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THE
SALEM WITCHCRAFT,
The Planchette Mystery,
AND
MODERN SPIRITUALISM,
WITH
DR. DODDRIDGE'S DREAM.
HISTORY
OF
SALEM WITCHCRAFT:
A REVIEW
OF
CHARLES W. UPHAM'S GREAT WORK.
FROM THE "EDINBURGH REVIEW."
With Notes,
BY THE EDITOR OF "THE PHRENOLOGICAL JOURNAL."
NEW YORK:
FOWLER & WELLS CO., PUBLISHERS,
753 BROADWAY.
1886.
BIGOTRY. Obstinate or blind attachment to a particular creed;
unreasonable zeal or warmth in favor of a party, sect, or opinion;
excessive prejudice. The practice or tenet of a bigot.
PREJUDICE. An opinion or decision of mind, formed without due
examination of the facts or arguments which are necessary to a just and
impartial determination. A previous bent or inclination of mind for or
against any person or thing. Injury or wrong of any kind; as to act to
the _prejudice_ of another.
SUPERSTITION. Excessive exactness or rigor in religious opinions or
practice; excess or extravagance in religion; the doing of things not
required by God, or abstaining from things not forbidden; or the
belief of what is absurd, or belief without evidence. False religion;
false worship. Rite or practice proceeding from excess of scruples in
religion. Excessive nicety; scrupulous exactness. Belief in the direct
agency of superior powers in certain extraordinary or singular events,
or in omens and prognostics.--_Webster._
INTRODUCTION.
The object in reprinting this most interesting review is simply to show
the progress made in moral, intellectual, and physical science. The
reader will go back with us to a time--not very remote--when nothing was
known of Phrenology and Psychology; when men and women were persecuted,
and even put to death, through the baldest ignorance and the most
pitiable superstition. If we were to go back still farther, to the Holy
Wars, we should find cities and nations drenched in human blood through
religious bigotry and intolerance. Let us thank God that our lot is
cast in a more fortunate age, when the light of revelation, rightly
interpreted by the aid of SCIENCE, points to the Source of all
knowledge, all truth, all light.
When we know more of Anatomy, Physiology, Physiognomy, and the Natural
Sciences generally, there will be a spirit of broader liberality,
religious tolerance, and individual freedom. Then all men will hold
themselves accountable to God, rather than to popes, priests, or
parsons. Our progenitors lived in a time that tried men's souls, as
the following lucid review most painfully shows.
S. R. W.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
The Place 7
The Salemite of Forty Years Ago 8
How the Subject was opened 9
Careful Historiography 10
The Actors in the Tragedy 12
Philosophy of the Delusion 12
Character of the Early Settlement 13
First Causes 15
Death of the Patriarch 16
Growth of Witchcraft 17
Trouble in the Church 18
Rev. Mr. Burroughs 19
Deodat Lawson 20
Parris--a Malignant 20
A Protean Devil 21
State of Physiology 22
William Penn as a Precedent 22
Phenomena of Witchcraft 23
Parris and his Circle 25
The Inquisitions--Sarah Good 26
A Child Witch 27
The Towne Sisters 28
Depositions of Parris and his Tools 31
Goody Nurse's Excommunication 35
Mary Easty 36
Mrs. Cloyse 38
The Proctor Family 40
The Jacobs Family 41
Giles and Martha Corey 42
Decline of the Delusion 44
The Physio-Psychological Causes of the Trouble 45
The Last of Parris 47
"One of the Afflicted"--Her Confession 49
The Transition 50
The Fetish Theory Then and Now 51
The Views of Modern Investigators 53
Importance of the Subject 55
CONTENTS OF THE PLANCHETTE MYSTERY.
PAGE.
What Planchette is and does (with review of Facts and
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[Illustration]
The Columbia River
Its History, Its Myths,
Its Scenery, Its Commerce
By William Denison Lyman
Professor of History in Whitman College,
Walla Walla, Washington
_With 80 Illustrations and a Map_
G. P. Putnam's Sons
New York and London
The Knickerbocker Press
1909
COPYRIGHT, 1909
BY
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
The Knickerbocker Press, New York
TO MY PARENTS
Horace Lyman and Mary Denison Lyman
PIONEERS OF 1849, WHO BORE THEIR PART IN LAYING THE
FOUNDATIONS OF CIVILIZATION UPON THE BANKS OF
THE COLUMBIA, THIS VOLUME IS DEDICATED
BY THE AUTHOR
I see the living tide roll on,
It crowns with rosy towers
The icy capes of Labrador,
The Spaniard's land of flowers;
It streams beyond the splintered ridge
That parts the northern showers.
From eastern rock to sunset wave,
The Continent is ours.
HOLMES.
PREFACE
As one of the American Waterways series, this volume is designed to be a
history and description of the Columbia River. The author has sought to
convey to his reader a lively sense of the romance, the heroism, and the
adventure which belong to this great stream and the parts of the
North-west about it, and he has aimed to breathe into his narrative
something of the spirit and sentiment--a spirit and sentiment more easily
recognised than analysed--which we call "Western." With this end in view,
his treatment of the subject has been general rather than detailed, and
popular rather than recondite. While he has spared no pains to secure
historical accuracy, he has not made it a leading aim to settle
controverted points, or to present the minutiae of historical research and
criticism. In short, the book is rather for the general reader than for
the specialist. The author hopes so to impress his readers with the
majesty of the Columbia as to fill their minds with a longing to see it
face to face.
Frequent reference in the body of the book to authorities renders it
unnecessary to name them here. Suffice it to say that the author has
consulted the standard works of history and description dealing with
Oregon--the old Oregon--and its River, and from the voluminous matter
there gathered has selected the facts that best combine to make a
connected and picturesque narrative. He has treated the subject
topically, but there is a general progression throughout, and the
endeavour has been to find a natural jointure of chapter to chapter and
era to era.
While the book has necessarily been based largely on other books, it may
be said that the author has derived his chief inspiration from his own
observations along the shores of the River and amid the mountains of
Oregon and Washington, where his life has mainly been spent, and from
familiar conversations in the cabins of pioneers, or at camp-fires of
hunters, or around Indian tepees, or in the pilot-houses of steamboats. In
such ways and places one can best catch the spirit of the River and its
history.
The author gladly takes this opportunity of making his grateful
acknowledgments to Prof. F. G. Young, of Oregon University, for his
kindness in reading the manuscript and in making suggestions which his
full knowledge and ripe judgment render especially valuable. He wishes
also to express his warmest thanks to Mr. Harvey W. Scott, editor of the
_Oregonian_, for invaluable counsel. Similar gratitude is due to Prof.
Henry Landes of Washington University for important assistance in regard
to some of the scientific features of the first chapter.
W. D. L.
WHITMAN COLLEGE,
WALLA WALLA, WASH.,
1909.
CONTENTS
PAGE
PART I.--THE HISTORY
CHAPTER I
THE LAND WHERE THE RIVER FLOWS 3
CHAPTER II
TALES OF THE FIRST WHITE MEN ALONG THE COAST 33
CHAPTER III
HOW ALL NATIONS SOUGHT THE RIVER FROM THE SEA AND HOW THEY
FOUND IT 43
CHAPTER IV
FIRST STEPS ACROSS THE WILDERNESS IN SEARCH OF THE RIVER 69
CHAPTER V
THE FUR-TRADERS, THEIR BATEAUX, AND THEIR STATIONS 98
CHAPTER VI
THE COMING OF THE MISSIONARIES TO THE TRIBES OF
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FROM DAN TO BEERSHEBA
┌────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ │
│ Transcriber’s Notes │
│ │
│ │
│ Punctuation has been standardized. │
│ │
│ Characters in small caps have been replaced by all caps. │
│ │
│ Non-printable characteristics have been given the following │
│ transliteration: │
│ Italic text: --> _text_ │
│ │
│ This book was written in a period when many words had │
│ not become standardized in their spelling. Words may have │
│ multiple spelling variations or inconsistent hyphenation in │
│ the text. These have been left unchanged unless indicated │
│ with a Transcriber’s Note. │
│ │
│ The symbol ‘‡’ indicates the description in parenthesis has │
│ been added to an illustration. This may be needed if there │
│ is no caption or if the caption does not describe the image │
│ adequately. │
│ │
│ Footnotes are identified in the text with a number in │
│ brackets [2] and have been accumulated in a single section │
│ at the end of the text. │
│ │
│ Transcriber’s Notes are used when making corrections to the │
│ text or to provide additional information for the modern │
│ reader. These notes are not identified in the text, but have │
│ been accumulated in a single section at the end of the book. │
│ │
└────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘
Illustration: JERUSALEM.
FROM
DAN TO BEERSHEBA
A DESCRIPTION OF THE
WONDERFUL LAND
WITH
MAPS AND ENGRAVINGS
AND
A PROLOGUE BY THE AUTHOR CONTAINING THE LATEST
EXPLORATIONS AND DISCOVERIES
BY
JOHN P. NEWMAN, D.D., LL.D.
Bishop of the Methodist Episcopal Church and Member
of the London Society of Biblical Archæology
REVISED EDITION
NEW YORK: HUNT & EATON
CINCINNATI: CRANSTON & CURTS
Copyright, 1892, by
JOHN P. NEWMAN,
NEW YORK.
TO
MY WIFE,
THE
JOY
OF
MY LIFE.
This edition of Bishop Newman’s book on Palestine――_From Dan to
Beersheba_――is demanded by its introduction into the course of study
prescribed for the undergraduates in our Annual Conferences, who,
during their ministry, will have frequent occasion to refer to the
history, topography, and customs of the Holy Land, of which this book
so fully and clearly treats.
THE PUBLISHERS.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
The two Boundaries.――The parallel Mountains. ―― The great Valley.
―― Inspired Eulogies. ―― Sterile Soil. ―― Gibbon Comparison.
―― Natural and miraculous Causes of present Sterility. ――
Testimonies of pagan Authors on the ancient Productions of
Palestine. ―― Land coveted by the great Nations of Antiquity.
―― A Land of Ruins. ―― Present Fertility and Fruits. ――
Richness of the North. ―― Volney on the Variety of the Climate
of Palestine. ―― Beauties of Spring in the Promised Land. ――
Flowers. ―― Magnificent Scenery. ―― Standard of Landscape
Beauty. ―― Palestine is a World in Miniature. ―― Illustrations.
―― Prophetical Descriptions of the twelve Tribeships. ――
Wonderful Correspondence.
CHAPTER II.
Location of Jerusalem. ―― Strong defensive Position of the City.
―― Surrounding Hills and Valleys. ―― Its Situation compared
to that of Athens and Rome. ―― True Meaning of the 125th Psalm.
―― Tower of Psephinus. ―― The two Valleys. ―― Height of the
adjacent Mountains. ―― A City without Suburbs. ―― Modern Wall.
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THE OUTCASTS
[Illustration: SHAG CARRIED THE DOG-WOLF ON HIS BACK.]
THE
OUTCASTS
BY W. A. FRASER
ILLUSTRATED BY ARTHUR HEMING
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
NEW YORK ----- MDCCCCI
_Copyright, 1901, by_
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Illustrations
_The full-page subjects from drawings by Arthur Heming. The
head- and tail-pieces from drawings by J. S. Gordon_
FACING
Shag carried the Dog-wolf on his back Title
"Lying on my back as though I were dead, I
held my tail straight up" 6
"I am no Wolf, Shag; I am A'tim, which
meaneth a Dog in the talk of the Crees" 10
One after another they hurtled into the
slaughter-pen of the Blood Indians' corral 36
Muskwa had A'tim in his long-clawed grasp 66
"Steady, Dog-Wolf, steady," admonished
Shag, "this is a friend of mine" 78
"Oh, don't mention it!" exclaimed the Wolf;
"no doubt we shall find something for
dinner, presently" 114
"Thou art a traitor, and a great liar," said
the Bull 136
THE OUTCASTS
[Illustration]
THE OUTCASTS
CHAPTER ONE
A'tim the Outcast was half Wolf, half Huskie Dog. That meant
ferocity and bloodthirst on the one side, and knowledge of Man's
ways on the other. Also, that he was an Outcast; for neither side
of the house of his ancestry would have aught of him.
A'tim was bred in the far Northland, where the Cree Indians trail
the white snow-waste with Train Dogs; and one time A'tim had
pressed an unwilling shoulder to a dog-collar. Now he was an
outcast vagabond on the southern prairie, close to the Montana
border-land.
It was September; and all day A'tim had skulked in the willow
cover of Belly River flat-lands, close to the lodges of the Blood
Indians.
Nothing to eat had come the way of the Dog-Wolf; only a little
knowledge of something that was to happen, for he had heard
things,--the voices of the Indians sitting in council had slipped
gently down the wind to his sharp Wolf ears.
As he crawled up the river bank close to Belly Buttes and looked
across the plain, he could see the pink flush of eventide, like a
fairy veil, draping the cold blue mountains--the Rockies.
"Good-night, warm Brother," he said, blinking at the setting sun;
"I wonder if you are going to sleep with an empty stomach, as
must A'tim."
The soft-edged shafts of gold-yellow quivered tremblingly behind
the blue-gray mountains, as though Sol were laughing at the
address of the Outcast. The Dog-Wolf looked furtively over his
shoulder at the smoke-wreathed cones of the Blood tepees. The
odor of many flesh-pots tickled his nostrils until they quivered
in longing desire. Buh-h-h! but he was hungry! All his life he
had been hungry; only at long intervals had a gorge of much
eating fallen to his lot.
"Good-night, warm Brother," he said again, turning stubbornly
from the scent of flesh, and eying the crimson flush where the
sun had set; "one more round of your trail and I shall sleep with
a full stomach, for to-morrow the Bloods make a big Kill--the Run
of many Buffalo."
A'tim, sitting on his haunches, and holding his nose high in air
until his throat pipe drew straight and taut, sang: "O-o-o-o-o-h!
for the blood drinking! W-a-u-g-ha! the sweet new meat--hot to
the mouth!"
The Indian Dogs caught up the cry of A'tim as it floated over the
Belly River and voiced it from a thousand throats.
"The Blackfeet!" screamed Eagle Shoe, rushing from his tepee.
"It's only a hungry Wolf," he grunted, as he sat in the council
again; "let us talk of the Buffalo Run."
That was what the Dog-Wolf had heard lying in the tangle of gray
willow, close to the tepee of Eagle Shoe, the Blood Indian; and
he would sleep peacefully, his hunger stayed by the morrow's
prospect. As he sat yawning toward the rose sky in the West, a
huge, dark form came majestically from a cleft in the buttes, and
stood outlined, a towering black mass. A'tim flattened to earth
as though he had been shot, looking not more than a tuft of
withered bunch-grass. Then he arose as suddenly, chuckled to
himself, and growled nervously: "Oh! but I got a start--it's only
old Shag, the Outcast Bull. Ha, ha! A'tim to fear a Buffalo!
Good-evening, Brother," he exclaimed; "you quite frightened me--I
thought it was that debased Long Knife, Camous."
"Thought me Camous!" bellowed the Bull, snorting indignantly;
"he's but a slayer and a thief. All the Paleface Long Knives are
that; killing, killing--stealing, stealing. Why, even among his
own kind he is called 'Camous'; and you, who were bred in the Man
camps, know what that means."
"Of course, of course--ha! most surely it means 'a stealer of
things.' But I meant not to liken you to him, Brother Shag--it
was only my fright; for even in my dreams I am always seeing the
terrible Camous. I have cause to remember him, Shag--it was this
way. Did I ever tell you?"
"Never," answered Shag, heavily.
[Illustration: "LYING ON MY BACK AS THOUGH I WERE DEAD, I HELD MY
TAIL STRAIGHT UP."]
"Well, it was this way: Once upon a time, in the low hills they
call Cypress, I was stalking a herd of antelope. To tell you the
truth, I had been at it for two days. Waugh! but they were wary.
At last I worked within fair eyesight of them, and knowing the
stupid desire they have to look close at anything that may be
strange to them, I took to myself a clever plan. Lying on my back
as though I were dead, I held my tail straight up, and let the
wind blow it back and forth. The big-eyed Eaters-of-Grass asked
one another: 'What is this new thing? Is it a plant or an animal?'
That is the way they talked, I am sure, for they are like
wolf-pups, quite silly. Well, they came closer and closer and
closer. E-u-h-h, e-u-h-h! but my mouth watered with the thought
of their sweet meat as I lay as one dead. Now, they hadn't the
knowledge to work up wind to me, but came straight for the thing
they saw that moved. Would you believe it, just as I was
measuring from the corner of my eye the time for a strong rush,
who should creep over a hill but Camous! In fright I sprang to my
feet, and away went the Goat-faced small-prongs. Then the
deviltry of the many-breathed Fire-stick this Camous carries came
down upon me as I ran faster than I'd ever gone before. 'Click,
snap! click, snap!' the quick-breathing Fire-stick coughed; and
though I rocked, and jumped sideways and twisted, before I could
get away I had one of the breath-stings in my shoulder. E-u-h-h!
but I go lame from it still."
Shag slipped a cud of sweet grass up his throat with a gurgling
cough and chewed it reflectively, for he was of a slow turn of
thought, not at all like the nimble-brained Dog-Wolf. Then he
swallowed the cud, blew from his nostrils the sand that had come
into them crossing the scant-garbed hills of Belly Buttes, and
said ponderously: "Yes, I know the many-breathed Fire-stick;
that's what makes the Palefaces so terrible. The plain simply
reeks with the dead bodies of my people whom they have slain."
"And the bodies all poisoned, too; whur-r, whur-r! All turned
into death meat for the Flesh-feeders, Dog or Wolf," snarled
A'tim. "Killed for the hide--think of that, Shag!--or just the
tongue taken. If we make a kill it is for the eating--to still
the gnawing pain that comes to us, and we waste nothing, leave
nothing."
"Most assuredly," replied the Bull, "thou leavest nothing but the
bones."
"Nothing but the bones," concurred A'tim. "And as I was saying,
these Long Knives put the Flour of Death in the dead Buffalo, and
my Wolf Brethren, when they eat, being forced to of their hunger,
die like flies at Cold Time."
"And a good thing, too--I mean--" and Shag coughed
apologetically; "I mean, as a Calf I received cause to remember
your Wolf Brothers, A'tim; there's a hollow in my thigh you could
bury your paw in, where one of your long-fanged Pack sought to
hamstring me. You, A'tim, who are half Wolf, know how it comes
that where one of your kind puts his teeth, the flesh, sooner or
later, melts away, and leaves but a hole--how is it, A'tim?"
"Foul teeth," growled the Dog-Wolf. "They're a mean lot, are the
Gray Runners; even I, who am half of their kind, bear them no
love--have they not outcasted me because of my Dog blood? I am no
Wolf, Shag; I am A'tim, which meaneth 'a Dog,' in the talk of the
Crees."
"Even so, Brother," said Shag, "how comes it that thou art a
half-breed Wolf at all?"
[Illustration: "I AM NO WOLF, SHAG; I AM A'TIM, WHICH MEANETH A
DOG IN THE TALK OF THE CREES."]
"That is also of Man's evil ways, Brother Bull--thinking to
change everything that was as it should be before he came. This
false mating is of his thought; to get the strength of the Wolf,
and the long-fasting of the Wolf, and the toughness of the Wolf,
into the kind of his Train-Dogs. And because of all this, I, who
am a Dog, am outcasted."
"Well, we'll soon all be gone," sighed the Bull, plaintively;
"when I was a Smooth Horn, and in the full glory of my strength--"
"Thou must have been of a great strength, Shag, for thou art the
biggest Bull from Belly Buttes to Old Man River--Waugh! Waugh!
that I can swear to."
"In those days," continued Shag, taking a swinging lick at his
scraggy hide with his rough tongue, "in those days, when I was a
Smooth Horn, I led a Herd that caused the sweet-grass plain to
tremble like water when we galloped over it. We were as
locusts--that many; and when crossing a coulee I've turned with
pride on the opposite bank--I always went first--and, looking
back, saw the whole hollow just a waving mass of life. Such life,
too, Lone Dog; silk-coated Cows with Calf at knee; and Bulls
there were full many--because I tolerated them, of course--and
all strong and fat, and troubled by nothing but, perchance, in
the Cold Time a few days of the White Storm which covered our
food. But that did not matter much; we just drifted head on to
the harsh-edged blizzard, and lived on the thick fat of our
kidneys."
"But the Redmen--the hairless-faced ones," interrupted Dog-Wolf;
"they killed many a Buffalo in the old days."
"We could spare them," replied Shag; "their Deathshafts of wood
slew but a few. Like yourself, A'tim, they killed only when they
were hungry. It's the many-breathed Fire-stick of the Paleface
that has destroyed us, A'tim; but like you, Brother, I, who am
but an Outcast because of my great age, and because my horns have
become stubs, care not overmuch. Why should I lament over my own
people who have driven me forth--made of me an Outcast?"
"There is to be a big Run to-morrow--a mighty Kill," said A'tim,
growing tired of the old Bull's reminiscent wail.
"Where?" queried the other.
"At Stone Hill Corral. Eagle Shoe says they will kill five
hundred head."
"I know," sighed Shag--"at the Pound; I know that death-trap.
Half a Herd I lost there once through the conceit of a young Bull
hardly out of the Spike Horn age. Well I know the Pound--even the
old Indian of deep cunning who made it, Chief Poundmaker--that's
how he came by his name, A'tim. But, as I was saying, when I
tried to turn the Herd, knowing what was meant, this Calf Bull
led a part of them straight into the very trap. Served him right,
too; but the Cows! Ah, me! My poor people! Slaughtered, every one
of them; and so it will be again to-morrow--eh, A'tim? It's the
big Herd down in the good feeding they're after, I suppose."
"Yes," answered A'tim; "to-morrow the whole Blood tribe, and
Camous the Paleface, who is but a squaw man, living in their
lodges, will make the Run."
"I wish I could stampede the Buffalo to save them," sighed Shag;
"but my sides are sore from the insulting <DW8>s of the Spike
Horns. Not a Bull in the whole Herd, from Smooth Horns, who are
wise, down to Spike Horns, who are fools because of their youth,
but thinks it fair sport to drive at me if I go near. Surely I am
an Outcast--which seems to me a strange thing. When we come to
the knowledge age, having gained wisdom, we are driven forth."
"No; you'd only get into trouble," declared A'tim decisively.
"We, who are Brothers because of our condition, will watch this
Run from afar. To-morrow, for once in my life, I shall have a
full stomach."
"I am going back to the Buttes to sleep," declared Shag.
"I will go also," said A'tim; "while you rest, I, who sleep with
one eye open, after the manner of my Wolf Brothers, will watch."
In a little valley driven into the Buttes' side, where the grass
grew long because of deep snow in winter time, the big Buffalo
stopped, prospected the ground with his nose, flipped a sharp
stone from the couch with nimble lip, and knelt down gingerly,
for rheumatism had crept into his old bones; then with a tired
grunt of relaxation he rolled on his side, and blew a great
breath of sweet content through his nostrils.
"A good bed," quoth A'tim. "I will share it with you, Brother;
close against your stomach for warmth."
He took the three turns that had come to him of his Dog
heritage, and curled up contentedly against the great paunch of
the scarred Bull.
"I can't sleep for thinking of the big Kill," murmured Shag. "My
poor Brothers and Sisters, also some of my own children, are in
that Herd, though they, too, have disowned and driven me forth."
"There will be more sweet grass for your feeding when they are
gone, Shag," declared Dog-Wolf.
"Ah, there's plenty of eating, such as it is; though the grass on
the prairie looks short and dry and harsh, yet it is sweet in the
cud. To you, who are but a Dog-Wolf, the eating comes first in
your thought, but with us it is the dread of hunters, who keep us
ever on the move."
"I know of a land where it is not this way," asserted A'tim,
after a pause; "a beautiful land, with pea-vine knee-deep, and
grass the Men call blue-joint, that fair tops my back when I walk
through it. As for drink! why, one day in a single tramp I
crossed sixteen streams of beautiful running water."
"Are you dreaming, A'tim?" asked Shag, touching the Dog-Wolf's
back with the battered point of his stub-horn.
"No, Bull; and there are few hunters in that land, and few of
your kind; and shelter of forest against the White Storm; and
buttes and coulees everywhere."
"An ideal Range," muttered the Bull; "is it far?"
"Perhaps half a moon--perhaps a whole moon from here to there,
just as one's feet stand the trail."
"You make me long for that great feeding," sighed Shag enviously.
"Yes, you'd be better in the Northland, Shag," said the Dog-Wolf,
sleepily--"better there. Here you are an Outcast, even as I am."
"Yes, after the big Kill to-morrow," sighed the Bull mournfully,
"I shall want to trail somewhere. Across Kootenay River is good
feeding-ground, but there the accursed Long Knives are filled
with the very devil of destruction, and kill even such as I am,
though my hide is not worth the lifting. I, who am an Outcast,
and have lost all pride, know this--I am worthless."
The bubbling monotone of the old Bull had
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NIGHT WATCHES
by W.W. Jacobs
EASY MONEY
A lad of about twenty stepped ashore from the schooner Jane, and joining
a girl, who had been avoiding for some ten minutes the ardent gaze of
the night-watchman, set off arm-in-arm. The watchman rolled his eyes
and shook his head slowly.
Nearly all his money on 'is back, he said, and what little bit 'e's got
over he'll spend on 'er. And three months arter they're married he'll
wonder wot 'e ever saw in her. If a man marries he wishes he 'adn't,
and if he doesn't marry he wishes he 'ad. That's life.
Looking at them two young fools reminds me of a nevy of Sam Small's; a
man I think I've spoke to you of afore. As a rule Sam didn't talk much
about 'is relations, but there was a sister of 'is in the country wot 'e
was rather fond of because 'e 'adn't seen 'er for twenty years. She 'ad
got a boy wot 'ad just got a job in London, and when 'e wrote and told
'er he was keeping company with the handsomest and loveliest and best
'arted gal in the whole wide world, she wrote to Sam about it and asked
'im to give 'is nevy some good advice.
Sam 'ad just got back from China and was living with Peter Russet and
Ginger Dick as usual, and arter reading the letter about seven times and
asking Ginger how 'e spelt "minx," 'e read the letter out loud to them
and asked 'em what they thought about it.
Ginger shook his 'ead, and, arter thinking a bit, Peter shook his too.
"She's caught 'im rather young," ses Ginger.
"They get it bad at that age too," ses Peter. "When I was twenty, there
was a gal as I was fond of, and a regiment couldn't ha' parted us."
"Wot did part you then?" ses Sam.
"Another gal," ses Peter; "a gal I took a fancy to, that's wot did it."
"I was nearly married when I was twenty," ses Ginger, with a far-away
look in his eyes. "She was the most beautiful gal I ever saw in my
life; she 'ad one 'undred pounds a year of 'er own and she couldn't bear
me out of her sight. If a thump acrost the chest would do that cough of
yours any good, Sam--"
"Don't take no notice of 'im, Ginger," ses Peter. "Why didn't you marry
'er?"
"'Cos I was afraid she might think I was arter 'er money," ses Ginger,
getting a little bit closer to Sam.
Peter 'ad another turn then, and him and Ginger kept on talking about
gals whose 'arts they 'ad broke till Sam didn't know what to do with
'imself.
"I'll just step round and see my nevy, while you and Peter are amusing
each other," he ses at last. "I'll ask 'im to come round to-morrow and
then you can give 'im good advice."
The nevy came round next evening. Bright, cheerful young chap 'e was,
and he agreed with everything they said. When Peter said as 'ow all
gals was deceivers, he said he'd known it for years, but they was born
that way and couldn't 'elp it; and when Ginger said that no man ought to
marry afore he was fifty, he corrected 'im and made it fifty-five.
"I'm glad to 'ear you talk like that," ses Ginger.
"So am I," ses Peter.
"He's got his 'ead screwed on right," ses Sam, wot thought his sister
'ad made a mistake.
"I'm surprised when I look round at the wimmen men 'ave married," ses
the nevy; "wot they could 'ave seen in them I can't think. Me and my
young lady often laugh about it."
"Your wot?" ses Sam, pretending to be very surprised.
"My young lady," ses the nevy.
Sam gives a cough. "I didn't know you'd got a young lady," he ses.
"Well, I 'ave," ses his nevy, "and we're going to be married at
Christmas."
"But--but you ain't fifty-five," ses Ginger.
"I'm twenty-one," ses the nevy, "but my case is different. There isn't
another young lady like mine in the world. She's different to all the
others, and it ain't likely I'm going to let 'er be snapped up by
somebody else. Fifty-five! Why, 'ow I'm to wait till Christmas I don't
know.
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The Gospel of Luke
An Exposition
By
Charles R. Erdman
Professor of Practical Theology
Princeton Theological Seminary,
Princeton, New Jersey
Philadelphia
The Westminster Press
1936
CONTENTS
FOREWORD
INTRODUCTION
I. The Preface To the Gospel. Luke 1:1-4
II. The Birth and Childhood of Jesus. Chs. 1:5 to 2:52
A. The Birth of John Foretold. Chs. 1:5-25
B. The Annunciation To Mary. Ch. 1:26-38
C. The "Magnificat." Ch. 1:39-56
D. The Birth of John, and the "Benedictus." Ch. 1:57-80
E. The Birth of Jesus. Ch. 2:1-20
F. The Presentation of Jesus, and the "Nunc Dimittis." Ch. 2:21-40
G. The Boy Jesus At Jerusalem. Ch. 2:41-52
III. The Preparation. Chs. 3:1 to 4:13
A. The Preaching Of John. Ch. 3:1-20
B. The Baptism Of Jesus. Ch. 3:21, 22
C. The Genealogy Of Jesus. Ch. 3:23-38
D. The Temptation Of Jesus. Ch. 4:1-13
IV. The Ministry in Galilee. Chs. 4:14 to 9:50
A. The First Period. Ch. 4:14-44
1. Jesus Preaching at Nazareth. Ch. 4
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PARADOXES OF CATHOLICISM
BY ROBERT HUGH BENSON
_These sermons (which the following pages contain in a much abbreviated
form) were delivered, partly in England in various places and at various
times, partly in New York in the Lent of 1912, and finally, as a
complete course, in the church of S. Silvestro-in-Capite, in Rome, in
the Lent of 1913. Some of the ideas presented in this book have already
been set out in a former volume entitled "Christ in the Church" and a
few in the meditations upon the Seven Words, in another volume, but in
altogether other connexions. The author thought it better, therefore, to
risk repetition rather than incoherency in the present set of
considerations. It is hoped that the repetitions are comparatively few.
Italics have been used for all quotations, whether verbal or
substantial, from Holy Scripture and other literature_.
ROBERT HUGH BENSON
HARE STREET HOUSE, BUNTINGFORD
EASTER, 1913
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTORY
(i) JESUS CHRIST, GOD AND MAN
(ii) THE CATHOLIC CHURCH, DIVINE AND HUMAN
I PEACE AND WAR
II WEALTH AND POVERTY
III SANCTITY AND SIN
IV JOY AND SORROW
V LOVE OF GOD AND LOVE OF MAN
VI FAITH AND REASON
VII AUTHORITY AND LIBERTY
VIII CORPORATENESS AND INDIVIDUALISM
IX MEEKNESS AND VIOLENCE
X THE SEVEN WORDS
XI LIFE AND DEATH
PARADOXES OF CATHOLICISM
INTRODUCTORY
(i) JESUS CHRIST, GOD AND MAN
_I and My Father are one_.--JOHN X. 30.
_My Father is greater than I_.--JOHN XIV. 20.
The mysteries of the Church, a materialistic scientist once announced to
an astonished world, are child's play compared with the mysteries of
nature.[1] He was completely wrong, of course, yet there was every
excuse for his mistake. For, as he himself tells us in effect, he found
everywhere in that created nature which he knew so well, anomaly piled
on anomaly and paradox on paradox, and he knew no more of theology than
its simpler and more explicit statements.
[Footnote 1: Professor Huxley.]
We can be certain therefore--we who understand that the mysteries of
nature are, after all, within the limited circle of created life, while
the mysteries of grace run up into the supreme Mystery of the eternal
and uncreated Life of God--we can be certain that, if nature is
mysterious and paradoxical, grace will be incalculably more mysterious.
For every paradox in the world of matter, in whose environment our
bodies are confined, we shall find a hundred in that atmosphere of
spirit in which our spirits breathe and move--those spirits of ours
which, themselves, paradoxically enough, are forced to energize under
material limitations.
We need look no further, then, to find these mysteries than to that tiny
mirror of the Supernatural which we call our self, to that little thread
of experience which we name the "spiritual life." How is it, for
example, that while in one mood our religion is the lamp of our shadowy
existence, in another it is the single dark spot upon a world of
pleasure--in one mood the single thing that makes life worth living at
all, and in another the one obstacle to our contentment? What are those
sorrowful and joyful mysteries of human life, mutually contradictory yet
together resultant (as in the Rosary itself) in others that are
glorious? Turn to that master passion that underlies these
mysteries--the passion that is called love--and see if there be anything
more inexplicable than such an explanation. What is this passion, then,
that turns joy to sorrow and sorrow to joy--this motive that drives a
man to lose his life that he may save it, that turns bitter to sweet and
makes the cross but a light yoke after all, that causes him to find his
centre outside his own circle, and to please himself best by depriving
himself of pleasure? What is that power that so often fills us with
delights before we have begun to labour, and rewards our labour with
the darkness of dereliction?
I. If our interior life, then, is full of paradox and apparent
contradiction--and there is no soul that has made any progress that does
not find it so--we should naturally expect that the Divine Life of Jesus
Christ on earth, which is the central Objective Light of the World
reflected in ourselves, should be full of yet more amazing anomalies.
Let us examine the records of that Life and see if it be not so. And let
us for that purpose begin by imagining such an examination to be made by
an inquirer who has never received the Christian tradition.
(i) He begins to read, of course, with the assumption that this Life is
as others and this Man as other men; and as he reads he finds a hundred
corroborations of the theory. Here is one, born of a woman, hungry and
thirsty by the wayside, increasing in wisdom; one who works in a
carpenter's shop; rejoices and sorrows; one who has friends and enemies;
who is forsaken by the one and insulted by the other--who passes, in
fact, through all those experiences of human life to which mankind is
subject--one who dies like other men and is laid in a grave.
Even the very marvels of that Life he seeks to explain by the marvellous
humanity of its hero. He can imagine, as one such inquirer has said, how
the magic of His presence was so great--the magic of His simple yet
perfect
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[Illustration: Cover art]
[Frontispiece: ALONE IN THE VAST SOLITUDE.]
A CLAIM ON KLONDIKE
A Romance
OF
THE ARCTIC EL DORADO
BY
EDWARD ROPER, F.R.G.S.
AUTHOR OF
'BY TRACK AND TRAIL THROUGH CANADA,' ETC., ETC.
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS_
WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS
EDINBURGH AND LONDON
MDCCCXCIX
_All Rights reserved_
ILLUSTRATIONS.
ALONE IN THE VAST SOLITUDE...... _Frontispiece_
SHOOTING MYLES CANYON
LAKE LA BARGE
FIVE FINGERS RAPIDS
ON THE YUKON AT THE MOUTH OF THE KLONDYKE RIVER
OUR DUG-OUT, OUR TUNNEL, AND OUR SLUICE
"WHEN SHE APPEARED AGAIN I WAS GREATLY EMBARRASSED"
MAY AND I IN THE DUG-OUT
"IT WAS A MELANCHOLY UNDERTAKING"
"WELCOME, FRIENDS."
A CLAIM ON KLONDYKE
PREAMBLE.
Somewhere near midnight in January 1897, a man--important to this
little history--stood on an expanse of glittering snow, amidst low
forest-covered hills and rugged mountains which were draped in the same
white garb. He was looking eagerly towards the north-west, and was
listening intently.
This man was muffled to the eyes in furs, he wore a rough bearskin
coat, and his head was enveloped in a huge capote. He wore snow-shoes,
and a gun lay across his arm.
A grand long-haired dog was by his side; he was listening, seemingly as
intently as his master.
The moon was shining full, the deep purple sky was sown thick with
brilliant stars,--one could have read small print easily, it was so
light.
Not a breath of air was stirring.
The intensity of the cold was indescribable: if there had been the
slightest wind, this man could not have stood thus, in this open space,
and lived.
He was a large man really, but the immensity of his surroundings, the
vast field of dazzling snow on which he stood, made him appear to be a
pigmy, whilst his loneliness and solitude gave a note of unutterable
melancholy to the scene.
Several minutes passed, neither dog nor man moving from this attitude
of strained attention. All nature was absolutely motionless; no branch
stirred in the near forest, nor was one flake of snow wafted by the
softest zephyr--yet there was no silence. The far-off woods resounded
with frequent sharp reports, as if firearms were being discharged
there, the nearer rocks and trees from time to time gave forth
detonations like fusilades of musketry, and beneath his feet--he stood
on a broad space of water, turned to ice of unknown depth, cushioned
deep with snow--were groanings, grindings, cracklings, and explosions.
It was the terrible arctic cold that caused this tumult. One could
almost fancy that these two figures, silhouetted black against the
dazzling white, were frozen solid too.
At length the man moved, and, patting his companion's head with his
gauntleted hand, spoke, "No, good dog," he sighed, "it's another
hallucination." And the dog looked up at him, and whimpered, then
turned his gaze again in the direction it had been before, with
eagerness.
It was impossible to guess from this man's appearance what he was like:
he was so enveloped in wrappers only his eyes were visible; but his
voice proclaimed him to be gently bred--it had the accent of a
cultivated Englishman.
"No good," he went on muttering. "Let us get back, old Patch, my sole
companion in this awful wilderness; it was not a shot we heard, only
the frost that made that clamour," and he made as if to move away.
But the dog evidently was not satisfied. He sat down, kept his nose
pointed in the one direction, and whimpered again and again. The man
stood still and listened.
"Strange, strange," he spoke aloud, "that Patch is so persistent;
perhaps it will be well to go on a bit more. There's nothing to
prevent it--no one waiting for us. I suppose it is about midnight by
the moon; but night or day, it's pretty much the same up here. Yes;
we'll go on along this frozen creek
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THE FIGHT FOR CONSERVATION
By
GIFFORD PINCHOT
1910
CONTENTS
Introduction
I. Prosperity
II. Home-building for the Nation
III. Better Times on the Farm
IV. Principles of Conservation
V. Waterways
VI. Business
VII. The Moral Issue
VIII. Public Spirit
IX. The Children
X. An Equal Chance
XI. The New Patriotism
XII. The Present Battle
Index
INTRODUCTION
The following discussion of the conservation problem is not a systematic
treatise upon the subject. Some of the matter has been published
previously in magazines, and some is condensed and rearranged from
addresses made before conservation conventions and other organizations
within the past two years.
While not arranged chronologically, yet the articles here grouped may
serve to show the rapid, virile evolution of the campaign for
conservation of the nation's resources.
I am indebted to the courtesy of the editors of _The World's Work, The
Outlook_, and of _American Industries_ for the use of matter first
contributed to these magazines.
THE FIGHT FOR CONSERVATION
CHAPTER I
PROSPERITY
The most prosperous nation of to-day is the United States. Our
unexampled wealth and well-being are directly due to the superb natural
resources of our country, and to the use which has been made of them by
our citizens, both in the present and in the past. We are prosperous
because our forefathers bequeathed to us a land of marvellous resources
still unexhausted. Shall we conserve those resources, and in our turn
transmit them, still unexhausted, to our descendants? Unless we do,
those who come after us will have to pay the price of misery,
degradation, and failure for the progress and prosperity of our day.
When the natural resources of any nation become exhausted, disaster and
decay in every department of national life follow as a matter of course.
Therefore the conservation of natural resources is the basis, and the
only permanent basis, of national success. There are other conditions,
but this one lies at the foundation.
Perhaps the most striking characteristic of the American people is their
superb practical optimism; that marvellous hopefulness which keeps the
individual efficiently at work. This hopefulness of the American is,
however, as short-sighted as it is intense. As a rule, it does not look
ahead beyond the next decade or score of years, and fails wholly to
reckon with the real future of the Nation. I do not think I have often
heard a forecast of the growth of our population that extended beyond a
total of two hundred millions, and that only as a distant and shadowy
goal. The point of view which this fact illustrates is neither true nor
far-sighted. We shall reach a population of two hundred millions in the
very near future, as time is counted in the lives of nations, and there
is nothing more certain than that this country of ours will some day
support double or triple or five times that number of prosperous people
if only we can bring ourselves so to handle our natural resources in the
present as not to lay an embargo on the prosperous growth of the future.
We, the American people, have come into the possession of nearly four
million square miles of the richest portion of the earth. It is ours to
use and conserve for ourselves and our descendants, or to destroy. The
fundamental question which confronts us is, What shall we do with it?
That question cannot be answered without first considering the condition
of our natural resources and what is being done with them to-day. As a
people, we have been in the habit of declaring certain of our resources
to be inexhaustible. To no other resource more frequently than coal has
this stupidly false adjective been applied. Yet our coal supplies are so
far from being inexhaustible that if the increasing rate of consumption
shown by the figures of the last seventy-five years continues to
prevail, our supplies of anthracite coal will last but fifty years and
of bituminous coal less than two hundred years. From the point of view
of national life, this means the exhaustion of one of the most important
factors in our civilization within the immediate future. Not a few coal
fields have already been exhausted, as in portions of Iowa and Missouri.
Yet, in the face of these known facts, we continue to treat our coal as
though there could never be an end of it. The established coal-mining
practice at the present date does not take out more than one-half the
coal, leaving the less easily mined or lower grade material to be made
permanently inaccessible by the caving in of the abandoned workings.
The loss to the Nation from this form of waste is prodigious and
inexcusable.
The waste in use is not less appalling. But five per cent, of the
potential power residing in the coal actually mined is saved and used.
For example, only about five per cent, of the power of the one hundred
and fifty million tons annually burned on the railways of the United
States is actually used in traction; ninety-five per cent, is expended
unproductively or is lost. In the best incandescent electric lighting
plants but one-fifth of one per cent, of the potential value of the coal
is converted into light.
Many oil and gas fields, as in Pennsylvania, West Virginia, and the
Mississippi Valley, have already failed, yet vast amounts of gas
continue to be poured into the air and great quantities of oil into the
streams. Cases are known in which great volumes of oil were
systematically burned in order to get rid of it.
The prodigal squandering of our mineral fuels proceeds unchecked in the
face of the fact that such resources as these, once used or wasted, can
never be replaced. If waste like this were not chiefly thoughtless, it
might well be characterized as the deliberate destruction of the
Nation's future.
Many fields of iron ore have already been exhausted, and in still more,
as in the coal mines, only the higher grades have been taken from the
mines, leaving the least valuable beds to be exploited at increased cost
or not at all. Similar waste in the case of other minerals is less
serious only because they are less indispensable to our civilization
than coal and iron. Mention should be made of the annual loss of
millions of dollars worth of by-products from coke, blast, and other
furnaces now thrown into the air, often not merely without benefit but
to the serious injury of the community. In other countries these
by-products are saved and used.
We are in the habit of speaking of the solid earth and the eternal hills
as though they, at least, were free from the vicissitudes of time and
certain to furnish perpetual support for prosperous human life. This
conclusion is as false as the term "inexhaustible" applied to other
natural resources. The waste of soil is among the most dangerous of all
wastes now in progress in the United States. In 1896, Professor Shaler,
than whom no one has spoken with greater authority on this subject,
estimated that in the upland regions of the states south of Pennsylvania
three thousand square miles of soil had been destroyed as the result of
forest denudation, and that destruction was then proceeding at the rate
of one hundred square miles of fertile soil per year. No seeing man can
travel through the United States without being struck with the enormous
and unnecessary loss of fertility by easily preventable soil wash. The
soil so lost, as in the case of many other wastes, becomes itself a
source of damage and expense, and must be removed from the channels of
our navigable streams at an enormous annual cost. The Mississippi River
alone is estimated to transport yearly four hundred million tons of
sediment, or about twice the amount of material to be excavated from the
Panama Canal. This material is the most fertile portion of our richest
fields, transformed from a blessing to a curse by unrestricted erosion.
The
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THE EVENTFUL HISTORY
OF THE
MUTINY AND PIRATICAL SEIZURE
OF H.M.S. BOUNTY:
ITS CAUSE AND CONSEQUENCES.
[By Sir John Barrow]
LONDON:
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE-STREET.
MDCCCXXXI.
CONTENTS
PREFACE
CHAPTER I. OTAHEITE
" II. THE BREAD-FRUIT
" III. THE MUTINY
" IV. THE OPEN-BOAT NAVIGATION
" V. THE 'PANDORA'
" VI. THE COURT-MARTIAL
" VII. THE KING'S WARRANT
" VIII. THE LAST OF THE MUTINEERS
CONCLUSION
ADDITIONAL NOTE
ENDNOTES
PREFACE
The Editor of this little volume (for he presumes not to write _Author_)
has been induced to bring into one connected view what has hitherto
appeared only as detached fragments (and some of these not generally
accessible)--the historical narrative of an event which deeply
interested the public at the time of its occurrence, and from which the
naval service in particular, in all its ranks, may still draw
instructive and useful lessons.
The story in itself is replete with interest. We are taught by _The
Book_ of sacred history that the disobedience of our first parents
entailed on our globe of earth a sinful and a suffering race: in our
time there has sprung up from the most abandoned of this sinful
family--from pirates, mutineers, and murderers--a little society which,
under the precepts of that sacred volume, is characterized by religion,
morality, and innocence. The discovery of this happy people, as
unexpected as it was accidental, and all that regards their condition
and history, partake so much of the romantic as to render the story not
ill adapted for an epic poem. Lord Byron, indeed, has partially treated
the subject; but by blending two incongruous stories, and leaving both
of them imperfect, and by mixing up fact with fiction, has been less
felicitous than usual; for, beautiful as many passages in his _Island_
are, in a region where every tree, and flower, and fountain breathe
poetry, yet as a whole the poem is feeble and deficient in dramatic
effect.
There still remains to us at least one poet, who, if he could be
prevailed on to undertake it, would do justice to the story. To his
suggestion the publication of the present narrative owes its appearance.
But a higher object at present is engaging his attention, which, when
completed, judging from that portion already before the public, will
have raised a splendid and lasting monument to the name of William
Sotheby, in his translation of the _Iliad_ and the _Odyssey_.
To the kindness of Mrs. Heywood, the relict of the late Captain Peter
Heywood, the Editor is indebted for those beautiful and affectionate
letters, written by a beloved sister to her unfortunate brother, while a
prisoner and under sentence of death; as well as for some occasional
poetry, which displays an intensity of feeling, a tenderness of
expression, and a high tone of sentiment that do honour to the head and
heart of this amiable and accomplished lady. Those letters also from the
brother to his deeply afflicted family will be read with peculiar
interest.
CHAPTER I
OTAHEITE
The gentle island, and the genial soil,
The friendly hearts, the feasts without a toil,
The courteous manners but from nature caught,
The wealth unhoarded, and the love unbougnt,
* * * * *
The bread-tree, which, without the ploughshare, yields
The unreap'd harvest of unfurrow'd fields,
And bakes its unadulterated loaves
Without a furnace in unpurchased groves,
And flings off famine from its fertile breast,
A priceless market for the gathering guest;--
These, etc.-- BYRON.
The reign of George III will be distinguished in history by the great
extension and improvement which geographical knowledge received under
the immediate auspices of this sovereign. At a very early period, after
his accession to the throne of these realms, expeditions of discovery
were undertaken, 'not (as Dr. Hawkesworth observes) with a view to the
acquisition of treasure, or the extent of dominion, but for the
improvement of commerce, and the increase and
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{Transcriber's Note: Archaic typography which displays the letter "s" in a
form that resembles the letter "f" has been transposed to the modern "s."
British, archaic and inconsistent spellings have been left as in the
original, as have capitalization and italicisation. A few obvious
typographical errors have been changed. Margin notes are indicated where
they occur in the text with {MN} and inserted in full at the end of the
paragraph to which they refer.}
* * * * *
THE TRUE
TRAVELS,
ADVENTURES,
AND
OBSERVATIONS,
OF
Captain JOHN SMITH,
INTO
EUROPE, ASIA, AFRICA, and AMERICA,
From Ann. Dom. 1593. to 1629.
* * * * *
* * * * *
To the Right Honourable
_WILLIAM_ Earl of _PEMBROKE,_
Lord Steward of His Majesty's most Honourable Houshold.
_ROBERT_ Earl of _LINDSEY,_
Great Chamberlain of _England,_
_HENRY_ Lord _HUNSDON,_
Viscount _ROCHFORD,_ Earl of _DOVER,_
_And all your Honourable Friends and Well-willers._
My Lords,
Sir _Robert Cotton,_ that most Learned Treasurer of Antiquity, having by
perusal of my General History, and others, found that I had likewise
undergone divers other as hard hazards in the other Parts of the World,
requested me to fix the whole Course of my Passages in a Book by it self,
whose noble Desire I could not but in part satisfie; the rather, because
they have acted my fatal Tragedies upon the Stage, and racked my Relations
at their Pleasure. To prevent therefore all future Misprisions, I have
compiled this true Discourse. Envy hath taxed me to have writ too much,
and done too little; but that such should know, how little I esteem them,
I have writ this, more for the satisfaction of my Friends, and all generous
and well disposed Readers. To speak only of my self were intolerable
Ingratitude; because, having had so many Co-Partners with me; I cannot
make a Monument for my self, and leave them unburied in the Fields, whose
Lives begot me the Title of a Soldier; for as they were Companions with me
in my Dangers, so shall they be partakers with me in this Tomb.
For my _Sea Grammar_ (caused to be Printed by my worthy Friend, Sir _Samuel
Saltenstall_) hath found such good Entertainment abroad, that I have been
importuned by many noble Persons, to let this also pass the Press. Many of
the most eminent Warriours, and others, what their Swords did, their Pens
writ: Though I be never so much their inferiour, yet I hold it no great
Errour, to follow good Examples; nor repine at them will do the like.
And now, _My most Honourable good Lords,_ I know not to whom I may better
Present it, than to your Lordships, whose Friendships, as I conceive, are
as much to each others, as my Duty is to you all; and because you are
acquainted both with my Endeavours, and Writings, I doubt not, but your
Honours will as well accept of this, as of the rest, and Patronize it
under the shadow of your most noble Virtues, which I am ever bound in all
Duty to Reverence, and under which I hope to have shelter, against all
Storms that dare threaten,
_Yours Honours to be Commanded,_
John Smith.
* * * * *
THE TRUE
TRAVELS,
ADVENTURES,
AND
OBSERVATIONS
OF
Captain _JOHN SMITH,_
* * * * *
CHAP. I.
_His Birth; Apprenticeship; Going into_ France; _His beginning with Ten
Shillings and three Pence; His Service in the_ Netherlands; _His bad
Passage into_ Scotland; _His return to_ Willoughby, _and how he lived in
the Woods._
He was born in _Willoughby_ in _Lincoln-shire,_ and a Scholar in the two
Free-Schools of _Alford_ and _Louth._ His Father antiently descended from
the ancient _Smiths_ of _Crudley_ in _Lancashire;_ his Mother from the
_Rickards_ at Great _Heck,_ in _York-shire._ His Parents dying when he was
about Thirteen Years of Age, left him a competent Means, which he not
being capable to manage, little regarded; his Mind being even then set
upon brave Adventures, sold his Satchel, Books, and all he had, intending
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DEDICATION.
To WILLIAM RENSHAW, Esq., Champion of England,
this book is dedicated by his friend and pupil
the Author.
LAWN-TENNIS.
BY
JAMES DWIGHT.
[Illustration]
PUBLISHED BY
WRIGHT & DITSON, BOSTON, U. S. A.,
AND
“PASTIME” OFFICE, 28 PATERNOSTER ROW,
LONDON, E. C.
COPYRIGHT
1886,
By JAMES DWIGHT.
PREFACE.
There is at present no work on Lawn-Tennis written by any of the
well-known players or judges of the game, and it is with great
diffidence that I offer this book to fill the gap until something
better comes.
It is intended for beginners, and for those who have not had the
opportunity of seeing the best players and of playing against them.
To the better players it would be presumption for me to offer advice.
I should not, indeed, have ventured to write at all had I not had
unusual opportunities of studying the game against the best players,
and especially against the Champion, Mr. W. Renshaw, and his brother.
CONTENTS.
PART I.
CHAP. PAGE
PREFACE vii
I. HOW TO LEARN TO PLAY 1
II. THE COURT AND IMPLEMENTS OF THE GAME 6
III. THE SERVICE 12
IV. THE FIRST STROKE 18
V. THE STROKE 21
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transcribed by Brian Foley using LilyPond.
_By Lady Gregory_
Irish Folk-History Plays
First Series: The Tragedies
Grania. Kincora. Dervorgilla
Second Series: The Tragic Comedies
The Canavans. The White Cockade. The Deliverer
New Comedies
The Bogie Men. The Full Moon. Coats. Damer's
Gold. McDonough's Wife
Our Irish Theatre
A Chapter of Autobiography
Seven Short Plays
Spreading the News. Hyacinth Halvey. The Rising
of the Moon. The Jackdaw. The Workhouse Ward.
The Travelling Man. The Gaol Gate
The Golden Apple
A Kiltartan Play for Children
Seven Short Plays
By
Lady Gregory
G. P. Putnam's Sons
New York and London
The Knickerbocker Press
1916
COPYRIGHT, 1903, by LADY AUGUSTA GREGORY
COPYRIGHT, 1904, by LADY GREGORY
COPYRIGHT, 1905, by LADY GREGORY
COPYRIGHT, 1906, by LADY GREGORY
COPYRIGHT, 1909, by LADY GREGORY
These plays have been copyrighted and published simultaneously in the
United States and Great Britain.
All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign
languages.
All acting rights, both professional and amateur, are reserved in the
United States, Great Britain, and all countries of the Copyright
Union, by the author. Perform
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[Illustration: CORPORAL HOLMES IN THE UNIFORM OF THE 22ND LONDON
BATTALION, QUEEN'S ROYAL WEST SURREY REGIMENT, H.M. IMPERIAL ARMY.
_Frontispiece_.]
A YANKEE IN THE TRENCHES
By
R. DERBY HOLMES
CORPORAL OF THE 22D LONDON BATTALION OF THE
QUEEN'S ROYAL WEST SURREY REGIMENT
_ILLUSTRATED FROM PHOTOGRAPHS_
BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
1918
Dedication
TO MARION A. PUTTEE, SOUTHALL, MIDDLESEX,
ENGLAND, I DEDICATE THIS BOOK AS A
TOKEN OF APPRECIATION FOR ALL THE LOVING
THOUGHTS AND DEEDS BESTOWED UPON ME
WHEN I WAS A STRANGER IN A STRANGE LAND
FOREWORD
I have tried as an American in writing this book to give the public
a complete view of the trenches and life on the Western Front as it
appeared to me, and also my impression of conditions and men as I
found them. It has been a pleasure to write it, and now that I have
finished I am genuinely sorry that I cannot go further. On the
lecture tour I find that people ask me questions, and I have tried
in this book to give in detail many things about the quieter side
of war that to an audience would seem too tame. I feel that the
public want to know how the soldiers live when not in the trenches,
for all the time out there is not spent in killing and carnage. As
in the case of all men in the trenches, I heard things and stories
that especially impressed me, so I have written them as hearsay,
not taking to myself credit as their originator. I trust that the
reader will find as much joy in the cockney character as I did and
which I have tried to show the public; let me say now that no finer
body of men than those Bermondsey boys of my battalion could be
found.
I think it fair to say that in compiling the trench terms at the
end of this book I have not copied any war book, but I have given
in each case my own version of the words, though I will confess
that the idea and necessity of having such a list sprang from
reading Sergeant Empey's "Over the Top." It would be impossible to
write a book that the people would understand without the aid of
such a glossary.
It is my sincere wish that after reading this book the reader may
have a clearer conception of what this great world war means and
what our soldiers are contending with, and that it may awaken the
American people to the danger of Prussianism so that when in the
future there is a call for funds for Liberty Loans, Red Cross work,
or Y.M.C.A., there will be no slacking, for they form the real
triangular sign to a successful termination of this terrible
conflict.
R. DERBY HOLMES.
CONTENTS
FOREWORD
I JOINING THE BRITISH ARMY
II GOING IN
III A TRENCH RAID
IV A FEW DAYS' REST IN BILLETS
V FEEDING THE TOMMIES
VI HIKING TO VIMY RIDGE
VII FASCINATION OF PATROL WORK
VIII ON THE GO
IX FIRST SIGHT OF THE TANKS
X FOLLOWING THE TANKS INTO BATTLE
XI PRISONERS
XII I BECOME A BOMBER
XIII BACK ON THE SOMME AGAIN
XIV THE LAST TIME OVER THE TOP
XV BITS OF BLIGHTY
XVI SUGGESTIONS FOR "SAMMY"
GLOSSARY OF ARMY SLANG
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Corporal Holmes in the Uniform of the 22nd London
Battalion, Queen's Royal West Surrey Regiment, H.M.
Imperial Army _Frontispiece_
Reduced Facsimile of Discharge Certificate of Character
A Heavy Howitzer, Under Camouflage
Over the Top on a Raid
Cooking Under Difficulties
Head-on View of a British Tank
Corporal Holmes with Staff Nurse and Another Patient, at
Fulham Military Hospital, London, S.W.
Corporal Holmes with Company Office Force, at Winchester,
England, a Week Prior to Discharge
A YANKEE IN THE TRENCHES
CHAPTER I
JOINING THE BRITISH ARMY
Once, on the Somme in the fall of 1916, when I had been over the
top and was being carried back somewhat disfigured but still in the
ring, a cockney stretcher bearer shot this question at
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THE THRALL OF LEIF THE LUCKY
A Story of Viking Days
By Ottilie A. Liljencrantz
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
Where Wolves Thrive Better than Lambs
CHAPTER II
The Maid in the Silver Helmet
CHAPTER III
A Gallant Outlaw
CHAPTER IV
In a Viking Lair
CHAPTER V
The Ire of a Shield-Maiden
CHAPTER VI
The Song of Smiting Steel
CHAPTER VII
The King's Guardsman
CHAPTER VIII
Leif the Cross-Bearer
CHAPTER IX
Before the Chieftain
CHAPTER X
The Royal Blood of Alfred
CHAPTER XI
The Passing of the Scar
CHAPTER XII
Through Bars of Ice
CHAPTER XIII
Eric the Red in His Domain
CHAPTER XIV
For the Sake of the Cross
CHAPTER XV
A Wolf-Pack in Leash
CHAPTER XVI
A Courtier of the King
CHAPTER XVII
The Wooing of Helga
CHAPTER XVIII
The Witch's Den
CHAPTER XIX
Tales of the Unknown West
CHAPTER XX
Alwin's Bane
CHAPTER XXI
The Heart of a Shield-Maiden
CHAPTER XXII
In the Shadow of the Sword
CHAPTER XXIII
A Familiar Blade in a Strange Sheath
CHAPTER XXIV
For Dear Love's Sake
CHAPTER XXV
"Where Never Man Stood Before"
CHAPTER XXVI
Vinland the Good
CHAPTER XXVII
Mightier than the Sword
CHAPTER XXVIII
"Things that are Fated"
CHAPTER XXIX
The Battle to the Strong
CHAPTER XXX
From Over the Sea
CONCLUSION
FOREWORD
THE Anglo-Saxon race was in its boyhood in the days when the Vikings
lived. Youth's fresh fires burned in men's blood; the unchastened
turbulence of youth prompted their crimes, and their good deeds were
inspired by the purity and whole-heartedness and divine simplicity of
youth. For every heroic vice, the Vikings laid upon the opposite scale
an heroic virtue. If they plundered and robbed, as most men did in the
times when Might made Right, yet the heaven-sent instinct of hospitality
was as the marrow of their bones. No beggar went from their doors
without alms; no traveller asked in vain for shelter; no guest but was
welcomed with holiday cheer and sped on his way with a gift. As
cunningly false as they were to their foes, just so superbly true were
they to their friends. The man who took his enemy's last blood-drop with
relentless hate, gave his own blood with an equally unsparing hand if in
so doing he might aid the cause of some sworn brother. Above all, they
were a race of conquerors, whose knee bent only to its proved superior.
Not to the man who was king-born merely, did their allegiance go, but to
the man who showed himself their leader in courage and their master in
skill. And so it was with their choice of a religion, when at last the
death-day of Odin dawned. Not to the God who forgives, nor to the God
who suffered, did they give their faith; but they made their vows to the
God who makes men strong, the God who is the never-dying and
all-powerful Lord of those who follow Him.
The Thrall of Leif the Lucky
CHAPTER I
WHERE WOLVES THRIVE BETTER THAN LAMBS
Vices and virtues
The sons of mortals bear
In their breasts mingled;
No one is so good That no failing attends him,
Nor so bad as to be good for nothing.
Ha'vama'l (High Song of Odin).
It was back in the tenth century, when the mighty fair-haired warriors
of Norway and Sweden and Denmark, whom the people of Southern Europe
called the Northmen, were becoming known and dreaded throughout the
world. Iceland and Greenland had been colonized by their dauntless
enterprise. Greece and Africa had not proved distant enough to escape
their ravages. The descendants of the Viking Rollo ruled in France as
Dukes of Normandy; and Saxon England, misguided by Ethelred the Unready
and harassed by Danish pirates, was slipping swiftly and surely under
Northern rule. It was the time when the priests of France added to their
litany this petition: "From the fury of the Northmen, deliver us, good
Lord."
The old, old Norwegian city of Trondhjem, which lies on Trondhjem Fiord,
girt by the river Nid, was then King Olaf Trygvasson's new city of
Nidaros, and though hardly more than a trading station, a hamlet without
streets, it was humming with prosperity and jubilant life. The shore was
fringed with ships whose gilded dragon-heads and purple-and-yellow hulls
and azure-and-scarlet sails were reflected in the waves until it seemed
as if rainbows had been melted in them. Hillside and river-bank bloomed
with the gay tents of chieftains who had come from all over the North to
visit the powerful Norwegian king. Traders had scattered booths of
tempting wares over the plain, so that it looked like fair-time. The
broad roads between the estates that clustered around the royal
residence were thronged with clanking horsemen, with richly dressed
traders followed by covered carts of precious merchandise, with
beautiful fair-haired women riding on gilded chair-like saddles, with
monks and slaves, with white-bearded lawmen and pompous landowners.
Along one of those roads that crossed the city from the west, a Danish
warrior came riding, one keen May morning, with a young English captive
tied to his saddle-bow.
The Northman was a great, hulking, wild-maned, brute-faced fellow,
capped by an iron helmet and wrapped in a mantle of coarse gray, from
whose folds the handle of a battle-axe looked out suggestively; but the
boy was of the handsomest Saxon type. Though barely seventeen, he was
man-grown, and lithe and well-shaped; and he carried himself nobly,
despite his clumsy garments of white wool. His gold-brown hair had been
clipped close as a mark of slavery, and there were fetters on his limbs;
but chains could not restrain the glance of his proud gray eyes, which
flashed defiance with every look.
Crossing the city northward, they came where a trading-booth stood on
its outskirts--an odd looking place of neatly built log walls tented
over with gay striped linen. Beyond, the plain rose in gentle hills,
which were overlooked in their turn by pine-clad snow-capped mountains.
On one side, the river hurried along in surging rapids; on the other,
one could see the broad elbow of the fiord glittering in the sun. At the
sight of the booth, the Saxon scowled darkly, while the Dane gave a
grunt of relief. Drawing rein before the door, the warrior dismounted
and pulled down his captive.
It was a scene of barbaric splendor that the gay roof covered. The walls
displayed exquisitely wrought weapons, and rare fabrics interwoven with
gleaming gold and silver threads. Piles of rich furs were heaped in the
corners, amid a medley of gilded
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https://archive.org/details/oystersfish00murr
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
OYSTERS AND FISH
by
THOMAS J. MURREY
Author of “Fifty Soups,” “Fifty Salads,” “Breakfast
Dainties,” “Puddings and Dainty Desserts,” “The
Book of Entrées,” “Cookery for Invalids,”
“Practical Carving,” “Luncheon,” “Valuable
Cooking Recipes,” etc.
[Illustration]
New York
Copyright, 1888, by
Frederick A. Stokes & Brother
1888
DEDICATION.
_To the Inventor of the_
SHELDON CLOSE-TOP GAS-STOVE,
_Who spent the best part of his life solving the
perplexed problem of Economy in Fuel and
Labor in our homes, and to those gentlemen
connected with gas companies, who assisted
and encouraged him, this little work is
most respectfully dedicated by_
THE AUTHOR.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTORY 11
THE OYSTER 11
THE OYSTER SEASON 11
OYSTERS OUT OF SEASON 12
OYSTERS PRESERVED IN SHELL 12
THE FOOD OF THE OYSTER 14
FORMATION OF THE DEEP SHELL 14
COCK OYSTERS 15
GREEN OYSTERS 15
BANQUET OYSTERS 16
ORDERING OYSTERS FOR THE FAMILY TABLE 17
HOW OYSTERS SHOULD BE OPENED 18
HOW TO SERVE RAW OYSTERS 18
COLLATION SERVICE 19
HOW TO EAT A RAW OYSTER 19
A BARREL OF OYSTERS 20
READ THIS! 20
COOKED OYSTERS 21
STEWED OYSTERS 21
PHILADELPHIA FRIED OYSTERS 22
CURRY OF OYSTERS 24
PICKLED-OYSTER OMELET 24
DEVILED OYSTERS ON TOAST 24
PICKLED OYSTERS 24
SCALLOPED OYSTERS 25
OYSTER SALAD 25
PLAIN FRIED OYSTERS 26
MISS PARLOA’S “NEW COOK-BOOK” 26
OYSTER TOAST 26
OYSTER OMELET 26
OYSTERS, BROILED 27
TRIPE WITH OYSTERS 27
OYSTERS EN BROCHETTE 27
FRIED OYSTERS 28
OYSTER AND CANNED SALMON PIE 28
OYSTER PATTIES 28
OYSTERS À LA POULETTE 29
PIE OF OYSTERS AND SCALLOPS 29
STEAMED OYSTERS 30
TO SERVE STEAMED OYSTERS 30
ROAST OYSTERS 31
BAKED OYSTERS 31
CLAMS 31
LITTLE-NECK CLAMS 31
SOFT CLAMS IN CHAFING-DISH 32
STEWED LITTLE-NECK CLAMS 33
SOFT CLAMS 33
SOFT-SHELL CLAMS SCALLOPED 33
CLAM TOAST 34
CLAM BROTH 34
CLAM FRITTERS 34
FRIED SOFT CLAMS 35
CRABS 35
HARD-SHELL CRABS 35
CRAB PATTIES, CREAM SAUCE 36
SOFT-SHELL CRABS 37
THE CARE OF SOFT CRABS 38
CRABS, SOFT-SHELL 39
CRAB CROQUETTES 39
CRAB PATTIES, À LA BECHAMEL
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Transcriber's Note:
The dagger symbol is denoted by the [+] sign
The asterism symbol is denoted by **
* * * * *
[Illustration]
A
THOUSAND MILES
IN THE
ROB ROY CANOE
ON RIVERS AND LAKES OF
EUROPE.
BY J. MACGREGOR, M.A.,
TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE;
BARRISTER AT LAW:
With Numerous Illustrations and a Map.
_SIXTH THOUSAND._
LONDON:
SAMPSON LOW, SON, AND MARSTON
MILTON HOUSE, LUDGATE-HILL.
1866.
(_The Right of Translation reserved._)
PREFACE.
The voyage about to be described was made last Autumn in a small Canoe,
with a double paddle and sails, which the writer managed alone.
The route led sometimes over mountains and through forests and plains,
where the boat had to be carried or dragged.
The waters navigated were as follows:--
The Rivers Thames, Sambre, Meuse, Rhine, Main, Danube, Reuss, Aar, Ill,
Moselle, Meurthe, Marne, and Seine.
The Lakes Titisee, Constance, Unter See, Zurich, Zug, and Lucerne,
together with six canals in Belgium and France, and two expeditions in
the open sea of the British Channel.
TEMPLE, LONDON,
_April 25, 1866_.
THE AUTHOR'S PROFITS FROM THE FIRST AND SECOND EDITIONS, WERE
GIVEN TO THE ROYAL NATIONAL LIFE-BOAT INSTITUTION AND TO THE
SHIPWRECKED MARINERS' SOCIETY.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
Page
RAPIDS OF THE REUSS (_Frontispiece_). --
SEA ROLLERS IN THE CHANNEL 19
SWIMMING HERD ON THE MEUSE 28
SINGERS' WAGGON ON THE DANUBE 49
A CROWD IN THE MORNING 65
HAYMAKERS AMAZED 80
NIGHT SURPRISE AT GEGGLINGEN 93
THE ROB ROY IN A BUSTLE 110
SAILING UPON LAKE ZUG 134
SHIRKING A WATERFALL 152
A CRITICAL MOMENT 168
ASTRIDE THE STERN 186
THE ROB ROY AND THE COW 213
POLITE TO THE LADIES 230
GROUP OF FRENCH FISHERS 246
PASSING A DANGEROUS BARRIER 263
A CHOKED CANAL 281
RIGGING ASHORE 290
ROUTE OF THE CANOE (_Map_) 291
CHART OF CURRENTS AND ROCKS 302
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. Page
Canoe Travelling--Other Modes--The Rob
Roy--Hints--Tourists--The Rivers--The Dress--I and We 1
CHAPTER II.
The Start--The Nore--Porpoises--A Gale--The Channel--Ostend
Canal--River Meuse--Earl of Aberdeen--Holland--The
Rhine--The Premier's Son--River Main--Heron
Stalking--The Prince of Wales 12
CHAPTER III.
Hollenthal Pass--Ladies--Black Forest--Night Music--Beds--Lake
Titisee--Pontius Pilate--Storm--Starers--Banket--Four
in hand--Source of the Danube 38
CHAPTER IV.
River Donau--Singers--Shady nooks--Geisingen--Mill
Weirs--Rapids--Morning Crowd--Donkey's
Stable--Islands--Monks--Spiders--Concert--Fish--A
race 55
CHAPTER V.
Sigmaringen--Treacherous trees--Congress of herons--Flying
Dutchman--Tub and shovel--Bottle race--Snags--Bridge
Perils--Ya Vol--Ferry Rope--Benighted--Ten eggs 75
CHAPTER VI.
Day-dream--River Iller--Ulm--A stiff king--Lake Constance--Seeing
in the dark--Switzerland--
Canvas--Sign talk--Synagogue--Amelia--Gibberish 96
CHAPTER VII.
Fog--Fancy pictures--Boy soldiers--Boat's billet--Eating--Lake
Zurich--Crinoline--Hot walk--Staring--Lake
Zug--Sw
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OWINDIA:
_A TRUE TALE OF THE MACKENZIE RIVER INDIANS_,
NORTH-WEST AMERICA.
By Charlotte Selina Bompas
THE STORY OF OWINDIA.
A pretty open spot on the bank of the Great Mackenzie River was the
place where Owindia first saw light. One of the universal pine
forests formed the back ground, while low shrubs and willows, with a
pleasant, green carpet of mossy grass, were the immediate
surroundings of the camp.
The banks of the Mackenzie often rise to a height of sixty feet
above the river. This was the case in the spot where Michel the
Hunter had pitched his tent, or "lodge" as it is called. A number of
other Indians were camped near, led thither by the fish which is so
abundant in our Northern rivers, and which proves a seldom failing
resource when the moose or reindeer go off their usual track. The
woods also skirting the river furnish large supplies of rabbits,
which even the Indian children are taught to snare. Beavers too are
most numerous in this district, and are excellent food, while their
furs are an important article of trade with the Hudson Bay Company;
bringing to the poor Indian his much prized luxury of tea or tobacco,
a warm blanket or ammunition. As the Spring comes on the women of the
camps will be busy making "sirop" from the birch trees, and dressing
the skins of moose or deer which their husbands have killed in the
chase. There are also the canoes to be made or repaired for use
whenever the eight months' fetters of ice shall give way.
Thus we see the Indian camps offer a pleasant spectacle of a
contented and busy people; and if they lack the refinement and
luxuries of more civilized communities, they have at all events this
advantage,--they have never learnt to need them.
Michel, the Indian, was a well-skilled, practised hunter. Given a
windy day, a good depth of snow, and one or two moose tracks on its
fair surface, and there was not much chance of the noble beast's
escape from Michel's swift tread and steady aim. Such is the
excitement of moose-hunting; and such the intense acuteness of the
moose-deer's sense of smell and hearing, that an Indian hunter will
often strip himself of every bit of clothing, and creep stealthily
along on his snow-shoes, lest by the slightest sound he should betray
his presence, and allow his prey to escape. And Michel was as skilled
a trapper as he was hunter; from the plump little musk-rat which he
caught by the river brink to the valuable marten, sable, beaver,
otter, skunk, &c., &c., he knew the ways and habits of each one; he
would set his steel trap with as true an intuition as if he had
received notice of the coming of his prey. Many a silver fox had
found himself outdone in sharpness and cunning by Michel; many a lynx
or wild cat had fought for dear life, and may-be, made _one_
escape from Michel's snares, leaving perhaps one of its paws in token
of its fierce struggle, yet had perished after all, being allured in
some opposite direction by tempting bait, or irresistible scent laid
by the same skilful hand. In bear hunting also Michel was an adept,
and he lacked not opportunity for this sport on the banks of the
Mackenzie. Many a time would he and, perhaps, one other Indian glide
down the river in his swift canoe, and suddenly the keen observant
eyes would detect a bear walking stealthily along by the side of the
stream! In an instant the two men would exchange signals, paddles
would be lifted, and, every movement stilled, the men slowly and
'cannily' would make for shore. In spite of all, however, Bruin has
heard them, he slakes his thirst no longer in the swift-running river
nor feasts luxuriously on the berries growing by the shore. The woods
are close at hand, and with a couple of huge strides he reaches them,
and is making with increasing speed for his lair; but Michel is his
match for stealth and swiftness, and when one sense fails, another is
summoned to his assistance. The eye can no longer see the prey, but
the ear can yet detect here and there a broken twig revealing the
exact track it has taken. With gun carried low, and treading on in
breathless silence and attention, the hunters follow, and soon a shot
is heard, succeeded by another, and then a shout which proclaims poor
Bruin's death. Alas, that gun which has done such good service for
his family, which was purchased by many a month's labour, and
carefully chosen with an Indian's observant eye: what misery and
crime was it not to effect even in that very spot where now the
little group of Indians dwelt happy and peaceful, little dreaming of
the deed of violence which would soon drive them panic-stricken from
their homes!
A very marked feature in the character of the Indian is jealousy.
How far the white man may be answerable, if not for the first impulse
of this, at all events for its development, it were perhaps better
not to inquire. The schoolboy is often first taught jealousy by the
undisguised partiality for his more attractive or highly gifted
companion, evinced by his teachers; the Indians are at present in
most respects but children, and they are keenly sensitive to the
treatment they receive from those, who, in spite of many benefits
bestowed, they cannot but look upon as invaders of their soil, and
intruders upon some of their prerogatives. In our Mission work we
find this passion of jealousy often coming into play. It is most
difficult to persuade the parents to trust us with their children,
not because they doubt our care of them, but for fear of their
children's affections being alienated from their own people. It is
sometimes hard for the same reason to get the parents to bring their
children to Holy Baptism: "You will give my boy another name, and he
will not be 'like mine' any more."
And Michel the Hunter was but an average type of the Indian
character; of a fiery, ardent nature, and unschooled affections, he
never forgot a wrong done him in early youth by a white man. His
sweetheart was taken from him, cruelly, heartlessly, mercilessly,
during his absence, without note or sign or warning, while he was
working with all energy to make a home for the little black-eyed
maiden, who had promised to be his bride. If Michel could but once
have seen the betrayer to have given vent to his feelings of scorn,
rage, and indignation! To have asked him, as he longed to ask him, if
this was his Christian faith, his boasted white man's creed! To have
asked if in those thousand miles he had traversed to reach the red
man's home, there were no girls suited to his mind, save only the one
betrothed to Indian Michel! He would have asked, too, if it were not
enough to invade his country, build houses, plant his barley and
potatoes, and lay claim to his moose-deer and bear, his furs and
peltries, but he must needs touch, with profane hands, his home
treasures, and meddle with that which "even an Indian" holds sacred?
It might, perchance, have been better for Michel if he could have
spoken out and unburdened himself of his deep sense of wrong and
injury, which from henceforth lay like a hot iron in his heart. The
Italian proverb says, "It is better to swear than to brood;" and
whether this be true or not, it is certain that having to swallow his
resentment, and endure his agony in silence, embittered Michel's
spirit, and made him the jealous, sensitive, taciturn man he
afterwards became. And among many other consequences of his youth's
tragedy was an unconquerable horror of the white man; not but that,
after a time, he would work for a white man, and trade with him, so
long as he need not look upon him. He would send even his wife (for
Michel took unto him a wife after some years) to Fort Simpson with
his furs to trade, rather than trust himself in the neighbourhood of
the "Tene Manula" (white man). Once, it was said, that Michel had
even so far overcome his repugnance as to pitch his camp in the
neighbourhood of Fort Simpson. He was a husband and a father then,
and there were a number of Indians encamped in the same locality. It
might be hoped that under these circumstances the past would be
forgotten, and that the man would bury his resentment, and extend a
friendly hand to those, not a few, among the white men who wished him
well; but jealousy is the "rage of a man." In the middle of the night
Michel roused his wife and little ones, declaring that the white man
was coming to do them some mischief. Bearing his canoe upon his head
he soon launched it off, and in his mad haste to be away he even left
a number of his chattels behind.
Only once more did Michel appear at the Fort, and that on a
memorable occasion which neither he nor any who then beheld him will
be likely to forget.
It was on a dark, cold night in the winter of 1880, that a dog-sleigh,
laden with furs for the Company, appeared at Fort Simpson,
and having discharged his load at the fur store, the sleigh-driver,
who was none other than Accomba, the wife of Indian Michel, proceeded
to the small "Indian house," as it is called, to spend the rest of
the night among her own people. She was a pleasing-looking young
woman, with bright expressive eyes, and a rather melancholy cast of
countenance. She was completely enveloped in a large green blanket,
from the folds of which peeped over her shoulder an infant of a few
months old, warm and comfortable in its moss-bag. A blessed
institution is that of the moss-bag to the Indian infant; and
scarcely less so to the mother herself. Yet, indeed, it requires no
small amount of patience, skill, and labour before this Northern
luxury can be made ready for its tiny occupant. Through a good part
of the long winter nights has the mother worked at the fine bead-work
which must adorn the whole front of the moss-bag. By a strange
intuitive skill she has traced the flowers and leaves and delicate
little tendrils, the whole presenting a marvellously artistic
appearance, both in form and in well-combined colours. Then must the
moss be fetched to completely line the bag, and to form both bed and
wrapping for the little one. For miles into the woods will the Indian
women hike to pick the soft moss which is only to be met with in
certain localities. They will hang it out on bush and shrub to dry
for weeks before it is wanted, and then trudge back again to bring it
home, in cloths or blankets swung on their often already-burdened
shoulders. Then comes the picking and cleaning process, and thawing
the now frozen moss before their camp fires. Every leaf and twig must
be removed, that nothing may hurt the little baby limbs. And now all
is prepared; the sweet downy substance is spread out as pillow for
the baby head, and both couch and covering for the rest of the body.
Then the bag is laced up tight, making its small tenant as warm and
cozy as possible; only the little face appears--the bonnie, saucy
Indian baby face, singularly fair for the first few months of life,
with the black bead-like eyes, and soft silken hair, thick even in
babyhood.
Accomba threw off her blanket, and swinging round her baby, she
seated herself on the floor by the side of the roaring fire, on which
the friendly Indians heaped billet after billet of fine dry wood,
till the whole room was lighted up by the bright and cheerful blaze.
It was not long before a number of other Indians entered,--most
unceremoniously, as Indians are wont to do, and seated themselves in
all parts of the room, for they had heard the sound of sleigh bells,
and were at once curious to know the business of the new arrival. A
universal hand-shaking took place, for all were friendly, being
mostly of the same tribe, and more or less closely all connected.
Pipes were then lighted alike by men and women, and a kettle of tea
was soon singing on the fire. Accomba draws out from the recesses of
her dog sleigh one or two huge ribs of dried meat, black and
unsavoury to look at, but forming very good food for all that.
This is portioned out among the assembled company; a bladder of
grease is added, and seized with avidity by one of the party; a
portion of this was then melted down and eaten with the dried meat;
while the steaming tea, sipped out of small tin cups, and taken
without sugar or milk, was the "loving cup" of that dark-visaged
company. And far into the morning hours they sat sipping their
favourite beverage, and discussing the last tidings from the woods.
Every item of news is interesting, whether from hunter's camp, or
trapper's wigwam. There are births, marriages, and deaths, to be
pondered over and commented upon; the Indian has his chief, to whom
he owes deference and vows allegiance; he has his party badge, both
in religion and politics; what wonder then that even the long winter
night of the North, seemed far too short for all the important knotty
points which had to be discussed and settled!
"You have had good times at the little Lake," said Peter, a brother
of Michel's, who was deliberately chewing a piece of dried meat held
tight between his teeth, while with his pocketknife he severed its
connection with the piece in his hand, to the imminent peril of his
nose.
"I wish I were a freedman: I should soon be off to the Lake myself!
I am sick of working for the Company. I did not mind it when they set
me to haul meat from the hunters, or to trap furs for them, but now
they make me saw wood, or help the blacksmith at his dirty forge:
what has a 'Tene Jua' to do with such things as these?"
"And I am sick of starving!" said another. "This is the third winter
that _something_ has failed us,--first the rabbits, then the
fish ran short; and now we hear that the deer are gone into a new
track, and there is not a sign of one for ten miles round the Fort.
And the meat is so low" added the last speaker, "that the 'big
Master' says he has but fifty pounds of dried meat in the store, and
if Indians don't come in by Sunday, we are to be sent off to hunt for
ourselves and the wives and children are to go to Little Lake where
they may live on fish."
"We have plenty of fish, it is true," said Accomba; "we dried a good
number last Fall, besides having one net in the lake all the winter;
but I would not leave the Company, Peter, if I were you,--you are
better off here, man, in spite of your'starving times!' You _do_ get
your game every day, come what may, and a taste of flour every week, and
a little barley and potatoes. I call that living like a 'big master.'"
"I had rather be a free man and hunt for myself," put in another
speaker; "the meat does not taste half so good when another hand than
your own has killed it; and as for flour and barley and potatoes,
well, our forefathers got on well enough without them before the
white man came into our country, I suppose we should learn to do
without them again? For my part, I like a roe cake as well as any
white man's bread."
"But the times are harder than they used to be for the Tene Jua
(Indian men) in the woods," said Accomba with a sigh; "the deer and
the moose go off the track more than they used to do; it is only at
Fort Rae, on the Big Lake, that meat never seems to fail; for us poor
Mackenzie River people there is hardly a winter that we are far from
starvation."
"But you can always pick up something at the Forts:" replied a
former speaker; "the masters are not such bad men if we are really
starving, and then there is the Mission: we are not often turned away
from the Mission without a taste of something."
"All very good for you," said Michel's wife; "who like the white man
and know how to take him, but my man will have nothing to say to him.
The very sight of a pale face makes him feel bad, and sends him into
one of his fits of rage and madness. Oh, it has been dreadful,
dreadful," continued the poor woman, while her voice melted into a
truly Indian wail, "for my children I kept alive, or else I would
have thrown myself into the river many a time last year."
"Bah," said Peter, who being the brother of Michel, would, with true
Indian pertinacity, take part with him whatever were his offences;
and, moreover, looking with his native instinct upon woman as the
"creature" of society, whose duty it was to endure uncomplaining,
whatever her masters laid upon her. "Bah; you women are always
grumbling and bewailing yourselves; for my part, if I have to starve
a little, Kulu (the meat) is all the sweeter when it comes. I suppose
Michel has killed enough to give you many a merry night, seated round
the camp fire with some good fat ribs or a moose nose, and a fine
kettle of tea; then you wrap yourself in your blanket, or light your
pipe and feel like a 'big master.'"
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NORTHMEN IN AMERICA.
985-1015.
THE
DISCOVERY OF AMERICA
BY THE
NORTHMEN.
985-1015.
A DISCOURSE DELIVERED BEFORE THE NEW
HAMPSHIRE HISTORICAL SOCIETY,
APRIL 24, 1888.
BY THE REV. EDMUND F. SLAFTER, D. D.,
A CORRESPONDING MEMBER OF THE SOCIETY, HONORARY MEMBER OF THE
ROYAL HISTORICAL SOCIETY OF GREAT BRITAIN, ETC., ETC.
CONCORD, N. H.:
PRIVATELY PRINTED.
1891.
REPRINTED FROM THE PROCEEDINGS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE HISTORICAL
SOCIETY.
DISCOURSE.
On the 29th day of October, 1887, a statue erected to the memory of
Leif, the son of Erik, the discoverer of America, was unveiled in the
city of Boston, in the presence of a large assembly of citizens. The
statue is of bronze, a little larger than life-size, and represents the
explorer standing upon the prow of his ship, shading his eyes with his
hand, and gazing towards the west. This monument[1] suggests the subject
to which I wish to call your attention, viz., the story of the discovery
of this continent by the Scandinavians nearly nine hundred years ago.
I must here ask your indulgence for the statement of a few preliminary
historical facts in order that we may have a clear understanding of this
discovery.
About the middle of the ninth century, Harald Haarfager, or the
fair-haired, came to the throne of Norway. He was a young and handsome
prince, endowed with great energy of will and many personal attractions.
It is related that he fell in love with a beautiful princess. His
addresses were, however, coolly rejected with the declaration that when
he became king of Norway in reality, and not merely in name, she would
give him both her heart and her hand. This admonition was not
disregarded by the young king. The thirty-one principalities into which
Norway was at that time divided were in a few years subjugated, and the
petty chieftains or princes who ruled over them became obedient to the
royal authority. The despotic rule, however, of the king was so
irritating and oppressive that many of them sought homes of greater
freedom in the inhospitable islands of the northern seas. Among the
rest, Iceland, having been discovered a short time before, was colonized
by them. This event occurred about the year 874. Notwithstanding the
severity of the climate and the sterility of the soil, the colony
rapidly increased in numbers and wealth, and an active commerce sprung
up with the mother country, and was successfully maintained. At the end
of a century, they had pushed their explorations still farther, and
Greenland was discovered, and a colony was planted there, which
continued to flourish for a long period.
About the year 985, a young, enterprising, and prosperous navigator, who
had been accustomed to carry on a trade between Iceland and Norway, on
returning from the latter in the summer of the year, found that his
father had left Iceland some time before his arrival, to join a new
colony which had been then recently planted in Greenland. This young
merchant, who bore the name of Bjarni, disappointed at not finding his
father in Iceland, determined to proceed on and pass the coming winter
with him at the new colony in Greenland. Having obtained what
information he could as to the geographical position of Greenland, this
intrepid navigator accordingly set sail in his little barque, with a
small number of men, in an unknown and untried sea, guided in his course
only by the sun, moon, and other heavenly bodies.[2] After sailing three
days they entirely lost sight of land. A north wind sprung up,
accompanied with a dense fog, which utterly shrouded the heavens from
their view, and left them at the mercy of the winds and the waves. Thus
helpless, they were borne along for many days in an open and trackless
ocean, they knew not whither. At length the fog cleared away, the blue
sky appeared, and soon after they came in sight of land. On approaching
near to it, they observed that it had
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Internet Archive)
KELION FRANKLIN PEDDICORD
[Illustration: N]
[Illustration:
KELION FRANKLIN PEDDICORD
1863
FRONTISPIECE
]
KELION FRANKLIN PEDDICORD
of Quirk’s Scouts
Morgan’s Kentucky Cavalry, C. S. A.
Biographical and Autobiographical
Together with a General Biographical Outline of the Peddicord Family
By MRS. INDIA W. P. LOGAN
[Illustration]
New York and Washington
THE NEALE PUBLISHING COMPANY
1908
Copyright, 1908, by
Mrs. India W. P. Logan
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS
PART I
Page
General Biographical Outline of the Peddicord Family, 9
PART II
Biographical Sketch and Autobiography of Kelion Franklin Peddicord 19
as Written in His “Journal” and in Letters from Military
Prisons, and as Jotted Down by Him During a Busy Life After the
War,
Chapter
I Youth and Early Manhood, 21
II The Journal, 29
III Prison Life, 149
IV After the War, 161
V Some Letters Received by Mrs. Logan, 164
ILLUSTRATIONS
Page
Kelion Franklin Peddicord, 1863, _Frontispiece_
Columbus A. Peddicord, 12
Carolus J. Peddicord, 18
Kelion Franklin Peddicord, 1888, 50
PART I
GENERAL BIOGRAPHICAL OUTLINE OF THE PEDDICORD FAMILY
Our great-grandfather was Adam Peddicord. He married Elizabeth Barnes, a
daughter of James Barnes, the elder. Their son, Jasper Peddicord, our
paternal grandfather, was born in 1762 in Anne Arundel County, Maryland,
from whence he moved to Ohio in 1829. He died in Barnesville, Belmont
County, Ohio, on September 23, 1844, aged 82. Barnesville was named
after James Barnes, grandfather’s cousin. Caleb Peddicord, another
cousin of Grandfather Peddicord, emigrated from Maryland to Kentucky in
1830. Two other cousins of our grandfather, William and John Peddicord,
served in the war of 1812.
Amelia Hobbs-Peddicord, our paternal grandmother, was the daughter of
Thomas Hobbs. She was born in Maryland in 1767 and died March 23, 1841,
in Barnesville, Ohio.
Jared Hobbs, our maternal grandfather, was born in Howard County,
Maryland, March 22, 1772, and died on his farm in 1866 at the advanced
age of 94.
Our maternal grandmother was Elenor Shipley-Hobbs, daughter of Edward
Shipley. She was born in Howard County, Maryland, March 16, 1777, and
died August 21, 1828.
Wilson Lee Peddicord, our father, was born in Howard County, Maryland,
May 13, 1803, and died in Palmyra, Missouri, May 20, 1875, from injuries
caused by his team running away and throwing him under a large iron
field roller. He was a Royal Arch Mason, and Palmyra Lodge officiated at
his funeral.
Our mother, Keturah Barnes-Peddicord, the fifth child of Grandfather
Hobbs, was born in Howard County, Maryland, September 25, 1807, and died
January 9, 1876. She is buried near father in Palmyra, Missouri, where
she died.
Jared Hobbs and Elenor Shipley-Hobbs had six children:
1. Louisa, born October 16, 1801.
2. Robert T., born December 2, 1802.
3. Julia Ann, born April 3, 1804.
4. Corilla E., born March 2, 1806.
5. Keturah B., born September 25, 1807.
6. Teresa, born June 19, 1809.
Jasper Peddicord and Amelia Hobbs-Peddicord had twelve children; two of
whom died quite young:
Sons. Daughters.
1. Thomas. 1. Pleasants.
2. Asbury. 2. Rebecca.
3. Benjamin. 3. Anna.
4. Joseph. 4. Cordelia.
5. Wilson Lee. 5. Hannah (Dorsey).
Anna married John Holton.
Cordelia married Thomas Holton.
Pleasants married Jerry Bartholow.
Rebecca married Robert Mus
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THE ECONOMIST
By Xenophon
Translation by H. G. Dakyns
Xenophon the Athenian was born 431 B.C. He was a
pupil of Socrates. He marched with the Spartans,
and was exiled from Athens. Sparta gave him land
and property in Scillus, where he lived for many
years before having to move once more, to settle
in Corinth. He died in 354 B.C.
The Economist records Socrates and Critobulus in
a talk about profitable estate management, and a
lengthy recollection by Socrates of Ischomachus'
discussion of the same topic.
PREPARER'S NOTE
This was typed from Dakyns' series, "The Works of Xenophon," a
four-volume set. The complete list of Xenophon's works (though
there is doubt about some of these) is:
Work Number of books
The Anabasis 7
The Hellenica 7
The Cyropaedia 8
The Memorabilia 4
The Symposium 1
The Economist 1
On Horsemanship 1
The Sportsman 1
The Cavalry General 1
The Apology 1
On Revenues 1
The Hiero 1
The Agesilaus 1
The Polity of the Athenians and the Lacedaemonians 2
Text in brackets "{}" is my transliteration of Greek text into
English using an Oxford English Dictionary alphabet table. The
diacritical marks have been lost.
The Economist
by Xenophon
Translation by H. G. Dakyns
THE ECONOMIST [1]
A Treatise on the Science of the Household in the form of a Dialogue
INTERLOCUTORS
Socrates and Critobulus
At Chapter VII. a prior discussion held between Socrates and Ischomachus
is introduced: On the life of a "beautiful and good" man.
In these chapters (vii.-xxi.) Socrates is represented by the author
as repeating for the benefit of Critobulus and the rest certain
conversations which he had once held with the beautiful and good
Ischomachus on the essentials of economy. It was a tete-a-tete
discussion, and in the original Greek the remarks of the two speakers
are denoted by such phrases as {ephe o 'Iskhomakhos--ephen egio}--"said
(he) Ischomachus," "said I." (Socrates) To save the repetition of
expressions tedious in English, I have, whenever it seemed help to do
so, ventured to throw parts of the reported conversations into dramatic
form, inserting "Isch." "Soc." in the customary way to designate the
speakers; but these, it must be borne in mind, are merely "asides"
to the reader, who will not forget that Socrates is the narrator
throughout--speaking of himself as "I," and of Ischomachus as "he," or
by his name.--Translator's note, addressed to the English reader.
I
I once heard him [2] discuss the topic of economy [3] after the
following manner. Addressing Critobulus, [4] he said: Tell me,
Critobulus, is "economy," like the words "medicine," "carpentry,"
"building," "smithying," "metal-working," and so forth, the name of a
particular kind of knowledge or science?
[1] By "economist" we now generally understand "political economist,"
but the use of the word as referring to domestic economy, the
subject matter of the treatise, would seem to be legitimate.
[2] "The master."
[3] Lit. "the management of a household and estate." See Plat. "Rep."
407 B; Aristot. "Eth. N." v. 6; "Pol." i. 3.
[4] See "Mem." I. iii. 8; "Symp." p. 292.
Crit. Yes, I think so.
Soc. And as, in the case of the arts just named, we
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THE COZY LION
FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT
The Cozy Lion
As told by Queen Crosspatch
By
Frances Hodgson Burnett
Author of "Little Lord Fauntleroy"
With Illustrations by Harrison Cady
The Century Co.
New York
Copyright, 1907, by
THE CENTURY CO.
Published October, 1907
Printed in U. S. A.
I AM very fond of this story of the Cozy Lion because I consider
it a great credit to me. I reformed that Lion and taught him how
to behave himself. The grown-up person who reads this story aloud
to children MUST know how to Roar.
THE COZY LION
I SHALL never forget the scolding I gave him to begin with. One
of the advantages of being a Fairy even quite a common one is
that Lions can't bite you. A Fairy is too little and too light.
If they snap at you it's easy to fly through their mouths, and
even if they catch you, if you just get behind their teeth you
can make them so uncomfortable that they will beg you to get out
and leave them in peace.
Of course it was all the Lion's fault that I scolded him. Lions
ought to live far away from people. Nobody likes Lions roaming
about--particularly where there are children. But this Lion said he
wanted to get into Society, and that he was very fond of children--
little fat ones between three and four. So instead of living on a
desert, or in a deep forest or a jungle he took the large Cave on
the Huge Green Hill, only a few miles from a village full of the
fattest, rosiest little children you ever saw.
He had only been living in the Cave a few days, but even in that
short time the mothers and fathers had found out he was there, and
everybody who could afford it had bought a gun and snatched it up
even if they saw a donkey coming down the road, because they were
afraid it might turn out to be a Lion. As for the mothers, they
were nearly crazy with fright, and dare not let their children go
out to play and had to shut them up in top rooms and cupboards and
cellars, they were so afraid the Lion might be hiding behind trees
to jump out at them. So everything was beginning to be quite
spoiled because nobody could have any fun.
Of course if they had had any sense and believed in Fairies and had
just gone out some moonlight night and all joined hands and danced
slowly around in a circle and sung:
Fairies pink and Fairies rose
Fairies dancing on pearly toes
We want you, Oh! we want you!
Fairy Queens and Fairy slaves
Who are not afraid of Lions' Caves
Please to come to help us,
then it would have been all right, because we should have come in
millions, especially if they finished with this verse:
Our troubles we can never tell
But if _you_ would come it would all be well
Par-tic-u-lar-ly Silverbell.
But they hadn't sense enough for that--of course they hadn't--_of
course they hadn't_! Which shows what <DW38>s people are.
But you see I am much nicer than _un_-fairy persons, even if I have
lost my nice little, pink little, sweet little Temper and if I am
cross. So when I saw the children fretting and growing pale because
they had to be shut up, and the mothers crying into their washtubs
when they were washing, until the water slopped over, I made up my
mind I would go and talk to that Lion myself in a way he wouldn't
soon forget.
It was a beautiful morning, and the Huge Green Hill looked lovely.
A shepherd who saw me thought I was a gold and purple butterfly and
threw his hat at me--the idiot! Of course he fell down on his nose--
and very right and proper too.
When I got to the Cave, the Lion was sitting outside his door and
he was crying. He was one of these nasty-tempered, discontented
Lions who are always thinking themselves injured; large round tears
were rolling down his nose and he was sniffling. But I must say he
was handsome. He was big and smooth and had the most splendid mane
and tail I ever saw.
He would have been like a King if he had had a nicer expression.
But there he sat sniffling.
"I'm so lonely," he said. "Nobody calls. Nobody pays me any
attention. And I came here for the Society. No one is fonder of
Society than I am."
I sat down on a flowering branch near him and shouted at him,
"What's the use of Society when you eat it up?" I said.
He jumped up and lashed his tail and growled but at first he could
not see me.
"What's it for _but_ to be eaten up?" he roared. "First I want it
to entertain me and then I want it for dessert. Where are you? Who
are you?"
"I'm Queen Crosspatch--Queen Silverbell as was," I said. "I suppose
you have heard of _me_?"
"I've heard nothing good," he growled. "A good chewing is what
_you_ want!"
He _had_ heard something about me, but not enough. The truth was he
didn't really believe in Fairies--which was what brought him into
trouble.
By this time he had seen me and he was ignorant enough to think
that he could catch me, so he laid down flat in the thick, green
grass and stretched his big paws out and rested his nose on them,
thinking I would be taken in and imagine he was going to sleep. I
burst out laughing at him and swung to and fro on my flowery
branch.
"Do you want to eat me?" I said. "You'd need two or three quarts of
me with sugar and cream--like strawberries."
That made him so angry that he sprang roaring at my tree and
snapped and shook it and tore it with his claws. But I flew up into
the air and buzzed all about him and he got furious--just furious.
He jumped up in the air and lashed his tail and _thrashed_ his tail
and CRASHED his tail, and he turned round and round and tore up the
grass.
"Don't be a silly," I said. "It's a nice big tufty sort of tail and
you will only wear it out."
So then he opened his mouth and roared and roared. And what do you
suppose _I_ did? I flew right into his mouth. First I flew into his
throat and buzzed about like a bee and made him cough and cough and
cough--but he couldn't cough me up. He coughed and he houghed and
he woughed; he tried to catch me with his tongue and he tried to
catch me with his teeth but I simply made myself tinier and tinier
and got between two big fierce white double ones and took one of my
Fairy Workers' hammers out of my pocket and hammered and hammered
and hammered until he began to have such a jumping toothache that
he ran leaping and roaring down the Huge Green Hill and leaping and
roaring down the village street to the dentist's to get some
toothache drops. You can just imagine how all the people rushed
into their houses, and how the mothers screamed and clutched their
children and hid under beds and tables and in coalbins, and how the
fathers fumbled about for guns. As for the dentist, he locked his
door and bolted it and barred it, and when he found _his_ gun he
poked it out of the window and fired it off as fast as ever he
could until he had fired fifty times, only he was too frightened to
hit anything. But the village street was so full of flashes and
smoke and bullets that Mr. Lion turned with ten big roars and
galloped down the street, with guns fired out of every window where
the family could afford to keep a gun.
When he got to his home in the Huge Green Hill, he just laid down
and cried aloud and screamed and kicked his hind legs until he
scratched a hole in the floor of his cave.
"Just because I'm a Lion," he sobbed, "just because I'm a poor,
sensitive, helpless, orphan Lion nobody has one particle of
manners. They won't even sell me a bottle of toothache drops. And I
wasn't going to touch that dentist--until he had cured me and
wrapped up the bottle nicely in paper. Not a touch was I going to
touch him until he had done that."
He opened his mouth so wide to roar with grief that I flew out of
it. I had meant to give him a lesson and I'd given him one. When I
flew out of his mouth of course his beautiful double teeth stopped
aching. It was such a relief to him that it made quite a change in
his nature and he sat up and began to smile. It was a slow smile
which spread into a grin even while the tear-drops hung on his
whiskers.
"My word! How nice," he said. "It's stopped."
I had flown to the top of his ear and I shouted down it.
"I stopped it," I said. "And I began it. And if you don't behave
yourself, I'll give you earache and that will be worse."
Before I had given him his lesson he would have jumped at me but
now he knew better. He tried to touch my feelings and make me sorry
for him. He put one paw before his eyes and began to sniff again.
"I am a poor sensitive lonely orphan Lion,' he said.
"You are nothing of the sort," I answered very sharply. "You are
not poor, and heaven knows you are not sensitive, and you needn't
be lonely. I don't know whether you are an orphan or not--and I
don't care. You are a nasty, ill-tempered, selfish, biting, chewing
thing."
"There's a prejudice against Lions," he wept. "People don't like
them. They never invite them to children's parties--nice little
fat, tender, children's parties--where they would enjoy themselves
so much--and the refreshments would be just what they like best.
They don't even invite them to grown-up parties. What I want to ask
you is this: has _one_ of those villagers called on me since I came
here--even a tough one?"
"Nice stupids they would be if they did," I answered.
He lifted up his right paw and shook his head from side to side in
the most mournful way.
"There," he said. "You are just as selfish as the rest. Everybody
is selfish. There is no brotherly love or consideration in the
world. Sometimes I can scarcely bear it. I am going to ask you
another question, and it is almost like a riddle. Who did you ever
see try to give pleasure to a Lion?"
I got into his ear then and shouted down it as loud as ever I
could.
"Who did you ever see a _Lion_ try to give pleasure to?" I said.
"You just think over that. And when you find the answer, tell it to
_me_."
I don't know whether it was the newness of the idea, or the
suddenness of it, but he turned pale. Did you ever see a Lion turn
pale? I never did before and it was funny. You know people's skins
turn pale but a Lion's skin is covered with hair and you can't see
it, so his hair has to turn pale or else you would never know he
was turning pale at all. This Lion's hair was a beautiful tawny
golden color to begin with and first his whiskers turned white and
then his big mane and then his paws and then his body and last his
long splendid tail with the huge fluffy tuft on the end of it. Then
he stood up and his tail hung down and he said weakly:
"I do not know the answer to that riddle. I will go and lie down in
my Cave. I do not believe I have one friend in this world." And he
walked into his Cave and laid down and sobbed bitterly.
He forgot I was inside his ear and that he carried me with him. But
I can tell you I had given him something to think of and that was
what he needed. This way of feeling that nothing in the world but a
Lion has a right to be comfortable--just because you happen to be a
Lion yourself--is too _silly_ for anything.
I flew outside his ear and boxed it a little.
"Come!" I said. "Crying won't do you any good. Are you really
lonely--really--really--really so that it gives you a hollow
feeling?"
He sat up and shook his tears away so that they splashed all about--
something like rain.
"Yes," he answered, "to tell the truth I am--I _do_ like Society. I
want friends and neighbors--and I don't only want them for dessert,
I am a sociable Lion and am affectionate in my nature--and
clinging. And people run as fast as they can the moment they hear
my voice." And he quite choked with the lump in his throat.
"Well," I snapped, "what else do you expect?" That overcame him and
he broke into another sob. "I expect kindness," he said, "and
invitations to afternoon teas--and g-g-arden parties----"
"Well you won't get them," I interrupted, "If you don't change your
ways. If you _eat_ afternoon teas and garden parties as though they
were lettuce sandwiches, you can't expect to be invited to them. So
you may as well go back to the desert or the jungle and live with
Lions and give up Society altogether."
"But ever since I was a little tiny Lion--a tiny, tiny one--I have
wanted to get into Society. I _will_ change--I will! Just tell me
what to do. And do sit on my ear and talk down it and stroke it. It
feels so comfortable and friendly."
You see he had forgotten that he had meant to chew me up. So I
began to give him advice.
"The first things you will have to do will be to change your temper
and your heart and your diet, and stop growling and roaring when
you are not pleased.'
"I'll do that, I'll do that," he said ever so quickly. "You don't
want me to cut my mane and tail off, do you?"
"No. You are a handsome Lion and beauty is much admired." Then I
snuggled quite close up to his ear and said down it, "Did you ever
think how _nice_ a Lion would be if--if he were much nicer?"
"N-no," he faltered.
"Did you ever think how like a great big cozy lovely dog you are?
And how nice your big fluffy mane would be for little girls and
boys to cuddle in, and how they could play with you and pat you and
hug you and
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Transcriber's Notes
Certain typographical features of the original cannot be reproduced
Illustrations cannot be reproduced in this version of the text. They
are indicated in the text, in their approximate positions, as:
[Illustration: <caption>]. Autograph letters, signatures, and similar
documents which were presented as images in the original, but have been
transcribed here, in lieu of captions.
Italic fonts are rendered using delimiting underscores, as _italic_.
The 'oe' ligature is spelled with separate characters. Words in all
small capital letters, including those which employ mixed case, are
shifted to uppercase.
Footnotes, which appeared at the bottom of the page, are positioned
at logical breaks following their references. They have been assigned
unique letters, beginning with 'A', and appear as:
[A] Text of footnote.
The lists of Illustrations and Contents have several anomalous, though
accurate, entries. For example, the section on the re-incorporation of
the Red Cross, beginning on page 94, appears in the Contents between
sections on p. 184 and p. 197, for no apparent reason. The reference has
been placed in its proper position in the Contents. Please note that
the entries in the Contents do not always refer to formal sections of
the text. They sometimes direct one to a change of topic otherwise
unmarked in the text itself.
Several of the photographs associated with the Spanish American War,
which were included at the end of the volume on pp. 675 and 676, are
listed in the Illustrations where their subjects would appear.
The opening of the section on General History is labeled "Chapter I",
the only use of that designation in the volume.
[Frontispiece: CLARA BARTON.
_From a portrait taken about 1875._]
THE RED CROSS
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[Illustration: Cover]
Travelers Five
Along Life's Highway
Works of ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON
The Little Colonel Series
(_Trade Mark, Reg. U. S. Pat. Of._)
Each one vol., large 12mo, cloth, illustrated
The Little Colonel Stories $1.50
(Containing in one volume the three stories, "The
Little Colonel," "The Giant Scissors," and "Two
Little Knights of Kentucky.")
The Little Colonel's House Party 1.50
The Little Colonel's Holidays 1.50
The Little Colonel's Hero 1.50
The Little Colonel at Boarding-School 1.50
The Little Colonel in Arizona 1.50
The Little Colonel's Christmas Vacation 1.50
The Little Colonel: Maid of Honor 1.50
The Little Colonel's Knight Comes Riding 1.50
Mary Ware: The Little Colonel's Chum 1.50
Mary Ware in Texas 1.50
The above 11 vols., _boxed_ with The Little Colonel's Good
Times Book, as a set of 12 vols 18.00
* * * * *
The Little Colonel Good Times Book 1.50
The Little Colonel Doll Book 1.50
Illustrated Holiday Editions
Each one vol., small quarto, cloth, illustrated, and
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MY QUEEN
A WEEKLY JOURNAL FOR YOUNG WOMEN
No. 5. PRICE, FIVE CENTS.
MARION MARLOWE ENTRAPPED
OR
THE VICTIM OF PROFESSIONAL JEALOUSY
BY GRACE SHIRLEY
PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY STREET & SMITH, 238 William Street, New York City.
_Copyright, 1900, by Street & Smith. All rights reserved. Entered at New
York Post-Office as Second-Class Matter._
MY QUEEN
A WEEKLY JOURNAL FOR YOUNG WOMEN
_Issued Weekly. By Subscription $2.50 per year. Entered as Second Class
Matter at the N. Y. Post Office, by STREET & SMITH, 238 William St., N. Y._
_Entered According to Act of Congress in the year 1900, in the Office of
the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C._
No. 5. NEW YORK, October 27, 1900. Price Five Cents.
Marion Marlowe Entrapped;
OR,
THE VICTIM OF PROFESSIONAL JEALOUSY.
By GRACE SHIRLEY.
CHAPTER I.
“ILA DE PARLOA.”
Howard Everett, musical critic for the New York _Star_, was just
entering the office of his friend, Manager Graham, when he stopped
and almost stared at the young lady who was emerging. She was by far
the most beautiful girl that Everett had ever seen, and that was
saying much, for the critic had traveled extensively. She was not over
seventeen, a trifle above medium height, with a brilliant complexion,
luxuriant chestnut hair and large gray eyes, that flashed like diamonds
as she glanced at him carelessly.
Everett gave a long, low whistle to relieve his feelings, then threw
open the door and rushed into the office.
“Who the mischief is she?” he blurted out, instantly.
Clayton Graham, manager of the Temple Opera Company, turned around
from his desk and smiled good-naturedly.
“So she’s bewitched you, too, has she?” he asked, jovially. “Well,
she’s the first woman I ever saw that could rattle the cold-blooded,
cynical Howard Everett!”
“But, good Heavens, man, she’s a wonder! I never saw such a face. It is
a combination of strength, poetry, beauty; and, most wonderful of all,
goodness! Why, that girl is not only worldly, but she is heavenly, too!
Quick, hurry, old man, and tell me what you know about her.”
“That won’t take me long,” said Graham, as he passed his friend a
cigar. “Sit down, Everett, and have a smoke. Perhaps it will calm your
nerves a little.”
“Pshaw! I’m not as much rattled as I look,” said the critic, laughing,
“but for once in my life I am devoured by curiosity, as the novelists
say—I want to know where you discovered that American Beauty.”
“Well, you want to know too much,” was Graham’s answer; “but, seeing
it is you, I suppose I’ll have to forgive you. But here’s her story,
as much as I know of it—and that, as I said, is mighty little. She
came here from the country about six months ago. Was poor as poverty,
and had not a friend in the city. Well, one night Vandergrift—you know
him, the manager of the Fern Garden—heard her singing on the street in
behalf of one of those preacher fellows. Her voice was wonderful, and,
of course, he stopped to listen. It was just before his opening and
he needed a singer, inasmuch as my present prima donna, ‘Carlotta,’
was engaged to sing at the opening of the Olio, the rival garden just
across the street from his place. Well, to make a long story short,
he made terms with this girl at once—offered her a big price for one
night, thinking that the offer would dazzle her so that she would feel
too grateful and all that sort of thing to listen to any future offers.
Well, he billed her that night as ‘Ila de Parloa,’ and her song was
great; she was the hit of the evening. The very next morning, what do
you think she did? Took her money and bolted, and Vandergrift lost
track of her entirely.”
“What, didn’t she go over to the Olio or to some other concert hall?”
“Nit! She just disappeared, leaving no address behind
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NARRATIVE
OF A
VOYAGE TO INDIA;
OF A
SHIPWRECK
ON BOARD THE LADY CASTLEREAGH;
AND A
_DESCRIPTION OF NEW SOUTH WALES_.
BY W. B. CRAMP.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR SIR RICHARD PHILLIPS AND Co. BRIDE-COURT, BRIDGE-STREET.
1823.
* * * * *
NARRATIVE
OF A
VOYAGE TO INDIA,
&c. &c. &c.
* * * * *
SECTION I.
THE AUTHOR'S DEPARTURE FROM ENGLAND--DESCRIPTION OF THE
CEREMONY ON CROSSING THE EQUINOCTIAL LINE, AND HIS ARRIVAL
AT MADRAS.
On the 8th or 9th of January, 1815, we proceeded, in the Princess
Charlotte, Indiaman, to North-fleet Hope, and received on board our
cargo. On February 28th, we sailed to Gravesend, in company with the
Company's ships Ceres, Lady Melville, Rose, and Medcalfe, and arrived
at the Downs on the 3d of March. Our dispatches not being expected for
some time, we moored ship. Our time passed on very pleasantly till the
27th inst., when the weather became rather boisterous, and accompanied
by a heavy swell. On the evening of the 28th, as the Hon. Company's
ship Tarva, from Bengal, was rounding the Foreland, she struck on the
Goodwin Sands, and was forced to cut away her masts to lighten her,
and get her clear off. The Ceres drifted almost on board us; we
slipped our cables, and with difficulty escaped the Goodwin Sands.
On the 1st of April the pursers joined their respective ships, and on
the 3d we made sail with a fair breeze, and soon cleared the English
channel. Nothing was now heard but confusion; the pilot having just
left the ship, the hoarse voice of the captain resounded through a
speaking trumpet, while the seamen were busy in making sail. We had a
fine steady breeze till we made the Bay of Biscay, when we had a
strong gale for three days.
After the hurry and bustle of the gale was over, we had a fine steady
breeze; I then began to feel an inward pleasure, and to rejoice in the
predilection I had imbibed from my earliest years.
We arrived on the equinoctial about eight o'clock in the evening of
the 19th of April, when one of the oldest seamen is deputed Neptune;
when he went into the head and hailed the ship in the usual form,
Ship, hoa! ship, hoa! what ship is that? The chief officer replied,
The Hon. Company's ship Princess Charlotte of Wales, and that he would
be glad of his company on the morrow. Gladly would I have dispensed
with it. On his quitting the vessel, as is supposed, a pitch cask was
thrown overboard on fire, which had the appearance of a boat till lost
to view.
The next morning, about nine A. M., Neptune hailed the ship again,
when he was invited on board (from the head). On the fore-part of the
gang-way and after-part of the long-boat, a boom was placed across,
and a tarpauling was hung in form of a curtain, so that when they were
in readiness they took it down, and the procession moved on towards
the cuddy, twelve of the officers walking in the front, two by two
with staves (broomsticks); next followed Neptune's car, (a grating
with a chair covered with sheep skins) with Neptune, and his wife and
child, (a recruit's child, as we had 250 on board, of his majesty's
46th regiment) Neptune bearing in his hand the granes with forks
uppermost, and the representation of a dolphin on the middle prong,
and Neptune's footman riding behind (barber) his carriage, dragged by
the constables. The captain and officers came out to meet him, and
presented him with a glass of gin, which was on this occasion termed
wine. After the captain's health was drank, he desired them to proceed
to business, and to make as much haste as possible; they then
proceeded to the starboard gang-way, and Neptune placed himself upon
his throne (on the boom, close to the long-boat and wash-deck tub) the
slush tub being filled with balls, and lather
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[Every attempt has been made to replicate the original book as printed.
Some typographical errors have been corrected. A list follows the etext.
No attempt has been made to correct or normalize the French orthography
of the printed book.
The images have been moved from the middle of paragraphs to the closest
paragraph break for ease of reading. (etext transcriber’s note)]
RAMBLES IN NORMANDY
_WORKS OF FRANCIS MILTOUN_
_The following, each 1 vol., library 12mo, cloth, gilt top, profusely
illustrated. Net, $2.00; postpaid, $2.16_
_Rambles in Normandy_ _Rambles in Brittany_ _The Cathedrals and Churches
of the Rhine_
_The following, each 1 vol., library 12mo, cloth, gilt top, profusely
illustrated. Postpaid, $2.50_
_The Cathedrals of Northern France_ _The Cathedrals of Southern France_
_L. C. PAGE & COMPANY New England Building, Boston, Mass._
[Illustration: _Mont St. Michel_
(_See page 385_)]
Rambles
in
NORMANDY
BY FRANCIS MILTOUN
_With Many Illustrations_
BY BLANCHE MCMANUS
[Illustration: colophon]
BOSTON
L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
1906
_Copyright, 1905_
BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
_All rights reserved_
Published October, 1905
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THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY,
A MAGAZINE OF LITERATURE, ART, AND POLITICS.
* * * * *
VOL. I.--FEBRUARY, 1858.--NO. IV.
* * * * *
THE GREAT FAILURE.
The _crucial_ fact, in this epoch of commercial catastrophes, is not the
stoppage of Smith, Jones, and Robinson,--nor the suspension of specie
payments by a greater or less number of banks,--but the paralysis of the
trade of the civilized globe. We have had presented to us, within the
last quarter, the remarkable, though by no means novel, spectacle of
a sudden overthrow of business,--in the United States, in England, in
France, and over the greater part of the Continent.
At a period of profound and almost universal peace,--when there had been
no marked deficit in the productiveness of industry, when there had
been no extraordinary dissipation of its results by waste and
extravagance,--when no pestilence or famine or dark rumor of civil
revolution had benumbed its energies,--when the needs for its enterprise
were seemingly as active and stimulating as ever,--all its habitual
functions are arrested, and shocks of disaster run along the ground
from Chicago to Constantinople, toppling down innumerable well-built
structures, like the shock of some gigantic earthquake.
Everybody is of course struck by these phenomena, and everybody has
his own way of accounting for them; it will not, therefore, appear
presumptuous in us to offer a word on the common theme. Let it be
premised, however, that we do not undertake a scientific solution of
the problem, but only a suggestion or two as to what the problem itself
really is. In a difficult or complicated case, a great deal is often
accomplished when the terms of it are clearly stated.
It is not enough, in considering the effects before us, to say that
they are the results of a panic. No doubt there has been a panic, a
contagious consternation, spreading itself over the commercial world,
and strewing the earth with innumerable wrecks of fortune; but that
accounts for nothing, and simply describes a symptom. What is the cause
of the panic itself? These daring Yankees, who are in the habit of
braving the wildest tempests on every sea, these sturdy English, who
march into the mouths of devouring cannon without a throb, these gallant
Frenchmen, who laugh as they scale the Malakoff in the midst of belching
fires, are not the men to run like sheep before an imaginary terror.
When a whole nation of such drop their arms and scatter panic-stricken,
there must be something behind the panic; there must be something
formidable in it, some real and present danger threatening a very
positive evil, and not a mere sympathetic and groundless alarm.
Neither do we conceive it as sufficiently expressing or explaining the
whole facts of the case, to say that the currency has been deranged.
There has been unquestionably a great derangement of the currency; but
this may have been an effect rather than a cause of the more general
disturbance; or, again, it may have been only one cause out of many
causes. In an article in the first number of this magazine, the
financial fluctuations in this country are ascribed to the alternate
inflation and collapse of our factitious paper-money. Adopting the
prevalent theory, that the universal use of specie in the regulation
of the international trade of the world determines for each nation the
amount of its metallic treasure, it was there argued that any redundant
local circulation of paper must raise the level of local prices above
the legitimate specie over exports; which imports can be paid for only
in specie,--the very basis of the inordinate local circulation. Of
course, then, there is a rapid contraction in the issue of notes, and an
inevitable and wide-spread rupture of the usual relations of trade. But
although this view is true in principle, and particularly true in its
application to the United States, where trade floats almost exclusively
upon a paper ocean, it is yet an elementary and local view;--local, as
not comprising the state of facts in England and France; and elementary,
inasmuch as it omits all reference to the possibility of a great
fluctuation of prices being produced by other means than an excess or
deficiency of money.[A] In France, as we know, the currency is almost
entirely metallic, while in England it is metallic so far as the lesser
exchanges of commerce are concerned; there is an obvious impropriety,
therefore, in extending to the financial difficulties of those nations a
theory founded upon a peculiarity in the position of our own.
[Footnote A: A failure of one half the cotton or wheat crop, we suspect,
would play a considerable part
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[Illustration: SEE MY NEW SWEATER
FOR DIRECTIONS FOR MAKING KNITTED ARTICLES SHOWN IN THIS ILLUSTRATION
SEE KNITTED SLEEVELESS SWEATER—185 CROCHETED HAT—206 CROCHETED SPORTS
SWEATER—243]
[Illustration]
THE
MARY FRANCES
KNITTING AND CROCHETING
BOOK
OR
ADVENTURES AMONG THE
KNITTING PEOPLE
BY
JANE EAYRE FRYER
Illustrated by
JANE ALLEN BOYER
and from
ACTUAL PHOTOGRAPHS
THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO.
PHILADELPHIA
COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY
JANE EAYRE FRYER
————CAUTION————
The entire contents of this book are protected
by copyright, and all persons are
warned not to reproduce the text, in whole
or in part, or any of the illustrations without
permission of the publishers.
PREFACE
DEAR GIRLS:
After reading about Mary Frances’ many adventures among the Kitchen
People, and the Thimble People, and the Garden People, and with the
Doll Family and the Brave Family, in the Mary Frances books—perhaps you
thought that no girl, not even Mary Frances, could find any more funny
little fairy helpers right in her own home.
But Mary Frances did, for the Knitting People had overheard many of
the lessons which the Thimble People gave her, and they were almost
jealous. At least they probably would have been jealous if they had
not planned to surprise Mary Frances with some delightful lessons in
crocheting and knitting. Such good lessons they were that almost before
she knew it, Mary Frances had made the loveliest caps and sweaters and
bootees for her dolls—just exactly the kinds you want for your own
dolls. And you can have them if you wish, for Mary Frances says that
the Knitting People told her that they are always just as ready to help
any other girl who wants their help—if she will follow the lessons
exactly as they are given in this book.
She says, too, that after a girl has learned to crochet and knit for
dolls, it is “just as easy as a-b-c” to crochet and knit for real
people; and that knitting articles for soldier boys and fathers and
mothers makes a person feel of very much account.
It is in the hope that you will enjoy these new adventures as much as
Mary Frances did, that this book is sent out to the girls of America
with the best wishes of
THE AUTHOR.
_Merchantville, N. J._
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. KNIT AND KNACK 15
II. AUNT MARIA STEPS IN 19
III. CROW SHAY TALKS 25
IV. WOOLEY BALL TELLS SOME YARNS 29
V. SPEAKING OF MOTHS 35
VI. CROW SHAY’S RELATIVES 39
VII. A DISAPPOINTMENT 43
VIII. A DOLL’S NECKLACE 47
IX. A TELEGRAM 55
X. MAKING PLANS 61
XI. A ROSE SCARF 67
XII. MARY MARIE’S SHAWL 73
XIII. FAIRLY FLEW FLIES IN 79
XIV. A LITTLE PETTICOAT 83
XV. MARY MARIE’S CAP 93
XVI. MARY MARIE’S TURBAN 99
XVII. MARY MARIE COMES TO LIFE 105
XVIII. THE MAGIC RHYME 113
XIX. MARY MARIE’S SCHOOL BAG 117
XX. A LETTER FROM MOTHER 121
XXI. A TEDDY BEAR SUIT 127
XXII. THE FIRST KNITTING LESSON 145
XXIII. CASTING ON STITCHES 149
XXIV. CROW SHAY HELPS KNIT 153
XXV. TO KNIT A STITCH 159
XXVI. MARY FRANCES REALLY KNITS 165
XXVII. DOING IT OVER AGAIN 169
XXVIII. DOLL’S KNITTED HOOD 175
XXIX. WHAT’S A PURL? 179
XXX. DOLL’S SLEEVELESS SWEATER 183
XXXI. GOOD NEWS 191
XXXII. THE BOY AVIATOR 195
XXXIII. MARY MARIE’S SPORTS SWEATER 201
XXXIV. HOME AGAIN 215
XXXV. A GIFT FROM THE QUEEN OF FAIRIES 219
XXXVI. THE MAGIC PAPER 225
XXXVII. THE MAGIC PAPER (_Continued_) 227
XXXVIII. TWO MORE SWEATERS 262
XXXIX. RED CROSS KNITTING 265
[Illustration]
INSTRUCTIONS
PAGE
DIFFERENT YARNS 31
NAMES OF YARNS 32
CROCHET HOOKS AND KNITTING NEEDLES 40
SCALE OF SIZES 41
TO MAKE CHAIN STITCH 48
DOLL’S CROCHETED NECKLACE 50
TO MAKE SINGLE CROCHET 51
TO MAKE DOUBLE CROCHET 52
TO MAKE SLIP STITCH 53
DOLL’S CROCHETED SCARF 69
TO MAKE FRINGE 69
DOLL’S CROCHETED SHAWL 75
TO JOIN ENDS OF YARN IN CROCHETING 76
DOLL’S CROCHETED WOOL FLOSS SCARF 84
DOLL’S CROCHETED PETTICOAT 88
HOW TO “INCREASE” IN CROCHETING 89
TO MAKE THE SCALLOPS 89
TO MAKE THE RUNNER 90
DOLL’S CROCHETED TOQUE OR CAP 93
TO MAKE POMPONS 95
DOLL’S CROCHETED TURBAN (HAT) 99
BABY’S BALL 107
HAIR PIN BALL 107
DOLL’S CROCHETED BEDROOM SLIPPERS 108
TO MAKE TASSELS 111
DOLL’S CROCHETED BOOK BAG 118
HOW TO MAKE AN INFANT YARN DOLL 121
HOW TO MAKE A COLORED YARN DOLL 123
TEDDY BEAR SUIT, CONSISTING OF—
CROCHETED SWEATER 129
CROCHETED TAM 135
HOW TO “DECREASE” IN CROCHETING 137
CROCHETED LEGGINGS 138
FIRST LESSON IN KNITTING—
TO MAKE A SLIP KNOT 148
TO CAST ON STITCHES WITH THE FINGERS 150
TO CAST ON STITCHES WITH A CROCHET HOOK 155
TO KNIT PLAIN 162
TO SLIP A STITCH 163
HOW TO BIND OFF 166
DOLL’S KNITTED SHAWL 171
DOLL’S KNITTED HOOD 176
DOLL’S KNITTED BEAN BAG 180
HOW TO PURL 180
DOLL’S KNITTED SLEEVELESS SWEATER 185
TO SLIP OFF STITCHES NEEDED LATER 186
TO INCREASE OR ADD A STITCH IN KNITTING 186
AVIATOR DOLL’S OUTFIT—
KNITTED HELMET 196
KNITTED WRISTLETS 196
KNITTED SLEEVELESS SWEATER 197
DOLL’S KNITTED SPORTS SWEATER 201
TO DECREASE STITCHES IN KNITTING 202
LITTLE CROCHETED HAT 206
DOLL’S CROCHETED MITTENS 211
TREBLE CROCHET 228
INFANT DOLL’S CROCHETED OUTFIT—
INFANT DOLL’S CROCHETED SOCKS 228
INFANT DOLL’S CROCHETED CAP 229
INFANT DOLL’S CROCHETED SACQUE, NO. 1 230
TO ATTACH NEW YARN 231
INFANT DOLL’S CROCHETED SACQUE, NO. 2
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Produced by Al Haines
BELLES AND RINGERS
BY
HAWLEY SMART,
AUTHOR OF
"BOUND TO WIN;" "FALSE CARDS;" "TWO KISSES;" "COURTSHIP," ETC.
NEW EDITION.
LEVER BROTHERS, LTD.,
PORT SUNLIGHT, NEAR BIRKENHEAD.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
TODBOROUGH GRANGE
CHAPTER II.
THE CONSPIRATORS TRIUMPH
CHAPTER III.
THE COMMONSTONE BALL
CHAPTER IV.
THE ROCKCLIFFE GAMES
CHAPTER V.
AN EXCURSION TO TROTBURY
CHAPTER VI.
A SHORT CUT HOME
CHAPTER VII.
"THE PLAY'S THE THING!"
CHAPTER VIII.
MRS. WRIOTHESLEY
CHAPTER IX.
SATURDAY AT HURLINGHAM
CHAPTER X.
MRS. WRIOTHESLEY'S LITTLE DINNER
CHAPTER XI.
THE RINGING OF THE BELLES
BELLES AND RINGERS.
CHAPTER I.
TODBOROUGH GRANGE.
Todborough Grange, the seat of Cedric Bloxam, Justice of the Peace, and
whilom High Sheriff for East Fernshire, lies low. The original Bloxam,
like the majority of our ancestors, had apparently a great dislike to
an exposed situation; and either a supreme contempt for the science of
sanitation, or a confused idea that water could be induced to run
uphill, and so, not bothering his head on the subject of drainage, as
indeed no one did in those days, he built his house in a hole, holding,
I presume, that the hills were as good to look up at as the valleys to
look down upon. It was an irregular pile of gabled red brick, of what
could be only described as the composite order, having been added to by
successive Bloxams at their own convenience, and without any regard to
architectural design. It was surrounded by thick shrubberies, in which
the laurels were broken by dense masses of rhododendrons. Beyond these
again were several plantations, and up the hill on the east side of the
house stretched a wood of some eighty acres or so in extent.
As a race, the Bloxams possessed some of the leading Anglo-Saxon
characteristics; to wit, courage, obstinacy, and density--or perhaps I
should rather say slowness--of understanding. The present proprietor
had been married--I use the term advisedly--to Lady Mary Ditchin, a
daughter of the Earl of Turfington, a family whose hereditary devotion
to sport in all its branches had somewhat impoverished their estates.
The ladies could all ride; and some twenty odd years ago, when Cedric
Bloxam was hunting in the Vale of White Horse country, Lord Turfington
and his family chanced to be doing the same. Lady Mary rode; Cedric
Bloxam saw; and Lady Mary conquered. She had made him a very good
wife, although as she grew older she unfortunately, as some of us do,
grew considerably heavier; and when no longer able to expend her
superfluous energies in the hunting-field, she developed into a
somewhat ambitious and pushing woman. In this latter _role_ I do not
think she pleased Cedric Bloxam quite so well. She insisted upon his
standing for the county. Bloxam demurred at first, and, as usual, in
the end Lady Mary had her own way. He threw himself into the fight
with all the pugnacity of his disposition, and, while his blood was up,
revelled in the fray. He could speak to the farmers in a blunt homely
way, which suited them; and they brought him in as one of the
Conservative Members for East Fernshire. But on penetrating the
perfidy of the wife of his bosom, Cedric Bloxam mused sadly over the
honours that he had won. When Lady Mary had alternately coaxed and
goaded him into contesting the eastern division of his county, she was
seeking only the means to an end. They had previously contented
themselves with about six weeks
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Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by Google Books
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source:
http://books.google.com/books?id=NTQPAAAAQAAJ.
2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
Miss Arnott's
Marriage
|-------------------------------|
| BY THE SAME AUTHOR |
| |
| * * * |
| |
| CURIOS |
| ADA VERNHAM, ACTRESS |
| MRS MUSGRAVE AND HER HUSBAND |
| THE MAGNETIC GIRL |
| |
| * * * |
| |
| John Long, Publisher, London |
|_______________________________|
Miss Arnott's Marriage
By
Richard Marsh
Author of "The Beetle," etc.
London
John Long
13 & 14 Norris Street, Haymarket
1904
CONTENTS
CHAP.
I. ROBERT CHAMPION'S WIFE.
II. THE WOMAN ON THE PAVEMENT.
III. THE HEIRESS ENTERS INTO HER OWN.
IV. THE EARL OF PECKHAM'S PROPOSAL.
V. TRESPASSING.
VI. AN AUTHORITY ON THE LAW OF MARRIAGE.
VII. MR MORICE PRESUMES.
VIII. THE LADY WANDERS.
IX. THE BEECH TREE.
X. THE TALE WHICH WAS TOLD.
XI. THE MAN ON THE FENCE.
XII. WHAT SHE HEARD, SAW AND FOUND.
XIII. AFTERWARDS.
XIV. ON THE HIGH ROAD.
XV. COOPER'S SPINNEY.
XVI. JIM BAKER.
XVII. INJURED INNOCENCE.
XVIII. AT THE FOUR CROSS ROADS.
XIX. THE BUTTONS OFF THE FOILS.
XX. THE SOLICITOR'S CLERK.
XXI. THE "NOTE".
XXII. ERNEST GILBERT.
XXIII. THE TWO MEN.
XXIV. THE SOMNAMBULIST.
XXV. HUGH MORICE EXPLAINS.
XXVI. THE TWO MAIDS.
XXVII. A CONFIDANT.
XXVIII. MRS DARCY SUTHERLAND.
XXIX. SOME PASSAGES OF ARMS.
XXX. MISS ARNOTT IS EXAMINED.
XXXI. THE TWO POLICEMEN.
XXXII. THE HOUSEMAID'S TALE.
XXXIII. ON HIS OWN CONFESSION.
XXXIV. MR DAY WALKS HOME.
XXXV. IN THE LADY'S CHAMBER.
XXXVI. OUT OF SLEEP.
XXXVII. WHAT WAS WRITTEN.
XXXVIII. MISS ARNOTT'S MARRIAGE.
Miss Arnott's Marriage
CHAPTER I
ROBERT CHAMPION'S WIFE
"Robert Champion, you are sentenced to twelve months' hard labour."
As the chairman of the Sessions Court pronounced the words, the
prisoner turned right round in the dock, and glanced towards where he
knew his wife was standing. He caught her eye, and smiled. What
meaning, if any, the smile conveyed, he perhaps knew. She could only
guess. It was possibly intended to be a more careless, a more
light-hearted smile than it in reality appeared. Robert Champion had
probably not such complete control over his facial muscles as he would
have desired. There was a hunted, anxious look about the eyes, a
suggestion of uncomfortable pallor about the whole countenance which
rather detracted from the impression which she had no doubt that he had
intended to make. She knew the man well enough to be aware that nothing
would please him better than that she should suppose that he regarded
the whole proceedings with gay bravado, with complete indifference,
both for the powers that were and for the punishment which they had
meted out to him. But even if the expression on his face had not shown
that the cur in the man had, for the moment, the upper hand, the
unceremonious fashion in which the warders bundled him down the
staircase, and out of sight, would have been sufficient to prevent any
impression being left behind that he had departed from the scene in a
halo of dignity.
As regards his wife, the effect made upon her by the whole proceedings
was an overwhelming consciousness of unbearable shame. When the man
with the cheap good looks was hustled away, as if he were some inferior
thing, the realisation that this was indeed her husband, was more than
she could endure. She reached out with her hand, as if in search of
some support, and, finding none, sank to the floor of the court in a
swoon.
"Poor dear!" said a woman, standing near. "I expect she's something to
do with that scamp of a fellow--maybe she's his wife."
"This sort of thing often is hardest on those who are left behind,"
chimed in a man. "Sometimes it isn't those who are in prison who suffer
most; it's those who are outside."
When, having regained some of her senses, Violet Champion found herself
in the street, she was inclined to call herself hard names for having
gone near the court at all. She had only gone because she feared that
if she stayed away she might not have learned how the thing had ended.
This crime of which Robert Champion had been guilty was such a petty,
such a paltry thing, that, so far as she knew, the earlier stages of
the case had not been reported at all. One or other of the few score
journals which London issues might have noticed it at some time,
somewhere. If so, it had escaped her observation. Her knowledge of
London papers was limited. They contained little which was likely to be
of interest to her. She hardly knew where to look for such comments.
The idea was not to be borne that she should be left in ignorance as to
how the case had gone, as to what had become of Robert Champion.
Anything rather than that. Her want of knowledge would have been to her
as a perpetual nightmare. She would have scarcely dared to show herself
in the streets for fear of encountering him.
Yet, now that it was all over, and she knew the worst--or best--her
disposition was to blame herself for having strayed within the tainted
purlieus of that crime-haunted court. She felt as if the atmosphere of
the place had infected her with some loathsome bacillus. She also
thought it possible that he might have misconstrued the meaning of her
presence. He was in error if he had supposed that it was intended as a
mark of sympathy. In her complete ignorance of such matters she had no
notion as to the nature of the punishment to which he had rendered
himself liable. If he were sentenced to a long term of penal servitude
she simply wished to know it, that was all. In such a situation any
sort of certainty was better than none. But sympathy! If he had been
sentenced to be hung, her dominant sensation would have been one of
relief. The gallows would have been a way of escape.
No one seeing the tall, handsome girl strolling listlessly along the
street would have connected her with such a sordid tragedy. But it
seemed to her that the stigma of Robert Champion's shame was branded
large all over her, that passers-by had only to glance at her to
perceive at once the depths into which she had fallen.
And they were depths. Only just turned twenty-one; still a girl, and
already a wife who was no wife. For what sort of wife can she be called
who is mated to a convicted felon? And Robert Champion was one of
nature's felons; a rogue who preferred to be a rogue, who loved crooked
ways because of their crookedness, who would not run straight though
the chance were offered him. He was a man who, to the end of his life,
though he might manage to keep his carcase out of the actual hands of
the law, would render himself continually liable to its penalties.
Twelve months ago he was still a stranger. The next twelve months he
was to spend in gaol. When his term of imprisonment was completed would
their acquaintance be recommenced?
At the thought of such a prospect the dizziness which had prostrated
her in court returned. At present she dared not dwell on it.
She came at last to the house in Percy Street in which she had hired a
lodging. A single room, at the top of the house, the rent of which,
little though it was, was already proving a severe drain on her limited
resources. From the moment in which, at an early hour in the morning,
her husband had been dragged out of bed by policemen, she had
relinquished his name. There was nothing else of his she could
relinquish. The rent for the rooms they occupied was in arrears;
debts were due on every side. Broadly speaking, they owed for
everything--always had done since the day they were married. There were
a few articles of dress, and of personal adornment, which she felt that
she was reasonably justified in considering her own. Most of these she
had turned into cash, and had been living--or starving--on the proceeds
ever since. The occupant of the "top floor back" was known as Miss
Arnott. She had returned to her maiden name. She paid six shillings a
week for the accommodation she received, which consisted of the bare
lodging, and what--ironically--was called "attendance." Her rent had
been settled up to yesterday, and she was still in possession of
twenty-seven shillings.
When she reached her room she became conscious that she was
hungry--which was not strange, since she had eaten nothing since breakfast,
which had consisted of a cup of tea and some bread and butter. But of
late she had been nearly always hungry. Exhausted, mentally and bodily,
she sank on to the side of the bed, which made a more comfortable seat
than the only chair which the room contained; and thought and thought
and thought. If only certain puzzles could be solved by dint of sheer
hard thinking! But her brain was in such a state of chaos that she
could only think confusedly, in a vicious circle, from which her
mind was incapable of escaping. To only one conclusion could she
arrive--that it would be a very good thing if she might be permitted to
lie down on the bed, just as she was, and stay there till she was dead.
For her life was at an end already at twenty-one. She had put a period
to it when she had suffered herself to become that man's wife.
She was still vaguely wondering if it might not be possible for her to
take advantage of some such means of escape when she was startled by a
sudden knocking at the door. Taken unawares, she sprang up from the
bed, and, without pausing to consider who might be there, she cried,--
"Come in!"
Her invitation was accepted just as she was beginning to realise that
it had been precipitately made. The door was opened; a voice--a
masculine voice--inquired,--
"May I see Miss Arnott?"
The speaker remained on the other side of the open door, in such a
position that, from where she was, he was still invisible.
"What do you want? Who are you?" she demanded.
"My name is Gardner--Edward Gardner. I occupy the dining-room. If you
will allow me to come in I will explain the reason of my intrusion. I
think you will find my explanation a sufficient one."
She hesitated. The fact that the speaker was a man made her at once
distrustful. Since her marriage day she had been developing a
continually increasing distaste for everything masculine--seeing in
every male creature a possible replica of her husband. The moment, too,
was unpropitious. Yet, since the stranger was already partly in the
room, she saw no alternative to letting him come a little farther.
"Come in," she repeated.
There entered an undersized, sparely-built man, probably between forty
and fifty years of age. He was clean-shaven, nearly bald--what little
hair he had was iron grey--and was plainly but neatly dressed in black.
He spoke with an air of nervous deprecation, as if conscious that he
was taking what might be regarded as a liberty, and was anxious to show
cause why it should not be resented.
"As I said just now, I occupy the dining-rooms and my name is Gardner.
I am a solicitor's clerk. My employers are Messrs Stacey, Morris &
Binns, of Bedford Row. Perhaps you are acquainted with the firm?"
He paused as if for a reply. She was still wondering more and more what
the man could possibly be wanting; oppressed by the foreboding, as he
mentioned that he was a solicitor's clerk, that he was a harbinger of
further trouble. With her law and trouble were synonyms. He went on,
his nervousness visibly increasing. He was rendered uneasy by the
statuesque immobility of her attitude, by the strange fashion in which
she kept her eyes fixed on his face. It was also almost with a sense of
shock that he perceived how young she was, and how beautiful.
"It is only within the last few minutes that I learned, from the
landlady, that your name was Arnott. It is a somewhat unusual name;
and, as my employers have been for some time searching for a person
bearing it, I beg that you will allow me to ask you one or two
questions. Of course, I understand that my errand will quite probably
prove to be a futile one; but, at the same time, let me assure you that
any information you may give will only be used for your advantage; and
should you, by a strange coincidence, turn out to be a member of the
family for whom search has been made, you will benefit by the discovery
of the fact. May I ask if, to your knowledge, you ever had a relation
named Septimus Arnott?"
"He was my uncle. My father's name was Sextus Arnott. My grandfather
had seven sons and no daughters. He was an eccentric man, I believe--I
never saw him; and he called them all by Latin numerals. My father was
the sixth son, Sextus; the brother to whom you refer, the seventh and
youngest, Septimus."
"Dear, dear! how extraordinary! almost wonderful!"
"I don't know why you should call it wonderful. It was perhaps curious;
but, in this world, people do curious things."
"Quite so!--exactly!--not a doubt of it! It was the coincidence which I
was speaking of as almost wonderful, not your grandfather's method of
naming his sons; I should not presume so far. And where, may I further
be allowed to ask, is your father now, and his brothers?"
"They are all dead."
"All dead! Dear! dear!"
"My father's brothers all died when they were young men. My father
himself died three years ago--at Scarsdale, in Cumberland. My mother
died twelve months afterwards. I am their only child."
"Their only child! You must suffer me to say, Miss Arnott, that it
almost seems as if the hand of God had brought you to this house and
moved me to intrude myself upon you. I take it that you can furnish
proofs of the correctness of what you say?"
"Of course I can prove who I am, and who my father was, and his
father."
"Just so; that is precisely what I mean--exactly. Miss Arnott, Mr
Stacey, the senior partner in our firm, resides in Pembridge Gardens,
Bayswater. I have reason to believe that, if I go at once, I shall find
him at home. When I tell him what I have learnt I am sure that he will
come to you at once. May I ask you to await his arrival? I think I can
assure you that you shall not be kept waiting more than an hour."
"What can the person of whom you speak have to say to me?"
"As I have told you, I am only a servant. It is not for me to betray my
employer's confidence; but so much I may tell you--if you are the niece
of the Septimus Arnott for whom we are acting you are a very fortunate
young lady. And, in any case, I do assure you that you will not regret
affording Mr Stacey an opportunity of an immediate interview."
Mr Gardner went; the girl consented to await his return. Almost as soon
as he was gone the landlady--Mrs Sayers--paid her a visit. It soon
appeared that she had been prompted by the solicitor's clerk.
"I understand, Miss Arnott, from Mr Gardner, who has had my dining-room
now going on for five years, that his chief governor, Mr Stacey, is
coming to call on you, as it were, at any moment. If you'd like to
receive him in my sitting-room, I'm sure you're very welcome; and you
shall be as private as you please."
The girl eyed the speaker. Hitherto civility had not been her strongest
point. Her sudden friendly impulse could only have been induced by some
very sufficient reason of her own. The girl declined her offer. Mrs
Sayers became effusive, almost insistent.
"I am sure, my dear, that you will see for yourself that it's not quite
the thing for a young lady to receive a gentleman, and maybe two, in a
room like this, which she uses for sleeping. You're perfectly welcome
to my little sitting-room for half an hour, or even more, where you'll
be most snug and comfortable; and as for making you a charge, or
anything of that sort, I shouldn't think of it, so don't let yourself
be influenced by any fears of that kind."
But the girl would have nothing to do with Mrs Sayers' sitting-room.
This woman had regarded her askance ever since she had entered the
house, had treated her with something worse than incivility. Miss
Arnott was not disposed, even in so trifling a matter, to place herself
under an obligation to her now. Mrs Sayers was difficult to convince;
but the girl was rid of her at last, and was alone to ask herself what
this new turn of fortune's wheel might portend. On this already
sufficiently eventful day, of what new experiment was she to be made
the subject? What was this
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RAVEN***
Transcribed from the 1913 Thomas J. Wise pamphlet by David Price, email
[email protected]
THE NIGHTINGALE
THE VALKYRIE AND RAVEN
AND OTHER BALLADS
BY
GEORGE BORROW
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION
1913
_Copyright in the United States of America_
_by Houghton_, _Mifflin and Co. for Clement Shorter_.
THE NIGHTINGALE, OR THE TRANSFORMED DAMSEL
I know where stands a Castellaye,
Its turrets are so fairly gilt;
With silver are its gates inlaid,
Its walls of marble stone are built.
Within it stands a linden tree,
With lovely leaves its boughs are hung,
Therein doth dwell a nightingale,
And sweetly moves that bird its tongue.
A gallant knight came riding by,
He heard its dulcet ditty ring;
And sorely, sorely, wondered he
At midnight hour that it should sing.
"And hear, thou little Nightingale,
If thou to me wilt sing a lay,
Thy feathers I'll with gold bedeck,
Thy neck with costly pearls array."
"With golden feathers others lure,
Such gifts for me have value slight;
I am a strange and lonely bird,
But little known to mortal wight."
"And thou, a strange wild bird thou be,
Whom other mortals little know;
Yet hunger pinches thee, and cold,
When falls the cruel winter snow."
"I laugh at hunger, laugh at snow,
Which falls so wide on hill and lea;
But I am vexed by secret care,
I know not either joy or glee.
"Betwixt the hills and valleys deep
Away the rapid rivers flow;
But ah! remembrance of true love
From out the mind will never go.
"O I had once a handsome love,
A famous knight of valour he;
But ah! my step-dame all o'erturn'd,
She vowed our marriage ne'er should be.
"She changed me to a Nightingale,
Bade me around the world to fly;
My Brother she changed to a wolf so gray,
Bade him into the forest hie.
"She told him, as the wood he sought,
That he should win his shape no more,
'Till he had drunk her heart's blood out,
And that befell when years were o'er.
"It happened on a summer tide,
Amidst the wood she wandered gay,
My brother saw and watched her close,
From 'neath the bushes where he lay.
"He seized her quickly by the foot,
All with his laidly wolfish claw;
Tore out her heart, and drank her blood,
And thus released himself he saw.
"Yet I am still a little bird,
And o'er the verdant meads I fly;
So sorrowful I pass my life,
But mostly 'neath the winter's sky.
"But God be thanked, he me has waked,
And speech from him my tongue has won;
For fifteen years I have not spoke
As I with thee, Sir Knight, have done.
"But ever with a mournful voice,
Have sung the green wood bough upon;
And had no better dwelling place
Than gloomy forests, sad and lone."
"Now hear, thou little Nightingale,
This simple thing would I propose,
In winter sit within my bower,
And hie thee forth when summer blows."
"O many thanks, thou handsome knight
Thy offer would I accept full fane;
But ah, my step-dame that forbade
Whilst still in feather I remain."
The Nightingale sat musing deep,
Unto the knight she paid no heed,
Until he seized her by the foot,
For God I ween had so decreed.
He carried her to his chamber in,
The doors and windows fast he made;
Then changed she to the strangest beasts
That ever mortal eye survey'd.
A lion now, and now a bear,
And now a coil of hissing snakes;
At last a Dragon she became,
And furious she the knight attacks.
He cut her with a little knife,
So that her blood did stain the floor;
Then straight before his eye there stood
A Damsel bright as any flower.
"Now, Damsel fair, I've rescued thee
From thraldom drear and secret care;
Now tell me of thy ancestry,
Thy parents and thy race declare."
"My father he was England's King,
My mother was his lovely Queen;
My brother once a grey wolf was,
And trotted o'er the wold so
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Produced by David Clarke, Dan Horwood and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
{Transcriber's Note:
All square brackets [] are from the original text. Braces {} ("curly
brackets") are supplied by the transcriber.
A caret character '^' indicates the following letters are superscript
in the original.
More transcriber's notes are provided at the end of the text.}
LEADING ARTICLES
ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
{Illustration: W. H. McFarlane, Lith^r Edin^r
HUGH MILLER
_Fac-simile of a Calotype by D. O. Hill, R. I. A. 1845.
see page 184_}
MURRAY AND GIBB, EDINBURGH,
PRINTERS TO HER MAJESTY'S STATIONERY OFFICE.
LEADING ARTICLES
ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
BY
HUGH MILLER,
AUTHOR OF 'THE OLD RED SANDSTONE,' ETC. ETC.
_EDITED BY HIS SON-IN-LAW_,
THE REV. JOHN DAVIDSON.
_FOURTH EDITION._
EDINBURGH:
WILLIAM P. NIMMO.
1872.
PREFACE.
The present volume is issued in compliance with the strong solicitations
of many, to whose desire deference was due. In selecting the articles,
I have been guided mainly by two considerations,--namely, the
necessity for reproducing the mature opinion of a great mind, upon
great subjects; and for making the selection so varied, as to convey to
the reader some idea of the wonderful versatility of the powers
which could treat subjects so diverse in their nature with such
uniform eloquence and discrimination. I trust that the chapters on
Education will prove to be a valuable contribution to the speedy
settlement of that question at the present crisis. Those on
Sutherlandshire are inserted because they possess a permanent value,
in connection with the social and economical history of our country.
Some of the articles are of a personal character, and are introduced,
not, certainly, for the purpose of recalling old animosities, but
solely to illustrate the author's method of using some of the more
formidable figures of speech; while over against these may be set some
on purely literary subjects, which show the genial tenderness of his
disposition towards those who aspired to serve God and their generation
by giving to the world the fruit of their imagination, their labour,
and their leisure.
I have not determined the selection without securing the counsel and
approval of men on whose judgment I could rely. It only remains for me
to thank them, and in an especial way to thank Mr. D. O. Hill for the
portrait which forms the frontispiece. An impersonal reference to a
similar portrait taken at the same time will be found at page 184, in
the article on 'The Calotype.'
JOHN DAVIDSON.
_London, March 8, 1870._
CONTENTS
PAGE
THOUGHTS ON THE EDUCATIONAL QUESTION, 1
LORD BROUGHAM, 105
THE SCOTT MONUMENT, 111
THE LATE MR. KEMP, 119
ANNIE M'DONALD AND THE FIFESHIRE FORESTER, 123
A HIGHLAND CLEARING, 136
THE POET MONTGOMERY, 146
CRITICISM--INTERNAL EVIDENCE, 151
THE SANCTITIES OF MATTER, 161
THE LATE REV. ALEXANDER STEWART, 170
THE CALOTYPE, 179
THE TENANT'S TRUE QUARREL, 190
CONCLUSION OF THE WAR IN AFFGHANISTAN, 199
PERIODICALISM, 206
'ANNUS MIRABILIS,' 215
EFFECTS OF RELIGIOUS DISUNION ON COLONIZATION, 223
FINE-BODYISM, 232
ORGANSHIP, 240
BAILLIE'S LETTERS AND JOURNALS, 249
FIRST PRINCIPLES, 262
AN UNSPOKEN SPEECH, 269
DISRUPTION PRINCIPLES, 280
CHARACTERISTICS OF THE CRIMEAN WAR, 293
THE POETS OF THE CHURCH, 302
THE ENCYCLOPAEDIA BRITANNICA, 315
A VISION OF THE RAILROAD, 327
THE TWO MR. CLARKS, 337
PULPIT DUTIES NOT SECONDARY, 358
DUGALD STEWART, 369
OUR TOWN COUNCILS, 378
SUTHERLAND AS IT WAS AND IS; OR, HOW A COUNTRY MAY BE
RUINED, 388
INTRODUCTORY NOTE
TO
THOUGHTS ON THE EDUCATIONAL QUESTION.
The following chapters on the Educational Question first appeared as a
series of articles in the _Witness_ newspaper. They present, in
consequence, a certain amount of digression, and occasional
re-statement and explanation, which, had they been published
simultaneously, as parts of a whole, they would not
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This is the February 1992 Project Gutenberg release of:
Paradise Lost by John Milton
The oldest etext known to Project Gutenberg (ca. 1964-1965)
(If you know of any older ones, please let us know.)
Introduction (one page)
This etext was originally created in 1964-1965 according to Dr.
Joseph Raben of Queens College, NY, to whom it is attributed by
Project Gutenberg. We had heard of this etext for years but it
was not until 1991 that we actually managed to track it down to
a specific location, and then it took months to convince people
to let us have a copy, then more months for them actually to do
the copying and get it to us. Then another month to convert to
something we could massage with our favorite 486 in DOS. After
that is was only a matter of days to get it into this shape you
will see below. The original was, of course, in CAPS only, and
so were all the other etexts of the 60's and early 70's. Don't
let anyone fool you into thinking any etext with both upper and
lower case is an original; all those original Project Gutenberg
etexts were also in upper case and were translated or rewritten
many times to get them into their current condition. They have
been worked on by many people throughout the world.
In the course of our searches for Professor Raben and his etext
we were never able to determine where copies were or which of a
variety of editions he may have used as a source. We did get a
little information here and there, but even after we received a
copy of the etext we were unwilling to release it without first
determining that it was in fact Public Domain and finding Raben
to verify this and get his permission. Interested enough, in a
totally unrelated action to our searches for him, the professor
subscribed to the Project Gutenberg listserver and we happened,
by accident, to notice his name. (We don't really look at every
subscription request as the computers usually handle them.) The
etext was then properly identified, copyright analyzed, and the
current edition prepared.
To give you an estimation of the difference in the original and
what we have today: the original was probably entered on cards
commonly known at the time as "IBM cards" (Do Not Fold, Spindle
or Mutilate) and probably took in excess of 100,000 of them. A
single card could hold 80 characters (hence 80 characters is an
accepted standard for so many computer margins), and the entire
original edition we received in all caps was over 800,000 chars
in length, including line enumeration, symbols for caps and the
punctuation marks, etc., since they were not available keyboard
characters at the time (probably the keyboards operated at baud
rates of around 113, meaning the typists had to type slowly for
the keyboard to keep up).
This is the second version of Paradise Lost released by Project
Gutenberg. The first was released as our October, 1991 etext.
Paradise Lost
Book I
Of Man's first disobedience, and the fruit
Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste
Brought death into the World, and all our woe,
With loss of Eden, till one greater Man
Restore us, and regain the blissful seat,
Sing, Heavenly Muse, that, on the secret top
Of Oreb, or of Sinai, didst inspire
That shepherd who first taught the chosen seed
In the beginning how the heavens and earth
Rose out of Chaos: or, if Sion hill
Delight thee more, and Siloa's brook that flowed
Fast by the oracle of God, I thence
Invoke thy aid to my adventurous song,
That with no middle flight intends to soar
Above th' Aonian mount, while it pursues
Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme.
And chiefly thou, O Spirit, that dost prefer
Before all temples th' upright heart and pure,
Instruct me, for thou know'st; thou from the first
Wast present, and, with mighty wings outspread,
Dove-like sat'st brooding on the vast Abyss,
And mad'st it pregnant: what in me is dark
Illumine, what is low raise and support;
That, to the height of this great argument,
I may assert Eternal Providence,
And justify the ways of God to men.
Say first--for Heaven hides nothing from thy view,
Nor the deep tract of Hell--say first what cause
Moved our grand parents, in that happy state,
Favoured of Heaven so highly, to fall off
From their Creator, and transgress his will
For one restraint, lords of the World besides.
Who first seduced them to
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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
Hollowdell Grange, by George Manville Fenn.
________________________________________________________________________
This is one of Fenn's earliest books. The theme is that a boy from
London goes down to stay in the country with his cousins, where the way
of life is so very different, and challenging, from all that he had
known in the great city. The descriptions of country life of those days
are very well done, but we must make one warning--that many of the
countrymen we meet in the story speak with a strong Lincolnshire accent,
and the author has done his best to represent these sounds with what
must very often look like mistakes in transcription.
There are all sorts of country situations to be encountered, from
working with animals, to meeting the various village characters, to a
near drowning, and even, at the very end to an attempted rescue, one
that failed, of a drowning boy caught in a sluice on the beach.
There may well be a few mistakes, because the copy used was very old,
and the pages very browned, while at the same time not very well
printed. But we have done our best and at least what we offer here is
better than what you would have got from the book itself in its aged
condition. As so often with this kind of book it makes a very good
audio-book, and listening to it is a great pleasure.
________________________________________________________________________
HOLLOWDELL GRANGE, BY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN.
CHAPTER ONE.
A FISH OUT OF WATER.
It was such a fine hot Midsummer day at Hollowdell station, that the
porter had grown tired of teasing the truck-driver's dog, and fallen
fast asleep--an example which the dog had tried to follow, but could
not, because there was only one shady spot within the station-gates, and
that had been taken possession of by the porter; so the poor dog had
tried first one place, and then another, but they were all so hot and
stifling, and the flies kept buzzing about him so teasingly, that he
grew quite cross, and barked and snapped so at the tiresome insects,
that at last he woke Jem Barnes, the porter, who got up, stretched
himself, yawned very rudely and loudly, and then, looking in at the
station-clock, he saw that the 2:30 train from London was nearly due, so
he made up his mind not to go to sleep again until it had passed.
It _was_ a hot day--so hot that the great black tarpaulins over the
goods-waggons were quite soft, and came off all black upon Jem Barnes's
hands. The air down the road seemed to quiver and dance over the white
chalky dust; while all the leaves upon the trees, and the grass in the
meadows, drooped beneath the heat of the sun. As to the river, it shone
like a band of silver as it wound in and out, and here and there; and
when you looked you could see the reflection of the great dragon-flies
as they flitted and raced about over the glassy surface. The reeds on
the bank were quite motionless; while, out in the middle, the fat old
chub could be seen basking in the sunshine, wagging their great broad
fantails in the sluggish stream, too lazy even to snap up the flies that
passed over their heads. All along the shallows the roach and dace lay
in shoals, flashing about, every now and then, in the transparent water
like gleams of silver light. Down in the meadows, where the ponds were,
and the shady trees grew, the cows were so hot that they stood up to
their knees in the muddy water, chewing their grass with half-shut eyes,
and whisking their long tails about to keep the flies at a distance.
But it was of no use to whisk, for every now and then a nasty, spiteful,
hungry fly would get on some poor cow's back, creep beneath the hair,
and force its horny trunk into the skin so sharply, that the poor animal
would burst out into a doleful lowing, and, sticking its tail up, go
galloping and plunging through the meadow in such a clumsy way as only a
cow can display. A few fields off the grass was being cut, and the
sharp scythes of the mowers went tearing through the tall, rich, green
crop, and laid it low in long rows as the men, with their regular
strokes, went down the long meadows. Every now and then, too, they
would make the wood-side re-echo with the musical ringing sound of the
scythes, as the gritty rubbers glided over the keen edges of the
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Produced by Col Choat. HTML version by Al Haines.
TWO EXPEDITIONS INTO THE INTERIOR OF SOUTHERN AUSTRALIA,
VOLUME II
by
Charles Sturt
TWO EXPEDITIONS INTO THE INTERIOR OF SOUTHERN AUSTRALIA DURING THE
YEARS 1828, 1829, 1830, 1831 WITH OBSERVATIONS ON THE SOIL, CLIMATE AND
GENERAL RESOURCES OF THE COLONY OF NEW SOUTH WALES.
IN TWO VOLUMES
VOLUME II.
"For though most men are contented only to see a river as it runs by
them, and talk of the changes in it as they happen; when it is
troubled, or when clear; when it drowns the country in a flood, or
forsakes it in a drought: yet he that would know the nature of the
water, and the causes of those accidents (so as to guess at their
continuance or return), must find out its source, and observe with what
strength it rises, what length it runs, and how many small streams fall
in, and feed it to such a height, as make it either delightful or
terrible to the eye, and useful or dangerous to the country about
it."...SIR WILLIAM TEMPLE'S NETHERLANDS.
CONTENTS OF THE SECOND VOLUME
EXPEDITION DOWN THE MORUMBIDGEE AND MURRAY RIVERS, IN 1829, 1830 AND
1831.
CHAPTER I.
Introductory--Remarks on the results of the former Expedition--The
fitting out of another determined on--Its objects--Provisions,
accoutrements, and retinue--Paper furnished by Mr. Kent--Causes that
have prevented the earlier appearance of the present work.
CHAPTER II.
Commencement of the expedition in November, 1829.--
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Produced by David Starner, Melissa McDaniel and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
Transcriber's Note:
Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have
been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold text by =equal
signs=.
CARDIGAN
[Illustration: See p. 40
CARDIGAN AND SILVER HEELS]
_Cardigan_
_By_ ROBERT W. CHAMBERS
Author of "The Maid-at-Arms," "The Tree of Heaven,"
"Fighting Chance," etc.
Illustrated
A. L. BURT COMPANY, PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK
Published by arrangement with Harper & Brothers
BOOKS BY
ROBERT W. CHAMBERS
LORRAINE. Post 8vo $1.25
THE CONSPIRATORS. Ill'd. Post 8vo 1.50
A YOUNG MAN IN A HURRY. Ill'd. Post 8vo 1.50
CARDIGAN. Illustrated. Post 8vo 1.50
THE MAID-AT-ARMS. Illustrated. Post 8vo 1.50
THE KING IN YELLOW. Post 8vo 1.50
THE MAIDS OF PARADISE. Ill'd. Post 8vo 1.50
IN SEARCH OF THE UNKNOWN. Ill'd. Post 8vo 1.50
OUTDOORLAND. Ill'd in Colors. Sq. 8vo, net 1.50
ORCHARDLAND. Ill'd in Colors. Sq. 8vo, net 1.50
RIVERLAND. Ill'd in Colors. Sq. 8vo, net 1.50
THE MYSTERY OF CHOICE. 16mo 1.25
HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, N. Y.
Copyright, 1901, by ROBERT W. CHAMBERS.
_All rights reserved._
TO
MY FATHER
AND
MOTHER
INTRODUCTION
This is the Land of the Pioneer,
Where a life-long feud was healed;
Where the League of the Men whose Coats were Red
With the Men of the Woods whose Skins were Red
Was riveted, forged, and sealed.
Now, by the souls of our Silent Dead,
God save our sons from the League of Red!
Plough up the Land of Battle
Here in our hazy hills;
Plough! to the lowing of cattle;
Plough! to the clatter of mills;
Follow the turning furrows'
Gold, where the deep loam breaks,
While the hand of the harrow burrows,
Clutching the clod that cakes;
North and south on the harrow's line,
Under the bronzed pines' boughs,
The silvery flint-tipped arrows shine
In the wake of a thousand ploughs!
Plough us the Land of the Pioneer,
Where the buckskinned rangers bled;
Where the Redcoats reeled from a reeking field,
And a thousand Red Men fled;
Plough us the land of the wolf and deer,
The land of the men who laughed at fear,
The land of our Martyred Dead!
Here where the ghost-flower, blowing,
Grows from the bones below,
Patters the hare, unknowing,
Passes the cawing crow:
Shadows of hawk and swallow,
Shadows of wind-stirred wood,
Dapple each hill and hollow,
Here where our dead men stood:
Wild bees hum through the forest vines
Where the bullets of England hummed,
And the partridge drums in the ringing pines
Where the drummers of England drummed.
This is the Land of the Pioneer,
Where a life-long feud was healed;
Where the League of the Men whose Coats were Red
With the Men of the Woods whose Skins were Red
Was riveted, forged, and sealed.
Now, by the blood of our Splendid Dead,
God save our sons from the League of Red!
R. W. C.
BROADALBIN.
PREFACE
Those who read this romance for the sake of what history it may
contain will find the histories from which I have helped myself more
profitable.
Those antiquarians who hunt their hobbies through books had best drop
the trail of this book at the preface, for they will draw but a blank
covert in these pages. Better for the antiquarian that he seek the
mansion of Sir William Johnson, which is still standing in Johnstown,
New York, and see with his own eyes the hatchet-scars in the solid
mahogany banisters where Thayendanegea hacked out polished chips. It
would doubtless prove more profitable for the antiquarian to thumb
those hatchet-marks than these pages.
But there be some simple folk who read romance for its own useless
sake.
To such quiet minds, innocent and disinterested, I have some little
confidences to impart: There are still trout in the Kennyetto; the
wild ducks still splash on the Vlaie, where Sir William awoke the
echoes with his flintlock; the spot where his hunting-box stood is
still called Summer-House Point; and huge pike in golden-green
chain-mail still haunt the dark depths of the Vlaie water, even on
this fair April day in the year of our Lord 1900.
THE AUTHOR.
CARDIGAN
CHAPTER I
On the 1st of May, 1774, the anchor-ice, which for so many months had
silver-plated the river's bed with frosted crusts, was ripped off and
dashed into a million gushing flakes by the amber outrush of the
springtide flood.
On that day I had laid my plans for fishing the warm shallows where
the small fry, swarming in early spring, attract the great lean fish
which have lain benumbed all winter under their crystal roof of ice.
So certain was I of a holiday undisturbed by school-room tasks that I
whistled up boldly as I sat on my cot bed, sorting hooks according to
their sizes, and smoothing out my feather-flies to make sure the moths
had not loosened wing or body. It was, therefore, with misgiving that
I heard Peter and Esk go into the school-room, stamping their feet to
make what noise they were able, and dragging their horn-books along
the balustrade.
Now we had no tasks set us for three weeks, for our schoolmaster, Mr.
Yost, journeying with the post to visit his mother in Pennsylvania,
had been shot and scalped at Eastertide near Fort Pitt--probably by
some drunken Delaware.
My guardian, Sir William Johnson, who, as all know, was Commissioner
of Indian Affairs for the Crown, had but recently returned from the
upper castle with his secretary, Captain Walter Butler; and,
preoccupied with the lamentable murder of Mr. Yost, had found no time
to concern himself with us or our affairs.
However, having despatched a messenger with strings and belts to
remonstrate with the sachems of the Lenni-Lenape--they being, as I
have said, suspected of the murder--we discovered that Sir William had
also written to Albany for another schoolmaster to replace Mr. Yost;
and it gave me, for one, no pleasure to learn it, though it did please
Silver Heels, who wearied me with her devotion to her books.
So, hearing Esk and fat Peter on their way to the school-room, I took
alarm, believing that our new schoolmaster had arrived; so seized my
fish-rod and started to slip out of the house before any one might
summon me. However, I was seen in the hallway by Captain Butler, Sir
William's secretary, and ordered to find my books and report to him at
the school-room.
I, of course, paid no heed to Mr. Butler, but walked defiantly
down-stairs, although he called me twice in his cold, menacing voice.
And I should have continued triumphantly out of the door and across
the fields to the river had not I met Silver Heels dancing through the
lower hallway, her slate and pencil under her arm, and loudly sucking
a cone of maple sugar.
"Oh, Michael," she cried, "you don't know! Captain Butler has
consented to instruct us until the new schoolmaster comes from
Albany."
"Oh, has he?" I sneered. "What do I care for Mr. Butler? I'm going
out! Let go my coat!"
"No, you're not! No, you're not!" retorted Silver Heels, in that
teasing sing-song which she loved to make me mad withal. "Sir William
says you are to take your ragged old book of gods and nymphs and be
diligent lest he catch you tripping! So there, clumsy foot!"--for I
had tried to trip her.
"Who told you that?" I answered, sulkily, snatching at her sugar.
"Aunt Molly; she set me to seek you. So now who's going fishing, my
lord?"
The indescribable malice of her smile, her sing-song mockery as she
stood there swaying from her hips and licking her sugar-cone, roused
all the sullen obstinacy in me.
"If I go," said I, "I won't study my books anyway. I'm too old to
study with you and Peter, and I won't! You will see!"
Sir William's favourite ferret, Vix, with muzzle on, came sneaking
along the wall, and I grasped the lithe animal and thrust it at Silver
Heels, whereupon she kicked my legs with her moccasins, which did not
hurt, and ran up-stairs like a wild-cat.
There was nothing for me but to go to the school-room. I laid my rod
in the corner, pocketed the ferret, dragged my books from under the
library table, and went slowly up the stairs.
At sixteen I was as wilful a dunce as ever dangled feet in a
school-room, knowing barely sufficient Latin to follow Caesar through
Gaul, loathing mathematics, scorning the poets, and even obstinately
marring my pen-writing with a heavy backward stroke in defiance of Sir
William and poor Mr. Yost.
As for mythology, my tow-head was over-crammed with kennel-lore and
the multitude of small details bearing upon fishing and the chase, to
accommodate the classics.
Destined, against my will, for Dartmouth College by my guardian, who
very well understood that I desired to be a soldier, I had resolutely
set myself against every school-room accomplishment, with the result
that, at sixteen, I presented an ignorance which should have shamed a
lad of ten, but did not mortify me in the least.
And now, to my dismay and rage, Sir William had set me once more in
the school-room--and under Mr. Butler, too!
"Master Cardigan," said Mr. Butler when I entered the room, "Sir
William desires you to prepare a recitation upon the story of
Proserpine."
I muttered rebelliously, but jerked my mythology from the pile of
books and began to thumb the leaves noisily. Presently tiring of dingy
print, I moved up to the bench where sat the children, Peter and Esk,
a-conning their horn-books.
Silver Heels pulled a face at me behind her French grammar book, and I
pinched her arm smartly for her impudence. Then, casting about for
something to do, I remembered the ferret in my pocket, and dragged it
out. Removing the silver bit I permitted the ferret to bite Peter's
tight breeches, not meaning to hurt him; but Peter screeched and Mr.
Butler birched him well, knowing all the while it was no fault of
Peter's; yet such was the nature of the man that, when angry, the
innocent must suffer when the guilty were beyond his wrath.
I had remuzzled the ferret, and Peter was smearing the tears from his
cheeks, when Sir William came in, very angry, saying that Mistress
Molly could hear us in the nursery, and that the infant had fallen
a-roaring with his new teeth.
"I did it, sir," said I, "and Mr. Butler punished Peter--"
"Silence!" said Sir William, sharply. "Put that ferret out the
window!"
"The ferret is your best one--Vix," I answered. "She will run to the
warren and we shall have to dig her out--"
"Pocket her, then," said Sir William, hastily. "Who gave you leave to
pouch my ferrets? Eh? What has a ferret to do in school? Eh? Idle
again? Captain Butler, is he idle?"
"He is a dunce," said Mr. Butler, with a shrug.
"Dunce!" echoed Sir William, quickly. "Why should he be a dunce when I
have taught him? Granted his Latin would shame a French priest, and
his mathematics sicken a Mohawk, have I not read the poets with him?"
Mr. Butler, a gentleman and an officer of rank and fortune, whose
degraded whims led him now to instruct youth as a pastime, sharpened a
quill in silence.
"Gad," muttered Sir William, "have I not read mythology with him till
I dreamed of nymphs and satyrs and capered in my dreams till Mistress
Molly--but that's neither here nor there. Micky!"
"Sir," I replied, sulkily.
Then he began to question me concerning certain gods and demi-gods,
and I gaped and floundered as though I were no better than the inky
rabble ruled over by Mr. Butler.
Sir William lounged by the window in his spurred boots and scarlet
hunting-coat, and smelling foul of the kennels, which, God knows, I do
not find unpleasant; and at every slap of the whip over his boots, he
shot me through and through with a question which I had neither
information nor inclination to answer before the grinning small fry.
Now to be hectored and questioned by Sir William like a sniffling lad
with one eye on the birch and the other on Mr. Butler, did not please
me. Moreover, the others were looking on--Esk with ink on his nose,
Peter in tears, a-licking his lump of spruce, and that wild-cat thing,
Silver Heels--
With every question of Sir William I felt I was losing caste among
them. Besides, there was Mr. Butler with his silent, deathly laugh--a
laugh that never reached his eyes--yellow, changeless eyes, round as a
bird's.
Slap came the whip on the polished boot-tops, and Sir William was at
it again with his gods and goddesses:
"Who carried off Proserpine? Eh?"
I looked sullenly at Esk, then at Peter, who put out his tongue at me.
I had little knowledge of mythology beyond what concerned that
long-legged goddess who loved hunting--as I did.
"Who carried off Proserpine?" repeated Sir William. "Come now, you
should know that; come now--a likely lass, Proserpine, out in the bush
pulling cowslips, bless her little fingers--when--ho!--up
pops--eh?--who, lad, who in Heaven's name?"
"Plato!" I muttered at hazard.
"What!" bawled Sir William.
I felt for my underlip and got it between my teeth, and for a space
not another word would I speak, although that hollow roar began to
sound in Sir William's voice which always meant a scene. His whip,
too, went slap-slap! on his boots, like the tail of a big dog rapping
its ribs.
He was perhaps a violent man, Sir William, yet none outside of his own
family ever suspected it or do now believe it, he having so perfect a
control over himself when he chose. And I often think that his
outbursts towards us were all pretence, and to test his own capacity
for temper lest he had lost it in a long lifetime of self-control. At
all events, none of us ever were the worse for his roaring, although
it frightened us when very young; but we soon came to understand that
it was as harmless as summer thunder.
"Come, sir! Come, Mr. Cardigan!" said Sir William, grimly. "Out with
the gentleman's name--d'ye hear?"
It was the first time in my life that Sir William had spoken to me as
Mr. Cardigan. It might have pleased me had I not seen Mr. Butler
sneer.
I glared at Mr. Butler, whose face became shadowy and loose, without
expression, without life, save for the fixed stare of those round
eyes.
Slap! went Sir William's whip on his boots.
"Damme!" he shouted, in a passion, "who carried off that slut
Proserpine?"
"The Six Nations, for aught I know!" I muttered, disrespectfully.
Sir William's face went redder than his coat; but, as it was ever his
habit when affronted, he stood up very straight and still; and that
tribute of involuntary silence which was always paid to him at such
moments, we paid, sitting awed and quiet as mice.
"Turn the children free, Captain Butler," said Sir William, in a low
voice.
Mr. Butler flung back the door. The children followed him, Esk
bestowing a wink upon me, Peter grinning and toeing in like a Devon
duck, and that wild-cat thing, Silver Heels--
"You need not wait, Captain Butler," said Sir William, politely.
Mr. Butler retired, leaving the door swinging. Out in the dark hallway
I fancied I could still see his shallow eyes shining. I may have been
mistaken. But all men know now that Walter Butler hath eyes that see
as well by dark as by the light of the sun; and none know it so well
as the people of New York Province and of Tryon County.
"Michael," said Sir William, "go to the slate."
I walked across the dusty school-room.
"Chalk!" shouted Sir William, irritated by my lagging steps.
I picked up a lump of chalk, balancing it in my palm as boys do a
pebble in a sling.
Something in my eyes may have infuriated Sir William.
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Transcriber's Note
This etext differs from the original as follows. The oe ligature
is represented as [oe]. Minor inconsistencies of punctuation and
capitalization have been corrected, as well as these definite
typographical errors: amunition to ammunition; anemonies to anemones;
betweeen to between; bear to bare; Chedder to Cheddar; considerble to
considerable; Farenheit to Fahrenheit; heigth to height; millepedes to
millipedes; mugworth to mugwort; pewets to pewits; pontentilla to
potentilla; purpuerea to purpurea; venemous to venomous. Besides that
the corrections mentioned in errata at the end have also been made.
Because the author favored what are now seen as antiquated and eccentric
spellings, many other questionable words have been left unchanged.
Examples of these are goal for gaol, grove(d) for groove(d),
encumberance, bason, chesnut, brocoli, transome.
GUERNSEY
PICTORIAL DIRECTORY
AND
STRANGER'S GUIDE.
EMBELLISHED WITH NUMEROUS WOOD-CUTS.
BY
THOMAS BELLAMY.
[Illustration: Ivy-Gate.]
GUERNSEY:
H. BROUARD, STAR-OFFICE, BORDAGE-STREET.
1843.
Entered at Stationers' Hall.
PRINTED BY T. J. MAUGER.
CONSTITUTION-STEPS.
PREFACE.
The Guides hitherto tendered the public, having in some measure fallen
short of furnishing the Stranger with a just notion of the island and its
interior beauty, from want of illustration and leisure for natural
observation; the Author of the following desultory pages, flatters himself
by simplicity of arrangement, utility of matter, and a few tail-pieces
strongly illustrative of native scenery, to introduce a bearing towards the
same: and here it is but just to remark that his daily memoranda during his
temporary sojourn has been the chief source of his information, which, if
deemed of sufficient importance to attract the attention of strangers, he
solicits for it that candour, which he has some right to claim when he
labours for the welfare of others, and is anxious only for the information
of the visitor. It now only remains to render a fit apology for the
inaccuracy of some of the wood-cuts, and the disproportion of others; which
if duly considered, in connexion with the work, as being executed by one
hand, together with the views, within the short space of five months,
perhaps will be sufficient. However, the Author takes this opportunity of
mentioning, that should he be so far encouraged as to issue a second
edition, he trusts his friends and others will favor him with their
drawings, especially upon such things appertaining unto the antiquity,
architecture, botany and natural history of the island. Hitherto, at the
suggestion of others, he laments having borrowed many of his views from
by-gone works, which on being compared with the original of the day, have
fallen considerably short of truth, especially as regards the improved
character of sylvan and other extensive ornamental innovation; and, in this
respect, he alludes chiefly to the country churches, which though in all
their architectural portions are confessedly correct, nevertheless in the
back scenery are somewhat defective. He likewise acknowledges with much
pleasure that he is indebted for three of the engravings to two gentlemen,
whose native talents are an ornament to the island; he alludes to Mr F. C.
Lukis, and Mr Charles Mac Culloch; also for some excellent information from
Col. Lane, Mr John Allaire, jun., and several others.
To conclude, the stranger is begged to understand, that as he may
occasionally fall in with the word "Baillif," it is used in direct
contradistinction to the English word "Bailiff," which if properly rendered
signifies a menial or subordinate officer, whereas "Baillif" of Guernsey
carries the important meaning of chief magistrate or judge.
_Guernsey, August 7, 1843._
GUERNSEY
Is situate in the great gulf or bay of St Michael, in the English Channel,
7 to 8 leagues West of the Norman coast, but subject to the British Crown,
and frequently treated of in topographical works, under article
Southamptonshire. It lieth between 49d
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Transcriber's Note: Minor typographical errors have been corrected
without note. Irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have
been retained as printed.
Words printed in italics are noted with underscores: _italics_.
The Table of Contents was not present in the original text and has
been produced for the reader's convenience.
PRACTICAL ITALIAN RECIPES FOR AMERICAN KITCHENS
SOLD TO AID THE FAMILIES OF ITALIAN SOLDIERS
COPYRIGHTED, 1917
Contents
Soups
BROWN STOCK
_Sugo di Carne_
VEGETABLE CHOWDER
_Minestrone alla Milanese_
FRENCH ONION SOUP
_Minestra di Cipolla alla Francese_
PARADISE SOUP
_Minestra del Paradiso_
PEA SOUP
_Zuppa di Piselli_
BEAN SOUP
_Zuppa di Fagiuoli_
QUEEN'S SOUP
_Zuppa Regina_
VEGETABLE SOUP
_Zuppa Saute_
SOUP WITH LITTLE HATS
_Cappelletti all' uso di Romagna_
Vegetables
MILANESE RICE
_Risotto alla Milanese I_
RICE WITH CHICKEN GIBLETS
_Risotto alla Milanese II_
RICE AND PEAS
_Risotto coi Piselli_
STRING BEANS WITH EGG SAUCE
_Fagiuolini in Salsa d'Uovo_
FRIED CELERY
_Sedano Fritto_
BOILED CELERY
_Sedano per Contorno_
BOILED CAULIFLOWER
_Cavolfiore in Umido_
VEGETABLES ALLA NAPOLITANA
_Giambotto alla Napolitana_
EGGPLANT WITH TOMATO SAUCE
_Melanzana in Umido_
BAKED EGGPLANT WITH CHEESE
_Tortino di Melanzana alla Parmigiana_
POTATOES "STUFATO"
_Stufato di Patate_
MOULD OF PEAS OR BEANS
_Sformato di Fagiuolini o Piselli_
MOULD OF SPINACH
_Stampa di Spinaci_
Eggs
EGGS ALL' AURORA
TOMATOES WITH EGGS
Corn Meal Dishes
CORN MEAL LOAF
_Pasticcio di Polenta_
POLENTA PIE
_Polenta Pasticciata_
Spaghetti and Other Pastas
GNOCCHI OF FARINA OR CORNMEAL
_Gnocchi alla Romana_
SPAGHETTI WITH ANCHOVIES
SPAGHETTI ALLA NAPOLITANA
NOODLES OR HOME MADE PASTE
_Tagliatelli o Pasta Fatta in Casa_
RAVIOLI
RAVIOLI WITH MEAT
_Ravioli alla Genovese_
NOODLES WITH HAM
_Tagliatelle col Presciutto_
Sauces
BOLOGNESE SAUCE FOR MACARONI
_Maccheroni alla Bolognese_
TOMATO SAUCE
_Salsa di Pomidoro_
WHITE SAUCE FOR BOILED ASPARAGUS OR CAULIFLOWER
_Salsa Bianca_
PIQUANT SAUCE
_Salsa Piccante_
Fish
SALMON ALLA FIORENTINA
CODFISH "STUFATO"
_Stufato di Baccala_
CODFISH CROQUETTES
_Cotolette di Baccala_
Meats
FRIED CHIPPED VEAL
_Frittura Piccata_
SCALLOPED MEAT
_Piatto di Carne Avanzata_
MEAT SOUFFLE
_Flam di Carne Avanzata_
MEAT OMELETTE
_Polpettone_
STEW OF BEEF OR VEAL WITH MACARONI
_Stufato di Vitello con Maccheroni_
PIGEONS IN CORNMEAL
_Piccioni con Polenta_
SMOTHERED CHICKEN
_Stufato di Pollo_
CHICKEN ALLA CACCIATORA
_Pollo alla Cacciatora_
BOILED FOWL WITH RICE
_Lesso di Pollo col Riso_
STUFFING FOR ROAST CHICKEN OR TURKEY
_Ripieno_
Sweets
CHOCOLATE PUDDING
_Budino di Cioccolata_
ZABAIONE
MONT BLANC
_Monte Bianco, Dolce di Castagne_
NUT CAKE
PASTA MARGUERITA
BIGNE
_FOREWORD_
In this world war we are learning many lessons from our Allies beside
those of the battle field. The housewives of the old world have much
to teach us in thrift, especially in the kitchen. Italian cooking--not
that of the large hotel or restaurant, but the _cucina casalinga_ of
the little roadside hostelry and of the home where the mother, or some
deft handmaid trained in the art from infancy, is priestess at the
tiny charcoal stove--is at once so frugal and so delicious that we do
well to study it with close attention.
If you have ever sat at a snowy table in the garden of some wayside
inn in the Appennines, a savory dish of _risotto_ before you and the
music of the mountain torrent far below in your ears; or sipped a
_zabaione_ in the portico of a cafe on the sun-baked piazza of some
brown old town clinging to a hillside of Umbria; or eaten _fritto
misto_ on a _pensione_ terrace overhanging the sapphire Gulf of
Naples, one of those inimit
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Tales of Aztlan,
The Romance of a Hero of our Late Spanish-American War, Incidents of
Interest from the Life of a western Pioneer and Other Tales.
by
George Hartmann
A note about this book: A Maid of Yavapai, the final entry in this
book, is dedicated to SMH. This refers to Sharlot M. Hall, a famous
Arizona settler. The copy of the book that was used to make this etext
is dedicated: With my compliments and a Happy Easter, Apr 5th 1942, To
Miss Sharlot M. Hall, from The daughter of the Author, Carrie S.
Allison, Presented March 31st, 1942, Prescott, Arizona.
1908 Revised edition
Memorial
That this volume may serve to keep forever fresh the memory of a hero,
Captain William Owen O'Neill, U. S. V., is the fervent wish of The
Author.
CONTENTS
I. A FRAIL BARK, TOSSED ON LIFE'S TEMPESTUOUS SEAS
II. PERILOUS JOURNEY
III. THE MYSTERY OF THE SMOKING RUIN. STALKING A WARRIOR.
THE AMBUSH
IV. A STRANGE LAND AND STRANGER PEOPLE
V. ON THE RIO GRANDE. AN ABSTRACT OF THE AUTHOR'S GENEALOGY
OF MATERNAL LINEAGE
VI. INDIAN LORE. THE WILY NAVAJO
VII. THE FIGHT IN THE SAND HILLS. THE PHANTOM DOG
VIII. WITH THE NAVAJO TRIBE
IX. IN ARIZONA
X. AT THE SHRINE OF A "SPHINX OF AZTLAN"
AN UNCANNY STONE.
L'ENVOY.
THE BIRTH OF ARIZONA. (AN ALLEGORICAL TALE.)
A ROYAL FIASCO.
A MAID OF YAVAPAI.
CHAPTER I.
A FRAIL BARK, TOSSED ON LIFE'S TEMPESTUOUS SEAS
A native of Germany, I came to the United States soon after the Civil
War, a healthy, strong boy of fifteen years. My destination was a
village on the Rio Grande, in New Mexico, where I had relatives. I was
expected to arrive at Junction City, in the State of Kansas, on a day
of June, 1867, and proceed on my journey with a train of freight wagons
over the famous old Santa Fe trail.
Junction City was then the terminal point of a railway system which
extended its track westward across the great American plains, over the
virgin prairie, the native haunt of the buffalo and fleet-footed
antelope, the iron horse trespassing on the hunting ground of the
Arapahoe and Comanche Indian tribes. As a mercantile supply depot for
New Mexico and Colorado, Junction City was the port from whence a
numerous fleet of prairie schooners sailed, laden with the necessities
and luxuries of an advancing civilization. But not every sailor reached
his destined port, for many were they who were sent by the pirates of
the plains over unknown trails, to the shores of the great Beyond,
their scalpless bodies left on the prairie, a prey to vultures and
coyotes.
If the plans of my relatives had developed according to program, this
story would probably not have been told. Indians on the warpath
attacked the wagon train which I was presumed to have joined, a short
distance out from Junction City. They killed and scalped several
teamsters and also a young German traveler; stampeded and drove off a
number of mules and burned up several wagons. This was done while
fording the Arkansas River, near Fort Dodge. I was delayed near Kansas
City under circumstances which preclude the supposition of chance and
indicate a subtle and Inexorably fatal power at work for the
preservation of my life--a force which with the giant tread of the
earthquake devastates countries and lays cities in ruins; that awful
power which on wings of the cyclone slays the innocent babe in its
cradle and harms not the villain, or vice versa; that inscrutable
spirit which creates and lovingly shelters the sparrow over night and
then at dawn hands it to the owl to serve him for his breakfast. Safe I
was under the guidance of the same loving, paternal Providence which in
death delivereth the innocent babe from evil and temptation, shields
the little sparrow from all harm forever, and incidentally provides
thereby for the hungry owl.
I should have changed cars at Kansas City, but being asleep at the
critical time and overlooked by the conductor, I passed on to a station
beyond the Missouri River. There the conductor aroused me and put me
off the train without ceremony. I was forced to return, and reached the
river without any mishap, as it was a beautiful moonlight night. I
crossed the long bridge with anxiety, for it was a primitive-looking
structure, built on piles, and I had to step from tie to tie, looking
continually down at the swirling waters of the great, muddy river. As I
realized the possibility of meeting a train, I crossed over it,
running. At last I reached the opposite shore. It was nearly dawn now,
and I walked to the only house in sight, a long, low building of logs
and, being very tired, I sat down on the veranda and soon fell asleep.
It was not long after sunrise that a sinister, evil-looking person,
smelling vilely of rum, woke me up roughly and asked me what I did
there. When he learned that I was traveling to New Mexico and had lost
my way, he grew very polite and invited me into the house.
We entered a spacious hall, which served as a dining-room, where eight
young ladies were busily engaged arranging tables and furniture. The
man intimated that he
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THE
SWAN OF VlLAMORTA
BY
EMILIA PARDO BAZ¡N
AUTHOR OF "A WEDDING TRIP," "A CHRISTIAN WOMAN,"
"MORRIÑA," ETC.
TRANSLATED BY
MARY J. SERRANO
TRANSLATOR OF "MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF: THE JOURNAL
OF A YOUNG ARTIST," ETC.
NEW YORK
CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY
104 & 106 FOURTH AVENUE
Copyright, 1891.
BY
CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY.
_All rights reserved._
THE MERSHON COMPANY PRESS,
RAHWAY, N. J.
THE
SWAN OF VILAMORTA.
* * *
I.
Behind the pine grove the setting sun had left a zone of fire
against which the trunks of the pine trees stood out like bronze
columns. The path was rugged and uneven, giving evidence of the
ravages wrought by the winter rains; at intervals loose stones,
looking like teeth detached from the gum, rendered it still more
impracticable. The melancholy shades of twilight were beginning to
envelop the landscape; little by little the sunset glow faded away
and the moon, round and silvery, mounted in the heavens, where the
evening star was already shining. The dismal croaking of the frogs
fell sharply on the ear; a fresh breeze stirred the dry plants and
the dusty brambles that grew by the roadside; and the trunks of the
pine trees grew momentarily blacker, standing out like inky bars
against the pale green of the horizon.
A man was descending the path slowly, bent, apparently, on
enjoying the poetry and the peace of the scene and the hour. He
carried a stout walking-stick, and as far as one could judge in the
fading light, he was young and not ill-looking.
He paused frequently, casting glances to the right and to the
left as if in search of some familiar landmark. Finally he stood
still and looked around him. At his back was a hill crowned with
chestnut trees; on his left was the pine grove; on his right a small
church with a mean belfry; before him the outlying houses of the
town. He turned, walked back some ten steps, stopped, fronting the
portico of the church, examined its walls, and, satisfied at last
that he had found the right place, raised his hands to his mouth and
forming with them a sort of speaking trumpet, cried, in a clear
youthful voice:
"Echo, let us talk together!"
From the angle formed by the walls, there came back instantly
another voice, deeper and less distinct, strangely grave and
sonorous, which repeated with emphasis, linking the answer to the
question and dwelling upon the final syllable:
"Let us talk togethe-e-e-e-r!"
"Are you happy?"
"Happy-y-y-y!" responded the echo.
"Who am I?"
"I-I-I-I!"
To these interrogations, framed so that the answer should make
sense with them, succeeded phrases uttered without any other object
than that of hearing them reverberated with strange intensity by the
wall. "It is a lovely night."--"The moon is shining."--"The sun has
set."--"Do you hear me, echo?"--"Have you dreams, echo, of glory,
ambition, love?" The traveler, enchanted with his occupation,
continued the conversation, varying the words, combining them into
sentences, and, in the short intervals of silence, he listened to the
faint murmur of the pines stirred by the evening breeze, and to the
melancholy concert of the frogs. The crimson and rose- clouds
had become ashen and had begun to invade the broad region of the
firmament over which the unclouded moon shed her silvery light. The
honeysuckles and elder-flowers on the outskirts of the pine grove
embalmed the air with subtle and intoxicating fragrance. And the
interlocutor of the echo, yielding to the poetic influences of the
scene, ceased his questions and exclamations and began to recite, in
a slow, chanting voice, verses of Becquer, paying no heed now to the
voice from the wall, which, in its haste to repeat his words,
returned them to him broken and confused.
Absorbed in his occupation, pleased with the harmonious sounds of
the verse, he did not notice the approach of three men of odd and
grotesque appearance, wearing enormous broad-brimmed felt hats. One
of the men was leading a mule laden with a leathern sack filled,
doubtless, with the juice of the grape; and as they walked slowly,
and the soft clayey soil deadened the noise of their footsteps, they
passed close by the young man, unperceived by him. They exchanged
some whispered words with one another
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METHODS OF AUTHORS
ERICHSEN
WP Co
COPYRIGHT, 1894,
BY WILLIAM H. HILLS.
_All Rights Reserved._
_To
R. E. FRANCILLON,
who is admired and loved by novel-readers on
both sides of the Atlantic,
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED,
by his permission, with sincere regard, by
the Author._
PREFACE.
When I began to gather the material for this volume I was quite doubtful
as to whether the public would be interested in a work of this kind or
not. As my labor progressed, however, it became evident that not only
the body of the people, but authors themselves, were deeply interested
in the subject, and would welcome a book treating of it. Not only M.
Jules Claretie, the celebrated Parisian literarian, but the late Dr.
Meissner and many others assured me of this fact.
Nor is this very surprising. Who, after reading a brilliant novel, or
some excellent treatise, would not like to know how it was written?
So far as I know, this volume is a novelty, and Ben Akiba is outwitted
for once. Books about authors have been published by the thousands, but
to my knowledge, up to date, none have been issued describing their
methods of work.
In the preparation of this book I have been greatly aided by the works
of Rev. Francis Jacox, an anonymous article in _All the Year Round_, and
R. E. Francillon's essay on "The Physiology of Authorship," which
appeared first in the _Gentleman's Magazine_.
I was also assisted in my labor by numerous newspaper clippings and many
letters from writers, whose names appear in this volume, and to all of
whom I return my sincere thanks.
H. E.
DETROIT, Mich.
CONTENTS.
I. Eccentricities in Composition.
II. Care in Literary Production.
III. Speed in Writing.
IV. Influence upon Writers of Time and Place.
V. Writing under Difficulties.
VI. Aids to Inspiration--Favorite Habits of Work.
VII. Goethe, Dickens, Schiller, and Scott.
VIII. Burning Midnight Oil.
IX. Literary Partnership.
X. Anonymity in Authorship.
XI. System in Novel Writing.
XII. Traits of Musical Composers.
XIII. The Hygiene of Writing.
XIV. A Humorist's Regimen.
METHODS OF AUTHORS.
I.
Eccentricities in Composition.
The public--that is, the reading world made up of those who love the
products of authorship--always takes an interest in the methods of work
adopted by literary men, and is fond of gaining information about
authorship in the act, and of getting a glimpse of its favorite, the
author, at work in that "sanctum sanctorum"--the study. The modes in
which men write are so various that it would take at least a dozen
volumes to relate them, were they all known, for:--
"Some wits are only in the mind
When beaux and belles are 'round them prating;
Some, when they dress for dinner, find
Their muse and valet both in waiting;
And manage, at the self-same time,
To adjust a neckcloth and a rhyme.
"Some bards there are who cannot scribble
Without a glove to tear or nibble;
Or a small twig to whisk about--
As if the hidden founts of fancy,
Like wells of old, were thus found out
By mystic tricks of rhabdomancy.
"Such was the little feathery wand,
That, held forever in the hand
Of her who won and wore the crown
Of female genius in this age,
Seemed the conductor that drew down
Those words of lightning to her page."
This refers to Madame de Stael, who, when writing, wielded a "little
feathery wand," made of paper, shaped like a fan or feather, in the
manner and to the effect above described.
Well may the vivacious penman of "Rhymes on the Road" exclaim:--
"What various attitudes, and ways,
And tricks we authors have in writing!
While some write sitting, some, like Bayes,
Usually stand while they're inditing.
Poets there are who wear the floor out,
Measuring a line at every stride;
While some, like Henry Stephens, pour out
Rhymes by the dozen while they ride.
Herodotus wrote most in bed;
And Richerand, a French physician,
Declares the clockwork of the head
Goes best in that reclined position.
If you consult Montaigne and Pliny on
The subject, 'tis their joint opinion
That thought its richest harvest yields
Abroad, among the woods and fields."
M. de Valois alleges that Plato produced, like Herodotus, "his glorious
visions all in bed"; while
"'Twas in his carriage the sublime
Sir Richard Blackmore used to rhyme."
But little is known of the habits of the earliest writers. The great
Plato, whose thoughts seemed to come so easy, we are told, toiled over
his manuscripts, working with slow and tiresome elaboration. The opening
sentence of "The Republic" on the author's tablets was found to be
written in thirteen different versions. When death called him from his
labor the great philosopher was busy at his desk, "combing, and curling,
and weaving, and unweaving his writings after a variety of fashions."
Virgil was wont to pour forth a quantity of verses in the morning, which
he decreased to a very small number by incessant correction and
elimination. He subjected the products of his composition to a process
of continual polishing and filing, much after the manner, as he said
himself, of a bear licking her cubs into shape. Cicero's chief pleasure
was literary work. He declared that he would willingly forego all the
wealth and glory of the world to spend his time in meditation or study.
The diversity in the methods adopted by authors is as great as the
difference in their choice of subjects. A story is often cited in
illustration of the different characteristics of three great
nationalities which equally illustrates the different paths which may be
followed in any intellectual undertaking.
An Englishman, a Frenchman, and a German, competing for a prize offered
for the best essay on the natural history of the camel, adopted each his
own method of research upon the subject. The German, providing himself
with a stock of tobacco, sought the quiet solitude of his study in order
to evolve from the depths of his philosophic consciousness the primitive
notion of a camel. The Frenchman repaired to the nearest library, and
overhauled its contents in order to collect all that other men had
written upon the subject. The Englishman packed his carpet-bag and set
sail for the East, that he might study the habits of the animal in its
original haunts.
The combination of these three methods is the perfection of study; but
the Frenchman's method is not unknown even among Americans. Nor does it
deserve the condemnation it usually receives. The man who peruses a
hundred books on a subject for the purpose of writing one bestows a real
benefit upon society, in case he does his work well. But some excellent
work has been composed without the necessity either of research or
original investigation. Anthony Trollope described his famous
archdeacon without ever having met a live archdeacon. He never lived in
any cathedral city except London; Archdeacon Grantly was the child of
"moral consciousness" alone; Trollope had no knowledge, except
indirectly, about bishops and deans. In fact, "The Warden" was not
intended originally to be a novel of clerical life, but a novel which
should work out a dramatic situation--that of a trustworthy, amiable man
who was the holder, by no fault of his own, of an endowment which was in
itself an abuse, and on whose devoted head should fall the thunders of
those who assailed the abuse.
Bryan Waller Proctor, the poet (who, I believe, is better known under
the name of "Barry Cornwall"), had never viewed the ocean when he
committed to paper that beautiful poem, "The Sea." Many of his finest
lyrics and songs were composed mentally while he was riding daily to
London in an omnibus. Schiller had never been in Switzerland, and had
only heard and read about the country, when he wrote his "William Tell."
Harrison Ainsworth, the Lancashire novelist, when he composed "Rookwood"
and "Jack Sheppard," depended entirely on his ability to read up and on
his facility of assimilation, for during his lifetime he never came in
personal contact with thieves at all. It is said that when he wrote the
really admirable ride of Turpin to York he only went at a great pace
over the paper, with a road-map and description of the country in front
of him. It was only when he heard all the world say how faithfully the
region was pictured, and how
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THE SOUL STEALER
BY C. RANGER-GULL
Author of "The Serf," "The Harvest of Love," "The Price of Pity,"
"A Story of the Stage," etc., etc.
LONDON
F. V. WHITE & Co., Limited
14, BEDFORD STREET, STRAND, W.C.
1906
RICHARD CLAY & SONS, LIMITED
BREAD STREET HILL, E.C., AND
BUNGAY, SUFFOLK.
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. MR. EUSTACE CHARLIEWOOD, MAN ABOUT TOWN 1
II. UNEXPECTED ENTRANCE OF TWO LADIES 19
III. NEWS OF A REVOLUTION 31
IV. THE SECOND LOVER ARRIVES 50
V. A CONSPIRACY OF SCIENTISTS 60
VI. "WILL YOU WALK INTO MY PARLOUR?" 70
VII. ENGLAND'S GREAT SENSATION 89
VIII. THE CHIVALROUS BARONET 100
IX. GRATITUDE OF MISS MARJORIE POOLE 109
X. A MAN ABOUT TOWN PAYS A DEBT 120
XI. BEEF TEA AND A PHOSPHATE SOLUTION 130
XII. THE TOMB-BOUND MAN 150
XIII. LORD MALVIN 160
XIV. DONALD MEGBIE SEES POSSIBILITIES 171
XV. HAIL TO THE LOVERS! 190
XVI. STRANGE OCCURRENCE IN THE TEMPLE 201
XVII. MARJORIE AND DONALD MEGBIE 211
XVIII. PLANS 222
XIX. A DEATH-WARRANT IS PRESENTED TO A PRISONER 230
XX. THOUGHTS OF ONE IN DURANCE 248
XXI. HOW THEY ALL WENT TO THE HOUSE IN REGENT'S PARK 258
XXII. THE DOOM BEGINS 264
XXIII. THE DOOM CONTINUES 280
XXIV. MR. WILSON GUEST MAKES A MISTAKE 286
XXV. AT LAST! 292
XXVI. TWO FINAL PICTURES 305
THE SOUL STEALER
CHAPTER I
MR. EUSTACE CHARLIEWOOD, MAN ABOUT TOWN
Upon a brilliant morning in the height of the winter, Mr. Eustace
Charliewood walked slowly up Bond Street.
The sun was shining brightly, and there was a keen, invigorating snap in
the air which sent the well-dressed people who were beginning to throng
the pavements, walking briskly and cheerily.
The great shops of one of the richest thoroughfares in the world were
brilliant with luxuries, the tall commissionaires who stood by the heavy
glass doors were continually opening them for the entrance of
fashionable women.
It was, in short, a typical winter's morning in Bond Street when
everything seemed gay, sumptuous and debonair.
Mr. Eustace Charliewood was greeted several times by various friends as
he walked slowly up the street. But his manner in reply was rather
languid, and his clean-shaven cheeks lacked the colour that the eager
air had given to most of the pedestrians.
He was a tall, well-built man, with light close-cropped hair and a large
intelligent face. His eyes were light blue in colour, not very direct in
expression, and were beginning to be surrounded by the fine wrinkles
that middle age and a life of pleasure imprint. The nose was aquiline,
the mouth clean cut and rather full.
In age one would have put Mr. Charliewood down as four and forty, in
status a man accustomed to move in good society, though probably more
frequently the society of the club than that of the drawing-room.
When he was nearly at the mouth of New Bond Street, Mr. Charliewood
stopped at a small and expensive-looking hairdresser's and perfumer's,
passed through its revolving glass doors and bowed to a stately young
lady with wonderfully-arranged coils of shining hair, who sat behind a
little glass counter covered with cut-glass bottles of scent and ivory
manicure sets.
"Good-morning, Miss Carling," he said easily and in a pleasant voice.
"Is Proctor disengaged?"
"Yes, Mr. Charliewood," the girl answered, "he's quite ready for you if
you'll go up-stairs."
"Quite well, my dear?" Mr. Charliewood said, with his hand upon the door
which led inwards to the toilette saloons.
"Perfectly, thank you, Mr. Charliewood. But you're looking a little
seedy this morning."
He made a gesture with his glove which he had just taken off.
"Ah well," he said, "very late last night, Miss Carling. It's the price
one has to pay, you know! But Proctor will soon put me right."
"Hope so, I'm sure," she answered, wagging a slim finger at him. "Oh,
you men about town!"
He smiled back at her, entered the saloon and mounted some thickly
carpeted stairs upon the left.
At the top of the stairs a glass door opened into a little ante-room,
furnished with a few arm-chairs and small tables on which _Punch_ and
other journals were lying. Beyond, another door stood half open, and at
the noise of Mr. Charliewood's entrance a short, clean-shaved,
Jewish-looking man came through it and began to help the visitor out of
his dark-blue overcoat lined and trimmed with astrachan fur.
Together the two men went into the inner room, where Mr. Charliewood
took off his coat and collar and sat down upon a padded chair in front
of a marble basin and a long mirror.
He saw himself in the glass, a handsome, tired face, the hair too light
to show the greyness at the temples, but hinting at that and growing a
little thin
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Standard Library Edition
AMERICAN STATESMEN
EDITED BY
JOHN T. MORSE, JR.
IN THIRTY-TWO VOLUMES
VOL. XVIII.
DOMESTIC POLITICS: THE TARIFF
AND SLAVERY
MARTIN VAN BUREN
[Illustration: M. Van Buren]
American Statesmen
STANDARD LIBRARY EDITION
[Illustration: The Home of Martin Van Buren]
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO.
American Statesmen
MARTIN VAN BUREN
BY
EDWARD M. SHEPARD
[Illustration]
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
The Riverside Press, Cambridge
1899
Copyright, 1888 and 1899,
BY EDWARD M. SHEPARD.
Copyright, 1899,
BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO.
_All rights reserved._
PREFACE TO THE REVISED EDITION
Since 1888, when this Life was originally published, the history of
American Politics has been greatly enriched. The painstaking and candid
labors of Mr. Fiske, Mr. Adams, Mr. Rhodes, and others have gone far to
render unnecessary the _caveat_ I then entered against the unfairness,
or at least the narrowness, of the temper with which Van Buren, or the
school to which he belonged, had thus far been treated in American
literature, and which had prejudicially misled me before I began my
work. Such a _caveat_ is no longer necessary. Even now, when the
political creed of which Jefferson, Van Buren, and Tilden have been
chief apostles in our
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[Illustration: Father Ohrwalder, The Sisters Catterina Chincarini
and Elisabetta Venturini and The Slave girl Adila
From a photograph by Stromeyer & Heyman, Cairo.
Sampson Low, Marston & Co. Ltd.]
TEN YEARS' CAPTIVITY
IN THE
MAHDI'S CAMP
1882-1892
FROM THE ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPTS OF
FATHER JOSEPH OHRWALDER
LATE PRIEST OF THE AUSTRIAN MISSION STATION AT
DELEN, IN KORDOFAN
BY
MAJOR F. R. WINGATE, R.A.
DIRECTOR OF MILITARY INTELLIGENCE, EGYPTIAN ARMY;
AUTHOR OF 'MAHDIISM AND THE EGYPTIAN SUDAN'
_WITH MAPS AND ILLUSTRATIONS
BY WALTER C. HORSLEY_
THIRD EDITION
LONDON
SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON & COMPANY
_LIMITED_
=St. Dunstan's House=
FETTER LANE, FLEET STREET, E.C.
1892
(_All rights reserved._)
LONDON:
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,
STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.
PREFACE.
[Illustration: FATHER OHRWALDER.]
After the fall of Khartum in January 1885, various attempts were from
time to time made to effect the release of some of the European
prisoners who had fallen into the Mahdi's hands during the early stages
of the Sudan revolt.
These attempts were for the most part attended with little result. The
causes of their failure, and eventual success in one instance, are
fully described in the following personal narrative of Father Ohrwalder.
As Father Ohrwalder is the first European who has escaped from the Sudan
since 1885, I was fully occupied with him during the few days
immediately following his arrival in ascertaining, for official
purposes, the actual situation in the Sudan, and that completed, we had
many interesting conversations on the historical events which had
occurred in these revolted districts during the last ten years.
Having but recently completed a _resume_ of these events,[A] which had
been largely compiled from the statements of natives who had escaped, I
was not unnaturally desirous to verify, by the independent witness of
Father Ohrwalder, the accounts which they had given, and I further
begged Father Ohrwalder to carefully read over the book and point out
the errors. It was with considerable satisfaction that I learnt from him
that the facts had been faithfully recorded; but the flood of light
which he was enabled to throw on many obscure passages, and the great
interest attaching to the narrative of an active participator in so many
of these now historic occurrences, induced me to suggest that he should
set to work, while the memory of these events was fresh in his mind, to
write a personal narrative of his varied and terrible experiences, of
which the general public have hitherto learnt but the bare outline.
It should be borne in mind that the circumstances under which Father
Ohrwalder lived in the Sudan precluded him from keeping any written
record of his life; it was therefore agreed that I should supervise his
work which, I need scarcely add, it has given me great pleasure to do.
Father Ohrwalder's manuscript, which was in the first instance written
in German, was roughly translated into English by Yusef Effendi Cudzi, a
Syrian; this I entirely rewrote in narrative form. The work does not
therefore profess to be a literal translation of the original
manuscript, but rather an English version, in which I have sought to
reproduce accurately Father Ohrwalder's meaning in the language of
simple narration.
England and the British public in general have shown so much interest in
the stirring events which have occurred in the Sudan, and in which many
gallant British officers and men have lost their lives, that it is
Father Ohrwalder's desire that the narrative of his experiences should
be published in the first instance in England, as his modest tribute to
the nation which struggled so gallantly, and so nearly successfully, to
effect the relief of Khartum and the rescue of those unfortunate
Europeans who, like himself, had fallen into the hands of a cruel and
merciless enemy.
It seems almost incredible that such sufferings as the European captives
endured did not long ago bring to them the happy release of death they
so ardently longed for; but it was not to be. The door of escape, which
they had thought closed to them for ever, suddenly opened, and they did
not fear to risk the dangers and perils of that terrible desert journey,
with scanty food and water, and the sure knowledge that they must ride
for bare life; re-capture would have ended in certain death, or, at
best, perpetual incarceration in a prison, the horrors of which beggar
description. In spite, however, of all he has endured, Father Ohrwalder
longs for the time when it may be possible for him to return to the
Sudan and continue the Mission work so suddenly and hopelessly
interrupted since 1882.
I am greatly indebted to Mr. Walter C. Horsley for the admirable manner
in which he has executed his portion of the illustrations. The remainder
are chiefly from photographs, taken by Mr. Lekegian in his photographic
studio in Cairo, of Dervish prisoners captured at the action of Toski,
and of refugees who have recently reached Cairo from Equatoria, through
the territory administered by the Imperial British East Africa Company.
F. R. WINGATE.
CAIRO, _30th July, 1892_.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] Published under the title of 'Mahdiism and the Egyptian
Sudan.' London: Macmillan & Co. 1891.
CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTION.
FATHER OHRWALDER'S JOURNEY TO THE SUDAN.
PAGE
Description of Kordofan and Dar Nuba--The Mission Station
at Delen 1
CHAPTER I.
THE MAHDI AND HIS RISE TO POWER.
The rise of the Mahdi--Early successes--Personal appearance
--His Khalifas described--Military organization--Makes new
laws--He summons El Obeid to surrender 6
CHAPTER II.
FATHER OHRWALDER AND HIS COMPANIONS TAKEN CAPTIVE.
The storm rises in Dar Nuba--The Baggara begin to raid--
Khojur Kakum of Delen--Mek Omar besieges Delen--The slave
guard deserts the Mission--The priests and nuns surrender--
They are sent to the Mahdi 22
CHAPTER III.
THE MISSIONARIES AND THE MAHDI.
Description of El Obeid--Said Pasha's system of defence--
The Mahdi's followers encircle the town--Townspeople desert
to the Mahdi--Unsuccessful attack on Government buildings
--Dervishes driven off with loss of 10,000 men--The
missionaries brought before the Mahdi--Threatened with
death--Preparations for the execution--Reprieved at the
last moment--The Mahdi's camp described--Death of some
of the missionaries--Illness of remainder 34
CHAPTER IV.
THE SIEGE OF EL OBEID.
Terrible sufferings of the besieged--The Kababish--Fall of
Bara--Fall of El Obeid--The Mahdi enters the town--Fate
of the El Obeid Mission--Cold-blooded murder of the brave
defenders--The Dervishes live a life of ease in El Obeid--
The Mahdi makes laws--He sends out proclamations--Prestige
increased by capture of town--News from Khartum--Bonomi and
Ohrwalder summoned before the Mahdi--The interview 52
CHAPTER V.
THE MAHDI'S VICTORY OVER HICKS PASHA.
The European captives learn that General Hicks is
advancing--Slatin Bey's defence of Darfur--His heroism--
The Mahdi prepares to resist Hicks--The march of the Hicks
Expedition--Extracts from the diary of Major Herlth--Colonel
Farquhar's gallantry at Rahad--Gustav Klootz deserts to the
Mahdi--Klootz's interview with the Mahdi in which Ohrwalder
and Bonomi act as interpreters--The expedition advances
towards Shekan--Is surrounded and annihilated--Description
of the battle--The Mahdi victor of Kordofan 72
CHAPTER VI.
THE MAHDI'S TRIUMPHAL ENTRY INTO EL OBEID.
Fall of Darfur--Slatin surrenders--The Mahdi's divinity
credited after the annihilation of Hicks--King Adam of
Tagalla--Stambuli's kindness to the European captives--
Gordon writes to the Mahdi--Power's letter--The sisters
seized and distributed amongst the emirs--They are
tortured--The missionaries turned into slaves--The terrible
journey to Rahad--The Greeks come to the help of the
sisters--The proclamation concerning the treatment of
priests and hermits by Mohammedans--The Mahdi at Rahad--
Ohrwalder's interviews with the Mahdi concerning religion
--The Dervishes attack the Nubas 91
CHAPTER VII.
FATHER OHRWALDER'S VIEWS OF GORDON'S MISSION.
Ohrwalder describes his treatment at the hands of various
masters--The Nubas surrender and afterwards desert--News
from Khartum--The capture of the English mail--Its
arrival at the Mahdi's camp--The Mahdi decides to
advance on Khartum--Brief review of events in Khartum
and Berber--Ohrwalder's views on Gordon's mission--The
Mahdi sets out for Khartum--Mohammed Ali Pasha's
defeat and death--Colonel Stewart, Mr. Power, and others
leave Khartum in ss. "Abbas"--Description of their
wreck and treacherous murder 114
CHAPTER VIII.
THE SIEGE AND FALL OF KHARTUM.
The surrender of Omdurman fort--Gordon's dispositions
for defence--His great personal influence--The night
before the assault--The attack and entry of the Dervishes
--Gordon's death--The adventures of Domenico Polinari--
The massacre in Khartum--How most of the Europeans died
--Ruthless cruelty and bloodshed--The fate of the wives
and daughters of Khartum--Ohrwalder's views on the
situation in Khartum and the chances of relief by the
British Expeditionary Force--His description of the town
three months after the fall 131
CHAPTER IX.
THE MAHDI'S LAST DAYS.
Ohrwalder's criticisms on certain events connected with
the defence of Khartum--The Sudan devastated by small-pox
--The Mahdi gives way to a life of pleasure--Description
of his harem life--The Mahdi sickens and dies--The effect
on his followers--The Khalifa Abdullah succeeds--Party
strife and discord--Abdullah prevails--Events in Sennar
and Kassala 152
CHAPTER X.
THE ESCAPE OF FATHER BONOMI.
Ohrwalder continues to describe his personal experiences
-- Mahmud the emir of El Obeid--His unsuccessful attempts
to entrap the Nubas--The arrival of Olivier Pain in El
Obeid--His motives in joining the Mahdi--His journey
towards Omdurman--His sad fate--Lupton Bey arrives
at El Obeid from the Bahr el Ghazal--He is sent to
Omdurman and thrown into chains--Life in El Obeid--The
escape of Father Bonomi--Ohrwalder's solitude--The
death of the Khojur Kakum 169
CHAPTER XI.
REVOLT AGAINST THE DERVISHES.
The black soldiers of the old Sudan army--They revolt
against the Dervishes in El Obeid--And march off to Dar
Nuba--The emir Mahmud pursues and is slain--Ohrwalder
quits El Obeid for Omdurman--Zogal and Abu Anga at
Bara 189
CHAPTER XII.
OHRWALDER'S IMPRESSIONS OF OMDURMAN.
Ohrwalder's arrival in Omdurman--His first impressions
of the Dervish capital--Khalifa Abdullah's intentions
to conquer Egypt--Wad Suleiman of the beit el mal--Wad
Adlan succeeds--Gordon's clothes, medals, &c.--Adlan
reorganizes the beit el mal--The slave market, museum,
mint, and system of coinage--Counterfeit coining--The
lithograph press--The Khalifa's system of justice 204
CHAPTER XIII.
THE KHALIFA DECIDES TO CONQUER ABYSSINIA.
Events subsequent to the fall of Khartum--Capture of
Gedaref and Galabat--Dervishes defeated by Abyssinians
at Galabat--Abu Anga's victorious expedition to Tagalla
--His triumphal return to Omdurman--The Khalifa's
grand review--Destruction of the Gehena tribe--The
Khalifa decides to send Abu Anga's army to conquer
Abyssinia--The battle of Dabra Sin--Abu Anga sacks
Gondar--The victorious Dervishes return to Galabat--
Rejoicings at Omdurman 216
CHAPTER XIV.
KING JOHN OF ABYSSINIA KILLED IN BATTLE.
Destruction of the Kababish tribe and death of Saleh
Bey--Events in Darfur--Revolt of Abu Gemaizeh--His
death and destruction of his army--Rabeh Zubeir--King
Theodore's son visits Omdurman--The conspiracy of
"Sayidna Isa"--Death of Abu Anga--King John of
Abyssinia attacks Galabat--Success of Abyssinians, but
the king killed--Victory turned to defeat--The king's
head sent to Omdurman 232
CHAPTER XV.
DEFEAT OF NEJUMI AT TOSKI, AND OF OSMAN DIGNA AT TOKAR.
The Khalifa's intentions regarding Egypt--Wad en Nejumi
despatched north--Various operations on the Egyptian
frontier--Battle of Toski--Defeat and death of Nejumi--
Subsequent events in Dongola--Osman Digna's operations
against Sawakin--Is defeated at Tokar--Emin Pasha and
events in Equatoria--Recent events in Uganda and Unyoro 254
CHAPTER XVI.
THE FAMINE AT OMDURMAN--1888-1889.
Ohrwalder describes Omdurman--The Mahdi's tomb, and how
it was built--Pilgrimage to Mecca forbidden--A description
of the great mosque--The Khalifa's palace--The markets--
The population--The Khalifa's tyrannical rule--The terrible
famine of 1888-1889--Awful scenes and sufferings--The
plague of locusts 273
CHAPTER XVII.
THE KHALIFA AND HIS GOVERNMENT.
The Khalifa's system of government--His household--An
outline of his character--His system of prayers in the
mosque--His visions and dreams--His espionage system--His
household troops--His great activity and circumspection--
The great Friday review described--The emigration of the
Baggara and western tribes to Omdurman--The flight of
Sheikh Ghazali--Management of the beit el mal--System of
taxation 293
CHAPTER XVIII.
A CHAPTER OF HORRORS.
The revolt of the Batahin tribe--Revolt suppressed with
appalling cruelty--Wholesale executions--Method of
hanging--Punishment by mutilation--The execution of
Abdel Nur--Trade with Egypt--Wad Adlan the emin beit el
mal--His imprisonment and death 315
CHAPTER XIX.
SOCIAL LIFE AT OMDURMAN.
System of public security and justice in Omdurman--The
court of small causes--Bribery and corruption--The
story of the slave and her mistress--How the Khalifa
deals with quarrelsome persons--Thieves and pickpockets--
The story of Zogheir--Usurers and their trade--The chief
of police--Brigandage--Disproportion of males to females
in Omdurman--How the Khalifa overcame the difficulty--
Immorality--The marriage ceremony 328
CHAPTER XX.
THE KHALIFA'S TREATMENT OF THE WHITE CAPTIVES.
Description of the prison, or "Saier"--The "Abu Haggar"
--The imprisonment of Charles Neufeld--Terrible
sufferings of the prisoners--Domenico Polinari--The
danger of corresponding with the European prisoners--
Neufeld threatened with death--He is given charge of the
saltpetre pits--The fate of Sheikh Khalil, the Egyptian
envoy--The Khalifa's treatment of the "Whites"--Exile
to the White Nile 344
CHAPTER XXI.
LUPTON BEY AND THE AMMUNITION.
The Khalifa's powder and ammunition begin to fail--Lupton
Bey makes fulminate--Unsuccessful attempts to make powder
--Yusef Pertekachi at last succeeds--The explosion in the
powder factory 366
CHAPTER XXII.
AGRICULTURE AND COMMERCE IN THE MAHDI'S KINGDOM.
Remarks on the agriculture and commerce of the Mahdiist
kingdom--A sandstorm in Omdurman--The paucity of cattle--
System of taxation on imports--Provincial beit el mals--
Local manufactures--Slavery and the slave-markets--Torture
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[Transcriber's Note: Descriptions of illustrations which have no
captions and of page references are found in {curly brackets}.]
[Illustration: That's where Daddy is!
(From the painting by J. Snowman.)]
THE ROYAL SCHOOL SERIES
Highroads of Geography
_Illustrated by Masterpieces of the following artists:--J.M.W. Turner,
F. Goodall, E.A. Hornel, Talbot Kelly, W. Simpson, Edgar H. Fisher, J.F.
Lewis, T.H. Liddell, Cyrus Cuneo, &c._
Introductory Book--Round the World with Father
1916
CONTENTS.
1. Good-bye to Father,
2. A Letter from France,
3. In Paris,
4. On the Way to Egypt,
5. A Letter from Egypt,
6. Children of Egypt,
7. Through the Canal,
8. Amongst the Arabs.--I.,
9. Amongst the Arabs.--II.,
10. A Letter from India,
11. In the Streets,
12. Our Indian Cousin,
13. In the Garden,
14. Indian Boys and Girls,
15. Elephants and Tigers,
16. A Letter from Burma.--I.,
17. A Letter from Burma.--II.,
18. A Letter from Ceylon,
19. A Letter from China,
20. Chinese Boys and Girls,
21. Hair, Fingers, and Toes,
22. A Letter from Japan,
23. <DW61> Children,
24. A Letter from Canada,
25. Children of Canada,
26. The Red Men,
27. The Eskimos.
28. Father's Last Letter,
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Produced by Al Haines
[Illustration: Cover art]
THE MAN WHO
DROVE THE CAR
BY
MAX PEMBERTON
AUTHOR OF
"THE GIRL WITH THE RED HAIR"
"THE IRON PIRATE" ETC.
LONDON
EVELEIGH NASH
FAWSIDE HOUSE
1910
Printed by BALLANTYNE & Co. LIMITED
Tavistock Street, Coven Garden, London
CONTENTS
I. THE ROOM IN BLACK
II. THE SILVER WEDDING
III. IN ACCOUNT WITH DOLLY ST. JOHN
IV. THE LADY WHO LOOKED ON
V. THE BASKET IN THE BOUNDARY ROAD
VI. THE COUNTESS
I
THE ROOM IN BLACK
They say that every man should have a master, but, for my part, I
prefer a mistress. Give me a nice young woman with plenty of money in
her pocket, and a bit of taste for seeing life, and I'll leave you all
the prying "amatoors" that ever sniffed about a gear-box without
knowing what was inside that same.
I have driven plenty of pretty girls in my life; but I don't know that
the prettiest wasn't Fauny Dartel, of the Apollo. This story isn't
about her--except in a way--so it doesn't much matter; but when I first
knew Fauny she was getting thirty bob a week in "The Boys of Boulogne,"
and, as she paid me three pound ten every Saturday, and the car cost
her some four hundred per annum to run, she must have been of a saving
disposition. Certainly a better mistress no man wants--not Lal
Britten, which is yours truly. I drove her for five months, and never
had a word with her. Then a man, who said he was a bailiff, came and
took her car away, and there was no money for me on the Saturday. So I
suppose she married into the peerage.
My story isn't about Fauny Dartel, though it's got to do with her.
It's about a man who didn't know who he was--at least, he said so--and
couldn't tell you why he did it. We picked him up outside the Carlton
Hotel, Fauny and me,[1] three nights before "The Boys of Boulogne" went
into the country, and "The Girls" from some other shop took their
place. She was going to sup with her brother, I remember--astonishing
how many brothers she had, too--and I was to return to the mews off
Lancaster Gate, when, just as I had set her down and was about to drive
away, up comes a jolly-looking man in a fine fur coat and an opera hat,
and asks me if I was a taxi. Lord, how I stared at him!
"Taxi yourself," says I, "and what asylum have you escaped out of?"
"Oh, come, come," says he, "don't be huffy. I only wanted to go as far
as Portman Square."
"Then call a furniture van," says I, "and perhaps they'll get you
aboard."
My dander was up, I tell you, for I was on the box of as pretty a
Daimler landaulette as ever came out of Coventry, and if there's
anything I never want to be, it's the driver of a pillar-box with a
flag in his left ear. No doubt I should have said much more to the
gentleman, when what do you think happens--why, Fauny herself comes up
and tells me to take him.
"I'm sure we should like some one to do the same for us if no taxis
were about," says she very sweetly; "please take the gentleman,
Britten, and then you can go home."
Well, I sat there as amazed a man as any in the Haymarket. It's true
there weren't any taxis on the rank at the minute; but he could have
got one by walking a hundred yards along Trafalgar Square, and she must
have known it as well as he did. All the same, she smiled sweetly at
him and he at her--and then, with a tremendous sweep of his hat, he
makes a gallant speech to her.
"I am under a thousand obligations," says he; "really, I couldn't
intrude."
"Oh, get in and go off," says she, almost pushing him. "I shall lose
my supper if you don't."
He obeyed her immediately, and away we went. You will remember that
his talk had been of a house in Portman Square; but no sooner had I
turned the corner by the Criterion than he began speaking through the
tube, and telling me to go to Playford's in Berkeley Square. There he
stopped, notwithstanding that it was getting on for twelve o'clock; and
when he had rung the bell and entered the house, I had to wait a good
fifteen minutes before he was ready for the second stage.
"Is it Portman Square now?" I asked him. He laughed and slipped a
sovereign into my hand.
"I can see you're one of the right sort," he said. "Would you mind
running round to the King's Road, Chelsea, for ten minutes? Perhaps
there'll be another sovereign before we get to bed to-night."
I pocketed the money--you don't find many drivers who are long off the
fourth speed in that line, and Lal Britten is no exception. As for the
gentleman, he did seem a merry fellow, and his air was that of a Duke
all over--the kind of man who says "Do it," and finds you there every
time. We were round at the King's Road, Chelsea, perhaps a quarter of
an hour after he had spoken, and there we stopped at the door of a lot
of studios, which I have been told since are where some of the great
painters of the country keep their pictures. Here my friend was gone
perhaps twenty minutes, and when next I saw him he had three flash-up
ladies with him, and every one as classy as he was.
"Relations of mine," says he, as he pushes 'em into the landaulette,
and closes the door himself. "Now you may drive to Portman Square just
as fast as you please, for I'm an early bird myself, and don't approve
of late hours."
Well, I stared, be sure of it, though staring didn't fit that riddle,
not by a long way. My mistress had lent her landaulette to a stranger;
but I felt sure that she wouldn't have liked this sort of thing--and
yet, remember, the gentleman had told me to drive to Portman Square, so
there could not be much the matter, after all.
As for the ladies, it wasn't for me to quarrel with them. They were
all very well dressed, and behaved themselves perfectly. I came to the
conclusion that I was dealing with some rich man who had a bee in his
bonnet, and, my curiosity getting the better of me, I drove away to
Portman Square without as much as a word.
Now, this would have been some time after twelve o'clock. It was, I
think, a quarter to one when we turned into Portman Square, and he
began to work the signal on the driver's seat which tells you whether
you are to go to the right or the left, slow or easy, out or home
again. All sorts of contradictory orders baffling me, we drew up at
last before a big house on the Oxford Street side, and this, to my
astonishment, had a "To Let" board in the window, and another at the
pillar of the front door. What was even more astonishing was the fact
that this empty house--for I saw at a glance it was that--was just
lighted up from cellar to attic, while there was as many as three
furniture vans drawn up against the pavement, and sending in their
contents as fast as a dozen men could carry them. All this, mind you,
I took in at a glance. No time was given me to think about it, for the
stranger was out of the car in a jiffy and had given me my instructions
in two.
"Here's your sovereign," says he; "if you want to earn ten times as
many come back for me at four o'clock--or, better still, stay and give
'em a hand inside. We want all the help we can get to-night, and no
mistake about it. You can get your supper here, and bring that car
round when I'm ready."
Well, I didn't know what to do. My mistress had said nothing about
stopping up until four o'clock--but for that matter she hadn't
mentioned ten pounds sterling either--and here was this merry gentleman
talking about it glibly enough.
For my part the fun of the whole thing began to take hold of me, and I
determined to see it through whatever the cost. There were goings on
in Portman Square, and no mistake about it--and why should Lal Britten
be left out in the cold? Not much, I can tell you. And I had the car
away in the garage off the Edgware Road, and was back at the old
gentleman's house just about as quick as any driver could have made the
journey.
There I found the square half full of people. Three policemen stood at
the door of the house, and a pretty crowd of loafers, such as a party
in London can always bring together, watched the fun, although they
couldn't make much of it. Asking what the hullabaloo was about, a
fellow told me that Lord Crossborough had come up from the country
suddenly, and was "a-keeping of his jubilee" at No. 20B.
"Half the Gaiety's there, to say nothing of the Merry Widow," says he,
as I pushed past him, "and don't you be in a hurry, guv'nor, 'cause
you've forgotten yer diamond collar. They won't say nothink up there,
not if you was to go in a billycock 'at and a duster, s'welp me, they
wouldn't----" But I didn't listen to him, and going up the front door
steps by the policemen, I told them I was Lord Crossborough's driver,
and passed right in.
Now I have been through many funny scenes in my life, seen many funny
gentlemen, to say nothing of funny ladies, and have had many a good
time on many a good car. But this I shall say at once, that I never
got a greater surprise than when I got back to 20B, and found myself in
the empty hall among twenty or thirty pairs of yellow breeches and as
many cooks in white aprons, all pushing and shouting, and swearing that
the area gate was locked and bolted, and the kitchen in no fit state to
serve supper to a dog.
Upstairs on the landings men in white aprons were carrying plants in
pots, and building up banks of roses; while higher up still stood Lord
Crossborough himself--the gentleman I had driven from the
Carlton--shouting to them to do this and to do that, smoking a cigar as
long as your arm, and all the time as merry as a two-year-old at a
morning gallop.
As for the young ladies, they had taken off their cloaks, and all wore
pretty gowns, same as they would wear for any party in that part of the
world, and they were standing by his lordship's side, apparently just
as much amused as he was. What astonished me in particular was this
nobleman's affability towards me, for he cried out directly he saw me,
and implored me for heaven's sake to get the padlock off the area gate,
or, says he, "I'm d--d if they won't be cooking the ducks in the
drawing-room."
I was only too ready to oblige him, that goes without saying, though I
had to run round to the garage for a file and a chisel, and when I got
back for the second time, it took me twenty minutes to get off the
padlock, after which they sent me upstairs, as they said, "to help with
the flats." Then I discovered that a play, or something, was to be
given in the drawing-room, the back part of which was full of scenery,
showing a castle on the top of a precipice and a view of the Thames
Embankment just below it, while away in the small library on the other
side of the staircase stood twenty or thirty ballet girls, just come
from one of the West End theatres.
Immediately after they had arrived, a number of fiddlers came tumbling
up the stairs, and the fun began in earnest. A proper gentleman, who
seemed to know what he was talking about, though, to be sure, he did
call all the ladies his "darlings," started to put 'em through their
paces. I saw one of our leading musical ladies coming down the stairs
from the rooms above, and presently a lot of guests arrived from the
hall below, and went into the great drawing-room, where the audience
was to sit. "After all," says I, "this is just his lordship's bit of
fun--he's giving one of those impromptu parties we've heard so much
about, and this play-acting is the surprise of it." You shall see
presently how very wrong I was.
Well, the play went merry enough, as it should have done, seeing it was
performed by people who have to make their living by plays. When it
was over, his lordship gets up and says something about their having
supper, not in the English way but the French, same as they do at the
Catsare[2] in Paris. This pleased them all very much, and I could see
that the most part of them were not real ladies and gentlemen at all,
but riff-raff Bohemian stuff out for a spree, and determined to have
one. The supper itself was the most amusing affair you ever saw; for
what must they do but flop down on the floor just where they stood, not
minding the bare boards at all, and eat cold chicken and twist rolls
from paper bags the footman threw to them. As for the liquor, you
would have thought they never could have enough of it--but it's not for
me to say anything about that, seeing I had a bottle of the best to
myself down in the corner by the conservatory, and more than one paper
bag when the first was empty.
Now, this supper occupied them until nearly three in the morning. I
make out--as I had to do to the police--that it was just a quarter past
three when the real business began, and a pretty frightening business,
as
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_THE
ADVANCED MONTESSORI METHOD_
SPONTANEOUS ACTIVITY
IN EDUCATION
BY
MARIA MONTESSORI
AUTHOR OF "THE MONTESSORI METHOD," "PEDAGOGICAL
ANTHROPOLOGY," ETC.
TRANSLATED FROM THE ITALIAN BY
FLORENCE SIMMONDS
[Illustration: company logo]
NEW YORK
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
_Copyright, 1917, by_
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
_All rights reserved, including that of translation into
foreign languages_.
Printed in the U.S.A.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
A SURVEY OF THE CHILD'S LIFE
Laws of the child's psychical life paralleled by those of its physical.
Current objections to a system of education based upon "liberty"
Hygiene has freed the infant from straps and swaddling clothes
and left it free to develop
Education must leave the soul free to develop
Principle of liberty in education not a principle of abandonment
The liberty accorded the child of to-day is purely physical.
Civil rights of the child in the twentieth century.
Removal of perils of disease a step toward physical liberation
Supplying the child's physical needs is not sufficient
Child's social rights overlooked in the administration of
orphan asylums
Poor child's health and property confiscated in the custom
of wet nursing
We recognize justice only for those who can defend themselves
How we receive the infants that come into the world.
Home has
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IV (OF 8)***
E-text prepared by Charlene Taylor, Christine P. Travers, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from
page images generously made available by Internet Archive
(http://www.archive.org) and digitized by Google Books Library Project
(http://books.google.com/intl/en/googlebooks/library.html)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 29340-h.htm or 29340-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/29340/29340-h/29340-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/29340/29340-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available
through Internet Archive or Google books. See
http://www.archive.org/details/storygreatwar01ruhlgoog
or
http://books.google.com/books?id=PV4PAAAAYAAJ&oe=UTF-8
Transcriber's note:
Obvious printer's errors have been corrected. Hyphenation
and accentuation have been made consistent. All other
inconsistencies are as in the original. The author's spelling
has been retained.
THE STORY OF THE GREAT WAR
History of the European War from Official Sources
Complete Historical Records of Events to Date,
Illustrated with Drawings, Maps, and Photographs
Prefaced by
What the War Means to America
Major General Leonard Wood, U.S.A.
Naval Lessons of the War
Rear Admiral Austin M. Knight, U.S.N.
The World's War
Frederick Palmer
Theatres of the War's Campaigns
Frank H. Simonds
The War Correspondent
Arthur Ruhl
Edited by
Francis J. Reynolds
Former Reference Librarian of Congress
Allen L. Churchill
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MANNERS:
A NOVEL.
----Dicas hic forsitan unde
Ingenium par materiae.
JUVENAL.
Je sais qu'un sot trouve toujours un plus sot pour le lire.
FRED. LE GRAND.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. III.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR BALDWIN, CRADOCK, AND JOY,
PATERNOSTER ROW.
1817.
MANNERS.
CHAPTER I.
----Whose birth beyond all question springs
From great and glorious, though forgotten, kings.
oeCHURCHILL.oe
The lady who did the honours of Mr. O'Sullivan's house to our English
travellers, on the night of their arrival at Ballinamoyle, Miss
Fitzcarril by name, was in person extremely tall; and a carriage of
extraordinary uprightness gave her, with a stiffness, a dignity also of
appearance. Her face, though good natured in expression, was, at that
period, rather plain; but yet sufficient evidence remained to
corroborate her own frequent assertion, that "she had once been a fine
woman;" in making which she flattered herself her auditors would imply,
that she took the same license which the structure of a venerable
language sometimes permits, of understanding, at pleasure, different
tenses by the same word; and that they would from the past infer the
present. In dress and manner she was old fashioned, but stately,
generally wearing garments made of the antique tabinets and satins she
inherited from her grandmother, and which, from the unbending nature of
the material, would have stood alone, nearly in as erect a posture as
that they maintained when encompassing her perpendicular figure; a
double clear starched handkerchief, which Mr. Desmond wickedly called
her transparency, enveloped her neck; and the costume of her person was
completed by a fine muslin apron of curious work, derived from her own,
or her progenitors' industry. Her headdress was the only part of her
attire which was ever varied, and in this she was fantastic in the
extreme, composing it of the most showy materials, and wearing in her
caps and turbans colours only fit for the young and beautiful. Every
acquaintance who visited Galway, Limerick, or Clare, was sure to have a
commission to buy a cap or bonnet for Miss Fitzcarril; and the more
_outre_ in form and colour, the better pleased she was with their
purchase. She was, in mind, the most singular mixture of pride and
parsimony that was perhaps ever compounded; the one she derived from her
highly valued ancestry, the other from her own peculiar fate, and a
mistaken idea of principle; and she reconciled her frugality and her
dignity, by declaring that "the Fitzcarrils and O'Sullivans needn't
trouble their heads about what any one said of them; _every body_ knew
they were come of the kings of Connaught, and had a good right to do as
they pleased." In early life she had lived in extreme poverty, and then
had learned the ideas of management she afterwards laboured to enforce
at Ballinamoyle. Mr. O'Sullivan had been deprived of his wife a few
years before he had also the misfortune to lose his only child; and on
the death of this beloved daughter, he chose Theresa Fitzcarril from
amongst his female relatives, to superintend his establishment, at the
same time settling a comfortable provision on her, in case she should
survive himself; which he considered a mere act of justice, for he
foresaw that the retirement of his residence would condemn her to a life
of solitude and celibacy, the two precise circumstances which least
accorded with her own wishes. Theresa, on her part, actuated by an
excess of pride, resolved she would cancel her pecuniary obligations,
not only to her original benefactor, but to his heir, by saving for the
family a sum more than equivalent to all she should ever receive from
it. She therefore endeavoured (though without much success) to introduce
a system of penury at Ballinamoyle, that, had its owner been aware of
her proceedings, he would not have suffered, as it was diametrically
opposite to his wishes; he seldom however inquired into the _minutiae_
of his household; and indifferent to every thing, after the loss of his
daughter, he
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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, Hugh."
"But right here, Billy, sitting on the stone curbing in the shade of the
big General Putnam oak, we can cool off. Let's rest up a bit and talk,
while we watch the people go by."
"That suits me all right, Hugh. I love to sit and watch others work on a
hot afternoon. Suppose we chin a little about skating, tobogganing and
all those nice pleasant things? They help to cool you off and make you
feel that life is worth living, after all."
The two lads were dressed in khaki uniforms, sufficient evidence that
they were members of the local Boy Scout troop, of which their home town
was rather proud. In fact, the young fellow who had been called Hugh and
whose last name was Hardin, had lately succeeded in attaining the
position of Assistant Scout Master, when the former incumbent resigned,
owing to removal from the place.
His chum, Billy Worth, also a member of the Wolf Patrol, was a
first-class scout, as his badge denoted. He was inclined to be rather
stout in build, and his face expressed genial good nature. Billy and
Hugh had been doing some shopping on the main street of their town and
were sauntering along, when the heat of the September day caused them to
make a halt under the grateful shade of the tremendous oak, which for
some reason or other had been called after that staunch New England
patriot of Revolutionary days, Israel Putnam.
While these two energetic lads will be readily recognized by any reader
who has perused former books in this series, for the benefit of those
who may be meeting them for the first time it might be advisable to say
something concerning them and the local organization.
The troop now consisted of four full patrols of eight members each, and
another was forming. These were, first of all, the Wolf, to which both
boys belonged, Hugh
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HISTORY
OF
ANCIENT ART
BY
DR. FRANZ VON REBER
DIRECTOR OF THE BAVARIAN ROYAL AND STATE GALLERIES OF PAINTINGS
PROFESSOR IN THE UNIVERSITY AND POLYTECHNIC OF MUNICH
Revised by the Author
_TRANSLATED AND AUGMENTED_
BY
JOSEPH THACHER CLARKE
WITH 310 ILLUSTRATIONS AND A GLOSSARY OF TECHNICAL TERMS
NEW YORK
HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1882, by
HARPER & BROTHERS,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
_All rights reserved._
The application of the historic method to the study of the Fine Arts,
begun with imperfect means by Winckelmann one hundred and twenty years
ago, has been productive of the best results in our own days. It has
introduced order into a subject previously confused, disclosing the
natural progress of the arts, and the relations of the arts of the
different races by whom they have been successively practised. It has
also had the more important result of securing to the fine arts their
due place in the history of mankind as the chief record of various
stages of civilization, and as the most trustworthy expression of the
faith, the sentiments, and the emotions of past ages, and often even of
their institutions and modes of life. The recognition of the
significance of the fine arts in these respects is, indeed, as yet but
partial, and the historical study of art does not hold the place in the
scheme of liberal education which it is certain before long to attain.
One reason of this fact lies in the circumstance that few of the general
historical treatises on the fine arts that have been produced during the
last fifty years have been works of sufficient learning or judgment to
give them authority as satisfactory sources of instruction. Errors of
statement and vague speculations have abounded in them. The subject,
moreover, has been confused, especially in Germany, by the intrusion of
metaphysics into its domain, in the guise of a professed but spurious
science of aesthetics.
Under these conditions, a history of the fine arts that should state
correctly what is known concerning their works, and should treat their
various manifestations with intelligence and in just proportion, would
be of great value to the student. Such, within its limits as a manual
and for the period which it covers, is Dr. Reber's _History of Ancient
Art_. So far as I am aware, there is no compend of information on the
subject in any language so trustworthy and so judicious as this. It
serves equally well as an introduction to the study and as a treatise to
which the advanced student may refer with advantage to refresh his
knowledge of the outlines of any part of the field.
The work was originally published in 1871; but so rapid has been the
progress of discovery during the last ten years that, in order to bring
the book up to the requirements of the present time, a thorough revision
of it was needed, together with the addition of much new matter and many
new illustrations. This labor of revision and addition has been jointly
performed by the author and the translator, the latter having had the
advantage of doing the greater part of his work with the immediate
assistance of Dr. Reber himself, and of bringing to it fresh resources
of his own, the result of original study and investigation. The
translator having been absent from the country, engaged in archaeological
research, during the printing of the volume, the last revision and the
correction of the text have been in the hands of Professor William R.
Ware, of the School of Mines of Columbia College.
CHARLES ELIOT NORTON.
CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS, _May_, 1882.
In view of the great confusion which results from an irregular
orthography of Greek proper names, a return to the original spelling of
words not fully Anglicized may need an explanation, but no apology: it
is only adopting a system already followed by scholars of the highest
standing. The Romans, until the advent of that second classical revival
in which the present century is still engaged, served as mediums for all
acquaintance with Hellenic civilization. They employed Greek names, with
certain alterations agreeable to the Latin tongue, blunting and
coarsening the delicate sounds of Greek speech, much in the same manner
as they debased the artistic forms of Greek architecture by a mechanical
system of design. The clear [Greek: on] became _um_, [Greek: os]
was changed to _us_, [Greek: ei] to _e_ or _i_, etc. This Latinized
nomenclature, like the Roman triglyph and Tuscan capital, was
exclusively adopted by the early Renaissance, until,
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Produced by Annie R. McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE]
* * * * *
VOL. III.--NO. 132. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.
Tuesday, May 9, 1882. Copyright, 1882, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50 per
Year, in Advance.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
MR. STUBBS'S BROTHER.[1]
[1] Begun in No. 127, HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE.
BY JAMES OTIS,
AUTHOR OF "TOBY TYLER," "TIM AND TIP," ETC.
CHAPTER VI.
OLD BEN.
Toby watched anxiously as each wagon came up, but he failed to recognize
any of the drivers. For the first time it occurred to him that perhaps
those whom he knew were no longer with this particular company, and his
delight gave way to sadness.
Fully twenty wagons had come, and he had just begun to think his fears
had good foundation, when in the distance he saw the well-remembered
monkey wagon, with the burly form of old Ben on the box.
Toby could not wait for that particular team to come up, even though it
was driven at a reasonably rapid speed; but he started toward it as fast
as he could run. After him, something like the tail of a comet, followed
all his friends, who, having come so far, were determined not to lose
sight of him for a single instant, if it could be prevented by any
exertion on their part. Old Ben was driving in a sleepy sort of way, and
paid no attention to the little fellow who was running toward him, until
Toby shouted. Then the horses were stopped with a jerk that nearly threw
them back on their haunches.
"Well, Toby my son, I declare I am glad to see you;" and old Ben reached
down for the double purpose of shaking hands and helping the boy up to
the seat beside him. "Well, well, well, it's been some time since you've
been on this 'ere box, ain't it? I'd kinder forgotten what town it was
we took you from; I knew it was somewhere hereabouts, though, an' I've
kept my eye peeled for you ever since we've been in this part of the
country. So you found your uncle Dan'l all right, did you?"
"Yes, Ben, an' he was awful good to me when I got home; but Mr. Stubbs
got shot."
"No? you don't tell me! How did that happen?"
Then Toby told the story of his pet's death, and although it had
occurred a year before, he could not keep the tears from his eyes as he
spoke of it.
"You mustn't feel bad 'bout it, Toby," said Ben, consolingly, "for, you
see, monkeys has got to die jest like folks, an' your Stubbs was sich a
old feller that I reckon he'd have died anyhow before long. But I've got
one in the wagon here that looks a good deal like yours, an' I'll show
him to you."
As Ben spoke, he drew his wagon, now completely surrounded by boys, up
by the side of the road near the others, and opened the panel in the top
so that Toby could have a view of his passengers.
Curled up in the corner nearest the roof, where Mr. Stubbs had been in
the habit of sitting, Toby saw, as Ben had said, a monkey that looked
remarkably like Mr. Stubbs, save that he was younger and not so sedate.
Toby uttered an exclamation of surprise and joy as he pushed his hand
through the bars of the cage, and the monkey shook hands with him as Mr.
Stubbs used to do when greeted in the morning.
"Why, I never knew before that Mr. Stubbs had any relations!" said Toby,
looking around with joy imprinted on every feature. "Do you know where
the rest of the family is, Ben?"
There was no reply from the driver for some time; but instead, Toby
heard certain familiar sounds as if the old man were choking, while his
face took on the purplish tinge which had so alarmed the boy when he saw
it for the first time.
"No, I don't know where his family is," said Ben, after he had recovered
from his spasm of silent laughter, "an' I reckon he don't know nor care.
Say, Toby, you don't really think this one is any relation to your
monkey, do you?"
"Why, it must be his brother," said Toby, earnestly, "'cause they look
so much alike; but perhaps Mr. Stubbs was only his cousin."
Old Ben relapsed into another spasm, and Toby talked to the monkey, who
chattered back at him, until the boys on the ground were in a perfect
ferment of anxiety to know what was going on.
It was some time before Toby could be persuaded to pay attention to
anything else, so engrossed was he with Mr. Stubbs's brother, as he
persisted in calling the monkey, and the only way Ben could engage him
in conversation was by saying:
"You don't seem to be very much afraid of Job Lord now."
"You won't let him take me away if he should try, will you?" Toby asked,
quickly, alarmed at the very mention of his former employer's name, even
though he had thought he would not be afraid of him, protected as he now
was by Uncle Daniel.
"No, Toby, I wouldn't let him if he was to try it on, for you are just
where every boy ought to be, an' that's at home; but Job's where he
can't whip any more boys for some time to come."
"Where's that?"
"He's in jail. About a month after you left he licked his new boy so bad
that they arrested him, an' he got two years for it, 'cause it pretty
nigh made a <DW36> out of the youngster."
Toby was about to make some reply; but Ben
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GERMINAL
BY
ÉMILE ZOLA
Translated and Introduced
By
Havelock Ellis
Translated and Introduced by Havelock Ellis
J. M. DENT & SONS LTD.
Aldine House--Bedford St.--London
1885
Introduction By Havelock Ellis
'GERMINAL' was published in 1885, after occupying Zola during the
previous year. In accordance with his usual custom--but to a greater
extent than with any other of his books except _La Débâcle_--he
accumulated material beforehand. For six months he travelled about
the coal-mining district in northern France and Belgium, especially
the Borinage around Mons, note-book in hand. 'He was inquisitive, was
that gentleman', miner told Sherard who visited the neighbourhood at a
later period and found that the miners in every village knew _Germinal_.
That was a tribute of admiration the book deserved, but it was never
one of Zola's most popular novels; it was neither amusing enough nor
outrageous enough to attract the multitude.
Yet _Germinal_ occupies a place among Zola's works which is constantly
becoming more assured, so that to some critics it even begins to seem
the only book of his that in the end may survive. In his own time, as
we know, the accredited critics of the day could find no condemnation
severe enough for Zola. Brunetière attacked him perpetually with a fury
that seemed inexhaustible; Schérer could not even bear to hear his name
mentioned; Anatole France, though he lived to relent, thought it would
have been better if he had never been born. Even at that time, however,
there were critics who inclined to view Germinal more favourably. Thus
Faguet, who was the recognized academic critic of the end of the last
century, while he held that posterity would be unable to understand how
Zola could ever have been popular, yet recognized him as in Germinal
the heroic representative of democracy, incomparable in his power of
describing crowds, and he realized how marvellous is the conclusion of
this book.
To-day, when critics view Zola In the main with indifference rather
than with horror, although he still retains his popular favour, the
distinction of _Germinal_ is yet more clearly recognized. Seillière,
while regarding the capitalistic conditions presented as now of an
ancient and almost extinct type, yet sees _Germinal_ standing out as
'the poem of social mysticism', while André Gide, a completely modern
critic who has left a deep mark on the present generation, observes
somewhere that it may nowadays cause surprise that he should refer with
admiration to _Germinal_, but it is a masterly book that fills him with
astonishment; he can hardly believe that it was written in French and
still less that it should have been written in any other language; it
seems that it should have been created in some international tongue.
The high place thus claimed for _Germinal_ will hardly seem exaggerated.
The book was produced when Zola had at length achieved the full mastery
of his art and before his hand had, as in his latest novels, begun to
lose its firm grasp. The subject lent itself, moreover, to his special
aptitude for presenting in vivid outline great human groups, and to his
special sympathy with the collective emotions and social aspirations of
such groups. We do not, as so often in Zola's work, become painfully
conscious that he is seeking to reproduce aspects of life with which
he is imperfectly acquainted, or fitting them into scientific formulas
which he has imperfectly understood. He shows a masterly grip of each
separate group, and each represents some essential element of the
whole; they are harmoniously balanced, and their mutual action and
reaction leads on inevitably to the splendid tragic dose, with yet its
great promise for the future. I will not here discuss Zola's literary
art (I have done so in my book of _Affirmations_); it is enough to say
that, though he was not a great master of style, Zola never again wrote
so finely as here.
A word may be added to explain how this translation fell to the lot of
one whose work has been in other fields. In 1893 the late A. Texeira de
Mattos was arranging for private issue a series of complete versions of
some of Zola's chief novels and offered to assign _Germinal_ to me. My
time was taken up with preliminary but as yet unfruitful preparation
for what I regarded as my own special task in life, and I felt that I
must not neglect the opportunity of spending my spare time in making
a modest addition to my income. My wife readily fell into the project
and agreed, on the understanding that we shared the proceeds, to act
as my amanuensis. So, in the
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THE DIAMOND LENS
By Fitz-James O'brien
I
FROM a very early period of my life the entire bent of my inclinations
had been toward microscopic investigations. When I was not more than
ten years old, a distant relative of our family, hoping to astonish my
inexperience, constructed a simple microscope for me by drilling in a
disk of copper a small hole in which a drop of pure water was sustained
by capillary attraction. This very primitive apparatus, magnifying some
fifty diameters, presented, it is true, only indistinct and imperfect
forms, but still sufficiently wonderful to work up my imagination to a
preternatural state of excitement.
Seeing me so interested in this rude instrument, my cousin explained to
me all that he knew about the principles of the microscope, related to
me a few of the wonders which had been accomplished through its agency,
and ended by promising to send me one regularly constructed, immediately
on his return to the city. I counted the days, the hours, the minutes
that intervened between that promise and his departure.
Meantime, I was not idle. Every transparent substance that bore the
remotest resemblance to a lens I eagerly seized upon, and employed
in vain attempts to realize that instrument the theory of whose
construction I as yet only vaguely comprehended. All panes of
glass containing those oblate spheroidal knots familiarly known as
"bull's-eyes" were ruthlessly destroyed in the hope of obtaining lenses
of marvelous power. I even went so far as to extract the crystalline
humor from the eyes of fishes and animals, and endeavored to press
it into the microscopic service. I plead guilty to having stolen the
glasses from my Aunt Agatha's spectacles, with a dim idea of grinding
them into lenses of wondrous magnifying properties--in which attempt it
is scarcely necessary to say that I totally failed.
At last the promised instrument came. It was of that order known as
Field's simple microscope, and had cost perhaps about fifteen dollars.
As far as educational purposes went, a better apparatus could not
have been selected. Accompanying it was a small treatise on the
microscope--its history, uses, and discoveries. I comprehended then for
the first time the "Arabian Nights' Entertainments." The dull veil of
ordinary existence that hung across the world seemed suddenly to
roll away, and to lay bare a land of enchantments. I felt toward my
companions as the seer might feel toward the ordinary masses of men.
I held conversations with nature in a tongue which they could not
understand. I was in daily communication with living wonders such as
they never imagined in their wildest visions, I penetrated beyond the
external portal of things, and roamed through the sanctuaries. Where
they beheld only a drop of rain slowly rolling down the window-glass,
I saw a universe of beings animated with all the passions common to
physical life, and convulsing their minute sphere with struggles as
fierce and protracted as those of men. In the common spots of mould,
which my mother, good housekeeper that she was, fiercely scooped
away from her jam-pots, there abode for me, under the name of mildew,
enchanted gardens, filled with dells and avenues of the densest foliage
and most astonishing verdure, while from the fantastic boughs of these
microscopic forests hung strange fruits glittering with green and silver
and gold.
It was no scientific thirst that at this time filled my mind. It was the
pure enjoyment of a poet to whom a world of wonders has been disclosed.
I talked of my solitary pleasures to none. Alone with my microscope, I
dimmed my sight, day after day and night after night, poring over the
marvels which it unfolded to me. I was like one who, having discovered
the ancient Eden still existing in all its primitive glory, should
resolve to enjoy it in solitude, and never betray to mortal the secret
of its locality. The rod of my life was bent at this moment. I destined
myself to be a microscopist.
Of course, like every novice, I fancied myself a discoverer. I was
ignorant at the time of the thousands of acute intellects engaged in the
same pursuit as myself, and with the advantage of instruments a thousand
times more powerful than mine. The names of Leeuwenhoek, Williamson,
Spencer, Ehrenberg, Schultz, Dujardin, Schact, and Schleiden were then
entirely unknown to me, or, if known, I was ignorant of their patient
and wonderful researches. In every fresh specimen of cryptogamia which
I placed beneath my instrument I believed that I discovered wonders
of which the world was as yet ignorant. I remember well the thrill
of delight and admiration that shot through me the first time that I
discovered the common wheel animal
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Transcriber's Note.
A list of the changes made can be found at the end of the book.
Mark up: _italic_
=bold=
Representative English Comedies
FROM THE BEGINNINGS TO SHAKESPEARE
[Illustration]
REPRESENTATIVE ENGLISH
COMEDIES
WITH INTRODUCTORY ESSAYS AND NOTES
AN HISTORICAL VIEW OF OUR EARLIER COMEDY
_AND OTHER MONOGRAPHS_
BY VARIOUS WRITERS
UNDER THE GENERAL EDITORSHIP OF
CHARLES MILLS GAYLEY, LITT.D., LL.D.
_Professor of the English Language and Literature in the University of
California_
FROM THE BEGINNINGS
TO
SHAKESPEARE
New York:
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LTD.
1926
_All rights reserved._
COPYRIGHT, 1903,
BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
Set up, electrotyped, and published March, 1903.
Norwood Press
_J. S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A._
PREFACE
"'Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more
cakes and ale... nor ginger hot i' the mouth?' Or knowest not that
while man, casting the dice with Fate and Mistress Grundy, imagineth a
new luck, there shall be new comedy?
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THE GLORY OF THE TRENCHES
AN INTERPRETATION
By Coningsby Dawson
Author of "Carry On: Letters In Wartime," Etc.
With An Introduction By His Father, W. J. Dawson
"The glory is all in the souls of the men--it's nothing external."
--From "Carry On"
1917
[Illustration: LIEUTENANT CONINGSBY DAWSON]
TO YOU AT HOME
Each night we panted till the runners came,
Bearing your letters through the battle-smoke.
Their path lay up Death Valley spouting flame,
Across the ridge where the Hun's anger spoke
In bursting shells and cataracts of pain;
Then down the road where no one goes by day,
And so into the tortured, pockmarked plain
Where dead men clasp their wounds and point the way.
Here gas lurks treacherously and the wire
Of old defences tangles up the feet;
Faces and hands strain upward through the mire,
Speaking the anguish of the Hun's retreat.
Sometimes no letters came; the evening hate
Dragged on till dawn. The ridge in flying spray
Of hissing shrapnel told the runners' fate;
We knew we should not hear from you that day--
From you, who from the trenches of the mind
Hurl back despair, smiling with sobbing breath,
Writing your souls on paper to be kind,
That you for us may take the sting from Death.
CONTENTS
TO YOU AT HOME. (Poem)
HOW THIS BOOK WAS WRITTEN
IN HOSPITAL. (Poem)
THE ROAD TO BLIGHTY
THE LADS AWAY. (Poem)
THE GROWING OF THE VISION
THE GLORY OF THE TRENCHES. (Poem)
GOD AS WE SEE HIM
HOW THIS BOOK WAS WRITTEN
In my book, _The Father of a Soldier_, I have already stated the
conditions under which this book of my son's was produced.
He was wounded in the end of June, 1917, in the fierce struggle before
Lens. He was at once removed to a base-hospital, and later on to a
military hospital in London. There was grave danger of amputation of
the right arm, but this was happily avoided. As soon as he could use
his hand he was commandeered by the Lord High Commissioner of Canada
to write an important paper, detailing the history of the Canadian
forces in France and Flanders. This task kept him busy until the end
of August, when he obtained a leave of two months to come home. He
arrived in New York in September, and returned again to London in the
end of October.
The plan of the book grew out of his
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THE IMAGINARY INVALID.
(LE MALADE IMAGINAIRE.)
by
MOLIERE,
Translated into English Prose.
With Short Introductions and Explanatory Notes.
by
CHARLES HERON WALL.
This is the last comedy written by Moliere. He was very ill, nearly
dying, at the time he wrote it. It was first acted at the Palais Royal
Theatre, on February 10, 1673.
Moliere acted the part of Argan.
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
ARGAN, _an imaginary invalid_.
BELINE, _second wife to_ ARGAN.
ANGELIQUE, _daughter to_ ARGAN, _in love with_ CLEANTE.
LOUISON, ARGAN'S _young daughter, sister to_ ANGELIQUE.
BERALDE, _brother to_ ARGAN.
CLEANTE, _lover to_ ANGELIQUE.
MR. DIAFOIRUS, _a physician_.
THOMAS DIAFOIRUS, _his son, in love with_ ANGELIQUE.
MR. PURGON, _physician to_ ARGAN.
MR. FLEURANT, _an apothecary_.
MR. DE BONNEFOI, _a notary_.
TOINETTE, _maid-servant to_ ARGAN.
ACT I.
SCENE I.--ARGAN (_sitting at a table, adding up his apothecary's
bill with counters_).
ARG. Three and two make five, and five make ten, and ten make twenty.
"Item, on the 24th, a small, insinuative clyster, preparative and
gentle, to soften, moisten, and refresh the bowels of Mr. Argan." What
I like about Mr. Fleurant, my apothecary, is that his bills are always
civil. "The bowels of Mr. Argan." All the same, Mr. Fleurant, it is
not enough to be civil, you must also be reasonable, and not plunder
sick people. Thirty sous for a clyster! I have already told you, with
all due respect to you, that elsewhere you have only charged me twenty
sous; and twenty sous, in the language of apothecaries, means only ten
sous. Here they are, these ten sous. "Item, on the said day, a good
detergent clyster, compounded of double catholicon rhubarb, honey of
roses, and other ingredients, according to the prescription, to scour,
work, and clear out the bowels of Mr. Argan, thirty sons." With your
leave, ten sous. "Item, on the said day, in the evening, a julep,
hepatic, soporiferous, and somniferous, intended to promote the sleep
of Mr. Argan, thirty-five sous." I do not complain of that, for it
made me sleep very well. Ten, fifteen, sixteen, and seventeen sous six
deniers. "Item, on the 25th, a good purgative and corroborative
mixture, composed of fresh cassia with Levantine senna and other
ingredients, according to the prescription of Mr. Purgon, to expel Mr.
Argan's bile, four francs." You are joking, Mr. Fleurant; you must
learn to be reasonable with patients; Mr. Purgon never ordered you to
put four francs. Tut! put three francs, if you please. Twenty; thirty
sous.[1] "Item, on the said day, a dose, anodyne and astringent, to
make Mr. Argan sleep, thirty sous." Ten sous, Mr. Fleurant. "Item, on
the 26th, a carminative clyster to cure the flatulence of Mr. Argan,
thirty sous." "Item, the clyster repeated in the evening, as above,
thirty sous." Ten sous, Mr. Fleurant. "Item, on the 27th, a good
mixture composed for the purpose of driving out the bad humours of Mr.
Argan, three francs." Good; twenty and thirty sous; I am glad that
you are reasonable. "Item, on the 28th, a dose of clarified and
edulcorated whey, to soften, lenify, temper, and refresh the blood of
Mr. Argan, twenty sous." Good; ten sous. "Item, a potion, cordial and
preservative, composed of twelve grains of bezoar, syrup of citrons
and p
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(1603-1660)***
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/puritanismlibert00londiala
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
More information 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.
PURITANISM AND LIBERTY
* * * * * *
BELL'S ENGLISH HISTORY SOURCE BOOKS.
_Volumes now Ready._ 1_s._ _net each_.
=449-1066.= =The Welding of the Race.= Edited by the Rev. JOHN
WALLIS, M.A.
=1066-1154.= =The Normans in England.= Edited by A. E. BLAND, M.A.
=1154-1216.= =The Angevins and the Charter.= Edited by S. M.
TOYNE, M.A.
=1216-1307.= =The Struggle for the Charter.= Edited by W. D.
ROBIESON, M.A.
=1307-1399.= =War and Misrule.= Edited by A. A. LOCKE.
=1399-1485.= =York and Lancaster.= Edited by W. GARMON JONES, M.A.
=1485-1547.= =The Reformation and the Renaissance.= Edited by F.
W. BEWSHER
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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
—Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected.
—Bold text has been rendered as =bold text=.
AN EXAMINATION
OF
WEISMANNISM
Oxford
HORACE HART, PRINTER TO THE UNIVERSITY
[Illustration: AUGUST WEISMANN]
AN EXAMINATION
OF
WEISMANNISM
BY
GEORGE JOHN ROMANES
M.A., LL.D., F.R.S.
HONORARY FELLOW OF GONVILLE AND CAIUS COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE
London
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
1893
PREFACE
AS already stated in the Preface to the second edition of _Darwin and
after Darwin_, Part I, severe and protracted illness has hitherto
prevented me from proceeding to the publication of Part II. It is
now more than a year since I had to suspend work of every kind, and
therefore, although at that time Part II was almost ready for press,
I have not yet been able to write its concluding chapters. Shortly
before and during this interval Professor Weismann has produced his
essays on _Amphimixis_ and _The Germ-plasm_. These works present
extensive additions to, and considerable modifications of, his previous
theories as collected together in the English translation, under
the title _Essays on Heredity, Vol. I_. Consequently, it has become
necessary for me either to re-write the examination of his system which
I had prepared for Part II of my own treatise, or else to leave that
examination as it stood, and to add a further chapter dealing with
those later developments of his system to which I have just alluded.
After due reflection I have decided upon the latter course, because
in this way we are most likely to obtain a clear view of the growth of
Weismann’s elaborate structure of theories—a view which it is almost
necessary, for the purposes of criticism, that we should obtain.
Having decided upon this point, it occurred to me that certain
advantages would be gained by removing the whole criticism from the
position which it was originally intended to occupy as a section of my
forthcoming volume on the Post-Darwinian period. For, in consequence
of the criticism having been written at successive intervals during
the last six or eight years as Professor Weismann’s works successively
appeared, it has now swelled to a bulk which would unduly encumber
the volume just mentioned. Again, the growth of Professor Weismann’s
system has of late become so rapid, that if the criticism is to keep
pace with it in future, the best plan will doubtless be the one which
it is now my intention to adopt—viz., to publish the criticism in a
separate form, and in comparatively small editions, so that further
chapters may be added with as much celerity as Professor Weismann
may hereafter produce his successive works. Lastly, where so much
elaborate speculation and so many changes of doctrine are concerned, it
is inevitable that some misunderstandings on the part of a critic are
likely to have arisen; and therefore, should Professor Weismann deem it
worth his while to correct any such failings on my part, the plan of
publication just alluded to will furnish me with the best opportunity
of dealing with whatever he may have to say.
It must be understood, however, that under the term “Weismannism” I
do not include any reference to the important question with which the
name of Weismann has been mainly associated—i.e., the inheritance or
non-inheritance of acquired characters. This is a question of fact,
which stands to be answered by the inductive methods of observation
and experiment: not by the deductive methods of general reasoning.
Of course Professor Weismann is fully entitled to assume a negative
answer as a basis whereon to construct his theory of the continuity of
germ-plasm; but no amount of speculation as to what the mechanism of
heredity is likely to be if once this assumption is granted, can even
so much as tend to prove that the assumption itself is true. Therefore,
in this “examination of Weismannism” I intend to restrict our attention
to the elaborate system of theories which Weismann has reared upon his
fundamental postulate of the non-inheritance of acquired characters,
reserving for my next volume our consideration of this postulate itself.
Lest, however, it should be felt that “an examination of Weismannism”
in which the question of the transmission of acquired characters is
omitted must indeed prove a case of Hamlet without the Prince of
Denmark, I may be allowed to make two observations. In the first
place, this great question of fact is clearly quite distinct from
that of any theories which may be framed upon either side of it.
And, in the second place, the question was not raised by Weismann. It
appears, indeed, from what he says, that he never caught a glimpse of
it till about ten years ago, and that he then did so as a result of
his own independent thought. Moreover, it is perfectly true that to
him belongs the great merit of having been the first to call general
attention to the subject, and so to arouse a world-wide interest with
reference to it. But to suppose that the question was first propounded
by Weismann is merely to display a want of acquaintance with the
course of Darwinian thought in this country. As far back as 1874 I had
long conversations with Darwin himself upon the matter, and under his
guidance performed what I suppose are the only systematic experiments
which have ever been undertaken with regard to it. These occupied
more than five years of almost exclusive devotion
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MEMORIES OF BETHANY.
By the
REV. JOHN R. MACDUFF, D.D.
Author of
"MORNING AND NIGHT WATCHES," "WORDS OF JESUS,"
"MIND OF JESUS," "FOOTSTEPS OF ST. PAUL,"
"FAMILY PRAYERS," "MEMORIES OF GENNESARET,"
"STORY OF BETHLEHEM," ETC.
NEW YORK:
ROBERT CARTER & BROTHERS,
No. 530 Broadway.
1861.
To
MOURNERS IN ZION,
with whom
BETHANY
has ever been a name consecrated to sorrow,
these
MEMORIES
ARE INSCRIBED.
PASSAGES REFERRING TO BETHANY IN THE SACRED NARRATIVE.
I.
Earliest Notice of Bethany.
LUKE X. 38-42.--"And He entered into a certain village: and a certain
woman named Martha received Him into her house. And she had a sister
called Mary, which also sat at Jesus' feet, and heard His word. But
Martha was cumbered about much serving, and came to Him, and said, Lord,
dost Thou not care that my sister hath left me to serve alone? bid her
therefore that she help me. And Jesus answered and said unto her,
Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many things: But one
thing is needful: and Mary hath chosen that good part, which shall not
be taken away from her."
II.
Bethany in connexion with the Sickness, Death, and Resurrection of
Lazarus.
JOHN XI. 1.--"Now a certain _man_ was sick, _named_ Lazarus, of BETHANY,
the town of Mary and her sister Martha. (It was _that_ Mary which
anointed the Lord with ointment, and wiped His feet with her hair, whose
brother Lazarus was sick.) Therefore his sisters sent unto Him, saying,
Lord, behold, he whom Thou lovest is sick. When Jesus heard _that_, He
said, This sickness is not unto death, but for the glory of God, that
the Son of God might be glorified thereby. Now Jesus loved Martha, and
her sister, and Lazarus. When He had heard therefore that he was sick,
He abode two days still in the same place where He was."
* * *
"And after that He saith unto them, Our friend Lazarus sleepeth; but I
go, that I may awake him out of sleep. Then said His disciples, Lord, if
he sleep, he shall do well. Howbeit Jesus spake of His death: but they
thought that He had spoken of taking of rest in sleep. Then said Jesus
unto them plainly, Lazarus is dead. And I am glad for your sakes that I
was not there, to the intent ye may believe; nevertheless, let us go
unto him."
* * *
"Then, when Jesus came, He found that he had _lain_ in the grave four
days already. (Now BETHANY was nigh unto Jerusalem, about fifteen
furlongs off.) And many of the Jews came to Martha and Mary, to comfort
them concerning their brother. Then Martha, as soon as she heard that
Jesus was coming, went and met Him: but Mary sat _still_ in the house.
Then said Martha unto Jesus, Lord, if Thou hadst been here, my brother
had not died. But I know, that even now, whatsoever thou wilt ask of
God, God will give _it_ Thee. Jesus saith unto her, Thy brother shall
rise again. Martha saith unto Him, I know that he shall rise again in
the resurrection at the last day. Jesus said unto her, I am the
resurrection, and the life: He that believeth in Me, though he were
dead, yet shall he live: And whosoever liveth, and believeth in Me,
shall never die. Believest thou this? She saith unto Him, Yea, Lord: I
believe that Thou art the Christ, the Son of God, which should come into
the world. And when she had so said, she went her way, and called Mary
her sister secretly, saying, The Master is come, and calleth for thee.
As soon as she heard _that_, she arose quickly, and came unto Him. Now
Jesus was not yet come into the town, but was in that place where Martha
met Him. The Jews then which were with her in the house, and comforted
her, when they saw Mary, that she rose up hastily and went out, followed
her, saying, She goeth unto the grave to weep there. Then when Mary was
come where Jesus was, and saw Him, she fell down at His feet, saying
unto Him, Lord, if Thou hadst been here, my brother had not died. When
Jesus therefore saw her weeping, and the Jews also weeping which came
with her, He groaned in the spirit, and was troubled, and said, Where
have ye laid him? They say unto Him, Lord, come and see. Jesus wept.
Then said the Jews, Behold how He loved him! And some of them said,
Could not this man, which opened the eyes of the blind, have caused that
even this man should not have died! Jesus therefore again groaning in
Himself, cometh to the grave. It was a cave, and a stone lay upon it.
Jesus said, Take ye away the stone. Martha, the sister of him that was
dead, saith unto Him, Lord, by this time he stinketh: for he hath been
_dead_ four days. Jesus saith unto her, Said I not unto thee, that, if
thou wouldest believe, thou shouldest see the glory of God? Then they
took away the stone _from the place_ where the dead was laid. And Jesus
lifted up His eyes, and said, Father, I thank thee that Thou hast heard
Me. And I knew that Thou hearest Me always: but because of the people
which stand by I said _it_, that they may believe that Thou hast sent
Me. And when He thus had spoken, he cried with a loud voice, Lazarus,
come forth. And he that was dead came forth, bound hand and foot with
grave-clothes; and his face was bound about with a napkin. Jesus saith
unto them, Loose him, and let him go."
III.
Notices of Bethany subsequent to the Raising of Lazarus.
JOHN XII. 1-8.--"Then Jesus, six days before the Passover, came to
BETHANY, where Lazarus was which had been dead, whom he raised from the
dead. There they made Him a supper; and Martha served: but Lazarus was
one of them that sat at the table with Him. Then took Mary a pound of
ointment of spikenard, very costly, and anointed the feet of Jesus, and
wiped His feet with her hair: and the house was filled with the odour of
the ointment. Then saith one of His disciples, Judas Iscariot, Simon's
_s
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[Illustration: The White Terrace, Hot Lakes, New Zealand.
_Frontispiece._ Page 119.]
FORTY THOUSAND MILES OVER LAND AND WATER
The Journal of a Tour Through the British Empire and America
by
MRS. HOWARD VINCENT
With Numerous Illustrations
Third and Cheaper Edition.
London:
Sampson Low, Marston, Searle & Rivington,
Crown Buildings, 188, Fleet Street.
1886.
[All rights reserved.]
London:
Printed by Gilbert and Rivington, Limited,
St. John's Square.
TO
OUR FRIENDS,
THE CHILDREN OF THE METROPOLITAN AND CITY POLICE
ORPHANAGE,
This Journal is Dedicated
BY
THEIR CONSTANT WELL-WISHERS.
PREFACE.
My husband, during his six years' tenure of the office of Director of
Criminal Investigations, took the greatest interest in the Metropolitan
and City Police Orphanage.
In taking leave of his young friends he promised to keep for their
benefit a record of our travels through the British Empire and America.
I have endeavoured to the best of my power to relieve him of this task.
It is but a simple Journal of what we saw and did.
But if the Police will accept it, as a further proof of our admiration
and respect for them as a body, then I feel sure that others who may be
kind enough to read it will be lenient towards the shortcomings of a
first publication.
ETHEL GWENDOLINE VINCENT.
1, GROSVENOR SQUARE, LONDON.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
ACROSS THE ATLANTIC 1
CHAPTER II.
NEW YORK, HUDSON RIVER, AND NIAGARA FALLS 4
CHAPTER III.
THE DOMINION OF CANADA 17
CHAPTER IV.
THE AMERICAN LAKES, AND THE CENTRES OF LEARNING,
FASHION, AND GOVERNMENT 26
CHAPTER V.
TO THE FAR WEST 43
CHAPTER VI.
SAN FRANCISCO AND THE YOSEMITE VALLEY 66
CHAPTER VII.
ACROSS THE PACIFIC 88
CHAPTER VIII.
COACHING THROUGH THE NORTH ISLAND OF NEW
ZEALAND; ITS HOT LAKES AND GEYSERS 102
CHAPTER IX.
THE SOUTH ISLAND OF NEW ZEALAND; ITS ALPS AND
MOUNTAIN LAKES 146
CHAPTER X.
AUSTRALIA--TASMANIA, AND VICTORIA 161
CHAPTER XI.
AUSTRALIA--NEW SOUTH WALES, AND QUEENSLAND 181
CHAPTER XII.
WITHIN THE BARRIER REEF, THROUGH TORRES
STRAITS TO BATAVIA 200
CHAPTER XIII.
NETHERLANDS INDIA 212
CHAPTER XIV.
THE STRAITS SETTLEMENTS 235
CHAPTER XV.
THE METROPOLIS OF INDIA AND ITS HIMALAYAN
SANATORIUM 250
CHAPTER XVI.
THE SHRINES OF THE HINDU FAITH 274
CHAPTER XVII.
THE SCENES OF THE INDIAN MUTINY 287
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE CITIES OF THE GREAT MOGUL 304
CHAPTER XIX.
GWALIOR AND RAJPUTANA 332
CHAPTER XX.
THE HOME OF THE PARSEES 352
CHAPTER XXI.
THROUGH EGYPT--HOMEWARDS 361
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
The White Terrace, Hot Lakes, New Zealand _Frontispiece_
Route Map _to face_ 1
"That horrible fog-horn!" 1
Elevated-Railway, New York 6
Parliament Buildings, Ottawa _to face_ 22
The Capitol, Washington 40
The Royal Gorge of the Arkansas _to face_ 58
The Sentinel, Yosemite Valley " 77
The Cathedral Spires, Yosemite Valley 79
Big Tree, California 83
Maori Chieftain 110
Tuhuatahi Geyser, New Zealand 128
Lake Wakitipu, New Zealand 157
Government House, Melbourne _to face_ 165
Sydney Harbour " 182
Govett's Leap, Blue Mountains 191
Zig-zag on Railway, Blue Mountains _to face_ 192
Banyan Trees, Buitenzorg, Java " 227
Traveller's Palm, Singapore " 236
Jinricksha 249
The Hooghley, Calcutta _to face_ 251
The Darjeeling and Himalayan Railway " 263
Benares Bathing Ghât " 276
The Residency, Lucknow 288
The Imambara, Lucknow _to face_ 291
The Taj Mahal, Agra " 312
Column, Kutub Minar, Delhi " 329
The Caves of Elephanta, Bombay " 356
Cairene Woman 372
The Sphinx _to face_ 377
[Illustration: ROUTE MAP TO "FORTY THOUSAND MILES OVER LAND AND WATER" BY
MRS. HOWARD VINCENT.
_Route marked thus_ ----]
FORTY THOUSAND MILES OVER LAND AND WATER.
CHAPTER I.
ACROSS THE ATLANTIC.
[Illustration]
Lat. 43° 15´ N., Long. 50° 12´ W. All is intensely quiet. The revolution
even of the screw has ceased. We are wrapped in a fog so dense that we
feel almost unable to breathe.
We shudder as we look at the white pall drawn closely around us. The
decks and rigging are dripping, and everything on board is saturated
with moisture. We feel strangely alone. When hark! A discordant screech,
a hideous howl belches forth into the still air, to be immediately
smothered and lost in the fog. It is the warning cry of the fog-horn.
[Illustration: "That horrible fog-horn!"]
We are on board the White Star steamer _Germanic_, in mid-Atlantic, not
far off the great ice-banks of Newfoundland.
It was on Wednesday, the 2nd of July, that we left London, and embarked
from Liverpool on the 3rd.
I need not describe the previous bustle of preparation, the farewells to
be gone through for a long absence of nine months, the little crowd of
kind friends who came to see us off at Euston, nor our embarkation and
our last view of England.
I remember how dull and gloomy that first evening on board closed in, and
how a slight feeling of depression was not absent from us.
The next morning we were anchoring in Queenstown Harbour, and whilst
waiting for the arrival of the mails in the afternoon we went by train to
Cork.
The mails were on board the _Germanic_ by four o'clock. We weighed
anchor, and our voyage to America had commenced. The often advertised
quick passages across the Atlantic are only reckoned to and from
Queenstown. The sea-sick traveller hardly sees the point of this
computation of time, for the coasts of "ould Ireland" are as stormy and
of as much account as the remainder of the passage.
And now we have settled down into the usual idle life on board ship, a
life where eating and drinking plays the most important part. There is
a superfluity of concerts and literary entertainments, the proceeds in
one instance being devoted to the aid of a poor electrical engineer who
has had his arm fearfully torn in the machinery, and whose life was only
saved by the presence of mind of a comrade in cutting the strap.
Fine weather again at last, for we are past the banks so prolific in
storms and fog. The story goes that a certain captain much harassed by
the questioning of a passenger, who asked him "if it was always rough
here?" replied, "How should I know, sir? I don't live here."
We are nearing America, and may hope to land to-morrow.
The advent of the pilot is always an exciting event. There was a lottery
for his number and much betting upon the foot with which he would first
step on deck.
A boat came in sight early in the afternoon. There was general
excitement. But the captain refused this pilot as he had previously
nearly lost one of the company's ships. At this he stood up in his dinghy
and fiercely denounced us as we swept onwards, little heeding.
Another pilot came on board soon afterwards, but the news and papers he
brought us were very stale. These pilots have a very hard life; working
in firms of two or three, they often go out 500 miles in their cutters,
and lie about for days waiting to pick up vessels coming into port. The
fee varies according to the draught of the ship, but often exceeds 30_l._
At two o'clock a white line of surf is seen on the horizon. Land we know
is behind, and great is the joy of
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[Illustration]
MISS ELLIS'S MISSION.
BY MARY P. W. SMITH.
BOSTON:
AMERICAN UNITARIAN ASSOCIATION.
1886.
_Copyright, 1886_,
BY AMERICAN UNITARIAN ASSOCIATION.
University Press:
JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE.
TO
POST-OFFICE MISSION WORKERS,
WEST AND EAST,
AND TO EARNEST PEOPLE
EVERYWHERE.
"_It was a very contemptible barley-loaf she had to offer, compared
with your fine, white, wheaten cake of youth and riches and strength
and learning; but remember she offered her best freely, willingly,
faithfully; and when once a thing is offered, it is no longer the
little barley-loaf in the lad's hand, but the miraculous satisfying
Bread of Heaven in the hand of the Lord of the Harvest, more than
sufficient for the hungry multitude._"
* * * * *
"_'And so there is an end of poor Miss Toosey and her Mission!'...
Wait a bit! There is no waste in nature, science teaches us; neither
is there any in grace, says faith. We cannot always see the results,
but they are there as surely in grace as in nature._"
MISS TOOSEY'S MISSION.
MISS ELLIS'S MISSION.
This little sketch of Miss Ellis's life and work owes its first
suggestion to Rev. J. Ll. Jones, of Chicago, who soon after her death
wrote: "Why not try for a little memorial of her, to be accompanied with
some of the most touching and searching extracts from the letters both
received and written by her, and make it into a little booklet for the
instruction of Post Office Mission Workers?... Can you not make it
something as touching as 'Miss Toosey,' and far more practical,--that
is, for our own little household of faith?... We do not want it
primarily as a missionary tool, but as a wee fragment of the spiritual
history of the world,--something that will lift and touch the soul of
everybody.... In short, give us an enlightened Miss Toosey; her mission
being as much stronger as Sallie Ellis was more rational and mature than
the original 'Miss Toosey'!"
No one knowing Miss Ellis could read the touching little story of "Miss
Toosey's Mission" without being struck by a resemblance in the
characters, though a resemblance with a marked difference. As one said,
"I never saw her going up the church aisle Sundays, with her audiphone,
her little satchel, her bundle of books and papers, and her hymn-book,
without thinking of Miss Toosey." In both lives a seemingly powerless
and insignificant personality, through the force of a great yearning to
do a bit of God's work in the world, achieved its longing far beyond its
fondest dreams. As I read the many letters from all over the country
that have come since Miss Ellis's death, as I realize how the spiritual
force that burned in the soul of this small, feeble, seemingly helpless
woman reached out afar and touched many lives for their enduring
ennoblement, her life, so meagre and cramped in its outward aspect, so
vivid and intense within and on paper, seems to me not without a touch
of romance. To perpetuate a little longer the influence of that life is
the object of this sketch.
* * * * *
SALLIE ELLIS was born in Cincinnati, March 13, 1835. The old-fashioned
name Sallie, at that time popular in the South and West, was given her
in honor of an aunt. She disliked sailing under the false colors of
"Sarah." In letters she usually signed herself "S. Ellis," because, as
she explained to one correspondent, "I do not know myself as _Sarah_,
and Sallie is not dignified enough in writing to strangers; so I usually
prefer plain S." Late in life, however, for reasons of dignity, she
sometimes felt forced to adopt Sarah as what she called her "official
signature."
Her father, Mr. Rowland Ellis, was born in Boston, but while yet young
removed to Cincinnati, where he still lives in a vigorous and honored
old age. Although his mother, in all her later years at least, was a
devoted attendant upon Theodore Parker's services, Mr. Ellis in early
life was a Baptist. But when the Unit
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EIGHT GIRLS AND
A DOG
[Illustration: “‘WELL, YOU _ARE_ A PROPER-LOOKING LOT!’ MRS. LENNOX
EXCLAIMED AS THE GIRLS FILED IN.”]
S^{T}. NICHOLAS BOOKS
EIGHT
GIRLS AND
A DOG
_BY_ CAROLYN WELLS
NEW YORK • THE CENTURY CO • MCMIV
Copyright, 1902, by
THE CENTURY CO.
———
_Published October, 1902_
THE DEVINNE PRESS
TO
LOUISE FRANCES STEVENS
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I PILLOWS AND PITCHERS 3
II ON THE ROAD 22
III THE FUN BEGINS 41
IV THE “WHITECAP” 63
V THE ENCHANTED PRINCESS 82
VI HESTER’S DINNER 99
VII THE INDIAN CALLER 121
VIII FRITTERS AND SALAD 137
IX GENIUS BURNS 151
X THE PLAY’S THE THING 168
XI A SUCCESSFUL PERFORMANCE 187
XII THE BOYS’ ENTERTAINMENT 200
XIII HIDE-AND-SEEK 213
XIV WILLING SERVICE 231
XV HILARIOUS HOSPITALITY 244
XVI A WELCOME INVITATION 256
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
“Well, you _are_ a proper-looking _Frontispiece_
lot!” Mrs. Lennox exclaimed as
the girls filed in
“Mr. Bond is holding Timmy Loo,” 25
said Helen
Marjorie and Millicent ordering 51
things alternately
Millicent declared she looked like 61
Tweedledee prepared for his fight
with Tweedledum
“Who are you?” she said in a low, 93
mysterious whisper
“This is the only correct and 113
elegant way to fill a swing-lamp”
Timmy Loo 133
The gem of the collection 235
NOTE.—A portion of this book was published
in the “St. Nicholas Magazine”
under the title of “Hilarity Hall.”
EIGHT GIRLS AND
A DOG
CHAPTER I
PILLOWS AND PITCHERS
‟IS there any way to pack pillows in pitchers?” said Marjorie, framing
herself in the front doorway, one hand grasping recklessly the handles
of three large pitchers, and both arms full of sofa-pillows.
The group on the veranda looked up at her doubtfully.
“Yes,” said brilliant Nan. “Have your pitchers bigger than your pillows,
and the thing is done.”
“But the pillows are bigger than the pitchers.”
“Then pack the pitchers in the pillows,” said Betty.
“Why, of course! Betty, you’re a genius!” And Marjorie disappeared with
her burdens, while the girls on the veranda fell to chattering again
like half a dozen shirt-waisted magpies.
Now I know that a story with eight heroines is an imposition upon even
the gentlest of readers; but you see there were eight girls in the Blue
Ribbon Cooking Club; and when their president, Marjorie Bond, proposed
that they go down to Long Beach and spend a fortnight all by themselves
in her father’s cottage, the whole club rose up as one girl and voted
aye.
Objections were disposed of as fast as they were raised. Permission? The
girls were sure that the sixteen parents concerned could be persuaded to
see the matter in a favorable light. Expense? That should be divided
equally among them all. Trouble? Would be more than compensated by the
fun. Luggage? Not so very much required; the house was completely
furnished, except with linen and silver, and each girl should take her
share. Burglars? That idea caused some apprehension; but when Marjorie
said that Uncle Ned and Aunt Molly would be right next door, plans were
suggested sufficient to scare any reasonably cautious burglar out of his
wits. And so the preliminaries had been arranged, and the date decided
upon, and the day had come
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Distributed Proofreaders
The Turquoise Cup, and, The Desert
By
Arthur Cosslett Smith
1903
"KHADIJA BELIEVES IN ME"
CONTENTS
I The Turquoise Cup
II The Desert
THE TURQUOISE CUP
The Cardinal Archbishop sat on his shaded balcony, his well-kept hands
clasped upon his breast, his feet stretched out so straight before him
that the pigeon, perched on the rail of the balcony, might have seen
fully six inches of scarlet silk stocking.
The cardinal was a small man, but very neatly made. His hair was as
white as spun glass. Perhaps he was sixty; perhaps he was seventy;
perhaps he was fifty. His red biretta lay upon a near-by chair. His head
bore no tonsure. The razor of the barber and the scythe of Time had
passed him by. There was that faint tinge upon his cheeks that comes to
those who, having once had black beards, shave twice daily. His features
were clearly cut. His skin would have been pallid had it not been olive.
A rebellious lock of hair curved upon his forehead. He resembled the
first Napoleon, before the latter became famous and fat.
The pigeon's mate came floating through the blue sky that silhouetted
the trees in the garden. She made a pretence of alighting upon the
balcony railing, sheered off, coquetted among the treetops, came back
again, retreated so far that she was merely a white speck against the
blue vault, and then, true to her sex, having proved her liberty only to
tire of it, with a flight so swift that the eye could scarcely follow
her, she came back again and rested upon the farther end of the balcony,
where she immediately began to preen herself and to affect an air of
nonchalance and virtue.
Her mate lazily opened one eye, which regarded her for a moment, and
then closed with a wink.
"Ah, my friends," said the cardinal, "there are days when you make me
regret that I am not of the world, but this is not one of them. You have
quarrelled, I perceive. When you build your nest down yonder in the
cote, I envy you. When you are giving up your lives to feeding your
children, I envy you. I watch your flights for food for them. I say to
myself, 'I, too, would struggle to keep a child, if I had one. Commerce,
invention, speculation--why could I not succeed in one of these? I have
arrived in the most intricate profession of all. I am a cardinal
archbishop. Could I not have been a stockbroker?' Ah, signore and
signora," and he bowed to the pigeons, "you get nearer heaven than we
poor mortals. Have you learned nothing--have you heard no whisper--have
you no message for me?"
"Your eminence," said a servant who came upon the balcony, a silver tray
in his hand, "a visitor."
The cardinal took the card and read it aloud--"The Earl of Vauxhall."
He sat silent a moment, thinking. "I do not know him," he said at
length; "but show him up."
He put on his biretta, assumed a more erect attitude, and then turned to
the pigeons.
"Adieu," he said; "commercialism approaches in the person of an
Englishman. He comes either to buy or to sell. You have nothing in
common with him. Fly away to the Piazza, but come back tomorrow. If you
do not, I shall miss you sorely."
The curtains parted, and the servant announced, "The Earl of Vauxhall."
The cardinal rose from his chair.
A young man stepped upon the balcony. He was tall and lithe and blond,
and six-and-twenty.
"Your grace," he said, "I have come because I am in deep trouble."
"In that event," said the cardinal, "you do me much honor. My vocation
is to seek out those who are in trouble. When _they_ seek _me_ it argues
that I am not unknown. You are an Englishman. You may speak your own
language. It is not the most flexible, but it is an excellent vehicle
for the truth."
"Thank you," said the young man; "that gives me a better chance, since
my Italian is of the gondolier type. I speak it mostly with my arms,"
and he began to gesticulate.
"I understand," said the cardinal, smiling, "and I fear that my English
is open to some criticism. I picked it up in the University of Oxford.
My friends in the Vatican tell me that it is a patois."
"I dare say," said the young man. "I was at Cambridge."
"Ah," said the cardinal, "
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BIRDS.
ILLUSTRATED BY COLOR PHOTOGRAPHY
================================
VOL. III. FEBRUARY, 1898. NO. 2.
================================
GILBERT WHITE AND "SELBORNE."
I suppose that a habit of minute observation of nature is one of the
most difficult things to acquire, as it is one which is less generally
pursued than any other study. In almost all departments of learning and
investigation there have been numberless works published to illustrate
them, and text books would fill the shelves of a large library. Thoreau
in his "Walden" has shown an extremely fine and close observation of the
scenes in which his all too short life was passed, but his object does
not seem at any time to have been the study of nature from an essential
love of it, or to add to his own or the world's knowledge. On the
contrary, nature was the one resource which enabled him to exemplify his
notions of independence, which were of such a sturdy and uncompromising
character that Mr. Emerson, who had suffered some inconvenience from his
experience of Thoreau as an inmate of his household, thought him fitter
to meet occasionally in the open air than as a guest at table and
fireside. There is a delicious harmony with nature in all that he has
written, but his descriptions of out-of-door life invite us rather to
indolent musing than to investigation or study. Who after reading Izaak
Walton ever went a-fishing with the vigor and enterprise of Piscator?
Washington Irving allowed his cork to drift with the current and lay
down in the shadow of a spreading oak to dream with the beloved old
author.
In White's "Natural History of Selborne" we have a unique book indeed,
but of a far more general interest than its title would indicate. Pliny,
the elder, was the father of natural history but to many of us Gilbert
White is entitled to that honor. To an early edition of the book,
without engravings, and much abridged, as compared with Bohn's,
published in 1851, many owe their first interest in the subject.
Mr. Ireland in his charming little "Book Lover's Enchiridion," tells us
that when a boy he was so delighted with it, that in order to possess a
copy of his own (books were not so cheap as now) he actually copied out
the whole work. In a list of one hundred books, Sir John Lubbock
mentions it as "an inestimable blessing." Edward Jesse, author of
"Gleanings in Natural History" attributes his own pursuits as an
out-door naturalist entirely to White's example. Much of the charm of
the book consists in the amiable character of the author, who
"----lived in solitude, midst trees and flowers,
Life's sunshine mingling with its passing showers;
No storms to startle, and few clouds to shade
The even path his Christian virtues made."
Very little is known of him beyond what he has chosen to mention in
his diaries, which were chiefly records of his daily studies and
observations, and in his correspondence, from which the "history" is in
fact made up. From these it is evident that his habits were secluded and
that he was strongly attached to the charms of rural life. He says the
greater part of his time was spent in literary occupations, and
especially in the study of nature. He was born July 18, 1720, in the
house in which he died. His father was his first instructor in natural
history, and to his brother Thomas, a fellow of the Royal Society, he
was indebted for many suggestions for his work. It is also to his
brother's influence that we owe the publication of the book, as it
required much persuasion to induce the philosopher to pass through the
ordeal of criticism, "having a great dread of Reviewers," those
incorrigible _betes noires_ of authors. His brother promising himself to
review the work in the "Gentleman's Magazine," White reluctantly
consented to its publication. The following short abstract from the
review will show its quality, as well as suggest a possible answer to
the current question propounded by students of the census.
"Contemplative persons see with regret the country more and more
deserted every day, as they know that every well-regulated family of
property which quits a village to reside in a town, injures the place
that is forsaken in material circumstances. It is with pleasure,
therefore, we observe that so rational an employment of leisure hours as
the study of nature promises to become popular, since whatever adds to
the number of rural amusements, and consequently counteracts the
allurements of the metropolis is, on this consideration, of national
importance."
It is to be feared, however, that many stronger influences than this of
the study of nature will be necessary to keep the young men of the
present day from the great cities. Indeed, modern naturalists
themselves spend the greater part of their lives at the centers of
knowledge and only make temporary sallies into
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See 24696-h.htm or 24696-h.zip:
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THE DAUGHTER OF A MAGNATE
by
FRANK H. SPEARMAN
Author of
Whispering Smith,
Doctor Bryson, Etc.
[Frontispiece: Gertrude used her glass constantly.]
Grosset & Dunlap
Publishers : : New York
Copyright, 1903, by
Charles Scribner's Sons
Published, October, 1903
To
WESLEY HAMILTON PECK, M.D.
CONTENTS
CHAP.
I. A JUNE WATER
II. AN ERROR AT HEADQUARTERS
III. INTO THE MOUNTAINS
IV. AS THE DESPATCHER SAW
V. AN EMERGENCY CALL
VI. THE CAT AND THE RAT
VII. TIME BEING MONEY
VIII. SPLITTING THE PAW
IX. A TRUCE
X. AND A SHOCK
XI. IN THE LALLA ROOKH
XII. A SLIP ON A SPECIAL
XIII. BACK TO THE MOUNTAINS
XIV. GLEN TARN
XV. NOVEMBER
XVI. NIGHT
XVII. STORM
XVIII. DAYBREAK
XIX. SUSPENSE
XX. DEEPENING WATERS
XXI. PILOT
XXII. THE SOUTH ARETE
XXIII. BUSINESS
The Daughter of a Magnate
CHAPTER I
A JUNE WATER
The train, a special, made up of a private car and a diner, was running
on a slow order and crawled between the bluffs at a snail's pace.
Ahead, the sun was sinking into the foothills and wherever the eye
could reach to the horizon barren wastes lay riotously green under the
golden blaze. The river, swollen everywhere out of its banks, spread
in a broad and placid flood of yellow over the bottoms, and a hundred
shallow lakes studded with willowed islands marked its wandering course
to the south and east. The clear, far air of the mountains, the glory
of the gold on the June hills and the illimitable stretch of waters
below, spellbound the group on the observation platform.
"It's a pity, too," declared Conductor O'Brien, who was acting as
mountain Baedeker, "that we're held back this way when we're covering
the prettiest stretch on the road for running. It is right along here
where you are riding that the speed records of the world have been
made. Fourteen and six-tenths miles were done in nine and a half
minutes just west of that curve about six months ago--of course it was
down hill."
Several of the party were listening. "Do you use speed recorders out
here?" asked Allen Harrison.
"How's that?"
"Do you use speed recorders?"
"Only on our slow trains," replied O'Brien. "To put speed recorders on
Paddy McGraw or Jimmie the Wind would be like timing a teal duck with
an eight-day clock. Sir?" he asked, turning to another questioner
while the laugh lingered on his side. "No; those are not really
mountains at all. Those are the foothills of the Sleepy Cat
range--west of the Spider Water. We get into that range about two
hundred miles from here--well, I say they are west of the Spider, but
for ten days it's been hard to say exactly where the Spider is. The
Spider is making us all the trouble with high water just now--and we're
coming out into the valley in about a minute," he added as the car gave
an embarrassing lurch. "The track is certainly soft, but if you'll
stay right where you are, on this side, ladies, you'll get the view of
your lives when we leave the bluffs. The valley is about nine miles
broad and it's pretty much all under water."
Beyond the curve they were taking lay a long tangent stretching like a
steel wand across a sea of yellow, and as their engine felt its way
very gingerly out upon it there rose from the slow-moving trucks of
their car the softened resonance that tells of a sounding-board of
waters.
Soon they were drawn among wooded knolls between which hurried little
rivers tossed out of the Spider flood into dry waterways and brawling
with surprised stones and foaming noisily at stubborn root and
impassive culvert. Through the trees the travellers caught passing
glimpses of shaded eddies and a wilderness of placid pools. "And
this," murmured Gertrude Brock to her sister Marie, "this is the
Spider!" O'Brien, talking to the men at her elbow, overheard.
"Hardly, Miss Brock; not yet. You haven't seen the river yet. This is
only the backwater."
They were rising the grade to the bridge approach, and when they
emerged a few moments later from the woods the conductor said, "There!"
The panorama of the valley lay before them. High above their level and
a mile away, the long thread-like spans of Hailey's great bridge
stretched from pier to pier. To the right of the higher ground a fan
of sidetracks spread, with lines of flat cars and gondolas loaded with
stone, brush, piling and timbers, and in the foreground two hulking
pile-drivers, their leads, like rabbits' ears laid sleekly back,
squatted mysteriously. Switch engines puffed impatiently up and down
the ladder track shifting stuff to the distant spurs. At the river
front an army of men moved like loaded ants over the dikes. Beyond
them the eye could mark the boiling yellow of the Spider, its winding
channel marked through the waste of waters by whirling driftwood,
bobbing wreckage and plunging trees--sweepings of a thousand angry
miles. "There's the Spider," repeated the West End conductor,
pointing, "out there in the middle where you see things moving right
along. That's the Spider, on a twenty-year rampage." The train,
moving slowly, stopped. "I guess we've got as close to it as we're
going to, for a while. I'll take a look forward."
It was the time of the June water in the mountains. A year earlier the
rise had taken the Peace River bridge and with the second heavy year of
snow railroad men looked for new trouble. June is not a month for
despair, because the mountain men have never yet scheduled despair as a
West End liability. But it is a month that puts wrinkles in the right
of way clear across the desert and sows gray hairs in the roadmasters'
records from McCloud to Bear Dance. That June the mountain streams
roared, the foothills floated, the plains puffed into sponge, and in
the thick of it all the Spider Water took a man-slaughtering streak and
started over the Bad Lands across lots. The big river forced Bucks'
hand once more, and to protect the main line Glover, third of the
mountain roadbuilders, was ordered off the high-line construction and
back to the hills where Brodie and Hailey slept, to watch the Spider.
The special halted on a tongue of high ground flanking the bridge and
extending upstream to where the river was gnawing at the long dike that
held it off the approach. The delay was tedious. Doctor Lanning and
Allen Harrison went forward to smoke. Gertrude Brock took refuge in a
book and Mrs. Whitney, her aunt, annoyed her with stories. Marie Brock
and Louise Donner placed their chairs where they could watch the
sorting and unloading of never-ending strings of flat cars, the
spasmodic activity in the lines of laborers, the hurrying of the
foremen and the movement of the rapidly shifting fringe of men on the
danger line at the dike.
The clouds which had opened for the dying splendor of the day closed
and a shower swept over the valley; the conductor came back in his
raincoat--his party were at dinner. "_Are_ we to be detained much
longer?" asked Mrs. Whitney.
"For a little while, I'm afraid," replied the trainman diplomatically.
"I've been away over there on the dike to see if I could get permission
to cross, but I didn't succeed."
"Oh, conductor!" remonstrated Louise Donner.
"And we don't get to Medicine Bend to-night," said Doctor Lanning.
"What we need is a man of influence," suggested Harrison. "We ought
never to have let your 'pa' go," he added, turning to Gertrude Brock,
beside whom he sat.
"Can't we really get ahead?" Gertrude lifted her brows reproachfully
as she addressed the conductor. "It's becoming very tiresome."
O'Brien shook his head.
"Why not see someone in authority?" she persisted.
"I have seen the man in authority, and nearly fell into the river doing
it; then he turned me down."
"Did you tell him who we were?" demanded Mrs. Whitney.
"I made all sorts of pleas."
"Does he know that Mr. Bucks _promised_ we should be In Medicine Bend
to-night?" asked pretty little Marie Brock.
"He wouldn't in the least mind that."
Mrs. Whitney bridled. "Pray who is he?"
"The construction engineer of the mountain division is the man in
charge of the bridge just at present."
"It would be a very simple matter to get orders over his head,"
suggested Harrison.
"Not very."
"Mr. Bucks?"
"Hardly. No orders would take us over that bridge to-night without
Glover's permission."
"What an autocrat!" sighed Mrs. Whitney. "No matter; I don't care to
go over it, anyway."
"But I do," protested Gertrude. "I don't feel like staying in this
water all night, if you please."
"I'm afraid that's what we'll have to do for a few hours. I told Mr.
Glover he would be in trouble if I didn't get my people to Medicine
Bend to-night."
"Tell him again," laughed Doctor Lanning.
Conductor O'Brien looked embarrassed. "You'd like to ask particular
leave of Mr. Glover for us, I know," suggested Miss Donner.
"Well, hardly--the second time--not of Mr. Glover." A sheet of rain
drenched the plate-glass windows. "But I'm going to watch things and
we'll get out just as soon as possible. I know Mr. Glover pretty well.
He is all right, but he's been down here now a week without getting out
of his clothes and the river rising on him every hour. They've got
every grain bag between Salt Lake and Chicago and they're filling them
with sand and dumping them in where the river is cutting."
"Any danger of the bridge going?" asked the doctor.
"None in the world, but there's a lot of danger that the river will go.
That would leave the bridge hanging over dry land. The fight is to
hold the main channel where it belongs. They're getting rock over the
bridge from across the river and strengthening the approach for fear
the dike should give way. The track is busy every minute, so I
couldn't make much impression on Mr. Glover."
There was light talk of a deputation to the dike, followed by the
resignation of travellers, cards afterward, and ping-pong. With the
deepening of the night the rain fell harder, and the wind rising in
gusts drove it against the glass. When the women retired to their
compartments the train had been set over above the bridge where the
wind, now hard from the southeast, sung steadily around the car.
Gertrude Brock could not sleep. After being long awake she turned on
the light and looked at her watch; it was one o'clock. The wind made
her restless and the air in the stateroom had become oppressive. She
dressed and opened her door. The lights were very low and the car was
silent; all were asleep.
At the rear end she raised a window-shade. The night was lighted by
strange waves of lightning, and thunder rumbled in the distance
unceasingly. Where she sat she could see the sidings filled with cars,
and when a sharper flash lighted the backwater of the lakes, vague
outlines of far-off bluffs beetled into the sky.
She drew the shade, for the continuous lightning added to her disquiet.
As she did so the rain drove harshly against the car and she retreated
to the other side. Feeling presently the coolness of the air she
walked to her stateroom for her Newmarket coat, and wrapping it about
her, sunk into a chair and closed her eyes. She had hardly fallen
asleep when a crash of thunder split the night and woke her. As it
rolled angrily away she quickly raised the window-curtain.
The heavens were frenzied. She looked toward the river. Electrical
flashes charging from end to end of the angry sky lighted the bridge,
reflected the black face of the river and paled flickering lights and
flaming torches where, on vanishing stretches of dike, an army of dim
figures, moving unceasingly, lent awe to the spectacle.
She could see smoke from the hurrying switch engines whirled viciously
up into the sweeping night and above her head the wind screamed. A
gale from the southwest was hurling the Spider against the revetment
that held the eastern shore and the day and the night gangs together
were reinforcing it. Where the dike gave under the terrific pounding,
or where swiftly boiling pools sucked under the heavy piling, Glover's
men were sinking fresh relays of mattresses and loading them with stone.
At moments laden flat cars were pushed to the brink of the flood, and
men with picks and bars rose spirit-like out of black shadows to
scramble up their sides and dump rubble on the sunken brush. Other men
toiling in unending procession wheeled and slung sandbags upon the
revetment; others stirred crackling watchfires that leaped high into
the rain, and over all played the incessant lightning and the angry
thunder and the flying night.
She shut from her eyes the strangely moving sight, returned to her
compartment, closed her door and lay down. It was quieter within the
little room and the fury of the storm was less appalling.
Half dreaming as she lay, mountains shrouded in a deathly lightning
loomed wavering before her, and one, most terrible of all, she strove
unwillingly to climb. Up she struggled, clinging and slipping, a
cramping fear over all her senses, her ankles clutched in icy fetters,
until from above, an apparition, strange and threatening, pushed her,
screaming, and she swooned into an awful gulf.
"Gertrude! Gertrude! Wake up!" cried a frightened voice.
The car was rocking in the wind, and as Gertrude opened her door Louise
Donner stumbled terrified into her arms. "Did you hear that awful,
awful crash? I'm sure the car has been struck."
"No, no, Louise."
"It surely has been. Oh, let us waken the men at once, Gertrude; we
shall be killed!"
The two clung to one another. "I'm afraid to stay alone, Gertrude,"
sobbed her companion.
"Stay with me, Louise. Come." While they spoke the wind died and for
a moment the lightning ceased, but the calm, like the storm, was
terrifying. As they stood breathless a report like the ripping of a
battery burst over their heads, a blast shook the heavy car and howled
shrilly away.
Sleep was out of the question. Gertrude looked at her watch. It was
four o'clock. The two dressed and sat together till daylight. When
morning broke, dark and gray, the storm had passed and out of the
leaden sky a drizzle of rain was falling. Beside the car men were
moving. The forward door was open and the conductor in his stormcoat
walked in.
"Everything is all right this morning, ladies," he smiled.
"All right? I should think everything all wrong," exclaimed Louise.
"We have been frightened to death."
"They've got the cutting stopped," continued O'Brien, smiling. "Mr.
Glover has left the dike. He just told me the river had fallen six
inches since two o'clock. We'll be out of here now as quick as we can
get an engine: they've been switching with ours. There was
considerable wind in the night----"
"Considerable _wind_!"
"You didn't notice it, did you? Glover loaded the bridge with freight
trains about twelve o'clock and I'm thinking it's lucky, for when the
wind went into the northeast about four o'clock I thought it would take
my head off. It snapped like dynamite clear across the valley."
"Oh, we heard!"
"When the wind jumped, a crew was dumping stone into the river. The
men were ordered off the flat cars but there were so many they didn't
all get the word at once, and while the foreman was chasing them down
he was blown clean into the river."
"Drowned?"
"No, he was not. He crawled out away down by the bridge, though a man
couldn't have done it once in a thousand times. It was old Bill
Dancing--he's got more lives than a cat. Do you remember where we
first pulled up the train in the afternoon? A string of ten box cars
stood there last night and when the wind shifted it blew the whole
bunch off the track."
"Oh, do let us get away from here," urged Gertrude. "I feel as if
something worse would happen if we stayed. I'm sorry we ever left
McCloud yesterday."
The men came from their compartments and there was more talk of the
storm.
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Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders
THE CALLING OF DAN MATTHEWS
BY
HAROLD BELL WRIGHT
1909
AUTHOR OF
"THE SHEPHERD OF THE HILLS"
"THAT PRINTER OF UDELL'S"
_With Illustrations by_
ARTHUR I. KELLER
TO
WILLIAM WILLIAMS, M.D.
CONTENTS
I. THE HOME OF THE ALLY
II. A REVELATION
III. A GREAT DAY IN CORINTH
IV. WHO ARE THEY?
V. HOPE FARWELL'S MINISTRY
VI. THE CALLING OF DAN MATTHEWS
VII. FROM DEBORAH'S PORCH
VIII. THE WORK OF THE ALLY
IX. THE EDGE OF THE BATTLEFIELD
X. A MATTER OF OPINION
XI. REFLECTIONS
XII. THE NURSE FORGETS
XIII. DR. HARRY'S CASE
XIV. THAT GIRL OF CONNER'S
XV. THE MINISTER'S OPPORTUNITY
XVI. DAN SEES THE OTHER SIDE
XVII. THE TRAGEDY
XVIII. TO SAVE A LIFE
XIX. ON FISHING
XX. COMMON GROUND
XXI. THE WARNING
XXII. AS DR. HARRY SEES IT
XXIII. A PARABLE
XXIV. THE WAY OUT
XXV. A LABORER AND HIS HIRE
XXVI. THE WINTER PASSES
XXVII. DEBORAH'S TROUBLE
XXVIII. A FISHERMAN
XXIX. A MATTER OF BUSINESS
XXX. THE DAUGHTER OF THE CHURCH
XXXI. THE REALITY
XXXII. THE BARRIER
XXXIII. HEART'S TRAGEDIES
XXXIV. SACRIFICED
XXXV. THE TIE THAT BINDS
XXXVI. GOOD-BYE
XXXVII. RESULTS
XXXVIII. A HANDFUL OF GOLD
XXXIX. THE VICTORY OF THE ALLY
XL. THE DOCTOR'S GLASSES
XLI. THE FINAL WORD
XLII. JUSTICE
XLIII. THE HOME COMING
XLIV. THE OLD TRAIL
ILLUSTRATIONS
Drawn by
ARTHUR I. KELLER
WITH THE DOCTOR THE TWO STRANGERS IN CORINTH TOOK DENNY TO HIS HOME
"--YOU MUST BE IN LIFE A FISHERMAN"
A GOOD-BYE CARESS
DAN PLEADED WITH HIM
The Calling of Dan Matthews
CHAPTER I.
THE HOME OF THE ALLY
"And because the town of this story is what it is, there came to dwell
in it a Spirit--a strange, mysterious power--playful, vicious, deadly; a
Something to be at once feared and courted; to be denied--yet confessed
in the denial; a deadly enemy, a welcome friend, an all-powerful Ally."
This story began in the Ozark Mountains. It follows the trail that is
nobody knows how old. But mostly this story happened in Corinth, a town
of the middle class in a Middle Western state.
There is nothing peculiar about Corinth. The story might have happened
just as well in any other place, for the only distinguishing feature
about this town is its utter lack of any distinguishing feature whatever.
In all the essential elements of its life, so far as this story goes,
Corinth is exactly like every other village, town or city in the land.
This, indeed, is why the story happened in this particular place.
Years ago, when the railroad first climbed the backbone of the Ozarks, it
found Corinth already located on the summit. Even before the war, this
county-seat town was a place of no little importance, and many a good
tale might be told of those exciting days when the woods were full of
guerrillas and bushwhackers, and the village was raided first by one
side, then by the other. Many a good tale is told, indeed; for the
fathers and mothers of Corinth love to talk of the war times, and to
point out in Old Town the bullet-marked buildings and the scenes of many
thrilling events.
But the sons and daughters of the passing generation, with their sons
and daughters, like better to talk of the great things that are going to
be--when the proposed shoe-factory comes, the talked-of mills are
established, the dreamed-of electric line is built out from the city, or
the Capitalist from Somewhere-else arrives to invest in vacant lots,
thereon to build new hotels and business blocks.
The Doctor says that in the whole history of Corinth there are only two
events. The first was the coming of the railroad; the second was the
death of the Doctor's good friend, the Statesman.
The railroad did not actually enter Corinth. It stopped at the front
gate. But with Judge Strong's assistance the fathers and mothers
recognized their "golden opportunity" and took the step which the
eloquent Judge assured them would result in a "glorious future." They
left the beautiful, well-drained site chosen by those who cleared the
wilderness, and stretched themselves out along the mud-flat on either
side of the sacred right-of-way--that same mud-flat being, incidentally,
the property of the patriotic Judge.
Thus Corinth took the railroad to her heart, literally. The depot, the
yards, the red section-house and the water-tank are all in the very
center of the town. Every train while stopping for water (and they
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THE MAHATMA AND THE HARE
A DREAM STORY
by H. Rider Haggard
"Ultimately a good hare was found which took the field at...
There the hounds pressed her, and on the hunt arriving at the edge
of the cliff the hare could be seen crossing the beach and going
right out to sea. A boat was procured, and the master and some
others rowed out to her just as she drowned, and, bringing the
body in, gave it to the hounds. A hare swimming out to sea is a
sight not often witnessed."--_Local paper, January_ 1911.
"... A long check occurred in the latter part of this hunt, the
hare having laid up in a hedgerow, from which she was at last
evicted by a crack of the whip. Her next place of refuge was a
horse-pond, which she tried to swim, but got stuck in the ice
midway, and was sinking, when the huntsman went in after her. It
was a novel sight to see huntsman and hare being lifted over a
wall out of the pond, the eager pack waiting for their prey behind
the wall."--_Local paper, February_ 1911.
*****
The author supposes that the first of the above extracts must have
impressed him. At any rate, on the night after the reading of it, just
as he went to sleep, or on the following morning just as he awoke, he
cannot tell which, there came to him the title and the outlines of this
fantasy, including the command with which it ends. With a particular
clearness did he seem to see the picture of the Great White Road,
"straight as the way of the Spirit, and broad as the breast of Death,"
and of the little Hare travelling towards the awful Gates.
Like the Mahatma of this fable, he expresses no opinion as to the merits
of the controversy between the Red-faced Man and the Hare that, without
search on his own part, presented itself to his mind in so odd a
fashion. It is one on which anybody interested in such matters can form
an individual judgment.
THE MAHATMA[*]
[*] Mahatma, "great-souled." "One of a class of persons with
preter-natural powers, imagined to exist in India and
Thibet."--_New English Dictionary_.
Everyone has seen a hare, either crouched or running in the fields,
or hanging dead in a poulterer's shop, or lastly pathetic, even
dreadful-looking and in this form almost indistinguishable from a
skinned cat, on the domestic table. But not many people have met a
Mahatma, at least to their knowledge. Not many people know even who or
what a Mahatma is. The majority of those who chance to have heard the
title are apt to confuse it with another, that of Mad Hatter.
This is even done of malice prepense (especially, for obvious reasons,
if a hare is in any way concerned) in scorn, not in ignorance, by
persons who are well acquainted with the real meaning of the word and
even with its Sanscrit origin. The truth is that an incredulous Western
world puts no faith in Mahatmas. To it a Mahatma is a kind of spiritual
Mrs. Harris, giving an address in Thibet at which no letters are
delivered. Either, it says, there is no such person, or he is a
fraudulent scamp with no greater occult powers--well, than a hare.
I confess that this view of Mahatmas is one that does not surprise me
in the least. I never met, and I scarcely expect to meet, an individual
entitled to set "Mahatma" after his name. Certainly _I_ have no right to
do so, who only took that title on the spur of the moment when the Hare
asked me how I was called, and now make use of it as a _nom-de-plume_.
It is true there is Jorsen, by whose order, for it amounts to that, I
publish this history. For aught I know Jorsen may be a Mahatma, but he
does not in the least look the part.
Imagine a bluff person with a strong, hard face, piercing grey eyes, and
very prominent, bushy eyebrows, of about fifty or sixty years of age.
Add a Scotch accent and a meerschaum pipe, which he smokes even when he
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TREATISES ON FRIENDSHIP AND OLD AGE
By Marcus Tullius Cicero
Translated by E. S. Shuckburgh
INTRODUCTORY NOTE
MARCUS TULLIUS CICERO, the greatest of Roman orators and the chief
master of Latin prose style, was born at Arpinum, Jan. 3, 106 B.C.
His father, who was a man of property and belonged to the class of
the "Knights," moved to Rome when Cicero was a child; and the future
statesman received an elaborate education in rhetoric, law, and
philosophy, studying and practising under some of the most noted
teachers of the time. He began his career as an advocate at the age of
twenty-five, and almost immediately came to be recognized not only as a
man of brilliant talents but also as a courageous upholder of justice in
the face of grave political danger. After two years of practice he left
Rome to travel in Greece and Asia, taking all the opportunities that
offered to study his art under distinguished masters. He returned to
Rome greatly improved in health and in professional skill, and in 76
B. C. was elected to the office of quaestor. He was assigned to the
province of Lilybaeum in Sicily, and the vigor and justice of his
administration earned him the gratitude of the inhabitants. It was at
their request that he undertook in 70 B. C. the Prosecution of Verres,
who as Praetor had subjected the Sicilians to incredible extortion and
oppression; and his successful conduct of this case, which ended in the
conviction and banishment of Verres, may be said to have launched him
on his political career. He became aedile in
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Proofreading team
THE MONEYCHANGERS
By Upton Sinclair
New York
1908
To Jack London
CHAPTER I
"I am," said Reggie Mann, "quite beside myself to meet this Lucy
Dupree."
"Who told you about her?" asked Allan Montague.
"Ollie's been telling everybody about her," said Reggie. "It sounds
really wonderful. But I fear he must have exaggerated."
"People seem to develop a tendency to exaggeration," said Montague,
"when they talk about Lucy."
"I am in quite a state about her," said Reggie.
Allan Montague looked at him and smiled. There were no visible signs
of agitation about Reggie. He had come to take Alice to church, and
he was exquisitely groomed and perfumed, and wore a wonderful
scarlet orchid in his buttonhole. Montague, lounging back in a big
leather chair and watching him, smiled to himself at the thought
that Reggie regarded Lucy as a new kind of flower, with which he
might parade down the Avenue and attract attention.
"Is she large or small?" asked Reggie.
"She is about your size," said Montague,--which was very small
indeed.
Alice entered at this moment in a new spring costume. Reggie sprang
to his feet, and greeted her with his inevitable effusiveness.
When he asked, "Do you know her, too?"
"Who? Lucy?" asked Alice. "I went to school with her."
"Judge Dupree's plantation was next to ours," said Montague. "We all
grew up together."
"There was hardly a day that I did not see her until she was
married," said Alice. "She was married at seventeen, you know--to a
man much older than herself."
"We have never seen her since that," added the other. "She has lived
in New Orleans."
"And only twenty-two now," exclaimed Reggie. "All the wisdom of a
widow and the graces of an ingenue!" And he raised his hands with a
gesture of admiration.
"Has she got money?" he asked.
"She had enough for New Orleans," was the reply. "I don't know about
New York."
"Ah well," he said meditatively, "there's plenty of money lying
about."
He took Alice away to her devotions, leaving Montague to the
memories which the mention of Lucy Dupree awakened.
Allan Montague had been in love with Lucy a half a dozen times in
his life; it had begun when she was a babe in arms, and continued
intermittently until her marriage. Lucy was a beauty of the creole
type, with raven-black hair and gorgeous colouring; and Allan
carried with him everywhere the face of joy, with the quick, mobile
features across which tears and laughter chased like April showers
across the sky.
Lucy was a tiny creature, as he had said, but she was a well-spring
of abounding energy. She had been the life of a lonely household
from the first hour, and all who came near her yielded to her spell.
Allan remembered one occasion when he had entered the house and seen
the grave and venerable chief justice of the State down upon his
hands and knees, with Lucy on his back.
She was a born actress, everybody said. When she was no more than
four, she would lie in bed when she should have been asleep, and
tell herself tragic stories to make her weep. Before long she had
discovered several chests full of the clothes which her mother had
worn in the days when she was a belle of the old plantation society;
and then Lucy would have tableaus and theatricals, and would
astonish all beholders in the role of an Oriental princess or a
Queen of the Night.
Her mother had died when she was very young, and she had grown up
with only her father for a companion. Judge Dupree was one of the
rich men of the neighbourhood, and he lavished everything upon his
daughter; but people had said that Lucy would suffer for the lack of
a woman's care, and the prophecy had been tragically fulfilled.
There had come a man, much older than herself, but with a glamour of
romance about him; and the wonder of love had suddenly revealed
itself to Lucy, and swept her away as no emotion had ever done
before.
One day she disappeared, and Montague had never seen her again. He
knew that she had gone to New Orleans to live, and he heard rumours
that she was very unhappy, that her husband was a spendthrift and a
rake. Scarcely a year after her marriage Montague heard the story of
his death by an accident while driving.
He had heard no more until a short time after his coming to New
York, when the home papers had reported the death of Judge Dupree.
And then a week or so ago had come a letter from Lucy, to his
brother, Oliver Montague, saying that she was coming to New York,
perhaps to live permanently
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nepage&q=&f=false
THE
NEPHEWS:
A PLAY,
IN FIVE ACTS.
* * * * *
FREELY TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF
_WILLIAM AUGUSTUS IFFLAND,_
BY
HANNIBAL EVANS LLOYD, ESQ.
* * * * *
LONDON:
PRINTED BY W. AND C. SPILSBURY, SNOWHILL;
AND SOLD BY G. G. AND J. ROBINSON, PATERNOSTER-ROW;
CADELL AND DAVIES, STRAND; J. DEBRETT,
PICCADILLY; AND J. BELL, OXFORD-STREET.
M.DCC.XCIX.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
CHANCELLOR FLEFFEL.
COUNSELLOR FLEFFEL, his Son.
MR. DRAVE, a Merchant, Guardian to the two BROOKS.
LEWIS BROOK, \
> Brothers
PHILIP BROOK, /
MR. ROSE, a Banker.
Clerk to the Chancellor.
Old Man.
FREDERICK DRAVE's Servant.
MRS. DRAVE.
AUGUSTA.
THE NEPHEWS.
_ACT I._
SCENE I.
At the Chancellor's House.
COUNSELLOR FLEFFEL, LEWIS BROOK, at Breakfast.
Enter a Serv
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[Illustration]
OUTINGS
AT ODD TIMES
BY
CHARLES C. ABBOTT, M. D.
AUTHOR OF A NATURALIST’S RAMBLES ABOUT HOME,
DAYS OUT OF DOORS, ETC.
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
1890
------------------------------------------------------------------------
COPYRIGHT, 1890,
BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
PREFATORY.
-------
Nature, and Books about it.
Often, during a long and dusty walk in midsummer, I have chanced
suddenly upon a wayside spring, and stooping drank directly from the
bosom of Mother Earth. Filled with the pleasant recollections of such
moments, how tame is all other tipple, even though the crystal is a
marvel of art, with “beady bubbles winking at the brim”!
So, too, I find it with matters of graver import. I would that no one
should aid me in gathering my stores, but with my own hands I would
delve at the fountain-head. The spirit of such an aim is a spur to
youth, but becomes a source of amusement rather than a more serious
matter in our maturer years. I am more than willing now to take nature
at second hand. But is this safe? How far can we trust another’s eyes,
ears, and sense of touch and smell? There are critics scattered as
thickly as motes in a sunbeam, veritable know-alls, who shriek “Beware!”
when nature is reported; but, for all this, outdoor books are very
tempting to a host of people, and in the long run educate rather than
misinform. That ever two naturalists should wholly agree, after careful
study of an animal, is not probable. There will be the same differences
as exist between two translations of the same book. What a crow, a
mouse, or a gorgeous cluster of blooming lotus is to me, these will
never be to another; but, because of this, do not persist that your
neighbor is blind, deaf, or stupid. I recently had a horse ask me to let
down the bars; to another it would have been merely the meaningless fact
that the horse neighed.
Having an outdoor book in hand, when and how should it be read? It is no
doubt very tempting to think of a shady nook, or babbling brook, or
both, in connection with the latest outdoor volume. Possibly, as you
start out for a quiet day, you string together a bit of rhyme concerning
the book, as Leigh Hunt did and others have done since. It is a common
practice to carry a book into the fields, but not a logical one. How can
a book, even one of outdoor topics, compete with Nature? Certainly if
Nature is to the reader but a convenient room, a lighter and more airy
one than any at home, does it not signify a serious lack in the mind of
that person? From a notice of a recent publication I clip the following:
“A capital book to slip into one’s pocket when taking an outing.” If,
because of its size, it could be readily slipped into one’s pocket, then
it was a capital way of getting rid of it. What sort of an outing can
one have who reads all the while? Is not the cloud-flecked sky something
more than a ceiling, the surrounding hills more than mere walls, the
grass and flowers more than carpet? There is one pleasure even greater
than that of reading, and that is being out of doors. To read at such a
time seems to imply one of two things: either that the reader knows
Nature thoroughly, or is indifferent to such knowledge. The former
phenomenon the world has never seen; the latter, to speak mildly,
deserves our pity. To escape ridicule, which is something, to insure
happiness, which is more, to avoid great dangers, which is of even
greater importance, one must know something of Nature. In one sense she
is our persistent foe. She mantles with inviting cover of rank grass her
treacherous quicksands; she paints in tempting colors her most poisonous
fruits; she spreads unheralded the insidious miasma from the meadow and
the swamp; but neither the quicksand, the unwholesome fruit, nor noxious
vapors is an unmixed evil. Let us take them as they are, see them as
parts and parcels of a complete whole, and each hour of every outing is
an un
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ALAMO RANCH
_A Story of New Mexico_
BY SARAH WARNER BROOKS
Author of "My Fire Opal," "The Search of Ceres," etc.
CAMBRIDGE
PRIVATELY PRINTED
MCMIII
UNIVERSITY PRESS. JOHN WILSON
AND SON. CAMBRIDGE. U.S.A.
TO LEON
_Across the silence that between us stays,
Speak! I should hear it from God's outmost sun,
Above Earth's noise of idle blame and praise,--
The longed-for whisper of thy dear "Well done!"_
[Illustration: ALAMO RANCH]
ALAMO RANCH
_A STORY OF NEW MEXICO_
CHAPTER I
It is autumn; and the last week in November. In New Mexico, this land of
sunshine, the season is now as kindly as in the early weeks of our
Northern September.
To-day the sky is one cloudless arch of sapphire! The light breeze
scarce ruffles a leaf of the tall alamo, the name tree of this ranch.
Here any holding bigger than a kitchen garden is known as a ranch. The
alamo, Spanish for poplar, lends here and there its scant, stiff shade
to this roomy adobe dwelling, with its warm southern frontage and
half-detached wings. Behind the house irregular out-buildings are
scattered about.
A commodious corral, now the distinguished residence of six fine Jersey
cows, lies between the house and the orchard,--a not over-flourishing
collection of peach, apricot, and plum trees.
Here and there may be seen wide patches of kitchen garden, carefully
intersected by irrigating ditches.
Near and afar, wide alfalfa fields with their stiff aftermath stretch
away to the very rim of the mesa, where the cotton-tail makes his home,
and sage-brush and mesquite strike root in the meagre soil. Cones of
alfalfa hay stacked here and there outline themselves like giant
beehives against the soft blue sky; and over all lies the sunny silence
of a cloudless afternoon with its smiling westering sun.
Basking in this grateful warmth, their splint arm-chairs idly tilted
against the house-front, the boarders look with sated invalid eyes upon
this gracious landscape.
Alamo Ranch is a health resort. In this thin, dry air of Mesilla Valley,
high above the sea level, the consumptive finds his Eldorado. Hither,
year by year, come these foredoomed children of men to fight for breath,
putting into this struggle more noble heroism and praiseworthy courage
than sometimes goes to victory in battle-fields.
Of these combatants some are still buoyed by the hope of recovery;
others are but hopeless mortals, with the single sad choice of eking out
existence far from friends and home, or returning to native skies, there
to throw up hands in despair and succumb to the foe.
Sixteen miles away the Organ Mountains--seeming, in this wonderfully
clear atmosphere, within but a stone's throw--loom superbly against the
cloudless sky; great hills of sand are these, surmounted by tall,
serrated peaks of bare rock, and now taking on their afternoon array in
the ever-changing light, rare marvels of shifting color,--amethyst and
violet, rosy pink, creamy gold, and dusky purple.
The El Paso range rises sombrely on the gray distance, and on every hand
detached sugar-loaf peaks lend their magnificence to the grand
mesa-range that cordons the Mesilla Valley.
And now, out on the mesa, at first but a speck between the loungers on
the piazza and the distant mountain view, a single pedestrian, an
invalid sportsman, comes in sight. As he nears the ranch with the slowed
step of fatigue, he is heartening himself by the way with a song. When
the listeners hear the familiar tune,--it is "Home, Sweet Home,"--one of
them rallying his meagre wind whistles a faint accompaniment to the
chorus. It is not a success; and with a mirthless laugh, the whistler
abandons his poor attempt, and, with the big lump in his throat swelling
to a sob, rises from his chair and goes dejectedly in. A sympathetic
chord thrills along the tilted piazza chairs.
The discomfited whistler is but newly arrived at Alamo; and his feeble
step and weary, hollow cough predict that the poor fellow's journey will
not take him back to the "Sweet Home" of the song, but rather to the
uncharted country.
And now the invalid sportsman steps cheerily on the piazza.
"Here, you lazy folks," mocks he, holding high his well-filled game-bag,
"behold the pigeon stew for your supper!" And good-naturedly hailing a
Mexican chore-boy, lazily propped by a neighboring poplar trunk, he
cries, "Catch!" and deftly tossing him the game (pigeons from the mesa)
goes in to put away his gun. When later he returns to the piazza, bathed
and refreshed, it is as if, in a room dim-lit by tallow candles, the gas
had suddenly been turned on to a big chandelier.
Seating himself in the vacant arm-chair, he fills a briar-wood pipe.
Some of the loungers do likewise; and now, while they smoke and chat,
look at the new-comer, Leonard Starr. Though not robust, he has the
substantial mien and bearing of one who finds it good to live, and makes
those about him also find it good. It is not long before most of these
dispirited loungers are laughing at his lively stories and sallies, and
cheerily matching them with their own.
Well is it for this troublous world of ours that some of its children
are "born to turn the sunny side of things to human eyes."
CHAPTER II
It is the middle of December; the Alamo boarders are now well arrived.
First and foremost, Mr. John Morehouse--the one lion of the ranch--makes
his bow. He is conspicuous for his able research in Archae
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[Illustration: “‘Lord, these are the lambs of thy flock.’”]
Jessica’s First Prayer
Jessica’s Mother
Hesba Stretton
New York
H. M. Caldwell Co.
Publishers
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
The Coffee-Stall and its Keeper PAGE 5
CHAPTER II.
Jessica’s Temptation 15
CHAPTER III.
An Old Friend in a New Dress 23
CHAPTER IV.
Peeps into Fairy-land 35
CHAPTER V.
A New World Opens 44
CHAPTER VI.
The First Prayer 50
CHAPTER VII.
Hard Questions 54
CHAPTER VIII.
An Unexpected Visitor 60
CHAPTER IX.
Jessica’s First Prayer Answered 69
CHAPTER X.
The Shadow of Death 82
Jessica’s First Prayer.
CHAPTER I.
THE COFFEE-STALL AND ITS KEEPER.
In a screened and secluded corner of one of the many railway-bridges
which span the streets of London there could be seen, a few years
ago, from five o’clock every morning until half-past eight, a tidily
set out coffee-stall, consisting of a trestle and board, upon which
stood two large tin cans with a small fire of charcoal burning under
each, so as to keep the coffee boiling during the early hours of the
morning when the work-people were thronging into the city on their
way to their daily toil. The coffee-stall was a favorite one, for
besides being under shelter, which was of great consequence upon rainy
mornings, it was also in so private a niche that the customers taking
their out-of-door breakfast were not too much exposed to notice; and,
moreover, the coffee-stall keeper was a quiet man, who cared only
to serve the busy workmen without hindering them by any gossip. He
was a tall, spare, elderly man, with a singularly solemn face and a
manner which was grave and secret. Nobody knew either his name or
dwelling-place; unless it might be the policeman who strode past the
coffee-stall every half-hour and nodded familiarly to the solemn man
behind it. There were very few who cared to make any inquiries about
him; but those who did could only discover that he kept the furniture
of his stall at a neighboring coffee-house, whither he wheeled his
trestle and board and crockery every day not later than half-past
eight in the morning; after which he was wont to glide away with a
soft footstep and a mysterious and fugitive air, with many backward
and sidelong glances, as if he
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A righte Merrie Christmasse!!!
The Story of Christ-tide
By John Ashton. Copperplate
Etching of "The
Wassail Song," by Arthur
C. Behrend.
London: published by the Leadenhall
Press, Ltd., 50 Leadenhall Street;
Simpkin, Marshall, Hamilton, Kent
& Co., Ltd. New York: Charles
Scribner's Sons, 153-157 Fifth Avenue.
The Leadenhall Press Ltd.
London
[1894]
[Transcriber's Notes:
This text contains passages using the Anglo-Saxon thorn (Þ or þ,
equivalent of "th"), which should display properly in most text
viewers. The Anglo-Saxon yogh (equivalent of "y," "i," "g," or "gh")
will display properly only if the user has the proper font, so to
maximize accessibility, the character "3" is used in this e-text to
represent the yogh.
Characters with a macron are preceded by an equal sign and enclosed in
square brackets, e.g., [=a].
Superscripted characters are preceded by a carat and enclosed in curly
brackets, e.g., y^{t}.]
[Illustration: The Wassail Song]
TO THE READER
I do not craue
mo thankes to haue,
than geuen to me
all ready be;
but this is all,
to such as shall
peruse this booke.
That, for my sake,
they gently take
what ere they finde
against their minde,
when he, or she,
shal minded be
therein to looke.
_Tusser._
A righte Merrie Christmasse!!!
PREFACE
It is with a view of preserving the memory of Christmas that I have
written this book.
In it the reader will find its History, Legends, Folk-lore, Customs,
and Carols--in fact, an epitome of Old Christ-tide, forming a volume
which, it is hoped, will be found full of interest.
JOHN ASHTON.
A righte Merrie Christmasse!!!
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
Date of Christ's Birth discussed--Opinions of the Fathers--The
Eastern Church and Christ-tide--Error in Chronology--Roman
Saturnalia--Scandinavian Yule--Duration of Christ-tide 1
CHAPTER II
Historic Christ-tides in 790, 878, and 1065--William I.,
1066-1085--William II.--Henry I., 1127--Stephen--Henry II.,
1158-1171--Richard I., 1190--John, 1200--Henry III., 1253--Edwards I.,
II., and III.--Richard II., 1377-1398--Henry IV.-V., 1418--Henry
VIII., his magnificent Christ-tides 9
CHAPTER III
Historic Christ-tides--Edward VI., 1551--Mary--Elizabeth--James
I.--The Puritans--The Pilgrim Fathers--Christmas's Lamentation--Christ-tide
in the Navy, 1625 19
CHAPTER IV
Attempts of Puritans to put down Christ-tide--Attitude of the
people--Preaching before Parliament--"The arraignment, etc., of
Christmas" 26
CHAPTER V
The popular love of Christmas--Riots at Ealing and
Canterbury--Evelyn's Christmas days, 1652, '3, '4, '5, '7, Cromwell
and Christ-tide--The Restoration--Pepys and Christmas day, 1662--"The
Examination and Tryal of old Father Christmas" 34
CHAPTER VI
Commencement of Christ-tide--"O Sapientia!"--St. Thomas's day--William
the Conqueror and the City of York--Providing for Christmas
fare--Charities of food--Bull-baiting--Christ-tide charities--Going
"a-Thomassing," etc.--Superstitions of the day 45
CHAPTER VII
Paddington Charity (Bread and Cheese Lands)--Barring-out at
Schools--Interesting narrative 53
CHAPTER VIII
The Bellman--Descriptions of him--His verses. The Waits--Their
origin--Ned Ward on them--Corporation Waits--York Waits (17th
century)--Essay on Waits--Westminster Waits--Modern Waits 63
CHAPTER IX
Christ-tide Carols--The days of Yule--A Carol for
Christ-tide--"Lullaby"--The Cherry-tree Carol--Dives and Lazarus 70
CHAPTER X
Christmas Eve--Herrick thereon--The Yule Log--Folk-lore thereon--The
Ashen <DW19>--Christmas Candles--Christmas Eve in the Isle of
Man--Hunting the Wren--Divination by Onions and Sage--A Custom at
Aston--"The Mock"--Decorations and Kissing Bunch--"Black
Ball"--Guisers and Waits--Ale Posset 75
CHAPTER XI
Christmas Eve in North Notts--Wassailing the Fruit Trees--Wassail
Songs--Wassailing in Sussex--Other Customs--King at Downside
College--Christ-tide Carol--Midnight Mass--The Manger--St. Francis of
Assisi 84
CHAPTER XII
Decorating with Evergreens--Its Origin and Antiquity--Mistletoe in
Churches--The permissible Evergreens--The Holly--"Holly and
Ivy"--"Here comes Holly"--"Ivy, chief of Trees"--"The Contest of the
Ivy and the Holly"--Holly Folk-lore--Church Decorations--To be kept up
till Candlemas day 91
CHAPTER XIII
Legends of the Nativity--The Angels--The Birth--The Cradles--The Ox
and Ass--Legends of Animals--The Carol of St. Stephen--Christmas
Wolves--Dancing for a Twelve-months--Underground Bells--The Fiddler
and the Devil 97
CHAPTER XIV
The Glastonbury Thorn, its Legend--Cuttings from it--Oaks coming into
leaf on Christmas day--Folk-lore--Forecast, according to the days of
the week on which Christmas falls--Other Folk-lore thereon 105
CHAPTER XV
Withholding Light--"Wesley Bob"--Wassail Carol--Presents in
Church--Morris Dancers--"First Foot"--Red-haired Men--Lamprey
Pie--"Hodening"--Its Possible Origin--The "Mari Lhoyd" 111
CHAPTER XVI
Curious Gambling Customs in Church--Boon granted--Sheaf of Corn for
the Birds--Crowning of the Cock--"The Lord Mayor of Pennyless
Cove"--"Letting in Yule"--Guisards--Christmas in the Highlands--Christmas
in Shetland--Christmas in Ireland 117
CHAPTER XVII
Ordinance against out-door Revelry--Marriage of a Lord of
Misrule--Mummers and Mumming--Country Mummers--Early Play--Two modern
Plays 125
CHAPTER XVIII
A Christmas jest--Ben Jonson's Masque of Christmas--Milton's Masque of
Comus--Queen Elizabeth and the Masters of Defence 138
CHAPTER XIX
The Lord of Misrule--The "Emperor" and "King" at Oxford--Dignity of
the Office--Its abolition in the City of London--The functions of a
Lord of Misrule--Christmas at the Temple--A grand Christmas there 143
CHAPTER XX
A riotous Lord of Misrule at the Temple--Stubbes on Lords of
Misrule--The Bishops ditto--Mumming at Norwich 1440--Dancing at the
Inns of Court--Dancing at Christmas--The Cushion Dance 155
CHAPTER XXI
Honey Fairs--Card-playing at Christmas--Throwing the Hood--Early
Religious Plays--Moralities--Story of a Gray's Inn Play--The first
Pantomime--Spectacular drama--George Barnwell--Story respecting this
Play 162
CHAPTER XXII
Profusion of Food at Christ-tide--Old English
Fare--Hospitality--Proclamations for People to spend Christ-tide at
their Country Places--Roast Beef--Boar's Head--Boar's Head
Carol--Custom at Queen's College, Oxon.--Brawn--Christmas Pie--Goose
Pie--Plum Pudding--Plum Porridge--Anecdotes of Plum Pudding--Large
one--Mince Pies--Hackin--Folk-lore--Gifts at Christ-tide--Yule
Doughs--Cop-a-loaf--Snap-dragon 169
CHAPTER XXIII
The First Carol--Anglo-Norman Carol--Fifteenth-Century Carol--"The
Twelve Good Joys of Mary"--Other Carols--"A Virgin most Pure"--Carol
of Fifteenth Century--"A Christenmesse Carroll" 180
CHAPTER XXIV
Christmas Gifts forbidden in the City of London--Charles II. and
Christmas Gifts--Christmas Tree--Asiatic Descent--Scandinavian
Descent--Candles on the Tree--Early Notices of in England--Santa
Claus--Krishkinkle--Curious Tenures of Land at Christmas 186
CHAPTER XXV
Christ-tide Literature--Christmas Cards--Their Origin--Lamplighter's
Verses--Watchman's Verses--Christmas Pieces 194
CHAPTER XXVI
Carol for St. Stephen's Day--Boxing Day--Origin of Custom--Early
examples--The Box--Bleeding Horses--Festivity on this Day--Charity at
Bampton--Hunting the Wren in Ireland--Song of the Wren Boys 201
CHAPTER XXVII
St. John's Day--Legend of the Saint--Carols for the Day--Holy
Innocents--Whipping Children--Boy Bishops--Ceremonies connected
therewith--The King of Cockney's Unlucky Day--Anecdote thereon--Carol
for the Day 207
CHAPTER XXVIII
New Year's Eve--Wassail--New Year's Eve Customs--Hogmany--The
Cl[=a]vie--Other Customs--Weather Prophecy 214
CHAPTER XXIX
New Year's Day--Carol--New Year's Gifts--"Dipping"--Riding the
"Stang"--Curious Tenures--God Cakes--The "Quaaltagh"--"First foot" in
Scotland--Highland Customs--In Ireland--Weather Prophecies--Handsel
Monday 220
CHAPTER XXX
Eve of Twelfth Day--Thirteen Fires--Tossing the Cake--Wassailing
Apple-Trees--The Eve in Ireland--Twelfth Day, or Epiphany--Carol for
the Day--Royal Offerings 232
CHAPTER XXXI
"The King of the Bean"--Customs on Twelfth Day--Twelfth Cakes--Twelfth
Night Characters--Modern Twelfth Night--The Pastry Cook's
Shops--Dethier's Lottery--The Song of the Wren--"Holly Night" at
Brough--"Cutting off the Fiddler's Head" 238
CHAPTER XXXII
St. Distaff's Day--Plough Monday--Customs on the Day--Feast of the
Purification 246
CHAPTER I
Date of Christ's Birth discussed--Opinions of the
Fathers--The Eastern Church and Christ-tide--Error in
Chronology--Roman Saturnalia--Scandinavian Yule--Duration of
Christ-tide.
The day on which Jesus Christ died is plainly distinguishable, but the
day of His birth is open to very much question, and, literally, is
only conjectural; so that the 25th December must be taken purely as
the day on which His birth is celebrated, and not as His absolute
natal day. In this matter we can only follow the traditions of the
Church, and tradition alone has little value.
In the second and early third centuries of our aera, we only know that
the festivals, other than Sundays and days set apart for the
remembrance of particular martyrs, were the Passover, Pentecost, and
the Epiphany, the baptism or manifestation of our Lord, when came "a
voice from Heaven saying, This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well
pleased." This seems always to have been fixed for the 6th of January,
and with it was incorporated the commemoration of His birth.
Titus Flavius Clemens, generally known as Clemens of Alexandria, lived
exactly at this time, and was a contemporary of Origen. He speaks
plainly on the subject, and shows the uncertainty, even at that early
epoch of Christianity, of fixing the date:[1] "There are those who,
with an over-busy curiosity, attempt to fix not only the year, but the
date of our Saviour's birth, who, they say, was born in the
twenty-eighth year of Augustus, on the 25th of the month Pachon,"
_i.e._ the 20th of May. And in another place he says: "Some say that
He was born on the 24th or 25th of the month Pharmuthi," which would
be the 19th or 20th of April.
[Footnote 1: _Stromat._, L. 1, pp. 407-408, ed. Oxon., 1715.]
But, perhaps, the best source of information is from the _Memoires
pour servir a l'histoire ecclesiastique des six premiers Siecles_, by
Louis Sebastian le Nain de Tillemont, written at the very commencement
of the eighteenth century,[2] and I have no hesitation in appending a
portion of his fourth note, which treats "_Upon the day and year of
the birth of Jesus Christ_."
[Footnote 2: Translated by T. Deacon in 1733-35, pp. 335-336.]
"It is thought that Jesus Christ was born in the night, because it was
night when the angel declared His birth to the shepherds: in which S.
Augustin says that He literally fulfilled David's words, _Ante
luciferum genuite_.
"The tradition of the Church, says this father, is that it was upon
the 25th of December. Casaubon acknowledges that we should not
immediately reject it upon the pretence that it is too cold a season
for cattle to be at pasture, there being a great deal of difference
between these countries and Judaea; and he assures us that, even in
England, they leave the cows in the field all the year round.
"S. Chrysostom alleges several reasons to prove that Jesus Christ was
really born upon the 25th of December; but they are weak enough,
except that which he assures of, that it has always been the belief of
the Western Churches. S. Epiphanius, who will have the day to have
been the 6th of January, places it but at twelve days' distance. S.
Clement of Alexandria says that, in his time, some fixed the birth of
Jesus Christ upon the 19th or 20th April; others, on the 20th of May.
He speaks of it as not seeing anything certain in it.
"It is cited from one John of Nice, that it was only under Pope Julius
that the Festival of the Nativity was fixed at Rome upon the 25th of
December. Father Combesisius, who has published the epistle of this
author, confesses that he is very modern: to which we may add that he
is full of idle stories, and entirely ignorant of the history and
discipline of antiquity. So that it is better to rest upon the
testimony of S. Chrysostom, who asserts that, for a long time before,
and by very ancient tradition, it was celebrated upon the 25th of
December in the West, that is, in all the countries which reach from
Thrace to Cadiz, and to the farthest parts of Spain. He names Rome
particularly; and thinks that it might be found there that this was
the true day of our Saviour's birth, by consulting the registers of
the description of Judaea made at that time, supposing them still to be
preserved there. We find this festival placed upon the 25th of
December in the ancient Roman Calendar, which was probably made in the
year 354....
"We find by S. Basil's homily upon the birth of our Lord that a
festival in commemoration of it was observed in Cappadocia, provided
that this homily is all his; but I am not of opinion that it appears
from thence either that this was done in January rather than December
or any other month in the year, or that this festival was joined with
that of the Baptism. On the contrary, the Churches of Cappadocia seem
to have distinguished the Feast of the Nativity from that of the
Epiphany, for S. Gregory Nazianzen says, that after he had been
ordained priest, in the year 361, upon the festival of one mystery, he
retired immediately after into Pontus, on that of another mystery, and
returned from Pontus upon that of a third. Now we find that he
returned at Easter, so that there is all imaginable reason to believe
that he was ordained at Christmas, and retired upon the Epiphany. S.
Basil died, in all probability, upon the 1st of January in the year
379, and S. Gregory Nyssen says that his festival followed close upon
those of Christmas, S. Stephen, S. Peter, S. James, and S. John. We
read in an oration ascribed to S. Amphilochius, that he died on the
day of the Circumcision, between the Nativity of Jesus Christ and His
Baptism. S. Gregory Nyssen says that the Feast of Lights, and of the
Baptism of Jesus Christ, was celebrated some days after that of His
Nativity. The other S. Gregory takes notice of several mysteries which
were commemorated at Nazianzium with the Nativity, the Magi, etc., but
he says nothing, in that place, of the Baptism. And yet, if the
festival of Christmas was observed in Cappadocia upon the 25th of
December, we must say that S. Chrysostom was ignorant of it
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THE DOCTOR'S DAUGHTER.
BY "VERA."
AUTHOR OF "HONOR EDGEWORTH"
"_O Tempora! O Mores!_"
PREFACE.
Charles Dickens observes with much truth, that "though seldom read,
prefaces are continually written." It may be asked and even wondered,
why? I cannot say that I know the exact reason, but it seems to me
that they may carry the same weight, in the literary world, that
certain _sotto voce_ explanations, which oftentimes accompany the
introduction of one person to another, do in the social world.
If it is permitted, in bringing some quaint, old-fashioned little
body, before a gathering of your more fastidious friends, at once to
reconcile them to his or her strange, ungainly mien, and to justify
yourself for acknowledging an intimacy with so eccentric a creature,
by following up the prosy and unsuggestive: "Mr. B----, ladies and
gentlemen," or "Miss M----, ladies and gentlemen," with such a
refreshing paraphrase as, "brother-in-law of the celebrated Lord
Marmaduke Pulsifer," or, "confidential companion, to the wife of the
late distinguished Christopher Quill the American Poet"--why should
not a like privilege be extended the labour-worn author, when he
ushers the crude and unattractive offspring of his own undaunted
energy into the arena of literary life?
Mr. B----, without the whispered guarantee of his relative importance,
would never be noticed unless to be riled or ridiculed; and so with
many a meek and modest volume, whose key-note has never been sounded,
or if sounded has never been heard.
We would all be perfect in our attributes if we could! Who would write
vapid, savourless pages, if it were in his power to set them aglow
with rare erudition, and dazzling conceptions of ethical and other
abstract subjects? If I had been born a Dickens, _lector benevole_, I
would have willingly, eagerly, proudly, favoured you with a "Tale of
Two Cities" or a "David Copperfield;" of that you may be morally
certain, however, it is no mock self-disparagement (!) that moves me
to humbly acknowledge (!) my inferiority to this immortal mind. I have
availed myself of the only alternative left, when I recognized the
impossibility of rivalling this protagonist among
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THE GUESTS OF HERCULES
BOOKS BY
C. N. and A. M. WILLIAMSON
The Golden Silence
The Motor Maid
Lord Loveland Discovers America
Set in Silver
The Lightning Conductor
The Princess Passes
My Friend the Chauffeur
Lady Betty Across the Water
Rosemary in Search of a Father
The Princess Virginia
The Car of Destiny
The Chaperon
[Illustration: "MARY WAS A GODDESS ON A GOLDEN PINNACLE. THIS WAS LIFE;
THE WINE OF LIFE"]
The
Guests of Hercules
BY
C. N. and A. M. WILLIAMSON
ILLUSTRATED BY
M. LEONE BRACKER & ARTHUR H. BUCKLAND
GARDEN CITY NEW YORK
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
1912
Copyright, 1912, by
C. N. & A. M. WILLIAMSON
All rights reserved, including that of
translation into Foreign Languages,
including the Scandinavian
TO
THE LORD OF THE GARDEN
ILLUSTRATIONS
"Mary was a goddess on a golden pinnacle. This was life;
the wine of life" . . . . . . . Frontispiece
Mary Grant . . . . . . . . FACING PAGE 22
"'I can't promise!' she exclaimed. 'I've never wanted to marry.'" . 286
"'It was Fate brought you--to give you to me. Do you regret it?'" . 398
I
THE GUESTS OF HERCULES
Long shadows of late afternoon lay straight and thin across the garden
path; shadows of beech trees that ranged themselves in an undeviating
line, like an inner wall within the convent wall of brick; and the
soaring trees were very old, as old perhaps as the convent itself, whose
stone had the same soft tints of faded red and brown as the autumn
leaves which sparsely jewelled the beeches' silver.
A tall girl in the habit of a novice walked the path alone, moving
slowly across the stripes of sunlight and shadow which inlaid the gravel
with equal bars of black and reddish gold. There was a smell of autumn
on the windless air, bitter yet sweet; the scent of dying leaves, and
fading flowers loth to perish, of rose-berries that had usurped the
place of roses, of chrysanthemums chilled by frost, of moist earth
deprived of sun, and of the green moss-like film overgrowing all the
trunks of the old beech trees. The novice was saying goodbye to the
convent garden, and the long straight path under the wall, where every
day for many years she had walked, spring and summer, autumn and winter;
days of rain, days of sun, days of boisterous wind, days of white
feathery snow--all the days through which she had passed, on her way
from childhood to womanhood. Best of all, she had loved the garden and
her favourite path in spring, when vague hopes like dreams stirred in
her blood, when it seemed that she could hear the whisper of the sap in
the veins of the trees, and the crisp stir of the buds as they unfolded.
She wished that she could have been going out of the garden in the
brightness and fragrance of spring. The young beauty of the world would
have been a good omen for the happiness of her new life. The sorrowful
incense of Nature in decay cast a spell of sadness over her, even of
fear, lest after all she were doing a wrong thing, making a mistake
which could never be amended.
The spirit of the past laid a hand upon her heart. Ghosts of sweet days
gone long ago beckoned her back to the land of vanished hours. The
garden was the garden of the past; for here,
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THE
UNCONSTITUTIONALITY
OF
SLAVERY.
BY LYSANDER SPOONER.
BOSTON:
PUBLISHED BY BELA MARSH,
NO. 25 CORNHILL.
1845.
ENTERED according to Act of Congress, in the year 1845, by LYSANDER
SPOONER, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Massachusetts.
DOW & JACKSON'S ANTI-SLAVERY PRESS.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.--WHAT IS LAW? PAGE 5
" II.--WRITTEN CONSTITUTIONS, 18
" III.--THE COLONIAL CHARTERS, 24
" IV.--COLONIAL STATUTES, 36
" V.--THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE, 42
" VI.--THE STATE CONSTITUTIONS OF 1789.
(MEANING OF THE WORD "FREE,") 46
" VII.--THE ARTICLES OF CONFEDERATION, 61
" VIII.--THE CONSTITUTION OF THE UNITED STATES, 65
" IX.--THE INTENTIONS OF THE CONVENTION, 135
" X.--THE PRACTICE OF THE GOVERNMENT, 145
" XI.--THE UNDERSTANDING OF THE PEOPLE, 147
" XII.--THE STATE CONSTITUTIONS OF 1845, 150
" XIII.--THE CHILDREN OF SLAVES ARE BORN FREE, 153
THE
UNCONSTITUTIONALITY OF SLAVERY.
CHAPTER I.
WHAT IS LAW?
Before examining the language of the Constitution, in regard to Slavery,
let us obtain a view of the principles, by virtue of which _law_ arises
out of those constitutions and compacts, by which people agree to
establish government.
To do this it is necessary to define the term _law_. Popular opinions
are very loose and indefinite, both as to the true definition of law,
and also as to the principle, by virtue of which law results from the
compacts or contracts of mankind with each other.
What then is LAW? That law, I mean, which, and which only, judicial
tribunals are morally bound, under all circumstances, to declare and
sustain?
In answering this question, I shall attempt to show that law is an
intelligible principle of right, necessarily resulting from the nature
of man; and not an arbitrary rule, that can be established by mere will,
numbers or power.
To determine whether this proposition be correct, we must look at the
_general_ signification of the term _law_.
The true and general meaning of it, is that _natural_, permanent,
unalterable principle, which governs any particular thing or class of
things. The principle is strictly a _natural_ one; and the term applies
to every _natural_ principle, whether mental, moral or physical. Thus
we speak of the laws of mind; meaning thereby those _natural_, universal
and necessary principles, according to which mind acts, or by which it
is governed. We speak too of the moral law; which is merely an universal
principle of moral obligation, that arises out of the nature of men, and
their relations to each other, and to other things--and is consequently
as unalterable as the nature of men. And it is solely because it is
unalterable in its nature, and universal in its application, that it is
denominated law. If it were changeable, partial or arbitrary, it would
be no law. Thus we speak of physical laws; of the laws, for instance,
that govern the solar system; of the laws of motion, the laws of
gravitation, the laws of light, &c., &c.--Also the laws that govern the
vegetable and animal kingdoms, in all their various departments: among
which laws may be named, for example, the one that like produces like.
Unless the operation of this principle were uniform, universal and
necessary, it would be no law.
Law, then, applied to any object or thing whatever, signifies a
_natural_, unalterable, universal principle, governing such object or
thing. Any rule, not existing in the nature of things, or that is not
permanent, universal and inflexible in its application, is no law,
according to any correct definition of the term law.
What, then, is that _natural_, universal, impartial and inflexible
principle, which, under all circumstances, _necessarily_ fixes,
determines, defines and governs the civil rights of men? Those rights of
person, property, &c., which one human being has, as against other human
beings?
I shall define it to be simply _the rule, principle, obligation or
requirement of natural justice_.
This rule, principle, obligation or requirement of natural justice, has
its origin in the natural rights of individuals, results necessarily
from them, keeps them ever in view as its end and purpose, secures their
enjoyment, and forbids their violation. It also secures all those
acquisitions of property, privilege and claim, which men have a
_natural_ right to make by labor and contract.
Such is the true meaning of the term law, as applied to the civil rights
of men. And I doubt if any other definition of law can be given, that
will prove correct in every, or necessarily in any possible case. The
very idea of law originates in men's natural rights. There is no other
standard, than natural rights, by which civil law can be measured. Law
has always been the name of that rule or principle of justice, which
protects those rights. Thus we speak of _natural law_. Natural law, in
fact, constitutes the great body of the law that is _professedly_
administered by judicial tribunals: and it always necessarily must
be--for it is impossible to anticipate a thousandth part of the cases
that arise, so as to enact a special law for them. Wherever the cases
have not been thus anticipated, the natural law prevails. We thus
politically and judicially _recognize_ the principle of law as
originating in the nature and rights of men. By recognizing it as
originating in the nature of men, we recognize it as a principle, that
is necessarily as immutable, and as indestructible as the nature of man.
We also, in the same way, recognize the impartiality and universality of
its application.
If, then, law be a natural principle--one necessarily resulting from the
very nature of man, and capable of being destroyed or changed only by
destroying or changing the nature of man--it necessarily follows that it
must be of higher and more inflexible obligation than any other rule of
conduct, which the arbitrary will of any man, or combination of men, may
attempt to establish. Certainly no rule can be of such high, universal
and inflexible obligation, as that, which, if observed, secures the
rights, the safety and liberty of all.
Natural law, then, is the paramount law. And, being the paramount law,
it is necessarily the only law: for, being applicable to every possible
case that can arise touching the rights of men, any other principle or
rule, that should arbitrarily be applied to those rights, would
necessarily conflict with it. And, as a merely arbitrary, partial and
temporary rule must, of necessity, be of less obligation than a natural,
permanent, equal and universal one, the arbitrary one becomes, in
reality, of no obligation at all, when the two come in collision.
Consequently there is, and can be, correctly speaking, _no law but
natural law_. There is no other principle or rule, applicable to the
rights of men, that is obligatory in comparison with this, in any case
whatever. And this natural law is no other than that rule of natural
justice, which results either directly from men's natural rights, or
from such acquisitions as they have a _natural_ right to make, or from
such contracts as they have a _natural_ right to enter into.
Natural law recognizes the validity of all contracts which men have a
_natural_ right to make, and which justice requires to be fulfilled:
such, for example, as contracts that render equivalent for equivalent,
and are at the same time consistent with morality, the natural rights of
men, and those rights of property, privilege, &c., which men have a
natural right to acquire by labor and contract.
Natural law, therefore, inasmuch as it recognizes the natural right of
men to enter into obligatory contracts, permits the formation of
government, founded on contract, as all our governments profess to be.
But in order that the contract of government may be valid and lawful, it
must purport to authorize nothing inconsistent with natural justice, and
men's natural rights. It cannot lawfully authorize government to destroy
or take from men their natural rights: for natural rights are
inalienable, and can no more be surrendered to government--which is but
an association of individuals--than to a single individual. They are a
necessary attribute of man's nature; and he can no more part with
them--to government or any body else--than with his nature itself. But
the contract of government may lawfully authorize the adoption of
means--not inconsistent with natural justice--for the better protection
of men's natural rights. And this is the legitimate and true object of
government. And rules and statutes, not inconsistent with natural
justice and men's natural rights, if enacted by such government, are
binding, on the ground of contract, upon those who are parties to the
contract, which creates the government, and authorizes it to pass rules
and statutes to carry out its objects.[1]
But natural law tries the contract of government, and declares it lawful
or unlawful, obligatory or invalid, by the same rules by which it tries
all other contracts between man and man. A contract for the
establishment of government, being nothing but a voluntary contract
between individuals for their mutual benefit, differs, in nothing that
is essential to its validity, from any other contract between man and
man, or between nation and nation. If two individuals enter into a
contract to commit trespass, theft, robbery or murder upon a third, the
contract is unlawful and void, simply because it is a contract to
violate natural justice, or men's natural rights. If two nations enter
into a treaty, that they will unite in plundering, enslaving or
destroying a third, the treaty is unlawful, void, and of no obligation,
simply because it is contrary to justice and men's natural rights. On
the same principle, if the majority, however large, of the people of a
country, enter into a contract of government, called a constitution, by
which they agree to aid, abet or accomplish any kind of injustice, or to
destroy or invade the natural rights of any person or persons
whatsoever, whether such persons be parties to the compact or not, this
contract of government is unlawful and void--and for the same reason
that a treaty between two nations for a similar purpose, or a contract
of the same nature between two individuals, is unlawful and void. Such a
contract of government has no moral sanction. It confers no rightful
authority upon those appointed to administer it. It confers no legal or
moral rights, and imposes no legal or moral obligation upon the people
who are parties to it. The only duties, which any one can owe to it, or
to the government established under color of its authority, are
disobedience, resistance, destruction.
Judicial tribunals, sitting under the authority of this unlawful
contract or constitution, are bound, equally with other men, to declare
it, and all unjust enactments passed by the government in pursuance of
it, unlawful and void. These judicial tribunals cannot, by accepting
office under a government, rid themselves of that paramount obligation,
that all men are under, to declare, if they declare any thing, that
justice is law; that government can have no lawful powers, except those
with which it has been invested by lawful contract; and that an unlawful
contract for the establishment of government, is as unlawful and void as
any other contract to do injustice.
No oaths, which judicial or other officers may take, to carry out and
support an unlawful contract or constitution of government, are of any
moral obligation. It is immoral to take such oaths, and it is criminal
to fulfil them. They are, both in morals and law, like the oaths which
individual pirates, thieves and bandits give to their confederates, as
an assurance of their fidelity to the purposes for which they are
associated. No man has any moral right to assume such oaths; they impose
no obligation upon those who do assume them; they afford no moral
justification for official acts, in themselves unjust, done in pursuance
of them.
If these doctrines are correct, then those contracts of government,
state and national, which we call constitutions, are void, and unlawful,
so far as they purport to authorize, (if any of them do authorize,) any
thing in violation of natural justice, or the natural rights of any man
or class of men whatsoever. And all judicial tribunals are bound, by the
highest obligations that can rest upon them, to declare that these
contracts, in all such particulars, (if any such there be,) are void,
and not law. And all agents, legislative, executive, judicial and
popular, who voluntarily lend their aid to the execution of any of the
unlawful purposes of the government, are as much personally guilty,
according to all the moral and legal principles, by which crime, in its
essential character, is measured, as though they performed the same acts
independently, and of their own volition.
Such is the true character and definition of law. Yet, instead of being
allowed to signify, as it in reality does, that natural, universal and
inflexible principle, which has its origin in the nature of man, keeps
pace every where with the rights of man, as their shield and protector,
binds alike governments and men, weighs by the same standard the acts of
communities and individuals, and is paramount in its obligation to any
other requirement which can be imposed upon men--instead, I say, of the
term law being allowed to signify, as it really does, this immutable and
overruling principle of natural justice it has come to be applied to
mere arbitrary rules of conduct, prescribed by individuals, or
combinations of individuals, self-styled governments, who have no other
title to the prerogative of establishing such rules, than is given them
by the possession or command of sufficient physical power to coerce
submission to them.
The injustice of these rules, however palpable and atrocious it may be,
has not deterred their authors from dignifying them with the name of
_law_. And, what is much more to be deplored, such has been the
superstition of the people, and such their blind veneration for physical
power, that this injustice has not opened their eyes to the distinction
between law and force, between the sacred requirements of natural
justice, and the criminal exactions of unrestrained selfishness and
power. They have thus not only suffered the name of law to be stolen,
and applied to crime as a cloak to conceal its true nature, but they
have rendered homage and obedience to crime, under the name of law,
until the very name of law, instead of signifying, in their minds, an
immutable principle of right, has come to signify little more than an
arbitrary command of power, without reference to its justice or its
injustice, its innocence or its criminality. And now, commands the most
criminal, if christened with the name of law, obtain nearly as ready an
obedience, oftentimes a more ready obedience, than law and justice
itself. This superstition, on the part of the people, which has thus
allowed force and crime to usurp the name and occupy the throne of
justice and law, is hardly paralleled in its grossness, even by that
superstition, which, in darker ages of the world, has allowed falsehood,
absurdity and cruelty to usurp the name and the throne of religion.
But I am aware that other definitions of law, widely different from that
I have given, have been attempted--definitions too, which practically
obtain, to a great extent, in our judicial tribunals, and in all the
departments of government. But these other definitions are nevertheless,
all, in themselves, uncertain, indefinite, mutable; and therefore
incapable of being standards, by a reference to which the question of
law, or no law, can be determined. Law, as defined by them, is
capricious, arbitrary, unstable; is based upon no fixed principle;
results from no established fact; is susceptible of only a limited,
partial and arbitrary application; possesses no intrinsic authority;
does not, in itself, recognize any moral principle; does not necessarily
confer upon, or even acknowledge in individuals, any moral or civil
rights; or impose upon them any moral obligation.
For example. One of these definitions--one that probably embraces the
essence of all the rest--is this:
That "law is a rule of civil conduct, prescribed by the supreme power of
a state, commanding what its subjects are to do, and prohibiting what
they are to forbear." _Noah Webster._
In this definition, hardly any thing, that is essential to the idea of
law, is made certain. Let us see. It says that,
"Law is a rule of civil conduct, prescribed by the _supreme power_ of a
state."
What is "the supreme power," that is here spoken of, as the fountain of
law? Is it the supreme physical power? Or the largest concentration of
physical power, whether it exist in one man, or in a combination of men?
Such is undoubtedly its meaning. And if such be its meaning, then the
law is uncertain; for it is oftentimes uncertain where, or in what man,
or body of men, in a state, the greatest amount of physical power is
concentrated. Whenever a state should be divided into factions, no one
having the supremacy of all the rest, law would not merely be
inefficient, but the very principle of law itself would be actually
extinguished. And men would have no "rule of civil conduct." This result
alone is sufficient to condemn this definition.
Again. If physical power be the fountain of law, then law and force
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AMAZON, PART I (OF 2)***
E-text prepared by Melissa McDaniel and the Online Distributed
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made available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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See 57756-h.htm or 57756-h.zip:
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Part II: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/57771
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
[Illustration: CATHEDRAL OF LIMA.
Pl 1.
Lt. Gibbon del.
Wagner & McGuigan's Lith. Phila.]
33D CONGRESS,} HO. OF REPS. { EXECUTIVE,
1st Session.} { No. 53.
EXPLORATION
OF THE
VALLEY OF THE AMAZON,
MADE UNDER DIRECTION OF
THE NAVY DEPARTMENT,
BY
WM. LEWIS HERNDON AND LARDNER GIBBON,
LIEUTENANTS UNITED STATES NAVY.
PART I.
BY LIEUT. HERNDON.
WASHINGTON:
ROBERT ARMSTRONG, PUBLIC PRINTER
1854.
LETTER OF THE SECRETARY OF THE NAVY,
COMMUNICATING
A REPORT OF AN EXPLORATION OF THE VALLEY OF THE AMAZON AND ITS
TRIBUT
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30,000 LOCKED OUT.
THE GREAT STRIKE OF THE BUILDING TRADES IN CHICAGO.
BY JAMES C. BEEKS.
CHICAGO:
PRESS OF THE FRANZ GINDELE PRINTING CO.
1887.
INTRODUCTION.
The attention of the world has been called to the great strike and
lockout in the building trades in Chicago because it rested upon the
question of individual liberty--a question which is not only vital alike
to the employer and the employe, but which affects every industry, every
class of people, every city, state and country. It is a principle which
antagonizes no motive which has been honestly conceived, but upon which
rests--or should rest--the entire social, political and industrial
fabric of a nation. It underlies the very foundation of free
institutions. To antagonize it is to thrust at the beginning point of
that freedom for which brave men have laid down their lives in every
land since the formation of society. With this question prominently in
the fight, and considering the magnitude of the interests affected, it
is not at all surprising that the public has manifested interest in the
agitation of questions which have affected the pockets of thirty
thousand artisans and laborers, hundreds of employers, scores of
manufacturers and dealers in building materials, stopped the erection of
thousands of structures of all classes, and driven into the vaults of a
great city capital amounting to not less than $20,000,000.
The labor problem is not new. Neither is it without its perplexities and
its grievances. Its entanglements have puzzled the brightest intellects,
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THE DESERTED WOMAN
By Honore De Balzac
Translated by Ellen Marriage
DEDICATION
To Her Grace the Duchesse d'Abrantes,
from her devoted servant,
Honore de Balzac.
PARIS, August 1835.
THE DESERTED WOMAN
In the early spring of 1822, the Paris doctors sent to Lower Normandy a
young man just recovering from an inflammatory complaint, brought on by
overstudy, or perhaps by excess of some other kind. His convalescence
demanded complete rest, a light diet, bracing air, and freedom from
excitement of every kind, and the fat lands of Bessin seemed to offer
all these conditions of recovery. To Bayeux, a picturesque place about
six miles from the sea, the patient therefore betook himself, and was
received with the cordiality characteristic of relatives who lead very
retired lives, and regard a new arrival as a godsend.
All little towns are alike, save for a few local customs. When M. le
Baron Gaston de Nueil, the young Parisian in question, had spent two or
three evenings in his cousin's house, or with the friends who made up
Mme. de Sainte-Severe's circle, he very soon had made the acquaintance
of the persons whom this exclusive society considered to be "the
whole town." Gaston de Nueil recognized in them the invariable stock
characters which every observer finds in every one of the many capitals
of the little States which made up the France of an older day.
First of all comes the family whose claims to nobility are regarded as
incontestable, and of the highest antiquity in the department, though no
one has so much as heard of them a bare fifty leagues away. This
species of royal family on a small scale is distantly, but unmistakably,
connected with the Navarreins and the Grandlieu family, and related to
the Cadignans, and the Blamont-Chauvrys. The head of the illustrious
house is invariably a determined sportsman. He has no manners, crushes
everybody else with his nominal superiority, tolerates the sub-prefect
much as he submits to the taxes, and declines to acknowledge any of the
novel powers created by the nineteenth century, pointing out to you as
a political monstrosity the fact that the prime minister is a man of no
birth. His wife takes a decided tone, and talks in a loud voice. She has
had adorers in her time, but takes the sacrament regularly at Easter.
She brings up her daughters badly, and is of the opinion that they will
always be rich enough with their name.
Neither husband nor wife has the remotest idea of modern luxury. They
retain a livery only seen elsewhere on the stage, and cling to old
fashions in plate, furniture, and equipages, as in language and manner
of life. This is a kind of ancient state, moreover, that suits passably
well with provincial thrift. The good folk are, in fact, the lords of
the manor of a bygone age, _minus_ the quitrents and heriots, the pack
of hounds and the laced coats; full of honor among themselves, and one
and all loyally devoted to princes whom they only see at a distance.
The historical house _incognito_ is as quaint a survival as a piece of
ancient tapestry. Vegetating somewhere among them there is sure to be
an uncle or a brother, a lieutenant-general, an old courtier of the
Kings's, who wears the red ribbon of the order of Saint-Louis, and went
to Hanover with the Marechal de Richelieu: and here you will find him
like a stray leaf out of some old pamphlet of the time of Louis Quinze.
This fossil greatness finds a rival in another house, wealthier, though
of less ancient lineage. Husband and wife spend a couple of months of
every winter in Paris, bringing back with them its frivolous tone and
short-lived contemporary crazes. Madame is a woman of fashion, though
she looks rather conscious of her clothes, and is always behind the
mode. She scoffs, however, at the ignorance affected by her neighbors.
_Her_ plate is of modern fashion; she has "grooms," <DW64>s, a
valet-de-chambre, and what-not. Her oldest son drives a tilbury, and
does nothing (the estate is entailed upon him), his younger brother is
auditor to a Council of State. The father is well posted up in official
scandals, and tells you anecdotes of Louis XVIII. and Madame du Cayla.
He invests his money in the five per cents, and is careful to avoid the
topic of cider, but has been known occasionally to fall a victim to the
craze for rectifying the conjectural sums-total of the various fortunes
of the department. He is a member of the Departmental Council, has
his clothes from Paris, and wears the Cross of the Legion of Honor. In
short, he is a country gentleman who has fully grasped the significance
of the Restoration, and is coining money at the Chamber, but his
Royalism is less pure than that of the rival house; he takes
the _Gazette_ and the _Debats_, the other
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NO NAME
by Wilkie Collins
[editorial note: italics are indicated by the underscore
character; accent marks in the few words in French are omitted;
the umlaut in Zurich is omitted]
PREFACE.
THE main purpose of this story is to appeal to the reader’s interest
in a subject which has been the theme of some of the greatest writers,
living and dead--but which has never been, and can never be, exhausted,
because it is a subject eternally interesting to all mankind. Here is
one more book that depicts the struggle of a human creature, under those
opposing influences of Good and Evil, which we have all felt, which we
have all known. It has been my aim to make the character of “Magdalen,”
which personifies this struggle, a pathetic character even in its
perversity and its error; and I have tried hard to attain this result by
the least obtrusive and the least artificial of all means--by a resolute
adherence throughout to the truth as it is in Nature. This design was
no easy one to accomplish; and it has been a great encouragement to me
(during the publication of my story in its periodical form) to know, on
the authority of many readers, that the object which I had proposed to
myself, I might, in some degree, consider as an object achieved.
Round the central figure in the narrative other characters will be found
grouped, in sharp contrast--contrast, for the most part, in which I
have endeavored to make the element of humor mainly predominant. I have
sought to impart this relief to the more serious passages in the book,
not only because I believe myself to be justified in doing so by the
laws of Art--but because experience has taught me (what the experience
of my readers will doubtless confirm) that there is no such moral
phenomenon as unmixed tragedy to be found in the world around us.
Look where we may, the dark threads and the light cross each other
perpetually in the texture of human life.
To pass from the Characters to the Story, it will be seen that the
narrative related in these pages has been constructed on a plan which
differs from the plan followed in my last novel, and in some other of
my works published at an earlier date. The only Secret contained in this
book is revealed midway in the first volume. From that point, all the
main events of the story are purposely foreshadowed before they take
place--my present design being to rouse the reader’s interest in
following the train of circumstances by which these foreseen events are
brought about. In trying this new ground, I am not turning my back in
doubt on the ground which I have passed over already. My one object in
following a new course is to enlarge the range of my studies in the art
of writing fiction, and to vary the form in which I make my appeal to
the reader, as attractively as I can.
There is no need for me to add more to these few prefatory words than is
here written. What I might otherwise have wished to say in this place, I
have endeavored to make the book itself say for me.
TO
FRANCIS CARR BEARD
(FELLOW OF THE ROYAL COLLEGE OF SURGEONS OF ENGLAND),
IN REMEMBRANCE OF THE TIME WHEN
THE CLOSING SCENES OF THIS STORY WERE WRITTEN.
NO NAME.
THE FIRST SCENE.
COMBE-RAVEN, SOMERSETSHIRE.
CHAPTER I.
THE hands on the hall-clock pointed to half-past six in the morning. The
house was a country residence in West Somersetshire, called Combe-Raven.
The day was the fourth of March, and the year was eighteen hundred and
forty-six.
No sounds but the steady ticking of the clock, and the lumpish snoring
of a large dog stretched on a mat outside the dining-room door,
disturbed the mysterious morning stillness of hall and staircase. Who
were the sleepers hidden in the upper regions? Let the house reveal
its own secrets; and, one by one, as they descend the stairs from their
beds, let the sleepers disclose themselves.
As the clock pointed to a quarter to seven, the dog woke and shook
himself. After waiting in vain for the footman, who was accustomed to
let him out, the animal wandered restlessly from one closed door
to
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THE TALE OF JOLLY ROBIN
TUCK-ME-IN TALES
(Trademark Registered)
BY
ARTHUR SCOTT BAILEY
AUTHOR OF
SLEEPY-TIME TALES
(Trademark Registered)
The Tale of Jolly Robin
The Tale of Old Mr. Crow
The Tale of Solomon Owl
The Tale of Jasper Jay
The Tale of Rusty Wren
The Tale of Daddy Longlegs
The Tale of Kiddie Katydid
The Tale of Buster Bumblebee
The Tale of Freddy Firefly
The Tale of Betsy Butterfly
The Tale of Bobby Bobolink
The Tale or Chirpy Cricket
The Tale of Mrs. Ladybug
The Tale of Reddy Woodpecker
The Tale of Grandmother Goose
[Illustration: Jolly Robin Asks Jasper Jay About The Sign
Frontispiece--(Page 44)]
TUCK-ME-IN TALES
THE TALE OF JOLLY ROBIN
BY
ARTHUR SCOTT BAILEY
Author of
"SLEEPY-TIME TALES"
(Registered Trademark)
ILLUSTRATED BY
HARRY L. SMITH
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
Made in the United States of America
Copyright, 1917, by
GROSSET & DUNLAP
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I Nestlings 1
II Learning to Fly 6
III The Wide, Wide World 11
IV What Jolly Did Best 16
V Laughing for Mr. Crow 21
VI Tickling a Nose 26
VII A New Way to Travel 33
VIII Jolly is Left Behind 38
IX Jolly's Mistake 43
X The White Giant 48
XI What a Snowball Did 53
XII Jolly Feels Better 57
XIII The Hermit 64
XIV One or Two Blunders 69
XV Lost--A Cousin! 74
XVI Jealous Jasper Jay 80
XVII Only a Rooster 86
XVIII On Top of the Barn 91
XIX Curious Mr. Crow 96
XX The Four-Armed Man 101
XXI A Doleful Ditty 107
XXII Shocking Manners 112
XXIII A Cold Greeting 117
THE TALE OF JOLLY ROBIN
I
NESTLINGS
Of course, there was a time, once, when Jolly Robin was just a
nestling himself. With two brothers and one sister--all of them, like
him, much spotted with black--he lived in a house in one of Farmer
Green's apple trees.
The house was made of grass and leaves, plastered on the inside with
mud, and lined with softer, finer grass, which his mother had chosen
with the greatest care.
But Jolly never paid much attention to his first home. What
interested him more than anything else was food. From dawn till dark,
he was always _cheeping_ for something to eat. And since the other
children were just as hungry as he was, those four growing babies kept
their parents busy finding food for them. It was then that Jolly Robin
learned to like angleworms. And though he ate greedily of insects and
bugs, as well as wild berries, he liked angleworms best.
Jolly and his sister and his brothers could always tell when their
father or their mother brought home some dainty, because the moment
the parent lighted upon the limb where the nest was built they could
feel their home sink slightly, from the added weight upon the branch.
Then the youngsters would set up a loud squalling, with a great
craning of necks and stretching of orange- mouths.
Sometimes, when the dainty was specially big, Mr. or Mrs. Robin would
say, "_Cuck! cuck!_" That meant "Open wide!" But they seldom found it
necessary to give that order.
Somehow, Jolly Robin managed to eat more than the rest of the
nestlings. And so he grew faster than the others. He soon learned a
few tricks, too. For instance, if Mrs. Robin happened to be sitting on
the nest, to keep her family warm, when Mr. Robin returned with a
lunch for the children, Jolly had a trick that he played on his
mother, in case she didn't move off the nest fast enough to suit him.
He would whisper to the rest of the children. And then they would
jostle their fond parent, lifting her up above them, and sometimes
almost upsetting her, so that she had hard work to keep from falling
off the nest.
Mrs. Robin did not like that trick very well. But she knew that Jolly
would not annoy her with it long. Indeed, he was only eleven days old
when he left his birthplace and went out into the wide world.
You see, the young folk grew so fast that they soon more than filled
the house. So there was nothing their parents could do but persuade
them to leave home and learn to fly.
One day, therefore, Mr. Robin did not bring his children's food to the
edge of the nest and drop it into their mouths. Instead, he stood on
the limb a little distance away from them and showed them a plump
angleworm.
The sight of that dainty was more than Jolly Robin could resist. He
scrambled boldly out of the nest; and tottering up to his father on
his wobbling legs, he snatched the tempting morsel out of his proud
parent's bill.
Jolly never went back to the nest after that. The next day Mrs. Robin
coaxed the other children from home in the same fashion. And though it
may seem a heartless act, it was really the best thing that could have
happened to Jolly and his sister and his brothers.
You
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Produced by Brian Coe and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was
created from images of public domain material made available
by the University of Toronto Libraries
(http://link.library.utoronto.ca/booksonline/).)
Transcriber's Note: Minor typographical errors have been corrected
without note. Irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have
been retained as printed. Words printed in italics are noted with
underscores: _italics_.
The Daily Telegraph
WAR BOOKS
BRITISH REGIMENTS AT THE FRONT
Cloth
1/- net each
The Daily Telegraph
WAR BOOKS
Post free 1/3 each
HOW THE WAR BEGAN
By W. L. COURTNEY. LLD., and J. M. KENNEDY
THE FLEETS AT WAR
By ARCHIBALD HURD
THE CAMPAIGN OF SEDAN
By GEORGE HOOPER
THE CAMPAIGN ROUND LIEGE
By J. M. KENNEDY
IN THE FIRING LINE
By A. ST. JOHN ADCOCK
GREAT BATTLES OF THE WORLD
By STEPHEN CRANE
Author of "The Red Badge of Courage."
BRITISH REGIMENTS AT THE FRONT
The story of their Battle Honour.
THE RED CROSS IN WAR
By Miss MARY FRANCES BILLINGTON
FORTY YEARS AFTER
The Story of the Franco-German War. By H. C. BAILEY.
With an Introduction by W. L. COURTNEY. LL.D.
A SCRAP OF PAPER
The Inner History of German Diplomacy.
By E. J. DILLON
HOW THE NATIONS WAGED WAR
A companion volume to "How the War Began," telling how the
world faced.
Armageddon and how the British Army answered the call to arms.
By J. M. KENNEDY
AIR-CRAFT IN WAR
By S. ERIC BRUCE
FAMOUS FIGHTS OF INDIAN NATIVE REGIMENTS
THE TRIUMPHANT RETREAT TO PARIS
THE RUSSIAN ADVANCE
_OTHER VOLUMES IN PREPARATION_
PUBLISHED FOR THE DAILY TELEGRAPH
BY HODDER & STOUGHTON, WARWICK SQUARE,
LONDON, E.C.
BRITISH REGIMENTS AT THE FRONT
THE STORY OF THEIR BATTLE HONOURS
BY
REGINALD HODDER
HODDER AND STOUGHTON
LONDON NEW YORK TORONTO
MCMXIV
The Author wishes to express his indebtedness to MR. J. NORVILL for his
valuable assistance and suggestions.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER--NICKNAMES OF THE REGIMENTS AND HOW THEY
WERE WON 9
I. 5TH DRAGOON GUARDS 41
II. THE CARABINIERS 43
III. THE SCOTS GREYS 49
IV. 15TH HUSSARS 57
V. 18TH HUSSARS 61
VI. THE GRENADIER GUARDS 63
VII. THE COLDSTREAM GUARDS 71
VIII. THE ROYAL SCOTS 76
IX. THE "FIGHTING FIFTH" 84
X. THE LIVERPOOL REGIMENT 89
XI. THE NORFOLKS 92
XII. THE BLACK WATCH 100
XIII. THE MANCHESTER REGIMENT 113
XIV. THE GORDON HIGHLANDERS 118
XV. THE CONNAUGHT RANGERS 139
XVI. THE ARGYLL AND SUTHERLAND HIGHLANDERS 142
XVII. THE DUBLIN FUSILIERS 146
XVIII. FUENTES D'ONORO AND ALBUERA 156
XIX. BALACLAVA AND INKERMAN 178
NICKNAMES OF THE REGIMENTS AND HOW THEY WERE WON
"The Rusty Buckles."
The 2nd Dragoon Guards (Queen's Bays) got their name of "The Bays" in
1767 when they were mounted on bay horses--a thing which distinguished
them from other regiments, which, with the exception of the Scots
Greys, had black horses. Their nickname, "The Rusty Buckles," though
lending itself to a ready explanation, is
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
SEASONING OF WOOD
A TREATISE ON THE NATURAL AND ARTIFICIAL
PROCESSES EMPLOYED IN THE PREPARATION
OF LUMBER FOR MANUFACTURE,
WITH DETAILED EXPLANATIONS OF ITS
USES, CHARACTERISTICS AND PROPERTIES
_ILLUSTRATIONS_
BY
JOSEPH B. WAGNER
AUTHOR OF "COOPERAGE"
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
D. VAN NOSTRAND COMPANY
25 PARK PLACE
1917
COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY
D. VAN NOSTRAND COMPANY
THE.PLIMPTON.PRESS
NORWOOD.MASS.U.S.A
PREFACE
The seasoning and kiln-drying of wood is such an important process in
the manufacture of woods that a need for fuller information regarding
it, based upon scientific study of the behavior of various species at
different mechanical temperatures, and under different drying
processes is keenly felt. Everyone connected with the woodworking
industry, or its use in manufactured products, is well aware of the
difficulties encountered in properly seasoning or removing the
moisture content without injury to the timber, and of its
susceptibility to atmospheric conditions after it has been thoroughly
seasoned. There is perhaps no material or substance that gives up its
moisture with more resistance than wood does. It vigorously defies the
efforts of human ingenuity to take away from it, without injury or
destruction, that with which nature has so generously supplied it.
In the past but little has been known of this matter further than the
fact that wood contained moisture which had to be removed before the
wood could be made use of for commercial purposes. Within recent
years, however, considerable interest has been awakened among
wood-users in the operation of kiln-drying. The losses occasioned in
air-drying and improper kiln-drying, and the necessity for getting the
material dry as quickly as possible after it has come from the saw, in
order to prepare it for manufacturing purposes, are bringing about a
realization of the importance of a technical knowledge of the subject.
Since this particular subject has never before been represented by any
technical work, and appears to have been neglected, it is hoped that
the trade will appreciate the endeavor in bringing this book before
them, as well as the difficulties encountered in compiling it, as it
is the first of its kind in existence. The author trusts that his
efforts will present some information that may be applied with
advantage, or serve at least as a matter of consideration or
investigation.
In every case the aim has been to give the facts, and wherever a
machine or appliance has been illustrated or commented upon, or the
name of the maker has been mentioned, it has not been with the
intention either of recommending or disparaging his or their work, but
has been made use of merely to illustrate the text.
The preparation of the following pages has been a work of pleasure to
the author. If they prove beneficial and of service to his
fellow-workmen he will have been amply repaid.
THE AUTHOR.
September, 1917
CONTENTS
SECTION I
TIMBER
PAGES
Characteristics and Properties of Same--Structure
of Wood--Properties of Wood--Classes of Trees 1-7
SECTION II
CONIFEROUS TREES
Wood of Coniferous Trees--Bark and Pith--Sapwood and Heartwood--The
Annual or Yearly Ring--Spring- and Summer-Wood--Anatomical
Structure--List of Important Coniferous Trees 8-30
SECTION III
BROAD-LEAVED TREES
Wood of Broad-leaved Trees--Minute Structure--List of Most
Important Broad-leaved Trees--Red Gum--Range of Red Gum--Form
of Red Gum--Tolerance of Red Gum--Its Demands upon Soil and
Moisture--Reproduction of Red Gum--Second-growth Red Gum--Tupelo
Gum--Uses of Tupelo Gum--Range of Tupelo Gum 31-85
SECTION IV
GRAIN, COLOR, ODOR, WEIGHT, AND FIGURE IN WOOD
Different Grains of Wood--Color and Odor of Wood--Weight of
Wood--Weight of Kiln-dried Wood of Different Species--Figure in
Wood 86-97
SECTION V
ENEMIES OF WOOD
General Remarks--Ambrosia or Timber Beetles--Round-headed
Borers--Flat-headed Borers--Timber Worms--Powder Post
Borers--Conditions Favorable for Insect Injury--Crude
Products--Round Timber with Bark on--How to Prevent
Injury--Saplings--Stave, Heading, and Shingle Bolts--Unseasoned
Products in the Rough--Seasoned Products in the Rough--Dry
Cooperage Stock and Wooden Truss Hoops--Staves and Heads
of Barrels Containing Alcoholic Liquids 98-113
SECTION VI
WATER IN WOOD
Distribution of Water in Wood--Seasonal Distribution of Water in
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[Illustration: Before either Tess or Dot thought to cry out for
help, they were out of sight of the camp.]
THE CORNER HOUSE
GIRLS UNDER CANVAS
HOW THEY REACHED PLEASANT COVE
AND WHAT HAPPENED AFTERWARD
BY
GRACE BROOKS HILL
Author of "The Corner House Girls,"
"The Corner House Girls at School," etc.
_ILLUSTRATED BY_
_R. EMMETT OWEN_
NEW YORK
BARSE & HOPKINS
PUBLISHERS
BOOKS FOR GIRLS
The Corner House Girls Series
By Grace Brooks Hill
_Illustrated._
THE CORNER HOUSE GIRLS
THE CORNER HOUSE GIRLS AT SCHOOL
THE CORNER HOUSE GIRLS UNDER CANVAS
THE CORNER HOUSE GIRLS IN A PLAY
THE CORNER HOUSE GIRLS' ODD FIND
THE CORNER HOUSE GIRLS ON A TOUR
(_Other volumes in preparation_)
BARSE & HOPKINS
Publishers--New York
Copyright, 1915,
by
Barse & Hopkins
_The Corner House Girls Under Canvas_
Printed in U. S. A.
CONTENTS
I. Tom Jonah
II. Something to Look Forward To
III. The Dance at Carrie Poole's
IV. The Mystery of June Wildwood
V. Off for the Seaside
VI. On the Train
VII. Something Ahead
VIII. The Gypsy Camp
IX. The Spoondrift Bungalow
X. Some Excitement
XI. The Little Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe
XII. A Picnic with Agamemnon
XIII. The Night of the Big Wind
XIV. An Important Arrival
XV. Two Girls in a Boat--to Say Nothing of the Dog!
XVI. The Gypsies Again
XVII. On Wild Goose Island
XVIII. The Search
XIX. A Startling Meeting
XX. The Frankfurter Man
XXI. Mrs. Bobster's Mysterious Friend
XXII. The Yarn of the "Spanking Sal"
XXIII. The Shadow
XXIV. Brought to Book
XXV. The End of the Outing
ILLUSTRATIONS
Before either Tess or Dot thought to cry out for help,
they were out of sight of the camp
A kicking figure was sprawled on the roof, clinging
with both hands to the ridge of it
Ruth actually went back, groping through the
gathering smoke, for the doll. With it she scrambled
out upon the shingles
The dog was perplexed. He started after the man;
he started back for the girls. He whined and he
barked
THE CORNER HOUSE GIRLS UNDER CANVAS
CHAPTER I
TOM JONAH
"Come here, Tess! Come quick and look at this poor dog. He's just
drip-ping-_wet_!"
Dot Kenway stood at a sitting-room window of the old Corner House,
looking out upon Willow Street. It was a dripping day, and anything or
anybody that remained out-of-doors and exposed to the downpour for
half an hour, was sure to be saturated.
Nothing wetter or more miserable looking than the dog in question had
come within the range of the vision of the two younger Corner House
girls that Saturday morning.
Tess, who was older than Dot, came running. Anything as frightfully
despondent and hopeless looking as that dog was bound to touch the
tender heart of Tess Kenway.
"Let's--let's take him to the porch and feed him, Dot," she cried.
"Will Ruthie let us?" asked Dot.
"Of course. She's gone for her music lesson and won't know, anyway,"
declared Tess, recklessly.
"But maybe Mrs. MacCall won't like it?"
"She's upstairs and won't know, either. Besides," Tess said,
bolstering up her own desire, "she says she hasn't ever sent anybody
away hungry from her door; and that poor dog looks just as hungry as
any tramp that ever came to the old Corner House."
The girls ran out of the sitting-room into the huge front hall which,
in itself, was almost big enough for a ballroom. It was finished in
dark, dark oak; there was a huge front door--like the door of a
castle; the furniture was walnut, upholstered in haircloth, worn shiny
by more than three generations of use; and out of the middle of the
hall a great stairway arose, dividing when half-way up into two
sections, while a sort of gallery was built all around the hall at the
second floor, out of which the doors of the principal chambers opened.
There was a third
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Produced by David Garcia, Bryan Ness, Tom Cosmas and the
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(This file was produced from images generously made
available by the Library of Congress)
Transcriber's Note
Emphasis is indicated by _Italic and Underscore_ and =Bold=.
Whole number and fractional part is indicated as 7-3/4.
=Bird-Lore=
_AN ILLUSTRATED BI-MONTHLY MAGAZINE DEVOTED TO
THE STUDY AND PROTECTION OF BIRDS_
Edited by
FRANK M. CHAPMAN
Official Organ of the Audubon Societies
Audubon Department Edited by
MABEL OSGOOD WRIGHT
[Illustration]
_VOLUME I--1899_
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
ENGLEWOOD, N. J., AND NEW YORK CITY
Copyright, 1899
By FRANK M. CHAPMAN
INDEX TO ARTICLES IN VOLUME I BY AUTHORS
Allen, J. A., The American Ornithologists' Union, 143.
Babcock, C. A., 'Suggestions for Bird-Day Programs in the Schools,' 49.
Baily, William L., 'Three Cobb's Island Pictures,' 81.
Batchelder, Annie V., Sec'y, report of, 102.
Beal, F. E. L., Reviews by, 98, 133.
Beebe, C. Will, 'Two Nova Scotia Photographs,' 113.
Board, Nellie S., Sec'y, report of, 62.
Brown, Elizabeth V., 'A Bird-Day Program,' 52.
Burnett, Dr. D. L., 'A Musical Woodpecker,' 60.
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FREELAND
A SOCIAL ANTICIPATION
BY
DR. THEODOR HERTZKA
TRANSLATED BY
ARTHUR RANSOM
1891
TRANSLATOR'S NOTE
This book contains a translation of _Freiland; ein sociales Zukunftsbild_,
by Dr. THEODOR HERTZKA, a Viennese economist. The first German edition
appeared early in 1890, and was rapidly followed by three editions in an
abridged form. This translation is made from the unabridged edition, with a
few emendations from the subsequent editions.
The author has long been known as an eminent representative of those
Austrian Economists who belong to what is known on the Continent as the
Manchester School as distinguished from the Historical School. In 1872 he
became economic editor of the _Neue Freie Presse_; and in 1874 he with
others founded the Society of Austrian National Economists. In 1880 he
published _Die Gesetze der Handels-und Sozialpolitik_; and in 1886 _Die
Gesetze der Sozialentwickelung_. At various times he has published works
which have made him an authority upon currency questions. In 1889 he
founded, and he still edits, the weekly _Zeitschrift fuer Staats-und
Volkswirthschaft_.
How the author was led to modify some of his earlier views will be found
detailed in the introduction of the present work.
The publication of _Freiland_ immediately called forth in Austria and
Germany a desire to put the author's views in practice. In many of the
larger towns and cities a number of persons belonging to all classes of
society organised local societies for this purpose, and these local
societies have now been united into an International Freeland Society. At
the first plenary meeting of the Vienna _Freilandverein_ in March last, it
was announced that a suitable tract of land in British East Africa, between
Mount Kenia and the coast, had already been placed at the disposal of the
Society; and a hope was expressed that the actual formation of a Freeland
Colony would not be long delayed. It is anticipated that the English
edition of _Freiland_ will bring a considerable number of English-speaking
members into the Society; and it is intended soon to make an application to
the British authorities for a guarantee of non-interference by the
Government with the development of Freeland institutions.
Any of the readers of this book who wish for further information concerning
the Freeland movement, may apply either to Dr. HERTZKA in Vienna, or to the
Translator.
A.R.
ST. LOYES, BEDFORD: _June_, 1891.
AUTHOR'S PREFACE
The economic and social order of the modern world exhibits a strange
enigma, which only a prosperous thoughtlessness can regard with
indifference or, indeed, without a shudder. We have made such splendid
advances in art and science that the unlimited forces of nature have been
brought into subjection, and only await our command to perform for us all
our disagreeable and onerous tasks, and to wring from the soil and prepare
for use whatever man, the master of the world, may need. As a consequence,
a moderate amount of labour ought to produce inexhaustible abundance for
everyone born of woman; and yet all these glorious achievements have
not--as Stuart Mill forcibly says--been able to mitigate one human woe.
And, what is more, the ever-increasing facility of producing an abundance
has proved a curse to multitudes who lack necessaries because there exists
no demand for the many good and useful things which they are able to
produce. The industrial activity of the present day is a ceaseless confused
struggle with the various symptoms of the dreadful evil known as
'over-production.' Protective duties, cartels and trusts, guild agitations,
strikes--all these are but the desperate resistance offered by the classes
engaged in production to the inexorable consequences of the apparently so
absurd, but none the less real, phenomenon that increasing facility in the
production of wealth brings ruin and misery in its train.
That science stands helpless and perplexed before this enigma, that no beam
of light has yet penetrated and dispelled the gloom of this--the
social--problem, though that problem has exercised the minds of the noblest
and best of to-day, is in part due to the fact that the solution has been
sought in a wrong direction.
Let us see, for example, what Stuart Mill says upon this subject: 'I looked
forward... to a future'... whose views (and institutions)... shall be
'so firmly grounded in reason and in the true exigencies of life that they
shall not, like all former and present creeds, religious, ethical, and
political, require to be periodically thrown off and replaced by others.'
[Footnote: _Autobiography_, p. 166.]
Yet more plainly does Laveleye express himself in the same sense at the
close of his book 'De la Propriete': 'There is an order of human affairs
_which is the best... God knows it and wills it_. Man must discover and
introduce it.'
It is therefore an _absolutely best, eternal order_ which both are waiting
for; although, when we look more closely, we find that both ought to know
they are striving after the impossible. For Mill, a few lines before the
above remarkable passage, points out that all human things are in a state
of constant flux; and upon this he bases his conviction that existing
institutions can be only transitory. Therefore, upon calm reflection, he
would be compelled to admit that the same would hold in the future, and
that consequently unchangeable human institutions will never exist. And
just so must we suppose that Laveleye, with his '_God_ knows it and wills
it,' would have to admit that it could _not_ be man's task either to
discover or to introduce the absolutely best order known only to God. He is
quite correct in saying that if there be really an absolutely best order,
God alone knows it; but since it cannot be the office of science to wait
upon Divine revelation, and since such an absolutely best order could be
introduced by God alone and not by men, and therefore the revelation of the
Divine will would not help us in the least, so it must logically follow,
from the admission that the knowing and the willing of the absolutely good
appertain to God, that man has not to strive after this absolutely good,
but after the _relatively best_, which alone is intelligible to and
attainable by him.
And thus it is in fact. The solution of the social problem is not to be
sought in the discovery of an _absolutely good_ order of society, but in
that of the _relatively best_--that is, of such an order of human
institutions as best corresponds to the contemporary conditions of human
existence. The existing arrangements of society call for improvement, not
because they are out of harmony with our longing for an absolutely good
state of things, but because it can be shown to be possible to replace them
by others more in accordance with the contemporary conditions of human
existence. Darwin's law of evolution in nature teaches us that when the
actual social arrangements have ceased to be the relatively best--that is,
those which best correspond to the contemporary conditions of human
existence--their abandonment is not only possible but simply inevitable.
For in the struggle for existence that which is out of date not only _may_
but _must_ give place to that which is more in harmony with the actual
conditions. And this law also teaches us that all the characters of any
organic being whatever are the results of that being's struggle for
existence in the conditions in which it finds itself. If, now, we bring
together these various hints offered us by the doctrine of evolution, we
see the following to be the only path along which the investigation of the
social problem can be pursued so as to reach the goal:
First, we must inquire and establish under what particular conditions of
existence the actual social arrangements were evolved.
Next we must find out whether these same conditions of existence still
subsist, or whether others have taken their place.
If others have taken their place, it must be clearly shown whether the new
conditions of existence are compatible with the old arrangements; and, if
not, what alterations of the latter are required.
The new arrangements thus discovered must and will contain that which we
are justified in looking for as the'solution of the social problem.'
When I applied this strictly scientific method of investigation to the
social problem, I arrived four years ago at the following conclusions, to
the exposition of which I devoted my book on 'The Laws of Social
Evolution,' [Footnote: _Die Gesetze der Sozialentwickelung_ Leipzig, 1886.]
published at that time:
The actual social arrangements are the necessary result of the human
struggle for existence when the productiveness of labour was such that a
single worker could produce, by the labour of his own hands, more than was
indispensable to the sustenance of his animal nature, but not enough to
enable him to satisfy his higher needs. With only this moderate degree of
productiveness of labour, the exploitage of man by man was the only way by
which it was possible to ensure to _individuals_ wealth and leisure, those
fundamental essentials to higher culture. But as soon as the productiveness
of labour reaches the point at which it is sufficient to satisfy also the
highest requirements of every worker, the exploitage of man by man not only
ceases to be a necessity of civilisation, but becomes an obstacle to
further progress by hindering men from making full use of the industrial
capacity to which they have attained.
For, as under the domination of exploitage the masses have no right to more
of what they produce than is necessary for their bare subsistence, demand
is cramped by limitations which are quite independent of the possible
amount of production. Things for which there is no demand are valueless,
and therefore will not be produced; consequently, under the exploiting
system, society does not produce that amount of wealth which the progress
of science and technical art has made possible, but only that infinitely
smaller amount which suffices for the bare subsistence of the masses and
the luxury of the few. Society wishes to employ the whole of the surplus of
the productive power in the creation of instruments of labour--that is, it
wishes to convert it into capital; but this is impossible, since the
quantity of utilisable capital is strictly dependent upon the quantity of
commodities to be produced by the aid of this capital. The utilisation of
all the proceeds of such highly productive labour is therefore dependent
upon the creation of a new social order which shall guarantee to every
worker the enjoyment of the full proceeds of his own work. And since
impartial investigation further shows that this new order is not merely
indispensable to further progress in civilisation, but is also thoroughly
in harmony with the natural and acquired characteristics of human society,
and consequently is met by no inherent and permanent obstacle, it is
evident that in the natural process of human evolution this new order must
necessarily come into being.
When I placed this conclusion before the public four years ago, I assumed,
as something self-evident, that I was announcing a doctrine which was not
by any means an isolated novelty; and I distinctly said so in the preface
to the 'Laws of Social Evolution.' I fully understood that there must be
some connecting bridge between the so-called classical economics and the
newly discovered truths; and I was convinced that in a not distant future
either others or myself would discover this bridge. But in expounding the
consequences springing from the above-mentioned general principles, I at
first allowed an error to escape my notice. That ground-rent and
undertaker's profit--that is, the payment which the landowner demands for
the use of his land, and the claim of the so-called work-giver to the
produce of the worker's labour--are incompatible with the claim of the
worker to the produce of his own labour, and that consequently in the
course of social evolution ground-rent and undertaker's profit must become
obsolete and must be given up--this I perceived; but with respect to the
interest of capital I adhered to the classical-orthodox view that this was
a postulate of progress which would survive all the phases of evolution.
As palliation of my error I may mention that it was the opponents of
capital themselves--and Marx in particular--who confirmed me in it, or,
more correctly, who prevented me from distinctly perceiving the basis upon
which interest essentially rests. To tear oneself away from long-cherished
views is in itself extremely difficult; and when, moreover, the men who
attack the old views base their attack point after point upon error, it
becomes only too easy to mistake the weakness of the attack for
impregnability in the thing attacked. Thus it happened with me. Because I
saw that what had been hitherto advanced against capital and interest was
altogether untenable, I felt myself absolved from the task of again and
independently inquiring whether there were no better, no really valid,
arguments against the absolute and permanent necessity of interest. Thus,
though interest is, in reality, as little compatible with associated labour
carried on upon the principle of perfect economic justice as are
ground-rent and the undertaker's profit, I was prevented by this
fundamental error from arriving at satisfactory views concerning the
constitution and character of the future forms of organisation based upon
the principle of free organisation. _That_ and _wherefore_ economic freedom
and justice must eventually be practically realised, I had shown; on the
other hand, _how_ this phase of evolution was to be brought about I was not
able to make fully clear. Yet I did not ascribe this inability to any error
of mine in thinking the subject out, but believed it to reside in the
nature of the subject itself. I reasoned that institutions the practical
shaping of which belongs to the future could not be known in detail before
they were evolved. Just as those former generations, which knew nothing of
the modern joint-stock company, could not possibly form an exact and
perfect idea of the nature and working of this institution even if they had
conceived the principle upon which it is based, so I held it to be
impossible to-day to possess a clear and connected idea of those future
economic forms which cannot be evolved until the principle of the free
association of labour has found its practical realisation.
I was slow in discovering the above-mentioned connection of my doctrine of
social evolution with the orthodox system of economy. The most
clear-sighted minds of three centuries have been at work upon that system;
and if a new doctrine is to win acceptance, it is absolutely necessary that
its propounder should not merely refute the old doctrine and expose its
errors, but should trace back and lay open to its remotest source the
particular process of thought which led these heroes of our science into
their errors. It is not enough to show _that_ and _wherefore_ their theses
were false; it must also be made clear _how_ and _wherefore_ those thinkers
arrived at their false theses, what it was that forced them--despite all
their sagacity--to hold such theses as correct though they are simply
absurd when viewed in the light of truth. I pondered in vain over this
enigma, until suddenly, like a ray of sunlight, there shot into the
darkness of my doubt the discovery that in its essence my work was nothing
but the necessary outcome of what others had achieved--that my theory was
in no way out of harmony with the numerous theories of my predecessors, but
that rather, when thoroughly understood, it was the very truth after which
all the other economists had been searching, and upon the track of
which--and this I held to be decisive--I had been thrown, not by my own
sagacity, but solely by the mental labours of my great predecessors. In
other words, _the solution of the social problem offered by me is the very
solution of the economic problem which the science of political economy has
been incessantly seeking from its first rise down to the present day_.
But, I hear it asked, does political economy possess such a problem--one
whose solution it has merely attempted but not arrived at? For it is
remarkable that in our science the widest diversity of opinions co-exists
with the most dogmatic orthodoxy. Very few draw from the existence of the
numberless antagonistic opinions the self-evident conclusion that those
opinions are erroneous, or at least unproved; and none are willing to admit
that--like their opponents--they are merely seeking the truth, and are not
in possession of it. So prevalent is this tenacity of opinion which puts
faith in the place of knowledge that the fact that every science owes its
origin to a problem is altogether forgotten. This problem may afterwards
find its solution, and therewith the science will have achieved its
purpose; but without a problem there is no investigation--consequently,
though there may be knowledge, there will be no science. Clear and simple
cognisances do not stimulate the human mind to that painstaking,
comprehensive effort which is the necessary antecedent of science; in
brief, a science can arise only when things are under consideration which
are not intelligible directly and without profound reflection--things,
therefore, which contain a problem.
Thus, political economy must have had its problem, its enigma, out of the
attempts to solve which it had its rise. This problem is nothing else but
the question '_Why do we not become richer in proportion to our increasing
capacity of producing wealth?_' To this question a satisfactory answer can
no more be given to-day than could be given three centuries ago--at the
time, that is, when the problem first arose in view, not of a previously
existing phenomenon to which the human mind had then had its attention
drawn for the first time, but of a phenomenon which was then making its
first appearance.
With unimportant and transient exceptions (which, it may be incidentally
remarked, are easily explicable from what follows) antiquity and the Middle
Ages had no political economy. This was not because the men of those times
were not sharp-sighted enough to discover the sources of wealth, but
because to them there was nothing enigmatical about those sources of
wealth. The nations became richer the more progress they made in the art of
producing; and this was so self-evident and clear that, very rightly, no
one thought it necessary to waste words
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THE WORLD'S GREATEST BOOKS
JOINT EDITORS
ARTHUR MEE Editor and Founder of the Book of Knowledge
J.A. HAMMERTON Editor of Harmsworth's Universal Encyclopaedia
VOL. IX LIVES AND LETTERS
MCMX
* * * * *
Table of Contents
ABELARD AND HELOISE
Love-Letters
AMIEL, H.F.
Fragments of an Intimate Diary
AUGUSTINE, SAINT
Confessions
BOSWELL, JAMES
Life of Samuel Johnson, LL.D.
BREWSTER, SIR DAVID
Life of Sir Isaac Newton
BUNYAN, JOHN
Grace Abounding
CARLYLE, ALEXANDER
Autobiography
CARLYLE, THOMAS
Letters and Speeches of Oliver Cromwell
Life of Schiller
CELLINI, BENVENUTO
Autobiography
CHATEAUBRIAND, FRANCOIS RENE DE
Memoirs from Beyond the Grave
CHESTERFIELD, EARL OF
Letters to His Son
CICERO, MARCUS TULLIUS
Letters
COLERIDGE, SAMUEL TAYLOR
Biographia Literaria
COWPER, WILLIAM
Letters
DE QUINCEY, THOMAS
Confessions of an English Opium-Eater
DUMAS, ALEXANDRE
Memoirs
EVELYN, JOHN
Diary
FORSTER, JOHN
Life of Goldsmith
FOX, GEORGE
Journal
FRANKLIN, BENJAMIN
Autobiography
GASKELL, MRS.
The Life of Charlotte Bronte
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive.)
ROLLO IN NAPLES,
BY
JACOB ABBOTT.
BOSTON:
PUBLISHED BY TAGGARD AND THOMPSON.
M DCCC LXIV.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1858, by
JACOB ABBOTT,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of
Massachusetts.
ELECTROTYPED AT THE
BOSTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY.
RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE:
PRINTED BY H. O. HOUGHTON.
[Illustration: THE ORANGE GARDEN.--See page 218.]
[Illustration: ROLLO'S TOUR IN EUROPE.
TAGGARD & THOMPSON. Publishers--Boston.]
ROLLO'S TOUR IN EUROPE.
ORDER OF THE VOLUMES
ROLLO ON THE ATLANTIC.
ROLLO IN PARIS.
ROLLO IN SWITZERLAND.
ROLLO IN LONDON.
ROLLO ON THE RHINE.
ROLLO IN SCOTLAND.
ROLLO IN GENEVA.
ROLLO IN HOLLAND.
ROLLO IN NAPLES.
ROLLO IN ROME.
PRINCIPAL PERSONS OF THE STORY.
ROLLO; twelve years of age.
MR. and MRS. HOLIDAY; Rollo's father and mother, travelling in Europe.
THANNY; Rollo's younger brother.
JANE; Rollo's cousin, adopted by Mr. and Mrs. Holiday.
MR. GEORGE; a young gentleman, Rollo's uncle.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I.--THE VETTURINO, 13
II.--CONTRACTS AND AGREEMENTS, 37
III.--THE JOURNEY, 57
IV.--SITUATION OF NAPLES, 76
V.--PLANNING THE ASCENSION, 91
VI.--GOING UP, 106
VII.--THE SUMMIT, 131
VIII.--POMPEII, 157
IX.--THE MUSEUM, 174
X.--THE STREETS, 188
XI.--AN EXCURSION, 194
XII.--THE ORANGE GARDENS, 213
ENGRAVINGS.
PAGE
THE ORANGE GARDEN, (Frontispiece.)
TRAVELLING IN ITALY, 11
A CHURCH AT FLORENCE, 23
READING THE ARTICLES, 55
EMBLEMS ON THE CROSS, 63
ASCENDING THE MOUNTAINS, 67
SITUATION OF NAPLES, 77
VIEW THROUGH THE GLASS, 87
CALASH COMING INTO NAPLES, 111
THE ASCENT, 127
VIEW OF THE CRATER, 137
COMING DOWN, 153
THE MOSAIC, 183
THE PUBLIC GARDENS, 197
[Illustration: TRAVELLING IN ITALY.]
ROLLO IN NAPLES.
CHAPTER I.
THE VETTURINO.
If ever you make a journey into Italy, there is one thing that you will
like very much indeed; and that is the mode of travelling that prevails
in that country. There are very few railroads there; and though there
are stage coaches on all the principal routes, comparatively few people,
except the inhabitants of the country, travel in them. Almost all who
come from foreign lands to make journeys in Italy for pleasure, take
what is called a _vetturino_.
There is no English word for _vetturino_, because where the English
language is spoken, there is no such thing. The word comes from the
Italian word _vettura_, which means a travelling carriage, and it
denotes the man that owns the carriage, and drives it wherever the party
that employs him wishes to go. Thus there is somewhat the same relation
between the Italian words _vettura_ and _vetturino_ that there is
between the English words _chariot_ and _charioteer_.
The Italian _vetturino_, then, in the simplest English phrase that will
express it, is a _travelling carriage man_; that is, he is a man who
keeps a carriage and a team of horses, in order to take parties of
travellers with them on long journeys, wherever they wish to go. Our
word _coachman_ does not express the idea at all. A coachman is a man
employed by the owner of a carriage simply to drive it; whereas the
vetturino is the proprietor of his establishment; and though he
generally drives it himself, still the driving is only a small part of
his business. He might employ another man to go with him and drive, but
he would on that account be none the less the vetturino.
The vetturino usually takes the entire charge of the party, and provides
for them in every respect,--that is, if they make the arrangement with
him in that way, which they generally do, inasmuch as, since they do
not, ordinarily, know the language of the country, it is much more
convenient for them to arrange with him to take care of them than to
attempt to take care of themselves. Accordingly, in making a journey of
several days, as, for example, from Genoa to Florence, from Florence to
Rome, or from Rome to Venice, or to Naples, the vetturino determines the
length of each day's journey; he chooses the hotels where to stop, both
at noon and for the night; he attends to the passports in passing the
frontiers, and also to the examination of the baggage at the custom
houses; and on arriving at the hotels he orders what the travellers
require, and settles the bill the next morning. For all this the
travellers pay him one round sum, which includes every thing. This sum
consists of a certain amount for the carriage and horses, and an
additional amount of about a dollar and a half or a dollar and three
quarters a day, as agreed upon beforehand, for hotel expenses on the
way. Thus, by this mode of travelling, the whole care is taken off from
the traveller's mind, and he has nothing to do during the daytime but to
sit in his carriage and enjoy himself, and at night to eat, drink,
sleep, and take his comfort at the hotel.
It was at Florence that Mr. George and Rollo first commenced to travel
with a vetturino. They came to Florence by steamer and railway; that is,
by steamer to Leghorn, and thence across the country by railway.
Florence is a very pretty place, with the blue and beautiful River Arno
running through the middle of it, and ancient stone bridges leading
across the river from side to side. The town is filled with magnificent
churches and palaces, built, some of them, a thousand years ago, and all
so richly adorned with sculptures, paintings, bronzes, and mosaics, that
the whole world flock there to see them. People go there chiefly in the
winter. At that season the town is crowded with strangers. A great many
people, too, go there in the winter to avoid the cold weather which
prevails at that time of the year, in all the more northerly countries
of Europe.
There is so little winter in Florence that few of the houses have any
fireplaces in them except in the kitchen. When there comes a cold day,
the people warm themselves by means of a jug or jar of earthen ware,
with a handle passing over across the top, by which they carry it about.
They fill these jars half full of hot embers, and so carry them with
them wherever they want to go. The women, when they sit down, put the
jar under their dresses on the floor or pavement beneath them, and the
men place it right before them between their feet.
You will see market women and flower girls sitting in the corners of the
streets in the winter, attending to their business, and keeping
themselves warm all the time with these little fire jars; and artists
in the palaces and picture galleries, each with one of them by his side,
or close before him, while he is at work copying the works of the great
masters, or making drawings from the antique statues.
There is another very curious use that the people of Florence make of
these jars; and that is they warm the beds with them when any body is
sick, so as to require this indulgence. You would think it very
difficult to warm a bed with an open jar filled with burning embers. The
way they do it is this: they hang the jar in the inside of a sort of
wooden cage, shaped like a bushel basket, and about as large. They turn
this cage upside down, and hang the jar up in it by means of a hook
depending inside. They turn down the bed clothes and put the cage in it,
jar of coals and all. They then put back the bed clothes, and cover the
cage all up. They leave it so for a quarter of an hour, and then,
carefully turning the clothes down again, they take the jar out, and the
bed is warmed.
But to return to Mr. George and Rollo. They engaged a vetturino for the
first time at Florence. Mr. George had gone to Florence chiefly for the
purpose of examining the immense collections of paintings and statuary
which exist there. Rollo went, not on account of the paintings or
statues,--for he did not care much about such things,--but because he
liked to go any where where he could see new places, and be entertained
by new scenes. Accordingly, while Mr. George was at work in the
galleries of Florence, studying, by the help of catalogues, the famous
specimens of ancient art, Rollo was usually rambling about the streets,
observing the manners and customs of the people, and watching the
singular and curious scenes that every where met his eye.
The reason why there are so many paintings and sculptures in Italy is
this: in the middle ages, it was the fashion, in all the central parts
of Europe, for the people to spend almost all their surplus money in
building and decorating churches. Indeed, there was then very little
else that they could do. At the present time, people invest their funds,
as fast as they accumulate them, in building ships and railroads, docks
for the storage of merchandise, houses and stores in cities, to let for
the sake of the rent, and country seats, or pretty private residences of
various kinds, for themselves. But in the middle ages very little could
be done in the way of investments like these. There were no railroads,
and there was very little use for ships. There was no profit to be
gained by building houses and stores, for there were so many wars and
commotions among the people of the different towns and kingdoms, that
nothing was stable or safe. For the same reason it was useless for men
to spend their money in building and ornamenting their own houses, for
at the first approach of an enemy, the town in which they lived was
likely to be sacked, and their houses, and all the fine furniture which
they might contain, would be burned or destroyed.
But the churches were safe. The people of the different countries had so
much veneration for sacred places, and for every thing connected with
religion, that they were afraid to touch or injure any thing that had
been consecrated to a religious use. To plunder a church, or a convent,
or an abbey, or to do any thing to injure or destroy the property that
they contained, was regarded as _sacrilege_; and sacrilege they deemed a
dreadful crime, abhorred by God and man. Thus, while they would burn and
destroy hundreds of dwellings without any remorse, and turn the wretched
inmates out at midnight into the streets to die of exposure, terror, and
despair, they would stop at once when they came to the church, afraid to
harm it in any way, or to touch the least thing that it contained.
Accordingly, while every thing else in a conquered town was doomed to
the most reckless destruction, all that was in the church,--the most
delicate paintings, and the most costly gold and silver images and
utensils--were as safe as if they were surrounded by impregnable castle
walls.
Of course these notions were very mistaken ones. According to the
teachings of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, it must be a greater sin
to burn down the cottage of a poor widow, and turn her out at midnight
into the streets to die, than to plunder for gain the richest altar in
the world.
From these and various other similar causes, it happened that, in the
middle ages,--that is, from five hundred to a thousand years
ago,--almost all the great expenditures of money, in all the great
cities and towns of Europe, were made for churches. Sometimes these
churches were so large that they were several hundred years in building.
One generation would begin, another would continue, and a third would
finish the work; that is, provided the finishing work was ever done.
Great numbers of them remain unfinished to the present day, and always
will remain so.
It is generally, however, the exterior which remains incomplete. Within
they are magnificent beyond description. They are so profusely adorned
with altars, chapels, crucifixes, paintings, vessels of gold and
silver, and with sculptures and monuments of every kind, that on
entering them one is quite bewildered with the magnificence of the
scene.
There are a great many different altars where divine service may be
performed, some arranged along the sides of the church, in the recesses
between the pillars, and others in the transepts, and in various little
chapels opening here and there from the transepts and the aisles; and so
extensive and vast is the interior that sometimes four or five different
congregations are engaged in worship in different parts of the church at
the same time, without at all disturbing one another.
One of the most celebrated of these great churches is the cathedral at
Florence, where Mr. George and Rollo were now staying. There is a
representation of it on the next page, which will give you some idea of
its form, though it can convey no conception of its immense magnitude.
The dome that surmounts the centre of the building is the largest in the
world. It was a hundred years after the church was commenced before the
dome was put on. The dome is about a hundred and forty feet wide from
side to side, and almost as high as it is wide. It is more than a
hundred and thirty feet high, which is enough for twelve or fifteen
stories of a good-sized house. And this is the dome alone. The whole
height of the church, from the ground to the top of the cross, is nearly
four hundred feet. You will get a better idea of how high this is, if
you ask of your father, or of some one that knows, what the height is of
some tall steeple near where you live.
When the architect who conceived the idea of finishing the church by
putting this dome upon it first proposed it, the other architects of the
town declared that it could not be done. It was impossible, they said,
to build so large a dome on the top of so lofty a building. But he
insisted that it was not impossible. He could not only build the dome at
that height, but he could first build an octagonal lantern, he said, on
the top of the church, and then build the dome upon that, which would
carry the dome up a great deal higher. At last they consented to let him
make the attempt; and he succeeded. You see the dome in the engraving,
and the octagonal lantern beneath it, on which it rests. The lantern is
the part which has the round windows.
You see to the left of the church, at the farther end, a tall, square
tower. This is the bell tower. There are six bells in it. It was
designed to have a spire upon it, but the spire has not yet been built,
and perhaps it never will be.
[Illustration: A CHURCH AT FLORENCE.]
This bell tower alone cost an enormous sum of money. It is faced on
every side, as indeed the church itself is, with different
marbles, and the four walls of it, on the outside, are so profusely
adorned with sculptures, statues, and other costly and elaborate
architectural decorations, that it would take a week to examine them
fully in detail.
The part of the church which is presented to view in the engraving is
the end. The front proper is on a line with the farther side of the bell
tower. The engraving does not show us the length of the edifice at all,
except so far as we gain an idea of it by the long procession which we
see at the side. As I have already said, the length is more than five
hundred feet, which is nearly half a quarter of a mile.
The putting on of the dome was considered the greatest achievement in
the building of the church; and the architect who planned and
superintended the work gained for himself immortal honor. After his
death a statue of him was made, and placed in a niche in the wall of the
houses on one side of the square, opposite the dome. He is represented
as sitting in a chair, holding a plan of the work in his hand, and
looking up to see it as it appeared completed. We can just see this
statue in the foreground of the picture, on the left.
And now I must return to the story.
While Mr. George and Rollo were in Florence, Rollo was occupied mainly,
as I have already said, in rambling about the town, and observing the
scenes of real and active life, which every where met his view in the
streets and squares, while Mr. George spent his time chiefly in the
churches, and in the galleries of painting and sculpture, studying the
works of art. One morning after breakfast, Mr. George was going to the
great gallery in the palace of the grand duke, to spend the day there.
Rollo said that he would walk with him a little way. So they walked
together along the street which led by the bank of the river.
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E-text prepared by Suzanne Shell and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries
(http://www.archive.org/details/toronto)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries. See
http://www.archive.org/details/songsofwomanhood00almauoft
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold).
SONGS OF WOMANHOOD
* * * * *
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._
_Uniform with this Volume._
REALMS OF UNKNOWN KINGS.
=The Athenaeum.=--'_In this volume the critic recognises with sudden
joy the work of a true poet._'
=The Saturday Review.=--'_It is a book in which deep feeling speaks
... and it has something of that essentially poetical thought, the
thought that sees, which lies deeper than feeling._'
LONDON: GRANT RICHARDS.
* * * * *
SONGS OF WOMANHOOD
by
LAURENCE ALMA TADEMA
Grant Richards
48 Leicester Square
London
1903
Edinburgh: Printed by T. and A. Constable
A great number of the following verses are already known to readers of
_The Herb o' Grace_, and of the little reprint, _Songs of Childhood_.
As these pamphlets, however, did not reach the public, it has been
thought advisable to re-issue the verses in book-form, together with
three or four more collected from various reviews, and a number that
are here printed for the first time.
L.A.T.
Contents
PAGE
CHILDHOOD
KING BABY 3
A BLESSING FOR THE BLESSED 5
TO RAOUL BOUCHARD 8
TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW 10
THE NESTING HOUR 11
THE LITTLE SISTER--Bath-time 12
Bed-time 13
A TWILIGHT SONG 14
A WINTRY LULLABY 15
THE WARM CRADLE 16
THE DROOPING FLOWER 17
MOTHERS IN THE GARDEN--I. 18
II. 19
THE GRAVEL PATH 20
THE NEW PELISSE 21
SOLACE 22
STRANGE LANDS 23
MARCH MEADOWS--A Lark 24
Lambs 25
THE ROBIN 26
THE MOUSE 27
THE BAT 28
THE SWALLOW 29
SNOWDROPS 30
FROST 32
APPLES 33
LONELY CHILDREN--I. 34
II. 35
PLAYGROUNDS 36
FAIRINGS 38
THE FLOWER TO THE BUD 40
SIX SONGS OF GIRLHOOD
LOVE AND THE MAIDENS 43
AWAKENINGS 44
THE CLOUDED SOUL 46
THE HEALER 47
THE OPEN DOOR 48
THE FUGITIVE 49
THE FAITHFUL WIFE 53
WOMANHOOD
A WOMAN TO HER POET 63
THE INFIDEL 64
LOVE WITHIN VOWS 65
THE EXILE 66
THE SCAR INDELIBLE 67
REVULSION 68
THE CAPTIVE 69
POSSESSION'S ANGUISH 70
TREASURES OF POVERTY 72
SOLITUDE 73
THE HEART ASLEEP 74
ADVERSITY 75
FACES OF THE DEAD 76
THE SLEEPER 80
STARS 81
TRELAWNY'S GRAVE 82
V.R.I.--JANUARY 22, 1901 83
LINES ON A PICTURE BY MARY GOW 84
TO SERENITY 85
ELEVEN SONNETS 89
THE OPEN AIR
SUNSHINE IN FEBRUARY 103
THE CUCKOO 104
A SONG IN THE MORNING 107
IN A LONDON SQUARE 109
THE CALL OF THE GREEN 111
SUMMER ENDING 112
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THE ENGLISH UTILITARIANS
_By_
LESLIE STEPHEN
[Illustration]
LONDON
_DUCKWORTH and CO._
3 HENRIETTA STREET, W.C.
1900
PREFACE
This book is a sequel to my _History of English Thought in the
Eighteenth Century_. The title which I then ventured to use was more
comprehensive than the work itself deserved: I felt my inability to
write a continuation which should at all correspond to a similar title
for the nineteenth century. I thought, however, that by writing an
account of the compact and energetic school of English Utilitarians I
could throw some light both upon them and their contemporaries. I had
the advantage for this purpose of having been myself a disciple of the
school during its last period. Many accidents have delayed my completion
of the task; and delayed also its publication after it was written. Two
books have been published since that time, which partly cover the same
ground; and I must be content with referring my readers to them for
further information. They are _The English Radicals_, by Mr. C. B.
Roylance Kent; and _English Political Philosophy from Hobbes to Maine_,
by Professor Graham.
CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTORY 1
CHAPTER I
POLITICAL CONDITIONS
I. The British Constitution 12
II. The Ruling Class 18
III. Legislation and Administration 22
IV. The Army and Navy 30
V. The Church 35
VI. The Universities 43
VII. Theory 51
CHAPTER II
THE INDUSTRIAL SPIRIT
I. The Manufacturers 57
II. The Agriculturists 69
CHAPTER III
SOCIAL PROBLEMS
I. Pauperism 87
II. The Police 99
III. Education 108
IV. The Slave-Trade 113
V. The French Revolution 121
VI. Individualism 130
CHAPTER IV
PHILOSOPHY
I. John Horne Tooke 137
II. Dugald Stewart 142
CHAPTER V
BENTHAM'S LIFE
I. Early Life 169
II. First Writings 175
III. The Panopticon 193
IV. Utilitarian Propaganda 206
V. Codification 222
CHAPTER VI
BENTHAM'S DOCTRINE
I. First Principles 235
II. Springs of Action 249
III. The Sanctions 255
IV. Criminal Law 263
V. English Law 271
VI. Radicalism 282
VII. Individualism 307
NOTE ON BENTHAM'S WRITINGS 319
INTRODUCTORY
The English Utilitarians of whom I am about to give some account were a
group of men who for three generations had a conspicuous influence upon
English thought and political action. Jeremy Bentham, James Mill, and
John Stuart Mill were successively their leaders; and I shall speak of
each in turn. It may be well to premise a brief indication of the method
which I have adopted. I have devoted a much greater proportion of my
work to biography and to consideration of political and social
conditions than would be appropriate to the history of a philosophy. The
reasons for such a course are very obvious in this case, inasmuch as the
Utilitarian doctrines were worked out with a constant reference to
practical applications. I think, indeed, that such a reference is often
equally present, though not equally conspicuous, in other philosophical
schools. But in any case I wish to show how I conceive the relation of
my scheme to the scheme more generally adopted by historians of abstract
speculation.
I am primarily concerned with the history of a school or sect, not with
the history of the arguments by which it justifies itself in the court
of pure reason. I must therefore consider the creed as it was actually
embodied in the dominant beliefs of the adherents of the school, not as
it was expounded in lecture-rooms or treatises on first principles. I
deal not with philosophers meditating upon Being and not-Being, but with
men actively engaged in framing political platforms and carrying on
popular agitations. The great majority even of intelligent partisans are
either indifferent to the philosophic creed of their leaders or take it
for granted. Its post
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ANTON TCHEKHOV
AND OTHER ESSAIS
BY
LEON SHESTOV
TRANSLATED BY
S. KOTELIANSKY AND J. M. MURRY
MAUNSEL AND CO. LTD.
DUBLIN AND LONDON
1916
CONTENTS
ANTON TCHEKHOV (CREATION FROM THE VOID)
THE GIFT OF PROPHECY
PENULTIMATE WORDS
THE THEORY OF KNOWLEDGE
INTRODUCTION
It is not to be denied that Russian thought is chiefly manifested in
the great Russian novelists. Tolstoi, Dostoevsky, and Tchekhov made
explicit in their works conceptions of the world which yield nothing in
definiteness to the philosophic schemes of the great dogmatists of old,
and perhaps may be regarded as even superior to them in that by their
nature they emphasise a relation of which the professional philosopher
is too often careless--the intimate connection between philosophy and
life. They attacked fearlessly and with a high devotion of which we
English readers are slowly becoming sensible the fundamental problem of
all philosophy worthy the name. They were preoccupied with the answer
to the question: Is life worth living? And the great assumption which
they made, at least in the beginning of the quest, was that to live
life must mean to live it wholly. To live was not to pass by life on
the other side, not suppress the deep or even the dark passions of body
or soul, not to lull by some lying and narcotic phrase the urgent
questions of the mind, not to deny life. To them life was the sum of
all human potentialities. They accepted them all, loved them all, and
strove to find a place for them all in a pattern in which none should
be distorted. They failed, but not one of them fainted by the way,
and there was not one of them but with his latest breath bravely held
to his belief that there was a way and that the way might be found.
Tolstoi went out alone to die, yet more manifestly than he had lived,
a seeker after the secret; death overtook Dostoevsky in his supreme
attempt to wrest a hope for mankind out of the abyss of the imagined
future; and Tchekhov died when his most delicate fingers had been
finally eager in lighting _The Cherry Orchard_ with the tremulous glint
of laughing tears, which may perhaps be the ultimate secret of the
process which leaves us all bewildered and full of pity and wonder.
There were great men and great philosophers. It may be that this
cruelly conscious world will henceforward recognise no man as great
unless he has greatly sought: for to seek and not to think is the
essence of philosophy. To have greatly sought, I say, should be the
measure of man's greatness in the strange world of which there will be
only a tense, sorrowful, disillusioned remnant when this grim ordeal
is over. It should be so: and we, who are, according to our strength,
faithful to humanity, must also strive according to our strength to
make it so. We are not, and we shall not be, great men: but we have
the elements of greatness. We have an impulse to honesty, to think
honestly, to see honestly, and to speak the truth to ourselves in the
lonely hours. It is only an impulse, which, in these barren, bitter,
years, so quickly withers and dies. It is almost that we dare not be
honest now. Our hearts are dead: we cannot wake the old wounds again.
And yet if anything of this generation that suffered is to remain, if
we are to hand any spark of the fire which once burned so brightly,
if we are to be human still, then we must still be honest at whatever
cost. We--and I speak of that generation which was hardly man when the
war burst upon it, which was ardent and generous and dreamed dreams
of devotion to an ideal of art or love or life--are maimed and broken
for ever. Let us not deceive ourselves. The dead voices will never be
silent in our ears to remind us of that which we once were, and that
which we have lost. We shall die as we shall live, lonely and haunted
by memories that will grow stranger, more beautiful, more terrible,
and more tormenting as the years go on, and at the last we shall not
know which was the dream--the years of plenty or the barren years that
descended like a storm in the night and swept our youth away.
Yet something remains. Not those lying things that they who cannot feel
how icy cold is sudden and senseless death to all-daring youth, din in
our ears. We shall not be inspired by the memory of heroism. We shall
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DOROTHY DALE'S
GREAT SECRET
BY
MARGARET PENROSE
AUTHOR OF "DOROTHY DALE: A GIRL OF TO-DAY," "DOROTHY DALE AT
GLENWOOD SCHOOL," ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
THE DOROTHY DALE SERIES
By Margaret Penrose
Cloth. Illustrated.
DOROTHY DALE: A GIRL OF TO-DAY
DOROTHY DALE AT GLENWOOD SCHOOL
DOROTHY DALE'S GREAT SECRET
(Other Volumes in preparation)
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY NEW YORK
Copyright, 1909, by
Cupples & Leon Company
Dorothy Dale's Great Secret
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. An Automobile Ride 1
II. Tavia Has Plans 17
III. A Cup of Tea 28
IV. The Apparition 39
V. An Untimely Letter 47
VI. On the Lawn 55
VII. At Sunset Lake 63
VIII. A Lively Afternoon 72
IX. Dorothy and Tavia 79
X. Leaving Glenwood 88
XI. A Jolly Home-Coming 96
XII. Dorothy is Worried 109
XIII. Little Urania 118
XIV. The Runaway 129
XV. A Spell of the "Glumps" 139
XVI. Dorothy in Buffalo 147
XVII. At the Play 161
XVIII. Behind the Scenes 172
XIX. The Clue 183
XX. Dorothy and the Manager 195
XXI. Adrift in a Strange City 205
XXII. In Dire Distress 211
XXIII. The Secret--Conclusion 231
DOROTHY DALE'S GREAT SECRET
CHAPTER I
AN AUTOMOBILE RIDE
"There is one thing perfectly delightful about boarding schools,"
declared Tavia, "when the term closes we can go away, and leave it in
another world. Now, at Dalton, we would have to see the old schoolhouse
every time we went to Daly's for a pound of butter, a loaf of bread--and
oh, yes! I almost forgot! Mom said we could get some bologna. Whew! Don't
your mouth water, Dorothy? We always did get good bologna at Daly's!"
"Bologna!" echoed Dorothy. "As if the young ladies of Glenwood School
would disgrace their appetites with such vulgar fare!"
At this she snatched up an empty cracker box, almost devouring its
parifine paper, in hopes of finding a few more crumbs, although Tavia had
poured the last morsels of the wafers down her own throat the night
before this conversation took place. Yes, Tavia had even made a funnel of
the paper and "took" the powdered biscuits as doctors administer headache
remedies.
"All the same," went on Tavia, "I distinctly remember that you had a
longing for the skin of my sausage, along with the end piece, which you
always claimed for your own share."
"Oh, please stop!" besought Dorothy, "or I shall have to purloin my hash
from the table to-night and stuff it into--"
"The armlet of your new, brown kid gloves," finished Tavia. "They're the
very color of a nice, big, red-brown bologna, and I believe the
inspiration is a direct message. 'The Evolution of a Bologna Sausage,'
modern edition, bound in full kid. Mine for the other glove. Watch all
the hash within sight to-night, and we'll ask the girls to our
clam-bake."
"Dear old Dalton," went on Dorothy with a sigh. "After all there is no
place like home," and she dropped her blond head on her arms, in the
familiar pose Tavia described as "thinky."
"But home was never like this," declared the other, following up
Dorothy's sentiment with her usual interjection of slang. At the same
moment she made a dart for a tiny bottle of Dorothy's perfume, which was
almost emptied down the front of Tavia's blue dress, before the owner of
the treasure had time to interfere.
"Oh, that's mean!" exclaimed Dorothy. "Aunt Winnie sent me that by mail.
It was a special kind--"
"And you know my weakness for specials--real bargains! There!" and Tavia
caught Dorothy up in her arms. "I'll rub it all on your head. Tresses of
sunshine, perfumed with incense!"
"Please stop!" begged Dorothy. "My hair is all fixed!"
"Well, it's '
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TALES OF THE PUNJAB
FOLKLORE OF INDIA
BY
FLORA ANNIE STEEL
CONTENTS
Preface
To the Little Reader
Sir Buzz
The Rat's Wedding
The Faithful Prince
The Bear's Bad Bargain
Prince Lionheart and his Three Friends
The Lambkin
Bopoluchi
Princess Aubergine
Valiant Vicky, the Brave Weaver
The Son of Seven Mothers
The Sparrow and the Crow
The Tiger, the Brahman, and the Jackal
The King of the Crocodiles
Little Anklebone
The Close Alliance
The Two Brothers
The Jackal and the Iguana
The Death and Burial of Poor Hen-Sparrow
Princess Pepperina
Peasie and Beansir
The Jackal and the Partridge
The Snake-woman and King Ali Mardan
The Wonderful Ring
The Jackal and the Pea-hen
The Grain of Corn
The Farmer and the Money-lender
The Lord of Death
The Wrestlers
The Legend of Gwashbrari, the Glacier-Hearted Queen
The Barber's Clever Wife
The Jackal and the Crocodile
How Raja Rasalu Was Born
How Raja Rasalu Went Out Into the World
How Raja Rasalu's Friends Forsook Him
How Raja Rasalu Killed the Giants
How Raja Rasalu Became a Jogi
How Raja Rasalu Journeyed to the City of King Sarkap
How Raja Rasalu Swung the Seventy Fair Maidens, Daughters of the King
How Raja Rasalu Played Chaupur with King Sarkap
The King Who Was Fried
Prince Half-a-Son
The Mother and
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The Home Medical
Library
By
KENELM WINSLOW, B.A.S., M.D.
_Formerly Assistant Professor Comparative Therapeutics, Harvard
University; Late Surgeon to the Newton Hospital;
Fellow of the Massachusetts Medical Society, etc._
With the Cooeperation of Many Medical
Advising Editors and Special Contributors
IN SIX VOLUMES
_First Aid :: Family Medicines :: Nose, Throat, Lungs,
Eye, and Ear :: Stomach and Bowels :: Tumors and
Skin Diseases :: Rheumatism :: Germ Diseases
Nervous Diseases :: Insanity :: Sexual Hygiene
Woman and Child :: Heart, Blood, and Digestion
Personal Hygiene :: Indoor Exercise
Diet and Conduct for Long Life :: Practical
Kitchen Science :: Nervousness
and Outdoor Life :: Nurse and Patient
Camping Comfort :: Sanitation
of the Household :: Pure
Water Supply :: Pure Food
Stable and Kennel_
NEW YORK
The Review of Reviews Company
1907
Medical Advising Editors
Managing Editor
ALBERT WARREN FERRIS, A.M., M.D.
_Former Assistant in Neurology, Columbia University; Former Chairman,
Section on Neurology and Psychiatry, New York Academy of Medicine;
Assistant in Medicine, University and Bellevue Hospital Medical
College; Medical Editor, New International Encyclopedia._
Nervous Diseases
CHARLES E. ATWOOD, M.D.
_Assistant in Neurology, Columbia University; Former Physician, Utica
State Hospital and Bloomingdale Hospital for Insane Patients; Former
Clinical Assistant to Sir William Gowers, National Hospital, London._
Pregnancy
RUSSELL BELLAMY, M.D.
_Assistant in Obstetrics and Gynecology, Cornell University Medical
College Dispensary; Captain and Assistant Surgeon (in charge),
Squadron A, New York Cavalry; Assistant in Surgery, New York
Polyclinic._
Germ Diseases
HERMANN MICHAEL BIGGS, M.D.
_General Medical Officer and Director of Bacteriological Laboratories,
New York City Department of Health; Professor of Clinical Medicine in
University and Bellevue Hospital Medical College; Visiting Physician
to Bellevue, St. Vincent's, Willard Parker, and Riverside Hospitals._
The Eye and Ear
J. HERBERT CLAIBORNE, M.D.
_Clinical Instructor in Ophthalmology, Cornell University Medical
College; Former Adjunct Professor of Ophthalmology, New York
Polyclinic; Former Instructor in Ophthalmology in Columbia University;
Surgeon, New Amsterdam Eye and Ear Hospital._
Sanitation
THOMAS DARLINGTON, M.D.
_Health Commissioner of New York City; Former President Medical Board,
New York Foundling Hospital; Consulting Physician, French Hospital;
Attending Physician, St. John's Riverside Hospital, Yonkers; Surgeon
to New Croton Aqueduct and other Public Works, to Copper Queen
Consolidated Mining Company of Arizona, and Arizona and Southeastern
Railroad Hospital; Author of Medical and Climatological Works._
Menstruation
AUSTIN FLINT, JR., M.D.
_Professor of Obstetrics and Clinical Gynecology, New York University
and Bellevue Hospital Medical College; Visiting Physician, Bellevue
Hospital; Consulting Obstetrician, New York Maternity Hospital;
Attending Physician, Hospital for Ruptured and Crippled, Manhattan
Maternity and Emergency Hospitals._
Heart and Blood
JOHN BESSNER HUBER, A.M., M.D.
_Assistant in Medicine, University and Bellevue Hospital Medical
College; Visiting Physician to St. Joseph's Home for Consumptives;
Author of "Consumption: Its Relation to Man and His Civilization; Its
Prevention and Cure."_
Skin Diseases
JAMES C. JOHNSTON, A.B., M.D.
_Instructor in Pathology and Chief of Clinic, Department of
Dermatology, Cornell University Medical College._
Diseases of Children
CHARLES GILMORE KERLEY, M.D.
_Professor of Pediatrics, New York Polyclinic Medical School and
Hospital; Attending Physician, New York Infant Asylum, Children's
Department of Sydenham Hospital, and Babies' Hospital, N. Y.;
Consulting Physician, Home for Crippled Children._
Bites and Stings
GEORGE GIBIER RAMBAUD, M.D.
_President, New York Pasteur Institute._
Headache
ALONZO D. ROCKWELL, A.M., M.D.
_Former Professor Electro-Therapeutics and Neurology at New York
Post-Graduate Medical School; Neurologist and Electro-Therapeutist to
the Flushing Hospital; Former Electro-Therapeutist to the Woman's
Hospital in the State of New York; Author of Works on Medical and
Surgical Uses of Electricity, Nervous Exhaustion (Neurasthenia), etc._
Poisons
E. ELLSWORTH SMITH, M.D.
_Pathologist
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THE MULE
A TREATISE ON THE BREEDING, TRAINING, AND USES TO WHICH HE MAY BE PUT.
BY HARVEY RILEY, SUPERINTENDENT OF THE GOVERNMENT CORRAL, WASHINGTON
D.C.
1867.
PREFACE.
There is no more useful or willing animal than the Mule. And perhaps
there is no other animal so much abused, or so little cared for. Popular
opinion of his nature has not been favorable; and he has had to plod and
work through life against the prejudices of the ignorant. Still, he has
been the great friend of man, in war and in peace serving him well and
faithfully. If he could tell man what he most needed it would be kind
treatment. We all know how much can be done to improve the condition and
advance the comfort of this animal; and he is a true friend of humanity
who does what he can for his benefit. My object in writing this book was
to do what I could toward working out a much needed reform in the
breeding, care, and treatment of these animals. Let me ask that what I
have said in regard to the value of kind treatment be carefully read and
followed. I have had thirty years' experience in the use of this animal,
and during that time have made his nature a study. The result of that
study is, that humanity as well as economy will be best served by
kindness.
It has indeed seemed to me that the Government might make a great saving
every year by employing only such teamsters and wagon-masters as had
been thoroughly instructed in the treatment and management of animals,
and were in every way qualified to perform their duties properly.
Indeed, it would seem only reasonable not to trust a man with a valuable
team of animals, or perhaps a train, until he had been thoroughly
instructed in their use, and had received a certificate of capacity from
the Quartermaster's Department. If this were done, it would go far to
establish a system that would check that great destruction of animal
life which costs the Government so heavy a sum every year.
H.R.
WASHINGTON, D.C., _April 12, 1867_.
NOTE.
I have, in another part of this work, spoken of the mule as being free
from splint. Perhaps I should have said that I had never seen one that
had it, notwithstanding the number I have had to do with. There are, I
know, persons who assert that they have seen mules that had it. I ought
to mention here, also, by way of correction, that there is another
ailment the mule does not have in common with the horse, and that is
quarter-crack. The same cause that keeps them from having quarter-crack
preserves them from splint--the want of front action.
A great many persons insist that a mule has no marrow in the bones of
his legs. This is a very singular error. The bone of the mule's leg has
a cavity, and is as well filled with marrow as the horse's. It also
varies in just the same proportion as in the horse's leg. The feet of
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2023-11-16 18:26:15.3839880
| 181 | 105 |
Produced by Chris Curnow, Chuck Greif and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
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[Illustration]
LONDON CRIES
&
Public Edifices
[Illustration]
by
LVKE
LIMNER
ESQ
GRANT AND GRIFFITH.
SUCCESSORS TO NEWBERY AND HARRIS
1 CORNER OF SAINT PAUL’S CHURCH-YARD, LONDON.
1851.
[Illustration: THE TOWER OF LONDON.
POTS & KETTLES TO MEND, BELLOWS TO MEND.]
POTS AND KETTLES TO MEND!--COPPER
| 628.703398 | 2,999 |
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