
https://archive.org/details/narrcrithistamerica02winsrich
Transcriber’s note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
A carat character is used to denote superscription. A
single character following the carat is superscripted
(example: XV^e). Multiple superscripted characters are
enclosed by curly brackets (example: novam^{te}).
Spanish Explorations and Settlements in America
from the Fifteenth to the Seventeenth Century
[Illustration]
NARRATIVE AND CRITICAL HISTORY OF AMERICA
Edited by
JUSTIN WINSOR
Librarian of Harvard University
Corresponding Secretary Massachusetts Historical Society
VOL. II
Boston and New York
Houghton, Mifflin and Company
The Riverside Press, Cambridge
Copyright, 1886,
by Houghton, Mifflin and Company.
All rights reserved.
CONTENTS AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
[_
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Produced by David Widger
THE HISTORICAL ROMANCES OF GEORG EBERS
CONTENTS:
Uarda
An Egyptian Princess
The Sisters
Joshua
Cleopatra
The Emperor
<DW25> Sum
Serapis
Arachne
The Bride Of The Nile
A Thorny Path
In The Fire Of The Forge
Margery
Barbara Blomberg
A Word Only A Word
The Burgomaster's Wife
In The Blue Pike
A Question
The Elixir
The Greylock
The Nuts
The Story Of My Life (Autobiograpy)
UARDA
A ROMANCE OF ANCIENT EGYPT
Translated from the German by Clara Bell
Volume 1.
DEDICATION.
Thou knowest well from what this book arose.
When suffering seized and held me in its clasp
Thy fostering hand released me from its grasp,
And from amid the thorns there bloomed a rose.
Air, dew, and sunshine were bestowed by Thee,
And Thine it is; without these lines from me.
PREFACE.
In the winter of 1873 I spent some weeks in one of the tombs of the
Necropolis of Thebes in order to study the monuments of that solemn city
of the dead; and during my long rides in the silent desert the germ was
developed whence this book has since grown. The leisure of mind and body
required to write it was given me through a long but not disabling
illness.
In the first instance I intended to elucidate this story--like my
"Egyptian Princess"--with numerous and extensive notes placed at the end;
but I was led to give up this plan from finding that it would lead me to
the repetition of much that I had written in the notes to that earlier
work.
The numerous notes to the former novel had a threefold purpose. In the
first place they served to explain the text; in the second they were a
guarantee of the care with which I had striven to depict the
archaeological details in all their individuality from the records of the
monuments and of Classic Authors; and thirdly I hoped to supply the
reader who desired further knowledge of the period with some guide to his
studies.
In the present work I shall venture to content myself with the simple
statement that I have introduced nothing as proper to Egypt and to the
period of Rameses that cannot be proved by some authority; the numerous
monuments which have descended to us from the time of the Rameses, in
fact enable the enquirer to understand much of the aspect and arrangement
of Egyptian life, and to follow it step try step through the details of
religious, public, and private life, even of particular individuals. The
same remark cannot be made in regard to their mental life, and here many
an anachronism will slip in, many things will appear modern, and show the
coloring of the Christian mode of thought.
Every part of this book is intelligible without the aid of notes; but,
for the reader who seeks for further enlightenment, I have added some
foot-notes, and have not neglected to mention such works as afford more
detailed information on the subjects mentioned in the narrative.
The reader who wishes to follow the mind of the author in this work
should not trouble himself with the notes as he reads, but merely at the
beginning of each chapter read over the notes which belong to the
foregoing one. Every glance at the foot-notes must necessarily disturb
and injure the development of the tale as a work of art. The story stands
here as it flowed from one fount, and was supplied with notes only after
its completion.
A narrative of Herodotus combined with the Epos of Pentaur, of which so
many copies have been handed down to us, forms the foundation of the
story.
The treason of the Regent related by the Father of history is referable
perhaps to the reign of the third and not of the second Rameses. But it
is by no means certain that the Halicarnassian writer was in this case
misinformed; and in this fiction no history will be inculcated, only as a
background shall I offer a sketch of the time of Sesostris, from a
picturesque point of view, but with the nearest possible approach to
truth. It is true that to this end nothing has been neglected that could
be learnt from the monuments or the papyri; still the book is only a
romance, a poetic fiction, in which I wish all the facts derived from
history and all the costume drawn from the monuments to be regarded as
incidental, and the emotions of the actors in the story as what I attach
importance to.
But I must be allowed to make one observation. From studying the
conventional
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PERSONAL MEMOIRES OF P. H. SHERIDAN, VOLUME 1.
By Philip Henry Sheridan
PREFACE
When, yielding to the solicitations of my friends, I finally decided
to write these Memoirs, the greatest difficulty which confronted me
was that of recounting my share in the many notable events of the
last three decades, in which I played a part, without entering too
fully into the history of these years, and at the same time without
giving to my own acts an unmerited prominence. To what extent I have
overcome this difficulty I must leave the reader to judge.
In offering this record, penned by my own hand, of the events of my
life, and of my participation in our great struggle for national
existence, human liberty, and political equality, I make no
pretension to literary merit; the importance of the subject-matter of
my narrative is my only claim on the reader's attention.
Respectfully dedicating this work to my comrades in arms during the
War of the Rebellion, I leave it as a heritage to my children, and as
a source of information for the future historian.
P. H. SHERIDAN.
Nonguitt, Mass., August 2, 1888
PERSONAL MEMOIRS
P. H. SHERIDAN.
VOLUME I.
CHAPTER I.
ANCESTRY--BIRTH--EARLY EDUCATION--A CLERK IN A GROCERY
STORE--APPOINTMENT--MONROE SHOES--JOURNEY TO WEST POINT--HAZING
--A FISTICUFF BATTLE--SUSPENDED--RETURNS TO CLERKSHIP--GRADUATION.
My parents, John and Mary Sheridan, came to America in 1830, having
been induced by the representations of my father's uncle, Thomas
Gainor, then living in Albany, N. Y., to try their fortunes in the
New World: They were born and reared in the County Cavan, Ireland,
where from early manhood my father had tilled a leasehold on the
estate of Cherrymoult; and the sale of this leasehold provided him
with means to seek a new home across the sea. My parents were
blood relations--cousins in the second degree--my mother, whose
maiden name was Minor, having descended from a collateral branch of
my father's family. Before leaving Ireland they had two children,
and on the 6th of March, 1831, the year after their arrival in this
country, I was born, in Albany, N. Y., the third child in a family
which eventually increased to six--four boys and two girls.
The prospects for gaining a livelihood in Albany did not meet the
expectations which my parents had been led to entertain, so in 1832
they removed to the West, to establish themselves in the village of
Somerset, in Perry County, Ohio, which section, in the earliest days
of the State; had been colonized from Pennsylvania and Maryland. At
this period the great public works of the Northwest--the canals and
macadamized roads, a result of clamor for internal improvements--were
in course of construction, and my father turned his attention to
them, believing that they offered opportunities for a successful
occupation. Encouraged by a civil engineer named Bassett, who had
taken a fancy to him, he put in bids for a small contract on the
Cumberland Road, known as the "National Road," which was then being
extended west from the Ohio River. A little success in this first
enterprise led him to take up contracting as a business, which he
followed on various canals and macadamized roads then building in
different parts of the State of Ohio, with some good fortune for
awhile, but in 1853 what little means he had saved were swallowed up
--in bankruptcy, caused by the failure of the Sciota and Hocking
Valley Railroad Company, for which he was fulfilling a contract at
the time, and this disaster left him finally only a small farm, just
outside the village of Somerset, where he dwelt until his death in
1875.
My father's occupation kept him away from home much of the time
during my boyhood, and as a consequence I grew up under the sole
guidance and training of my mother, whose excellent common sense and
clear discernment in every way fitted her for such maternal duties.
When old enough I was sent to the village school, which was taught by
an old-time Irish "master"--one of those itinerant dominies of the
early frontier--who, holding that to spare the rod was to spoil the
child, if unable to detect the real culprit when any offense had been
committed, would consistently apply the switch to the whole school
without discrimination. It must be conceded that by this means he
never failed to catch the guilty mischief-maker. The school-year was
divided into terms of three months, the teacher being paid in each
term
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generously made available by The Internet Archive)
THE
CHRONICLES
OF
ENGUERRAND DE MONSTRELET.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE
CHRONICLES
OF
ENGUERRAND DE MONSTRELET;
CONTAINING
AN ACCOUNT OF THE CRUEL CIVIL WARS BETWEEN THE HOUSES OF
ORLEANS AND BURGUNDY;
OF THE POSSESSION OF
PARIS AND NORMANDY BY THE ENGLISH;
_THEIR EXPULSION THENCE;_
AND OF OTHER
MEMORABLE EVENTS THAT HAPPENED IN THE KINGDOM OF FRANCE,
AS WELL AS IN OTHER COUNTRIES.
_A HISTORY OF FAIR EXAMPLE, AND OF GREAT PROFIT TO THE
FRENCH,_
_Beginning at the Year MCCCC. where that of Sir JOHN FROISSART
finishes, and ending at the Year MCCCCLXVII. and continued
by others to the Year MDXVI._
TRANSLATED
BY THOMAS JOHNES, ESQ.
IN THIRTEEN VOLUMES... VOL. I.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN, PATERNOSTER-ROW;
AND J. WHITE AND CO. FLEET-STREET.
1810.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TO
HIS GRACE
_JOHN DUKE OF BEDFORD_,
_&c. &c. &c._
MY LORD,
I am happy in this opportunity of dedicating the CHRONICLES OF
MONSTRELET to your grace, to show my high respect for your many virtues,
public and private, and the value I set on the honour of your grace’s
friendship.
One of MONSTRELET’S principal characters was JOHN DUKE OF BEDFORD,
regent of France; and your grace has fully displayed your abilities, as
regent, to be at least equal to those of your namesake, in the milder
and more valuable virtues. Those of a hero may dazzle in this life; but
the others are, I trust, recorded in a better place; and your late wise,
although, unfortunately, short government of Ireland will be long and
thankfully remembered by a gallant and warm-hearted people.
I have the honour to remain,
Your grace’s much obliged,
Humble servant and friend,
_Thomas Johnes_.
_CASTLE-HILL_,
_March 13, 1808_.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS
OF
_THE FIRST VOLUME_.
PAGE
The prologue 1
CHAP. I.
How Charles the well-beloved reigned in France,
after he had been crowned at Rheims, in the
year thirteen hundred and eighty 7
CHAP. II.
An esquire of Arragon, named Michel d’Orris,
sends challenges to England. The answer he
receives from a knight of that country 13
CHAP. III.
Great pardons granted at Rome 38
CHAP. IV.
John of Montfort, duke of Brittany, dies. The
emperor departs from Paris. Isabella queen of
England returns to France 39
CHAP. V.
The duke of Burgundy, by orders from the king
of France, goes into Brittany, and the duke
of Orleans to Luxembourg. A quarrel ensues
between them 42
CHAP. VI.
Clement duke of Bavaria is elected emperor of
Germany, and afterward conducted with a
numerous retinue to Frankfort 45
CHAP. VII.
Henry of Lancaster, king of England, combats
the Percies and Welshmen, who had invaded his
kingdom, and defeats them 47
CHAP. VIII.
John de Verchin, a knight of great renown, and
seneschal of Hainault, sends, by his herald,
a challenge into divers countries, proposing
a deed of arms 49
CHAP. IX.
The duke of Orleans, brother to the king of
France, sends a challenge to the king of
England. The answer he receives 55
CHAP. X.
Waleran count de Saint Pol sends a challenge to
the king of England 84
CHAP. XI.
Concerning the sending of sir James de Bourbon,
count de la Marche, and his two brothers, by
orders from the king of France, to the
assistance of the Welsh, and other matters 87
CHAP. XII.
The admiral of Brittany, with other lords,
fights the English at sea. Gilbert de Fretun
makes war against king Henry 89
CHAP. XIII.
The university of Paris quarrels with sir
Charles de Savoisy and with the provost of
Paris 91
CHAP. XIV.
The seneschal of Hainault performs a deed of
arms with
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E-text prepared by Delphine Lettau, Paul Marshall, Mary Akers, and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page
images generously made available by Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries
(https://archive.org/details/toronto)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 46038-h.htm or 46038-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/46038/46038-h/46038-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/46038/46038-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries. See
https://archive.org/details/shintowayofgods00astouoft
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
Vowels with the diacritical mark, macron, above them
have been displayed as [=a], [=e], [=i], [=o], and [=u].
Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation in the original
have not been changed.
SHINTO
(The Way Of The Gods)
by
W. G. ASTON, C.M.G, D.Lit.
Author of
'A Grammar of the Japanese Spoken Language,' 'A Grammar of the
Japanese Written Language,' 'The Nihongi' (Translation),
'A History of Japanese Literature,' &c.
Longmans, Green, and Co.
39 Paternoster Row, London
New York and Bombay
1905
All rights reserved
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
CHAP. PAGE.
I. MATERIALS FOR THE STUDY OF SHINTO 1
II. GENERAL FEATURES--PERSONIFICATION 5
III. GENERAL FEATURES--DEIFICATION OF MEN 36
IV. GENERAL FEATURES--FUNCTIONS OF GODS, &C. 65
V. MYTH 75
VI. THE MYTHICAL NARRATIVE 84
VII. THE PANTHEON--NATURE-DEITIES 121
VIII. THE PANTHEON--MAN-DEITIES 177
IX. THE PRIESTHOOD 200
X. WORSHIP 208
XI. MORALS, LAW, AND PURITY 241
XII. CEREMONIAL 268
XIII. MAGIC, DIVINATION, INSPIRATION 327
XIV. DECAY OF SHINTO. MODERN SECTS 359
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE.
_Ohonamochi and his Double_ 28-29
_The Sun-Goddess issuing from the Rock-Cave of Heaven_ 98-99
_Sun Worship at the Twin-Rocks of Ise_ 130-31
_Hohodemi at the Court of Toyotama-hiko_ 149
_Kedzurikake_. The one on the right is the ordinary form,
the other a special kind called _ihaigi_ 192
_Oho-nusa_.
(From Dr. Florenz's paper in the _T.A.S.J._) 214
_Gohei_ 215
_Ema_ (Horse-picture) 222
_Mikoshi_ 224-25
_Himorogi_. (From the _T.A.S.J._) 226
_Shrines of Ise_ 229-30
_Toriwi_ 233
_Chi no wa_ 266-67
_Misogi, or Purification Ceremony_ 298-99
_Tsuina, or Expulsion of Devils_ 310-11
_Wayside Shrines_ 366
ABBREVIATIONS.
Ch. K.--Mr. B. H. Chamberlain's translation of the _Kojiki_.
_Nihongi_.--Translation of the _Nihongi_ by W. G. Aston.
_T.A.S.J._--Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan.
ERRATA.
For "Welhausen," note to p. 113, read _Wellhausen_.
For "of," p. 12, l. 18, read _on_.
P. 335, l. 24, read _to do her behests_.
ADDENDA.
Add, bottom of p. 60, "St. Augustine says, in his 'Civitas Dei,' that
funeral observances are rather solace to the living than help to the
dead."
P. 41, line 25, after "deities" insert "a phrase which closely
resembles the 'Zembla Bogh' used of the Czar by Russians."
P. 31, add to first note, "The Romans had an evil counterpart of
Jupiter, viz., Vediovis or Vejovis."
PREFACE.
As compared with the great religions of the world, Shinto, the old
_Kami_ cult of Japan, is decidedly rudimentary in its character. Its
polytheism, the want of a Supreme Deity, the comparative absence of
images and of a moral code, its feeble personifications and hesitating
grasp of the conception of spirit, the practical non-recognition of a
future state, and the general absence of a deep, earnest faith--all
stamp it as perhaps the least developed of religions which have an
adequate literary record. Still, it is not a primitive cult. It had an
organized priesthood and an elaborate ritual. The general civilization
of the Japanese when Shinto assumed the form in which we know it had
left the primitive stage far behind. They were already an agricultural
nation, a circumstance by which Shinto has been deeply influenced. They
had a settled government, and possessed the arts of brewing, making
pottery, building ships and bridges, and working in metals. It is not
among such surroundings that we can expect to find a primitive form of
religion.
The present treatise has two objects. It is intended, primarily and
chiefly, as a repertory of the more significant facts of Shinto for the
use of scientific students of religion. It also comprises an outline
theory of the origin and earlier stages of the development of religion,
prepared with special reference to the Shinto evidence. The subject is
treated from a positive, not from a negative or agnostic standpoint,
Religion being regarded as a normal function, not a disease, of
humanity. This element of the work owes much to the continental
scholars Reville, Goblet D'Alviella, and Pfleiderer.
In anthropological matters, I have been much indebted to Dr. Tylor's
'Primitive Culture' and Mr. J. G. Frazer's 'Golden Bough.' I should not
omit to express my obligations to my friend Mr. J. Troup for assistance
with the proofs and for a number of useful corrections and suggestions.
CHAPTER I.
MATERIALS FOR THE STUDY OF SHINTO.
=Prehistoric Shinto=.--Ethnologists are agreed that the predominant
element of the Japanese race came to Japan by way of Korea from that
part of Asia which lies north of China, probably by a succession of
immigrations which extended over many centuries. It is useless to
speculate as to what rudiments of religious belief the ancestors of the
Japanese race may have brought with them from their continental home.
Sun-worship has long been a central feature of Tartar religions, as it
is of Shinto; but such a coincidence proves nothing, as this cult is
universal among nations in the barbaric stage of civilization. It is
impossible to say whether or not an acquaintance with the old State
religion of China--essentially a nature-worship--had an influence on
the prehistoric development of Shinto. The circumstance that the Sun
was the chief deity of the latter and Heaven of the former is adverse
to this supposition. Nor is there anything in Japan which corresponds
with the Shangti
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Project Gutenberg Etext Songs of the Ridings, by F. W. Moorman
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should
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HISTORY OF FRIEDRICH II OF PRUSSIA
FREDERICK THE GREAT
By Thomas Carlyle
Volume X.
BOOK X. -- AT REINSBERG. - 1736-1740.
Chapter I. -- MANSION OF REINSBERG.
On the Crown-Prince's Marriage, three years ago, when the AMT or
Government-District RUPPIN, with its incomings, was assigned to him for
revenue, we heard withal of a residence getting ready. Hint had fallen
from the Prince, that Reinsberg, an old Country-seat, standing with
its Domain round it in that little Territory of Ruppin, and probably
purchasable as was understood, might be pleasant, were it once his
and well put in repair. Which hint the kind paternal Majesty instantly
proceeded to act upon. He straightway gave orders for the purchase of
Reinsberg; concluded said purchase, on fair terms, after some months'
bargaining; [23d October, 1733, order given,--16th March, 1734, purchase
completed (Preuss, i. 75).]--and set his best Architect, one Kemeter,
to work, in concert with the Crown-Prince, to new-build and enlarge
the decayed Schloss of Reinsberg into such a Mansion as the young Royal
Highness and his Wife would like.
Kemeter has been busy, all this while; a solid, elegant, yet frugal
builder: and now the main body of the Mansion is complete, or nearly so,
the wings and adjuncts going steadily forward; Mansion so far ready that
the Royal Highnesses can take up their abode in it. Which they do, this
Autumn, 1736; and fairly commence Joint Housekeeping, in a permanent
manner. Hitherto it has been intermittent only: hitherto the
Crown-Princess has resided in their Berlin Mansion, or in her own
Country-house at Schonhausen; Husband not habitually with her, except
when on leave of absence from Ruppin, in Carnival time or for shorter
periods. At Ruppin his life has been rather that of a bachelor, or
husband abroad on business; up to this time. But now at Reinsberg they
do kindle the sacred hearth together; "6th August, 1736," the date of
that important event. They have got their Court about them, dames and
cavaliers more than we expected; they have arranged the furnitures of
their existence here on fit scale, and set up their Lares and Penates
on a thrifty footing. Majesty and Queen come out on a visit to them next
month; [4th September, 1736 (Ib.).]--raising the sacred hearth into its
first considerable blaze, and crowning the operation in a human manner.
And so there has a new epoch arisen for the Crown-Prince and his
Consort. A new, and much-improved one. It lasted into the fourth year;
rather improving all the way: and only Kingship, which, if a higher
sphere, was a far less pleasant one, put an end to it. Friedrich's
happiest time was this at Reinsberg; the little Four Years of Hope,
Composure, realizable Idealism: an actual snatch of something like the
Idyllic, appointed him in a life-pilgrimage consisting otherwise of
realisms oftenest contradictory enough, and sometimes of very grim
complexion. He is master of his work, he is adjusted to the practical
conditions set him; conditions once complied with, daily work done,
he lives to the Muses, to the spiritual improvements, to the social
enjoyments; and has, though not without flaws of ill-weather,--from
the Tobacco-Parliament perhaps rather less than formerly, and from
the Finance-quarter perhaps rather more,--a sunny time. His innocent
insipidity of a Wife, too, appears to have been happy. She had the
charm of youth, of good looks; a wholesome perfect loyalty of character
withal; and did not "take to pouting," as was once apprehended of
her, but pleasantly gave and received of what was going. This poor
Crown-Princess, afterwards Queen, has been heard, in her old age,
reverting, in a touching transient way, to the glad days she had at
Reinsberg. Complaint openly was never heard from her, in any kind of
days; but these doubtless were the best of her life.
Reinsberg, we said, is in the AMT Ruppin; naturally under the
Crown-Prince's government at present: the little Town or Village of
Reinsberg stands about, ten miles north of the Town Ruppin;--not quite
a third-part as big as Ruppin is in our time, and much more pleasantly
situated. The country about is of comfortable, not unpicturesque
character; to be distinguished almost as beautiful, in that region
of sand and moor. Lakes abound in it; tilled fields; heights called
"hills;" and wood of fair growth,--one reads of "beech-avenues" of "high
linden-avenues:"--a country rather of the ornamented sort, before the
Prince with his improvements settled there. Many lakes and lakelets in
it, as usual hereabouts; the loitering waters straggle, all over that
region, into meshes of lakes. Reinsberg itself, Village and Schloss,
stands on the edge of a pleasant Lake, last of a mesh of such: the
SUMMARY, or outfall, of which, already here a good strong brook or
stream, is called the RHEIN, Rhyn or Rein; and gives name to the little
place. We heard of the Rein at Ruppin: it is there counted as a kind of
river; still more, twenty miles farther down, where it falls into the
Havel, on its way to the Elbe. The
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
book was produced from images made available by the
HathiTrust Digital Library.)
PLEASING
POETRY AND PICTURES:
FOR THE
MIND AND THE EYE.
[Illustration]
Here’s a pretty new Book, full of verses to sing,
And Mary can read it--oh, what a fine thing;
Then such pretty verses, and pictures too, look!
Oh, I’m glad I can read such a beautiful book.
NEW HAVEN.
PUBLISHED BY S. BABCOCK.
1849.
[Illustration: THE BEE-HIVE.]
PLEASING
POETRY AND PICTURES.
[Illustration]
The Little Busy Bee.
_An Example of Industry, for Young Children._
How doth the little busy Bee
Improve each shining hour,
And gather honey all the day
From every opening flower?
How skilfully she builds her cell,--
How neat she spreads her wax,
And labors hard to store it well
With the sweet food she makes.
In works of labor, or of skill,
I must be busy too,
For Satan finds some mischief still
For idle hands to do.
In books, or work, or healthful play,
Let my first years be past,
That I may give for every day
Some good account at last.
[Illustration]
The Dead Bird.
_What we call Sport is too often Cruelty._
Ah! there it falls, and now ’tis dead!
The shot went thro’ its pretty head,
And broke its shining wing?
How dull and dim its closing eyes;
How cold, and stiff, and still it lies!
Poor harmless little thing!
It was a lark, and in the sky,
In mornings fine, it mounted high,
To sing a pretty song;
Cutting the fresh and healthy air,
It whistled out its music there,
As light it skimmed along.
How little thought its pretty breast,
This morning, when it left its nest
Hid in the springing corn,
To find some breakfast for its young,
And pipe away its morning song,
It never should return.
[Illustration: THE DEAD BIRD.]
Those pretty wings shall never more
Its tender nestlings cover o’er,
Or bring them dainties rare:
But long with gaping beaks they’ll cry,
And then they will with hunger die,
All in the open air!
Poor little bird! If people knew
The sorrows little birds go through,
I think that even boys
Would never call it sport and fun
To stand and fire a frightful gun,
For nothing but the noise.
[Illustration]
My Kind Mother.
_A Dutiful Child is the Joy of its Parents._
I must not tease my mother,
For she is very kind;
And every thing she says to me,
I must directly mind;
For when I was a baby,
And could not speak or walk,
She let me in her bosom sleep,
And taught me how to talk.
I must not tease my mother;
And when she likes to read,
Or has the headache, I will step
Most silently, indeed.
I will not choose a noisy play,
Or trifling troubles tell;
But sit down quiet by her side,
And try to make her well.
I must not tease my mother;
I have heard my father say,
When I was in my cradle sick,
She tended me all day.
She lays me in my little bed,
She gives me clothes and food,
And I have nothing else to pay,
But trying to be good.
I must not tease my mother;
She loves me all the day,
And she has patience with my faults,
And teaches me to pray;
How much I’ll strive to please her
She every hour shall see,
For, should she go away, or die,
What would become of me!
[Illustration]
Good Night.
_Little Children should go to Bed Early._
The sun is hidden from our sight,
The birds are sleeping sound;
’Tis time to say to all, “Good night,”
And give a kiss all round.
Good night! my father, mother dear,
Now kiss your little son;
Good night! my friends, both far and near;
Good night! to every one.
Good night! ye merry, merry birds,
Sleep well till morning light;
Perhaps if you could sing in words,
You too would say, “Good night!”
To all the pretty flowers, Good night!
You blossom while I sleep!
And all the stars that shine so bright,
With you their watches keep.
[Illustration: GOOD NIGHT.]
The moon is lighting up the skies,
The stars are sparkling there;
’Tis time to shut my weary eyes,
And say my evening prayer.
[Illustration]
The Boy and the Squirrel.
_No time to Play when there is Work to be done._
“Pretty Squirrel on the tree,
Frisking there so merrily,
Pray come down and
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Produced by David Starner, Keith Edkins and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
book was produced from scanned images of public domain
material from the Google Books project.)
The
Story of Genesis and Exodus,
AN EARLY ENGLISH SONG,
ABOUT A.D. 1250.
EDITED
FROM A UNIQUE MS. IN THE LIBRARY OF CORPUS CHRISTI COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE,
WITH INTRODUCTION, NOTES, AND GLOSSARY,
BY THE
REV. RICHARD MORRIS, LL.D.,
AUTHOR OF "HISTORICAL OUTLINES OF ENGLISH ACCIDENCE;"
EDITOR OF "HAMPOLE'S PRICKS OF CONSCIENCE;" "EARLY ENGLISH ALLITERATIVE
POEMS,"
ETC. ETC.;
ONE OF THE VICE-PRESIDENTS OF THE PHILOLOGICAL SOCIETY.
[Second and Revised Edition, 1873.]
LONDON:
PUBLISHED FOR THE EARLY ENGLISH TEXT SOCIETY,
BY N. TRÜBNER & CO., 57 & 59, LUDGATE HILL.
MDCCCLXV.
PREFACE.
DESCRIPTION OF THE MANUSCRIPT, ETC.
The Editor of the present valuable and interesting record of our old
English speech will, no doubt, both astonish and alarm his readers by
informing them that he has never seen the manuscript from which the work he
professes to edit has been transcribed.
But, while the truth must be told, the reader need not entertain the
slightest doubt or distrust as to the accuracy and faithfulness of the
present edition; for, in the first place, the text was copied by Mr F. J.
Furnivall, an experienced editor and a zealous lover of Old English lore;
and, secondly, the proof sheets have been most carefully read with the
manuscript by the Rev. W. W. Skeat, who has spared no pains to render the
text an accurate copy of the original.[1] I have not been satisfied with
merely the general accuracy of the text, but all _doubtful_ or _difficult_
passages have been most carefully referred to, and compared with the
manuscript, so that the more questionable a word may appear, either as
regards its _form_ or _meaning_, the more may the reader rest assured of
its correctness, so that he may be under no apprehension that he is
perplexed by any typographical error, but feel confident that he is dealing
with the reading of the original copy.
The editorial portion of the present work includes the punctuation,
marginal analysis, conjectural readings, a somewhat large body of
annotations on the text of the poem, and a Glossarial Index, which, it is
hoped, will be found to be complete, as well as useful for reference.
The Corpus manuscript[2] is a small volume (about 8 in. × 4½ in.), bound in
vellum, written on parchment in a hand of about 1300 A.D., with several
final long ſ's, and consisting of eighty-one leaves. Genesis ends on fol.
49_b_; Exodus has the last two lines at the top of fol. 81_a_.
The writing is clear and regular; the letters are large, but the words are
often very close together. Every initial letter has a little dab of red on
it, and they are mostly capitals, except the _b_, the _f_, the _ð_, and
sometimes other letters. Very rarely, however, _B_, _F_, and _Ð_ are found
as initial letters.
The illuminated letters are simply large vermilion letters without
ornament, and are of an earlier form than the writing of the rest of the
manuscript. Every line ends with a full stop (or metrical point), except,
very rarely, when omitted by accident. Whenever this stop occurs in the
middle of a line it has been marked thus (.) in the text.
DESCRIPTION OF THE POEM.
Our author, of whom, unfortunately, we know nothing, introduces his subject
to his readers by telling them that they ought to love a rhyming story
which teaches the "layman" (though he be learned in no books) how to love
and serve God, and to live peaceably and amicably with his fellow
Christians. His poem, or "song," as he calls it, is, he says, turned out of
Latin into English speech; and as birds are joyful to see the dawning, so
ought Christians to rejoice to hear the "true tale" of man's fall and
subsequent redemption related in the vulgar tongue ("land's speech"), and
in easy language ("small words").
So eschewing a "high style" and all profane subjects, he declares that he
will undertake to sing no other song, although his present task should
prove unsuccessful.[3] Our poet next invokes the aid of the Deity for his
song in the following terms:—
"Fader god of alle ðhinge,
Almigtin louerd, hegeſt kinge,
ðu giue me �
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF CHRISTMAS STORIES
[Illustration: CHRISTMAS JOLLITY
(_John Leech's "Mr. Fezziwig's Ball," from Dickens' "Christmas
Carol."_)]
THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF CHRISTMAS STORIES
EDITED BY
ASA DON DICKINSON
AND
ADA M. SKINNER
GARDEN CITY, NEW YORK DOUBLEDAY & COMPANY, INC.
COPYRIGHT, 1913, BY DOUBLEDAY &
COMPANY, INC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
ACKNOWLEDGMENT
The Publishers desire to acknowledge the kindness of the J. B.
Lippincott Co., Houghton Mifflin Co., D. C. Heath & Co., The
Bobbs-Merrill Co., Milton Bradley Co., Henry Altemus Co., Lothrop, Lee &
Shepherd Co., Little, Brown & Co., Moffat, Yard & Co., American Book
Co., Perry, Mason Co., Duffield & Co., Chicago Kindergarten College, and
others, who have granted them permission to reproduce herein selections
from works bearing their copyright.
PREFACE
Many librarians have felt the need and expressed the desire for a select
collection of children's Christmas stories in one volume. This book
claims to be just that and nothing more.
Each of the stories has already won the approval of thousands of
children, and each is fraught with the true Christmas spirit.
It is hoped that the collection will prove equally acceptable to
parents, teachers, and librarians.
ASA DON DICKINSON.
CONTENTS
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Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org
(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive)
THE QUEST
BY
FREDERIK VAN EEDEN
THE AUTHORIZED TRANSLATION
FROM THE DUTCH OF
DE KLEINE JOHANNES
by
LAURA WARD COLE
MITCHELL KENNERLEY
NEW YORK AND LONDON
MCMXI
PART I
I
I will tell you something about Little Johannes and his quest. My story
is very like a fairy tale, but everything in it really happened. As soon
as you lose faith in it, read no farther, for then it was not written
for you. And, should you chance to meet Little Johannes, you must never
speak to him about it, for that would grieve him and make me sorry I had
told you all this.
Johannes lived in an old house with a big garden. It was hard to find
the way about them, for in the house were many dark halls, flights of
stairs, chambers, and spacious garrets; and in the garden everywhere
were fencings and hot-houses. To Johannes it was a whole world in
itself. He could make far journeys in it, and he gave names to
everything he discovered. For the house he chose names from the animal
kingdom; the caterpillar loft, because there he fed the caterpillars and
watched them change their state; the chicken room, because once he had
found a hen there. This had not come of itself, but had been put there
by Johannes' mother, to brood. For things in the garden, preferring
those products of which he was most fond, he chose names from the
vegetable kingdom, such as Raspberry Mountain, Gooseberry Woods, and
Strawberry Valley. Behind all was a little spot he named Paradise; and
there, of course, it was exceedingly delightful. A great sheet of water
lay there--a pond where white water-lilies were floating, and where the
reeds held long, whispered conversations with the wind. On the opposite
side lay the dunes. Paradise itself was a little grass-plot on the near
shore, encircled by shrubbery. From the midst of this shot up the tall
nightingale-plant. There, in the thick grass, Johannes often lay gazing
through the swaying stalks to the gentle hill-tops beyond the water. He
used to go every warm summer evening and lie looking for hours, without
ever growing weary of it. He thought about the still depths of the clear
water before him--how cozy it must be down amid the water plants, in
that strange half-light. And then again, he thought of the far-away,
gloriously-tinted clouds which hovered above the dunes--wondering what
might be behind them, and if it would not be fine to be able to fly
thither. Just as the sun was sinking, the clouds piled up upon one
another till they seemed to form the entrance to a grotto; and from the
depths of that grotto glowed a soft, red light. Then Johannes would feel
a longing to be there. Could I only fly into it! he thought. What would
really be beyond? Shall I sometime--sometime be able to get there?
But often as he made this wish, the grotto always fell apart in ashen,
dusky flecks, and he never was able to get nearer to it. Then it would
grow cold and damp by the pond, and again he would seek his dark little
bedroom in the old house.
He lived there not entirely alone. He had a father who took good care of
him, a dog named Presto, and a cat named Simon. Of course, he thought
most of his father, but he by no means considered Presto and Simon so
very much beneath him, as a big man would have. He confided even more
secrets to Presto than to his father, and for Simon he felt a devout
respect. That was not strange, for Simon was a big cat with glossy,
black fur, and a thick tail. By merely looking at him one could see that
he was perfectly convinced of his own greatness and wisdom. He always
remained dignified and proper, even when he condescended to play with a
rolling spool, or while gnawing a waste herring-head behind a tree. At
the extreme demonstrativeness of Presto he closed his green eyes
disdainfully, and thought: "Well--dogs know no better!"
Can you realize now, that Johannes had a great awe of him? He held much
more intimate relations with the little brown dog. Presto was neither
beautiful nor superior, but an unusually good and sagacious dog, never
farther than two steps away from Johannes, and patiently listening to
whatever his master told him. I do not need to tell you how much
Johannes thought of Presto. But he still had room in his heart for other
things. Does it seem strange that his little dark bedroom, with the
diamond window-panes, held also a large place? He liked the
wall-hangings, with the big flowers in which he saw faces--faces he had
so often studied when he was ill, or while he lay awake mornings. He
liked the one small picture that hung there. It represented stiff
figures walking in a still stiffer garden beside a smooth lake, where
sky-high fountains were spouting, and coquetting swans were swimming. He
liked best, however, the hanging clock. He always wound it up carefully
and seriously, and considered it a necessary courtesy to watch it while
it was striking. At least that was the way unless he happened to be
asleep. If, through neglect, the clock ran down, Johannes felt very
guilty and begged its pardon a thousand times. You would have laughed,
perhaps, if you had heard him in conversation with his room. But confess
how often you talk to your own self. It does not appear to you in the
least ridiculous. Besides, Johannes was convinced that his hearers
understood him perfectly, and he had no need of an answer. Secretly,
however, he expected an answer some day from the clock or the
wall-paper.
Johannes certainly had schoolmates, but they were not properly friends.
He played with them, invented plots in school, and formed robber bands
with them out-of-doors; but he only felt really at home when he was
alone with Presto. Then he never longed for the boys, but felt himself
at ease and secure.
His father was a wise and serious man, who often took Johannes with him
on long expeditions through the woods and over the dunes. They talked
but little--and Johannes followed ten steps behind his father, greeting
the flowers he met. And the old trees, which must always remain in the
selfsame place, he stroked along their rough bark with his friendly
little hand. Then the good-natured giants rustled their thanks.
Sometimes his father wrote letters in the sand, one by one, and Johannes
spelled the words which they formed. Again, the father stopped and
taught Johannes the name of some plant or animal.
And Johannes often asked questions, for he saw and heard many perplexing
things. He often asked silly questions. He wanted to know why the world
was just as it was, why plants and animals must die, and if miracles
could take place. But Johannes' father was a wise man, and did not tell
all he knew. That was well for Johannes.
Evenings, before he went to sleep, Johannes always made a long prayer.
His nurse had taught him. He prayed for his father and for Presto.
Simon, he thought, did not need to be prayed for. He prayed a good while
for himself, too, and almost always ended with the wish that some day
there might be a miracle. And when he had said _Amen_, he peeped
expectantly around the darkening room, at the faces on the
wall-hangings, which looked still stranger in the faint twilight; and at
the door-knob, and the clock, where the miracle ought now to begin. But
the clock always kept on ticking in the very same way--the door-knob did
not stir--it grew quite dark, and Johannes fell asleep without having
seen the miracle.
But some day it would happen. He knew it would.
II
It was warm by the pool and utterly still. The sun, flushed and tired
with his daily work, seemed to rest a moment on the rim of the dunes,
for a breathing spell before diving under. The smooth water reflected,
almost perfectly, the flaming face of the sun. The leaves of the beech
tree which hung over the pond took advantage of the stillness to look at
themselves attentively, in the mirror-like water. The solitary heron,
standing on one foot between the broad leaves of a water-lily, forgot
that he had come out to catch frogs, and, deep in thought, was gazing
along his nose.
Then came Johannes to the grass plot, to see the cloud-grotto. Plump!
plump! sprang the frogs from the bank. The mirror was all rippled, the
image of the sun was broken up into broad bands, and the beech leaves
rustled angrily, for they had not yet viewed themselves long enough.
Fastened to the bare roots of a beech tree lay a little old boat.
Johannes had been strictly forbidden to get into it; but, oh, how strong
the temptation was this evening! The clouds had already taken the
semblance of a wondrous portal, behind which the sun would soon sink to
rest. Glittering ranks of clouds ranged themselves at the sides, like a
golden-armored life-guard. The face of the water reflected the glow, and
red rays darted through the reeds like arrows.
Slowly, Johannes loosened the boat-rope from the roots. He would drift
there, in the midst of the splendor. Presto had already sprung into the
boat, and before his master intended it the reeds moved apart, and away
they both drifted toward the evening sun.
Johannes lay in the bow, and gazed into the depths of the light-grotto.
Wings! thought he. Wings now, and away I would fly!
The sun had disappeared, but the clouds were all aglow. In the east the
sky was deep blue. A row of willows stood along the bank, their small,
pale leaves thrust motionlessly out into the still air. They looked like
exquisite, pale-green lace against the sombre background.
Hark! What was that? It darted and whizzed like a gust of wind cutting a
sharp furrow in the face of the water. It came from the dunes--from the
grotto in the clouds!
When Johannes looked round, a big, blue dragon-fly sat on the edge of
the boat. He had never seen one so large. It rested there, but its wings
kept quivering in a wide circle. It seemed to Johannes that the tips of
its wings made a luminous ring.
That must be a fire dragon-fly, he thought--a rare thing.
The ring grew larger and larger, and the wings whirled so fast that
Johannes could see nothing but a haze. And little by little, from out
this haze, he saw the shining of two dark eyes; and a light, frail form
in a garment of delicate blue sat in the place of the dragon-fly. A
wreath of white wind-flowers rested upon the fair hair, and at the
shoulders were gauzy wings which shimmered in a thousand hues, like a
soap bubble.
A thrill of happiness coursed through Johannes. _This_ was a miracle!
"Will you be my friend?" he whispered.
That was a queer way of speaking to a stranger. But this was not an
every-day case, and he felt as if he had always known this little blue
being.
"Yes, Johannes," came the reply, and the voice sounded like the rustling
of the reeds in the night wind, or the pattering of rain-drops on the
forest leaves.
"What is your name?" asked Johannes.
"I was born in the cup of a wind-flower. Call me Windekind."[1]
Windekind laughed, and looked in Johannes' eyes so merrily that his
heart was blissfully cheered.
"To-day is my birthday," said Windekind. "I was born not far away, of
the first rays of the moon and the last rays of the sun. They say the
sun is feminine.[2] It is not true. The sun is my father."
Johannes determined forthwith to speak of the sun as masculine, the next
morning, in school.
"Look! There comes up the round, fair face of my mother. Good evening,
Mother! Oh! oh! But she looks both good-natured and distressed!"
He pointed to the eastern horizon. There, in the dusky heavens, behind
the willow lace-work which looked black against the silver disk, rose
the great shining moon. Her face wore a pained expression.
"Come, come, Mother! Do not be troubled. Indeed, I can trust him!"
The beautiful creature fluttered its gauzy wings frolicsomely and
touched Johannes on the cheek with the Iris in its hand.
"She does not like it that I am with you. You are the first one. But I
trust you, Johannes. You must never, never speak my name nor talk about
me to a human being. Do you promise?"
"Yes, Windekind," said Johannes. It was still so strange to him. He felt
inexpressibly happy, yet fearful of losing his happiness. Was he
dreaming? Near him, Presto lay calmly sleeping on the seat. The warm
breath of his dog put him at rest. The gnats swarmed over the face of
the water, and danced in the sultry air, just as usual. Everything was
quite clear and plain about him. It must be true! And all the time he
felt resting upon him the trustful glance of Windekind. Then again he
heard the sweet, quavering voice:
"I have often seen you here, Johannes. Do you know where I was?
Sometimes I sat on the sandy bottom of the pond, among the thick water
plants, and looked up at you as you leaned over to drink, or to peep at
the water beetles, or the newts. But you never saw me. And many times I
peeped at you from the thick reeds. I am often there. When it is warm I
sleep in an empty reed-bird's nest. And, oh! it is so soft!"
Windekind rocked contentedly on the edge of the boat, and struck at the
gnats with his flower.
"I have come now to give you a little society. Your life will be too
dreary, otherwise. We shall be good friends, and I will tell you many
things--far better things than the school-master palms off upon you. He
knows absolutely nothing about them. And when you do not believe me, I
shall let you see and hear for yourself. I will take you with me."
"Oh, Windekind! dear Windekind! Can you take me there?" cried Johannes,
pointing to the sky, where the crimson light of the setting sun had just
been streaming out of the golden cloud-gates. That glorious arch was
already melting away in dull, grey mist, yet from the farthest depths a
faint, rosy light was still shining.
Windekind gazed at the light which was gilding his delicate features and
his fair locks, and he gently shook his head.
"Not yet, Johannes, not yet. You must not ask too much just now. Even I
have not yet been at my father's home."
"I am always with my father," said Johannes.
"No! That is not your father. We are brothers, and my father is your
father, too. But the earth is your mother, and for that reason we are
very different. Besides, you were born in a house, with human beings,
and I in a wind-flower. The latter is surely better. But it will be all
the same to us."
Then Windekind sprang lightly upon the side of the boat, which did not
even stir beneath his weight, and kissed Johannes' forehead.
That was a strange sensation for Johannes. Everything about him was
changed.
He saw everything now, he thought, much better and more exactly. The
moon looked more friendly, too, and he saw that the water-lilies had
faces, and were gazing at him pensively.
Suddenly he understood why the gnats were all the time dancing so
merrily around one another, back and forth and up and down, till their
long legs touched the water. Once he had thought a good deal about it,
but now he understood perfectly.
He knew, also, what the reeds were whispering, and he heard the trees on
the bank softly complaining because the sun had set.
"Oh, Windekind, I thank you! This is delightful. Yes, indeed, we will
have nice times together!"
"Give me your hand," said Windekind, spreading his many- wings.
Then he drew Johannes in the boat, over the water, through the lily
leaves which were glistening in the moonlight.
Here and there, a frog was sitting on a leaf. But now he did not jump
into the water when Johannes came. He only made a little bow, and said:
"Quack." Johannes returned the bow politely. Above everything, he did
not wish to appear conceited.
Then they came to the rushes. They were wide-spread, and the boat
entirely disappeared in them without having touched the shore. But
Johannes held fast to his guide, and they scrambled through the high
stalks to land.
Johannes thought he had become smaller and lighter, but perhaps that was
imagination. Still, he could not remember ever having been able to climb
up a grass stalk.
"Now be ready," said Windekind, "you are going to see something funny."
They walked on through the high grass, beneath the dark undergrowth
which here and there let through a small, shining moonbeam.
"Did you ever hear the crickets evenings in the dunes? It is just as if
they were having a concert. Is it not? But you can never tell where the
sound comes from. Now they never sing for the pleasure of it; but the
sound comes from the cricket-school where hundreds of little crickets
are learning their lessons by heart. Keep still, for we are close to
them."
Chirp! Chirp!
The bushes became less dense, and when Windekind pushed apart the grass
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TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:
Words that were printed in italics are marked with _ _. Printing and
spelling errors have been corrected. A list of these corrections can be
found at the end of the document. The original text uses diacritical
marks that cannot be displayed in this text. These characters have been
replaced by the unmarked letter.
SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION----BUREAU OF ETHNOLOGY.
MYTHS
OF
THE IROQUOIS.
BY
ERMINNIE A. SMITH.
CONTENTS.
Page.
CHAPTER I.--GODS AND OTHER SUPERNATURAL BEINGS 51
Hi-nun destroying the giant animals 54
A Seneca legend of Hi-nun and Niagara 54
The Thunderers 55
Echo God 58
Extermination of the Stone Giants 59
The North Wind 59
Great Head 59
Cusick's story of the dispersion of the Great Heads 62
The Stone Giant's wife 62
The Stone Giant's challenge 63
Hiawatha and the Iroquois wampum 64
CHAPTER II.--PIGMIES 65
The warrior saved by pigmies 65
The pigmies and the greedy hunters 66
The pigmy's mission 67
CHAPTER III.--PRACTICE OF SORCERY 68
The origin of witches and witch charms 69
Origin of the Seneca medicine 70
A "true" witch story 71
A case of witchcraft 72
An incantation to bring rain 72
A cure for all bodily injuries 73
A witch in the shape of a dog 73
A man who assumed the shape of a hog 73
Witch transformations 74
A superstition about flies 74
CHAPTER IV.--MYTHOLOGIC EXPLANATION OF PHENOMENA 75
Origin of the human race 76
Formation of the Turtle Clan 77
How the bear lost his tail 77
Origin of medicine 78
Origin of wampum 78
Origin of tobacco 79
Origin of plumage 79
Why the chipmunk has the black stripe on his back 80
Origin of the constellations 80
The Pole Star 81
CHAPTER V.--TALES 83
Boy rescued by a bear 83
Infant nursed by bears 84
The man and his step-son 85
The boy and his grandmother 86
The dead hunter 87
A hunter's adventures 88
The old man's lesson to his nephew 89
The hunter and his faithless wife 90
The charmed suit 92
The boy and the corn 96
The lad and the chestnuts 97
The guilty hunters 99
Mrs. Logan's story 100
The hunter and his dead wife 103
A sure revenge 104
Traveler's jokes 107
Kingfisher and his nephew 108
The wild-cat and the white rabbit 110
CHAPTER VI.--RELIGION 112
New Year's festival 112
Tapping the maple trees 115
Planting corn 115
Strawberry festival 115
Green-corn
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THE
ENCYCLOPAEDIA BRITANNICA
ELEVENTH EDITION
FIRST edition, published in three volumes, 1768-1771.
SECOND " " ten " 1777-1784.
THIRD " " eighteen " 1788-1797.
FOURTH " " twenty " 1801-1810.
FIFTH " " twenty " 1815-1817.
SIXTH " " twenty " 1823-1824.
SEVENTH " " twenty-one " 1830-1842.
EIGHTH " " twenty-two " 1853-1860.
NINTH " " twenty-five " 1875-1889.
TENTH " ninth edition and eleven
supplementary volumes, 1902-1903.
ELEVENTH " published in twenty-nine volumes, 1910-1911.
COPYRIGHT
in all countries subscribing to the
Bern Convention
by
THE CHANCELLOR, MASTERS AND SCHOLARS
of the
UNIVERSITY OF CAMBRIDGE
_All rights reserved_
THE
ENCYCLOPAEDIA BRITANNICA
A
DICTIONARY
OF
ARTS, SCIENCES, LITERATURE AND GENERAL
INFORMATION
ELEVENTH EDITION
VOLUME IV
BISHARIN to CALGARY
New York
Encyclopaedia Britannica, Inc.
342 Madison Avenue
Copyright, in the United States of America, 1910,
by
The Encyclopaedia Britannica Company.
INITIALS USED IN VOLUME IV. TO IDENTIFY INDIVIDUAL CONTRIBUTORS,[1]
WITH THE HEADINGS OF THE ARTICLES IN THIS VOLUME SO SIGNED.
A. B. R.
ALFRED BARTON RENDLE, F.R.S., F.L.S., M.A., D.SC.
Keeper of the Department of Botany, British Museum.
Botany.
A. E. H.
A. E. HOUGHTON.
Formerly Correspondent of the _Standard_ in Spain. Author of
_Restoration of the Bourbons in Spain._
Cabrera.
A. E. S.
ARTHUR EVERETT SHIPLEY, F.R.S., M.A., D.SC.
Fellow and Tutor of Christ's College, Cambridge. Reader in
Zoology, Cambridge University. Joint-editor of the _Cambridge
Natural History_.
Brachiopoda.
A. F. P.
ALBERT FREDERICK POLLARD, M.A., F.R.HIST.SOC.
Professor of English History in the University of London. Fellow
of all Souls' College, Oxford. Assistant Editor of the _Dictionary
of National Biography_, 1893-1901. Lothian Prizeman (Oxford),
1892. Arnold Prizeman, 1898. Author of _England under the
Protector Somerset_, _Henry VIII._; _Thomas Cranmer_; &c.
Bonner;
Burghley;
Baron.
A. Go.*
REV. ALEXANDER GORDON, M.A.
Lecturer on Church History in the University of Manchester.
Blandrata;
Brenz;
Buckholdt.
A. H. B.
ARTHUR HENRY BULLEN.
Founder of the Shakespeare Head Press, Stratford-on-Avon. Editor
of _Collection of Old English Plays_; _Lyrics from the Song Books
of the Elizabethan Age_; &c.
Burton, Robert.
A. H.-S.
SIR A. HOUTUM-SCHINDLER, C.I.E.
General in the Persian Army. Author of _Eastern Persian Irak_.
Bushire.
A. H. Sm.
ARTHUR HAMILTON SMITH, M.A., F.S.A.
Keeper of the Department of Greek and Roman Antiquities in the
British Museum. Member of the Imperial German Archaeological
Institute. Author of _Catalogue of Greek Sculpture in the British
Museum_; &c.
Brooch.
A. J. G.
REV. ALEXANDER J. GRIEVE, M.A., B.D.
Professor of
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HARVARD LAW REVIEW
VOL. IV
1890-91
CAMBRIDGE, MASS.
PUBLISHED BY THE HARVARD LAW REVIEW PUBLISHING ASSOCIATION
1891
_Copyright, 1891_
BY THE HARVARD LAW REVIEW PUBLISHING ASSOCIATION
HARVARD LAW REVIEW.
VOL. IV. DECEMBER 15, 1890. NO. 5.
THE RIGHT TO PRIVACY.
"It could be done only on principles of private justice, moral
fitness, and public convenience, which, when applied to a new
subject, make common law without a precedent; much more when
received and approved by usage."
WILLES, J., in Millar _v._ Taylor, 4 Burr. 2303, 2312.
That the individual shall have full protection in person and in property
is a principle as old as the common law; but it has been found necessary
from time to time to define anew the exact nature and extent of such
protection. Political, social, and economic changes entail the
recognition of new rights, and the common law, in its eternal youth,
grows to meet the demands of society. Thus, in very early times, the law
gave a remedy only for physical interference with life and property, for
trespasses _vi et armis_. Then the "right to life" served only to
protect the subject from battery in its various forms; liberty meant
freedom from actual restraint; and the right to property secured to the
individual his lands and his cattle. Later, there came a recognition of
man's spiritual nature, of his feelings and his intellect. Gradually the
scope of these legal rights broadened; and now the right to life has
come to mean the right to enjoy life,--the right to be let alone; the
right to liberty secures the exercise of extensive civil privileges; and
the term "property" has grown to comprise every form of
possession--intangible, as well as tangible.
Thus, with the recognition of the legal value of sensations, the
protection against actual bodily injury was extended to prohibit mere
attempts to do such injury; that is, the putting another in fear of
such injury. From the action of battery grew that of assault.[1] Much
later there came a qualified protection of the individual against
offensive noises and odors, against dust and smoke, and excessive
vibration. The law of nuisance was developed.[2] So regard for human
emotions soon extended the scope of personal immunity beyond the body of
the individual. His reputation, the standing among his fellow-men, was
considered, and the law of slander and libel arose.[3] Man's family
relations became a part of the legal conception of his life, and the
alienation of a wife's affections was held remediable.[4] Occasionally
the law halted,--as in its refusal to recognize the intrusion by
seduction upon the honor of the family. But even here the demands of
society were met. A mean fiction, the action _per quod servitium
amisit_, was resorted to, and by allowing damages for injury to the
parents' feelings, an adequate remedy was ordinarily afforded.[5]
Similar to the expansion of the right to life was the growth of the
legal conception of property. From corporeal property arose the
incorporeal rights issuing out of it; and then there opened the wide
realm of intangible property, in the products and processes of the
mind,[6] as works of literature and art,[7] goodwill,[8] trade secrets,
and trade-marks.[9]
This development of the law was inevitable. The intense intellectual
and emotional life, and the heightening of sensations which came with
the advance of civilization, made it clear to men that only a part of
the pain, pleasure, and profit of life lay in physical things. Thoughts,
emotions, and sensations demanded legal recognition, and the beautiful
capacity for growth which characterizes the common law enabled the
judges to afford the requisite protection, without the interposition of
the legislature.
Recent inventions and business methods call attention to the next step
which must be taken for the protection of the person, and for securing
to the individual what Judge Cooley calls the right "to be let
alone."[10] Instantaneous photographs and newspaper enterprise have
invaded the sacred precincts of private and domestic life; and numerous
mechanical devices threaten to make good the prediction that "what is
whispered in the closet shall be proclaimed from the house-tops." For
years there has been a feeling that the law must afford some remedy for
the unauthorized circulation of portraits of private persons;[11] and
the evil of the invasion of privacy by the newspapers, long keenly felt,
has been but recently discussed by an able writer.[12] The alleged facts
of a somewhat notorious case brought before an inferior tribunal in New
York a few months ago,[13] directly involved the consideration of the
right of circulating portraits; and the question whether our law will
recognize and protect the right to privacy in this and in other respects
must soon come before our courts for consideration.
Of the desirability--indeed of the necessity--of some such protection,
there can, it is believed, be no doubt. The press is overstepping in
every direction the obvious bounds of propriety and of decency. Gossip
is no longer the resource of the idle and of the vicious, but has become
a trade, which is pursued with industry as well as effrontery. To
satisfy a prurient taste the details of sexual relations are spread
broadcast in the columns of the daily papers. To occupy the indolent,
column upon column is filled with idle gossip, which can only be
procured by intrusion upon the domestic circle. The intensity and
complexity of
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[Frontispiece: With Eyes Wide and Staring She Looked About Her]
THE SON OF HIS FATHER
BY
RIDGWELL CULLUM
AUTHOR OF
"THE MEN WHO WROUGHT," "THE WAY OF THE STRONG," "THE NIGHT-RIDERS,"
"THE WATCHERS OF THE PLAINS," ETC.
Illustrations by
DOUGLAS DUER
PHILADELPHIA
GEORGE W. JACOBS & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1915, by
George W. Jacobs & Company
_Published March, 1917_
All rights reserved
_Printed in U. S. A._
TO
G. RALPH HALL-CAINE
WHOSE SYMPATHY WITH MY WORK HAS NEVER
FAILED TO CHEER ME THROUGHOUT
OUR LONG AND VALUED
FRIENDSHIP
CONTENTS
CHAP.
I Unrepentant
II In Chastened Mood
III Gordon Arrives
IV Gordon Lands at Snake's Fall
V A Letter Home
VI Gordon Prospects Snake's Fall
VII "Miss Hazel"
VIII At Buffalo Point
IX The First Check
X Gordon Makes His Bid for Fortune
XI Hazel Mallinsbee's Campaign
XII Thinking Hard
XIII Slosson Snatches at Opportunity
XIV The Reward of Victory
XV In Council
XVI Something Doing
XVII The Code Book
XVIII Ways that are Dark
XIX James Carbhoy Arrives
XX The Boom in Earnest
XXI A Trifle
XXII On the Trail
XXIII In New York
XXIV Preparing for the Finale
XXV The Rescue
XXVI Cashing In
ILLUSTRATIONS
With eyes wide and staring she looked about her... _Frontispiece_
Hazel was waiting for that sign
He drew her gently towards his father
CHAPTER I
UNREPENTANT
"To wine, women and gambling, at the age of twenty-four--one hundred
thousand dollars. That's your bill, my boy, and--I've got to pay it."
James Carbhoy leaned back smiling, his half-humorous eyes squarely
challenging his son, who was lounging in a luxurious morocco chair at
the other side of the desk.
As the moments passed without producing any reply, he reached towards
the cabinet at his elbow and helped himself to a large cigar. Without
any scruple he tore the end off it with his strong teeth and struck a
match.
"Well?"
Gordon Carbhoy cleared his throat and looked serious. In spite of his
father's easy, smiling manner he knew that a crisis in his affairs had
been reached. He understood the iron will lying behind the pleasant
steel-gray eyes of his parent. It was a will that flinched at nothing,
a will that had carved for its owner a great fortune in America's most
strenuous financial arena, the railroad world. He also knew the only
way in which to meet his father's challenge with any hope of success.
Above everything else the millionaire demanded courage and
manhood--manhood as he understood it--from those whom he regarded well.
"I'm waiting."
Gordon stirred. The millionaire carefully lit his cigar.
"Put that way it--sounds rotten, Dad, doesn't it?" Gordon's mobile
lips twisted humorously, and he also reached towards the cigar cabinet.
But the older man intercepted him. He held out a box of lesser cigars.
"Try one of these, Gordon. One of the others would add two dollars to
your bill. These are half the price."
The two men smiled into each other's eyes. A great devotion lay
between them. But their regard was not likely to interfere with the
business in hand.
Gordon helped himself. Then he rose from his chair. He moved across
the handsome room, towering enormously. His six feet three inches were
well matched by a great pair of athletic shoulders. His handsome face
bore no traces of the fast living implied by the enormous total of his
debts. The wholesome tan of outdoor sports left him a fine specimen of
the more brilliant youth of America. Then, too, in his humorous blue
eyes lay an extra dash of recklessness, which was probably due to his
superlative physical advantages. He came back to his chair and propped
his vast body on the back of it. His father was watching him
affectionately.
"Dad," he exclaimed, "I'm--sorry."
The other shook his head.
"Don't say that. It's not true. I'd hate it to be true
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and the booksmiths at http://www.eBookForge.net
[Illustration: Isabel Savory]
IN THE TAIL OF
THE PEACOCK
By ISABEL SAVORY.
Author of "_A Sportswoman in India_"
WITH 48 ILLUSTRATIONS FROM PHOTOGRAPHS
AND A PHOTOGRAVURE PORTRAIT
"The Earth is a peacock: Morocco is the tail of it"
_Moorish Proverb_
London: HUTCHINSON & CO.
Paternoster Row 1903
PRINTED BY
HAZELL, WATSON AND VINEY, LD.,
LONDON AND AYLESBURY
_PREFACE_
_THIS book contains no thrilling adventures, chronicles, no days devoted
to sport. It will probably interest only those minds which are content
with "the C Major of this life," and which find in other than scenes of
peril and excitement their hearts' desire._
_Such as care to wander through its pages must have learnt to enjoy
idleness, nor find weeks spent beneath the sun and stars too long--that
is to say, the fascination of a wandering, irresponsible life should be
known to them: waste and solitary places must not appal, nor trifling
incident weary, while human natures remotely removed from their own,
alternately delight and repel. Those who understand not these things,
will find but a dull chronicle within the following pages._
_If to live is to know more, and to know more only to love more, the
least eventful day may possess a minimum of value, and even quiet
monotones and grey vistas be found and lost in a glamour born of
themselves._
_In this loud and insistent world the silent places are often overlooked,
and yet they are never empty._
_ISABEL SAVORY._
WESTFIELD OLD HALL,
EAST DEREHAM.
_February, 1903._
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
PAGE
TANGIER--COUNTRY PEOPLE--THE PILGRIMAGE TO MECCA--MOORISH
PRISONS--WE RIDE TO CAPE SPARTEL--DECIDE TO LEAVE
TANGIER AND PUSH INLAND 1
CHAPTER II
CAMP OUTFIT--A NIGHT AT A CARAVANSERAI--TETUAN--THE
BRITISH VICE-CONSUL--MOORISH SHOPS--WE VISIT A MOORISH
HOUSE AND FAMILY 27
CHAPTER III
DIFFICULTIES OF "LODGINGS" IN MOROCCO--A SPANISH FONDA--A
MOORISH TEA PARTY--POISON IN THE CUP--SLAVES IN
MOROCCO--EL DOOLLAH--MOORISH CEMETERY--RIDE TO SEMSAR--SHOPPING
IN TETUAN--PROVISIONS IN THE CITY 63
CHAPTER IV
THE FAST OF RAMADHAN--MOHAMMED--HIS LIFE AND INFLUENCE--THE
FLOOD AT SAFFI--A WALK OUTSIDE TETUAN--THE
FRENCH CONSUL'S GARDEN-HOUSE--JEWS IN MOROCCO--EUROPEAN
PROTECTION 97
CHAPTER V
PLANS FOR CHRISTMAS AT GIBRALTAR--A ROUGH NIGHT--THE
STEAMER WHICH WOULD NOT WAIT--AN IGNOMINIOUS RETURN
TO TETUAN--A RASCALLY JEW--THE ABORIGINES AND THE
PRESENT OCCUPANTS OF MOROCCO--THE SULTAN, COURT,
GOVERNMENT, AND MOORISH ARMY 121
CHAPTER VI
WE LOOK OVER A MOORISH COURTYARD HOUSE WITH A VIEW TO
TAKING IT--WE RENT JINAN DOLERO IN SPITE OF OPPOSITION--AN
ENGLISHMAN MURDERED--OUR GARDEN-HOUSE--THE
IDIOSYNCRASIES OF MOORISH SERVANTS--A NATIVE GUARD--THE
RIFF COUNTRY 153
CHAPTER VII
COUNTRY PEOPLE FORDING THE RIVER--WE CALL ON CI HAMED
GHRALMIA--AN EXPEDITION ACROSS THE RIVER IN SEARCH OF
THE BLUE POOL--MOORISH BELIEF IN GINNS--THE BASHA--POWDER
PLAY--TETUAN PRISON 181
CHAPTER VIII
MISSIONARIES AT TETUAN--POISONING IN MOROCCO--FATIMA'S
RECEPTION--DIVORCE--AN EXPEDITION INTO THE ANJERAS--AN
EMERALD OASIS 217
CHAPTER IX
WE LEAVE TETUAN--A WET NIGHT UNDER THE STARS--S`LAM DESERTS
US--WE SAIL FOR MOGADOR--THE PALM-TREE HOUSE--SUS
AND WADNOON COUNTRIES--THE SAHARA--THE ATLAS
MOUNTAINS 249
CHAPTER X
ON THE MARCH ONCE MORE--BUYING MULES--A BAD ROAD--FIRST
CAMP
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THE
HEROES OF ASGARD
_TALES FROM SCANDINAVIAN MYTHOLOGY_
BY A. & E. KEARY
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY HUARD
New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LTD.
1909
_All rights reserved_
New edition September, 1906. Reprinted July, 1909.
Norwood Press:
Berwick & Smith Co., Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
PREFACE.
In preparing the Second Edition of this little volume of tales from
the Northern Mythology for the press, the Authors have thought it
advisable to omit the conversations at the beginning and end of the
chapters, which had been objected to as breaking the course of the
narrative. They have carefully revised the whole, corrected many
inaccuracies and added fresh information drawn from sources they had
not had an opportunity of consulting when the volume first appeared.
The writers to whose works the Authors have been most indebted, are
Simrock, Mallet, Laing, Thorpe, Howitt and Dasent.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTION, 9
CHAPTER I. THE AESIR.
PART I.--A GIANT--A COW--AND A HERO, 41
II.--AIR THRONE, THE DWARFS, AND THE LIGHT ELVES, 51
III.--NIFLHEIM, 59
IV.--THE CHILDREN OF LOKI, 67
V.--BIFROeST, URDA, AND THE NORNS, 72
VI.--ODHAERIR, 81
CHAPTER II. HOW THOR WENT TO JOeTUNHEIM.
PART I.--FROM ASGARD TO UTGARD, 109
II.--THE SERPENT AND THE KETTLE, 130
CHAPTER III. FREY.
PART I.--ON TIPTOE IN AIR THRONE, 147
II.--THE GIFT, 152
III.--FAIREST GERD, 157
IV.--THE WOOD BARRI, 163
CHAPTER IV. THE WANDERINGS OF FREYJA.
PART I.--THE NECKLACE BRISINGAMEN, 169
II.--LOKI--THE IRON WOOD--A BOUNDLESS WASTE, 177
III.--THE KING OF THE SEA AND HIS DAUGHTERS, 185
CHAPTER V. IDUNA'S APPLES.
PART I.--REFLECTIONS IN THE WATER, 191
II.--THE WINGED-GIANT, 198
III.--HELA, 212
IV.--THROUGH FLOOD AND FIRE, 218
CHAPTER VI. BALDUR.
PART I.--THE DREAM, 231
II.--THE PEACESTEAD, 240
III.--BALDUR DEAD, 247
IV.--HELHEIM, 250
V.--WEEPING, 256
CHAPTER VII. THE BINDING OF FENRIR.
PART I.--THE MIGHT OF ASGARD, 263
II.--THE SECRET OF SVARTHEIM, 272
III.--HONOUR, 279
CHAPTER VIII. THE PUNISHMENT OF LOKI, 285
CHAPTER IX. RAGNAROeK.
OR, THE TWILIGHT OF THE GODS, 295
INDEX OF NAMES, WITH MEANINGS, 315
List of Illustrations.
PAGE
GIANT SUTTUNG AND THE DWARFS, 86
GIANT SKRYMIR AND THOR, 115
FREYJA IN THE DWARFS' CAVE, 172
IDUNA GIVING THE MAGIC APPLES, 195
SKADI CHOOSING HER HUSBAND, 227
TYR FEEDING FENRIR, 265
THE PUNISHMENT OF LOKI, 292
THE HEROES OF ASGARD.
INTRODUCTION.
If we would understand the religion of the ancient Scandinavians, we
ought to study at the same time the myths of all Teutonic nations. A
drawing together of these, and a comparison of one with another, has
been most beautifully effected by Simrock, in his _Handbuch der
Deutschen Mythologie_, where he tells us that whilst the Scandinavian
records are richer and more definite, they are also younger than
those of Germany, which latter may be compared to ancient half
choked-up streams from which the fuller river
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ENGLISH LITERATURE
ITS HISTORY AND ITS SIGNIFICANCE
FOR THE LIFE OF THE ENGLISH-SPEAKING
WORLD
A TEXT-BOOK FOR SCHOOLS
BY
WILLIAM J. LONG, PH.D. (Heidelberg)
* * * * *
TO
MY FRIEND
C H T
IN GRATITUDE FOR
HIS CONTINUED HELP IN THE
PREPARATION OF
THIS BOOK
* * * * *
PREFACE
This book, which presents the whole splendid history of English literature
from Anglo-Saxon times to the close of the Victorian Era, has three
specific aims. The first is to create or to encourage in every student the
desire to read the best books, and to know literature itself rather than
what has been written about literature. The second is to interpret
literature both personally and historically, that is, to show how a great
book generally reflects not only the author's life and thought but also the
spirit of the age and the ideals of the nation's history. The third aim is
to show, by a study of each successive period, how our literature has
steadily developed from its first simple songs and stories to its present
complexity in prose and poetry.
To carry out these aims we have introduced the following features:
(1) A brief, accurate summary of historical events and social conditions in
each period, and a consideration of the ideals which stirred the whole
nation, as in the days of Elizabeth, before they found expression in
literature.
(2) A study of the various literary epochs in turn, showing what each
gained from the epoch preceding, and how each aided in the development of a
national literature.
(3) A readable biography of every important writer, showing how he lived
and worked, how he met success or failure, how he influenced his age, and
how his age influenced him.
(4) A study and analysis of every author's best works, and of many of the
books required for college-entrance examinations.
(5) Selections enough--especially from earlier writers, and from writers
not likely to be found in the home or school library--to indicate the
spirit of each author's work; and directions as to the best works to read,
and where such works may be found in inexpensive editions.
(6) A frank, untechnical discussion of each great writer's work as a whole,
and a critical estimate of his relative place and influence in our
literature.
(7) A series of helps to students and teachers at the end of each chapter,
including summaries, selections for reading, bibliographies, a list of
suggestive questions, and a chronological table of important events in the
history and literature of each period.
(8) Throughout this book we have remembered Roger Ascham's suggestion, made
over three centuries ago and still pertinent, that "'tis a poor way to make
a child love study by beginning with the things which he naturally
dislikes." We have laid emphasis upon the delights of literature; we have
treated books not as mere instruments of research--which is the danger in
most of our studies--but rather as instruments of enjoyment and of
inspiration; and by making our study as attractive as possible we have
sought to encourage the student to read widely for himself, to choose the
best books, and to form his own judgment about what our first Anglo-Saxon
writers called "the things worthy to be remembered."
To those who may use this book in their homes or in their class rooms, the
writer ventures to offer one or two friendly suggestions out of his own
experience as a teacher of young people. First, the amount of space here
given to different periods and authors is not an index of the relative
amount of time to be spent upon the different subjects. Thus, to tell the
story of Spenser's life and ideals requires as much space as to tell the
story of Tennyson; but the average class will spend its time more
pleasantly and profitably with the latter poet than with the former.
Second, many authors who are and ought to be included in this history need
not be studied in the class room. A text-book is not a catechism but a
storehouse, in which one finds what he wants, and some good things beside.
Few classes will find time to study Blake or Newman, for instance; but in
nearly every class there will be found one or two students who are
attracted by the mysticism of Blake or by the profound spirituality of
Newman. Such students should be encouraged to follow their own spirits, and
to share with their classmates the joy of their discoveries. And they
should find in their text-book the material for their own study and
reading.
A third suggestion relates to the method of teaching literature; and here
it might be well to consider the word of a great poet,--that if you would
know where the ripest cherries are, ask the
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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
—Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected.
—Bold text has been rendered as =bold text=.
THE TALK OF THE TOWN
VOL. I.
[Illustration: MISS MARGARET LIFTED HER EYES FROM HER PLATE WITH A
SMILE OF WELCOME.]
THE TALK OF THE TOWN
BY
JAMES PAYN
AUTHOR OF ‘BY PROXY’ ETC. ETC.
IN TWO VOLUMES
VOL. I.
_SECOND EDITION_
LONDON
SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 WATERLOO PLACE
1885
[_All rights reserved_]
CONTENTS
OF
THE FIRST VOLUME.
CHAP. PAGE
I. AUNT MARGARET 1
II. OUT IN THE C
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Transcriber's note: A few typographical errors have been corrected: they
are listed at the end of the text.
* * * * *
{437}
NOTES AND QUERIES:
A MEDIUM OF INTER-COMMUNICATION FOR LITERARY MEN, ARTISTS, ANTIQUARIES,
GENEALOGISTS, ETC.
"When found, make a note of."--CAPTAIN CUTTLE.
* * * * *
No. 237.]
SATURDAY, MAY 13. 1854.
[Price Fourpence. Stamped Edition 5d.
* * * * *
CONTENTS.
NOTES:-- Page
"Shakspeare's Rime which he made at the Mytre," by
Dr. E. F. Rimbault 439
Rous, the Sottish Psalmist, Provost of Eton College: and
his Will, by the Rev. H. T. Ellacombe 440
Original English Royal Letters to the Grand Masters of
Malta, by William Winthrop 442
Disease among Cattle, by Thos. Nimmo 445
Popiana, by Harry Leroy Temple 445
Hampshire Folk Lore, by Eustace W.
Jacob 446
The most curious Book in the World 446
Minor Notes:--Baptism, Marriage, and Crowning of
Geo. III.--Copernicus--First Instance of Bribery amongst
Members of Parliament--Richard Brinsley Sheridan--Publican's
Invitation--Bishop Burnet again!--Old Custom preserved in
Warwickshire--English Diplomacy v. Russian 447
QUERIES:--
Ancient Tenure of Lands, by A. J. Dunkin 448
Owen Rowe the Regicide 449
Writings of the Martyr Bradford, by the Rev. A. Townsend 449
MINOR QUERIES:--Courtney Family--"The Shipwrecked Lovers"--
Sir John Bingham--Proclamation for making Mustard--Judges
practising at Bar--Celebrated Wagers--"Pay me tribute, or
else----"--"A regular Turk"--Benj. Rush--Per Centum Sign--
Burial Service Tradition--Jean Bart's Descent on Newcastle--
Madame de Stael--Honoria, Daughter of Lord Denny--Hospital
of John of Jerusalem--Heiress of Haddon Hall--Monteith--
Vandyking--Hiel the Bethelite--Earl of Glencairn--Willow
Bark in Ague--"Perturbabantur," &c. 450
MINOR QUERIES WITH ANSWERS:--Seamen's Tickets--Bruce,
Robert--Coronation Custom--William Warner--"Isle of
Beauty"--Edmund Lodge--King John 452
REPLIES:--
Has Execution by Hanging been survived? by William Bates 453
Coleridge's Christabel, by C. Mansfield Ingleby 455
General Whitelocke 455
PHOTOGRAPHIC CORRESPONDENCE:--Gravelly Wax Negatives--
Photographic Experience 456
REPLIES TO MINOR QUERIES:--Turkish Language--Dr. Edward
Daniel Clarke's Charts of the Black Sea--Aristotle on living
Law--Christ's or Cris Cross Row--Titles to the Psalms in
the Syriac Version--"Old Rowley"--Wooden Effigies--Abbott
Families 456
MISCELLANEOUS:--
Notes on Books, &c. 458
Books and Odd Volumes Wanted 458
Notices to Correspondents 459
* * * * *
MR. RUSKIN'S NEW WORK.
Now ready, in crown 8vo., with 15 Plates, price 8s. 6d. cloth,
LECTURES ON ARCHITECTURE AND PAINTING.
BY JOHN RUSKIN,
Author of "The Stones of Venice," "Modern Painters," "Seven Lamps of
Architecture," &c.
London: SMITH, ELDER, & CO.,
65. Cornhill.
* * * * *
GOVERNMENT INSPECTION OF NUNNERIES.
This Day, in fcp. 8vo., price 3s. 6d. (post free, 4s.),
QUICKSANDS
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THE
THREE IMPOSTORS.
TRANSLATED
(WITH NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS,)
FROM THE FRENCH EDITION OF THE WORK,
PUBLISHED AT AMSTERDAM, 1776.
RE-PUBLISHED BY
G. VALE, "BEACON" OFFICE, 3 FRANKLIN-SQUARE,
NEW-YORK:
1846.
NOTE BY THE AMERICAN PUBLISHER.
We publish this valuable work, for the reasons contained in the
following Note, of which we approve:--
NOTE BY THE BRITISH PUBLISHER.
The following little book I present to the reader without any
remarks on the different opinions relative to its antiquity; as the
subject is amply discussed in the body of the work, and constitutes
one of its most interesting and attractive features. The Edition
from which the present is translated was brought me from Paris by
a distinguished defender of Civil and Religious Liberty: and as my
friend had an anxiety from a thorough conviction of its interest and
value, to see it published in the English Language, I have from like
feelings brought it before the public; and I am convinced that it is
an excellent antidote to Superstition and Intolerance, and eminently
calculated to promote the cause of Freedom, Justice, and Morality.
J. MYLES.
PREFACE BY THE TRANSLATOR.
The Translator of the following little treatise deems it necessary to
say a few words as to the object of its publication. It is given to
the world, neither with a view to advocate Scepticism, nor to spread
infidelity, but simply to vindicate the right of private judgment. No
human being is in a position to look into the heart, or to decide
correctly as to the creed or conduct of his fellow mortals; and the
attributes of the Deity are so far beyond the grasp of limited reason,
that man must become a God himself before he can comprehend them. Such
being the case, surely all harsh censure of each other's opinions and
actions ought to be abandoned; and every one should so train himself
as to be enabled to declare with the humane and manly philosopher
"<DW25> sum, nihil humania me alienum puto."
Dundee, September 1844.
CONTENTS OF THE PRELIMINARY DISSERTATION.
DISQUISITIONS on the book entitled "The Three Impostors."
ANSWER to the dissertation of M. de la Monnoye on the work entitled
"The Three Impostors."
COPY of Part 2d, Vol. 1., Article ix. of "Literary Memoirs," published
at the Hague by Henry du Sauzet, 1716.
DISQUISITIONS
ON THE BOOK ENTITLED
THE THREE IMPOSTORS.
It has long been a disputed point if there was at anytime a book
printed and bearing the title of "The Three Impostors."
M. de la Monnoye, having been informed that a learned German [1]
intended to publish a dissertation the object of which was to prove
that this work had really been printed, wrote a letter, in refutation,
to one of his friends; this letter was given by M. Bayle to M. Basnage
de Bauval, who in February 1694, gave an extract from it in his
"History of the works of celebrated and learned men." At a later
period M. de la Monnoye entered more fully into the subject, in a
letter dated at Paris 16th of June, 1712, and addressed to President
Bouhier, in which letter, he says, will be found an abridged but
complete account of this remarkable book.
He condemns at once the opinion of those who attribute the work
to the Emperor Frederick. The false charge, he says, took its rise
from a passage in the appendix to a discourse concerning Antichrist,
and published by Grotius, wherein he speaks as follows [2]: "Far
be it from me to attribute the book called 'The Three Impostors,'
either to the Pope, or to the opponents of the Pope; long ago the
enemies of the Emperor Frederick Barbarossa set abroad the report
of such a book, as having been written by his command; but from that
period nobody has seen it; for which reason I consider it apocryphal."
Colomiez quotes this, page 28 of his "Historical Miscellanies;"
but he adds that there are some blunders--
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TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES
1. Quotes, parentheses and other punctuation are sometimes missing or
missplaced in the original. These have been made consistent with
modern convention.
2. Apostrophes, where missing in the original, have been added.
3. Footnotes have been numbered sequentially and moved to the end
the book.
4. Misspelled words have been corrected and such changes noted at the
end of the book.
THE
PENNYLES
PILGRIMAGE,
OR
The Money-lesse perambulation,
of JOHN TAYLOR, _Alias_
the Kings Majesties
_Water-Poet_.
HOW HE TRAVAILED ON FOOT
from _London_ to _Edenborough_ in _Scotland_, not carrying
any Money to or fro, neither Begging, Borrowing,
or Asking Meate, drinke or
Lodging.
_With his Description of his Entertainment_
in all places of his Journey, and a true Report
of the unmatchable Hunting in the _Brea_
of _Marre_ and _Badenoch_ in
_Scotland_.
With other Observations, some serious and
worthy of Memory, and some merry
and not hurtfull to be Remembred.
_Lastly that (which is Rare in a Travailer)
all is true._
LONDON
Printed by _Edw: Allde_, at the charges of the
Author. 1618
TO THE TRULY
NOBLE AND RIGHT
HONORABLE LORD GEORGE MARQUIS
of Buckingham, Viscount Villiers, Baron of
Whaddon, Justice in Eyre of all his Majesty's
Forests, Parks, and Chases beyond Trent, Master
of the Horse to his Majesty, and one of the Gentlemen
of his Highness Royal Bed-Chamber, Knight
of the most Noble Order of the Garter, and
one of his Majesty's most Honorable
Privy Council of both the
Kingdoms of England
and Scotland.
Right Honorable, and worthy honoured Lord, as in my Travels, I was
entertained, welcomed, and relieved by many Honourable Lords, Worshipful
Knights, Esquires, Gentlemen, and others both in England and Scotland.
So now your Lordship's inclination hath incited, or invited my poor muse
to shelter herself under the shadow of your honorable patronage, not
that there is any worth at all in my sterile invention, but in all
humility I acknowledge that it is only your Lordship's acceptance, that
is able to make this nothing, something, and withal engage me ever.
Your Honors,
In all observance,
JOHN TAYLOR.
[Decorative thought break]
TO ALL MY LOVING ADVENTURERS,
BY WHAT NAME OR TITLE SOEVER,
MY GENERAL SALUTATION.
_Reader, these Travels of mine into_ Scotland, _were not undertaken,
neither in imitation, or emulation of any man, but only devised by
myself, on purpose to make trial of my friends both in this Kingdom of_
England, _and that of_ Scotland, _and because I would be an eye-witness
of divers things which I had heard of that Country; and whereas many
shallow-brained Critics, do lay an aspersion on me, that I was set on by
others, or that I did undergo this project, either in malice, or mockage
of Master_ Benjamin Jonson, _I vow by the faith of a Christian, that
their imaginations are all wide, for he is a gentleman, to whom I am so
much obliged for many undeserved courtesies that I have received from
him, and from others by his favour, that I durst never to be so impudent
or ungrateful, as either to suffer any man's persuasions, or mine own
instigation, to incite me, to make so bad a requital, for so much
goodness formerly received; so much for that, and now Reader, if you
expect_
That I should write of cities' situations,
Or that of countries I should make relations:
Of brooks, crooks, nooks; of rivers, bournes and rills,
Of mountains, fountains, castles, towers and hills,
Of shires, and piers, and memorable things,
Of lives and deaths of great commanding kings,
I touch not those, they not belong to me;
But if such things as these you long to see,
Lay down my book, and but vouchsafe to read
The learned _Camden_, or laborious _Speed_.
_And so God speed you and me, whilst I rest
Yours in all thankfulness:_
JOHN TAYLOR.
[Decorative thought break]
TAYLOR
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Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/wordportraitsoff00wottrich
Transcriber’s note:
Text in italics is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Emboldened text is surrounded by equals signs: =bold=.
WORD PORTRAITS OF FAMOUS WRITERS
Edited by
MABEL E. WOTTON
‘What manner of man is he?’
_Twelfth Night_
London
Richard Bentley & Son
Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen
1887
Printed by R. & R. Clark, Edinburgh.
[Illustration]
INTRODUCTION
“The world has always been fond of personal details respecting men
who have been celebrated.” These were the words of Lord Beaconsfield,
and with them he prefixed his description of the personal appearance
of Isaac D’Israeli; but we hardly need the dictum of our greatest
statesman to convince ourselves that at all events every honest
literature-lover takes a very real interest in the individuality of
those men whose names are perpetually on his lips. It is not enough
for such a one merely to make himself familiar with their writings. It
does not suffice for him that the _Essays of Elia_, for instance, can
be got by heart, but he feels that he must also be able to linger in
the playground at Christ’s with the “lame-footed boy,” and in after
years pace the Temple gardens with the gentle-faced scholar, before he
can properly be said to have made Lamb’s thoughts his own. At the best
it is but a very incomplete notion that most of us possess as to the
actual personality of even the most prominent of our British writers.
The almost womanly beauty of Sidney, and the keen eyes and razor face
of Pope, would, perhaps, be recognised as easily as the well-known form
of Dr. Johnson; but taking them _en masse_ even a widely-read man might
be forgiven if, from amongst the scraps of hearsay and curtly-recorded
impressions on which at rare intervals he may alight, he cannot very
readily conjure up the ghosts of the very men whose books he has
studied, and to whose haunts he has been an eager pilgrim.
Such a power the following pages have attempted to supply. They
contain an account of the face, figure, dress, voice, and manner of
our best-known writers ranging from Geoffrey Chaucer to Mrs. Henry
Wood,--drawn in all cases when it is possible by their contemporaries,
and when through lack of material this endeavour has failed, the task
of portrait-painting has devolved either on other writers who owed
their inspiration to the offices of a mutual friend, or on those whose
literary ability and untiring research have qualified them for the
task. Infinite toil has not always been rewarded, and it would be easy
to supply at least half a dozen names whose absence is to be regretted.
Beaumont and Fletcher are as much read as Thomas Otway, and William
Wotton has perhaps as much right of entrance as his famous opponent
Richard Bentley, but as a small child pointed out when the book was
first proposed: “_You can’t find what isn’t there._” And the worth of
the book naturally consists in keeping to the lines already indicated.
An asterisk placed under the given reference means that the writer
of that particular portrait (who is not necessarily the writer of
that particular book) did not actually see his subject, but that he
is describing a picture, or else that he is building up one from
substantiated evidence. Sometimes, as in the case of Suckling, this
distinction leads to the same book supplying two portraits, only one of
which is at first hand.
When a date is placed at the foot of a description, it refers to the
appearance presented at that time, and not to the period when the words
were penned.
British writers only are named, and amongst them there is of course no
living author.
Chaucer’s birth-date has been given as _About_ 1340, for the
traditional year of 1328 is based on little more than the inscription
on his tomb, which was not placed there until the middle of the
sixteenth century, while according to his own deposition as witness,
his birth could not have taken place until about twelve years later.
In only one other instance has there been a departure from recognised
precedent, and that is in the case of Thomas de Quincey. In defiance
of almost every compiler and present-day writer, I have entered the
name in the Q’s and spelt it as here written. The reason for this
is threefold: First, he himself invariably spelt his name with a
small d. Second, Hood, Wordsworth, and Lamb, and, I believe, all his
other contemporaries did the same. Third, de Quincey himself was
so determined about the matter that he actually dropped the prefix
altogether for some little time, and was known as Mr. Quincey. “His
name I write with a small d in the de, as he wrote it himself. He would
not have wished it indexed among the D’s, but the Q’s,” wrote the Rev.
Francis Jacox, who was one of his Lasswade friends, and in spite of his
recent and skilful biographers, it must be conceded that after all the
little man had the greatest right to his own name.
I am glad to take this opportunity of thanking those who have helped
me, and who will not let me speak my thanks direct. It is a pleasant
thought that while working amongst the literary men of the past, I
have received nothing but kindness from those of to-day. First and
foremost to Mr. George Augustus Sala, to whom I am infinitely indebted;
also to Mrs. Huntingford, Mrs. and Mr. Frederick Chapman, Mr. Henry
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HEROINES OF CRUSADES.
HEROINES
OF THE
CRUSADES
_Adela Countess of Blois.
Eleanor of Aquitaine.
Berengaria of Navarre.
Isabella of Angouleme.
Violante of Jerusalem.
Eleanor of Castile._
BY C. A. BLOSS.
"Old Historic rolls I opened."
Engraved by J. C. Buttre.
HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.
BY C. A. BLOSS.
AUTHOR OF "BLOSS'S ANCIENT HISTORY," ETC.
"Old historic rolls I opened."
AUBURN:
ALDEN, BEARDSLEY & CO.
ROCHESTER:
WANZER, BEARDSLEY & CO.
1853.
Entered, according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1853, BY ALDEN,
BEARDSLEY & CO., In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United
States for the Northern District of New York.
TO MY PUPILS,
The "Heroines of the Crusades"
IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED
BY THE AUTHOR.
PREFACE.
To those whom it has been my privilege and pleasure to lead through the
devious and darkened paths of the Past, to all who cordially receive the
doctrine that _actions_ and not faint desires for Excellence form the
character, I address a few words by way of explanation and Preface.
Jerusalem, the capital of Palestine, whether glorious in the beauty of her
first temple, and the excellent wisdom of her philosopher king, or
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THE BOY SCOUTS
FOR
CITY IMPROVEMENT
BY
SCOUT MASTER ROBERT SHALER
AUTHOR OF "BOY SCOUTS OF THE SIGNAL CORPS," "BOY SCOUTS
OF PIONEER CAMP," "BOY SCOUTS OF THE GEOLOGICAL SURVEY,"
"BOY SCOUTS OF THE LIFE SAVING CREW," "BOY
SCOUTS ON PICKET DUTY," "BOY SCOUTS OF THE FLYING
SQUADRON," "BOY SCOUTS AND THE PRIZE
PENNANT," "BOY SCOUTS OF THE NAVAL
RESERVE," "BOY SCOUTS IN THE
SADDLE," ETC., ETC.
NEW YORK
HURST & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1914,
BY
HURST & COMPANY
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER. PAGE.
I. Under the Spreading Oak 5
II. A Friend in Need 17
III. The Fire Call 30
IV. Willing Workers 43
V. Repairing Damages 56
VI. On Duty 69
VII. The Alarm 82
VIII. Mocking the Mayor 95
IX. What Scouts Know 108
X. The Accusation 121
XI. The Turning Point 133
XII. Thanks to the Scouts 151
The Boy Scouts for City Improvement.
CHAPTER I.
UNDER THE SPREADING OAK.
"I guess old summer must have forgotten something and has come back to
find it again, eh, Billy?"
"It feels more like the August dog-days than the tail end of September,
that's a fact
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A SEARCH FOR A SECRET.
A Novel.
BY G. A. HENTY.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
TINSLEY BROTHERS, 18, CATHERINE ST., STRAND.
1867.
LONDON:
WYMAN AND SONS, PRINTERS, GREAT QUEEN STREET,
LINCOLN'S-INN FIELDS, W.C.
CONTENTS OF VOL II.
CHAPTER I. A FAMILY CONCLAVE
CHAPTER II. SWIFT RETRIBUTION
CHAPTER III. THE SEARCH COMMENCED
CHAPTER IV. EVIL DAYS
CHAPTER V. OVERTURES FROM THE ENEMY
CHAPTER VI. THE PRIEST'S CHAMBER
CHAPTER VII. THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE
CHAPTER VIII. STRUGGLES FOR A LIVING
CHAPTER IX. POLLY TO THE RESCUE
CHAPTER X. ALLIES FROM ALSATIA
CHAPTER XI. THE COUP DE MAIN
CHAPTER XII. AFTER THE BATTLE
CHAPTER XIII. A YOUNG WIDOW
CHAPTER I.
A FAMILY CONCLAVE.
For some little time after Dr. Ashleigh's carriage drove off from Harmer
Place, not a word was spoken. The scene through which its occupants had
passed, had left a deep impression upon them--even upon Mr. Petersfield,
who was by no means of a nature to be easily moved. Dr. Ashleigh felt
greatly the words he had spoken, the wrong which had been committed, and
the thought of his children's altered future. Harry felt more indignant
than hurt; he was too astonished and angry to reflect yet how much it
would affect himself. Perhaps if
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[Illustration: Cover art]
THE
CONFLICT OF RELIGIONS
IN THE
EARLY ROMAN EMPIRE
BY
T. R. GLOVER
FELLOW AND CLASSICAL LECTURER OF
ST JOHN'S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE
HON. LL.D., QUEEN'S UNIVERSITY, CANADA
FOURTH EDITION
METHUEN & CO. LTD.
36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
LONDON
First Published.. March 18th, 1909
Second Edition .. June 1909
Third Edition .. August 1909
Fourth Edition .. October 1910
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
LIFE AND LETTERS IN THE FOURTH CENTURY
STUDIES IN VIRGIL
{v}
PREFACE
A large part of this book formed the course of Dale Lectures delivered
in Mansfield College, Oxford, in the Spring of 1907. For the
lecture-room the chapters had to be considerably abridged; they are now
restored to their full length, while revision and addition have further
changed their character. They are published in accordance with the
terms of the Dale foundation.
To see the Founder of the Christian movement and some of his followers
as they appeared among their contemporaries; to represent Christian and
pagan with equal goodwill and equal honesty, and in one perspective; to
recapture something of the colour and movement of life, using
imagination to interpret the data, and controlling it by them; to
follow the conflict of ideals, not in the abstract, but as they show
themselves in character and personality; and in this way to discover
where lay the living force that changed the thoughts and lives of men
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THE STORY OF AN AFRICAN FARM
by (AKA Ralph Iron) Olive Schreiner
Preface.
I have to thank cordially the public and my critics for the reception
they have given this little book.
Dealing with a subject that is far removed from the round of English
daily life, it of necessity lacks the charm that hangs about the ideal
representation of familiar things, and its reception has therefore been
the more kindly.
A word of explanation is necessary. Two strangers appear on the scene,
and some have fancied that in the second they have again the first, who
returns in a new guise. Why this should be we cannot tell; unless there
is a feeling that a man should not appear upon the scene, and then
disappear, leaving behind him no more substantial trace than a mere
book; that he should return later on as husband or lover, to fill some
more important part than that of the mere stimulator of thought.
Human life may be painted according to two methods. There is the stage
method. According to that each character is duly marshalled at first,
and ticketed; we know with an immutable certainty that at the right
crises each one will reappear and act his part, and, when the curtain
falls, all will stand before it bowing. There is a sense of satisfaction
in this, and of completeness. But there is another method--the method of
the life we all lead. Here nothing can be prophesied. There is a strange
coming and going of feet. Men appear, act and re-act upon each other,
and pass away. When the crisis comes the man who would fit it does not
return. When the curtain falls no one is ready. When the footlights are
brightest they are blown out; and what the name of the play is no one
knows
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E-text prepared by Turgut Dincer, David E. Brown, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images
generously made available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/forstorytellerst00bail
Transcriber’s note:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
FOR THE STORY TELLER
* * * * * *
BOOKS BY
CAROLYN SHERWIN BAILEY
DAILY PROGRAM OF GIFT AND OCCUPATION WORK
FOR THE CHILDREN’S HOUR
FIRELIGHT STORIES
STORIES AND RHYMES FOR A CHILD
SONGS OF HAPPINESS
* * * * * *
FOR THE STORY TELLER
Story Telling and Stories to Tell
by
CAROLYN SHERWIN BAILEY
[Illustration]
1913
Milton Bradley Company
Springfield, Mass.
New York Boston Philadelphia Atlanta San Francisco
Copyright, 1913,
By Milton Bradley Company,
Springfield, Mass.
PREFACE
The new-old art of story telling is being rediscovered. We are finding
that the children’s daily story hour in school, in the neighborhood
house, and at home is a real force for mental and moral good in their
lives. We are learning that it is possible to educate children by means
of stories.
Story telling to be a developing factor in a child’s life must be
studied by the story teller. There are good stories and there are poor
stories for children. The story that fits a child’s needs to-day may
not prove a wise choice for him to-morrow. Some stories teach, some
stories only give joy, some stories inspire, some stories just
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THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERDESS
The Works of Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher (Vol. 2 of 10)
_Actus Primus. Scena Prima._
_Enter_ Clorin _a shepherdess, having buried her Love in an Arbour._
Hail, holy Earth, whose cold Arms do imbrace
The truest man that ever fed his flocks
By the fat plains of fruitful _Thessaly_,
Thus I salute thy Grave, thus do I pay
My early vows, and tribute of mine eyes
To thy still loved ashes; thus I free
My self from all insuing heats and fires
Of love: all sports, delights and jolly games
That Shepherds hold full dear, thus put I off.
Now no more shall these smooth brows be begirt
With youthful Coronals, and lead the Dance;
No more the company of fresh fair Maids
And wanton Shepherds be to me delightful,
Nor the shrill pleasing sound of merry pipes
Under some shady dell, when the cool wind
Plays on the leaves: all be far away,
Since thou art far away; by whose dear side
How often have I sat Crown'd with fresh flowers
For summers Queen, whil'st every Shepherds Boy
Puts on his lusty green, with gaudy hook,
And hanging scrip of finest Cordevan.
But thou art gone, and these are gone with thee,
And all are dead but thy dear memorie;
That shall out-live thee, and shall ever spring
Whilest there are pipes, or jolly Shepherds sing.
And here will I in honour of thy love,
Dwell by thy Grave, forgeting all those joys,
That former times made precious to mine eyes,
Only remembring what my youth did gain
In the dark, hidden vertuous use of Herbs:
That will I practise, and as freely give
All my endeavours, as I gain'd them free.
Of all green wounds I know the remedies
In Men or Cattel, be they stung with Snakes,
Or charm'd with powerful words of wicked Art,
Or be they Love-sick, or through too much heat
Grown wild or Lunatick, their eyes or ears
Thickned with misty filme of dulling Rheum,
These I can Cure, such secret vertue lies
In Herbs applyed by a Virgins hand:
My meat shall be what these wild woods afford,
Berries, and Chesnuts, Plantanes, on whose Cheeks,
The Sun sits smiling, and the lofty fruit
Pull'd from the fair head of the staight grown Pine;
On these I'le feed with free content and rest,
When night shall blind the world, by thy side blest.
_Enter a_ Satyr.
_Satyr._ Through yon same bending plain
That flings his arms down to the main,
And through these thick woods have I run,
Whose bottom never kist the Sun
Since the lusty Spring began,
All to please my master _Pan,_
Have I trotted without rest
To get him Fruit; for at a Feast
He entertains this coming night
His Paramour, the _Syrinx_ bright:
But behold a fairer sight! [_He stands amazed._
By that Heavenly form of thine,
Brightest fair thou art divine,
Sprung from great immortal race
Of the gods, for in thy face
Shines more awful Majesty,
Than dull weak mortalitie
Dare with misty eyes behold,
And live: therefore on this mold
Lowly do I bend my knee,
In worship of thy Deitie;
Deign it Goddess from my hand,
To receive what e're this land
From her fertil Womb doth send
Of her choice Fruits: and but lend
Belief to that the Satyre tells,
Fairer by the famous wells,
To this present day ne're grew,
Never better nor more true.
Here be Grapes whose lusty bloud
Is the learned Poets good,
Sweeter yet did never crown
The head of _Bacchus_, Nuts more brown
Than the Squirrels Teeth that crack them;
Deign O fairest fair to take them.
For these black ey'd _Driope_
Hath oftentimes commanded me,
With my clasped knee to clime;
See how well the lusty time
Hath deckt their rising cheeks in red,
Such as on your lips is spred,
Here be Berries for a Queen,
Some be red, some be green,
These are of that luscious meat,
The great God _Pan_ himself doth eat:
All these, and what the woods can yield,
The hanging mountain or the field,
I freely offer, and ere long
Will bring you more, more sweet and strong,
Till when humbly leave
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[Illustration: From left to right, back row--Private Thrower, Orderly
Sergeant George Little, Sergeant John Little, Bugler Minardo Rosser.
Second row, left--Lieut. Harvey Cribbs; right, Artificer William
Johnson. Front row, left--Corporal Thos. Owen, Walter Guild. Seated,
on right--Sergeant James R. Maxwell; left, Rufus Jones or "Rube,"
T. A. Dearing's servant.]
A HISTORY
_of_
LUMSDEN'S BATTERY
C. S. A.
Written by Dr. George Little
_and_
Mr. James R. Maxwell
Published by R. E. Rhodes Chapter
United Daughters of the Confederacy
Tuskaloosa, Alabama
Transcriber's Note: Minor typographical errors have been corrected
without note. Original spellings, punctuation and discrepancies have
been retained, including the list of Privates with numerous names out
of alphabetical order.
This History of Lumsden's Battery was written from memory in 1905 by
Dr. Maxwell and Dr. Little, with the help of a diary kept by Dr. James
T. Searcy.
From organization Nov. 4, 1861, to Oct. 15, 1863, this data is the work
of Dr. George Little, from Oct. 15, 1863, to its surrender May 4, 1865,
the work of Mr. James R. Maxwell.
LUMSDEN'S BATTERY
Its Organization and Services in the Army of the Confederate States.
At the close of the spring term of the Circuit Court of Tuscaloosa
County, Alabama, in May, 1861, Judge Wm. S. Mudd announced from the
bench that Mr. Harvey H. Cribbs would resign the office of Sheriff of
the County for the purpose of volunteering into the Army of the
Confederate States and would place on the desk of the Clerk of the
Court an agreement so to volunteer signed by himself, and invited all
who wished to volunteer to come forward and sign the same agreement.
Many of Tuscaloosa's young men signed the same day.
By the end of the week following the list had grown to about 200 men.
Capt. Charles L. Lumsden, a graduate of the Virginia Military Institute
was commandant of Cadets at the University of Alabama and had been
contemplating the getting up of a company for service in Light or Field
Artillery and had been corresponding with the War Department and Army
officers already in service concerning the matter.
These volunteers, on learning this fact, at once offered themselves to
Capt. Lumsden as a company of such artillery.
Dr. George W. Vaughn, son of Edward Bressie Vaughn (who afterwards gave
two other younger sons to the cause) and Mr. Ebenezer H. Hargrove, also
of Tuscaloosa County, had married two Mississippi girls, sisters, the
Misses Sykes of Columbus, Mississippi, and were engaged in planting in
Lowndes County, Miss. Hearing of this Artillery Co. they sent their
names to be added to the list. Dr. George Little, Professor of
Chemistry in Oakland College, Mississippi, and his younger brother,
John Little, Principal of the Preparatory Department, resigned their
places and returned to Tuscaloosa to join this Company. Edward Tarrant,
Superintendent of Education for Tuscaloosa County, had a flourishing
educational institute called the Columbian Institute at Taylorville
four and a half miles south of Tuscaloosa. He gave up his school and
joined the Company, where two of his sons, Ed William and John F.,
afterwards followed him.
Joseph Porter Sykes, a nephew of the Sykes sisters, had been appointed
by Pres. Davis a Cadet in the regular C. S. Army and at his request was
assigned to this Company. Dr. Nicholas Perkins Marlowe and Drs. Caleb
and Wm. Toxey served as surgeons at different times and Dr. Jarretts
and McMichael and Dr. Hill also later. We mention these doctors who
entered the ranks as privates as emphasizing the spirit that was moving
the young men of the time in every trade and profession. But their
country had too crying a need of medical men, in a few weeks, to permit
them to continue to serve with arms in their hands, and all of them
were soon promoted to the service for which their education fitted
them, serving as Regimental and Brigade surgeons and high in their
profession after the close of the war. In May the election of officers
was held and resulted in election of Charles Lumsden, Captain; George
W. Vaughn, Sr., First Lieutenant; Henry H.
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ALTEMUS'
BEAUTIFUL STORIES SERIES
THE FIRST EASTER
BY
J. H. WILLARD
ILLUSTRATED
PHILADELPHIA
HENRY ALTEMUS COMPANY
Altemus' Illustrated
Beautiful Stories Series
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS.
THE FIRST EASTER.
ONCE IN SEVEN YEARS.
The Story of the Jubilee
WITH HAMMER AND NAIL.
The Story of Jael and Sisera
FIVE KINGS IN A CAVE.
The Story of a Great Battle
THE WISEST MAN.
The Story of Solomon
A FARMER'S WIFE.
The Story of Ruth
THE MAN WHO DID NOT DIE.
The Story of Elijah
WHEN IRON DID SWIM.
The Story of Elisha
WHAT IS SWEETER THAN HONEY.
The Story of Samson
Copyright, 1906
By Henry Altemus
[Illustration: TWO ANGELS.]
THE FIRST EASTER
IN the story of The First Easter, as in the story of The First
Christmas, there is much that is hard to understand, but if we review
somewhat the Blessed Life of Jesus, we shall better appreciate the
glorious significance of the day.
Jesus had passed through His human life, everywhere uttering words of
pity, and stretching out hands of mercy. To suffer was to have a
claim upon Him. He had not used His supernatural powers for His own
benefit, but for the good of others. He employed them freely,
helping, comforting, healing, blessing, wherever He went.
[Illustration: "HELPING, COMFORTING, HEALING, BLESSING."]
Shepherds, led by angels, were the first witnesses of Jesus' birth.
His boyhood was spent at Nazareth, and was entirely without sin. He
studied the Old Testament Scriptures in the synagogues, but in no way
did He become identified with the Pharisees or their instructions,
yet when He began His ministry He was able to teach with authority.
Jesus was baptized by John, who was only six months older than
himself, and then, after successfully resisting the temptations of an
evil spirit, He began to exercise His higher powers and gifts, thus
entering upon His public activity.
The life of Jesus was a wandering one during His short ministry on
earth. He visited Jerusalem twice, Samaria once, Nazareth once, and
Capernaum several times, besides pausing on the banks of the Jordan,
and traveling from place to place in Galilee. He said of Himself,
that He had not _"where to lay His head."_
It is thought that Jesus wore the usual dress of a rabbi, or teacher;
a blue robe worn over a long undergarment of white, or pale gray
striped with crimson; a covering of folded linen to protect His head,
and sandals for His feet.
Many beautiful incidents in the life of Jesus occurred between the
time of the first manifestation of His miraculous powers at Cana,
where He turned water into wine at a wedding feast, and the calling
of the Twelve Apostles.
On one of His visits to Capernaum Jesus was surrounded by sick and
helpless people, and He healed them all; made them well and strong
and happy. With heavy burdens lifted, and sorrowful hearts cheered,
the little town slept; but Jesus set out before daylight, and,
reaching a solitary place on a mountain, prayed to His Father, God.
Then from village to village, Jesus carried His message and ministry
of Love. One day a poor leper came to Him. Jesus touched him, and he
was a leper no more.
Not long, after this--again at Capernaum, four men carried a
paralyzed <DW36> on a litter to the house where Jesus was teaching.
The crowd about the door was so great that they could not enter, so
they lifted their burden onto the flat roof of the house, and having
made an opening, lowered the sick man, still on his litter, into the
room where Jesus was.
_"Son, thy sins be forgiven thee,"_ said Jesus, _"I say unto thee,
arise, and take up thy bed, and go thy way into thine house."_
Instantly cured the man departed, carrying his litter as he had been
commanded.
The following Sabbath day Jesus publicly healed a man in the
synagogue, whose hand was withered and powerless. The unbelieving
rabbis, and others who were present, were so angry at Him for doing
this, that in their hatred and malice they consulted with the
supporters of the Roman government, whom they usually regarded as
enemies, as
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SALLUST'S
CONSPIRACY OF CATILINE AND THE JUGURTHINE WAR
LITERALLY TRANSLATED WITH EXPLANATORY NOTES BY THE REV. JOHN SELBY
WATSON, M.A.
CONSPIRACY OF CATILINE.
THE ARGUMENT.
The Introduction, I.-IV. The character of Catiline, V. Virtues of the
ancient Romans, VI.-IX. Degeneracy of their posterity, X.-XIII.
Catiline's associates and supporters, and the arts by which he
collected them, XIV. His crimes and wretchedness, XV. His tuition of
his accomplices, and resolution to subvert the government, XVI. His
convocation of the conspirators, and their names, XVII. His concern in
a former conspiracy, XVIII., XIX. Speech to the conspirators, XX. His
promises to them, XXI. His supposed ceremony to unite them, XXII. His
designs discovered by Fulvia, XXIII. His alarm on the election of
Cicero to the consulship, and his design in engaging women in his
cause, XXIV. His accomplice, Sempronia, characterized, XXV. His
ambition of the consulship, his plot to assassinate Cicero, and his
disappointment in both, XXVI. His mission of Manlius into Etruria, and
his second convention of the conspirators, XXVII. His second attempt
to kill Cicero; his directions to Manlius well observed, XXVIII. His
machinations induce the Senate to confer extraordinary power on the
consuls, XXIX. His proceedings are opposed by various precautions,
XXX. His effrontery in the Senate, XXXI. He sets out for Etruria,
XXXII. His accomplice, Manlius, sends a deputation to Marcius, XXXIII.
His representations to various respectable characters, XXXIV. His
letter to Catulus, XXXV. His arrival at Manlius's camp; he is declared
an enemy by the Senate; his adherents continue faithful and resolute,
XXXVI. The discontent and disaffection of the populace in Rome,
XXXVII. The old contentions between the patricians and plebeians,
XXXVIII. The effect which a victory of Catiline would have produced,
XXXIX. The Allobroges are solicited to engage in the conspiracy, XL.
They discover it to Cicero, XLI. The incaution of Catiline's
accomplices in Gaul and Italy, XLII. The plans of his adherents at
Rome, XLIII. The Allobroges succeed in obtaining proofs of the
conspirators' guilt, XLIV. The Allobroges and Volturcius are arrested
by the contrivance of Cicero, XLV. The principal conspirators at Rome
are brought before the Senate, XLVI. The evidence against them, and
their consignment to custody, XLVII. The alteration in the minds of
the populace, and the suspicions entertained against Crassus, XLVIII.
The attempts of Catulus and Piso to criminate Caesar, XLIX. The plans
of Lentulus and Cethegus for their rescue, and the deliberations of
the Senate, L. The speech of Caesar on the mode of punishing the
conspirators, LI. The speech of Cato on the same subject, LII. The
condemnation of the prisoners; the causes of Roman greatness, LIII.
Parallel between Caesar and Cato, LIV. The execution of the criminals,
LV. Catiline's warlike preparations in Etruria, LVI. He is compelled
by Metullus and Antonius to hazard an action, LVII. His exhortation to
his men, LVIII. His arrangements, and those of his opponents, for the
battle, LIX. His bravery, defeat, and death, LX., LXI.
* * * * *
I. It becomes all men, who desire to excel other animals,[1] to strive,
to the utmost of their power,[2] not to pass through life in obscurity,
[3] like the beasts of the field,[4] which nature has formed groveling[5]
and subservient to appetite.
All our power is situate in the mind and in the body.[6] Of the mind
we rather employ the government;[7] of the body the service.[8] The
one is common to us with the gods; the other with the brutes. It
appears to me, therefore, more reasonable[9]to pursue glory by means
of the intellect than of bodily strength, and, since the life which we
enjoy is short, to make the remembrance of us as lasting as possible.
For the glory of wealth and beauty is fleeting and perishable; that of
intellectual power is illustrious and immortal.[10]
Yet it was long a subject of dispute among mankind, whether military
efforts were more advanced by strength of body, or by force of
intellect. For, in affairs of war, it is necessary to plan before
beginning to act,[11] and, after planning, to act with promptitude
and vigor.[12] Thus, each[13] being insufficient of itself, the one
requires the assistance of the other.[14]
II. In early times, accordingly, kings (for that was the first title
of sovereignty in the world) applied themselves in different ways;[15]
some exercised the mind, others the body. At that
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generously made available by The Internet Archive/Canadian
Libraries.)
* * * * *
Transcriber's Note: The original publication has been replicated
faithfully except as shown in the TRANSCRIBER'S AMENDMENTS near the end
of the text. To preserve the alignment of tables and headers, this etext
presumes a mono-spaced font on the user's device, such as Courier New.
Words in italics are indicated like _this_.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
[Illustration: COLUMBIA PRESENTING STANLEY TO EUROPEAN SOVEREIGNS.]
STANLEY
IN AFRICA.
THE
WONDERFUL DISCOVERIES
AND
THRILLING ADVENTURES
OF
THE GREAT AFRICAN EXPLORER
AND OTHER
TRAVELERS, PIONEERS AND MISSIONARIES.
BEAUTIFULLY AND ELABORATELY ILLUSTRATED WITH
ENGRAVINGS, PLATES AND MAPS
BY
JAMES P. BOYD, A.M.
Author of "Political History of the United States"
and "Life of Gen. U. S. Grant," etc.
ROSE PUBLISHING CO.,
TORONTO, CANADA.
Copyright, 1889
BY
JAMES P. BOYD.
INTRODUCTION.
A volume of travel, exploration and adventure is never without
instruction and fascination for old and young. There is that within us
all which ever seeks for the mysteries which are bidden behind mountains,
closeted in forests, concealed by earth or sea, in a word, which are
enwrapped by Nature. And there is equally that within us which is touched
most sensitively and stirred most deeply by the heroism which has
characterized the pioneer of all ages of the world and in every field of
adventure.
How like enchantment is the story of that revelation which the New
America furnished the Old World! What a spirit of inquiry and exploit it
opened! How unprecedented and startling, adventure of every kind became!
What thrilling volumes tell of the hardships of daring navigators or of
the perils of brave and dashing landsmen! Later on, who fails to read
with the keenest emotion of those dangers, trials and escapes which
enveloped the intrepid searchers after the icy secrets of the Poles, or
confronted those who would unfold the tale of the older civilizations and
of the ocean's island spaces.
Though the directions of pioneering enterprise change, yet more and more
man searches for the new. To follow him, is to write of the wonderful.
Again, to follow him is to read of the surprising and the thrilling. No
prior history of discovery has ever exceeded in vigorous entertainment
and startling interest that which centers in "The Dark Continent" and has
for its most distinguished hero, Henry M. Stanley. His coming and going
in the untrodden and hostile wilds of Africa, now to rescue the stranded
pioneers of other nationalities, now to explore the unknown waters of
a mighty and unique system, now to teach cannibal tribes respect for
decency and law, and now to map for the first time with any degree of
accuracy, the limits of new dynasties, make up a volume of surpassing
moment and peculiar fascination.
All the world now turns to Africa as the scene of those adventures which
possess such a weird and startling interest for readers of every class,
and which invite to heroic exertion on the part of pioneers. It is the
one dark, mysterious spot, strangely made up of massive mountains, lofty
and extended plateaus, salt and sandy deserts, immense fertile stretches,
climates of death and balm, spacious lakes, gigantic rivers, dense
forests, numerous, grotesque and savage peoples, and an animal life of
fierce mien, enormous strength and
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(http://archive.org/details/americana)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 41605-h.htm or 41605-h.zip:
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Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
http://archive.org/details/abigailadamshert00rich
ABIGAIL ADAMS AND HER TIMES
* * * * *
Books By Laura E. Richards
Abigail Adams and Her Times
Pippin
Elizabeth Fry
Florence Nightingale
Mrs. Tree
Mrs. Tree's Will
Miss Jimmy
The Wooing of Calvin Parks
Journals and Letters of Samuel Gridley Howe
Two Noble Lives
Captain January
A Happy Little Time
When I Was Your Age
Five Minute Stories
In My Nursery
The Golden Windows
The Silver Crown
The Joyous Story of Toto
The Life of Julia Ward Howe
_With Maud Howe Elliott,
etc., etc._
* * * * *
[Illustration: ABIGAIL ADAMS
From an original painting by Gilbert Stuart]
ABIGAIL ADAMS AND HER TIMES
by
LAURA E. RICHARDS
Author of "Elizabeth Fry, the Angel of the Prisons,"
"Florence Nightingale, the Angel of the Crimea," etc.
[Illustration]
Illustrated
D. Appleton and Company
New York London
1917
Copyright, 1917, by
D. Appleton and Company
Printed in the United States of America
TO
THE HONORED MEMORY OF
FRANKLIN BENJAMIN SANBORN
THE FRIEND OF MY PARENTS AND OF MY CHILDREN;
TO THREE GENERATIONS A FAITHFUL,
AFFECTIONATE, AND BELOVED
COUNSELLOR.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. BEGINS AT THE BEGINNING 1
II. GIRLHOOD AND MARRIAGE 24
III. THE BOSTON MASSACRE 40
IV. THE BOSTON TEA PARTY 60
V. AFTER LEXINGTON 88
VI. BOSTON BLOCKADE 112
VII. IN HAPPY BRAINTREE 124
VIII. INDEPENDENCE AT LAST 142
IX. MR. ADAMS ABROAD 181
X. THE COURT OF ST. JAMES 197
XI. VEXATIOUS HONORS 231
XII. AFTERNOON AND EVENING 260
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Abigail Adams _Frontispiece_
FACING
PAGE
Abigail Adams 36
John Adams 188
South Elevation of the President's House 252
For much of the local and contemporary color in this little book, the
author is indebted to the admirable works of the late Mrs. Alice Morse
Earle.
ABIGAIL ADAMS AND HER TIMES
CHAPTER I
BEGINS AT THE BEGINNING
SEVENTEEN HUNDRED AND FORTY-FOUR! George the Second on the throne of
England, "snuffy old drone from the German hive"; Charles Edward Stuart
("bonnie Prince Charlie") making ready for his great _coup_ which, the
next year, was to cast down said George from the throne and set Charles
Edward thereupon as "rightful, lawful prince--for wha'll be king but
Charlie?", and which ended in Culloden and the final downfall and
dispersion of the Scottish Stuarts.
In France, Louis XV., Lord of Misrule, shepherding his people toward the
Abyss with what skill was in him; at war with England, at war with
Hungary; Frederick of Prussia alone standing by him. In Europe,
generally, a seething condition which is not our immediate concern. In
America, seething also: discontent, indignation, rising higher and
higher under British imposition (not British either, being the work of
Britain's German ruler, not of her people!), yet quelled for the moment
by war with France.
I am not writing a history; far from it. I am merely throwing on the
screen, in the fashion of today, a few scenes to make a background for
my little pen
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THE LONG LABRADOR TRAIL
by
DILLON WALLACE
Author of "The Lure of the Labrador Wild," etc.
Illustrated
MCMXVII
TO THE
MEMORY OF MY WIFE
"A drear and desolate shore!
Where no tree unfolds its leaves,
And never the spring wind weaves
Green grass for the hunter's tread;
A land forsaken and dead,
Where the ghostly icebergs go
And come with the ebb and flow..."
Whittier's "The Rock-tomb of Bradore."
PREFACE
In the summer of 1903 when Leonidas Hubbard, Jr., went to Labrador to
explore a section of the unknown interior it was my privilege to
accompany him as his companion and friend. The world has heard of the
disastrous ending of our little expedition, and how Hubbard, fighting
bravely and heroically to the last, finally succumbed to starvation.
Before his death I gave him my promise that should I survive I would
write and publish the story of the journey. In "The Lure of The
Labrador Wild" that pledge was kept to the best of my ability.
While Hubbard and I were struggling inland over those desolate wastes,
where life was always uncertain, we entered into a compact that in case
one of us fall the other would carry to completion the exploratory work
that he had planned and begun. Providence willed that it should become
my duty to fulfil this compact, and the following pages are a record of
how it was done.
Not I, but Hubbard, planned the journey of which this book tells, and
from him I received the inspiration and with him the training and
experience that enabled me to succeed. It was his spirit that led me
on over the wearisome trails, and through the rushing rapids, and to
him and to his memory belong the credit and the honor of success.
D. W. February, 1907.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I THE VOICE OF THE WILDERNESS
II ON THE THRESHOLD OF THE UNKNOWN
III THE LAST OF CIVILIZATION
IV ON THE OLD INDIAN TRAIL
V WE GO ASTRAY
VI LAKE NIPISHISH IS REACHED
VII SCOUTING FOR THE TRAIL
VIII SEAL LAKE AT LAST
IX WE LOSE THE TRAIL
X "WE SEE MICHIKAMAU"
XI THE PARTING AT MICHIKAMAU
XII OVER THE NORTHERN DIVIDE
XIII DISASTER IN THE RAPIDS
XIV TIDE WATER AND THE POST
XV OFF WITH THE ESKIMOS
XVI CAUGHT BY THE ARCTIC ICE
XVII TO WHALE RIVER AND FORT CHIMO
XVIII THE INDIANS OF THE NORTH
XIX THE ESKIMOS OF LABRADOR
XX THE SLEDGE JOURNEY BEGUN
XXI CROSSING THE BARRENS
XXII ON THE ATLANTIC ICE
XXIII BACK TO NORTHWEST RIVER
XXIV THE END OF THE LONG TRAIL
APPENDIX
ILLUSTRATIONS
The Perils of the Rapids (in color, from a painting by Oliver Kemp)
Ice Encountered Off the Labrador Coast
"The Time For Action Had Come"
"Camp Was Moved to the First Small Lake"
"We Found a Long-disused Log Cache of the Indians"
Below Lake Nipishish
Through Ponds and Marshes Northward Toward Otter Lake
"We Shall Call the River Babewendigash"
"Pete, Standing by the Prostrate Caribou, Was Grinning From Ear to Ear"
"A Network of Lakes and the Country as Level as a Table"
Michikamau
"Writing Letters to the Home Folks"
"Our Lonely Perilous Journey Toward the Dismal Wastes...Was Begun"
Abandoned Indian Camp On the Shore of Lake Michikamats
"One of the Wigwams Was a Large One and Oblong in Shape"
"At Last...We Saw the Post"
"A Miserable Little Log Shack"
A Group of Eskimo Women
A Labrador Type
Eskimo Children
A Snow Igloo
The Silence of the North (in color, from a painting by Frederic C.
Stokes)
"Nachvak Post of the Hudson's Bay Company".
"The Hills Grew Higher and Higher"
"We Turned Into a Pass Leading to the Northward"
The Moravian Mission at Ramah
"Plodding Southward Over the Endless Snow"
"Nain, the Moravian Headquarters in Labrador"
"The Indians Were Here"
Geological Specimens
Maps.
CHAPTER I
THE VOICE OF THE WILDERNESS
"It's always the way, Wallace! When a fellow starts on the long trail,
he's never willing to quit. It'll be the same with you if you go with
me to Labrador. When you come home, you'll hear the voice of the
wilderness calling you to return, and it will lure you back again."
It seems but yesterday that Hubbard uttered those prophetic words as he
and I lay before our blazing camp fire in the snow-covered Shawangunk
Mountains on that November night in the year 1901, and planned that
fateful trip into the unexplored Labrador wilderness which was to cost
my dear friend his life, and both of us indescribable sufferings and
hardships. And how true a prophecy it was! You who have smelled the
camp fire smoke; who have drunk in the pure forest air, laden with the
smell of the fir tree; who have dipped your paddle into untamed waters,
or climbed mountains, with the knowledge that none but the red man has
been there before you; or have, perchance, had to fight the wilds and
nature for your very existence; you of the wilderness brotherhood can
understand how the fever of exploration gets into one's blood and draws
one back again to the forests and the barrens in spite of resolutions
to "go no more."
It was more than this, however, that lured me back to Labrador. There
was the vision of dear old Hubbard as I so often saw him during our
struggle through that rugged northland wilderness, wasted in form and
ragged in dress, but always hopeful and eager, his undying spirit and
indomitable will focused in his words to me, and I can still see him as
he looked when he said them:
"The work must be done, Wallace, and if one of us falls before it is
completed the other must finish it."
I went back to Labrador to do the work he had undertaken, but which he
was not permitted to accomplish. His exhortation appealed to me as a
command from my leader--a call to duty.
Hubbard had planned to penetrate the Labrador peninsula from Groswater
Bay, following the old northern trail of the Mountaineer Indians from
Northwest River Post of the Hudson's Bay Company, situated on Groswater
Bay, one hundred and forty miles inland from the eastern coast, to Lake
Michikamau, thence through the lake and northward over the divide,
where he hoped to locate the headwaters of the George River.
It was his intention to pass down this river until he reached the
hunting camps of the Nenenot or Nascaupee Indians, there witness the
annual migration of the caribou to the eastern seacoast, which
tradition said took place about the middle or latter part of September,
and to be present at the "killing," when the Indians, it was reported,
secured their winter's supply of provisions by spearing the caribou
while the herds were swimming the river. The caribou hunt over, he was
to have returned across country to the St. Lawrence or retrace his
steps to Northwest River Post, whichever might seem advisable. Should
the season, however, be too far advanced to permit of a safe return, he
was to have proceeded down the river to its mouth, at Ungava Bay, and
return to civilization in winter with dogs.
The country through which we were to have traveled was to be mapped so
far as possible, and observations made of the geological formation and
of the flora, and as many specimens collected as possible.
This, then, Hubbard's plan, was the plan which I adopted and which I
set out to accomplish, when, in March, 1905, I finally decided to
return to Labrador.
It was advisable to reach Hamilton Inlet with the opening of navigation
and make an early start into the country, for every possible day of the
brief summer would be needed for our purpose.
It was, as I fully realized, no small undertaking. Many hundreds of
miles of unknown country must be traversed, and over mountains and
through marshes for long distances our canoes and outfit would have to
be transported upon the backs of the men comprising my party, as pack
animals cannot be used in Labrador.
Through immense stretches of country there would be no sustenance for
them, and, in addition to this, the character of the country itself
for
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TOBY TYLER
or
TEN WEEKS WITH A CIRCUS
By James Otis
I. TOBY'S INTRODUCTION TO THE CIRCUS
"Wouldn't you give more 'n six peanuts for a cent?" was a question asked
by a very small boy, with big, staring eyes, of a candy vender at a
circus booth. And as he spoke he looked wistfully at the quantity of
nuts piled high up on the basket, and then at the six, each of which now
looked so small as he held them in his hand.
"Couldn't do it," was the reply of the proprietor of the booth, as he
put the boy's penny carefully away in the drawer.
The little fellow looked for another moment at his purchase, and then
carefully cracked the largest one.
A shade--and a very deep shade it was--of disappointment passed over his
face, and then, looking up anxiously, he asked, "Don't you swap 'em when
they're bad?"
The man's face looked as if a smile had been a stranger to it for a long
time; but one did pay it a visit just then, and he tossed the boy two
nuts, and asked him a question at the same time. "What is your name?"
The big brown eyes looked up for an instant, as if to learn whether
the question was asked in good faith, and then their owner said, as he
carefully picked apart another nut, "Toby Tyler."
"Well, that's a queer name."
"Yes, I s'pose so, myself; but, you see, I don't expect that's the
name that belongs to me. But the fellers call me so, an' so does Uncle
Dan'l."
"Who is Uncle Daniel?" was the next question. In the absence of other
customers the man seemed disposed to get as much amusement out of the
boy as possible.
"He hain't my uncle at all; I only call him so because all the boys do,
an' I live with him."
"Where's your father and mother?"
"I don't know," said Toby, rather carelessly. "I don't know much about
'em, an' Uncle Dan'l says they don't know much about me. Here's another
bad nut; goin' to give me two more?"
The two nuts were given him, and he said, as he put them in his pocket
and turned over and over again those which he held in his hand: "I
shouldn't wonder if all of these was bad. S'posen you give me two for
each one of 'em before I crack 'em, an' then they won't be spoiled so
you can't sell 'em again."
As this offer of barter was made, the man looked amused, and he asked,
as he counted out the number which Toby desired, "If I give you these,
I suppose you'll want me to give you two more for each one, and you'll
keep that kind of a trade going until you get my whole stock?"
"I won't open my head if every one of em's bad."
"All right; you can keep what you've got, and I'll give you these
besides; but I don't want you to buy any more, for I don't want to do
that kind of business."
Toby took the nuts offered, not in the least abashed, and seated himself
on a convenient stone to eat them, and at the same time to see all that
was going on around him. The coming of a circus to the little town of
Guilford was an event, and Toby had hardly thought of anything else
since the highly colored posters had first been put up. It was yet quite
early in the morning, and the tents were just being erected by the men.
Toby had followed, with eager eyes, everything that looked as if it
belonged to the circus, from the time the first wagon had entered the
town until the street parade had been made and everything was being
prepared for the afternoon's performance.
The man who had made the losing trade in peanuts seemed disposed to
question the boy still further, probably owing to the fact that he had
nothing better to do.
"Who is this Uncle Daniel you say you live with? Is he a farmer?"
"No; he's a deacon, an' he raps me over the head with the hymn book
whenever I go to sleep in meetin', an' he says I eat four times as much
as I earn. I blame him for hittin' so hard when I go to sleep, but I
s'pose he's right about my eatin'. You see," and here his tone grew both
confidential and mournful, "I am an awful eater, an' I can't seem to
help it. Somehow I'm hungry all the time. I don't seem ever to get
enough till carrot time comes, an' then I can get all I want without
troublin' anybody."
"Didn't you ever have enough to eat?"
"I s'pose I did; but you see Uncle Dan'l he found me one mornin' on his
hay, an' he says I was cryin' for something to eat then, an' I've kept
it up ever
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CATALOGUE
OF THE
GALLERY OF ART
OF
THE NEW YORK HISTORICAL SOCIETY
NEW YORK
PRINTED FOR THE SOCIETY
1915
OFFICERS OF THE SOCIETY
PRESIDENT,
JOHN ABEEL WEEKES.
FIRST VICE-PRESIDENT,
WILLIAM MILLIGAN SLOANE.
SECOND VICE-PRESIDENT,
WALTER LISPENARD SUYDAM.
THIRD VICE-PRESIDENT,
GERARD BEEKMAN.
FOURTH VICE-PRESIDENT,
FRANCIS ROBERT SCHELL.
FOREIGN CORRESPONDING SECRETARY,
ARCHER MILTON HUNTINGTON.
DOMESTIC CORRESPONDING SECRETARY,
JAMES BENEDICT.
RECORDING SECRETARY,
FANCHER NICOLL.
TREASURER,
FREDERIC DELANO WEEKES.
LIBRARIAN,
ROBERT HENDRE KELBY.
EXECUTIVE COMMITTEE
FIRST CLASS--FOR ONE YEAR, ENDING 1916.
ACOSTA NICHOLS,
STANLEY W. DEXTER,
FREDERICK TREVOR HILL.
SECOND CLASS--FOR TWO YEARS, ENDING 1917.
FREDERIC DELANO WEEKES,
PAUL R. TOWNE,
R. HORACE GALLATIN.
THIRD CLASS--FOR THREE YEARS, ENDING 1918.
RICHARD HENRY GREENE,
JAMES BENEDICT,
ARCHER M. HUNTINGTON.
FOURTH CLASS--FOR FOUR YEARS, ENDING 1919.
BENJAMIN W. B. BROWN,
J. ARCHIBALD MURRAY.
JAMES BENEDICT, _Chairman_.
ROBERT H. KELBY, _Secretary_.
[The President, Vice-Presidents, Recording Secretary, Treasurer, and
Librarian are members of the Executive Committee.]
PREFACE
This catalogue describes the paintings in the Gallery of Art of The New
York Historical Society, with two hundred and eighty-six miniatures,
comprising the Marie Collection and seventy-six objects of Sculpture.
The New York Gallery of Fine Arts, presented to the Society in 1858,
with paintings donated to the Society at various times, are numbered
1 to 488 inclusive. Any notice of this collection would be deficient
which should fail to commemorate the name of Luman Reed, Patron of
American Art. In this connection the Society was chiefly indebted to the
liberality and cordial cooeperation of one of their most valued members,
who was himself the chief promoter of the original design of the New
York Gallery of Fine Arts, Mr. Jonathan Sturges.
The Bryan Collection, presented to the Society in 1867 by the late
Thomas J. Bryan, numbers three hundred and eighty-one paintings and are
designated by the letter B. before each number.
The Durr Collection, presented to the Society in 1882 by the executors
of the late Louis Durr, numbers, with subsequent additions, one hundred
and eighty-one paintings, which are designated by the letter D. before
each number.
Short biographical sketches of deceased artists represented in the above
collections have been added, together with indexes to Artists, portraits
and donors.
The Marie Collection of miniatures is arranged alphabetically by
subjects and is not included in the index of portraits.
CONTENTS
PAGES
OFFICERS OF THE SOCIETY v
EXECUTIVE COMMITTEE vi
PREFACE vii
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS xi
SKETCH OF LUMAN REED 2
NEW YORK GALLERY OF FINE ARTS AND REED COLLECTION WITH
PAINTINGS DONATED TO THE GALLERY OF THE SOCIETY 3-53
SKETCH OF THOMAS J. BRYAN 56
BRYAN COLLECTION OF PAINTINGS 57-100
SKETCH OF LOUIS DURR 102
DURR COLLECTION OF PAINTINGS 103-118
PETER MARIE COLLECTION OF MINIATURES 121-138
SCULPTURE 141-148
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES OF ARTISTS 151-205
INDEX OF PORTRAITS 209-213
INDEX OF SCULPTURE 214
INDEX OF ARTISTS 215-220
INDEX OF DONORS 221-223
PRESIDENTS OF THE SOCIETY 224
ILLUSTRATIONS
FACING PAGE
PORTRAIT OF ASHER B. DURAND, by Himself 42
PORTRAIT OF THOMAS J. BRYAN, by W. O. Stone 56
A VIRGIN AND CHILD, WITH FOUR SAINTS, by Guido of Sienna 58
KNIGHTS AT A TOURNAMENT, by Giotto di Bondone 60
THE BIRTH OF ST. JOHN THE BAPTIST, by Uccello 62
ADORATION OF THE INFANT CHRIST, by Macrino d'Alba 64
THE CRUCIFIXION, by Andrea Mantegna 66
PORTRAIT OF A JANSENIST, by Phillippe De Champagne 68
THE CRUCIFIXION, by Jan Van Eyck 72
PORTRAIT, by Paul Rembrandt 74
PORTRAIT OF A KNIGHT OF THE ORDER OF THE GOLDEN FLEECE,
by Rubens 76
WILLIAM, PRINCE OF ORANGE (WILLIAM III), by Gerard Terburg 78
ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON, by Albrecht Duerer 80
PORTRAITS OF TWO LADIES, by Largilliere 86
PORTRAIT OF JOHN SINGLETON COPLEY, by Himself 90
PORTR
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THE MAN
WHOM THE TREES LOVED
ALGERNON BLACKWOOD
1912
~I~
He painted trees as by some special divining instinct of their essential
qualities. He understood them. He knew why in an oak forest, for
instance, each individual was utterly distinct from its fellows, and why
no two beeches in the whole world were alike. People asked him down to
paint a favorite lime or silver birch, for he caught the individuality
of a tree as some catch the individuality of a horse. How he managed it
was something of a puzzle, for he never had painting lessons, his
drawing was often wildly inaccurate, and, while his perception of a Tree
Personality was true and vivid, his rendering of it might almost
approach the ludicrous. Yet the character and personality of that
particular tree stood there alive beneath his brush--shining, frowning,
dreaming, as the case might be, friendly or hostile, good or evil. It
emerged.
There was nothing else in the wide world that he could paint; flowers
and landscapes he only muddled away into a smudge; with people he was
helpless and hopeless; also with animals. Skies he could sometimes
manage, or effects of wind in foliage, but as a rule he left these all
severely alone. He kept to trees, wisely following an instinct that was
guided by love. It was quite arresting, this way he had of making a tree
look almost like a being--alive. It approached the uncanny.
"Yes, Sanderson knows what he's doing when he paints a tree!" thought
old David Bittacy, C.B., late of the Woods and Forests. "Why, you can
almost hear it rustle. You can smell the thing. You can hear the rain
drip through its leaves. You can almost see the branches move. It
grows." For in this way somewhat he expressed his satisfaction, half to
persuade himself that the twenty guineas were well spent (since his wife
thought otherwise), and half to explain this uncanny reality of life
that lay in the fine old cedar framed above his study table.
Yet in the general view the mind of Mr. Bittacy was held to be austere,
not to say morose. Few divined in him the secretly tenacious love of
nature that had been fostered by years spent in the forests and jungles
of the eastern world. It was odd for an Englishman, due possibly to that
Eurasian ancestor. Surreptitiously, as though half ashamed of it, he had
kept alive a sense of beauty that hardly belonged to his type, and was
unusual for its vitality. Trees, in particular, nourished it. He, also,
understood trees, felt a subtle sense of communion with them, born
perhaps of those years he had lived in caring for them, guarding,
protecting, nursing, years of solitude among their great shadowy
presences. He kept it largely to himself, of course, because he knew the
world he lived in. HE also kept it from his wife--to some extent. He
knew it came between them, knew that she feared it, was opposed. But
what he did not know, or realize at any rate, was the extent to which
she grasped the power which they wielded over his life. Her fear, he
judged, was simply due to those years in India, when for weeks at a time
his calling took him away from her into the jungle forests, while she
remained at home dreading all manner of evils that might befall him.
This, of course, explained her instinctive opposition to the passion for
woods that still influenced and clung to him. It was a natural survival
of those anxious days of waiting in solitude for his safe return.
For Mrs. Bittacy, daughter of an evangelical clergy-man, was a
self-sacrificing woman, who in most things found a happy duty in sharing
her husband's joys and sorrows to the point of self-obliteration. Only
in this matter of the trees she was less successful than in others. It
remained a problem difficult of compromise.
He knew, for instance, that what she objected to in this portrait of the
cedar on their lawn was really not the price he had given for it, but
the unpleasant way in which the transaction emphasized this breach
between their common interests--the only one they had, but deep.
Sanderson, the artist, earned little enough money by his strange talent;
such checks were few and far between. The owners of fine or interesting
trees who cared to have them painted singly were rare indeed, and the
"studies" that he made for his own delight he also kept for his own
delight. Even were there buyers, he would not sell them. Only a few, and
these peculiarly intimate friends, might even see them, for he disliked
to hear the undiscerning criticisms of those who did not understand. Not
that he minded laughter at his craftsmanship--he admitted it with
scorn--but that remarks about the personality of the tree itself could
easily wound or anger him. He resented slighting observations concerning
them, as though insults offered to personal friends who could not answer
for themselves.
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Produced by Demian Katz and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Images courtesy
of the Digital Library@Villanova University
(http://digital.library.villanova.edu/))
[Illustration: _Bolax, Imp or Angel Which?_]
[Illustration: JE SUIS MOI, LE GENERALE BOOME.
I AM THE GREAT GENERAL BOOME.
[From Fun in Dormitory. page 166.]]
BOLAX
IMP OR ANGEL--WHICH?
BY MRS. JOSEPHINE CULPEPER
[Illustration]
JOHN MURPHY COMPANY.
Baltimore: New York:
200 W. Lombard Street. 70 Fifth Avenue.
1907.
_Copyright 1907, by_
Mrs. Josephine Culpeper
PRINTED BY JOHN MURPHY COMPANY
_"Bolax: Imp or Angel--Which?" Being favorably criticised by priests of
literary ability, is hereby recommended most heartily by me to all
Catholics._
_As a study in child-life and as a rational object lesson in the
religious and moral training of children, Mrs. Culpeper's book should
become popular and the jolly little Bolax be made welcome in many
households._
_Faithfully yours in Xt,_
[Illustration: Signature]
_Dedicated to my best beloved pupils, especially the children of
the Late Dr. William V. Keating, and those of Joseph R. Carpenter,
by their old governess._
CONTENTS.
PAGE.
CHAPTER I.
AMY'S COMPANY, 1
CHAPTER II.
THE WONDERFUL RIDE, 9
CHAPTER III.
THE PARTY, 19
CHAPTER IV.
PLEASANT CONTROVERSY, 29
CHAPTER V.
THE PICNIC, 38
CHAPTER VI.
A TALK ABOUT OUR BOYS, 52
CHAPTER VII.
THE FIGHT, 61
CHAPTER VIII.
THE COAL MAN, 78
CHAPTER IX.
AMY'S TRIP TO THE SEASHORE, 89
CHAPTER X.
CHRISTMAS AND "LITTLE CHRISTMAS," OR KING'S
DAY, 100
CHAPTER XI.
PRACTISING, 116
CHAPTER XII.
FIRST COMMUNION, 130
CHAPTER XIII.
UNFORSEEN EVENTS, 146
CHAPTER XIV.
BOLAX GOES TO COLLEGE, 157
CHAPTER XV.
LETTER FROM A FRIEND, 174
CHAPTER XVI.
BOLAX LEAVES COLLEGE FOR VACATION, 196
ONLY A BOY.
Only a boy with his noise and fun,
The veriest mystery under the sun;
As brimful of mischief and wit and glee
As ever a human frame can be,
And as hard to manage as--ah! ah, me!
'Tis hard to tell,
Yet we love him well.
Only a boy, with his fearful tread,
Who cannot be driven, but must be led;
Who troubles the neighbors' dogs and cats,
And tears more clothes, and spoils more hats,
Loses more tops and kites and bats
Than would stock a store,
For a year or more.
Only a boy, with his wild, strange ways,
With his idle hours on busy days;
With his queer remarks and his odd replies,
Sometimes foolish and sometimes wise,
Often brilliant for one of his size,
As a meteor hurl'd,
From the pleasant world.
Only a boy, who will be a man
If Nature goes on with her first great plan--
If water, or fire, or some fatal snare
Conspire not to rob us of this our heir,
Our blessing, our trouble, our rest, our care,
Our torment, our joy,
"Our only boy."
--_Anonymous_.
BOLAX IMP OR ANGEL--WHICH?
CHAPTER I.
AMY'S COMPANY
"Come children," said Mrs. Allen, "Mamma wants to take you for a nice
walk."
"Oh, please, dear Mamma, wait awhile! Bolax and I have company!" This
from little Amy, Bo's sister.
Mrs. Allen looked around the room, and saw several chairs placed before
the fire; but seeing no visitors, was about to sit in the large arm
chair.
"Oh, dear Mamma," said Amy, "please do not take that chair! That's for
poor old St. Joseph; he will be here presently."
Turning toward the chair nearest the fire, the child bowed down to the
floor, saying: "Little Jesus I love you! When will St. Joseph be here?"
Then bowing before the next chair: "Blessed Mother, are you comfortable?
Here is a footstool."
Mrs
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Produced by Charles Aldarondo
ON PICKET DUTY, AND OTHER TALES
By L. M. Alcott
Boston:
NEW YORK:
1864
ON PICKET DUTY.
_WHAT_ air you thinkin' of, Phil?
"My wife, Dick."
"So was I! Aint it odd how fellers fall to thinkin' of thar little
women, when they get a quiet spell like this?"
"Fortunate for us that we do get it, and have such gentle bosom
guests to keep us brave and honest through the trials and
temptations of a life like ours."
October moonlight shone clearly on the solitary tree, draped with
gray moss, scarred by lightning and warped by wind, looking like a
venerable warrior, whose long campaign was nearly done; and
underneath was posted the guard of four. Behind them twinkled many
camp-fires on a distant plain, before them wound a road ploughed by
the passage of an army, strewn with the relics of a rout. On the
right, a sluggish river glided, like a serpent, stealthy, sinuous,
and dark, into a seemingly impervious jungle; on the left, a
Southern swamp filled the air with malarial damps, swarms of noisome
life, and discordant sounds that robbed the hour of its repose. The
men were friends as well as comrades, for though gathered from the
four quarters of the Union, and dissimilar in education, character,
and tastes, the same spirit animated all; the routine of camp life
threw them much together, and mutual esteem soon grew into a bond of
mutual good fellowship.
Thorn was a Massachusetts volunteer; a man who seemed too early old,
too early embittered by some cross, for though grim of countenance,
rough of speech, cold of manner, a keen observer would have soon
discovered traces of a deeper, warmer nature hidden, behind the
repellent front he turned upon the world. A true New Englander,
thoughtful, acute, reticent, and opinionated; yet earnest withal,
intensely patriotic, and often humorous, despite a touch of Puritan
austerity.
Phil, the "romantic chap," as he was called, looked his character to
the life. Slender, swarthy, melancholy eyed, and darkly bearded;
with feminine features, mellow voice and, alternately languid or
vivacious manners. A child of the South in nature as in aspect,
ardent, impressible, and proud; fitfully aspiring and despairing;
without the native energy which moulds character and ennobles life.
Months of discipline and devotion had done much for him, and some
deep experience was fast ripening the youth into a man.
Flint, the long-limbed lumberman, from the wilds of Maine, was a
conscript who, when government demanded his money or his life,
calculated the cost, and decided that the cash would be a dead loss
and the claim might be repeated, whereas the conscript would get
both pay and plunder out of government, while taking excellent care
that government got precious little out of him. A shrewd,
slow-spoken, self-reliant specimen, was Flint; yet something of the
fresh flavor of the backwoods lingered in him still, as if Nature
were loath to give him up, and left the mark of her motherly hand
upon him, as she leaves it in a dry, pale lichen, on the bosom of
the roughest stone.
Dick "hailed" from Illinois, and was a comely young fellow, full of
dash and daring; rough and rowdy, generous and jolly, overflowing
with spirits and ready for a free fight with all the world.
Silence followed the last words, while the friendly moon climbed up
the sky. Each man's eye followed it, and each man's heart was busy
with remembrances of other eyes and hearts that might be watching
and wishing as theirs watched and wished. In the silence, each
shaped for himself that vision of home that brightens so many
camp-fires, haunts so many dreamers under canvas roofs, and keeps so
many turbulent natures tender by memories which often are both
solace and salvation.
Thorn paced to and fro, his rifle on his shoulder, vigilant and
soldierly, however soft his heart might be. Phil leaned against the
tree, one hand in the breast of his blue jacket, on the painted
presentment of the face his fancy was picturing in the golden circle
of the moon. Flint lounged on the sward, whistling softly as he
whittled at a fallen bough. Dick was flat on his back, heels in air,
cigar in mouth, and some hilarious notion in his mind, for suddenly
he broke into a laugh.
"What is it, lad?" asked Thorn, pausing in his tramp, as if willing
to be drawn from the disturbing thought that made his black brows
lower and his mouth look grim.
"Thinkin' of my wife, and wishin' she was here, bless her heart! set
me rememberin' how I see her fust, and so I roared, as I always do
when it comes into my head."
"How was it? Come, reel off a yarn and let's hear houw
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THE SNOW-IMAGE
AND
OTHER TWICE-TOLD TALES
JOHN INGLEFIELD'S THANKSGIVING
By
Nathaniel Hawthorne
On the evening of Thanksgiving day, John Inglefield, the blacksmith, sat
in his elbow-chair, among those who had been keeping festival at his
board. Being the central figure of the domestic circle, the fire threw
its strongest light on his massive and sturdy frame, reddening his rough
visage, so that it looked like the head of an iron statue, all aglow,
from his own forge, and with its features rudely fashioned on his own
anvil. At John Inglefield's right hand was an empty chair. The other
places round the hearth were filled by the members of the family, who all
sat quietly, while, with a semblance of fantastic merriment, their
shadows danced on the wall behind then. One of the group was John
Inglefield's son, who had been bred at college, and was now a student of
theology at Andover. There was also a daughter of sixteen, whom nobody
could look at without thinking of a rosebud almost blossomed. The only
other person at the fireside was Robert Moore, formerly an apprentice of
the blacksmith, but now his journeyman, and who seemed more like an own
son of John Inglefield than did the pale and slender student.
Only these four had kept New England's festival beneath that roof. The
vacant chair at John Inglefield's right hand was in memory of his wife,
whom death had snatched from him since the previous Thanksgiving. With a
feeling that few would have looked for in his rough nature, the bereaved
husband had himself set the chair in its place next his own; and often
did his eye glance thitherward, as if he deemed it possible that the cold
grave might send back its tenant to the cheerful fireside, at least for
that one evening. Thus did he cherish the grief that was dear to him.
But there was another grief which he would fain have torn from his heart;
or, since that could never be, have buried it too deep for others to
behold, or for his own remembrance. Within the past year another member
of his household had gone from him, but not to the grave. Yet they kept
no vacant chair for her.
While John Inglefield and his family were sitting round the hearth with
the shadows dancing behind them on the wall, the outer door was opened,
and a light footstep came along the passage. The latch of the inner door
was lifted by some familiar hand, and a young girl came in, wearing a
cloak and hood, which she took off, and laid on the table beneath the
looking-glass. Then, after gazing a moment at the fireside circle, she
approached, and took the seat at John Inglefield's right hand, as if it
had been reserved on purpose for her.
"Here I am, at last, father," said she. "You ate your Thanksgiving
dinner without me, but I have come back to spend the evening with you."
Yes, it was Prudence Inglefield. She wore the same neat and maidenly
attire which she had been accustomed to put on when the household work
was over for the day, and her hair was parted from her brow, in the
simple and modest fashion that became her best of all. If her cheek
might otherwise have been pale, yet the glow of the fire suffused it with
a healthful bloom. If she had spent the many months of her absence in
guilt and infamy, yet they seemed to have left no traces on her gentle
aspect. She could not have looked less altered, had she merely stepped
away from her father's fireside for half an hour, and returned while the
blaze was quivering upwards from the same brands that were burning at her
departure. And to John Inglefield she was the very image of his buried
wife, such as he remembered her on the first Thanksgiving which they had
passed under their own roof. Therefore, though naturally a stern and
rugged man, he could not speak unkindly to his sinful child, nor yet
could he take her to his bosom.
"You are welcome home, Prudence," said he, glancing sideways at her, and
his voice faltered. "Your mother would have rejoiced to see you, but she
has been gone from us these four months."
"I know it, father, I know it," replied Prudence, quickly. "And yet,
when I first came in, my eyes were so dazzled by the firelight, that she
seemed to be sitting in this very chair!"
By this time the other members of the family had begun to recover from
their surprise, and became sensible that it was no ghost from the grave,
nor vision of their vivid recollections, but Prudence, her own
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Produced by Andrew Sly
THE PRICE OF A SOUL
By
WILLIAM JENNINGS BRYAN
FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY
NEW YORK AND LONDON
1914
PUBLISHERS' NOTE
"The Price of a Soul" is an address delivered by Mr. Bryan, first
at the Northwestern Law School Banquet in Chicago, then as a
Commencement Oration at the Peirce School in Philadelphia and,
in 1909, extended into a lecture.
THE PRICE OF A SOUL
The fact that Christ dealt with this subject is proof conclusive that
it is important, for He never dealt with trivial things. When Christ
focused attention upon a theme it was because it was worthy of
consideration--and Christ weighed the soul. He presented the subject,
too, with surpassing force; no one will ever add emphasis to what He
said. He understood the value of the question in argument. If you
will examine the great orations delivered at crises in the world's
history, you will find that in nearly every case the speaker
condensed the whole subject into a question, and in that question
embodied what he regarded as an unanswerable argument. Christ used
the question to give force to the thought which he presented in
regard to the soul's value.
On one side He put the world and all that the world can contain--all the
wealth that one can accumulate, all the fame to which one can aspire,
and all the happiness that one can covet; and on the other side he
put the soul, and asked the question that has come ringing down the
centuries: "What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world and
lose his own soul?"
There is no compromise here--no partial statement of the matter. He
leaves us to write one term of the equation ourselves.
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E-text prepared by Clarity, MWS, and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries (https://archive.org/details/toronto)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries. See
https://archive.org/details/secretlifebeingb00bisluoft
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
THE SECRET LIFE
Being the Book of a Heretic
"Prove all things: hold fast that which is good."
_St. Paul, 1 Thessalonians v. 21._
"Ici l'on voulut que tout fut simple, tranquille, sans ostentation
d'esprit ni de science, que personne ne se crut engage a avoir
raison, et que l'on fut toujours en etat de ceder sans honte,
surtout qu'aucun systeme ne dominat dans l'Academie a l'exclusion
des autres, et qu'on laissat toujours toutes les portes ouvert a
la verite." _Fontenelle._
London: John Lane, The Bodley Head
New York: John Lane Company. MDCCCCVII
Copyright, 1906
By John Lane Company
CONTENTS
PAGE
L'Enfant Terrible 1
An Optimistic Cynic 7
A Poet Sheep-rancher 10
An Eaten Cake 13
Concerning Elbows on the Table 16
An Autumn Impulse 17
John-a'-Dreams 19
The Fountain of Salmacis 41
Two Siegfrieds 44
A Door Ajar 47
At Time of Death 49
The Curse of Babel 49
The Fourth Dimension 52
The Ant and the Lark 58
The Doeppelganger 63
"A Young Man's Fancy" 73
An Arabian Looking-glass 78
The Cry of the Women 80
The Beauty of Cruelty 95
The Duke of Wellington's Trees 101
The Boy with the Goose 103
A God Indeed 104
A Question of Skulls 110
The Modern Woman and Marriage 112
The Ideal Husband 120
A New Law of Health 126
"Dead, Dead, Dead" 139
Verbal Magic 140
Hamlet 143
Ghosts 149
Amateur Saints 153
The Zeitgeist 159
The Abdication of Man 187
Life 205
Portable Property 206
Are American Parents Selfish? 208
A Question of Heredity 219
The Little Dumb Brother 220
Fever Dreams 248
A Misunderstood Moralist 250
The Pleasures of Pessimism 255
Moral Pauperism 257
On a Certain Lack of Humour in
Frenchmen 258
The Value of a Soul 267
A Grateful Spaniard 271
Bores 271
Emotions and Oxydization 273
Abelard to Heloise 275
Heloise to Abelard 277
Yumei Mujitsu 279
The Real Thing 284
"Oh, Eloquent, Just, and Mighty
Death" 286
"Philistia, be Thou Glad of Me" 299
"Oh King, Live Forever!" 305
The Little Room 307
Aftermath 312
June 21.
L'Enfant Terrible.
"The very Devil's in the moon for mischief:
There's not a day, the longest, not the twenty-first of June,
Sees half the mischief in a quiet way
On which three single hours of moonlight smile."
At my age, alas! one no longer gets into mischief, either by moonlight
or at midsummer, and yet to-day all the tricksey spirits of the
invisible world are supposed to be abroad--tangling the horses' manes,
souring the milkmaid's cream, setting lovers by the ears. Some such
frisky Puck stirs even peaceable middle-aged blood at this season to
mild little secret sins, such as beginning a diary in which to set down
one's private naughty views--the heresies one has grown too staid and
cautious to give speech to any longer.
All, I think, have some Secret Garden where they unbind the girdle of
conventions and breathe to a sympathetic listener the opinions they
would repudiate indignantly upon the housetops; but I know of no such
kindred soul--indeed my private views are so heretical that I should
tremble to whisper them even into the dull cold ear of night, lest I
should cause it to
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The Project Gutenberg Etext of Supplemental Nights, Volume 2
by Richard F. Burton
#13 in our series by Sir Richard Francis Burton
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Title: Supplemental Nights, Volume 2
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Produced by Charles Franks, Charles Aldarondo and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
[Illustration: "HIS FEEBLE GLANCE TOOK IN HER FACE WITH LIFELESS
INTEREST"]
Jane Cable
By George Barr McCutcheon
CONTENTS
I When Jane Goes Driving
II The Cables
III James Bansemer
IV The Foundling
V The Bansemer Crash
VI In Sight of the Fangs
VII Mrs. Cable Entertains
VIII The Telegram
IX The Proposal
X The Four Initials
XI An Evening with Droom
XII James Bansemer Calls
XIII Jane Sees with New Eyes
XIV The Canker
XV The Tragedy of the Sea Wall
XVI Hours of Terror
XVII David Cable's Debts
XVIII The Visit of Harbert
XIX The Crash
XX Father and Son
XXI In the Philippines
XXII The Chase of Pilar
XXIII The Fight in the Convent
XXIV Teresa Velasquez
XXV The Beautiful Nurse
XXVI The Separation of Hearts
XXVII "If They Don't Kill You"
XXVIII Homeward Bound
XXIX The Wreckage
XXX The Drink of Gall
XXXI The Transforming of Droom
XXXII Elias Droom's Dinner Party
XXXIII Droom Triumphs over Death
XXXIV To-morrow
CHAPTER I
WHEN JANE GOES DRIVING
It was a bright, clear afternoon in the late fall that pretty Miss
Cable drove up in her trap and waited at the curb for her father to
come forth from his office in one of Chicago's tallest buildings.
The crisp, caressing wind that came up the street from the lake put
the pink into her smooth cheeks, but it did not disturb the brown
hair that crowned her head. Well-groomed and graceful, she sat
straight and sure upon the box, her gloved hand grasping the yellow
reins firmly and confidently. Miss Cable looked neither to right
nor to left, but at the tips of her thoroughbred's ears. Slender
and tall and very aristocratic she appeared, her profile alone
visible to the passers-by.
After a very few moments, waiting in her trap, the smart young
woman became impatient. A severe, little pucker settled upon her
brow, and not once, but many times her eyes turned to the broad
entrance across the sidewalk. She had telephoned to her father
earlier in the afternoon; and he had promised faithfully to be
ready at four o'clock for a spin up the drive behind Spartan. At
three minutes past four the pucker made its first appearance; and
now, several minutes later, it was quite distressing. Never before
had he kept her waiting like this. She was conscious of the fact
that at least a hundred men had stared at her in the longest ten
minutes she had ever known. From the bottom of a very hot heart
she was beginning to resent this scrutiny, when a tall young fellow
swung around a near-by corner, and came up with a smile so full of
delight, that the dainty pucker left her brow, as the shadow flees
from the sunshine. His hat was off and poised gallantly above his
head, his right hand reaching up to clasp the warm, little tan one
outstretched to meet it.
"I knew it was you long before I saw you," said he warmly.
"Truly? How interesting!" she responded, with equal warmth.
"Something psychic in the atmosphere today?"
"Oh, no," he said, reluctantly releasing her hand. "I can't see
through these huge buildings, you know---it's impossible to look
over their tops--I simply knew you were here, that's all."
"You're romantic, even though you are a bit silly," she cried gaily.
"Pray, how could you know?"
"Simplest thing in the world. Rigby told me he had seen you, and
that you seemed to be in a great rage. He dared me to venture into
your presence, and--that's why I'm here."
"What a hopelessly, commonplace explanation! Why did you not leave
me to think that there was really something psychic about it? Logic
is so discouraging to one's conceit. I'm in a very disagreeable
humour to-day," she said, in fine despair.
"I don't believe it," he disputed graciously.
"But I am," she insisted, smiling brightly. His heart was leaping
high--so high, that it filled his eyes. "Everything has gone wrong
with me to-day. It's pretty trying to have to wait in front of a
big office building for fifteen minutes. Every instant, I expect
a policeman to come up and order me to move on. Don't they arrest
people for blocking the street?"
"Yes, and put them in awful, rat-swarming dungeons over in Dearborn
Avenue. Poor Mr. Cable, he should be made to suffer severely for
his wretched conduct. The idea of--"
"Don't you dare to say anything mean about dad," she warned.
"But he's the cause of all the trouble--he's never done anything
to make you happy, or--"
"Stop!--I take it all back--I'm in a perfectly adorable humour.
It was dreadfully mean of me to be half-angry with him, wasn't it?
He's in there, now, working his dear old brain to pieces, and I'm
out here with no brain at all," she said ruefully.
To the ingenuous youth, such an appeal to his gallantry was well-nigh
irresistible, and for a moment it seemed as if he would yield to
the temptation to essay a brilliant contradiction; but his wits
came to his rescue, for quickly realising that not only were the
frowning rocks of offence to be avoided, but likewise the danger of
floundering helplessly about in the inviting quicksands of inanity, he
preserved silence--wise young man that he was, and trusted to his
eyes to express an eloquent refutation. At last, however, something
seemed to occur to him. A smile broke on his face.
"You had a stupid time last night?" he hazarded.
"What makes you think so?"
"I know who took you in to dinner."
The eyes of the girl narrowed slightly at the corners.
"Did he tell you?"
"No, I have neither seen nor heard from anyone present." She opened
her eyes wide, now.
"Well, Mr. S. Holmes, who was it?"
"That imbecile, Medford."
Miss Cable sat up very straight in the trap; her little chin went
up in the air; she even went so far as to make a pretence of curbing
the impatience of her horse.
"Mr. Medford was most entertaining--he was the life of the dinner,"
she returned somewhat severely.
"He's a professional!"
"An actor!" she cried incredulously.
"No, a professional diner-out. Wasn't that rich young Jackson
there?"
"Why, yes; but do tell me how you knew?" The girl was softening a
little, her curiosity aroused.
"Of course I will," he said boyishly, at once pleased with himself
and his sympathetic audience. "About five-thirty I happened to be
in the club. Medford was there, and as usual catering to Jackson,
when the latter was called to the 'phone. Naturally, I put two
and two together." He paused to more thoroughly enjoy the look of
utter mystification that hovered on the girl's countenance. It was
very apparent that this method of deduction through addition was
unsatisfying. "What Jackson said to Medford, on his return," the
young man continued, "I did not hear; but from the expression on
the listener's face I could have wagered that an invitation had been
extended and accepted. Oh, we boys have got it down fine! Garrison
is---"
"And who is Garrison?"
"Garrison is the head door man at the club. It's positively amazing
the number of telephone calls he receives every afternoon from
well-known society women!"
"What about? And what's that got to do with Mr. Medford taking me
in to dinner?"
"Just this: Suppose Mrs. Rowden..."
"Mrs. Rowden!" The girl was nonplussed.
"Yes--wants to find out who's in the club? She 'phones Garrison.
Instantly, after ascertaining which set--younger or older is wanted,
from a small card upon which he has written a few but choice names
of club members, he submits a name to her."
"Really, you don't mean to tell me that such a thing is actually
done?" exclaimed Miss Cable, who as yet was socially so unsophisticated
as to be horrified; "you're joking, of course!"
"But nine time out of ten," ignoring the interruption; "it is met
with: 'Don't want him!' Another: 'Makes a bad combination!' A third:
'Oh, no, my dear, not a dollar to his name--hopelessly ineligible!'
This last exclamation though intended solely for the visitor at
her home, elicits from Garrison a low chuckle of approval of the
speaker's discrimination; and presently, he hears: 'Goodness me,
Garrison, there must be someone else!' Then, to her delights she
is informed that Mr. Jackson has just come in; and he is requested
to come to the 'phone, Garrison being dismissed with thanks and
the expectation of seeing her butler in the morning."
"How perfectly delicious!" came from the girl. "I can almost hear
Mrs. Rowden telling Jackson that he will be the dearest boy in the
world if he will dine with her."
"And bring someone with him, as she is one man short," laughed
Graydon, as he wound up lightly; "and here is where the professional
comes in. We're all onto Medford! Why, Garrison has half a dozen
requests a night--six times five--thirty dollars. Not bad--but
then the man's a 'who's who' that never makes mistakes. I won't be
positive that he does not draw pay from both ends. For, men like
Medford, outside of the club, probably tip him to give them the
preference. It would be good business."
There was so much self-satisfaction in the speaker's manner
of uttering these last words, that it would not have required the
wisdom of one older than Miss Cable to detect that he was thoroughly
enjoying his pose of man of the world. He was indeed young! For
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Note to the Gutenberg edition: The following system has been used to
transliterate the unusual, non-Latin 1 diacriticals from the original
document:
[A.] Letter with dot below
[.A] Letter with dot above
[=A] Letter with macron above
[.)] Letter with candrabindu above
* * * * *
ON
THE INDIAN SECT
OF
THE JAINAS
BY
JOHANN GEORG BUEHLER C.I.E., LLD., PH.D.
Member of the Imperial Academy of Sciences, Vienna.
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN.
EDITED with an OUTLINE of JAINA MYTHOLOGY
BY
JAS. BURGESS, C.I.E., LL.D., F.R.S.E.
1903.
PREFACE.
* * * * *
The late Dr. Georg Buehler's essay _Ueber die Indische Secte der
Jaina_, read at the anniversary meeting of the Imperial Academy of
Sciences of Vienna on the 26th May 1887, has been for some time out of
print in the separate form. Its value as a succinct account of the
['S]ravaka sect, by a scholar conversant with them and their religious
literature is well known to European scholars; but to nearly all educated
natives of India works published in German and other continental languages
are practically sealed books, and thus the fresh information which they
are well able to contribute is not elicited. It is hoped that the
translation of this small work may meet with their acceptance and that of
Europeans in India and elsewhere to whom the original is either unknown or
who do not find a foreign language so easy to read as their own.
The translation has been prepared under my supervision, and with a few
short footnotes. Professor Buehler's long note on the authenticity of the
Jaina tradition I have transferred to an appendix (p. 48) incorporating
with it a summary of what he subsequently expanded in proof of his thesis.
To Colebrooke's account of the Tirtha[.n]karas reverenced by the Jainas,
but little has been added since its publication in the ninth volume of the
_Asiatic Researches_; and as these are the centre of their worship,
always represented in their temples, and surrounded by attendant
figures,--I have ventured to add a somewhat fuller account of them and a
summary of the general mythology of the sect, which may be useful to the
archaeologist and the student of their iconography.
Edinburgh, April 1903. J. BURGESS.
CONTENTS.
THE INDIAN SECT OF THE JAINAS, by Dr. J. G. BUEHLER.
Appendix:--Epigraphic testimony to the continuity of the Jaina
tradition
SKETCH OF JAINA MYTHOLOGY, by J. BURGESS.
THE INDIAN SECT OF THE JAINAS.
The _Jaina_ sect is a religious society of modern India, at variance
to Brahmanism, and possesses undoubted claims on the interest of all
friends of Indian history. This claim is based partly on the peculiarities
of their doctrines and customs, which present several resemblances to
those of Buddhism, but, above all, on the fact that it was founded in the
same period as the latter.
Larger and smaller communities of _Jainas_ or _Arhata_,--that is
followers of the prophet, who is generally called simply the
_Jina_--'the conqueror of the world',--or the _Arhat_--'the holy
one',--are to be found in almost every important Indian town, particularly
among the merchant class. In some provinces of the West and North-west, in
Gujarat, Rajputana, and the Panjab, as also in the Dravidian districts in
the south,--especially in Kanara,--they are numerous; and, owing to the
influence of their wealth, they take a prominent place. They do not,
however, present a compact mass, but are divided into two rival
branches--the _Digambara_ and _['S]vetambara_ [Footnote: In notes
on the Jainas, one often finds the view expressed, that the _Digambaras_
belong only to the south, and the _['S]vetambaras_ to the north. This is
by no means the case. The former in the Panjab, in eastern Rajputana and
in the North West Provinces, are just as numerous, if not more so, than
the latter, and also appear here and there in western Rajputana and
Gujarat: see _Indian Antiquary_, vol. VII, p. 28.]--each of which is
split up into several subdivisions. The Digambara, that is, "those whose
robe is the atmosphere," owe their name to the circumstance that they
regard absolute nudity as the indispensable sign of holiness, [Foot
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FATHER HENSON'S STORY
OF HIS OWN LIFE.
[Illustration: Josiah Henson]
TRUTH STRANGER THAN FICTION.
FATHER HENSON'S STORY
OF
HIS OWN LIFE.
WITH AN INTRODUCTION
BY MRS. H. B. STOWE.
BOSTON:
JOHN P. JEWETT AND COMPANY.
CLEVELAND, OHIO:
HENRY P. B. JEWETT.
1858.
Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1858, by
JOHN P. JEWETT AND COMPANY,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court
for the District of Massachusetts
LITHOTYPED BY COWLES AND COMPANY,
17 WASHINGTON STREET,
BOSTON.
Press of Geo. C. Rand & Avery.
PREFACE.
The numerous friends of the author of this little work will need no
greater recommendation than his name to make it welcome. Among all
the singular and interesting records to which the institution of
American slavery has given rise, we know of none more striking, more
characteristic and instructive, than that of JOSIAH HENSON.
Born a slave--a slave in effect in a heathen land--and under a heathen
master, he grew up without Christian light or knowledge, and like
the Gentiles spoken of by St. Paul, "without the law did by nature
the things that are written in the law." One sermon, one offer of
salvation by Christ, was sufficient for him, as for the Ethiopian
eunuch, to make him at once a believer from the heart and a preacher
of Jesus.
To the great Christian doctrine of forgiveness of enemies and the
returning of good for evil, he was by God's grace made a faithful
witness, under circumstances that try men's souls and make us all
who read it say, "lead us not into such temptation." We earnestly
commend this portion of his narrative to those who, under much smaller
temptations, think themselves entitled to render evil for evil.
The African race appear as yet to have been companions only of the
sufferings of Christ. In the melancholy scene of his death--while
Europe in the person of the Roman delivered him unto death, and Asia
in the person of the Jew clamored for his execution--Africa was
represented in the person of Simon the Cyrenean, who came patiently
bearing after him the load of the cross; and ever since then poor
Africa has been toiling on, bearing the weary cross of contempt and
oppression after Jesus. But they who suffer with him shall also reign;
and when the unwritten annals of slavery shall appear in the judgment,
many Simons who have gone meekly bearing their cross after Jesus to
unknown graves, shall rise to thrones and crowns! Verily a day shall
come when he shall appear for these his hidden ones, and then "many
that are last shall be first, and the first shall be last."
Our excellent friend has prepared this edition of his works for the
purpose of redeeming from slavery a beloved brother, who has groaned
for many years under the yoke of a hard master. Whoever would help
Jesus, were he sick or in prison, may help him now in the person of
these his little ones, his afflicted and suffering children. The work
is commended to the kind offices of all who love our Lord Jesus Christ
in sincerity.
H. B. STOWE.
ANDOVER, MASS., April 5, 1858.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
MY BIRTH AND CHILDHOOD.
Earliest memories.--Born in Maryland.--My father's
first appearance.--Attempted outrage on my mother.--My
father's fight with an overseer.--One hundred
stripes and his ear cut off.--Throws away his banjo
and becomes morose.--Sold South, 1
CHAPTER II.
MY FIRST GREAT TRIAL.
Origin of my name.--A kind master.--He is drowned.--My
mother's prayers.--A slave auction.--Torn
from my mother.--Severe sickness.--A cruel master.--Sold
again and restored to my mother, 8
CHAPTER III.
MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH.
Early employment.--Slave-life.--Food, lodging,
clothing.--Amusements.--Gleams of sunshine.--My
knight-errantry.--Become an overseer and general
superintendent, 16
CHAPTER IV
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----------------------------------------------------------------
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“_Whatever your occupation may be_, _and however crowded_
_your hours with affairs_, _do not fail to secure at least_
_a few minutes every day for refreshment of your_
_inner life with a bit of poetry_.”
* * * * *
Poems
You Ought to Know
* * * * *
SELECTED BY
ELIA W. PEATTIE
(_Literary Editor of the Chicago Tribune_)
* * * * *
ILLUSTRATED BY
ELLSWORTH YOUNG
* * * * *
[Picture: Publisher’s logo]
* * * * *
CHICAGO NEW YORK TORONTO
Fleming H. Revell Company
LONDON AND EDINBURGH
* * * * *
Copyright, 1902
By Tribune Company
* * * * *
Each illustration copyrighted separately
* * * * *
Copyright, 1903
Fleming H. Revell Company
* * * * *
INTRODUCTION
Each morning, for several months, THE CHICAGO TRIBUNE has published at
the head of its first column, verses under the caption: “Poems You Ought
to Know.” It has explained its action by the following quotation from
Professor Charles Eliot Norton:
“_Whatever your occupation may be_, _and however crowded your hours
with affairs_, _do not fail to secure at least a few minutes every
day for refreshment of your inner life with a bit of poetry_.”
By publishing these poems THE TRIBUNE hopes to accomplish two things:
first, to inspire a love of poetry in the hearts of many of its readers
who have never before taken time or thought to read the best poems of
this and other centuries and lands; and, secondly, to remind those who
once loved song, but forgot it among the louder voices of the world, of
the melody that enchanted them in youth.
The title has carried with it its own standard, and the poems have been
kept on a plane above jocularity or mere prettiness of versification;
rather have they tried to teach the doctrines of courage, of nature-love,
of pure and noble melody. It has been the ambition of those selecting
the verses to choose something to lift the reader above the “petty round
of irritating concerns and duties,” and the object will have been
achieved if it has helped anyone to “play the man,” “to go blithely about
his business all the day,” with a consciousness of that abounding beauty
in the world of thought which is the common property of all men.
No anthology of English verse can be complete, and none can satisfy all.
The compiler’s individual taste, tempered and guided by established
authority, is almost the only standard. This collection has been
compiled not by one but by many thousands, and their selections here
appear edited and winnowed as the idea of the series seemed to dictate.
The book appears at the wide-spread and almost universal request of those
who have watched the bold experiment of a great Twentieth-Century
American newspaper giving the place of honor in its columns every day to
a selection from the poets.
For permission to reprint certain poems by Longfellow, Lowell, Harte,
Hay, Bayard Taylor, Holmes, Whittier, Parsons, and Aldrich, graciously
accorded by Houghton, Mifflin & Co., the publishers, thanks are
gratefully acknowledged. To Charles Scribner’s Sons, for an extract from
Lanier’s poems, and, lastly, to the many thousand readers, who, by their
sympathy, appreciation, and help have encouraged the continuance of the
daily publication of the poems, similar gratitude is felt.
CONTENTS
ADDISON, JOSEPH
The Spacious Firmament on High 58
ALDRICH, THOMAS BAILEY
An Untimely Thought 73
Nocturne 210
ALLEN, ELIZABETH AKERS
Rock Me to Sleep 30
ARNOLD, MATTHEW
Requiescat 90
Self Dependence 156
Song of Callicles 214
BARBAULD, MRS. A. L.
Life 161
BEATTY, PAKENHAM
To Thine Own Self Be True 37
BEGBIE, HAROLD
Grounds of the “Terrible” 164
BLAKE, WILLIAM
The Lamb 153
The Tiger 176
BOKER, GEORGE H.
Dirge for a Soldier 53
BOURDILLON, FRANCIS WILLIAM
The Night Has a Thousand Eyes
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The Project Gutenberg Etext of Lord Ormont and his Aminta, v4
by George Meredith
#86 in our series by George Meredith
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Title: Lord Ormont and his Aminta, v4
Author: George Meredith
Edition: 10
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
Release Date: September, 2003 [Etext #4480]
[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
[This file was first posted on February 25, 2002]
The Project Gutenberg Etext Lord Ormont and his Aminta, v4, by Meredith
*********This file should be named 4480.txt or 4480.zip**********
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may now be found at the end of this file. Please read this
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[NOTE: There is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of the
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entire meal of them. D.W.]
BOOK 4.
XVII. LADY CHARLOTTE'S TRIUMPH
XVIII. A SCENE ON THE ROAD BACK
XIX. THE PURSUERS
XX. AT THE SIGN OF THE JOLLY CRICKETERS
XXI. UNDER-CURRENTS IN THE MINDS OF LADY CHARLOTTE AND LORD ORMONT
XXII. TREATS OF THE FIRST DAY OF THE CONTENTION OF BROTHER AND SISTER
XXIII. THE ORMONT JEWELS
CHAPTER XVII
LADY CHARLOTTE'S TRIUMPH
One of the days of sovereign splendour in England was riding down the
heavens, and drawing the royal mantle of the gold-fringed shadows over
plain and wavy turf, blue water and woods of the country round Steignton.
A white mansion shone to a length of oblong lake that held the sun-ball
suffused in mild yellow.
'There's the place,' Lady Charlotte said to Weyburn, as they had view of
it at a turn of the park. She said to herself--where I was born and
bred! and her sight gloated momentarily on the house and side avenues,
a great plane standing to the right of the house, the sparkle of a little
river running near; all the scenes she knew, all young and lively. She
sprang on her seat for a horse beneath her, and said, 'But this is
healthy excitement,' as in reply to her London physician's remonstrances.
'And there's my brother Rowsley, talking to one of the keepers,' she
cried. 'You see Lord Ormont? I can see a mile. Sight doesn't fail with
me. He's insisting. 'Ware poachers when Rowsley's on his ground! You
smell the air here? Nobody dies round about Steignton. Their legs wear
out and they lie down to rest them. It's the finest air in the world.
Now look, the third window left of the porch, first floor. That was my
room before I married. Strangers have been here and called the place
home. It can never be home to any but me and Rowsley. He sees the
carriage. He little thinks
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A LETTER
TO
GROVER CLEVELAND,
ON
HIS FALSE INAUGURAL ADDRESS, THE USURPATIONS AND
CRIMES OF LAWMAKERS AND JUDGES, AND THE
CONSEQUENT POVERTY, IGNORANCE, AND
SERVITUDE OF THE PEOPLE.
BY
LYSANDER SPOONER.
BOSTON:
BENJ. R. TUCKER, PUBLISHER.
1886.
The author reserves his copyright in this letter.
First pamphlet edition published in July, 1886.[1]
[1] Under a somewhat different title, to wit, "_A Letter to
Grover Cleveland, on his False, Absurd, If-contradictory, and
Ridiculous Inaugural Address_," this letter was first published,
in instalments, "LIBERTY" (a paper published in Boston); the
instalments commencing June 20, 1885, and continuing to May 22,
1886: notice being given, in each paper, of the reservation of
copyright.
A LETTER TO GROVER CLEVELAND.
SECTION I.
_To Grover Cleveland_:
SIR,--Your inaugural address is probably as honest, sensible, and
consistent a one as that of any president within the last fifty years,
or, perhaps, as any since the foundation of the government. If,
therefore, it is false, absurd, self-contradictory, and ridiculous, it
is not (as I think) because you are personally less honest, sensible, or
consistent than your predecessors, but because the government
itself--according to your own description of it, and according to the
practical administration of it for nearly a hundred years--is an utterly
and palpably false, absurd, and criminal one. Such praises as you bestow
upon it are, therefore, necessarily false, absurd, and ridiculous.
Thus you describe it as "a government pledged to do equal and exact
justice to all men."
Did you stop to think what that means? Evidently you did not; for
nearly, or quite, all the rest of your address is in direct
contradiction to it.
Let me then remind you that justice is an immutable, natural principle;
and not anything that can be made, unmade, or altered by any human
power.
It is also a subject of science, and is to be learned, like mathematics,
or any other science. It does not derive its authority from the
commands, will, pleasure, or discretion of any possible combination of
men, whether calling themselves a government, or by any other name.
It is also, at all times, and in all places, the supreme law. And being
everywhere and always the supreme law, it is necessarily everywhere and
always the only law.
Lawmakers, as they call themselves, can add nothing to it, nor take
anything from it. Therefore all their laws, as they call them,--that is,
all the laws of their own making,--have no color of authority or
obligation. It is a falsehood to call them laws; for there is nothing in
them that either creates men's duties or rights, or enlightens them as
to their duties or rights. There is consequently nothing binding or
obligatory about them. And nobody is bound to take the least notice of
them, unless it be to trample them under foot, as usurpations. If they
command men to do justice, they add nothing to men's obligation to do
it, or to any man's right to enforce it. They are therefore mere idle
wind, such as would be commands to consider the day as day, and the
night as night. If they command or license any man to do injustice, they
are criminal on their face. If they command any man to do anything which
justice does not require him to do, they are simple, naked usurpations
and tyrannies. If they forbid any man to do anything, which justice
would permit him to do, they are criminal invasions of his natural and
rightful liberty. In whatever light, therefore, they are viewed, they
are utterly destitute of everything like authority or obligation. They
are all necessarily either the impudent, fraudulent, and criminal
usurpations of tyrants, robbers, and murderers, or the senseless work of
ignorant or thoughtless men, who do not know, or certainly do not
realize, what they are doing.
This science of justice, or natural law, is the only science that tells
us what are, and what are not, each man's natural, inherent,
inalienable, _individual
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CAPT'N DAVY'S HONEYMOON
By Hall Caine
Harper And Brothers - 1893
CHAPTER I.
"My money, ma'am--my money, not me."
"So you say, sir."
"It's my money you've been marrying, ma'am."
"Maybe so, sir."
"Deny it, deny it!"
"Why should I? You say it is so, and so be it."
"Then d------ the money. It took me more till ten years to make it, and
middling hard work at that; but you go bail it'll take me less nor ten
months to spend it. Ay, or ten weeks, and aisy doing, too! And 'till
it's gone, Mistress Quig-gin--d'ye hear me?--gone, every mortal penny of
it gone, pitched into the sea, scattered to smithereens, blown to ould
Harry, and dang him--I'll lave ye, ma'am, I'll lave ye; and, sink or
swim, I'll darken your doors no more."
The lady and gentleman who blazed at each other with these burning
words, which were pointed, and driven home by flashing eyes and
quivering lips, were newly-married husband and wife. They were staying
at the old Castle Mona, in Douglas, Isle of Man, and their honeymoon
had not yet finished its second quarter. The gentleman was Captain Davy
Quiggin, commonly called Capt'n Davy, a typical Manx sea-dog, thirty
years of age; stalwart, stout, shaggy, lusty-lunged, with the tongue of
a trooper, the heavy manners of a bear, the stubborn head of a stupid
donkey, and the big, soft heart of the baby of a girl. The lady was
Ellen Kinvig, known of old to all and sundry as Nelly, Ness, or
Nell, but now to everybody concerned as Mistress Capt'n Davy Quiggin,
six-and-twenty years of age, tall, comely, as blooming as the gorse;
once as free as the air, and as racy of the soil as new-cut peat, but
suddenly grown stately, smooth, refined, proud, and reserved. They loved
each other to the point of idolatry; and yet they parted ten days after
marriage with these words of wroth and madness. Something had come
between them. What was it? Another man? No. Another woman? Still no.
What then? A ghost, an intangible, almost an invisible but very real and
divorce-making co-respondent. They call it Education.
Davy Quiggin was born in a mud house on the shore, near the old
church at Ballaugh. The house had one room only, and it had been the
living-room, sleeping-room, birth-room, and death-room of a family of
six. Davy, who was the youngest, saw them all out. The last to go were
his mother and his grandfather. They lay ill at the same time, and died
on the one day. The old man died first, and Davy fixed up a herring-net
in front of him, where he lay on the settle by the fire, so that his
mother might not see him from her place on the bed.
Not long after that, Davy, who was fifteen years of age, went to live as
farm lad with Kinvig, of Ballavolley. Kinvig was a solemn person, very
stiff and st
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FREEDOM
IN
SCIENCE AND TEACHING.
FROM THE GERMAN OF
ERNST HAECKEL.
_WITH A PREFATORY NOTE_
By T. H. HUXLEY, F.R.S.
DER TELEOLOG
"Welche Verehrung verdient der Weltenschoepfer der gnaedig.
Als er den Korkbaum schuf, gleich auch die Stoepfel erfand."
XENIEN.
NEW YORK:
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY,
549 AND 551 BROADWAY.
1879.
PREFATORY NOTE.
In complying with the wish of the publishers of Professor Haeckel's
reply to Professor Virchow, that I should furnish a prefatory note
expressing my own opinion in respect of the subject-matter of the
controversy, Gay's homely lines, prophetic of the fate of those "who
in quarrels interpose," emerge from some brain-cupboard in which they
have been hidden since my childish days. In fact, the hard-hitting
with which both the attack and the defence abound, makes me think with
a shudder upon the probable sufferings of the unhappy man whose
intervention should lead two such gladiators to turn their weapons
from one another upon him. In my youth, I once attempted to stop a
street fight, and I have never forgotten the brief but impressive
lesson on the value of the policy of non-intervention which I then
received.
But there is, happily, no need for me to place myself in a position
which, besides being fraught with danger, would savour of presumption:
Careful study of both the attack and the reply leaves me without the
inclination to become either a partisan or a peacemaker: not a
partisan, for there is a great deal with which I fully agree said on
both sides; not a peacemaker, because I think it is highly desirable
that the important questions which underlie the discussion, apart from
the more personal phases of the dispute, should be thoroughly
discussed. And if it were possible to have controversy without
bitterness in human affairs, I should be disposed, for the general
good, to use to both of the eminent antagonists the famous phrase of a
late President of the French Chamber--"_Tape dessus._"
No profound acquaintance with the history of science is needed to
produce the conviction, that the advancement of natural knowledge has
been effected by the successive or concurrent efforts of men, whose
minds are characterised by tendencies so opposite that they are forced
into conflict with one another. The one intellect is imaginative and
synthetic; its chief aim is to arrive at a broad and coherent
conception of the relations of phenomena; the other is positive,
critical, analytic, and sets the highest value upon the exact
determination and statement of the phenomena themselves.
If the man of the critical school takes the pithy aphorism "Melius
autem est naturam secare quam abstrahere"[1] for his motto, the
champion of free speculation may retort with another from the same
hand, "Citius enim emergit veritas e falsitate quam e confusione;"[2]
and each may adduce abundant historical proof that his method has
contributed as much to the progress of knowledge as that of his rival.
Every science has been largely indebted to bold, nay, even to wild
hypotheses, for the power of ordering and grasping the endless details
of natural fact which they confer; for the moral stimulus which arises
out of the desire to confirm or to confute them; and last, but not
least, for the suggestion of paths of fruitful inquiry, which, without
them, would never have been followed. From the days of Columbus and
Kepler to those of Oken, Lamarck, and Boucher de Perthes, Saul, who,
seeking his father's asses, found a kingdom, is the prototype of many
a renowned discoverer who has lighted upon verities while following
illusions, which, had they deluded lesser men, might possibly have
been considered more or less asinine.
On the other hand, there is no branch of science which does not owe at
least an equal obligation to those cool heads, which are not to be
seduced into the acceptance of symmetrical formulae and bold
generalisations for solid truths because of their brilliancy and
grandeur; to the men who cannot overlook those small exceptions and
insignificant residual phenomena which, when tracked to their causes,
are so often the death of brilliant hypotheses; to the men, finally,
who, by demonstrating the limits to human knowledge which are set by
the very conditions of thought, have warned mankind against fruitless
efforts to overstep those limits.
Neither of the eminent men of
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* * * * *
Transcriber's Note: The original publication has been replicated
faithfully except as shown in the TRANSCRIBER'S AMENDMENTS at the end of
the text. This etext presumes a mono-spaced font on the user's device,
such as Courier New. Words in italics are indicated like _this_. But the
publisher also wanted to emphasize names in sentences already italicized,
so he printed them in the regular font which is indicated here with: _The
pirates then went to +Hispaniola+._ Obscured letters in the original
publication are indicated with {?}. Superscripts are indicated like this:
S^ta Maria. The FOOTNOTES: section is located near the end of the text.
[oe] represents the oe ligature.
There are two volumes in this etext: VOL. I and VOL. II.
Author: Francis Parkman (1823-1893).
* * * * *
THE
CONSPIRACY OF PONTIAC
AND THE
INDIAN WAR
AFTER
THE CONQUEST OF CANADA.
VOL. I.
TO
JARED SPARKS, LL.D.,
PRESIDENT OF HARVARD UNIVERSITY,
THESE VOLUMES ARE DEDICATED
AS A TESTIMONIAL OF HIGH PERSONAL REGARD,
AND A TRIBUTE OF RESPECT
FOR HIS DISTINGUISHED SERVICES TO
AMERICAN HISTORY.
Preface
TO THE SIXTH EDITION.
I chose the subject of this book as affording better opportunities than
any other portion of American history for portraying forest life and the
Indian character; and I have never seen reason to change this opinion. In
the nineteen years that have passed since the first edition was published,
a considerable amount of additional material has come to light. This has
been carefully collected, and is incorporated in the present edition. The
most interesting portion of this new material has been supplied by the
Bouquet and Haldimand Papers, added some years ago to the manuscript
collections of the British Museum. Among them are several hundred letters
from officers engaged in the Pontiac war, some official, others personal
and familiar, affording very curious illustrations of the events of the
day and of the characters of those engaged in them. Among the facts which
they bring to light, some are sufficiently startling; as, for example, the
proposal of the Commander-in-Chief to infect the hostile tribes with the
small-pox, and that of a distinguished subordinate officer to take revenge
on the Indians by permitting an unrestricted sale of rum.
The two volumes of the present edition have been made uniform with those
of the series "France and England in North America." I hope to continue
that series to the period of the extinction of French power on this
continent. "The Conspiracy of Pontiac" will then form a sequel; and its
introductory chapters will be, in a certain sense, a summary of what has
preceded. This will involve some repetition in the beginning of the book,
but I have nevertheless thought it best to let it remain as originally
written.
BOSTON, 16 September, 1870.
Preface
TO THE FIRST EDITION.
The conquest of Canada was an event of momentous consequence in American
history. It changed the political aspect of the continent, prepared a way
for the independence of the British colonies, rescued the vast tracts of
the interior from the rule of military despotism, and gave them,
eventually, to the keeping of an ordered democracy. Yet to the red natives
of the soil its results were wholly disastrous. Could the French have
maintained their ground, the ruin of the Indian tribes might long have
been postponed; but the victory of Quebec was the signal of their swift
decline. Thenceforth they were destined to melt and vanish before the
advancing waves of Anglo-American power, which now rolled westward
unchecked and unopposed. They saw the danger, and, led by a great and
daring champion, struggled fiercely to avert it. The history of that
epoch, crowded as it is with scenes of tragic interest, with marvels of
suffering and vicissitude, of heroism and endurance, has been, as yet,
unwritten, buried in the archives of governments, or among the obscurer
records of private adventure. To rescue it from oblivion is the object of
the following work. It aims to portray the American forest and the
American Indian at the period when both received their final doom.
It is evident that other study than that of the closet is indispensable to
success in such an attempt. Habits of early reading had greatly aided to
prepare me for the task; but necessary knowledge of a more practical kind
has been supplied by the indulgence of a strong natural taste, which, at
various intervals, led me to the wild regions of the north and
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ABOUT IRELAND
BY
_E. LYNN LINTON._
LONDON:
METHUEN & CO.,
18, BURY STREET, W.C.
1890.
EXPLANATORY.
I am conscious that I ought to make some kind of apology for rushing
into print on a subject which I do not half know. But I do know just a
little more than I did when I was an ardent Home Ruler, influenced by
the seductive charm of sentiment and abstract principle only; and I
think that perhaps the process by which my own blindness has been
couched may help to clear the vision of others who see as I did. All
of us lay-folk are obliged to follow the leaders of those schools in
politics, science, or religion, to which our temperament and mental
idiosyncracies affiliate us. Life is not long enough for us to examine
from the beginning upwards all the questions in which we are
interested; and it is only by chance that we find ourselves set face
to face with the first principles and elemental facts of a cause to
which, perhaps, as blind and believing followers of our leaders, we
have committed ourselves with the ardour of conviction and the
intemperance of ignorance. In this matter of Ireland I believed in the
accusations of brutality, injustice, and general insolence of tyranny
from modern landlords to existing tenants, so constantly made by the
Home Rulers and their organs; and, shocking though the undeniable
crimes committed by the Campaigners were, they seemed to me the tragic
results of that kind of despair which seizes on men who, goaded to
madness by oppression, are reduced to masked murder as their sole
means of defence--and
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TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
A superscript is denoted by ^x or ^{xx}, for example Esq^{re}.
Some minor changes are noted at the end of the book.
[Illustration:
BY COMMAND OF His late Majesty WILLIAM THE IV^{TH}.
_and under the Patronage of_
Her Majesty the Queen.
HISTORICAL RECORDS,
_OF THE_
British Army
_Comprising the_
_History of every Regiment_
_IN HER MAJESTY'S SERVICE_.
_By Richard Cannon Esq^{re}._
_Adjutant General's Office, Horse Guards._
London.
_Printed by Authority._]
HISTORICAL RECORD
OF
THE FIFTEENTH,
OR,
THE YORKSHIRE EAST RIDING,
REGIMENT OF FOOT,
CONTAINING
AN ACCOUNT OF THE FORMATION OF THE REGIMENT
IN 1685,
AND OF ITS SUBSEQUENT SERVICES
TO 1848.
COMPILED BY
RICHARD CANNON, ESQ.
ADJUTANT-GENERAL'S OFFICE, HORSE GUARDS.
ILLUSTRATED WITH PLATES.
LONDON:
PARKER, FURNIVALL, & PARKER,
30 CHARING CROSS.
M DCCC XLVIII.
LONDON: PRINTED BY W. CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD
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MR. PUNCH'S POCKET IBSEN
_A COLLECTION OF SOME OF THE MASTER'S BEST-KNOWN DRAMAS_ CONDENSED,
REVISED, AND SLIGHTLY RE-ARRANGED FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE EARNEST STUDENT
BY
F. ANSTEY
AUTHOR OF "VICE VERSA," "VOCES POPULI," ETC.
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY BERNARD PARTRIDGE_
LONDON WILLIAM HEINEMANN 1893
[_All rights reserved_]
* * * * *
PREFATORY NOTE
_The concluding piece, "Pill-Doctor Herdal," is, as the observant reader
will instantly perceive, rather a reverent attempt to tread in the
footprints of the Norwegian dramatist, than a version of any actually
existing masterpiece. The author is conscious that his imitation is
painfully lacking in the mysterious obscurity of the original, that the
vein of allegorical symbolism is thinner throughout than it should be,
and that the characters are not nearly so mad as persons invariably are
in real life--but these are the faults inevitable to a prentice hand,
and he trusts that due allowances may be made for them by the critical._
_In conclusion he wishes to express his acknowledgments to Messrs.
Bradbury and Agnew for their permission to reprint the present volume,
the contents of which made their original appearance in the pages of
"Punch."_
* * * * *
CONTENTS
ROSMERSHOeLM
NORA; OR, THE BIRD-CAGE
HEDDA GABLER
THE WILD DUCK
PILL-DOCTOR HERDAL
* * * * *
ROSMERSHOeLM
ACT FIRST
_Sitting-room at Rosmershoelm, with a stove, flower-stand, windows,
ancient and modern ancestors, doors, and everything handsome about it._
REBECCA WEST _is sitting knitting a large antimacassar which is nearly
finished. Now and then she looks out of a window, and smiles and nods
expectantly to someone outside._ MADAM HELSETH _is laying the table for
supper._
REBECCA.
[_Folding up her work slowly._] But tell me precisely, what about this
white horse?
[_Smiling quietly._
MADAM HELSETH.
Lord forgive you, Miss!--[_fetching cruet-stand, and placing it on
table_]--but you're making fun of me!
REBECCA.
[_Gravely._] No, indeed. Nobody makes fun at Rosmershoelm. Mr. Rosmer
would not understand it. [_Shutting window._] Ah, here is Rector Kroll.
[_Opening door._] You will stay to supper, will you not, Rector, and I
will tell them to give us some little extra dish.
KROLL.
[_Hanging up his hat in the hall._] Many thanks. [_Wipes his boots._]
May I come in? [_Comes in, puts down his stick, sits down, and looks
about him._] And how do you and Rosmer get on together, eh?
REBECCA.
Ever since your sister, Beata, went mad and jumped into the mill-race,
we have been as happy as two little birds together. [_After a pause,
sitting down in arm-chair._] So you don't really mind my living here all
alone with Rosmer? We were afraid you might, perhaps.
KROLL.
Why, how on earth--on the contrary, I shouldn't object at all if
you--[_looks at her meaningly_]--h'm!
REBECCA.
[_Interrupting, gravely._] For shame, Rector; how can you make such
jokes?
KROLL.
[_As if surprised._] Jokes! We do not joke in these parts--but here is
Rosmer.
[_Enter_ ROSMER, _gently and softly._
ROSMER.
So, my dear old friend, you have come again, after a year's absence.
[_Sits down._] We almost thought that----
KROLL.
[_Nods._] So Miss West was saying--but you are quite mistaken. I merely
thought I might remind you, if I came, of our poor Beata's suicide, so I
kept away. We Norwegians are not without our simple tact.
ROSMER.
It was considerate--but unnecessary. Reb--I _mean_,
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JOURNAL OF A WEST INDIA PROPRIETOR,
Kept During A Residence In The Island Of Jamaica.
By Matthew Gregory Lewis
Author of “The Monk,” “The Castle Spectre,” “Tales Of Wonder,” &c.
London: John Murray, Albemarle Street.
MDCCCXXXIV
“I WOULD GIVE MANY A SUGAR CANE,
MAT. LEWIS WERE ALIVE AGAIN!”
BYRON.
[Illustration: 0001]
[Illustration: 0007]
ADVERTISEMENT.
The following Journals of two residences in Jamaica, in 1815-16, and in
1817, are now printed from the MS. of Mr. Lewis; who died at sea, on the
voyage homewards from the West Indies, in the year 1818.
JOURNAL OF A WEST INDIA PROPRIETOR
Expect our sailing in a few hours. But although the vessel left the
Docks on Saturday, she did not reach this place till three o’clock on
Thursday, the 9th. The captain now tells me, that we may expect to sail
certainly in the afternoon of to-morrow, the 10th. I expect the ship’s
cabin to gain greatly by my two days’ residence at the “--------------,”
which nothing can exceed for noise, dirt, and dulness. Eloisa would
never have established “black melancholy” at the Paraclete as its
favourite residence, if she had happened to pass three days at an inn
at Gravesend: nowhere else did I ever see the sky look so dingy, and the
river “_Nunc alio patriam quaero sub sole jacentem_.”--Virgil.
1815. NOVEMBER 8.
(WEDNESDAY)
I left London, and reached Gravesend at nine in the morning
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PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOLUME 93.
AUGUST 6, 1887.
* * * * *
ALL IN PLAY.
DEAR MR. PUNCH,
Now that your own particular theatrical adviser and follower, Mr. NIBBS,
has left London for a trip abroad, I venture to address you on matters
dramatic. I am the more desirous of so doing because, although the
Season is nearly over, two very important additions have been made to
the London playhouse programme--two additions that have hitherto escaped
your eagle glance. I refer, Sir, to _The Doctor_ at the Globe, and _The
Colonel_ at the Comedy--both from the pen of a gentleman who (while I am
writing this in London) is partaking of the waters at Royat. Mr. BURNAND
is to be congratulated upon the success that has attended both
productions. I had heard rumours that _The Doctor_ had found some
difficulty in establishing himself (or rather herself, because I am
talking of a lady) satisfactorily in Newcastle Street, Strand. It was
said that she required practice, but when I attended her consulting-room
the other evening, I found the theatre full of patients, who were
undergoing a treatment that may be described (without any particular
reference to marriages or "the United States") as "a merry cure." I was
accompanied by a young gentleman fresh from school, and at first felt
some alarm on his account, as his appreciation of the witty dialogue
with which the piece abounds was so intense that he threatened more than
once to die of laughing.
[Illustration: "How happy could he be with either."]
I have never seen a play "go" better--rarely so well. The heroine--the
"_Doctoresse_"--was played with much effect and discretion by Miss
ENSON, a lady for whom I prophesy a bright future. Mr. PENLEY was
excellent in a part that fitted him to perfection. Both Miss VICTOR, as
a "strong woman," and Mr. HILL, as--well, himself,--kept the pit in
roars. The piece is more than a farce. The first two Acts are certainly
farcical, but there is a touch of pathos in the last scene which reminds
one that there is a close relationship between smiles and tears. And
here let me note that the company in the private boxes, even when most
heartily laughing, were still in tiers. As a rule the Doctor is not a
popular person, but at the Globe she is sure to be always welcome. Any
one suffering from that very distressing and prevalent malady, "the
Doleful Dumps," cannot do better than go to Newcastle Street for a
speedy cure.
The _Colonel_ at the Comedy is equally at home, and, on the occasion of
his revival, was received with enthusiasm. Mr. BRUCE has succeeded Mr.
COGHLAN in the title _role_, and plays just as well as his predecessor.
Mr. HERBERT is the original _Forester_, and the rest of the _dramatis
personae_ are worthy of the applause bestowed upon them. To judge from
the laughter that followed every attack upon the aesthetic fad, the
"Greenery Yallery Gallery" is as much to the front as ever--a fact, by
the way, that was amply demonstrated at the _Soiree_ of the Royal
Academy, where "passionate Brompton" was numerously represented.
[Illustration: The Colonel.]
_The Bells of Hazlemere_ seem to be ringing in large audiences at the
Adelphi, although the piece is not violently novel in its plot or
characters. Mrs. BERNARD-BEERE ceases to die "every evening" at the end
of this week at the Opera Comique until November. I peeped in, a few
days since, just before the last scene of _As in a Looking-Glass_, and
found the talented lady on the point of committing her nightly suicide.
Somehow I missed the commencement of the self-murder, and thus could not
satisfactorily account for her dying until I noticed that a double-bass
was moaning piteously. Possibly this double-bass made Mrs. BERNARD-BEERE
wish to die--it certainly created the same desire on my part. Believe
me, yours sincerely,
ONE WHO HAS GONE TO PIECES.
* * * * *
OUR EXCHANGE AND MART.
HOLIDAY INQUIRIES.
ELIGIBLE CONTINENTAL TRAVELLING COMPANION.--A D.C.L., B.M., and R.S.V.P.
of an Irish University, is desirous of meeting with one or two Young
English Dukes who contemplating, as a preliminary to their taking their
seats in the House of Lords, passing a season at Monaco, would consider
the advertiser's society and personal charge, together with his
acquaintance with a system of his own calculated to realise a
substantial financial profit from any lengthened stay in the locality,
an equivalent for the payment of his hotel, travelling, and
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[Illustration: Cover]
[Illustration: Gordon Marriott Page 38]
THE TURN OF THE BALANCE
By
BRAND WHITLOCK
Author of The Happy Average
Her Infinite Variety
The 13th District
With Illustrations by
JAY HAMBIDGE
INDIANAPOLIS
THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT 1907
THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
MARCH
TO THE MEMORY OF
SAMUEL M. JONES
Died July 12, 1904
On the other hand, a boy was bound to defend them against anything that
he thought slighting or insulting; and you did not have to verify the
fact that anything had been said or done; you merely had to hear that it
had. It once fell to my boy to avenge such a reported wrong from a boy
who had not many friends in school, a timid creature whom the mere
accusation frightened half out of his wits, and who wildly protested his
innocence. He ran, and my boy followed with the other boys after him,
till they overtook the culprit and brought him to bay against a high
board fence; and there my boy struck him in his imploring face. He
tried to feel like a righteous champion, but he felt like a brutal
ruffian. He long had the sight of that terrified, weeping face, and
with shame and sickness of heart he cowered before it. It was pretty
nearly the last of his fighting; and though he came off victor, he felt
that he would rather be beaten himself than do another such act of
justice. In fact, it seems best to be very careful how we try to do
justice in this world, and mostly to leave retribution of all kinds to
God, who really knows about things; and content ourselves as much as
possible with mercy, whose mistakes are not so irreparable.
_From_ "A BOY'S TOWN"
_By_ WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS
THE TURN OF THE BALANCE
BOOK I
THE TURN OF THE BALANCE
I
As Elizabeth Ward stood that morning before the wide hearth in the
dining-room, she was glad that she still could find, in this first snow
of the season, the simple wonder and delight of that childhood she had
left not so very far behind. Her last glimpse of the world the night
before had been of trees lashed by a cold rain, of arc-lamps with globes
of fog, of wet asphalt pavements reflecting the lights of Claybourne
Avenue. But now, everywhere, there was snow, heaped in exquisite drifts
about the trees, and clinging in soft masses to the rough bark of their
trunks. The iron fence about the great yard was half buried in it, the
houses along the avenue seemed far away and strange in the white
transfiguration, and the roofs lost their familiar outlines against the
low gray sky that hung over them.
"Hurry, Gusta!" said Elizabeth. "This is splendid! I must go right
out!"
The maid who was laying the breakfast smiled; "It was a regular
blizzard, Miss Elizabeth."
"Was it?" Elizabeth lifted her skirt a little, and rested the toe of
her slipper on the low brass fender. The wood was crackling cheerfully.
"Has mama gone out?"
"Oh, yes, Miss Elizabeth, an hour ago."
"Of course," Elizabeth said, glancing at the little clock on the
mantelpiece, ticking in its refined way. Its hands pointed to half-past
ten. "I quite forgot the dinner." Her brow clouded. "What a bore!"
she thought. Then she said aloud: "Didn't mama leave any word?"
"She said not to disturb you, Miss Elizabeth."
Gusta had served the breakfast, and now, surveying her work with an
expression of pleasure, poured the coffee.
Beside Elizabeth's plate lay the mail and a morning newspaper. The
newspaper had evidently been read at some earlier breakfast, and because
it was rumpled Elizabeth pushed it aside. She read her letters while
she ate her breakfast, and then, when she laid her napkin aside, she
looked out of the windows again.
"I must go out for a long walk," she said, speaking as much to herself
as to the maid, though not in the same eager tone she had found for her
resolution a while before. "It must have snowed very hard. It wasn't
snowing when I came home."
"It began at midnight, Miss Elizabeth," said Gusta, "and it snowed so
hard I had an awful time getting here this morning. I could hardly find
my way, it fell so thick and fast
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Transcriber's Notes:
Italics have been marked with underscores, like '_this_'.
Greek passages have been transcribed, using '+', like '+ate+'.
OE ligature and oe ligature have been changed to 'OE' or 'oe'.
Corrections, as listed in the "ERRATA" paragraph, have been made.
Besides,
Page 4, "disance" changed to "distance" (owing to the long distance,).
Page 16, "circulalation" changed to "circulation" (and many of them
helped on the circulation).
Pages 83 and 167, "Barrere" equalized to "Barere" (according to Index).
Page 104, "imdiately" changed to "immediately" (which was immediately
granted.).
Page 208, "Moellendorff" equalized to "Moellendorf" (according to Index).
Page 325, "brother in-law" changed to "brother-in-law" (Pitt, owing to
news of the death of his brother-in-law,)
Page 399/400, "arewell" changed to "farewell" (just after saying
farewell to Clare at Dublin,).
Page 419, "of couse" changed to "of course" (This proposal of course
implied).
Page 422, "futher" changed to "further" (to make further concessions
to that body.).
Page 451, "symptons" changed to "symptoms" (From these extraordinary
symptoms he augured).
Page 456, Footnote 609, "Soo" changed to "So" (So, too, Tomline said).
Page 496, "convicton" changed to "conviction" (But that he was drifting
to this conviction).
Page 528, "counsellers" changed to "counsellors" (and he and his
counsellors saw far more hope).
[Illustration: WILLIAM PITT, IN LATER LIFE. (From a painting by
Hoppner in the National Portrait Gallery)]
WILLIAM PITT
AND
THE GREAT WAR
BY
J. HOLLAND ROSE, LITT.D.
England and France have held in their hands the fate of the
world, especially that of European civilization. How much harm
we have done one another: how much good we might have done!
--_Napoleon to Colonel Wilks, 20th April 1816._
[Illustration: Publisher's emblem]
LONDON
G. BELL AND SONS, LTD.
1911
CHISWICK PRESS: CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AND CO.
TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE, LONDON.
PREFACE
In the former volume, entitled "William Pitt and National Revival," I
sought to trace the career of Pitt the Younger up to the year 1791.
Until then he was occupied almost entirely with attempts to repair the
evils arising out of the old order of things. Retrenchment and Reform
were his first watchwords; and though in the year 1785 he failed in his
efforts to renovate the life of Parliament and to improve the fiscal
relations with Ireland, yet his domestic policy in the main achieved a
surprising success. Scarcely less eminent, though far less known, were
his services in the sphere of diplomacy. In the year 1783, when he
became First Lord of the Treasury and Chancellor of the Exchequer,
nearly half of the British Empire was torn away, and the remainder
seemed to be at the mercy of the allied Houses of Bourbon. France,
enjoying the alliance of Spain and Austria and the diplomatic wooings of
Catharine II and Frederick the Great, gave the law to Europe.
By the year 1790 all had changed. In 1787 Pitt supported Frederick
William II of Prussia in overthrowing French supremacy in the Dutch
Netherlands; and a year later he framed with those two States an
alliance which not only dictated terms to Austria at the Congress of
Reichenbach but also compelled her to forego her far-reaching schemes on
the lower Danube, and to restore the _status quo_ in Central Europe and
in her Belgian provinces. British policy triumphed over that of Spain in
the Nootka Sound dispute of the year 1790, thereby securing for the
Empire the coast of what is now British Columbia; it also saved Sweden
from a position of acute danger; and Pitt cherished the hope of forming
a league of the smaller States, including the Dutch Republic, Denmark,
Sweden, Poland, and, if possible, Turkey, which, with support from Great
Britain and Prussia, would withstand the almost revolutionary schemes of
the Russian and Austrian Courts.
These larger aims were unattainable. The duplicity of the Court of
Berlin, the triumphs of the Russian arms on the Danube
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THE
CATHOLIC WORLD.
A
MONTHLY MAGAZINE
OF
GENERAL LITERATURE AND SCIENCE.
VOL. XV.
APRIL, 1872, TO SEPTEMBER, 1872.
NEW YORK:
THE CATHOLIC PUBLICATION HOUSE,
9 Warren Street.
1872.
CONTENTS.
Acoustics and Ventilation, 118.
Affirmations, 77, 225.
Aix-la-Chapelle, 795.
Ambrosia, 803.
Art and Religion, 356.
Art, Faith the Life of, 518.
Bad Beginning for a Saint, A, 675.
Belgium, Religious Processions in, 546.
Bolanden’s The Progressionists, 433, 618, 766.
Bryant’s Translation of the Iliad, 381.
Caresses of Providence, 270.
Catholic Congress in Mayence, The Twenty-first, 45.
Catholic Church in the United States, 577, 749.
Chaumonot, F. (A Bad Beginning for a Saint), 675.
Charity, Official, 407.
Church, The, 814.
“ and the Press, The, 413.
“ The Symbolism of the, 605.
“Chips,” Max Müller’s, 530.
Cicero, A Speech of, 182.
Craven’s (Mrs.) Fleurange, 60, 226, 342, 473, 591, 734.
Donkey, Jans von Steufle’s, 92.
Duties of the Rich in Christian Society, The, 37, 145, 289, 510.
Easter Eve, 42.
Education, The Necessity of Philosophy as a Basis of Higher,
632, 815.
English Literature, Taine’s, 1.
Essay on Epigrams, An, 467.
Etheridge, Miss, 501.
Faith the Life of Art, 518.
Fête-Day at Lyons, A, 362.
Gothic Revival in England, History of the, 443.
Greatness, True, 539.
Handkerchief, The, 849.
History of the Gothic Revival in England, 443.
House of Yorke, The, 18, 150, 295.
How I Learned Latin, 844.
Iliad, Bryant’s Translation of the, 381.
India, Protestant Missions in, 690.
Intellectual Centres, 721.
Jans von Steufle’s Donkey, 92.
Jewish Convert, A Reminiscence of Vienna, 211.
Lamartine, The Mother of, 167.
Last Days before the Siege, The, 457, 666.
Letters of His Holiness Pius IX. on the “Union of Christian
Women,” 563.
Little Love, 554.
Lyons, A Fête-Day at, 362.
Max Müller’s “Chips,” 530.
Miracles, Newman on, 133.
Miss Etheridge, 501.
Mission of the Barbarians, The Roman Empire and the, 102, 654.
Misty Mountain, On the, 705, 823.
Mother of Lamartine, The, 167.
Music, On, 733.
Newman on Miracles, 133.
Odd Stories, 124.
Official Charity, 407.
On Music, 733.
On the Misty Mountain, 705, 823.
Orléans and its Clergy, 833.
Paris before the War, A Salon in, 187, 323.
Philosophy as a Basis of Higher Education, The Necessity of,
632, 815.
Philosophy, Review of Dr. Stöckl’s, 329.
Press, The Church and the, 413.
Progressionists, The, 433, 618, 766.
Protestant Missions in India, 690.
Providence, Caresses of, 270.
Quarter of an Hour in the Old Roman Forum during a Speech of
Cicero’s, 182.
Religion, Art and, 356.
Religious Processions in Belgium, 546.
Reminiscence of Vienna, A, 211.
Review of Mr. Bryant’s Iliad, 576.
Rich, Duties of the, in Christian Society, 37, 145, 289, 510.
Rights of Women, How the Church Understands and Upholds
the, 78, 255, 366, 487.
Roman Empire, The, and the Mission of the Barbarians, 102, 654.
St. James’s Mission at Vancouver, Decision against the, 715.
Salon in Paris before the War, A, 187, 323.
Siege, Last Days before the, 457, 666.
Spain: What it was, and what it is, 397.
Spaniards at Home, The, 783.
Stöckl’s Philosophy, Review of, 329.
Stories, Odd, 124.
Summer in the Tyrol, A, 646.
Symbolism of the Church, The, 605.
Taine’s English Literature, 1.
Tennyson: Artist and Moralist, 241.
True Greatness, 539.
Twenty-first Catholic Congress in Mayence, The, 45.
Tyrol, A Summer in the, 646.
“Union of Christian Women,” Letters of His Holiness Pius IX.
on the, 563.
United States, The Catholic Church in the, 577, 749.
Use and Abuse of the Stage, 836.
Vancouver, Decision against the St. James’ Mission at, 715.
Ventilation, Acoustics and, 118.
Women, How the Church Understands and Upholds the Rights
of, 78, 255, 366, 487.
Yorke, The House of, 18, 150, 295.
POETRY.
After Reading Mr. Tupper’s Proverbial Philosophy, 466.
Anniversary of Baptism, 149.
Blessed Virgin, Fragments of Early English Poems on the, 319.
Books, Old, 729.
Clerke at Oxenforde, 674.
Dante’s Purgatorio, Canto III., 730.
De Vere’s The Last Days of Oisin the Bard, 76.
“ Legends of Oisin the Bard, 208, 320.
Devota, 269.
Faber’s The Papacy, 748.
Fragments of Early English Poetry, 590.
“ “ on the Blessed Virgin, 319.
Oxenforde, The Clerke of, 674.
Papacy, The, 748.
Passion, The, 91.
Passion, Fragments of Early English Poems on the, 17.
Pledges, The Three, 127.
Proverbial Philosophy, After Reading Mr. Tupper’s, 466.
Purgatorio, Dante’s, Canto III., 730.
Super Omnes Speciosa, 166.
To Wordsworth, 538.
Troubadours of Provence, On the, 294.
NEW PUBLICATIONS.
Allibone’s A Critical Dictionary of English Literature, 564.
Anderdon’s Christian Æsop, 719.
Announcements, 144, 288, 432, 576.
Arias’ Virtues of Mary, Mother of God, 568.
Augustine, St. Aurelius, Works of, 423.
Aunt Fanny’s Present, 432.
Baker’s Dozen, A, 859.
Betrothed, The, 425.
Bolanden’s Old God, 856.
Book of Psalms, 137.
Books and Pamphlets Received, 144.
Burke’s The Men and Women of the Reformation, 285.
Burke’s Lectures and Sermons, 852.
By the Seaside, 859.
Catholic Review, The, 860.
Christian Counsels, 859.
“ Free Schools, 432.
Clare’s (Sister Mary Frances) Hornehurst Rectory, 857.
Coleridge’s Life and Letters of St. Francis Xavier, 423.
Conscience’s The Merchant of Antwerp, 720.
Craven’s (Mrs.) A Sister’s Story, 287.
Curtius’ The History of Greece, 139.
De
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ANDERSONVILLE
A STORY OF REBEL MILITARY PRISONS
FIFTEEN MONTHS A GUEST OF THE SO-CALLED
SOUTHERN CONFEDERACY
A PRIVATE SOLDIERS EXPERIENCE
IN
RICHMOND, ANDERSONVILLE, SAVANNAH, MILLEN
BLACKSHEAR AND FLORENCE
BY JOHN McELROY
Late of Co. L. 16th Ill Cav.
1879
TO THE HONORABLE
NOAH H. SWAYNE.
JUSTICE OF THE SUPREME COURT OF THE UNITED STATES,
A JURIST OF DISTINGUISHED TALENTS AND EXALTED CHARACTER;
ONE OF THE LAST OF THAT
ADMIRABLE ARRAY OF PURE PATRIOTS AND SAGACIOUS COUNSELORS,
WHO, IN
THE YEARS OF THE NATION'S TRIAL,
FAITHFULLY SURROUNDED THE GREAT PRESIDENT,
AND, WITH HIM, BORE THE BURDEN
OF
THOSE MOMENTOUS DAYS;
AND WHOSE WISDOM AND FAIRNESS HAVE DONE SO MUCH SINCE
TO
CONSERVE WHAT WAS THEN WON,
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED WITH RESPECT AND APPRECIATION,
BY THE AUTHOR.
INTRODUCTION.
The fifth part of a century almost has sped with the flight of time since
the outbreak of the Slaveholder's Rebellion against the United States.
The young men of to-day were then babes in their cradles, or, if more
than that, too young to be appalled by the terror of the times. Those
now graduating from our schools of learning to be teachers of youth and
leaders of public thought, if they are ever prepared to teach the history
of the war for the Union so as to render adequate honor to its martyrs
and heroes, and at the same time impress the obvious moral to be drawn
from it, must derive their knowledge from authors who can each one say of
the thrilling story he is spared to tell: "All of which I saw, and part
of which I was."
The writer is honored with the privilege of introducing to the reader a
volume written by an author who was an actor and a sufferer in the scenes
he has so vividly and faithfully described, and sent forth to the public
by a publisher whose literary contributions in support of the loyal cause
entitle him to the highest appreciation. Both author and publisher have
had an honorable and efficient part in the great struggle, and are
therefore worthy to hand down to the future a record of the perils
encountered and the sufferings endured by patriotic soldiers in the
prisons of the enemy. The publisher, at the beginning of the war,
entered, with zeal and ardor upon the work of raising a company of men,
intending to lead them to the field. Prevented from carrying out this
design, his energies were directed to a more effective service. His
famous "Nasby Letters" exposed the absurd and sophistical argumentations
of rebels and their sympathisers, in such broad, attractive and admirable
burlesque, as to direct against them the "loud, long laughter of a
world!" The unique and telling satire of these papers became a power and
inspiration to our armies in the field and to their anxious friends at
home, more than equal to the might of whole battalions poured in upon the
enemy. An athlete in logic may lay an error writhing at his feet, and
after all it may recover to do great mischief. But the sharp wit of the
humorist drives it before the world's derision into shame and everlasting
contempt. These letters were read and shouted over gleefully at every
camp-fire in the Union Army, and eagerly devoured by crowds of listeners
when mails were opened at country post-offices. Other humorists were
content when they simply amused the reader, but "Nasby's" jests were
arguments--they had a meaningthey were suggested by the necessities and
emergencies of the Nation's peril, and written to support, with all
earnestness, a most sacred cause.
The author, when very young, engaged in journalistic work, until the drum
of the recruiting officer called him to join the ranks of his country's
defenders. As the reader is told, he was made a prisoner. He took with
him into the terrible prison enclosure not only a brave, vigorous,
youthful spirit, but invaluable habits of mind and thought for storing up
the incidents and experiences of his prison life. As a journalist he had
acquired the habit of noticing and memorizing every striking or thrilling
incident, and the experiences of his prison life were adapted to enstamp
themselves indelibly on both feeling and memory. He speaks from personal
experience and from the stand-paint of tender and complete sympathy with
those of his comrades who suffered more than he did himself. Of his
qualifications, the writer of these introductory words need not speak.
The sketches themselves testify to his ability with such force that no
commendation is required.
This work is needed. A generation is arising who do not know what the
preservation of our free government cost in blood and suffering. Even
the men of the passing generation begin to be forgetful, if we may judge
from the recklessness or carelessness of their political action. The
soldier is not always remembered nor honored as he should be. But, what
to the future of the great Republic is more important, there is great
danger of our people under-estimating the bitter animus and terrible
malignity to the Union and its defenders cherished by those who made war
upon it. This is a point we can not afford to be mistaken about. And
yet, right at this point this volume will meet its severest criticism,
and at this point its testimony is most vital and necessary.
Many will be slow to believe all that is here told most truthfully of the
tyranny and cruelty of the captors of our brave boys in blue. There are
no parallels to the cruelties and malignities here described in Northern
society. The system of slavery, maintained for over two hundred years at
the South, had performed a most perverting, morally desolating, and we
might say, demonizing work on the dominant race, which people bred under
our free civilization can not at once understand, nor scarcely believe
when it is declared unto them. This reluctance to believe unwelcome
truths has been the snare of our national life. We have not been willing
to believe how hardened, despotic, and cruel the wielders of
irresponsible power may become.
When the anti-slavery reformers of thirty years ago set forth the
cruelties of the slave system, they were met with a storm of indignant
denial, villification and rebuke. When Theodore D. Weld issued his
"Testimony of a Thousand Witnesses," to the cruelty of slavery, he
introduced it with a few words, pregnant with sound philosophy, which can
be applied to the work now introduced, and may help the reader better to
accept and appreciate its statements. Mr. Weld said:
"Suppose I should seize you, rob you of your liberty, drive you into the
field, and make you work without pay as long as you lived. Would that be
justice? Would it be kindness? Or would it be monstrous injustice and
cruelty? Now, is the man who robs you every day too tender-hearted ever
to cuff or kick you? He can empty your pockets without remorse, but if
your stomach is empty, it cuts him to the quick. He can make you work a
life-time without pay, but loves you too well to let you go hungry.
He fleeces you of your rights with a relish, but is shocked if you work
bare-headed in summer, or without warm stockings in winter. He can make
you go without your liberty, but never without a shirt. He can crush in
you all hope of bettering your condition by vowing that you shall die his
slave, but though he can thus cruelly torture your feelings, he will
never lacerate your back--he can break your heart, but is very tender of
your skin. He can strip you of all protection of law, and all comfort in
religion, and thus expose you to all outrages, but if you are exposed to
the weather, half-clad and half-sheltered, how yearn his tender bowels!
What! talk of a man treating you well while robbing you of all you get,
and as fast as you get it? And robbing you of yourself, too, your hands
and feet, your muscles, limbs and senses, your body and mind, your
liberty and earnings, your free speech and rights of conscience, your
right to acquire knowledge, property and reputation, and yet you are
content to believe without question that men who do all this by their
slaves have soft hearts oozing out so lovingly toward their human
chattles that they always keep them well housed and well clad, never push
them too hard in the field, never make their dear backs smart, nor let
their dear stomachs get empty!"
In like manner we may ask, are not the cruelties and oppressions
described in the following pages what we should legitimately expect from
men who, all their lives, have used whip and thumb-screw, shot-gun and
bloodhound, to keep human beings subservient to their will? Are we to
expect nothing but chivalric tenderness and compassion from men who made
war on a tolerant government to make more secure their barbaric system of
oppression?
These things are written because they are true. Duty to the brave dead,
to the heroic living, who have endured the pangs of a hundred deaths for
their country's sake; duty to the government which depends on the wisdom
and constancy of its good citizens for its support and perpetuity, calls
for this "round, unvarnished tale" of suffering endured for freedom's
sake.
The publisher of this work urged his friend and associate in journalism
to write and send forth these sketches because the times demanded just
such an expose of the inner hell of the Southern prisons. The tender
mercies of oppressors are cruel. We must accept the truth and act in
view of it. Acting wisely on the warnings of the past, we shall be able
to prevent treason, with all its fearful concomitants, from being again
the scourge and terror of our beloved land.
ROBERT McCUNE.
AUTHOR'S PREFACE
Fifteen months ago--and one month before it was begun--I had no more idea
of writing this book than I have now of taking up my residence in China.
While I have always been deeply impressed with the idea that the public
should know much more of the history of Andersonville and other Southern
prisons than it does, it had never occurred to me that I was in any way
charged with the duty of increasing that enlightenment.
No affected deprecation of my own abilities had any part is this.
I certainly knew enough of the matter, as did every other boy who had
even a month's experience in those terrible places, but the very
magnitude of that knowledge overpowered me, by showing me the vast
requirements of the subject-requirements that seemed to make it
presumption for any but the greatest pens in our literature to attempt
the work. One day at Andersonville or Florence would be task enough for
the genius of Carlyle or Hugo; lesser than they would fail preposterously
to rise to the level of the theme. No writer ever described such a
deluge of woes as swept over the unfortunates confined in Rebel prisons
in the last year-and-a-half of the Confederacy's life. No man was ever
called upon to describe the spectacle and the process of seventy thousand
young, strong, able-bodied men, starving and rotting to death. Such a
gigantic tragedy as this stuns the mind and benumbs the imagination.
I no more felt myself competent to the task than to accomplish one of
Michael Angelo's grand creations in sculpture or painting.
Study of the subject since confirms me in this view, and my only claim
for this book is that it is a contribution--a record of individual
observation and experience--which will add something to the material
which the historian of the future will find available for his work.
The work was
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***
Produced by Al Haines.
*JOHN HERRING*
_A WEST OF ENGLAND ROMANCE_
BY SABINE BARING-GOULD
AUTHOR OF 'MEHALAH'
IN THREE VOLUMES
VOL. III.
LONDON
SMITH, ELDER, & CO, 15 WATERLOO PLACE
1883
[All rights reserved]
*CONTENTS*
OF
THE THIRD VOLUME
CHAPTER
XLI. White Favours
XLII. The Snow Bride
XLIII. Hunting the Devil
XLIV. Willapark
XLV. 'Kinkum-kum'
XLVI. A Bar of Ice
XLVII. Welcome Home!
XLVIII. Two Bequests
XLIX. Cast Up
L. Two Disobediences
LI. Two Exits
LII. The Return of the Wanderer
LIII. A Private Interview
LIV. The Porch Room
LV. Nemesis
LVI. A Dead Man
LVII. An Arrest
LVIII. R.I.P.
LIX. Dividing the Spoils
LX. Introductory
*JOHN HERRING.*
*CHAPTER XLI.*
*WHITE FAVOURS.*
The weather had changed abruptly. The wind had turned north-east, had
become rough and frozen, and whirled snow before it over a white world.
Eight days had elapsed, and the marriage ceremony had been performed in
the chapel of Trecarrel. The Captain was not present at the ceremony:
he was in bed, indisposed.
The carriage was at the door of Dolbeare to convey the bride and
bridegroom to Welltown. A hasty breakfast had been taken. No friends
had been invited. The journey was long, and the horses must be rested
midway for an hour. The days were short, and there was no chance of
reaching Welltown before dark. It was bad travelling over fresh snow,
and along an exposed road swept by the furious gale. The horses stamped
and pawed the snow, the post-boys were impatient. Herring was anxious to
start. Mirelle was upstairs in her room alone. All the boxes were
corded and in place. Then Orange, who was in the hall, called her
cousin.
Mirelle appeared, slowly and uncertainly descending the stairs. Orange
uttered an exclamation of surprise. 'My dear, you are still in white!
You have not put on your travelling dress.'
'I did not know.'
'But what in the world have you been doing?'
She had been weeping and praying. Her eyes were red and full of tears,
and there was that exalted, luminous look in the white face of one whose
soul has just descended from heaven, as there was in the face of Moses
when he came down from the Mount. In her white dress, with her white
veil over her dark hair, and a bunch of snowdrops in her bosom, just as
she had stood at the altar, so she was going forth into the stormy
world--as white as one of the snow-flakes, as fragile, altogether as
pure.
Her travelling dress was in the box, and the box was on the carriage.
There was no help for it; the box could not be taken down and unpacked.
She must go as she was, wrapped round with many cloaks.
She was reluctant to depart. She had not spent happy days in Dolbeare;
but, nevertheless, she did not like to leave it for the unknown. The
future was strange and feared. Orange and her mother had not been
congenial friends, but they were of her own sex. What would become of
the Trampleasures now? They were without money. She turned to her
husband.
'Mr. Herring,' she said timidly,'my mother and my sister, what of
them?'
'Dearest Mirelle, that is as you like.'
'Oh, Orange! and you, Mrs. Trampleasure! Will you come and live with me
where I am going? I entreat you to do so. Make my home your own. I do
not think you will be happy here, where you have met with so many
sorrows. And I--I shall miss you.'
She looked at Herring, asking with her eyes if she had done right.
This was not what he wished. Orange was not the sort of companion he
relished for his wife. There was an indescribable something about her
which he disliked. Then an idea struck him. He called Orange and
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E-text prepared by the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
(http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
Internet Archive (http://archive.org)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 41409-h.htm or 41409-h.zip:
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Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
http://archive.org/details/oldromehandbookt00burn
Transcriber's note:
The original text includes Greek characters that have been
replaced with transliterations in this text version.
OLD ROME:
A Handbook to the Ruins of the City and the Campagna.
by
ROBERT BURN, M.A.,
Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge.
Being an Epitome of His Larger Work 'Rome and the Campagna.'
[Illustration]
London: George Bell and Sons, York Street,
Covent Garden.
Cambridge: Deighton, Bell, & Co.
1880.
[The Right of Translation is reserved.]
London:
Printed by William Clowes and Sons,
Stamford Street and Charing Cross.
PREFACE.
This book is intended to serve as a handbook to the actually-existing
ruins and monuments of ancient Rome and the Campagna. It is divided into
topographical sections for the convenience of travellers visiting Rome,
and the monuments which exist in each section have been briefly described,
and a summary given of their history and archaeological value.
The introductory section contains general remarks upon the site,
monumental history, and architecture of Rome; and in a section prefixed to
Chapter IX. the nature of the soil and configuration of the hills and
valleys of the district surrounding the city are stated.
In the Appendix to the eighth chapter will be found a list of the chief
monumental antiquities in the museums, galleries, and other public places.
This has been thought to be useful, as these are often difficult to
recognise from being mixed with so many other attractive and important
objects of more modern art and history. All speculative conjectures as to
the probable sites or constructions of ancient buildings or places have
been avoided. Such questions require more space than can be spared in so
small a volume, and have been fully treated of in my larger work, "Rome
and the Campagna."
I have confined myself in this handbook to a brief topographical,
archaeological, and historical description of each existing ruin or
monument. The references given have been restricted to modern treatises
and to a few of the more rarely read Greek and Latin authors. Full
classical authorities are given in "Rome and the Campagna," and are
referred to in the foot-notes of this handbook.
The importance of topographical and archaeological knowledge, in enabling
us to realise the history of ancient life, both national and social, is
fortunately becoming more and more generally recognised. The early growth
and characteristic features of the Roman commonwealth can be traced in
great measure to the conformation of the ground on which the community was
first developed. Such local influences are among the highest and most
philosophical parts of historical investigation, and have a most important
value in enabling us to form an estimate of the truth of statements made
by the ancient writers of history.
Besides this interest which pervades the early stage of Roman history,
there is also a natural connection, by way of cause or explanation,
between the events of later times and the localities in which they
occurred; and this in social as well as in national history. Many Roman
customs and usages, now extinct, are illustrated and realised by the
knowledge gained from monuments of ancient architecture and art. And
again, the spirit of Roman literature is more fully sympathised with, and
its difficult passages and allusions are frequently elucidated by the
light of archaeological knowledge.
Thus there is not only the poetical and imaginative satisfaction, which is
usually felt most vividly in treading the soil, surveying the scenes, and
breathing the air in which great historical persons lived and events
occurred, but also an element of fact which gives a firm basis of
incontestable truth to our knowledge, and which no speculative
interpretation can dissolve.
It is hoped, therefore, that even such an abridged description of ruins,
and such a summary of archaeological results as that which forms the basis
of the present volume, will not be without use to the student of history,
as well as a guide to the traveller.
In the chapter on the ruins of the Campagna I have inserted some
statements on the geological formations, and on the climate, which appear
to have influenced the history and the architecture of that district.
The books from which useful information has been derived are, in addition
to those mentioned in the list given in "Rome and the Campagna," some of
the later numbers of "Annali dell' Instituto," a small treatise called
"Guida del Palatino," by C
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[Transcriber's Note: Bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and
italic text is surrounded by _underscores_. Subscripted numbers are
wrapped in curly braces and preceded by an underscore as in H_{2}O.]
BOOK OF AMERICAN BAKING
————
A PRACTICAL GUIDE COVERING VARIOUS
BRANCHES OF THE BAKING
INDUSTRY, INCLUDING CAKES,
BUNS, AND PASTRY, BREAD
MAKING, PIE BAKING, ETC.
————
PUBLISHED BY THE
AMERICAN TRADE PUBLISHING COMPANY
NEW YORK CITY
_Copyright 1910, by the_
AMERICAN TRADE PUBLISHING CO.
_All Rights Reserved._
FOUR PARTS
Part I. Cakes, Buns and Pastry
Part II. Pie Baking
Part III. Bread-Making
Part IV. Miscellaneous
¶ Any recipe or other information regarding the Baking Industry not
found in the BOOK OF AMERICAN BAKING will be furnished _free_ to all
subscribers of BAKERS WEEKLY. ¶ Address all communications to the
American Trade Publishing Company, New York City.
INDEX
CAKES, BUNS AND PASTRY.
Alberts 11
Angel Cake 11
Apple Cake, Plain 19
Bath Buns 43
Bolivars 11
Butter Cakes 43
Butter for Cake Baking 34
Caramel Cake 13
Charlotte Russe 45
Cheese Cake 12
Cinnamon Drops 45
Cocoanut Cake 12
Cocoanut Kisses 44, 45
Corn Muffins 46
Cream Cakes 44
Cream Puffs 44
Cream Rolls 44
Creaming Methods 29
Crullers 43, 47
Cup Cake 12, 13
Currant Cake 12
Currant Diamond 44
Doughnuts 46
Drop Cakes 14
Eclairs 47
Eggs 35
Fancy Cakes 14
Florence Cakes 15
Flour for Cake Baking 33
French Crullers 47
Fruit Cakes 14, 26
Genoa Cake 15, 25
Ginger Bread 47
Ginger Cakes 15
Ginger Nuts 15
Ginger Snaps 47
Hints on Cake Baking 33
Honey Cakes 15
Ice Cream Cones 48
Icing 48
Jams and Jellies 61
Jelly Roll 15, 16
Jelly Squares 49
Jumbles 49, 50
Lady Cake 16
Lady Fingers 16
LARGE CAKES 25
Ledner Pound Cake 28
Lemon Cakes 17
Lo Soni Cake 25
Lunch Cakes 17
Macaroons 55
Marble Cake 17
Marshmallow Filling 55
Marshmallow Icing 55
(See Icing) 48
Meringue 55
Meringue Pie 55
Metropolitan Cake 18
Milan Cake 17
Mince Meat 55
Miscellaneous Cake Baking 35, 37, 40
Molasses Cakes 18
Molasses Fruit Cake 26
Muffins, Corn 46
Napoleons 56
Neapolitan Cake 56
New Years Cake 19
Orange Cake 19
Orange Pastry Tarts 56
Orange Squares 56
Patties 57
Patty Shells 57
Pie Baking 135
Pineapple Tarts 58
Poor Man’s Bread 45
Pound Cake 28
POUND CAKE FOR WHOLESALE 28
Puff Paste 58
Pumpernicle 57
Raisin Cakes 19, 27
Roosevelts 20
Scones 60
Scotch Short Cake 20
Self-Raising Flour 41
Soda Cakes 20
Spice Cakes 21, 22
Sponge
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Produced by Chris Curnow, Harry Lame and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber's notes:
Text pinted in italics in the original work has been transcribed as
_text_, bold text as =text=. Text printed in small capitals in the
original work has been transcribed in ALL-CAPITALS. Superscript texts
are transcribed as ^{text}.
Greek texts have been transcribed as [Greek: text]. Where the original
work uses an oe-ligature, this text uses oe (as in Phoenix). In the
advertisements, [-->] represents a right-pointing hand.
More Transcriber's notes have been added at the end of the text.
[Illustration: STEAM AND ELECTRICITY.
The 70,000 Horse-Power Station of the Metropolitan Street Railway, New
York.]
THE PROGRESS
OF
INVENTION
IN THE
NINETEENTH CENTURY
BY
EDWARD W. BYRN, A.M.
[Greek: "Dhos pou stho, kahi tehn ghen kinheso."]
(Give me where to stand, and I'll move the earth.)
--_Archimedes._
MUNN & CO., PUBLISHERS
SCIENTIFIC AMERICAN OFFICE
361 BROADWAY, NEW YORK
1900
COPYRIGHTED, 1900, BY MUNN & CO.
ENTERED AT STATIONER'S HALL
LONDON, ENGLAND
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Printed in the United States of America by
The Manufacturers' and Publishers' Printing Company,
New York City.
PREFACE.
For a work of such scope as this, the first word of the author should be
an apology for what is doubtless the too ambitious effort of a single
writer. A quarter of a century in the high tide of the arts and
sciences, an ardent interest in all things that make for scientific
progress, and the aid and encouragement of many friends in and about the
Patent Office, furnish the explanation. The work cannot claim the
authority of a text-book, the fullness of a history, nor the exactness
of a technical treatise. It is simply a cursory view of the century in
the field of invention, intended to present the broader bird's-eye view
of progress achieved. In substantiation of the main facts reliance has
been placed chiefly upon patents, which for historic development are
believed to be the best of all authorities, because they carry the
responsibility of the National Government as to dates, and the attested
signature and oath of the inventor as to subject matter. Many
difficulties and embarrassments have been encountered in the work. The
fear of extending it into a too bulky volume has excluded treatment of
many subjects which the author recognizes as important, and issues in
dispute as to the claims of inventors have also presented themselves in
perplexing conflict. A discussion of the latter has been avoided as far
as possible, the paramount object being to do justice to all the worthy
workers in this field, with favor to none, and only expressing such
conclusions as seem to be justified by authenticated facts and the
impartial verdict of reason in the clearing atmosphere of time. For sins
of omission a lack of space affords a reasonable excuse, and for those
of commission the great scope of the work is pleaded in extenuation. It
is hoped, however, that the volume may find an accepted place in the
literature of the day, as presenting in compact form some comprehensive
and coherent idea of the great things in invention which the Nineteenth
Century has added to the world's wealth of ideas and material resources.
In acknowledging the many obligations to friends who have aided me in
the work, my thanks are due first to the Editors of the _Scientific
American_ for aid rendered in the preparation of the work; also to
courteous officials in the Government Departments, and to many
progressive manufacturers throughout the country.
E. W. B.
_Washington, D. C., October, 1900._
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
THE PERSPECTIVE VIEW.
CHAPTER II.
CHRONOLOGY OF LEADING INVENTIONS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.
CHAPTER III.
THE ELECTRIC TELEGRAPH.
The Voltaic Pile. Dani
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*[Frontispiece: "You locked me out!" she said, hysterically.
(missing from book)]*
_*HER LORD
AND MASTER*_
_By MARTHA MORTON_
_Illustrated by_
_HOWARD CHANDLER CHRISTY
and ESTHER MAC NAMARA_
_R. F. FENNO & COMPANY
18 East Seventeenth Street, NEW YORK_
Copyright, 1902
By
ANTHONY J. DREXEL BIDDLE
Entered at Stationers' Hall, London
All Rights Reserved
*Contents*
CHAPTER
I.--A Reunion
II.--Birds of Passage
III.--On a Model Farm
IV.--Springtime
V.--Camp Indiana
VI.--Guests
VII.--The Weaver
VIII.--The World's Rest
IX.--In an Orchard of the Memory
X.--The Might of the Falls
XI.--A Moonlight Picnic
XII.--Leading to the Altar
XIII.--England
XIV.--Transplantation
XV.--"I Shall Keep My Promise"
XVI.--An Escapade
XVII.--Late Visitors
XVIII.--Awakening
XIX.--"And as He Wove, He Heard Singing"
*Illustrations*
"You locked me out!" she said, hysterically. _Frontispiece_
"I'd call the picture, 'Indiana.'"
Catching Pollywogs
"I--I--what have I said? I didn't mean it."
"I will have love to help me."
*Foreword*
"Her Lord and Master," by Martha Morton, was first produced in New York,
during the Spring of
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The Titan
by
Theodore Dreiser
CONTENTS
I The New City
II A Reconnoiter
III A Chicago Evening
IV Peter Laughlin & Co.
V Concerning A Wife And Family
VI The New Queen of the Home
VII Chicago Gas
VIII Now This is Fighting
IX In Search of Victory
X A Test
XI The Fruits of Daring
XII A New Retainer
XIII The Die is Cast
XIV Undercurrents
XV A New Affection
XVI A Fateful Interlude
XVII An Overture to Conflict
XVIII The Clash
XIX "Hell Hath No Fury--"
XX "Man and Superman"
XXI A Matter of Tunnels
XXII Street-railways at Last
XXIII The Power of the Press
XXIV The Coming of Stephanie Platow
XXV Airs from the Orient
XXVI Love and War
XXVII A Financier Bewitched
XXVIII The Exposure of Stephanie
XXIX A Family Quarrel
XXX Obstacles
XXXI Untoward Disclosures
XXXII A Supper Party
XXXIII Mr. Lynde to the Rescue
XXXIV Enter Hosmer Hand
XXXV A Political Agreement
XXXVI An Election Draws Near
XXXVII Aileen's Revenge
XXXVIII An Hour of Defeat
XXXIX The New Administration
XL A Trip to Louisville
XLI The Daughter of Mrs. Fleming
XLII F. A. Cowperwood, Guardian
XLIII The Planet Mars
XLIV A Franchise Obtained
XLV Changing Horizons
XLVI Depths and Heights
XLVII American Match
XLVIII Panic
XLIX Mount Olympus
L A New York Mansion
LI The Revival of Hattie Starr
LII Behind the Arras
LIII A Declaration of Love
LIV Wanted--Fifty-year Franchises
LV Cowperwood and the Governor
LVI The Ordeal of Berenice
LVII Aileen's Last Card
LVIII A Marauder Upon the Commonwealth
LIX Capital and Public Rights
LX The Net
LXI The Cataclysm
LXII The Recompense
Chapter I
The New City
When Frank Algernon Cowperwood emerged from the Eastern District
Penitentiary in Philadelphia he realized that the old life he had lived
in that city since boyhood was ended. His youth was gone, and with it
had been lost the great business prospects of his earlier manhood. He
must begin again.
It would be useless to repeat how a second panic following upon a
tremendous failure--that of Jay Cooke & Co.--had placed a second
fortune in his hands. This restored wealth softened him in some
degree. Fate seemed to have his personal welfare in charge. He was
sick of the stock-exchange, anyhow, as a means of livelihood, and now
decided that he would leave it once and for all. He would get in
something else--street-railways, land deals, some of the boundless
opportunities of the far West. Philadelphia was no longer pleasing to
him. Though now free and rich, he was still a scandal to the
pretenders, and the financial and social world was not prepared to
accept him. He must go his way alone, unaided, or only secretly so,
while his quondam friends watched his career from afar. So, thinking
of this, he took the train one day, his charming mistress, now only
twenty-six, coming to the station to see him off. He looked at her
quite tenderly, for she was the quintessence of a certain type of
feminine beauty.
"By-by, dearie," he smiled, as the train-bell signaled the approaching
departure. "You and I will get out of this
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THE END OF THE TETHER
By Joseph Conrad
I
For a long time after the course of the steamer _Sofala_ had been
altered for the land, the low swampy coast had retained its appearance
of a mere smudge of darkness beyond a belt of glitter. The sunrays
seemed to fall violently upon the calm sea--seemed to shatter themselves
upon an adamantine surface into sparkling dust, into a dazzling vapor
of light that blinded the eye and wearied the brain with its unsteady
brightness.
Captain Whalley did not look at it. When his Serang, approaching the
roomy cane arm-chair which he filled capably, had informed him in a low
voice that the course was to be altered, he had risen at once and had
remained on his feet, face forward, while the head of his ship swung
through a quarter of a circle. He had not uttered a single word, not
even the word to steady the helm. It was the Serang, an elderly, alert,
little Malay, with a very dark skin, who murmured the order to the
helmsman. And then slowly Captain Whalley sat down again in the
arm-chair on the bridge and fixed his eyes on the deck between his feet.
He could not hope to see anything new upon this lane of the sea. He had
been on these coasts for the last three years. From Low Cape to Malantan
the distance was fifty miles, six hours' steaming for the old ship with
the tide, or seven against. Then you steered straight for the land, and
by-and-by three palms would appear on the sky, tall and slim, and with
their disheveled heads in a bunch, as if in confidential criticism of
the dark mangroves. The Sofala would be headed towards the somber
strip of the coast, which at a given moment, as the ship closed with
it obliquely, would show several clean shining fractures--the brimful
estuary of a river. Then on through a brown liquid, three parts water
and one part black earth, on and on between the low shores, three parts
black earth and one part brackish water, the Sofala would plow her way
up-stream, as she had done once every month for these seven years or
more, long before he was aware of her existence, long before he had ever
thought of having anything to do with her and her invariable voyages.
The old ship ought to have known the road better than her men, who had
not been kept so long at it without a change; better than the faithful
Serang, whom he had brought over from his last ship to keep the
captain's watch; better than he himself, who had been her captain for
the last three years only. She could always be depended upon to make her
courses. Her compasses were never out. She was no trouble at all to
take about, as if her great age had given her knowledge, wisdom, and
steadiness. She made her landfalls to a degree of the bearing, and
almost to a minute of her allowed time. At any moment, as he sat on
the bridge without looking up, or lay sleepless in his bed, simply by
reckoning the days and the hours he could tell where he was--the precise
spot of the beat. He knew it well too, this monotonous huckster's
round, up and down the Straits; he knew its order and its sights and its
people. Malacca to begin with, in at daylight and out at dusk, to cross
over with a rigid phosphorescent wake this highway of the Far East.
Darkness and gleams on the water, clear stars on a black sky, perhaps
the lights of a home steamer keeping her unswerving course in the
middle, or maybe the elusive shadow of a native craft with her mat sails
flitting by silently--and the low land on the other side in sight
at daylight. At noon the three palms of the next place of call, up a
sluggish river. The only white man residing there was a retired young
sailor, with whom he had become friendly in the course of many voyages.
Sixty miles farther on there was another place of call, a deep bay with
only a couple of houses on the beach. And so on, in and out, picking
up coastwise cargo here and there, and finishing with a hundred miles'
steady steaming through the maze of an archipelago of small islands up
to a large native town at the end of the beat. There was a three days'
rest for the old ship before he started her again in inverse order,
seeing the same shores from another bearing, hearing the same voices
in the same places, back again to the Sofala's port of registry on
the great highway to the East, where he would take up a berth nearly
opposite the big stone pile of the harbor office till it was time to
start again on the old round of 1600 miles and thirty days. Not a very
enterprising life, this, for Captain Whalley, Henry Whalley, otherwise
Dare-devil Harry--Whalley of the Condor, a famous clipper in her day.
No. Not a very enterprising life for a man who had served famous firms,
who had sailed famous ships (more than one
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E-text prepared by Dave Hobart, Suzanne Shell, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made
available by Internet Archive/American Libraries
(http://www.archive.org/details/americana)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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See 39199-h.htm or 39199-h.zip:
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Images of the original pages are available through
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Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
THE FORTUNATE ISLES
* * * * *
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
_Travel_
OUR STOLEN SUMMER
A VERSAILLES CHRISTMAS-TIDE
_Novels_
THE GLEN
THE FIRST STONE
WITH CLIPPED WINGS
THE MAN IN THE WOOD
BACKWATERS
HER BESETTING VIRTUE
THE MISSES MAKE-BELIEVE
* * * * *
[Illustration: Calle Del Calvario, Pollensa]
THE FORTUNATE ISLES
Life and Travel in Majorca, Minorca and Iviza
by
MARY STUART BOYD
With Eight Illustrations in Colour and Fifty-Two Pen Drawings
by A. S. Boyd, R.S.W.
Methuen & Co. Ltd.
36 Essex Street W.C.
London
First Published in 1911
FOREWARNING
"I hear you think of spending the winter in the Balearic Islands?"
said the only Briton we met who had been there. "Well, I warn you,
you won't enjoy them. They are quite out of the world. There are no
tourists. Not a soul understands a word of English, and there's
nothing whatever to do. If you take my advice you won't go."
So we went. And what follows is a faithful account of what befell us
in these fortunate isles.
M. S. B.
CONTENTS
PAGE
I. SOUTHWARDS 1
II. OUR CASA IN SPAIN 14
III. PALMA, THE PEARL OF THE MEDITERRANEAN 26
IV. HOUSEKEEPING 39
V. TWO HISTORIC BUILDINGS 51
VI. THE FAIR AT INCA 60
VII. VALLDEMOSA 66
VIII. MIRAMAR 79
IX. SOLLER 94
X. ANDRAITX 107
XI. UP AMONG THE WINDMILLS 117
XII. NAVIDAD 128
XIII. THE FEAST OF THE CONQUISTADOR 143
XIV. POLLENSA 152
XV. THE PORT OF ALCUDIA 168
XVI. MINORCA 179
XVII. STORM-BOUND 193
XVIII. ALARO 203
XIX. THE DRAGON CAVES AND MANACOR 215
XX. ARTA AND ITS CAVES 225
XXI. AMONG THE HILLS 242
XXII. DEYA, AND A PALMA PROCESSION 252
XXIII. OF FAIR WOMEN AND FINE WEATHER 264
XXIV. OF ODDS AND ENDS 274
XXV. IVIZA--A FORGOTTEN ISLE 289
XXVI. AN IVIZAN SABBATH 301
XXVII. AT SAN ANTONIO 311
XXVIII. WELCOME AND FAREWELL 320
XXIX. LAST DAYS 328
INDEX 335
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
IN COLOUR
CALLE DEL CALVARIO, POLLENSA _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
PALMA DE MALLORCA, FROM THE TERRENO 26
VALLDEMOSA 70
SOLLER 94
AFTER THE FEAST OF THE CONQUISTADOR, PALMA CATHEDRAL 143
THE ROMAN GATEWAY, ALCUDIA 168
MAHON, MINORCA 193
SUNDAY MORNING AT IVIZA 289
PEN DRAWINGS
PAGE
THE CATHEDRAL AND THE LONJA, PALMA 1
A PALMA _PATIO_ 9
THE SERENO 13
THE CASA TRANQUILA 14
THE GATE OF SANTA CATALINA, PALMA 19
OUR SUBURBAN STREET 24
CALLE DE LA ALMUDAINA, PALMA 29
A SUPPER PARTY 37
THE SATURDAY MARKET, PALMA 39
A CONSUMOS STATION 47
THE CASTLE OF BELLVER 51
PALMA, FROM THE WOODS OF BELLVER 57
SECOND CLASS 60
A CORNER OF THE FAIR AT INCA 64
WHERE THE HILLS MEET THE PLAIN, ESGLAYETA 66
CARABINEROS IN THE KITCHEN 77
LA TRINIDAD, MIRAMAR 79
A TIGHT FIT 91
THE MANDOLINE PLAYER 101
AT FORNALUTX 104
SON MAS, ANDRAITX 107
IN THE PORT OF ANDRAITX 117
ABOVE ANDRAITX 123
CHRISTMAS TURKEYS 128
A SCENE OF SLAUGHTER 135
THE COFFIN OF JAIME II IN PALMA CATHEDRAL 150
MARKET DAY AT POLLENSA 152
THE MAIN STREET OF POLLENSA 161
A _NORIA_ NEAR ALCUDIA 175
CIUDADELA SEEN FROM THE SEA 179
CALLE SAN ROQUE, MAHON 187
_COMERCIANTES_ IN THE FONDA AT MAHON 201
AN INTERIOR IN ALARO 203
ALARO 210
IN THE DRAGON'S CAVE 215
MANACOR 221
ARTA 225
TOWARDS THE PARISH CHURCH, ARTA 229
ENTERING THE CAVES OF ARTA 234
PALM-SUNDAY AT SOLLER 242
DEYA 253
PROCESSIONISTS OF HOLY THURSDAY 262
DURING THE CARNIVAL AT PALMA 264
THE WOOER 269
THE NATIONAL SPORT 274
CALLE DE LA PORTELLA, PALMA 279
THANKSGIVING 296
A TRIO AND A QUARTETTE 301
THE GATES OF THE _FEIXAS_, IVIZA 309
THE CHURCH OF SAN ANTONIO, IVIZA 311
THE CHURCH OF JESUS, IVIZA 320
MOORISH TOWER AT THE PORT OF ALCUDIA 328
[Illustration: The Cathedral and the Lonja, Palma]
THE FORTUNATE ISLES
I
SOUTHWARDS
We had left London on a tempestuous mid-October Saturday morning,
and Sunday night found us walking on the Rambla at Barcelona, a
purple velvet star-spangled sky overhead, and crowds of gay
promenaders all about us.
When the Boy and I had planned our journey to the Balearic Isles
(the Man never plans), our imaginings always began as we embarked at
Barcelona harbour on the Majorcan steamer that was to carry us to
the islands of our desire. So when we had strolled to where the
Rambla ends amid the palm-trees of the port, it seemed like the
materializing of a dream to see the steamer _Balear_ lying there,
right under the great column of Columbus, with her bow pointing
seawards, as though waiting for us to step on board.
When at sunset next day the hotel omnibus deposited us at the port,
the _Balear_ appeared to be the centre of attraction. It still
lacked half an hour of sailing time, yet her decks, which were
ablaze with electric light, were covered with people. Ingress was a
matter of so much difficulty that our inexperience of the ways of
Spanish ports anticipated an uncomfortably crowded passage.
There was scarcely room on board to move, yet up the species of
hen-ladder that acted as gangway people were still streaming--ladies
in mantillas, ladies with fans, ladies with babies, and men of every
age, the men all smoking cigarettes.
Fortunately a recognized etiquette made those whose visits to the
ship were of a purely complimentary nature confine themselves to the
deck. When we descended to inspect our sleeping accommodation it was
to find an individual cabin reserved for each of us; and to learn
that, in spite of the mob on board, there were but four other saloon
passengers. These, as we afterwards discovered, were a French
honeymoon couple and a young Majorcan lady who was accompanied by
her _duena_.
Rain had been predicted, and was eagerly looked for, as none had
fallen for many weeks. Yet it was a perfect evening. There was
hardly a ripple on the water, and the air was soft and balmy. Behind
the brilliant city with its myriads of lights rose the dark
Catalonian mountains. Clustered near us in the harbour the crews of
the fishing boats made wonderfully picturesque groups as they supped
by the light of hanging lamps. And over all, high above the tall
palms of the Paseo de Colon, the statue of Columbus pointed ever
westwards.
Looking at the sparkling scene, it was difficult to credit that
Barcelona, with its surface aspect of light-hearted gaiety, was
under martial law, even though we had seen that alert-eyed armed
soldiers guarded every street and alley, and knew that but a day or
two earlier bombs had exploded with deadly effect where the crowds
were now promenading. It was hard, too, to believe that at that
moment the interest of all Europe was centred upon that sombre
fortress to the south-west of the town, within whose walls, only
five days earlier, Ferrer had, rightly or wrongly, met the death of
a traitor.
The warning siren sounded. The visitors reluctantly scuttled down
the ridiculous hen-ladder. The moorings were cast away, the screw
revolved, and we were off--bound for the Fortunate Isles.
Out of many wondrous nights passed on strange waters I remember none
more beautiful. We were almost alone on deck. So far as solitude
went the _Balear_ might have been chartered for our exclusive use.
The second-cabin passengers had all disappeared forward. The French
bride and bridegroom had found a secluded nook in which to coo; and
the
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The Fatal Cord
and The Falcon Rover
By Captain Mayne Reid
Published by Charles H. Clarke, 13 Paternoster Row, London.
This edition dated 1872.
The Fatal Cord, by Mayne Reid.
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
THE FATAL CORD, BY MAYNE REID.
STORY ONE, CHAPTER ONE.
A BIVOUAC OF BOY HUNTERS.
A Hunters' bivouac under the shadows of a Mississippian forest, in a
spot where the trees stand unthinned by the axe of the woodman.
It is upon the Arkansas side of the great river, not far from the town
of Helena, and in the direction of Little Rock, the capital of that
State.
The scene is a small glade, surrounded by tall cottonwood trees, one of
which on each side, conspicuously "blazed," indicates a "trace" of
travel. It is that leading from Helena to a settlement on the forks of
the White River and Cache.
The time is a quarter of a century ago, when this district of country
contained a heterogeneous population, comprising some of the wildest and
wickedest spirits to be found in all the length and breadth of the
backwoods border. It was then the chosen home for men of fallen
fortunes, lawyers and land speculators, slave-traders and swindlers,
hunters, who lived by the pursuit of game, and sportsmen, whose game was
cards, and whose quarry consisted of such dissolute cotton planters as,
forsaking their homes in Mississippi and Tennessee, had re-established
themselves on the fertile bottoms of the Saint Francis, the White and
the Arkansas.
A glance at the individuals comprising the bivouac in question forbids
the supposition that they belong to any of the above. There are six of
them; all are boys, the oldest not over twenty, while the youngest may
be under sixteen. And though at the same glance you are satisfied that
they are but amateur hunters, the game they have succeeded in bringing
down shows them gifted not only with skill but courage in the chase.
The carcase of a large bear lies beside them on the sward, his skin
hanging from a tree, while several steaks cut from his fat rump, and
impaled upon sapling spits, sing pleasantly over the camp fire, sending
a savoury odour far into the forest around.
About a dozen huge bear-hounds, several showing scars of recent
conflict, lie panting upon the grass, while just half this number of
saddled horses stand "hitched" to the trees.
The young hunters are in high glee. They have made a creditable day's
work of it, and as most of them have to go a good way before reaching
home, they have halted in the glade to refresh themselves, their hounds,
and their horses.
The chase has provided them with meat of which all are fond; most of
them carry a "pine" of corn bread in their saddle-bags, and not a few a
flask of corn-whiskey. They would not be the youth of Arkansas if found
unprovided with tobacco. Thus furnished with all the requisites of a
backwoods bivouac they are sucking it in gleesome style.
Scanning these young fellows from a social point of view you can see
they are not all of equal rank. A difference in dress and equipments
bespeaks a distinct standing, even in backwoods society, and this
inequality is evident among the six individuals seated around the camp
fire. He whom we have taken for the oldest, and whose name is Brandon,
is the son of a cotton planter of some position in the neighbourhood.
And there is wealth too, as indicated by the coat of fine white linen,
the white Panama hat, and the diamond pin sparkling among the ruffles in
his shirt-bosom.
It is not this, however, that gives him a tone of authority among his
hunting companions, but rather an assumption of superior age, combined
with perhaps superior strength, and certainly a dash of _bullyism_ that
exhibits itself, and somewhat offensively, in both word and action.
Most of the dogs are his, as also the fine sorrel horse that stands
proudly pawing the ground not far from the fire.
Next to Master Brandon in degree of social standing is a youth, who is
also two years his junior, by name Randall. He is the son of a certain
lawyer, lately promoted to be judge of the district--an office that
cannot be called a sinecure, supposing its duties to be faithfully
performed.
After Randall may be ranked young Spence, the hopeful scion of an
Episcopal clergyman, whose cure lies in one of the river-side towns,
several miles from the scene of the bivouac.
Of lower grade is Ned Slaughter, son of the Helena hotel-keeper, and
Jeff Grubbs, the heir apparent
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Internet Archive)
HISTORY
OF THE
THIRTY-SIXTH REGIMENT
MASSACHUSETTS VOLUNTEERS.
1862-1865.
_BY A COMMITTEE OF THE REGIMENT._
BOSTON:
PRESS OF ROCKWELL AND CHURCHILL.
89 ARCH STREET.
1884.
TO
Our Comrades
OF THE
_THIRTY-SIXTH MASSACHUSETTS VOLUNTEERS_
THIS RECORD OF A COMMON EXPERIENCE
IS
_AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED_.
_Ah, never shall the land forget_
_How gushed the life-blood of her brave,--_
_Gushed, warm with hope and courage yet,--_
_Upon the soil they sought to save._
_Now all is calm, and fresh, and still;_
_Alone the chirp of flitting bird,_
_And talk of children on the hill,_
_And bell of wand'ring kine, are heard._
_No solemn host goes trailing by,_
_The black-mouthed gun and stag'ring wain;_
_Men start not at the battle-cry;_
_Oh, be it never heard again!_
--WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
PREFACE.
Not long after the close of the war a plan was proposed, by some of
the officers of the regiment, for the preparation of a history of the
Thirty-sixth Regiment of Massachusetts Volunteers; but the plan was
not carried into execution. At the regimental reunions, in subsequent
years, parts of such a history were read by Comrades White, Ranlett,
and Hodgkins, and the desire for a complete history of the regiment,
which found expression on these occasions, was so strong that, at the
reunion of the regiment at Worcester, in September, 1876, a committee,
consisting of Comrades White, Ranlett, Burrage, and Hodgkins, was
appointed to procure materials for a history of the regiment.
Some progress was made by the committee in the performance of the
work thus assigned to them; but it was not so great as they, or their
comrades of the Thirty-sixth, desired. At the reunion, September 2,
1879, the matter was again considered, and it was finally voted, "that
Comrades White, Ranlett, Hodgkins, Burrage, and Noyes, be chosen a
committee to have charge of the compiling, revising, and printing the
history of the regiment, to be ready for delivery at our next reunion;
and that the committee have power to procure any help they may need."
Many difficulties were encountered in the progress of the work, and it
was found that it would be impossible to prepare, within the limit of
time prescribed, such a history as would be worthy of the regiment. The
different members of the committee, amid the activities of busy lives,
could give to the work only such intervals of leisure as they could
find amid their daily tasks. At the annual reunions of 1880, 1881, and
1882,--testing the patience of their comrades who had entrusted to them
this important task,--they were compelled to report progress only. In
September, 1883,--the last reunion,--however, they were able to say
that the work was already in press, and would be ready for delivery in
the course of a few weeks.
In the table of contents will be found the names of the authors of
the different chapters. The work of Comrades White, Ranlett, Olin,
and Noyes, entitles them to the hearty thanks of all their companions
in arms. Especially, however, are such thanks due to Comrade W. H.
Hodgkins, not only for his own contribution to the history, but
also for his careful attention to the innumerable details which the
preparation of such a work required. Indeed, without his unwearied
endeavors in gathering materials, securing the coöperation of others,
and attending to the business of publication, the history would not so
soon, and might never, have been completed.
To the writer of these lines was assigned the editorial supervision
of the work. From the materials placed in his hands he arranged the
history of the regiment as it now appears. Two proofs of the entire
work have passed under his eye, and in this part of his task he has had
the invaluable assistance of Major Hodgkins. The history, of course,
is not free from errors of statement; and it will doubt
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BALLADS OF A CHEECHAKO
by Robert W. Service
[British-born Canadian Poet--1874-1958.]
[Note on text: Italicized stanzas will be indented 5 spaces.
Italicized words or phrases will be capitalised. Lines longer
than 75 characters have been broken according to metre,
and the continuation is indented two spaces.]
[This etext was transcribed from an American 1909 edition.]
BALLADS OF A CHEECHAKO
by Robert W. Service
Author of "The Spell of the Yukon"
CONTENTS:
To the Man of the High North
My rhymes are rough, and often in my rhyming
Men of the High North
Men of the High North, the wild sky is blazing;
The Ballad of the Northern Lights
One of the Down and Out--that's me. Stare at me well, ay, stare!
The Ballad of the Black Fox Skin
There was Claw-fingered Kitty and Windy Ike living the life of shame,
The Ballad of Pious Pete
I tried to refine that neighbor of mine, honest to God, I did.
The Ballad of Blasphemous Bill
I took a contract to bury the body of blasphemous Bill MacKie,
The Ballad of One-Eyed Mike
This is the tale that was told to me by the man with the crystal eye,
The Ballad of the Brand
'Twas up in a land long famed for gold, where women were far and rare,
The Ballad of Hard-Luck Henry
Now wouldn't you expect to find a man an awful crank
The Man from Eldorado
He's the man from Eldorado, and he's just arrived in town,
My Friends
The man above was a murderer, the man below was a thief;
The Prospector
I strolled up old Bonanza, where I staked in ninety-eight,
The Black Sheep
Hark to the ewe that bore him:
The Telegraph Operator
I will not wash my face;
The Wood-Cutter
The sky is like an envelope,
The Song of the Mouth-Organ
I'm a homely little bit of tin and bone;
The Trail of Ninety-Eight
Gold! We leapt from our benches. Gold! We sprang from our stools.
The Ballad of Gum-Boot Ben
He was an old prospector with a vision bleared and dim.
Clancy of the Mounted Police
In the little Crimson Manual it's written plain and clear
Lost
"Black is the sky, but the land is white--
L'Envoi
We talked of yesteryears, of trails and treasure,
To the Man of the High North
My rhymes are rough, and often in my rhyming
I've drifted, silver-sailed, on seas of dream,
Hearing afar the bells of Elfland chiming,
Seeing the groves of Arcadie agleam.
I was the thrall of Beauty that rejoices
From peak snow-diademed to regal star;
Yet to mine aerie ever pierced the voices,
The pregnant voices of the Things That Are.
The Here, the Now, the vast Forlorn around us;
The gold-delirium, the ferine strife;
The lusts that lure us on, the hates that hound us;
Our red rags in the patch-work quilt of Life.
The nameless men who nameless rivers travel,
And in strange valleys greet strange deaths alone;
The grim, intrepid ones who would unravel
The mysteries that shroud the Polar Zone.
These will I sing, and if one of you linger
Over my pages in the Long, Long Night,
And on some lone line lay a calloused finger,
Saying: "It's human-true--it hits me right";
Then will I count this loving toil well spent;
Then will I dream awhile--content, content.
Men of the High North
Men of the High North, the wild sky is blazing;
Islands of opal float on silver seas;
Swift splendors kindle, barbaric, amazing;
Pale ports of amber, golden argosies.
Ringed all around us the proud peaks are glowing;
Fierce chiefs in council, their wigwam the sky;
Far, far below us the big Yukon flowing,
Like threaded quicksilver, gleams to the eye.
Men of the High North, you who have known it;
You in whose hearts its splendors have abode;
Can you renounce it, can you disown it?
Can you forget it, its glory and its goad?
Where is the hardship, where is the pain of it?
Lost in the limbo of things you've forgot;
Only remain the guerdon and gain of it;
Zest of the foray, and God, how you fought!
You who have made good, you foreign faring;
You money magic to far lands
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HISTORY OF FRIEDRICH II. OF PRUSSIA
FREDERICK THE GREAT
By Thomas Carlyle
Volume II. (of XXI.)
BOOK II. -- OF BRANDENBURG AND THE HOHENZOLLERNS. - 928-1417.
Chapter I. -- BRANNIBOR: HENRY THE FOWLER.
The Brandenburg Countries, till they become related to the Hohenzollern
Family which now rules there, have no History that has proved memorable
to mankind. There has indeed been a good deal written under that
title; but there is by no means much known, and of that again there is
alarmingly little that is worth knowing or remembering.
Pytheas, the Marseilles Travelling Commissioner, looking out for new
channels of trade, somewhat above 2,000 years ago, saw the country
actually lying there; sailed past it, occasionally landing; and
made report to such Marseillese "Chamber of Commerce" as there then
was:--report now lost, all to a few indistinct and insignificant
fractions. [_Memoires de l'Academie des Inscriptions,_ t. xix. 46,
xxxvii. 439, &c.] This was "about the year 327 before Christ," while
Alexander of Macedon was busy conquering India. Beyond question,
Pytheas, the first WRITING or civilized creature that ever saw Germany,
gazed with his Greek eyes, and occasionally landed, striving to speak
and inquire, upon those old Baltic Coasts, north border of the now
Prussian Kingdom; and reported of it to mankind we know not what. Which
brings home to us the fact that it existed, but almost nothing more:
A Country of lakes and woods, of marshy jungles, sandy wildernesses;
inhabited by bears, otters, bisons, wolves, wild swine, and certain
shaggy Germans of the Suevic type, as good as inarticulate to Pytheas.
After which all direct notice of it ceases for above three hundred
years. We can hope only that the jungles were getting cleared a little,
and the wild creatures hunted down; that the Germans were increasing
in number, and becoming a thought less shaggy. These latter, tall Suevi
Semnones, men of blond stern aspect _(oculi truces coerulei)_ and
great strength of bone, were known to possess a formidable talent for
fighting: [Tacitus, _De Moribus Germanorum,_ c. 45.] Drusus Germanicus,
it has been guessed, did not like to appear personally among them: some
"gigantic woman prophesying to him across the Elbe" that it might be
dangerous, Drusus contented himself with erecting some triumphal pillar
on his own safe side of the Elbe, to say that they were conquered.
In the Fourth Century of our era, when the German populations, on
impulse of certain "Huns expelled from the Chinese frontier," or for
other reasons valid to themselves, began flowing universally southward,
to take possession of the rich Roman world, and so continued flowing for
two centuries more; the old German frontiers generally, and especially
those Northern Baltic countries, were left comparatively vacant; so that
new immigrating populations from the East, all of Sclavic origin, easily
obtained footing and supremacy there. In the Northern parts, these
immigrating Sclaves were of the kind called Vandals, or Wends: they
spread themselves as far west as Hamburg and the Ocean, south also
far over the Elbe in some quarters; while other kinds of Sclaves
were equally busy elsewhere. With what difficulty in settling the new
boundaries, and what inexhaustible funds of quarrel thereon, is still
visible to every one, though no Historian was there to say the least
word of it. "All of Sclavic origin;" but who knows of how many kinds:
Wends here in the North, through the Lausitz (Lusatia) and as far as
Thuringen; not to speak of <DW69>s, Bohemian Czechs, Huns, Bulgars, and
the other dim nomenclatures, on the Eastern frontier. Five hundred
years of violent unrecorded fighting, abstruse quarrel with their new
neighbors in settling the marches. Many names of towns in Germany ending
in ITZ (Meuselwitz, Mollwitz), or bearing the express epithet _Windisch_
(Wendish), still give indication of those old sad circumstances; as
does the word SLAVE, in all our Western languages, meaning captured
SCLAVONIAN. What long-drawn echo of bitter rage and hate lies in that
small etymology!
These things were; but they have no History: why should they have any?
Enough that in those Baltic regions, there are for the time (Year 600,
and till long after Charlemagne is out) Sclaves in place of Suevi or of
Holstein Saxons and Angli; that it is now shaggy Wends who have the task
of taming the jungles, and keeping down the otters and wolves. Wends
latterly in a waning condition, much beaten upon by Charlemagne and
others; but never yet beaten out. And so it has to last, century after
century; Wends, wolves, wild swine, all alike dumb to us. Dumb, or
sounding only one huge unutterable message (seemingly of tragic import),
like the voice of their old Forests, of their old Baltic Seas:--perhaps
more edifying to us SO. Here at last is a definite date and event:--
"A.D. 928, Henry the Fowler, marching across the frozen bogs, took
BRANNIBOR, a chief fortress of the Wends;" [Kohler, _Reichs-Historie_
(Frankfurth und Leipzig, 1737), p. 63. Michaelis, _Ch
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THE STROLLING SAINT
Being the Confessions of the High & Mighty Agostino D'Anguissola Tyrant
of Mondolfo & Lord of Carmina, in the State of Piacenza
By Raphael Sabatini
CONTENTS
BOOK ONE
THE OBLATE
CHAPTER
I. NOMEN ET OMEN
II. GINO FALCONE
III. THE PIETISTIC THRALL
IV. LUISINA
V. REBELLION
VI. FRA GERVASIO
BOOK TWO
GIULIANA
I. THE HOUSE OF ASTORRE FIFANTI
II. HUMANITIES
III. PREUX-CHEVALIER
IV. MY LORD GAMBARA CLEARS THE GROUND
V. PABULUM ACHERONTIS
VI. THE IRON GIRDLE
BOOK THREE
THE WILDERNESS
I. THE HOME-COMING
II. THE CAPTAIN OF JUSTICE
III. GAMBARA'S INTERESTS
IV. THE ANCHORITE OF MONTE ORSARO
V. THE RENUNCIATION
VI. HYPNEROTOMACHIA
VII. INTRUDERS
VIII. THE VISION
IX. THE ICONOCLAST
BOOK FOUR
THE WORLD
I. PAGLIANO
II. THE GOVERNOR OF MILAN
III. PIER LUIGI FARNESE
IV. MADONNA BIANCA
V. THE WARNING
VI. THE TALONS
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E-text prepared by 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: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/canada1535presen17munr
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
More detail can be found at the end of the book.
Bell's English History Source Books
General Editors: S. E. Winbolt, M.A., and Kenneth Bell, M.A.
CANADA
(1535--PRESENT-DAY)
* * * * * *
BELL'S ENGLISH HISTORY SOURCE BOOKS.
_Volumes now Ready. 1s. net each._
=1307-1399. War and Misrule= (special period for the School
Certificate Examination, July and December, 1913). Edited by A.
A. LOCKE.
=1154-1216. The Angevins and the Charter.= Edited by S. M.
TOYNE, M.A., Headmaster of St. Peter's School, York, late
Assistant Master at Haileybury College.
=1485-1547. The Reformation and the Renaissance.= Edited by F.
W. BEWSHER, Assistant Master at St. Paul's School.
=1547-1603. The Age of Elizabeth.= Edited by ARUNDELL ESDAILE,
M.A.
=1603-1660. Puritanism and Liberty.= Edited by KENNETH BELL,
M.A.
=1660-1714. A Constitution in Making.= Edited by G. B. PERRETT,
M.A.
=1714-1760. Walpole and Chatham.= Edited by K. A. ESDAILE.
=1760-1801. American Independence and the French Revolution.=
Edited by S. E. WINBOLT, M.A.
=1801-1815. England and Napoleon.= Edited by S. E. WINBOLT, M.A.
=1815-1837. Peace and Reform.= Edited by A. C. W. EDWARDS,
Assistant Master at Christ's Hospital.
=1876-1887. Imperialism and Mr. Gladstone.= Edited by R. H.
GRETTON.
=1535-Present-day. Canada.= Edited by JAMES MUNRO, M.A.,
Lecturer in Colonial and Indian History in the University of
Edinburgh.
_Other volumes, covering the whole range of English History
from Roman Britain to 1887, are in active preparation, and will
be issued at short intervals._
LONDON: G. BELL AND SONS, LTD.
* * * * * *
CANADA
(1535--PRESENT-DAY)
by
JAMES MUNRO, M.A.
Lecturer in Colonial and Indian History
in the University of Edinburgh
[Illustration]
London
G. Bell and Sons, Ltd.
1913
INTRODUCTION
This series of English History Source Books is intended for use
with any ordinary textbook of English History. Experience has
conclusively shown that such apparatus is a valuable--nay, an
indispensable--adjunct to the history lesson. It is capable of
two main uses: either by way of lively illustration at the close
of a lesson, or by way of inference-drawing, before the textbook
is read, at the beginning of the lesson. The kind of problems
and exercises that may be based on the documents are legion, and
are admirably illustrated in a _History of England for Schools_,
Part I., by Keatinge and Frazer, pp. 377-381. However, we have no
wish to prescribe for the teacher the manner in which he shall
exercise his craft, but simply to provide him and his pupils with
materials hitherto not readily accessible for school purposes. The
very moderate price of the books in this series should bring them
within the reach of every secondary school. Source books enable
the pupil to take a more active part than hitherto in the history
lesson. Here is the apparatus, the raw material: its use we leave
to teacher and taught.
Our belief is that the books may profitably be used by all grades
of historical students between the standards of fourth-form boys
in secondary schools and undergraduates at Universities. What
differentiates students at one extreme from those at the other is
not so much the kind of subject-matter dealt with, as the amount
they can read into or
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Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Riikka Talonpoika and PG Distributed
Proofreaders
[Transcriber's note: Both "Matilde" and "Matilda" appear in the source
text.]
TAQUISARA
BY
F. MARION CRAWFORD
1895
CHAPTER I.
"Where shall I sign my name?"
Veronica Serra's thin, dark fingers rolled the old silver penholder
nervously as she sat at one end of the long library table, looking up at
the short, stout man who stood beside her.
"Here, if you please, Excellency," answered Lamberto Squarci, with an
affable smile.
His fingers were dark, too, but not thin, and they were smooth and dingy
and very pointed, a fact which the young princess noticed with dislike,
as he indicated the spot on the broad sheet of rough, hand-made paper,
where he wished her to sign. A thrill of repulsion that was strong
enough to be painful ran through her, and she rolled the penholder still
more quickly and nervously, so that she almost dropped it, and a little
blot of ink fell upon the sheet before she had begun to write.
"Oh! It is of no importance!" said the Neapolitan notary, in a
reassuring tone. "A little ink more or less!"
He had some pink blotting-paper ready, and was already applying a corner
of it to the ink-spot, with the neat skill of a professional scribe.
"I will erase it when it is dry," he said. "You will not even see it.
Now, if your Excellency will sign--that will make the will valid."
Three other persons stood around Donna Veronica as she set the point of
her pen to the paper, and two of them watched the characters she traced,
with eager, unwinking eyes. The third was a very insignificant personage
just then, being but the notary's clerk; but his signature was needed as
a witness to the will, and he patiently waited for his turn. The other
two were husband and wife, Gregorio and Matilde, Count and Countess
Macomer; and the countess was the young girl's aunt, being the only
sister of Don Tommaso Serra, Prince of Acireale, Veronica's dead father.
She looked on, with an eager, pleased expression, standing upright and
bending her head in order to see the point of the pen as it moved over
the rough paper. Her hands were folded before her, but the uppermost one
twitched and moved once or twice, as though it would go out to get
possession of the precious document which left her all the heiress's
great possessions in case of Donna Veronica's death. It was a bit of
paper well worth having.
The girl rose, slight and graceful, when she had written her name, and
the finely chiselled lips had an upward curve of young scorn, as she
turned from the table, while the notary and his clerk proceeded to
witness the will. Immediately, the countess smiled, very brightly,
showing beautiful teeth between smooth red lips, and her strong arms
went round her young niece. She was a woman at least forty years of age,
but still handsome.
"I thank you with all my heart!" she cried. "It is a proof of affection
which I shall never forget! You will live a hundred years--a thousand,
if God will it! But the mere wish to leave me your fortune is a token of
love and esteem which I shall know how to value."
Donna Veronica kissed her aunt's fresh cheek coldly, and drew back as
soon as she could.
"I am glad that you are pleased," she answered in a cool and colourless
voice.
She felt that she had said enough, and, so far as she expected any
thanks, her aunt had said too much. She had made the will and had signed
it, for the sake of peace, and she asked nothing but peace in return.
Ever since she had left the convent in which she had been educated and
had come to live with her aunt, the question of this will had arisen at
least once every day, and she knew by heart every argument which had
been invented to induce her to make it. The principal one had always
been the same. She had been told that if, in the inscrutable ways of
Providence, she should chance to die young, unmarried and childless,
the whole of the great Acireale property would go to relations whom she
had never seen and of whom she scarcely knew the names. This, the
Countess Macomer had insisted, would be a terrible misfortune, and as
human life was uncertain, even when one was very young, it was the duty
of Veronica to provide against it, by leaving everything to the one
remaining member of the Serra family who, with herself, represented the
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Produced by Louise Davies, 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/American Libraries.)
Transcriber's Note
Illustration captions in {brackets} have been added by the
transcriber, with reference to the list of illustrations, for the
convenience of the reader.
THE
ANIMAL STORY BOOK
EDITED BY
ANDREW LANG
_WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS BY H. J. FORD_
[Illustration: {TWO ORAN OTANS}]
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
FOURTH AVENUE & 30TH STREET, NEW YORK
LONDON, BOMBAY, CALCUTTA AND MADRAS
1914
_Copyright, 1896,_
By Longmans, Green, & Co.
_All rights reserved._
First Edition, September, 1896.
Reprinted, November, 1896, July, 1899,
June, 1904, February, 1909,
September, 1914.
THE FAIRY BOOK SERIES
Edited by Andrew Lang
_New and Cheaper Issue_
EACH VOLUME, $1.00 NET
THE BLUE FAIRY BOOK. With 138 Illustrations.
THE RED FAIRY BOOK. With 100 Illustrations.
THE GREEN FAIRY BOOK. With 101 Illustrations.
THE GREY FAIRY BOOK. With 65 Illustrations.
THE YELLOW FAIRY BOOK. With 104 Illustrations.
THE PINK FAIRY BOOK. With 67 Illustrations.
THE BLUE POETRY BOOK. With 100 Illustrations.
THE TRUE STORY BOOK. With 66 Illustrations.
THE RED TRUE STORY BOOK. With 100 Illustrations.
THE ANIMAL STORY BOOK. With 67 Illustrations.
THE RED BOOK OF ANIMAL STORIES. With 65 Illustrations.
THE ARABIAN NIGHTS ENTERTAINMENTS. With 66 Illustrations.
THE VIOLET FAIRY BOOK. With 8 Plates and 54 other
Illustrations.
THE CRIMSON FAIRY BOOK. With 8 Plates and 43 other
Illustrations.
THE BROWN FAIRY BOOK. With 8 Plates and 42 other
Illustrations.
THE OLIVE FAIRY BOOK. With 8 Plates and 43 other
Illustrations.
THE ORANGE FAIRY BOOK. With 8 Plates and 50 other
Illustrations.
THE BOOK OF ROMANCE. With 8 Plates and 44 other
Illustrations.
THE RED ROMANCE BOOK. With 8 Plates and 44 other
Illustrations.
THE BOOK OF PRINCES AND PRINCESSES. By Mrs. Lang. With 8
Plates and 43 other Illustrations.
THE RED BOOK OF HEROES. By Mrs. Lang. With 8 Plates
and 40 other Illustrations.
THE LILAC FAIRY BOOK. With 6 Plates and 46 other
Illustrations.
THE ALL SORTS OF STORIES BOOK. By Mrs. Lang. With 5
Plates and 43 other Illustrations.
THE BOOK OF SAINTS AND HEROES. By Mrs. Lang. With 12
Plates and 18 other Illustrations.
THE STRANGE STORY BOOK. By Mrs. Lang. With Portrait of Andrew
Lang, 12 Plates and 18 other Illustrations.
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO., NEW YORK
[Illustration: ANDROCLES IN THE ARENA]
_To_
_MASTER FREDERICK LONGMAN_
This year our Book for Christmas varies,
Deals not with History nor Fairies
(I can't help thinking, children, you
Prefer a book which is _not_ true).
We leave these intellectual feasts,
To talk of Fishes, Birds, and Beasts.
These--though his aim is hardly steady--
These are, I think, a theme for Freddy!
Trout, though he is not up to fly,
He soon will catch--as well as I!
So, Freddy, take this artless rhyme,
And be a Sportsman in your time!
_PREFACE_
Children who have read our Fairy Books may have noticed that there are
not so very many fairies in the stories after all. The most common
characters are birds, beasts, and fishes, who talk and act like
Christians. The reason of this is
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The Story of Louis Riel
The Rebel Chief
by Joseph Edmond Collins
Toronto, 1885
CHAPTER I.
Along the banks of the Red River, over those fruitful
plains brightened with wild flowers in summer, and swept
with fierce storms in the winter-time, is written the
life story of Louis Riel. Chance was not blind when she
gave as a field to this man's ambition the plains whereon
vengeful Chippewas and ferocious Sioux had waged their
battles for so many centuries; a country dyed so often
with blood that at last Red River came to be its name.
But while our task is to present the career of this
apostle of insurrection and unrest; stirred as we may be
to feelings of horror for the misery, the tumult, the
terror and the blood of which he has been the author, we
must not neglect to do him, even him, the justice which
is his right.
He is not, as so many suppose, a half-breed, moved by
the vengeful, irresponsible, savage blood in his veins.
Mr. Edward Jack, [Footnote: I cannot make out what Mr.
Jack's views are respecting Riel. When I asked him, he
simply turned his face toward the sky and made some remark
about the weather, I know that he has strong French
proclivities, though the blood of a Scottish bailie is
in his veins.] of New Brunswick, who is well informed on
all Canadian matters, hands me some passages which he
has translated from M. Tasse's book on Canadians in the
North West; and from these I learn that Riel's father,
whose name also was Louis, was born at the island of
La Crosse, in the North-West Territories. This parent was
the son of Jean Baptiste Riel, who was a French
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Internet Archive)
_THE WOODLAWN SERIES._
Bertie and the Gardeners:
OR,
THE WAY TO BE HAPPY.
BY
MRS MADELINE LESLIE.
AUTHOR OF "AUNT HATTIE'S LIBRARY FOR BOYS AND
GIRLS," ETC.
CHICAGO:
HENRY A. SUMNER & COMPANY
1880.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by
A. R. BAKER,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Massachusetts.
[Illustration: Winnie catching the Snow-flakes.
Vol. VI., p. 103]
[Illustration: THE WOODLAWN SERIES.]
TO
HARRY, NELLIE, AND WILLIE SAMPSON;
ALSO,
To the Memory of their Deceased Brothers and Sister,
BERTIE, FRANKEY AND EMMA,
THESE LITTLE BOOKS ARE AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED.
If the perusal prompt them and other readers to imitate the virtues of
our hero in his efforts to _be_ good, and to _do_ good, the wishes of
the author will be realized.
BERTIE; OR, THE WOODLAWN SERIES.
BY MRS. MADELINE LESLIE.
16 mo. 6 vols., Illustrated.
I. BERTIE'S HOME.
II. BERTIE AND THE CARPENTERS.
III. BERTIE AND THE MASONS.
IV. BERTIE AND THE PLUMBERS.
V. BERTIE AND THE PAINTERS.
VI. BERTIE AND THE GARDENERS.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
THE NEW FARMER, 11
CHAPTER II.
THE SICK WORKMAN, 21
CHAPTER III.
THE MERRY GARDENER, 30
CHAPTER IV.
VISITORS TO WOODLAWN, 40
CHAPTER V.
THE SORROWING FATHER, 51
CHAPTER VI.
CLEARING THE CREEK, 64
CHAPTER VII.
PAT'S VISIT HOME, 74
CHAPTER VIII.
LETTER FROM PAT, 84
CHAPTER IX.
BERTIE'S SPELLING MATCH, 97
CHAPTER X.
BERTIE'S PRESENTS, 107
CHAPTER XI.
THE HEART AND HAND, 118
CHAPTER XII.
VIOLETS AND VIOLETTA, 127
CHAPTER XIII.
BERTIE'S REWARD, 138
CHAPTER XIV.
BERTIE AND THE NEWSBOY, 148
CHAPTER XV.
THE LAST CHAPTER, 155
Bertie and the Gardeners.
CHAPTER I.
THE NEW FARMER.
The new house at Woodlawn was nearly completed; and Mr. Curtis now set
to work in earnest, clearing the grounds of the rubbish, in order to
make the terraces and lay out his avenue in front.
Those who have read the other books about Bertie, will know that two
wide avenues, enclosed by handsome iron gates, had been already made;
one winding along on the shores of Lake Shawsheen, the other entering
from a higher point which led through a grove toward the house where
the enchanting view of lawn and water burst at once on the vision.
But in the vicinity of the house, no grading had been done, on account
of the vast amount of bricks, lime, mortar-bins, wood and chips lying
scattered in every direction.
The house, elegant in proportion and finish, stood about a hundred
rods in front of a high, grassy mound, upon the top of which a cluster
of chestnut-trees cast a pleasant shade.
The rich, green turf on the lawn which sloped to the lake, was dotted
with magnificent old trees undisturbed for a century. Back of the
house, or rather beyond the barn, was another swell or mound, which
like the first, was so regular in its form as almost to excite the
belief that it was artificial. Indeed, from the fact that two
tomahawks were found buried in the spot where the barn stood, Mr.
Curtis inferred that it might have been used for the grand council of
the Indian tribe, and that here they buried all hostilities.
"Certainly," Mrs. Curtis remarked, "this was a pleasant view to take
of it," and as there was no one to
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BROAD GRINS;
BY
GEORGE COLMAN,
THE YOUNGER;
COMPRISING, WITH NEW ADDITIONAL
TALES IN VERSE,
THOSE FORMERLY PUBLISH'D UNDER THE TITLE
"MY NIGHT-GOWN AND SLIPPERS."
"DEME SUPERCILIO NUBEM."
THE EIGHTH EDITION.
LONDON:
H. G. BOHN, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN.
MDCCCXXXIX.
ADVERTISEMENT.
MY Booksellers inform'd me, lately, that several inquiries had been made
for _My Night-Gown and Slippers_,--but that every copy had been
sold;--they had been out of print these two years.--"Then publish them
again," said I, boldly,--(I print at my own risk)--and with an air of
triumph. Messrs. Cadell and Davies advise'd me to make additions.--"The
_Work_ is, really, too short," said Messrs. Cadell and Davies,--"I wish,
gentlemen," return'd I, "my readers were of your opinion."--"I protest,
Sir," said they, (and they asserted it, both together, with great
emphasis,) "you have but _Three Tales_."--I told them, carelessly, it
was enough for the greatest _Bashaw_, among modern poets, and wish'd
them a good morning. When a man, as Sterne observes, "can extricate
himself with an _equivoque_, in such an unequal match,"--(and two
booksellers to one poet are tremendous odds)--"he is not ill off;"--but
reflecting a little, as I went home, I began to think my pun was a vile
one,--and did not assist me, one jot, in my argument;--and, now I have
put it upon paper, it appears viler still;--it is execrable.--So, without
much further reasoning, I sat down to rhyming;--rhyming, as the reader
will see, in open defiance of _all reason_,--except the reasons of
Messrs. Cadell and Davies.--
Thus you have _My Night-Gown and Slippers_, with _Additions_, converted
to _Broad Grins_;--and 'tis well if they may not end in _Wide Yawns_ at
last! Should this be the case, gentle Reviewers, do not, ungratefully,
attempt to break my sleep, (_you will find it labour lost_) because I
have contributed to your's.
GEORGE COLMAN, the Younger.
_May, 1820._
CONTENTS
MY NIGHT-GOWN AND SLIPPERS
TOM, DICK, and WILL, were little known to Fame;--
THE WATER-FIENDS.
DICK ended:--TOM and WILL approve'd his strains;
THE NEWCASTLE APOTHECARY.
Ere WILL had done 'twas waxing wond'rous late;
LODGINGS FOR SINGLE GENTLEMEN.
THE KNIGHT AND THE FRIAR.
THE KNIGHT AND THE FRIAR, PART FIRST.
SIR THOMAS ERPINGHAM's SONNET ON HIS LADY.
THE KNIGHT AND THE FRIAR, PART THE SECOND.
Ye Criticks, and ye Hyper-Criticks!--who
THE ELDER BROTHER.
MY NIGHT-GOWN AND SLIPPERS
[Illustration]
TOM, DICK, and WILL, were little known to Fame;--
No matter;--
But to the Ale-house, oftentimes, they came,
To chatter.
It was the custom of these three
To sit up late;
And, o'er the embers of the Ale-house fire,
When steadier customers retire,
The choice _Triumviri_, d'ye see,
Held a debate.
Held a debate?--On politicks, no doubt.
Not so;--they care'd not who was in,
No, not a pin;--
Nor who was out.
All their discourse on modern Poets ran;
For in the Muses was their sole delight;--
They talk'd of such, and such, and such a man;
Of those who could, and those who could not write.
It cost them very little pains
To count the modern Poets, who had brains.
'Twas a small difficulty;--'twasn't any;
They were so few:
But to cast up the scores of men
Who wield a stump they call a pen,
Lord! they had much to do,--
They were so many!
Buoy'd on a sea of fancy, Genius rises,
And like the rare Leviathan surprises;
But the _small fry_ of scribblers!--tiny souls!
They wriggle thro' the mud in shoals.
It would have raise'd a smile to see the faces
They made, and
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VOL. 1 [OF 2]***
Transcribed from the 1893 Cassell & Company edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
CASSELL’S NATIONAL LIBRARY
* * * * *
TRAVELS
IN THE
INTERIOR OF AFRICA
BY
MUNGO PARK
VOL. I.
[Picture: Decorative graphic]
CASSELL & COMPANY Limited
_LONDON PARIS & MELBOURNE_
1893
INTRODUCTION
MUNGO PARK was born on the 10th of September, 1771, the son of a farmer
at Fowlshiels, near Selkirk. After studying medicine in Edinburgh, he
went out, at the age of twenty-one, assistant-surgeon in a ship bound for
the East Indies. When he came back the African Society was in want of an
explorer, to take the place of Major Houghton, who had died. Mungo Park
volunteered, was accepted, and in his twenty-fourth year, on the 22nd of
May, 1795, he sailed for the coasts of Senegal, where he arrived in June.
Thence he proceeded on the travels of which this book is the record. He
was absent from England for a little more than two years and a half;
returned a few days before Christmas, 1797. He was then twenty-six years
old. The African Association published the first edition of his travels
as “Travels in the Interior Districts of Africa, 1795–7, by Mungo Park,
with an Appendix containing Geographical Illustrations of Africa, by
Major Rennell.”
Park married, and settled at Peebles in medical practice, but was
persuaded by the Government to go out again. He sailed from Portsmouth
on the 30th of January, 1805, resolved to trace the Niger to its source
or perish in the attempt. He perished. The natives attacked him while
passing through a narrow strait of the river at Boussa, and killed him,
with all that remained of his party, except one slave. The record of
this fatal voyage, partly gathered from his journals, and closed by
evidences of the manner of his death, was first published in 1815, as
“The Journal of a Mission to the Interior of Africa in 1805, by Mungo
Park, together with other Documents, Official and Private, relating to
the same Mission. To which is prefixed an Account of the Life of Mr.
Park.”
H. M.
CHAPTER I.
JOURNEY FROM PORTSMOUTH TO THE GAMBIA.
SOON after my return from the East Indies in 1793, having learned that
the noblemen and gentlemen associated for the purpose of prosecuting
discoveries in the interior of Africa were desirous of engaging a person
to explore that continent, by the way of the Gambia river, I took
occasion, through means of the President of the Royal Society, to whom I
had the honour to be known, of offering myself for that service. I had
been informed that a gentleman of the name of Houghton, a captain in the
army, and formerly fort-major at Goree, had already sailed to the Gambia,
under the direction of the Association, and that there was reason to
apprehend he had fallen a sacrifice to the climate, or perished in some
contest with the natives. But this intelligence, instead of deterring me
from my purpose, animated me to persist in the offer of my services with
the greater solicitude. I had a passionate desire to examine into the
productions of a country so little known, and to become experimentally
acquainted with the modes of life and character of the natives. I knew
that I was able to bear fatigue, and I relied on my youth and the
strength of my constitution to preserve me from the effects of the
climate. The salary which the committee allowed was sufficiently large,
and I made no stipulation for future reward. If I should perish in my
journey, I was willing that my hopes and expectations should perish with
me; and if I should succeed in rendering the geography of Africa more
familiar to my countrymen, and in opening to their ambition and industry
new sources of wealth and new channels of commerce, I knew that I was in
the hands of men of honour, who would not fail to bestow that
remuneration which my successful services should appear to them to merit.
The committee of the Association having made such inquiries as they
thought necessary, declared themselves satisfied with the qualifications
that I possessed, and accepted me for the service; and, with that
liberality which on all occasions distinguishes their conduct, gave me
every encouragement which it was in their power to grant, or which I
could with propriety ask.
It was at first proposed that I should accompany Mr. James Willis, who
was then recently appointed consul at Senegambia, and whose countenance
in that capacity, it was thought, might have served and
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[Illustration: CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL
OF
POPULAR
LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART.
Fourth Series
CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS.
NO. 729. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 15, 1877. PRICE 1½_d._]
A BUNCH OF KEYS.
I am a professional man, and reside in the West End of London. One
morning some few months back, my assistant on coming to attend to his
duties produced a bunch of keys, which he informed me he had just
picked up at the corner of a street leading from Oxford Street.
'Hadn't they best be handed over to the police?' suggested my
assistant. I wish to goodness I had at once closed with his suggestion;
but I didn't, much to my own cost, as will be presently seen.
'Well, I don't know,' was my answer. 'I rather think it will be a wiser
plan to advertise them, if the owner is really to have a chance of
recovering them; for to my mind, articles found in that way and handed
over to the police are rarely heard of again.'
An advertisement for the _Times_ was duly drawn up and sent off for
insertion. It merely stated where the keys had been picked up, and
where the owner of the bunch could have it returned to him on giving
a proper description. The next morning the advertisement appeared;
and though I half expected that some applications might be made later
on in the same day, it passed over quite quietly. But the following
morning I had a foretaste of the trouble that awaited me so soon as the
postman had deposited my letters in the box and given his accustomed
knock. A glance at my table shewed me that my correspondence was very
considerably beyond its average that morning. The very first letter I
opened was in reference to the advertisement; and before I had gone
through the collection I found there were over twenty applications
for the bunch of keys in my possession. Some of the writers took the
trouble to describe the keys they had lost; but none of them were in
the least like those that had been picked up by my assistant. Some did
not take the trouble to give any description at all, or to state if
they had been in the part of the town where the keys were found; and
a few boldly claimed them on the strength of having dropped a bunch
miles from the spot indicated in the advertisement!
By the time I had got through my letters and my breakfast, my
servant came to tell me that my waiting-room was already full of
people--'mostly ladies,' he said--though it was nearly two hours
before the time I was accustomed to see any one professionally. With a
foreboding that a good deal of worry and a loss of much valuable time
was in store for me, I entered my consulting-room, and gave orders that
the ladies should be admitted in the order of their arrival. They were
all applicants for the keys; and out of the sixteen persons that were
waiting, fourteen were ladies. The two gentlemen were soon despatched.
They _had_ lost keys, near the spot for anything they could tell; but
on being satisfied that what had been found did in no way agree with
the description of what they had lost, they apologised for the trouble
and went at once.
But it was no such easy matter to get rid of my fourteen
lady-applicants. Some of them were for inflicting upon me a narration
of family affairs that had not the most remote connection with the
business in hand. A few kept closely enough to the subject on which
they had come; but would not take a denial that the keys in my
possession were not the least like those they said they had lost; and
it was only at the sacrifice of some of my usual politeness that I was
able to get rid of them. Not one of the morning's arrival could make
out anything like a fair claim, and one or two owned that they had not
even been in the quarter where the keys were found on the day specified.
More letters, more applicants, came as the day wore on; and I began
heartily to repent of my well-meant desire to benefit my fellow-mortals
by taking the trouble to find out the rightful owner of a lost article.
I was just on the point of giving orders to my servant to put
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GROWING UP
A Story of the Girlhood of
JUDITH MACKENZIE
By JENNIE M. DRINKWATER
"Each year grows more sacred
with wondering expectation."
--Phillips Brooks.
A. L. BURT COMPANY,
PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK.
Copyright, 1894,
By A. I. Bradley & Co.
CONTENTS.
I. The Horn Book
II. Square Root and Other Things
III. Was this the End?
IV. Bensalem
V. Daily Bread and Daily Will
VI. The Best Thing in the World
VII. A Small Disciple
VIII. This Way or That Way?
IX. The Flowers That Came to the Well
X. The Last Apple
XI. How Jean Had an Outing
XII. A Secret Errand
XIII. The Two Blessed Things
XIV. An Afternoon with an Adventure in It
XV. "First at Antioch"
XVI. Aunt Affy's Experience
XVII. The Story of a Key
XVIII. Judith's Turning Point
XIX. A Morning with a Surprise in It
XX. Judith's Afternoon
XXI. Marion's Afternoon
XXII. Aunt Affy's Evening
XXIII. Voices
XXIV. "I Always Thought You Cared"
XXV. Cousin Don
XXVI. Aunt Affy's Faith and Judith's Foreign Letter
XXVII. His Very Best
XXVIII. A New Anxiety
XXIX. Judith's Future
XXX. A Talk and What Came of It
XXXI. About Women
XXXII. Aunt Affy's Picture
XXXIII. Nettie's Outing
XXXIV. "Sensations"
GROWING UP
I. THE HORN BOOK.
"I remember the lessons of childhood, you see,
And the horn book I learned on my poor mother's knee.
In truth, I suspect little else do we learn
From this great book of life, which so shrewdly we turn,
Saving how to apply, with a good or bad grace,
What we learned in the horn book of childhood."
--Owen Meredith.
Judith's mother sat in her invalid chair before the grate; she looked
very pretty to Judith with her hair curling back from her face, and
the color of her eyes and cheeks brought out by the becoming wrapper;
the firelight shone upon the mother; the fading light in the west
shone upon the girl in the bay-window, the yellow head, the blue
shoulders bent over the letter she was writing.
"Judith, come and tell me pictures."
About five o'clock in the afternoon, her mother's weariest-time,
Judith often told her mother pictures.
The picture-telling began when Judith was a little girl; one afternoon
she said: "Mother, I'll tell you a picture; shut your eyes."
It was in this very room; her mother leaned back in her wheel-chair,
lifted her feet to the fender, shut her eyes, and a small
seven-year-old "told" her "picture."
Telling pictures had been the amusement of the one, and the rest of
the other, many, many weary times since.
As the child grew, her pictures grew.
"Yes, mother," said the girl in the bay window, "I've just finished my
letter; I've written Aunt Affy the longest letter and told her all you
said."
"Read it to me, please?"
Standing near the window to catch the light, Judith read aloud the
letter.
At times it was quaint and unchildish; then, forgetting herself,
Judith had run on with her ready pen, and, with pretty phrases, told
Aunt Affy the exciting events in her own life, and the quiet story of
her mother's days.
"We are coming as soon as spring comes," she ended, "mother is coming
to get strong, and I am coming to help you and learn about your
village. Beautiful Bensalem. Mother says I am learning the lessons
taught out of school; but how I would like to go to school with Jean
Draper in your big, queer school-room." As she turned towards her
mother, the firelight and the light in her face were all the lights in
the room.
The home of these two people was in two rooms; one was the kitchen,
the other was bed-room, school-room, parlor. It was a month since her
mother had walked through the two rooms; several times a day Judith
pushed the wheel-chair through the rooms. She called these times her
mother's excursions. Last winter her mother wiped dishes, sewed a
little, and once she made cake; this winter she had done little
besides teach Judith. The child was such an apt scholar that her
mother said she needed no teacher--she always taught herself.
Judith loved housekeeping; she loved everything she had to do, she
loved everything she was growing up to do; her mother she loved best
of all.
She lived all day long in a very busy world; the pictures helped fill
it.
"Now, mother, shut your eyes," she began, gleefully.
[Illustration: "Now, mother, shut your eyes," said Judith gleefully.]
The eyes shut themselves, the restless hands held themselves still;
there would not be many more weary days, but Judith did not know that.
Judith waited a moment until she could think.
"Mother, how do pictures come?"
"Bring me that paper Don brought last night; I saw something to show
you, then forgot it."
Her mother turned the leaves of the paper and indicated the paragraph
with her finger. Judith read it aloud:--
"Some years ago I chanced to meet Sir Noel Paton on the shores of a
beautiful Scottish loch, all alone, with an open Bible in his hand. He
put his finger between his pages, as he rose to greet me, and still
kept it there as we talked. Supposing he might be
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EIDOLON,
OR THE COURSE OF A SOUL;
AND OTHER POEMS,
BY WALTER R. CASSELS
LONDON
WILLIAM PICKERING
1850
TO
CHARLES PEEL,
THIS VOLUME IS INSCRIBED BY
HIS FRIEND,
W. R. CASSELS.
CONTENTS.
Page
Eidolon 1
Alceste 93
Pygmalion 136
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
Ode to Fancy 159
What is a sigh? 165
Ione 167
Reality 169
Retrospection 172
The Stormy Petrel 181
To ---- 183
The Mermaid 185
The Spirit of the Air 190
Why do I love thee? 195
Lady Annabel 196
To Jenny Lind 201
The Gold Seekers 204
To Woman 209
The Poet 212
Evening 224
Life 226
Sorrow 229
SONNETS.
I. Written at Ulleswater 233
II. "There is a spell by which the panting soul" 234
III. "We wander on through life as pilgrims do" 235
IV. "Sweet spirits of the Beautiful! where'er ye dwell," 236
V. "We are ambitious overmuch in life," 237
VI. "Mountains! and huge hills! wrap your mighty forms" 238
VII. To Ella 239
VIII. "I traverse oft in thought the battle-plain" 240
INTRODUCTION TO EIDOLON.
Hazlitt says, one cannot "make an allegory go on all fours," it must
to a certain degree be obscure and shadowy, like the images which the
traveller in the desert sees mirrored on the heavens, wherein he can
trace but a dreamy resemblance to the reality beneath. It therefore
seems to me advisable to give a solution of the "Eidolon," the symbol,
which follows, that the purpose of the poem may at once be evident.
In "Eidolon" I have attempted to symbol the course of a Poet's mind
from a state wherein thought is disordered, barren and uncultivated,
to that which is ordered and swayed by the true Spirit of Poetry, and
holds its perfect creed.
I have therefore laid the scene on a desert island, whence, as from
the isolation of his own mind, he reflects upon the concerns of life.
At first he is a poet only by birthright '_Poeta nascitur_.' He has
the poet's inherent love for the Beautiful, his keen susceptibility of
all that is lovely in outward nature, but these are only the blossoms
which have fallen upon him from the Tree of Life, the fruit is yet
untasted. He has looked at the evil of the world alone, and seeing how
much "the time is out of joint" has become misanthropic, and turns his
back alike on the evil and the good.
Then comes Night, the stillness of the soul, with starlight breaking
through the gloom. He gazes on other worlds, and pictures there the
perfection he sighs for, but cannot find in this. Thus by the
conception of a higher and nobler existence acquiring some impetus
towards its realization.
We then find him lying in the sunshine with the beauties of Nature
around him, whose silent teaching works upon him till the true SPIRIT
OF POETRY speaks _within his soul_, and combats the misanthropy and
weakness of the sensuous MAN, showing him that Action is the end of
Life, not mere indulgence in abstract and visionary rhapsodies.
In the next scene he makes further advances, for the spirit of Poetry
shows him that the beauty for which he has sought amongst the stars of
heaven lies really at his feet; that Earth, too, is a star capable of
equal brightness with those on which he gazes. He is thus brought from
the Ideal to the Real.
The fifth scene emblems the influence of Love on the soul. It is the
nurse of Poetry, and Sorrow is the pang which stimulates the divine
germ into active vitality. Had he been entirely happy, and the course
of his love run smooth, he would have been content to enjoy life in
ease and idleness.
Next we find him looking broadly on life, on its utmost ills as well
as its beauties, but not with the eye of the misanthrope, but of the
Physician who searches out disease that he may find the remedy, and
though the soul still sighs for the serenity and placid delight of
the ideal life, the world of Thought, the glorious principle of Poetry
prevails, and he sacrifices self-ease, feeling that he has a nobler
mission than to dream through life, and that here he must labour ere
he can earn the right to rest.
Thus in the last scene the SPIRIT and the MAN have become one--he is
_truly_ a Poet. His prayer maintains the direct and divine inspiration
of the Poet-Priest.
The action in short is the conflict of two principles within the
breast, the False and the True, ending in the extinction of error
and the triumph of truth.
EIDOLON,
OR
THE COURSE OF A SOUL.
SCENE. _A desert Island. The sea-shore._
MAN.
How lonely were I in this solitude,
This atom of creation which yon wave,
White with the fury of a thousand years,
Might gulf into oblivion, if the soul
Knew circumscription. Far as eye can reach
Around me lies a wild and watery waste,
With every billow sentinel to keep
Its prisoner fetter'd to his ocean cell--
What were it but a plunge--an instant strife--
Then liberty snatch'd from the clutch of Death
The Tyrant, who with mystic terror grinds
Men into slaves--But he who thinks _is_ free,
And fineless as the unresting winds of heaven,
Now rushing with wild joy around the belt
Of whirling Saturn, then away through space
Till he and all his radiant brotherhood
Dwindle to fire-flies round the brow of Night.
Thought is the great creator under God,
Begotten of his breathing, that can raise
Shapes from the dust and give them Beauty's soul;
And though my empire be a continent,
Squared down from leagues to inches, what of that?
The mind contains a world within its frame
Which Fancy peoples o'er with radiant forms,
Replete with life and spirit excellence.
O! there is glory in the thought that now
I stand absolved from all the chilling forms
And falsities of life, that like frail reeds
Pierce the blind palms of those that lean on them,
And from the springs of my own being draw
All strength, and hope, and joyance, all that makes
Lone meditations sweet, and schools the heart
For prophecy. In the o'erpeopled world
We seem like babes that cannot walk alone,
But fasten on the skirts of other men,
Their creeds, conclusions, and vain phantasies,
Too languid, or too weak to poize ourselves;
But here the crutch is shattered at a blow,
Dependence made a thing for winds to blast,
And paraphrase in bitter mockery.
From this retreat, as from a cloister calm,
I dream upon the busy haunts of men
As things that touch me not. An empire riven,
A monarchy o'erthrown, here seem to me
Importless as a foam-bell's death. The world
And all its revolutions are now less
Within my chronicles, than is the ken
Of a star's orbit on the fines of space;
But like a mariner saved from the wreck
On this calm spot I stand, unscathed, secure
From the rough throbbings of the sea of strife,
And woe, and clamour, wherewith this world's life
Ebbs and declines unto the printless shore
Of death. O! blessed change, if there were one
To love me in this solitude, and make
Life beautiful. My soul is wearied out
With earth's fierce warfare, and its selfish ease;
The slights and coldness of the hollow crowds
That are its arbiters; the changeful face,
The upstart arrogance of base-born fools,
Who crown them with their golden dross, and deem
_That_ the all-potent badge of sovereignty.
O thou, my heart! hast thou not framed for life
A golden palace in all solitude,
Whither the strains of quiet melodies
Float on the breath of memory, like songs
From the dim bosom of the evening woods,
Peopling its chambers with sweet poesy?
Hast thou not called the sunshine from the morn
To circle thee with a pure spirit life,
And with the softness of its tender arms
Clasp thee in the embrace of heav'nly love?
Hast thou not heard the music of the stars,
In the calm stillness of the summer night,
And read their jewell'd pages o'er and o'er,
Like the bright inspirations of a bard,
Till glowing strophes rung within thy soul
Of glad Orion and clear Pleiades?
Hast thou not seen the silv'ry moonshine thrill
Upon the dusky mantle of the night,
Like radiant glances through a maiden's veil,
Till shaken thence they fell in a pure shower
O'er flood and field and bosky wilderness,
Wreathing earth with the glory of a saint?
O! thus to dwell far from the stir of life,
Far from its pleasures and its miseries,
Far from the panting cry of man's desire,
That waileth upward in hoarse discontent,
And here to list but to that liquid voice
That riseth in the spirit, and whose flow
Is like a rivulet from Paradise--
To hear the wanderings of divine thought
Within the soul, like the low ebb and flow
Of waters in the blue-deep ocean caves,
Forming itself a speech and melody
Sweeter than words unto the aching sense--
To stand alone with Nature where man's step
Hath never bowed a grass-blade 'neath its weight,
Nor hath the sound of his rude utterance
Broken the pauses of the wild-bird's song;
And thus in its unpeopled solitude
To be the spirit of this universe,
Centering thought and reason in one frame,
And in the majesty of quenchless soul,
Rising unto the stature of a man,
_That_ is to make life glorious and great,
Dissolving matter in the spiritual,
As the green pine dissolveth into flame;
Not on the breath of popular applause
That is the spectre of all nothingness;
Not on the fawning of a servile crew,
Who kiss the hem of fortune's purple robe,
And lick the dust before prosperity,
Waiting the cogging of the downward scale,
To turn from slaves to bravos in the dark;
Not on the favours
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NARRATIVE AND MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS.
By Thomas De Quincey.
Contents Of Volume I.
The Household Wreck
The Spanish Nun
Flight Of A Tartar Tribe
Contents Of Volume II.
System Of The Heavens As Revealed By Lord Rosse's Telescopes
Modern Superstition
Coleridge And Opium-Eating
Temperance Movement
On War
The Last Days Of Immanuel Kant
VOLUME I.
THE HOUSEHOLD WRECK.
'To be weak,' we need not the great archangel's voice to tell us, '_is
to be miserable_.' All weakness is suffering and humiliation, no matter
for its mode or its subject. Beyond all other weakness, therefore, and
by a sad prerogative, as more miserable than what is most miserable
in all, that capital weakness of man which regards the _tenure_ of his
enjoyments and his power to protect, even for a moment, the crown of
flowers--flowers, at the best, how frail and few!--which sometimes
settles upon his haughty brow. There is no end, there never will be
an end, of the lamentations which ascend from earth and the rebellious
heart of her children, upon this huge opprobrium of human pride--the
everlasting mutabilities of all which man can grasp by his power or
by his aspirations, the fragility of all which he inherits, and the
hollowness visible amid the very raptures of enjoyment to every eye
which looks for a moment underneath the draperies of the shadowy
_present_, the hollowness, the blank treachery of hollowness, upon which
all the pomps and vanities of life ultimately repose. This trite but
unwearying theme, this impassioned common-place of humanity, is the
subject in every age of variation without end, from the poet,
the rhetorician, the fabulist, the moralist, the divine, and the
philosopher. All, amidst the sad vanity of their sighs and groans, labor
to put on record and to establish this monotonous complaint, which needs
not other record or evidence than those very sighs and groans. What is
life? Darkness and formless vacancy for a beginning, or something beyond
all beginning--then next a dim lotos of human consciousness, finding
itself afloat upon the bosom of waters without a shore--then a few sunny
smiles and many tears--a little love and infinite strife--whisperings
from paradise and fierce mockeries from the anarchy of chaos--dust and
ashes--and once more darkness circling round, as if from the beginning,
and in this way rounding or making an island of our fantastic
existence,--_that_ is human life; _that_ the inevitable amount of man's
laughter and his tears--of what he suffers and he does--of his motions
this way and that way--to the right or to the left--backwards
or forwards--of all his seeming realities and all his absolute
negations--his shadowy pomps and his pompous shadows--of whatsoever he
thinks, finds, makes or mars, creates or animates, loves, hates, or in
dread hope anticipates;--so it is, so it has been, so it will be, for
ever and ever.
Yet in the lowest deep there still yawns a lower deep; and in the vast
halls of man's frailty, there are separate and more gloomy chambers of
a frailty more exquisite and consummate. We account it frailty that
threescore years and ten make the upshot of man's pleasurable existence,
and that, far before that time is reached, his beauty and his power
have fallen among weeds and forgetfulness. But there is a frailty, by
comparison with which this ordinary flux of the human race seems to have
a vast duration. Cases there are, and those not rare, in which a
single week, a day, an hour sweeps away all vestiges and landmarks of
a memorable felicity; in which the ruin travels faster than the flying
showers upon the mountain-side, faster 'than a musician scatters
sounds;' in which 'it was' and 'it is not' are words of the self-same
tongue, in the self-same minute; in which the sun that at noon beheld
all sound and prosperous, long before its setting hour looks out upon
a total wreck, and sometimes upon the total abolition of any fugitive
memorial that there ever had been a vessel to be wrecked, or a wreck to
be obliterated.
These cases, though here spoken of rhetorically, are of daily
occurrence; and, though they may seem few by comparison with the
infinite millions of the species, they are
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THE INSIDE OF THE CUP
By Winston Churchill
Volume 7.
XXIII. THE CHOICE
XXIV. THE VESTRY MEETS
XXV. "RISE, CROWNED WITH LIGHT!"
XXVI. THE CURRENT OF LIFE
CHAPTER XXIII
THE CHOICE
I
Pondering over Alison's note, he suddenly recalled and verified some
phrases which had struck him that summer on reading Harnack's celebrated
History of Dogma, and around these he framed his reply. "To act as if
faith in eternal life and in the living Christ was the simplest thing in
the world, or a dogma to which one has to submit, is irreligious...
It is Christian to pray that God would give the Spirit to make us strong
to overcome the feelings and the doubts of nature... Where this
faith, obtained in this way, exists, it has always been supported by the
conviction that the Man lives who brought life and immortality to light.
To hold fast this faith is the goal of life, for only what we consciously
strive for is in this matter our own. What we think we possess is very
soon lost."
"The feelings and the doubts of nature!" The Divine Discontent, the
striving against the doubt that every honest soul experiences and admits.
Thus the contrast between her and these others who accepted and went
their several ways was brought home to him.
He longed to talk to her, but his days were full. Yet the very thought
of her helped to bear him up as his trials, his problems accumulated; nor
would he at any time have exchanged them for the former false peace which
had been bought (he perceived more and more clearly) at the price of
compromise.
The worst of these trials, perhaps, was a conspicuous article in a
newspaper containing a garbled account of his sermon and of the sensation
it had produced amongst his fashionable parishioners. He had refused to
see the reporter, but he had been made out a hero, a socialistic champion
of the poor. The black headlines were nauseating; and beside them, in
juxtaposition, were pen portraits of himself and of Eldon Parr. There
were rumours that the banker had left the church until the recalcitrant
rector should be driven out of it; the usual long list of Mr. Parr's
benefactions was included, and certain veiled paragraphs concerning his
financial operations. Mr. Ferguson, Mr. Plimpton, Mr. Constable, did not
escape,--although they, too, had refused to be interviewed....
The article brought to the parish house a bevy of reporters who had to be
fought off, and another batch of letters, many of them from ministers, in
approval or condemnation.
His fellow-clergymen called, some to express sympathy and encouragement,
more of them to voice in person indignant and horrified protests. Dr.
Annesley of Calvary--a counterpart of whose rubicund face might have
been found in the Council of Trent or in mediaeval fish-markets
--pronounced his anathemas with his hands folded comfortably over his
stomach, but eventually threw to the winds every vestige of his
ecclesiastical dignity....
Then there came a note from the old bishop, who was traveling. A kindly
note, withal, if non-committal,--to the effect that he had received
certain communications, but that his physician would not permit him to
return for another ten days or so. He would then be glad to see Mr.
Holder and talk with him.
What would the bishop do? Holder's relations with him had been more than
friendly, but whether the bishop's views were sufficiently liberal to
support him in the extreme stand he had taken he could not surmise. For
it meant that the bishop, too, must enter into a conflict with the first
layman of his diocese, of whose hospitality he had so often partaken,
whose contributions had been on so lordly a scale. The bishop was in his
seventieth year, and had hitherto successfully fought any attempt to
supply him with an assistant,--coadjutor or suffragan.
At such times the fear grew upon Hodder that he might be recommended for
trial, forced to abandon his fight to free the Church from the fetters
that bound her: that the implacable hostility of his enemies would rob
him of his opportunity.
Thus ties were broken, many hard things were said and brought to his
ears. There were vacancies in the classes and guilds, absences that
pained him, silences that wrung him....
Of all the conversations he held, that with Mrs. Constable was perhaps
the most illuminating and distressing. As on that other occasion, when
he had gone to her, this visit was under the seal of confession, unknown
to her husband. And Hodder had been taken aback, on seeing her enter his
office, by the very tragedy in her face--the tragedy he had momentarily
beheld once before. He drew up a chair for her, and when she had sat
down she gazed at him some moments without speaking.
"I had to come," she said; "there are some things I feel I must ask you.
For I have been very miserable since I heard you on Sunday."
He nodded gently.
"I knew that you would change your views--become broader, greater. You
may remember that I predicted it."
"Yes," he said.
"I thought you would grow more liberal, less bigoted, if you will allow
me to say so. But I didn't anticipate--" she hesitated, and looked up at
him again.
"That I would take the extreme position I have taken," he assisted her.
"Oh, Mr. Hodder," she cried impulsively, "was it necessary to go so far?
and all at once. I am here not only because I am miserable, but I am
concerned on your account. You hurt me very much that day you came to
me, but you made me your friend. And I wonder if
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RED HEAD AND WHISTLE BREECHES
By Ellis Parker Butler
It is believed that this little story by a master story teller, may,
through its human interest and homely suggestion, exert a wholesome
influence and warrant its publication in permanent form.
The Publishers.
With Illustrations By Arthur D. Puller
The Bancroft Company Publishers New York
1915
[Illustration: Frontispiece]
RED HEAD AND WHISTLE BREECHES
I.
When Tim Murphy let his enthusiasm get the better of his judgment and,
in the excitement of that disastrous night, joined the front rank of the
strikers in a general mix-up and cracked the head of a deputy
sheriff, the result was what he might have expected--two years in the
penitentiary. That was all right. The peace of the commonwealth must
be preserved, and that is why laws and penitentiaries exist, but it
sometimes goes hard with the mothers and wives. That is also to be
expected, and the boy should have thought of it before he crowded to the
front of the angry mob or struck the deputy.
It went very hard with the boy's mother and wife. It went hard with
his old man, too. It is a cruel thing to have one's only boy in the
penitentiary, even if one is only a village hod carrier.
Maggie Murphy, the boy's wife, did not suffer for food or shelter after
the boy went to wear stripes, for old Mike had a handy little roll in
the bank and a shanty of his own, and he took Maggie into his home and
made a daughter of her; but the girl grew thin and had no spirits. She
cried a good part of the time, quite as if Tim had been a law abiding
citizen, instead of a law breaking rowdy. Then the baby came, and after
that she cried more than ever.
As for the boy's mother, it was to be expected that she would weep also.
Mothers have a way of weeping over the son they love, even if he has
gone wrong. It is not logical, but it is a fact. It is one of the grand
facts of human life.
When Maggie's baby came the boy's mother could stand it no longer. It
had been urged--and there was some evidence to support it--that the boy
had acted in self-defense. He said so himself, but he admitted he had
been in the front rank. The strikers had carried things with a high hand
all along, and the jury had decided against him.
Night and day the boy's mother begged the old man to try for a pardon,
but Mike knew it was not worth a trial. The Governor was an old man and
a strong man, and not one to forgive an injury done to the State or to
himself. He had never been known to forget a wrong, or to leave a debt
unpaid.
He was a just man, as the ancient Jews were just. It was this that had
made him Governor; his righteousness and fearlessness were greater than
cliques and bosses.
Old Mrs. Murphy, however, was only a woman, and the boy was her boy,
and she pardoned him. She knew he was innocent, for he was her boy. Mike
refused a thousand times to ask the Governor for a pardon, but as
Mrs. Murphy was the boy's mother and had a valiant tongue, the old man
changed his mind. One day he put on his old silk hat, and with Father
Maurice, the good gray priest, went up to the capital.
A strange pair they were to sit in the Governor's richly furnished
reception room--Mike with his smoothly shaven face, red as the sunset,
his snowy eye brows, his white flecked red hair, and the shiny black of
his baggy Sunday suit; Father Maurice with his long gray beard that
had been his before the days of the smoothly shaven priests, his kindly
eyes, and the jolly rotundity of his well fed stomach. The father's
gentle heart was hopeful, but Mike sat sadly with his eyes on the toe
of his boot, for he knew the errand was folly; not alone because the
Governor had never pardoned a condemned man, but because it was he, Mike
Murphy, who came.
He remembered an incident of his boyhood, and he frowned as he recalled
it. Think of it! He, Mike Murphy, had bullied the Governor--had drubbed
him and chased him and worried the life out of him. That was why he had
told the old woman it was no use to try it.
Who was he to come asking pardons when, years ago
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A SOLDIER IN
THE PHILIPPINES
BY
N. N. FREEMAN
(PRIVATE, U.S.A.)
[Illustration]
F. TENNYSON NEELY CO.
114 Fifth Avenue
NEW YORK
96 Queen Street
LONDON
Copyright, 1901,
by
D. L. FREEMAN,
in the
United States
and
Great Britain.
Entered at
Stationers' Hall, London.
All Rights Reserved.
A SOLDIER IN THE PHILIPPINES.
CHAPTER I.
Needom Freeman, in the United States regular army during the years
1898-1900, was born in the quiet little country village of
Barrettsville, Dawson County, Ga., on the 25th of September, 1874.
Many things have been said and written of army life during the
Spanish-American war, but usually from the officers' point of view. As a
matter of fact the ideas of a private if spoken or written are
unbelieved simply because the prestige of office was not attached, and
receives but little credit.
The early part of my life was passed in and near the little village of
my birth. Working on the farm and attending the village school a few
months during the time when farming operations were suspended, consumed
about all my time. My father being a poor man with a large family and
unable to give his children the benefit of any advanced education, it
fell to my lot to receive but little instruction. I was the eighth child
in a family of thirteen--five sons and eight daughters.
Having attained the long awaited age of twenty-one, when most young men
are buoyant and full of hope and ambition, I turned my thoughts
westward, where I hoped to make my fortune. I gathered together my few
possessions and proceeded to Texas, arriving at Alvarado, Texas, the
second day of November, 1895.
Obtaining employment on a farm, my old occupation was resumed for
eighteen weeks, but finding this too commonplace and not fulfilling my
desires nor expectations, the farm work was once more given up.
I obtained a position with a wrecking crew on the Santa Fe Railroad. For
twelve months I worked with this crew, then gave it up in disgust.
A few weeks' employment in the cotton mills of Dallas, Texas, were
sufficient to satisfy me with that sort of work.
I next obtained employment with the street railroad of Dallas, filling
the position of motorman, which I held for three months. One night,
while with several friends, the subject of enlisting in the army was
discussed; this strongly appealed to me, and studying the matter
further, I became enthused over the idea. I determined to enlist at
once. My position as motorman with the street railroad company was given
up. My salary was forty-five dollars a month, as against one-third that
amount in the army, but this made little difference to me. I was anxious
to be a soldier and live the life of one.
I proceeded to the recruiting office in Dallas to stand an examination,
was weighed, then measured all over, every scar was measured, my
complexion was noted, my age, place of birth and all about my people
were taken. My fingers and toes were twisted and almost pulled off. It
occurred to me that possibly my examiners thought my fingers and toes
might be artificial. After part of two days' weighing, measuring, finger
pulling, toe-twisting and questioning I was pronounced subject and sent
to the St. George Hotel, in Dallas, to await further orders. Of twelve
applicants who were standing the same examination I was the only
successful one. I enlisted under Lieutenant Charles Flammil for a
service of three years, unless discharged before the expiration of that
time. I was to obey all the orders of my superior officers, which meant
every officer from corporal up.
From Dallas I was sent to Fort McIntosh, south-west of Dallas, on the
border of Texas and Mexico, on the Rio Grande. My long cherished hope
was now being fulfilled. I had from a mere boy had a desire to be one of
Uncle Sam's soldiers and fight for my country. I had now entered the
service for three years and will let the reader judge for himself
whether or not he thinks that I should be satisfied with the service and
experience of a soldier.
Fort McIntosh is in Laredo, Texas. Here I was assigned, upon my arrival,
to Company A, Twenty-third United States Infantry. I had only been there
a few days when Company A was ordered out on a practice march of one
hundred and twenty miles. Of course I wanted to go, thinking it would be
a picnic. I only had a few days' drilling at the fort, and that was all
I ever had, but I was anxious to go on this march with my company, and
Goodale, called "Grabby" by the men, had my uniform and necessary
equipage issued to me and let me go with the company. I learned during
the first days' march its object was not to have a picnic, but just to
try us and prepare us for the service we might at any time be called
upon to perform. We were to get hardened a little by this practice
march.
The second day out we were halted every hour and rested ten minutes.
During one of those rests I pulled off my shoes to see what was hurting
my feet. I found on each of my heels a large blister and several small
ones. A non-commissioned officer saw the condition of my feet and
ordered me into the ambulance. I was afraid the soldiers would laugh at
me for falling out. First I hesitated, but very soon I had plenty of
company in the ambulance.
The march was through a rough country, the roads were very bad, and
travel was difficult. Twenty miles a day through chaparral bushes and
cactus is a good day's march for soldiers, with all their equipage. The
infantryman carried a rifle, belt, haversack and canteen. Tents were
pitched every night and guards stationed around the camp to keep away
prowling Mexicans and others who would steal the provisions of the camp.
Tents were struck at morning and everything put in readiness for the
day's march. The company was out fifteen days on that practice march
across the plains. Four days, however, were really holidays. We spent
them hunting and fishing. Fish and game were plentiful. A few deer were
to be found, but ducks and blue quail were the principal game. The
company returned to Fort McIntosh on the third of December.
I had to be drilled as a recruit; never having had any military
training, everything was new to me. I was drilled hard for a month
before I was assigned to the company for duty. That month's drill was
very hard.
After I was assigned for duty I learned something new about military
affairs every day for a year. The manner of all the drill masters was
very objectionable to me at first; I did not like the way they spoke to
a soldier and gave commands, which, if disobeyed, punishment was
inflicted. The month I drilled as a recruit by myself I was under
Sergeant Robert Scott of my company. During that time I thought Sergeant
Scott the most unkind man I had ever seen. He looked ugly and talked
harshly. I thought he meant every word he said. After I learned how the
commands were given and was taught how to execute them, it seemed very
simple and then I was assigned for duty.
When my time came to serve on guard duty I did not understand the
"general orders" and "special orders." I went on guard perfectly
bewildered with the instructions given me about my duties.
I did not know what to do. I watched for the officer of the day to make
his round and give orders every day and night.
Two hours' duty on post was the time we stood guard before being
relieved by the proper authority. If a man is caught sitting down while
on duty he is severely punished by being placed in the guard house, and
sentenced to hard labor for a long time. Sometimes the labor sentence
runs as high as six months or more, according to the gravity of the
offense.
I was very careful not to get in the guard house or miss roll call,
having to pay fines or working hard all day with a sentry over me.
Every soldier had to be on his bunk at eleven o'clock at night; his
check was taken and delivered to the officer of the day. Nine o'clock
was bed time, but the checks were not taken up until eleven. The first
call of the morning was sounded at a quarter before six, when we must
answer to reveille, followed by a drilling exercise of fifteen minutes.
After breakfast every soldier had to sweep under his bunk and prepare it
and himself for inspection, which took place after drill hour, which was
from eight to nine o'clock.
A gymnastic drill of thirty minutes each day, except Saturday and
| 446.368812 | 2,098 |
2023-11-16 18:23:13.7988780
| 378 | 51 |
Produced by Michael Pullen and David Widger
THE MARBLE FAUN
or The Romance of Monte Beni
By Nathaniel Hawthorne
In Two Volumes
This is Volume One
Contents
Volume I
I MIRIAM, HILDA, KENYON, DONATELLO
II THE FAUN
III SUBTERRANEAN REMINISCENCES
IV THE SPECTRE OF THE CATACOMB
V MIRIAM'S STUDIO
VI THE VIRGIN'S SHRINE
VII BEATRICE
VIII THE SUBURBAN VILLA
IX THE FAUN AND NYMPH
X THE SYLVAN DANCE
XI FRAGMENTARY SENTENCES
XII A STROLL ON THE PINCIAN
XIII A SCULPTOR'S STUDIO
XIV CLEOPATRA
XV AN AESTHETIC COMPANY
XVI A MOONLIGHT RAMBLE
XVII MIRIAM'S TROUBLE
XVIII ON THE EDGE OF A PRECIPICE
XIX THE FAUN'S TRANSFORMATION
XX THE BURIAL CHANT
XXI THE DEAD CAPUCHIN
XXII THE MEDICI GARDENS
XXIII MIRIAM AND HILDA
Volume II
XXIV THE TOWER AMONG THE APENNINES
XXV SUNSHINE
XXVI THE PEDIGREE OF MONTE BENI
XXVII MYTHS
XXVIII THE OWL TOWER
XXIX ON THE BATTLEMENTS
| 447.118288 | 2,099 |
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