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Secrets of the Sword
Secrets of the Sword
Translated from the original French
of BARON DE BAZANCOURT by
C. F. CLAY, with illustrations
by F. H. TOWNSEND
_La pointe d'une epee est une
realite qui fait disparaitre
bien des fantomes._
BAZANCOURT.
[Publisher's mark]
London: George Bell & Sons, York Street,
Covent Garden; and New York. Mdcccc.
Cambridge:
Printed by J. and C. F. Clay
at the University Press.
PREFACE
If French is, as we have been told, the natural language of the art of
fencing, it seems a particularly rash venture to translate a French
book on the subject into English. This is especially the case when the
original is such a work as _Les Secrets de l'Epee_, which so far from
being a dry technical manual, that might be sufficiently rendered by
a baldly literal version, is one of those fascinating, chatty books,
written in a happy vein, in which the manner of writing is the matter
of principal importance. But the delightful ease and artful simplicity
of style that captivate the reader are the translator's despair. I
have made the attempt for my own amusement, and I am publishing my
translation because the original work, which was first published in
1862 and reprinted in 1875, has been for some years inaccessible, and
because I think it is a book that will interest English fencers.
An interesting and appreciative account of the book is given in the
introduction to the volume devoted to fencing in the Badminton Library,
together with some criticism of the author. The would-be fencer is
cautioned that the Baron de Bazancourt is 'a very expert literary
dodger' whose specious arguments must be studied with the greatest
caution. The warning note is no doubt wise in a book intended for the
English fencer, for English fencing certainly shows no tendency to
be excessively correct, but is rather inclined to err in the other
direction. But no fencer who reads the work attentively can fail to
derive from it a real profit, and, I hope, a real pleasure. The keynote
of the book is that a fencer must fence with his 'head.' Bazancourt
generally calls it 'instinct,' or 'inspiration.' But call it what
you will, there can be no doubt that the continual tax that fencing
makes on the resourcefulness of the player gives it its subtle and
enduring charm. The unforeseen emergencies that have to be faced,
and the varieties of play that are encountered in meeting different
opponents, make fencing of all sports the least mechanical and the
least monotonous.
We are often told that fencing will never be popular in England,
because it is no longer required for practical purposes. But does
anyone suppose that we are guided by practical considerations in
choosing our sports? Fencing is a most exhilarating exercise and one
that is particularly suitable for those of us who live a town life. A
dull day in London may be very sensibly enlivened by a brisk assault.
The luxury of getting into flannels is increased by the reflection that
for an hour at any rate one will think of nothing but the foils. For no
exercise is so absorbing as fencing. Whether you are taking a lesson or
are engaged in a friendly combat your whole attention cannot fail to
be occupied. There is room for nothing else, and on that account alone
fencing must be commended as a mental relaxation of the highest value.
Compared with boxing, fencing has the advantage that it can be
continued even into old age. Now, however willing one may be to
be punched and pommelled, there usually comes a time when it is
inconvenient to appear in public with a black eye or a bruised cheek.
Few men who take to fencing and master the preliminary stages can make
up their minds to give it up, until they are obliged to do so for want
of time or opportunity.
The cosmopolitan character of fencing is another point in its favour.
Not only throughout France and Italy, but wherever French or Italian
is spoken, fencing rooms abound, and the stranger who visits them is
sure to be received with friendly interest and hospitality. Fencers are
always glad to try conclusions with a new blade, and a very moderate
knowledge of the art may often serve as a pleasant and informal
introduction in a strange country.
The art of translation is perhaps as slippery and elusive as the
art of fence. _L'escrime vit de loyales perfidies_ says the Baron
de Bazancourt. He might have said the same thing of translation. I
have endeavoured to give a faithful rendering of this book. It has
equally been my object to make my version readable. I am conscious of
many defects, and cannot hope to
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The Project Gutenberg Etext of Love or Fame; and Other Poems by Fannie
Isabelle Sherrick
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Love or Fame; and Other Poems
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Transcriber's Note:
Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have
been preserved. Inconsistent punctuation in the ads section has been
left as printed. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold text by =equal
signs=.
ARETHUSA
[Illustration: ARETHUSA]
ARETHUSA
BY
F. MARION CRAWFORD
AUTHOR OF "SARACINESCA," "A LADY OF ROME,"
ETC., ETC.
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
GERTRUDE DEMAIN HAMMOND_
New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LTD.
1907
_All rights reserved_
COPYRIGHT, 1906, 1907,
BY THE PHILLIPS PUBLISHING CO.
COPYRIGHT, 1907,
BY F. MARION CRAWFORD.
Set up and electrotyped. Published November, 1907.
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
THE STORY-TELLER OF THE BAZAAR
DEDICATES
THIS TALE OF CONSTANTINOPLE
TO HIS DEAR DAUGHTER
ELEANOR
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Arethusa _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
He was talking with an old beggar woman 30
She tenderly kissed the wrinkled face 44
'Yes,' replied the negress. 'Rustan is very affectionate. He
says that I am his Zoe, his "life," because he would surely
die of starvation without me!' 66
'Tell me your story,' he said in a lower tone. 'Do not be afraid!
no one shall hurt you.' 88
'Forty ducats!' cried Omobono, casting up his eyes, and preparing
to bargain for at least half an hour 94
All sorts of confused thoughts crowded her brain, as Zeno sat
down on a seat beside the divan 108
There was something so oddly fixed in his look and so dull in his
voice that Omobono began to fear that he might be a lunatic 128
'I know them,' Zoe answered. 'If I am not telling you the
truth, sell me in the market to-morrow.' 164
'I did not mean to love you!' 194
The captain's wife obeyed, less frightened than she had been at
first 218
Saw her sink down there exhausted, and draw a heavy silk shawl
across her body 240
'Tell me what you see,' she said to the maids 262
'Yes!' roared the Tartar. 'Ten thousand ducats! And if I do
not find the money in the house, you two must find it in
yours! Do you understand?' 274
Then, all at once, he felt that she had received one of those
inspirations of the practical sense which visit women who
are driven to extremities 310
'Am I not your bought slave?' she asked. 'I must obey.' 352
CHAPTER I
Carlo Zeno, gentleman of Venice, ex-clerk, ex-gambler, ex-soldier of
fortune, ex-lay prebendary of Patras, ex-duellist, and ex-Greek
general, being about twenty-nine years of age, and having in his tough
body the scars of half-a-dozen wounds that would have killed an
ordinary man, had resolved to turn over a new leaf, had become a
merchant, and was established in Constantinople in the year 1376.
He had bought a house in the city itself because the merchants of
Genoa all dwelt in the town of Pera, on the other side of the Golden
Horn. A Venetian could not have lived in the same place with Genoese,
for the air would have poisoned him, to a certainty; and besides, the
sight of a Genoese face, the sound of the Genoese dialect, the smell
of Genoese cookery, were all equally sickening to any one brought up
in the lagoons. Genoa was not fit to be mentioned within hearing of
polite Venetian ears, its very name was unspeakable by decent Venetian
lips; and even to pronounce the syllables for purposes of business was
horribly unlucky.
Therefore Carlo Zeno and his friends had taken up their abode in the
old city, amongst the Greeks and the Bokharians, the Jews and the
Circassians, and they left the Genoese to themselves in Pera,
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This eBook was produced by Tricia Gilbert, Juliet Sutherland,
Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
Life Of
Her Most Gracious Majesty
THE QUEEN
by
SARAH TYTLER
_Edited with an Introduction by_
LORD RONALD GOWER, FSA.
IN TWO VOLUMES
Vol II
* * * * *
CONTENTS.
VOL. II.
CHAP.
I. ROYAL PROGRESSES TO BURGHLEY, STOWE, AND STRATHFIELDSAYE
II. THE QUEEN'S POWDER BALL
III. THE QUEEN'S FIRST VISIT TO GERMANY
IV. RAILWAY SPECULATION--FAILURE OF THE POTATO CROP--SIR ROBERT PEEL'S
RESOLUTIONS--BIRTH OF PRINCESS HELENA--VISIT OF IBRAHIM PASHA
V. AUTUMN YACHTING EXCURSIONS--THE SPANISH MARRIAGES--WINTER VISITS
VI. INSTALLATION OF PRINCE ALBERT AS CHANCELLOR OF CAMBRIDGE
VII. THE QUEEN'S VISIT TO THE WESTERN ISLANDS OF SCOTLAND AND STAY AT
ARDVERIKIE
VIII. THE FRENCH FUGITIVES--THE PEOPLE'S CHARTER
IX. THE QUEEN'S FIRST STAY AT BALMORAL
X. PUBLIC AND DOMESTIC INTERESTS--FRESH ATTACK UPON THE QUEEN
XI. THE QUEEN'S FIRST VISIT TO IRELAND
XII. SCOTLAND AGAIN--GLASGOW AND DEE-SIDE
XIII. THE OPENING OF THE NEW COAL EXCHANGE--THE DEATH OF QUEEN
ADELAIDE
XIV. PREPARATION FOR THE EXHIBITION--BIRTH OF THE DUKE OF CONNAUGHT
XV. THE DEATHS OF SIR ROBERT PEEL, THE DUKE OF CAMBRIDGE, AND LOUIS
PHILIPPE
XVI. THE QUEEN'S FIRST STAY AT HOLYROOD--THE DEATH OF THE QUEEN OF
THE BELGIANS
XVII. THE PAPAL BULL--THE GREAT EXHIBITION
XVII. THE QUEEN'S ACCOUNT OF THE OPENING OF THE EXHIBITION
XIX. THE QUEEN'S "RESTORATION BALL" AND THE "GUILDHALL BALL."
XX. ROYAL VISITS TO LIVERPOOL AND MANCHESTER--CLOSE OF THE EXHIBITION
XXI. DISASTERS--YACHTING TRIPS--THE DEATH OF THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON
XXII. THE IRON DUKE'S FUNERAL
XXIII. THE EMPEROR NAPOLEON III. AND THE EMPRESS EUGÉNIE--FIRE AT
WINDSOR
XXIV. THE EASTERN QUESTION--APPROACHING WAR--GROSS INJUSTICE TO PRINCE
ALBERT
XXV. THE BATTLE OF INKERMANN--FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE--THE DEATH OF THE
EMPEROR NICHOLAS
XXVI. INSPECTION OF THE HOSPITAL AT CHATHAM--DISTRIBUTION OF WAR
MEDALS
XXVII. DEATH OF LORD RAGLAN--VISIT OF THE QUEEN AND PRINCE ALBERT TO
THE EMPEROR AND EMPRESS OF THE FRENCH--FALL OF SEBASTOPOL
XXVIII. BETROTHAL OF THE PRINCESS ROYAL--QUEEN'S SPEECH TO THE
SOLDIERS RETURNED FROM THE CRIMEA--BALMORAL
XXIX. DEATH OF THE PRINCE OF LEININGEN--BIRTH OF PRINCESS BEATRICE--
BESTOWAL OF THE VICTORIA CROSS--INDIAN MUTINY
XXX. THE MARRIAGE OF THE PRINCESS ROYAL
XXXI. DEATH OF THE DUCHESSE D'ORLEANS--THE PRINCE CONSORT'S VISIT TO
GERMANY--THE QUEEN AND PRINCE CONSORT'S VISIT TO PRINCE AND PRINCESS
FREDERICK WILLIAM AT BABELSBERG
XXXII. BIRTH OF PRINCE WILLIAM OF PRUSSIA--DEATH OP PRINCE HOHENLOHE
XXXIII. DEATH OF THE DUCHESS OF KENT
XXXIV. LAST VISIT TO IRELAND--MEETING OF THE PRINCE OF WALES AND THE
PRINCESS ALEXANDRA OF DENMARK--DEATH OF THE KING OF PORTUGAL
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English Men of Letters
EDITED BY JOHN MORLEY
KEATS
KEATS
BY SIDNEY COLVIN
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
ST MARTIN'S STREET, LONDON
1909
_First Edition 1887._
_Reprinted 1889, 1898, 1899, 1902, 1909._
_Library Edition 1902._
_Reprinted 1906._
_Pocket Edition 1909._
PREFACE.
With the name of Keats that of his first biographer, the late Lord
Houghton, must always justly remain associated. But while the sympathetic
charm of Lord Houghton's work will keep it fresh, as a record of the
poet's life it can no longer be said to be sufficient. Since the revised
edition of the _Life and Letters_ appeared in 1867, other students and
lovers of Keats have been busy, and much new information concerning him
been brought to light, while of the old information some has been proved
mistaken. No connected account of Keats's life and work, in accordance
with the present state of knowledge, exists, and I have been asked to
contribute such an account to the present series. I regret that lack of
strength and leisure has so long delayed the execution of the task
entrusted to me. The chief authorities and printed texts which I have
consulted (besides the original editions of the Poems) are the
following:--
1. Lord Byron and some of his Contemporaries. By Leigh Hunt. London, 1828.
2
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E-text prepared by Peter Vachuska, Chuck Greif, Greg Bergquist, and the
Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
(http://www.pgdp.net)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 24971-h.htm or 24971-h.zip:
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TRAVELS IN THE FAR EAST
[Illustration: _The Pyramids from the Nile, Cairo_]
TRAVELS IN THE FAR EAST
by
ELLEN M. H. PECK
(Mrs. James Sidney Peck)
New York
Thomas Y. Crowell & Co.
Publishers
Copyright 1909
By Ellen M. H. Peck
The University Press, Cambridge, U.S.A.
OZYMANDIAS
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings;
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
--PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY
TO MY DAUGHTER
FOREWORD
As the inspiration which caused the making of this "Tour" came from my
daughter (the "you" of my story), and as she wished a record of the same
published, my desire has been to give her as complete an idea of my
journeyings as is possible by descriptive text and illustrations. The
interest of friends in the plan has caused them to be included in my
thought, and if the public desire to be added to the personal
acquaintances whom I regard as my readers it will prove a pleasant
recognition of a modest plan.
The nine months tour included Egypt, Northern India, Burma, Southern
India, Ceylon, Malay Peninsula, Java, Siam, Southern China, Japan,
Northern China, Manchuria, and Korea.
Realizing that impressions suddenly formed are not always to be trusted,
an attempt has been made to have them tested by comparison with those
formed by a longer residence.
In like manner only statements have been made on the authority of those
who claimed to have knowledge and experience. The lack of guidance of
either a Baedeker or a Murray has been felt in Java, Siam, China,
Manchuria, and Korea, small local guide books and guides not being an
equivalent as regards accurate testimony.
May these pages prove a pleasant reminiscence to those who have visited
the scenes described, and an introduction to those who have not thus
travelled, but some of whom may plan to "do likewise."
E.M.H.P.
MILWAUKEE, December, 1908
CONTENTS
PAGE
MILWAUKEE 1
CHICAGO 1
NEW YORK 1
THE AZORES 4
GIBRALTAR 4
MARSEILLES 5
PORT SAID 7
CAIRO 9
SUEZ CANAL 34
ADEN, ARABIA 36
BOMBAY 37
JEYPORE 48
DELHI 56
AGRA 67
FATEHPUR-SIKRI 76
CAWNPORE 79
LUCKNOW 80
BENARES 82
SILIGURI 88
DARJEELING 89
CALCUTTA 93
BURMA 97
PROME 109
RANGOON 109
SHWE DAGON 111
MADRAS 116
TANJORE 118
TRICHINOPOLY 120
MADURA 122
TUTICORIN 124
COLOMBO 124
NUWARA ELIYA 127
KANDY 129
ANURADHAPURA 132
CEYLON 141
BATAVIA, JAVA 145
BUITENZORG 147
GAROET 150
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My Lady Caprice
by
Jeffery Farnol
CONTENTS
I. TREASURE TROVE
II. THE SHERIFF OF NOTTINGHAM
III. THE DESPERADOES
IV. MOON MAGIC
V. THE EPISODE OF THE INDIAN'S AUNT
VI. THE OUTLAW
VII. THE BLASTED OAK
VIII. THE LAND OF HEART'S DELIGHT
I
TREASURE TROVE
I sat fishing. I had not caught anything, of course--I rarely do, nor
am I fond of fishing in the very smallest degree, but I fished
assiduously all the same, because circumstances demanded it.
It had all come about through Lady Warburton, Lisbeth's maternal aunt.
Who Lisbeth is you will learn if you trouble to read these veracious
narratives--suffice it for the present that she has been an orphan from
her youth up, with no living relative save her married sister Julia and
her Aunt (with a capital A)--the Lady Warburton aforesaid.
Lady Warburton is small and somewhat bony, with a sharp chin and a
sharper nose, and invariably uses lorgnette; also, she is possessed of
much worldly goods.
Precisely a week ago Lady Warburton had requested me to call upon
her--had regarded me with a curious exactitude through her lorgnette,
and gently though firmly (Lady Warburton is always firm) had suggested
that Elizabeth, though a dear child, was young and inclined to be a
little self-willed. That she (Lady Warburton) was of opinion that
Elizabeth had mistaken the friendship which had existed between us so
long for something stronger. That although she (Lady Warburton) quite
appreciated the fact that one who wrote books, and occasionally a play,
was not necessarily immoral-- Still I was, of course, a terrible
Bohemian, and the air of Bohemia was not calculated to conduce to that
degree of matrimonial harmony which she (Lady Warburton) as Elizabeth's
Aunt, standing to her in place of a mother, could wish for. That,
therefore, under these circumstances my attentions were--etc., etc.
Here I would say in justice to myself that despite the torrent of her
eloquence I had at first made some attempt at resistance; but who could
hope to contend successfully against a woman possessed of such an
indomitable nose and chin, and one, moreover, who could level a pair of
lorgnette with such deadly precision? Still, had Lisbeth been beside
me things might have been different even then; but she had gone away
into the country--so Lady Warburton had informed me. Thus alone and at
her mercy, she had succeeded in wringing from me a half promise that I
would cease my attentions for the space of six months, "just to give
dear Elizabeth time to learn her own heart in regard to the matter."
This was last Monday. On the Wednesday following, as I wandered
aimlessly along Piccadilly, at odds with Fortune and myself, but
especially with myself, my eye encountered the Duchess of Chelsea.
The Duchess is familiarly known as the "Conversational Brook" from the
fact that when once she begins she goes on forever. Hence, being in my
then frame of mind, it was with a feeling of rebellion that I obeyed
the summons of her parasol and crossed over to the brougham.
"So she's gone away?" was her greeting as I raised my hat--"Lisbeth,"
she nodded, "I happened to hear something about her, you know."
It is strange, perhaps, but the Duchess generally does "happen to hear"
something about everything. "And you actually allowed yourself to be
bullied into making that promise--Dick! Dick! I'm ashamed of you."
"How was I to help myself?" I began. "You see--"
"Poor boy!" said the Duchess, patting me affectionately with the handle
of her parasol, "it wasn't to be expected, of course. You see, I know
her--many, many years ago I was at school with Agatha Warburton."
"But she probably didn't use lorgnettes then, and--"
"Her nose was just as sharp though--'peaky' I used to call it," nodded
the Duchess. "And she has actually sent Lisbeth away--dear child--and
to such a horrid, quiet little place, too, where she'll have nobody to
talk to but that young Selwyn.
"I beg pardon, Duchess, but--"
"Horace Selwyn, of Selwyn Park--cousin to Lord Selwyn, of Brankesmere.
Agatha has been scheming for it a long time, under the rose, you know.
Of course, it would be a good match, in a
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[Illustration: He met the hot-mouthed, vicious brute, his rude spear
clasped in both hands]
----------------------------------------------------------------------
FAR PAST THE FRONTIER
By
JAMES A. BRADEN
Illustrated by
W. H. FRY
C
Akron, Ohio
THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING CO.
New York--Chicago
MADE IN U. S. A.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Copyright, 1902
By
The Saalfield Publishing Company
----------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I The Flight of Big Pete Ellis. 5
II A Bound Boy's Story. 19
III The Beginning of a Perilous Journey. 32
IV The Man Under the Bed. 47
V A Mysterious Shot in the Darkness. 62
VI On Lonely Mountain Roads. 76
VII On Into the Wilderness. 91
VIII Friends or Foes? 105
IX The Scalp at Big Buffalo's Belt. 121
X A Night With the Indians. 134
XI Again a Hidden Enemy. 150
XII Building a Cabin. 164
XIII The Strange Story of Arthur Bridges. 179
XIV Treed by Wolves. 192
XV A Maple Sugar Camp in the Wilderness. 206
XVI The Hatred of Big Buffalo. 219
XVII Danger. 232
----------------------------------------------------------------------
FAR PAST THE FRONTIER.
CHAPTER I.
The Flight of Big Pete Ellis.
"Look out thar!"
A young, red-bearded man of herculean frame fiercely jerked the words
between his teeth as he leaped between two boys who were about to enter
the country store, from the door of which he sprang.
Diving aside, but quickly turning, the lads saw the cause of their sudden
movement bound into a wagon standing near, and with a furious cry to the
horses, whip them to such instant, rapid speed that the strap with which
the animals were tied, snapped like a bit of string. With a clatter and
rumbling roar the team and wagon dashed around a corner, the clumsy
vehicle all but upsetting, as the wheels on one side flew clear of the
ground.
Running forward, the boys were in time to see, fast disappearing down the
road toward where the September sun was setting, the reckless driver
bending over, lashing the horses to a frantic gallop. The wagon swayed
and jolted over the ruts and holes, threatening momentarily to throw the
fellow headlong. An empty barrel in the box bounced up and down and from
side to side like a thing alive.
"Something has happened! Big Pete isn't doing that for fun!" the larger
of the boys exclaimed.
"Run for Dr. Cartwright, quick! Big Pete has killed Jim Huson, I'm
afraid!"
The speaker was Marvel Rice, proprietor of the store in which Huson was a
clerk. "Tell him to hurry--hurry!" the merchant cried again, as without a
second's hesitation the two boys sped away along the tan-bark path.
"Are you coming, Ree?" asked the more slender lad, glancing over his
shoulder with a droll smile. He was a wiry chap of sixteen and ran like a
grey hound, easily taking the lead.
His companion made no reply, but his spirit fired by the sarcastic
question, he forged ahead, and the other found it necessary to waste no
more breath in humor.
An admirer of youthful strength and development would have clapped his
hands with delight to have seen the boys' close race. Return Kingdom,
whom the slender lad had called "Ree," was a tall, strongly built,
muscular fellow of seventeen. His fine black hair waved under the brim of
a dilapidated beaver as he ran. His brown eyes were serious and keen and
his mouth and chin emphasized the determination expressed in them. Though
his clothes were of rough home-spun stuff, and his feet were encased in
coarse boots, an observing person would have seen that he was possessed
of the decision and strength in both mind and body which go to make
leaders among men.
The smaller boy was John Jerome--quick, vigorous, brown-haired,
blue-eyed, freckled, and his attire was like that of his companion whose
follower he was in everything save foot-racing. In that he would give way
to no one, not excluding the trained Indian runners who sometimes came to
the neighboring village.
"Easy, easy!" Dr. Cartwright sang out, the
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[Illustration: BALDWIN LOCOMOTIVE WORKS.
[Bird's-Eye View.]]
BALDWIN LOCOMOTIVE WORKS.
ILLUSTRATED CATALOGUE
OF
LOCOMOTIVES.
M. BAIRD & Co.,
PHILADELPHIA.
MATTHEW BAIRD,
GEORGE BURNHAM,
CHARLES T. PARRY,
EDWARD H. WILLIAMS,
WILLIAM P. HENSZEY,
EDWARD LONGSTRETH.
PRESS OF
J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO.,
PHILADELPHIA.
SKETCH OF THE BALDWIN LOCOMOTIVE WORKS.
THE BALDWIN LOCOMOTIVE WORKS dates its origin from the inception of
steam railroads in America. Called into existence by the early
requirements of the railroad interests of the country, it has grown
with their growth and kept pace with their progress. It has reflected
in its career the successive stages of American railroad practice, and
has itself contributed largely to the development of the locomotive as
it exists to-day. A history of the Baldwin Locomotive Works,
therefore, is, in a great measure, a record of the progress of
locomotive engineering in this country, and as such cannot fail to be
of interest to all who are concerned in this important element of our
material progress.
MATTHIAS W. BALDWIN, the founder of the establishment, learned the
trade of a jeweler, and entered the service of Fletcher & Gardiner,
Jewelers and Silversmiths, Philadelphia, in 1817. Two years later he
opened a small shop, in the same line of business, on his own account.
The demand for articles of this character falling off, however, he
formed a partnership, in 1825, with David Mason, a machinist, in the
manufacture of bookbinders' tools and cylinders for calico-printing.
Their shop was in a small alley which runs north from Walnut Street,
above Fourth. They afterwards removed to Minor Street, below Sixth.
The business was so successful that steam-power became necessary in
carrying on their manufactures, and an engine was bought for the
purpose. This proving unsatisfactory, Mr. Baldwin decided to design
and construct one which should be specially adapted to the
requirements of his shop. One of these requirements was that it should
occupy the least possible space, and this was met by the construction
of an upright engine on a novel and ingenious plan. On a bed-plate
about five feet square an upright cylinder was placed; the piston-rod
connected to a cross-bar having two legs, turned downward, and sliding
in grooves on the sides of the cylinder, which thus formed the guides.
To the sides of these legs, at their lower ends, was connected by
pivots an inverted U-shaped frame, prolonged at the arch into a single
rod, which took hold of the crank of a fly-wheel carried by upright
standards on the bed-plate. It will be seen that the length of the
ordinary separate guide-bars was thus saved, and the whole engine was
brought within the smallest possible compass. The design of the
machine was not only unique, but its workmanship was so excellent, and
its efficiency so great, as readily to procure for Mr. Baldwin orders
for additional stationary engines. His attention was thus turned to
steam engineering, and the way was prepared for his grappling with the
problem of the locomotive when the time should arrive.
This original stationary engine, constructed prior to 1830, has been
in almost constant service since its completion, and at this day is
still in use, furnishing all the power required to drive the machinery
in the erecting-shop of the present works. The visitor who beholds it
quietly performing its regular duty in a corner of the shop, may
justly regard it with considerable interest, as in all probability the
indirect foundation of the Baldwin Locomotive Works, and permitted
still to contribute to the operation of the mammoth industry which it
was instrumental in building up.
The manufacture of stationary steam-engines thus took a prominent
place in the establishment, and Mr. Mason shortly afterward withdrew
from the business.
In 1829-30 the use of steam as a motive power on railroads had begun
to engage the attention of American engineers. A few locomotives had
been imported from England, and one (which, however, was not
successful) had been constructed at the West Point Foundry, in New
York City. To gratify the public interest in the new motor, Mr.
Franklin Peale, then proprietor of the Philadelphia Museum, applied to
Mr. Baldwin to construct a miniature locomotive for exhibition in his
establishment. With the aid only of the imperfect published
descriptions and sketches of the locomotives which had taken part in
the Rainhill competition in England, Mr. Baldwin undertook the work,
and on the 25th of April, 1831, the miniature
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_Songs of a Sourdough_
_"Songs from Overseas"_
SONGS OF A SOURDOUGH. By ROBERT W. SERVICE.
BALLADS OF A CHEECHAKO. By ROBERT W. SERVICE.
LYRA NIGERIAE. By "ADAMU" (E. C. ADAMS).
SOUTH AFRICA, AND OTHER POEMS. By A. VINE HALL.
SONGS OUT OF EXILE (RHODESIAN RHYMES). By CULLEN GOULDSBURY.
COWBOY SONGS. By JOHN A. LOMAX.
RHYMES OF A ROLLING STONE. By ROBERT W. SERVICE.
THE HELL-GATE OF SOISSONS, AND OTHER POEMS. By HERBERT KAUFMAN.
THE WAITING WOMAN. By HERBERT KAUFMAN.
FROM THE OUTPOSTS. By CULLEN GOULDSBURY.
RHYMES OF A RED CROSS MAN. By ROBERT W. SERVICE.
LONDON: T. FISHER UNWIN, LTD.
_Songs of a Sourdough_
_By
Robert W. Service_
_London
T. Fisher Unwin, Ltd.
Adelphi Terrace_
_First Fifteen Impressions published in Canada
Sixteenth Impression, 1907
(First English Edition)
Seventeenth Impression, 1908
Eighteenth Impression, 1908
Nineteenth Impression, 1909
Twentieth Impression, 1909
Twenty-first Impression, 1909
Twenty-second Impression, 1910
Twenty-third Impression, 1910
Twenty-fourth Impression,
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TOM CRINGLE'S LOG
By Michael Scott
(1789--1835)
CHAPTER I.--The Launching of the Log.
Dazzled by the glories of Trafalgar, I, Thomas Cringle, one fine morning
in the merry month of May, in the year one thousand eight hundred and so
and so, magnanimously determined in my own mind, that the United Kingdom
of Great Britain and Ireland should no longer languish under the want of a
successor to the immortal Nelson, and being then of the great
perpendicular altitude of four feet four inches, and of the mature age of
thirteen years, I thereupon betook myself to the praiseworthy task of
tormenting, to the full extent of my small ability, every man and woman
who had the misfortune of being in any way connected with me, until they
had agreed to exert all their interest, direct or indirect, and
concentrate the same in one focus upon the head and heart of Sir Barnaby
Blueblazes, vice-admiral of the red squadrons a Lord of the Admiralty,
and one of the old plain K.B.'s (for he flourished before the time when a
gallant action or two tagged half of the letters of the alphabet to a
man's name, like the tail of a paper kite), in order that he might be
graciously pleased to have me placed on the quarterdeck of one of his
Majesty's ships of war without delay.
The stone I had set thus recklessly a-rolling, had not been in motion
above a fortnight, when it fell with unanticipated violence, and crushed
the heart of my poor mother, while it terribly bruised that of me, Thomas;
for as I sat at breakfast with the dear old woman, one fine Sunday morning,
admiring my new blue jacket and snow white trowsers, and shining well
soaped face, and nicely brushed hair, in the pier glass over the chimney
piece, I therein saw the door behind me open, and Nicodemus, the waiting
man, enter and deliver a letter to the old lady, with a formidable looking
seal.
I perceived that she first ogled the superscription, and then the seal,
very ominously, and twice made as if she would have broken the missive
open, but her heart seemed as often to fail her. At length she laid it
down-heaved a long deep sigh--took off her spectacles, which appeared
dim-wiped them, put them on again, and making a sudden effort, tore open
the letter, read it hastily over, but not so rapidly as to prevent her hot
tears falling with a small tiny tap tap on the crackling paper.
Presently she pinched my arm, pushed the blistered manuscript under my
nose, and utterly unable to speak to me, rose, covered her face with her
hands, and left the room weeping bitterly. I could hear her praying in a
low, solemn, yet sobbing and almost inarticulate voice, as she crossed the
passage to her own dressing-room.--"Even as thou wilt, oh Lord--not mine,
but thy holy will be done--yet, oh! it is a bitter bitter thing for a
widowed mother to part with her only boy."
Now came my turn--as I read the following epistle three times over, with
a most fierce countenance, before thoroughly understanding whether I was
dreaming or awake--in truth, poor little fellow as I was, I was fairly
stunned.
"Admiralty, such a date.
"DEAR MADAM,
It gives me very great pleasure to say that your son is appointed to the
Breeze frigate, now fitting at Portsmouth for foreign service. Captain
Wigemwell is a most excellent officer, and a good man, and the
schoolmaster on board is an exceedingly decent person I am informed; so I
congratulate you on his good fortune in beginning his career, in which I
wish him all success, under such favourable auspices. As the boy is, I
presume, all ready, you had better send him down on Thursday next, at
latest, as the frigate will go to sea, wind and weather permitting,
positively on Sunday morning."
"I remain, my dear Madam,"
"Yours very faithfully,"
"BARNABY BLUEBLAZES, K.B."
However much I had been moved by my mother's grief, my false pride came to
my assistance, and my first impulse was to chant a verse of some old tune,
in a most doleful manner. "All right--all right," I then exclaimed, as I
thrust half a doubled up muffin into my gob, but it was all chew, chew,
and no swallow--not a morsel could I force down my parched throat, which
tightened like to throttle me.
Old Nicodemus had by this time again entered the room, unseen and unheard,
and startled me confoundedly, as he screwed his words in his sharp
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* * * * *
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: Every effort has been made to replicate this text as
faithfully as possible; please see detailed list of printing issues at
the end of the text.
* * * * *
[Illustration: ASHLEY DOWN ORPHAN HOUSES, BRISTOL, ENG.]
THE LIFE OF TRUST:
BEING A
NARRATIVE OF THE LORD'S DEALINGS
WITH
GEORGE MUeLLER, WRITTEN BY HIMSELF.
EDITED AND CONDENSED BY
REV. H. LINCOLN WAYLAND,
PASTOR OF THE THIRD BAPTIST CHURCH, WORCESTER, MASS.
With an Introduction
BY
FRANCIS WAYLAND.
BOSTON:
GOULD AND LINCOLN,
59 WASHINGTON STREET.
NEW YORK: SHELDON AND COMPANY.
CINCINNATI: GEORGE S. BLANCHARD.
1861.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1860, by
GOULD AND LINCOLN,
In the Clerk's office of the District Court
of the District of Massachusetts.
STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY
GEO. C. RAND AND AVERY, 3 CORNHILL.
* * * * *
EDITOR'S PREFACE.
Having been requested by MESSRS. GOULD AND LINCOLN to examine the work
entitled "A NARRATIVE OF SOME OF THE LORD'S DEALINGS WITH GEORGE
MUeLLER," the Editor was convinced that its republication in this country
would greatly promote the piety of American Christians. But to reproduce
the work in its original form was attended with difficulty. The
"Narrative," in four parts, (published respectively in 1837, 1841, 1845,
and 1856,) and the four "Annual Reports" issued in 1857, 1858, 1859, and
1860, would occupy not less than eighteen hundred pages of the size of
those contained in this volume. The cost of such a work would greatly
limit its circulation and its usefulness, if indeed any publisher should
undertake its issue. There seemed no alternative except to abandon the
idea of an American edition altogether, or to present it to the public
in a condensed form.
Such a condensation seemed, on examination, to be entirely practicable.
Owing to the "Parts" of the "Narrative" having been published at four
separate periods, it often happens that the same matter is several
times repeated. A large portion of the space is occupied with the
acknowledgment of donations received. These entries, although
appropriate in a report made to the donors and to the British public,
have not the same interest for American readers. The discussion of some
points in church polity, and the account of the Author's journeys upon
the Continent, though interesting and instructive, are not necessary to
the continuity of the history. Although in some cases the portions which
have been omitted cover a considerable period of time, yet it is
believed that all which is essential has been retained. No pains have
been spared on the part of the Editor to preserve the value of the work
while reducing its compass, and to give, in a form universally
accessible, a clear exhibition of the wonderful results of the life of
George Mueller, as well as of the principles by which his life has been
governed.
Believing that the book would be rendered more attractive to the reader,
and more convenient for reference, the Editor has divided it into
Chapters, and has prefixed to each a brief statement of some of the
leading subjects introduced in the Chapter. For these "contents," as
well as for the headings of the Chapters, and for the general title of
the volume, the Editor alone is responsible.
The "Narrative" of George Mueller has been blessed in other lands to the
awakening of spiritual life. It was the means, as will be observed by
the reader, of greatly forwarding, if not of originating, the work of
grace now advancing in Ireland. "THE LIFE OF TRUST" is submitted to the
Christian public of America, in the hope that its still small voice may
be heard even amid the clangor of political strife and the revulsion of
commercial interests, and that it may be used by the Divine Spirit to
promote and strengthen in the hearts of American Christians, FAITH IN
THE LIVING GOD.
H. L. W.
WORCESTER, DEC. 12, 1860
AUTHOR'S PREFACE.
It was only after the consideration of many months, and after much
self-examination as to my motives, and after much earnest prayer, that I
came to the conclusion to write this work. I have not taken one single
step in the Lord's
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L'ETOURDI, OU LES CONTRE-TEMPS.
COMEDIE.
THE BLUNDERER: OR, THE COUNTERPLOTS.
A COMEDY IN FIVE ACTS.
(_THE ORIGINAL IN VERSE_.)
1653. (?)
INTRODUCTORY NOTICE.
_The Blunderer_ is generally believed to have been first acted at
Lyons in 1653, whilst Moliere and his troupe were in the provinces. In
the month of November 1658 it was played for the first time in Paris,
where it obtained a great and well-deserved success. It is chiefly based
on an Italian comedy, written by Nicolo Barbieri, known as Beltrame, and
called _L'
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AUTOBIOGRAPHY
OF
SIR GEORGE BIDDELL AIRY, K.C.B.,
M.A., LL.D., D.C.L., F.R.S., F.R.A.S.,
HONORARY FELLOW OF TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE,
ASTRONOMER ROYAL FROM 1836 TO 1881.
EDITED BY
WILFRID AIRY, B.A., M.Inst.C.E.
1896
PREFACE.
The life of Airy was essentially that of a hard-working, business man,
and differed from that of other hard-working people only in the
quality and variety of his work. It was not an exciting life, but it
was full of interest, and his work brought him into close relations
with many scientific men, and with many men high in the State. His
real business life commenced after he became Astronomer Royal, and
from that time forward, during the 46 years that he remained in
office, he was so entirely wrapped up in the duties of his post that
the history of the Observatory is the history of his life. For writing
his business life there is abundant material, for he preserved all his
correspondence, and the chief sources of information are as follows:
(1) His Autobiography.
(2) His Annual Reports to the Board of Visitors.
(3) His printed Papers entitled "Papers by G.B. Airy."
(4) His miscellaneous private correspondence.
(5) His letters to his wife.
(6) His business correspondence.
(1) His Autobiography, after the time that he became Astronomer Royal,
is, as might be expected, mainly a record of the scientific work
carried on at the Greenwich Observatory: but by no means exclusively
so. About the time when he took charge of the Observatory there was an
immense development of astronomical enterprise: observatories were
springing up in all directions, and the Astronomer Royal was expected
to advise upon all of the British and Colonial Observatories. It was
necessary also for him to keep in touch with the Continental
Observatories and their work, and this he did very diligently and
successfully, both by correspondence and personal intercourse with the
foreign astronomers. There was also much work on important subjects
more or less connected with his official duties--such as geodetical
survey work, the establishment of time-balls at different places,
longitude determinations, observation of eclipses, and the
determination of the density of the Earth. Lastly, there was a great
deal of time and work given to questions not very immediately
connected with his office, but on which the Government asked his
assistance in the capacity of general scientific adviser: such were
the Correction of the Compass in iron ships, the Railway Gauge
Commission, the Commission for the Restoration of the Standards of
Length and Weight, the Maine Boundary, Lighthouses, the Westminster
Clock, the London University, and many other questions.
Besides those above-mentioned there were a great many subjects which
he took up out of sheer interest in the investigations. For it may
fairly be said that every subject of a distinctly practical nature,
which could be advanced by mathematical knowledge, had an interest for
him: and his incessant industry enabled him to find time for many of
them. Amongst such subjects were Tides and Tidal Observations,
Clockwork, and the Strains in Beams and Bridges. A certain portion of
his time was also given to Lectures, generally on current astronomical
questions, for he held it as his duty to popularize the science as far
as lay in his power. And he attended the meetings of the Royal
Astronomical Society with great regularity, and took a very active
part in the discussions and business of the Society. He also did much
work for the Royal Society, and (up to a certain date) for the British
Association.
All of the foregoing matters are recorded pretty fully in his
Autobiography up to the year 1861. After that date the Autobiography
is given in a much more abbreviated form, and might rather be regarded
as a collection of notes for his Biography. His private history is
given very fully for the first part of his life, but is very lightly
touched upon during his residence at Greenwich. A great part of the
Autobiography is in a somewhat disjointed state, and appears to have
been formed by extracts from a number of different sources, such as
Official Journals, Official Correspondence, and Reports. In editing
the Autobiography it has been thought advisable to omit a large number
of short notes relating to the routine work of the Observatory, to
technical and scientific correspondence, to Papers communicated to
various Societies and official business connected with them, and to
miscellaneous matters of minor importance. These in the aggregate
occupied a great deal of time and attention. But, from their detached
nature, they would have but little general interest. At various places
will be found short Memoirs and other matter by the Editor.
(2) All of his Annual Reports to the Board of Visitors are attached to
his Autobiography and were evidently intended to be read with it and
to form part of it. These Reports are so carefully compiled and are so
copious that they form a very complete history of the Greenwich
Observatory and of the work carried on there during the time
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THE NIGHT-SIDE OF NATURE
Or,
Ghosts and Ghost-Seers.
by
CATHERINE CROWE
Authoress of “Susan Hopley,” “Lilly Dawson,” “Aristodemus,” etc.
"Thou com’st in such a questionable shape,
That I will speak to thee.”
New York:
J. S. Redfield, Clinton Hall.
Boston:—B. B. Mussey & Co.
1850.
P R E F A C E.
* * * * *
IN my late novel of “Lilly Dawson,” I announced my intention of
publishing a work to be called “The Night-Side of Nature;" this is it.
The term “Night-Side of Nature” I borrow from the Germans, who derive it
from the astronomers, the latter denominating that side of a planet
which is turned from the sun, its _night-side_. We are in this condition
for a certain number of hours out of every twenty-four; and as, during
this interval, external objects loom upon us but strangely and
imperfectly, the Germans draw a parallel between these vague and misty
perceptions, and the similar obscure and uncertain glimpses we get of
that veiled department of nature, of which, while comprising as it does,
the solution of questions concerning us more nearly than any other, we
are yet in a state of entire and wilful ignorance. For science, at least
science in this country, has put it aside as beneath her notice, because
new facts that do not fit into old theories are troublesome, and not to
be countenanced.
We are encompassed on all sides by wonders, and we can scarcely set our
foot upon the ground, without trampling upon some marvellous production
that our whole life and all our faculties would not suffice to
comprehend. Familiarity, however, renders us insensible to the ordinary
works of nature; we are apt to forget the miracles they comprise, and
even, sometimes, mistaking words for conceptions, commit the error of
thinking we understand their mystery. But there is one class of these
wonders with which, from their comparatively rare occurrence, we do not
become familiar; and these, according to the character of the mind to
which they are presented, are frequently either denied as ridiculous and
impossible, or received as evidences of supernatural
interference—interruptions of those general laws by which God governs
the universe; which latter mistake arises from our only seeing these
facts without the links that connect them with the rest of nature, just
as in the faint light of a starlit night we might distinguish the tall
mountains that lift their crests high into the sky, though we could not
discern the low chain of hills that united them with each other.
There are two or three books by German authors, entitled “The
Night-Side,” or “The Night-Dominion of Nature,” which are on subjects,
more or less analogous to mine. Heinrick Schubert’s is the most
celebrated among them; it is a sort of cosmogony of the world, written
in a spirit of philosophical mysticism—too much so for English readers
in general.
In undertaking to write a book on these subjects myself, I wholly
disclaim the pretension of _teaching_ or of enforcing opinions. My
object is to suggest inquiry and stimulate observation, in order that we
may endeavor, if possible, to discover something regarding our psychical
nature, as it exists here in the flesh; and as it is to exist hereafter,
out of it.
If I could only induce a few capable persons, instead of laughing at
these things, to look at them, my object would be attained, and I should
consider my time well spent.
C O N T E N T S.
* * * * *
CHAPTER PAGE
I. — Introduction 7
II. — The Dwellers in the Temple 19
III. — Waking and Sleeping, and how the Dweller in the Temple
sometimes looks abroad 29
IV. — Allegorical Dreams, Presentiments, &c. 48
V. — Warnings 66
VI. — Double Dreaming and Trance, Wraiths, &c. 98
VII. — Wraiths 130
VIII. — Doppelgängers, or Doubles 149
IX. — Apparitions 171
X. — The Future that awaits us 204
XI. — The Power of Will 238
XII. — Troubled Spirits 252
XIII. — Haunted Houses 273
XIV. — Spectral Lights, and Apparitions attached to Certain
Families 319
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PISTOL AND REVOLVER SHOOTING
Pistol and Revolver Shooting
BY A. L. A. HIMMELWRIGHT
_Illustrated_
OUTING HANDBOOKS
_Number 34_
NEW YORK
OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY
MCMXVI
COPYRIGHT, 1904, BY The Macmillan Co.
COPYRIGHT, 1908, BY A. L. A. Himmelwright
COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY
All rights reserved
Fully Revised
PREFACE
Interest in pistol and revolver shooting has increased very rapidly in
recent years and particularly since smokeless powder has been introduced.
The revolver and the magazine pistol now constitute part of the regular
equipment of army and navy officers and cavalry troops. Regulations
governing practice shooting with these arms have been issued and adopted
by both branches of the service and by the National Guard of the various
States. In the National Rifle Association and in the various State rifle
associations that have recently been organized, pistol and revolver
shooting has an important place, and the matches provided are largely
patronized. In the numerous civilian shooting clubs scattered throughout
the country pistol and revolver shooting has become extremely popular, and
in many cases the majority of the members practice more frequently with
the smaller arms than with the rifle.
Practice with the pistol and revolver affords training in sighting, steady
holding, and pulling the trigger, which are the essential features of
rifle shooting also. On account of this relation, and the fact that skill
with these arms can be instantly utilized in rifle shooting, the
development of marksmanship with the pistol and revolver assumes national
importance.
While numerous standard works have been written on the subject of rifle
shooting,
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LETTERS AND DISCUSSIONS ON THE FORMATION OF REGIMENTS
LETTERS AND DISCUSSIONS
ON THE
Formation of Regiments,
AND THE
DUTY OF THE <DW52> PEOPLE
IN REGARD TO THE
GREAT SLAVEHOLDERS’ REBELLION,
IN THE
UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.
BY ALFRED M. GREEN.
PHILADELPHIA:
RINGWALT & BROWN, STEAM POWER PRINTERS,
111 SOUTH FOURTH STREET,
1862.
At the beginning of the great struggle between the Government of the
United States and the traitors who lifted their hands against it, I
sought the oracles of history for a precedent; and, having easily found
it, before uttering a single sentence as to its influence or results
upon the great question of slavery in America, I carefully scanned and
surveyed the whole question or ground upon which the issue rested. By
the fairest rules of comparison and analogy, I found it impossible to
separate slavery extension, or the nationalization of this vilest of
evils, from the purpose of the arch traitors as their avowed object, and
the determination on the part of slaveholders to exercise unlimited power
over their dejected victims of the African race as their leading object
and the mainspring of the rebellion. Then, having followed history by the
same rules of comparison and analogy, it was not very difficult for me
to decide as to our duty. Nor have I ever seen anything written, spoken,
or performed by the government—its agents—by my abolition friends and
associates—or by the conservative Democracy of our land—which has given
me occasion to change my opinion.
I have not a doubt at this hour, but that my hopes on the one hand, and
my fears on the other, may both yet be realized. A careful reading of
the following pages will clearly develop in what these hopes and fears
consist. My friends, who ask me from time to time what I think of the
present aspect of affairs, may learn from these pages that I am still
sanguine of the success of our cause as the result. Still, much depends
upon our own exertions as to the character and quality of freedom,
suffrage or the enfranchisement that we may enjoy.
Having written much upon the subject, I have been induced to throw
together some scraps of arguments offered in reply to the opposition I
have met in regard to my opinions, &c.
The first two articles in this pamphlet may be justly styled the
foundation of all discussion upon the questions presented. They were
met and opposed by white and <DW52> men, while many others of all
parties gave my views support. After discussing the question through the
columns of the _Pine and Palm_ with my anti-slavery coadjutors, I met
and discussed it before the Church Anti-Slavery Society of this city on
the second Tuesday in September, 1861. A short report of said debate
appearing in the _Anglo-African_, drew forth the vigorous discussion
through the columns of that journal from which the body of this pamphlet
is made up.
I have several lectures and a poem on this same subject, entering more
minutely upon the details of the war and its results, which I have
delivered with great success and which I now propose, at the suggestion
of friends, to lay before the public for perusal at their leisure.
A. M. GREEN.
THE PHILADELPHIANS FORMING REGIMENTS.
From the Philadelphia Press, of April 22, 1861.
A number of prominent <DW52> men are now raising two regiments at the
Masonic Hall, in South Eleventh street, and hundreds of brawny ebony men
are ready to fill up the ranks if the State will accept their services.
Peril and war blot out all distinction of race and rank. These
soldiers should be attached to the Home Guard. They will make Herculean
defenders. <DW52> men, it will be remembered, fought the glorious battle
of Red Bank, when the city was in peril in 1777. The following is the
address:
The time has arrived in the history of the great Republic when we may
again give evidence to the world of the bravery and patriotism of a
race, in whose hearts burns the love of country, of freedom, and of
civil and religious toleration. It is these grand principles that enable
men, however proscribed, when possessed of true patriotism, to say: “My
country, right or wrong, I love thee still!”
It is true, the brave deeds of our fathers, sworn and subscribed to by
the immortal Washington of the Revolution of 1776, and of Jackson and
others, in the War of 1812, have failed to bring us into recognition
as citizens, enjoying those rights so dearly bought by those noble and
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ROBERT FALCONER
By George Macdonald
Note from electronic text creator: I have compiled a glossary with
definitions of most of the Scottish words found in this work and placed
it at the end of this electronic text. This glossary does not belong to
the original work, but is designed to help with the conversations and
references in Broad Scots found in this work. A further explanation of
this list can be found towards the end of this document, preceding the
glossary.
Any notes that I have made in the text (e.g. relating to Greek words in
the text) have been enclosed in {} brackets.
TO
THE MEMORY
OF THE MAN WHO
STANDS HIGHEST IN THE ORATORY
OF MY MEMORY,
ALEXANDER JOHN SCOTT,
I, DARING, PRESUME TO DEDICATE THIS BOOK.
PART I.--HIS BOYHOOD.
CHAPTER I. A RECOLLECTION.
Robert Falconer, school-boy, aged fourteen, thought he had never seen
his father; that is, thought he had no recollection of having ever seen
him. But the moment when my story begins, he had begun to doubt whether
his belief in the matter was correct. And, as he went on thinking, he
became more and more assured that he had seen his father somewhere about
six years before, as near as a thoughtful boy of his age could judge
of the lapse of a period that would form half of that portion of his
existence which was bound into one by the reticulations of memory.
For there dawned upon his mind the vision of one Sunday afternoon. Betty
had gone to church, and he was alone with his grandmother, reading
The Pilgrim's Progress to her, when, just as Christian knocked at the
wicket-gate, a tap came to the street door, and he went to open it.
There he saw a tall, somewhat haggard-looking man, in a shabby
black coat (the vision gradually dawned upon him till it reached the
minuteness of all these particulars), his hat pulled down on to his
projecting eyebrows, and his shoes very dusty, as with a long journey
on foot--it was a hot Sunday, he remembered that--who looked at him very
strangely, and without a word pushed him aside, and went straight into
his grandmother's parlour, shutting the door behind him. He followed,
not doubting that the man must have a right to go there, but questioning
very much his right to shut him out. When he reached the door, however,
he found it bolted; and outside he had to stay all alone, in the
desolate remainder of the house, till Betty came home from church.
He could even recall, as he thought about it, how drearily the afternoon
had passed. First he had opened the street door, and stood in it. There
was nothing alive to be seen, except a sparrow picking up crumbs, and he
would not stop till he was tired of him. The Royal Oak, down the street
to the right, had not even a horseless gig or cart standing before it;
and King Charles, grinning awfully in its branches on the signboard, was
invisible from the distance at which he stood. In at the other end of
the empty street, looked the distant uplands, whose waving corn and
grass were likewise invisible, and beyond them rose one blue truncated
peak in the distance, all of them wearily at rest this weary Sabbath
day. However, there was one thing than which this was better, and that
was being at church, which, to this boy at least, was the very fifth
essence of dreariness.
He closed the door and went into the kitchen. That was nearly as bad.
The kettle was on the fire, to be sure, in anticipation of tea; but the
coals under it were black on the top, and it made only faint efforts,
after immeasurable intervals of silence, to break into a song, giving
a hum like that of a bee a mile off, and then relapsing into hopeless
inactivity. Having just had his dinner, he was not hungry enough to find
any resource in the drawer where the oatcakes lay, and, unfortunately,
the old wooden clock in the corner was going, else there would have been
some amusement in trying to torment it into demonstrations of life, as
he had often done in less desperate circumstances than the present. At
last he went up-stairs to the very room in which he now was, and sat
down upon the floor, just as he was sitting now. He had not even brought
his Pilgrim's Progress with him from his grandmother's room. But,
searching about in all holes and corners, he at length found Klopstock's
Messiah translated into English, and took refuge there till Betty came
home. Nor did he go down till she called him to tea, when, expecting to
join his grandmother and the stranger, he found, on the contrary, that
he was to have his tea with Betty in the kitchen, after which he again
took refuge with Klopstock in the garret, and remained there till it
grew dark, when Betty came in search of him, and put him to bed in the
gable-room, and not in his usual chamber. In the morning, every trace of
the visitor had vanished, even to the thorn stick which he had set down
behind the door as he entered.
All this Robert Falconer saw slowly revive on the palimpsest of his
memory, as he washed it with the vivifying waters of recollection.
CHAPTER II. A VISITOR.
It was a very bare little room in which the boy sat, but it was
his favourite retreat. Behind the door, in a recess, stood an empty
bedstead, without even a mattress upon it. This was the only piece of
furniture in the room, unless some shelves crowded with papers tied up
in bundles, and a cupboard in the wall, likewise filled with papers,
could be called furniture. There was no carpet on the floor, no windows
in the walls. The only light came from the door, and from a small
skylight in the sloping roof, which showed that it was a garret-room.
Nor did much light come from the open door, for there was no window on
the walled stair to which it opened; only opposite the door a few steps
led up into another garret, larger, but with a lower roof, unceiled,
and perforated with two or three holes, the panes of glass filling which
were no larger than the small blue slates which covered the roof: from
these panes a little dim brown light tumbled into the room where the boy
sat on the floor, with his head almost between his knees, thinking.
But there was less light than usual in the room now, though it was
only half-past two o'clock, and the sun would not set for more than
half-an-hour yet; for if Robert had lifted his head and looked up, it
would have been at, not through, the skylight. No sky was to be seen. A
thick covering of snow lay over the glass. A partial thaw, followed
by frost, had fixed it there--a mass of imperfect cells and confused
crystals. It was a cold place to sit in, but the boy had some faculty
for enduring cold when it was the price to be paid for solitude. And
besides, when he fell into one of his thinking moods, he forgot, for
a season, cold and everything else but what he was thinking about--a
faculty for which he was to be envied.
If he had gone down the stair, which described half the turn of a screw
in its descent, and had crossed the landing to which it brought him,
he could have entered another bedroom, called the gable or rather ga'le
room, equally at his service for retirement; but, though carpeted
and comfortably furnished, and having two windows at right angles,
commanding two streets, for it was a corner house, the boy preferred
the garret-room--he could not tell why. Possibly, windows to the streets
were not congenial to the meditations in which, even now, as I have
said, the boy indulged.
These meditations, however, though sometimes as abstruse, if not so
continuous, as those of a metaphysician--for boys are not unfrequently
more given to metaphysics than older people are able or, perhaps,
willing to believe--were not by any means confined to such subjects:
castle-building had its full share in the occupation of those lonely
hours; and for this exercise of the constructive faculty, what he
knew, or rather what he did not know, of his own history gave him
scope enough, nor was his brain slow in supplying him with material
corresponding in quantity to the space afforded. His mother had been
dead for so many years that he had only the vaguest recollections of her
tenderness, and none of her person. All he was told of his father was
that he had gone abroad. His grandmother would never talk about him,
although he was her own son. When the boy ventured to ask a question
about where he was, or when he would return, she always replied--'Bairns
suld haud their tongues.' Nor would she vouchsafe another answer to any
question that seemed to her from the farthest distance to bear down upon
that subject. 'Bairns maun learn to haud their tongues,' was the sole
variation of which the response admitted. And the boy did learn to hold
his tongue. Perhaps he would have thought less about his father if he
had had brothers or sisters, or even if the nature of his grandmother
had been such as to admit of their relationship being drawn closer--into
personal confidence, or some measure of familiarity. How they stood with
regard to each other will soon appear.
Whether the visions vanished from his brain because of the thickening of
his blood with cold, or he merely acted from one of those undefined and
inexplicable impulses which occasion not a few of our actions, I cannot
tell, but all at once Robert started to his feet and hurried from the
room. At the foot of the garret stair, between it and the door of the
gable-room already mentioned, stood another door at right angles to
both, of the existence of which the boy was scarcely aware, simply
because he had seen it all his life and had never seen it open. Turning
his back on this last door, which he took for a blind one, he went down
a short broad stair, at the foot of which was a window. He then turned
to the left into a long flagged passage or transe, passed the kitchen
door on the one hand, and the double-leaved street door on the other;
but, instead of going into the parlour, the door of which closed the
transe, he stopped at the passage-window on the right, and there stood
looking out.
What might be seen from this window certainly could not be called a very
pleasant prospect. A broad street with low houses of cold gray stone
is perhaps as uninteresting a form of street as any to be found in the
world, and such was the street Robert looked out upon. Not a single
member of the animal creation was to be seen in it, not a pair of eyes
to be discovered looking out at any of the windows opposite. The sole
motion was the occasional drift of a vapour-like film of white powder,
which the wind would lift like dust from the snowy carpet that covered
the street, and wafting it along for a few yards, drop again to its
repose, till another stronger gust, prelusive of the wind about to
rise at sun-down,--a wind cold and bitter as death--would rush over the
street, and raise a denser cloud of the white water-dust to sting the
face of any improbable person who might meet it in its passage. It was a
keen, knife-edged frost, even in the house, and what Robert saw to make
him stand at the desolate window, I do not know, and I believe he could
not himself have told. There he did stand, however, for the space of
five minutes or so, with nothing better filling his outer eyes at least
than a bald spot on the crown of the street, whence the wind had swept
away the snow, leaving it brown and bare, a spot of March in the middle
of January.
He heard the town drummer in the distance, and let the sound invade his
passive ears, till it crossed the opening of the street, and vanished
'down the town.'
'There's Dooble Sanny,' he said to himself--'wi' siccan cauld han's,
'at he's playin' upo' the drum-heid as gin he was loupin' in a bowie
(leaping in a cask).'
Then he stood silent once more, with a look as if anything would be
welcome to break the monotony.
While he stood a gentle timorous tap came to the door, so gentle indeed
that Betty in the kitchen did not hear it, or she, tall and Roman-nosed
as she was, would have answered it before the long-legged dreamer could
have reached the door, though he was not above three yards from it.
In lack of anything better to do, Robert stalked to the summons. As he
opened the door, these words greeted him:
'Is Robert at--eh! it's Bob himsel'! Bob, I'm byous (exceedingly)
cauld.'
'What for dinna ye gang hame, than?'
'What for wasna ye at the schuil the day?'
'I spier ae queston at you, and ye answer me wi' anither.'
'Weel, I hae nae hame to gang till.'
'Weel, and I had a sair heid (a headache). But whaur's yer hame gane
till than?'
'The hoose is there a' richt, but whaur my mither is I dinna ken. The
door's lockit, an' Jeames Jaup, they tell me's tane awa' the key. I
doobt my mither's
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Transcriber's Note
The punctuation and spelling from the original text have been faithfully
preserved. Only obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
The Economist:
OR
THE POLITICAL, COMMERCIAL, AGRICULTURAL, AND FREE-TRADE JOURNAL.
"If we make ourselves too little for the sphere of our duty; if, on
the contrary, we do not stretch and expand our minds to the compass
of their object; be well assured that everything about us will
dwindle by degrees, until at length our concerns are shrunk to the
dimensions of our minds. _It is not a predilection to mean, sordid,
home-bred cares that will avert the consequences of a false
estimation of our interest, or prevent the shameful dilapidation
into which a great empire must fall by mean reparation upon mighty
ruins._"--BURKE.
No. 3. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 16, 1843. PRICE 6_d._
CONTENTS.
Our Brazilian Trade and the Anti-Slavery Party 33
The Fallacy of Protection 34
Agriculture (No. 2.) 35
Court and Aristocracy 36
Music and Musicales 36
The Metropolis 37
The Provinces 37
Ireland 37
Scotland 38
Wales 38
Foreign:
France 38
Spain 38
Austria and Italy 38
Turkey 38
Egypt 39
United States 39
Canada
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Internet Archive)
CONTENTS
PAGE
LET DAD AND SON BEWARE! 2
ADVENTS AND PUBLIC PLUNDERERS. 3
THE MAYOR AND CHARLEY. 6
LIFE OF STEPHEN H. BRANCH. 8
[Illustration: STEPHEN H. BRANCH’S ALLIGATOR.
Volume I.—No. 4.] SATURDAY, MAY 15, 1858. [Price 2 Cents.]
STEPHEN H. BRANCH’S ALLIGATOR.
Let Dad and Son Beware!
Peter Cooper and Mayor Tiemann are old and sacred friends of George
W. Matsell, who are more familiar with each other than they are
with the Bible, or morning and evening prayers. Mayor Tiemann was
elected with the express condition that Matsell should be restored
to his old position, and Peter Cooper and Mayor Tiemann, and James
W. Gerard, and Ambrose C. Kingsland are at work for their lives to
effect the restoration of Matsell, and all impends on the election of
a Commissioner in place of the noble Perrit. Matsell was in the city
at the last Mayoralty election, conspiring against Wood, who saved him
from the scaffold, after we convicted him of alienage and perjury,
and the dastard and sacrilegious abjuration of his country. And at
the late election, he stabbed his benefactor down in the dust, in the
assassin’s darkness, and did not play
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LES PRECIEUSES RIDICULES:
COMEDIE EN UN ACTE.
1659.
* * * * *
THE PRETENTIOUS YOUNG LADIES:
A COMEDY IN ONE ACT.
(_THE ORIGINAL IN PROSE_.)
1659.
INTRODUCTORY NOTICE.
Moliere began in _The Pretentious Young Ladies_ to paint men and women
as they are; to make living characters and existing manners the
ground-work of his plays. From that time he abandoned all imitation of
Italian or Spanish imbroglios and intrigues.
There is no doubt that aristocratic society attempted, about the latter
years of the reign of Louis XIII., to amend the coarse and licentious
expressions, which, during the civil wars had been introduced into
literature as well as into manners. It was praiseworthy of some
high-born ladies in Parisian society to endeavour to refine the language
and the mind. But there was a very great difference between the
influence these ladies exercised from 1620 until 1640, and what took
place in 1658, the year when Moliere returned to Paris. The Hotel de
Rambouillet, and the aristocratic drawing-rooms, had then done their
work, and done it well; but they were succeeded by a clique which cared
only for what was nicely said, or rather what was out of the common.
Instead of using an elegant and refined diction, they employed only a
pretentious and conceitedly affected style, which became highly
ridiculous; instead of improving the national idiom they completely
spoilt it. Where formerly D'Urfe, Malherbe, Racan, Balzac, and Voiture
reigned, Chapelain, Scudery, Menage, and the Abbe Cotin, "the father of
the French Riddle," ruled in their stead. Moreover, every lady in Paris,
as well as in the provinces, no matter what her education was, held her
drawing-room, where nothing was heard but a ridiculous, exaggerated, and
what was worse, a borrowed phraseology. The novels of Mdlle. de Scudery
became the text-book of the _precieux_ and the _precieuses_, for such
was the name given to these gentlemen and ladies who set up for wits,
and thought they displayed exquisite taste, refined ideas, fastidious
judgment, and consummate and critical discrimination, whilst they only
uttered vapid and blatant nonsense. What other language can be used when
we find that they called the sun _l'aimable eclairant le plus beau du
monde, l'epoux de la nature_, and that when speaking of an old gentleman
with grey hair, they said, not as a joke, but seriously, _il a des
quittances d'amour_. A few of their expressions, however, are employed
even at the present time, such as, _chatier son style_; to correct one's
style; _depenser une heure_, to spend an hour; _revetir ses pensees
d'expressions nobles_, to clothe one's thoughts in noble expressions,
etc.
Though the _precieux and precieuses_ had been several times attacked
before, it remained for Moliere to give them their death blow, and after
the performance of his comedy the name became a term of ridicule and
contumely. What enhanced the bitterness of the attack was the difference
between Moliere's natural style and the affected tone of the would-be
elegants he brought upon the stage.
This comedy, in prose, was first acted at Paris, at the Theatre du Petit
Bourbon, on the 18th of November, 1659, and met with great success.
Through the influence of some noble _precieux_ and _precieuses_ it was
forbidden until the 2d of December, when the concourse of spectators was
so great that it had to be performed twice a day, that the prices of
nearly all the places were raised (See Note 7, page xxv.), and that it
ran for four months together. We have referred in our prefatory memoir
of Moliere to some of the legendary anecdotes connected with this play.
It has also been said that our author owed perhaps the first idea of
this play to a scarcely-known work, _le Cercle des Femmes, ou le Secret
du Lit Nuptial; entretiens comiques_, written by a long-forgotten
author, Samuel Chapuzeau, in which a servant, dressed in his master's
clothes, is well received by a certain lady who had rejected the master.
But as the witty dialogue is the principal merit in Moliere's play, it
is really of no great consequence who first suggested the primary idea.
The piece, though played in 1659, was only printed on the 29
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The Camp Fire Girls at the Seashore
Or, Bessie King's Happiness
Camp Fire Girls Series, Volume VI
By JANE L. STEWART
The Saalfield Publishing Company
Chicago Akron, Ohio New York
Copyright, 1914
By The Saalfield Publishing Company
[Illustration: They had hearty appetites for the camp breakfast.]
The Camp Fire Girls at the Seashore
CHAPTER I
FROM THE ASHES
The sun rose over Plum Beach to shine down on a scene of confusion and
wreckage that might have caused girls less determined and courageous
than those who belonged to the Manasquan Camp Fire of the Camp Fire
Girls of America to feel that there was only one thing to do--pack up
and move away. But, though the camp itself was in ruins, there were no
signs of discouragement among the girls themselves. Merry laughter vied
with the sound of the waves, and the confusion among the girls was more
apparent than real.
"Have you got everything sorted, Margery--the things that are completely
ruined and those that are worth saving?" asked Eleanor Mercer, the
Guardian of the Camp Fire.
"Yes, and there's more here that we can save and still use than anyone
would have dreamed just after we got the fire put out," replied Margery
Burton, one of the older girls, who was a Fire-Maker. In the Camp Fire
there are three ranks--the Wood-Gatherers, to which all girls belong
when they join; the Fire-Makers, next in order, and, finally,
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TRADE AND TRAVEL
IN THE
FAR EAST;
OR
RECOLLECTIONS OF TWENTY-ONE YEARS
PASSED IN
JAVA, SINGAPORE, AUSTRALIA,
AND CHINA.
BY G. F. DAVIDSON.
LONDON:
MADDEN AND MALCOLM,
LEADENHALL STREET.
1846.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY MADDEN AND MALCOLM,
8 LEADENHALL STREET.
PREFACE.
The following pages were written to beguile the tediousness of a long
voyage from Hong Kong to England, during the spring and summer of 1844.
When I state, that the whole was written with the paper on my knee, for
want of a desk, amid continual interruptions from three young children
lacking amusement during their long confinement on ship-board, and with
a perpetual liability to be pitched to leeward, paper and all,--I shall
have said enough to bespeak from every good-natured reader a candid
allowance for whatever defects may attach to the composition. It is
necessary, however, that I should also premise, that the sketches are
drawn entirely from memory, and that the incidents referred to in the
earlier chapters, took place some twenty years ago. That my recollection
may have proved treacherous on some minor points, is very possible; but,
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Transcriber's Note:
[=XVII] = XVII with a line above.
* * * * *
A Line-o'-Verse or Two
By
Bert Leston Taylor
The Reilly & Britton Co.
Chicago
Copyright, 1911
by
The Reilly & Britton Co.
NOTE
For the privilege of reprinting the rimes gathered here I am indebted to
the courtesy of the _Chicago Tribune_ and _Puck_, in whose pages most of
them first appeared. "The Lay of St. Ambrose" is new.
One reason for rounding up this fugitive verse and prisoning it between
covers was this: Frequently--more or less--I receive a request for a
copy of this jingle or that, and it is easier to mention a publishing
house than to search through ancient and dusty files.
The other reason was that I wanted to.
B. L. T.
_TO MY READERS_
_Not merely of this book,--but a larger company, with whom, through the
medium of the_ Chicago Tribune, _I have been on very pleasant terms for
several years,--this handful of rime is joyously dedicated._
THE LAY OF ST. AMBROSE
"_And hard by doth dwell, in St. Catherine's cell,_
_Ambrose, the anchorite old and grey._"
--THE LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS.
Ambrose the anchorite old and grey
Larruped himself in his lonely cell,
And many a welt on his pious pelt
The scourge evoked as it rose and fell.
For hours together the flagellant leather
Went whacketty-whack with his groans of pain;
And the lay-brothers said, with a wag of the head,
"Ambrose has been at the bottle again."
And such, in sooth, was the sober truth;
For the single fault of this saintly soul
Was a desert thirst for the cup accurst,--
A quenchless love for the Flowing Bowl.
When he woke at morn with a head forlorn
And a taste like a last-year swallow's nest,
He would kneel and pray, then rise and flay
His sinful body like all possessed.
Frequently tempted, he fell from grace,
And as often he found the devil to pay;
But by diligent scourging and diligent purging
He managed to keep Old Nick at bay.
This was the plight of our anchorite,--
An endless penance condemned to dree,--
When it chanced one day there came his way
A Mystical Book with a golden Key.
This Mystical Book was a guide to health,
That none might follow and go astray;
While a turn of the Key unlocked the wealth
That all unknown in the Scriptures lay.
Disease is sin, the Book defined;
Sickness is error to which men cling;
Pain is merely a state of mind,
And matter a non-existent thing.
If a tooth should ache, or a leg should break,
You simply "affirm" and it's sound again.
Cut and contusion are only delusion,
And indigestion a fancied pain.
For pain is naught if you "hold a thought,"
Fevers fly at your simple say;
You have but to affirm, and every germ
Will fold up its tent and steal away.
..........
From matin gong to even-song
Ambrose pondered this mystic lore,
Till what had seemed fiction took on a conviction
That words had never possessed before.
"If pain," quoth he, "is a state of mind,
If a rough hair shirt to silk is kin,--
If these things are error, pray where's the terror
In scourging and purging oneself of sin?
"It certainly seemeth good to me,
By and large, in part and in whole.
I'll put it in practice and find if it fact is,
Or only a mystical rigmarole."
..........
The very next night our anchorite
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WHEN YOU WERE A BOY
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: Frontispiece]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
WHEN YOU
WERE A BOY
BY
EDWIN L. SABIN
WITH PICTURES BY
FREDERIC DORR STEELE
-------------------------------------------
[Illustration: Figure]
-------------------------------------------
New York
THE BAKER & TAYLOR COMPANY
33-37 EAST 17TH STREET, UNION SQUARE (NORTH)
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Copyright, 1905, by THE BAKER & TAYLOR COMPANY
---
Published October, 1905
The Plimpton Press Norwood Mass. U.S.A.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
For permission to republish the following
sketches the author is gratefully indebted
to the Century Magazine, the Saturday Evening
Post, Everybody’s Magazine, and the National
Magazine.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS
❦
PAGE
I The Match Game 11
II You at School 39
III Chums 65
IV In the Arena 91
V The Circus 111
VI When You Ran Away 135
VII Goin’ Fishin’ 155
VIII In Society 179
IX Middleton’s Hill 195
X Goin’ Swimmin’ 219
XI The Sunday-School Picnic 239
XII The Old Muzzle-Loader 257
XIII A Boy’s Loves 277
XIV Noon 297
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE MATCH GAME
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: “YOU”]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
WHEN YOU WERE A BOY
THE MATCH GAME
“OUR” NINE
Billy Lunt, c
Fat Day, p
Hen Schmidt, 1b
Bob Leslie, 2b
Hod O’Shea, 3b
Chub Thornbury, ss
Nixie Kemp, lf
Tom Kemp, rf
“You,” cf.
“THEIR” NINE
Spunk Carey, c
Doc Kennedy, p
Screw Major, 1b
Ted Watson, 2b
Red Conroy, 3b
Slim Harding, ss
Pete Jones, lf
Tug McCormack, rf
Ollie Hansen, cf
We: 5 9 9 8—31
They: 11 14 9 16—50
FAT DAY was captain and pitcher. He was captain because, if he was
_not_, he wouldn’t play, and inasmuch as he owned the ball, this would
have been disastrous; and he was pitcher because he was captain.
In the North Stars were other pitchers—seven of them! The only member
who did not aspire to pitch was Billy Lunt, and as catcher he occupied a
place, in “takin’ ’em off the bat,” too delightfully hazardous for him
to surrender, and too painful for anybody else to covet.
[Illustration: FAT DAY]
The organization of the North Stars was effected through verbal
contracts somewhat as follows:
“Say, we want you to be in our nine.”
“All right. Will you lemme pitch?”
“Naw; Fat’s pitcher, ’cause he’s captain; but you can play first.”
“Pooh! _Fat_ can’t pitch—”
“I can, too. I can pitch lots better’n _you_ can, anyhow.” (This from
Fat himself.)
“W-well, I’ll play first, then. I don’t care.”
Thus an adjustment was reached.
A proud moment for you was it when _your_ merits as a ball-player were
recognized, and you were engaged for center-field. Of course, secretly
you nourished the strong conviction that you were cut out for a pitcher.
Next to pitcher, you preferred short-stop, and next to short-stop, first
base. But these positions, and pretty much everything, in fact, had been
preempted; so, after the necessary haggling, you accepted center-field.
Speedily the North Star make-up was complete, and disappointed
applicants—those too little, too big, too late, or not good enough—were
busy sneering about it.
[Illustration: BILLY LUNT]
The equipment of the North Star Base-Ball Club consisted of Fat’s
“regular league” ball, six bats (owned by various members, and in some
cases exercising no small influence in determining fitness of the same
for enlistment as recruits), and four uniforms.
Mother made your uniform. To-day you wonder how, amidst darning your
stockings and patching our trousers and mending your waists, she ever
found time in which to supply you with the additional regalia which,
according to your pursuits of the hour, day after day you insistently
demanded. But she always did.
[Illustration: SPUNK CAREY]
The uniform in question was composed of a pair of your linen
knickerbockers with a red tape tacked along the outside seam, and a huge
six-pointed blue flannel star, each point having a buttonhole whereby it
was attached to a button, corresponding, on the breast of your waist.
And was there a cap, or did you wear the faithful old straw? Fat Day,
you recollect, had a cap upon the front of which was lettered his
rank—“Captain.” It seems as though mother made you a cap, as well as the
striped trousers and breastplate. The cap was furnished with a
tremendously deep vizor of pasteboard, and was formed of four segments,
two white and two blue, meeting in the center of the crown.
All in all, the uniform was perfectly satisfactory; it was distinctive,
and was surpassed by none of the other three.
Evidently the mothers of five of the North Stars did not attend to
business, for their sons played in ordinary citizen’s attire of hats,
and of waists and trousers unadorned save by the stains incidental to
daily life.
The North Stars must have been employed for a time chiefly in parading
about and seeking whom they, as an aggregation, might devour, but as a
rule failing, owing to interfering house-and-yard duties, all to report
upon any one occasion. The contests had been with “picked nines,” “just
for fun” (meaning that there was no sting in defeat), when on a sudden
it was breathlessly announced from mouth, to mouth that “the
Second-street kids want to play us.”
[Illustration: HEN SCHMIDT]
“Come on!” responded, with a single valiant voice, the North Stars.
“We’re goin’ to play a match game next Tuesday,” you gave out, as a bit
of important news, at the supper-table.
“That so?” hazarded father, who had been flatteringly interested in your
blue star. “Who’s the other nine?”
“The Second-street fellows. Spunk Carey’s captain and—”
“Who is _Spunk_ Carey? Oh, Johnny, what outlandish names you boys do
rake up!” exclaimed mother.
“Why, he’s Frank Carey the hardware man’s boy,” explained father,
indulgently. “What’s his first name, John?”
[Illustration: CHUB THORNBURY]
“I dunno,” you hurriedly owned; “Spunk” had been quite sufficient for
all purposes. “But we’re goin’ to play in the vacant lot next to Carey’s
house. There’s a dandy diamond.”
So there was. The Carey side fence supplied a fine back-stop, and thence
the grounds extended in a superb level of dusty green, broken by burdock
clumps and interspersed with tin cans. The lot was bounded on the east
by the Carey fence, on the south and west by a high walk, and on the
north by the alley. It was a corner lot, which made it the more
spacious.
The diamond itself had been laid out, in the beginning, with proportions
accommodated to a pair of rocks that would answer for first and second
base; a slab dropped where third ought to be, and another dropped for
the home plate, finished the preliminary work, and thereafter scores of
running feet, shod and unshod, had worn bare the lines, and the spots
where stood pitcher, catcher, and batter.
A landscape architect might have passed criticism on the ensemble of the
plat, and a surveyor might have taken exceptions to the configuration of
the diamond, but who cared?
[Illustration: DOC KENNEDY]
“We” had promised that “we” would be there, ready to play, at two
o’clock, and “they” had solemnly vowed that “they” would be as prompt.
Tuesday’s dinner you gulped and gobbled; in those days your stomach was
patient and charitable almost beyond belief in this degenerate present.
It was imperative that you be at Carey’s lot immediately, and despite
the imploring objections of the family to your reckless haste, you
bolted out; and as you went you drew upon your left hand an old
fingerless kid glove, which was of some peculiar service in your
center-field duties.
[Illustration: RED CONROY]
Your uniform had been put on upon arising that morning. You always wore
it nowadays except when in bed or on Sundays. It was your toga of the
purple border, and the bat that you carried from early to late, in your
peregrinations, was your scepter mace.
At your unearthly yodel, from next door rushed out your crony, Hen
Schmidt, and joined you; and upon your way to the vacant lot you picked
up Billy Lunt and Chub Thornbury.
The four of you succeeded in all talking at once: the Second-streets
were great big fellows; their pitcher was Doc Kennedy and it wasn’t
fair, because he threw as hard as he could, and he was nearly sixteen;
Hop Hopkins said he’d be “empire”; Red Conroy was going to play, and he
always was wanting to fight; darn it—if Fat only wouldn’t pitch, but let
somebody else do it! Bob Leslie could throw an awful big “in,” etc.
The fateful lot dawned upon the right, around the corner of an alley
fence. Hurrah, there they are! You see Nixie and Tom Kemp, and Hod
O’Shea, and Bob Leslie, and Spunk, and Screw Major, and Ted Watson, and
Slim Harding, and the redoubtable Red Conroy (engaged in bullying a
smaller boy), and others who must be the remainder of the
Second-streets.
[Illustration: OLLIE HANSEN]
“Hello, kids,” you say, and likewise say your three companions; and with
bat trailing you stalk with free and easy dignity into the crowd.
“Where’s Fat? Who’s seen Fat?” asked everybody of everybody; for Captain
Fat was the sole essential personage lacking. However, even without him,
pending his arrival the scene was one of stirring animation.
Thick and fast flew here and there the several balls on the grounds,
each nine keeping to itself, and each boy throwing “curves”—or, at
least, thus essaying.
You yourself, brave in your splendor of blue star and red stripe,
endeavored, by now and then negligently catching with one hand, to make
it plain that you were virtually a professional.
[Illustration: BOB LESLIE]
The Second-streets were as yet ununiformed, even in sections. But they
were a rugged, rough-and-ready set, and two of them had base-ball shoes
on, proving that they were experts.
“Here’s Fat! Here comes Fat!” suddenly arose the welcoming cry; and
appareled in his regimentals, his cap announcing to all beholders his
high rank, panting, hot, perspiring, up hustled the leader of the North
Stars.
It was time to begin.
“Who’s got a ball?” demanded Umpire Hopkins, sometimes called Harry, but
more generally known as Hop or Hoptoad.
The query disclosed a serious condition. Balls there were, but not
suitable for a championship match game. They were ten- and
fifteen-centers, as hard as grapeshot or already knocked flabby.
“Where’s your ball, Fat?” you asked incautiously.
“In my pocket,” admitted Fat—a bulging fact that he could not well deny.
[Illustration: PETE JONES]
“What is it? Le’ ’s see, Fat,” demanded Captain Spunk.
“It’s a regular dollar league,” you informed glibly; and Fat, with
mingled pride and reluctance, extracted it from the pocket of his
knickerbockers,—peeled it, so to speak, into the open,—and handed it out
for inspection.
“Gee!” commented Spunk, thumbing it, and chucking it up and catching it.
“It’s a dandy! Come on, kids; here’s a ball!”
“But if you use my ball, you’ve got to give us our outs,” bargained Fat,
dismayed.
[Illustration: HOD O’SHEA]
“G’wan!” growled Red Conroy. “Don’t you do it, Spunk. ‘Tain’t goin’ to
hurt his old ball any.”
Awed by the ever-belligerent Red, Fat submitted to the customary lot by
bat. Spunk tossed a bat at him, and he caught it, with an elaborate show
of method, about the middle; then with alternate hands they proceeded to
cover it upward to the end.
The last hand for which there was space was Fat’s; by no manner of means
could Spunk squeeze his grimy fist into the two inches left.
“We’ll take our outs,” majestically asserted Captain Fat; whereat
whooped shrilly all the North Stars, and quite regardless of their
affiliations whooped shrilly the spectators also, composed of small
brothers and a few friends about equally divided between the contestant
nines.
Some preliminaries were yet to be gone through with. Doc Kennedy was
protested because he pitched so swift.
“Aw, _I_ won’t throw hard,” he assured bluffly.
“Of course not! _He’s_ easy to hit,” chorused his companions.
Then, in view of the fact that Billy Lunt had a sore finger, as
evidenced by a cylinder of whitish rag (which he slipped off,
obligingly, whenever solicited), it was agreed that he be allowed to
catch the third strike on the first bounce.
[Illustration: SCREW MAJOR]
A foul over the back-stop fence was out; a like penalty was attached to
flies over the boundary walks.
And now, turning hand-springs and otherwise gamboling exultantly, the
North Stars scattered to their respective positions.
Away out in center-field you prepared to guard your territory. You bent
over, with your hands upon your knees, and ever and anon you spat
fiercely, sometimes upon the ground and sometimes into your kid glove.
This was the performance of the players upon the town’s nine, the Red
Stockings and evidently greatly added to their efficiency.
[Illustration: TED WATSON]
Besides, on the edge of the walk just back of you were sitting and
swinging their slim legs two little girls, whom it was pleasant to
impress.
Overhead the sun was blazing hot, but not to you; underfoot the dust
from a long dry spell lay choking thick, but not to you; a
“darning-needle” whizzed past, and you scarcely ducked, although he
might be bent upon sewing up your ears. Your work was too stern to admit
of your noticing sun, or dust, or mischievous dragon-fly. So you spat
into your glove, replaced your hands on your knees, and waited. “Hello,
Johnny!” piped one of the little girls; but you deigned not to make
answer.
To right and to left were the Kemp boys, with their hands upon _their_
knees; and before were the infielders, with their hands likewise upon
_their_ knees; that is, all except the pitcher.
[Illustration: SLIM HARDING]
“Play ball!” gruffly bade the umpire.
Captain Spunk advanced to the slab.
“Gimme a low ball,” he ordered, sticking out his bat to indicate the
proper height that would meet his wishes.
Captain Fat rolled the ball rapidly between his palms, and thus having
imparted to it what he fondly believed was a mysterious twist, hurled
it.
“One ball!” cried the umpire.
Captain Spunk banged the slab with his bat.
“Aw, gimme a low ball over the plate!” he urged.
Again the pitcher rubbed twist into the sphere, and out in center—field
you hung upon his motions.
“One strike!” declared the umpire, and a great shout of derision arose
from the North Stars and their adherents.
[Illustration: TOM KEMP]
Captain Fat smiled wickedly: the unfortunate batter was being fooled by
those deceptive curves.
“What did you strike at that fer—’way up over yer head!” censured Red
Conroy, angrily.
“Darn it! gimme a good low ball! You’re ’fraid to!” challenged Captain
Spunk.
Whack! He had hit it. Right between Short-stop Chub’s legs it darted,
and you and left-field together stopped it, but too late to prevent the
runner’s reaching first.
Chub came in for a tongue-lashing from all sides; and then Spunk stole
second, and Billy threw over Bob’s head there (at the same time throwing
the rag cylinder, also, half-way to the pitcher’s box), and you
desperately fielded the ball in, and Fat got it, and threw over Hod’s
head at third, and to the wild cries of “Home! Home! Sock her home!”
Nixie got it and threw it at Billy; but nevertheless Spunk, spurred on
by the frantic exhortations of his fellows, panting “Tally one!” crossed
the slab.
Triumphantly cheered the Second—streets, and busily flashed the
jack-knife of each spectator as he cut a tally-notch in a stick.
Billy ran forward and reclaimed his precious rag.
[Illustration
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Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Small capital text has been replaced with all capitals.
* * * * *
[Illustration: MAJOR L. A. ABBOTT, U. S. A.
THE AUTHOR.
_Clinedinst, Washington, D. C._]
PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS
AND
CIVIL WAR DIARY
1864
By
MAJOR LEMUEL ABIJAH ABBOTT, U. S. A.
Late Captain 10th Regt. Vt. Vol. Infantry
BURLINGTON:
FREE PRESS PRINTING CO.
PRINTERS, BINDERS, STATIONERS.
1908.
DEDICATION.
TO THE PATRIOTS AND COMRADES
OF ONE OF VERMONT'S MOST GALLANT REGIMENTS,
THE TENTH VERMONT VOLUNTEER INFANTRY.
MAY ITS STATE PRIDE,
FIDELITY, _esprit de corps_ AND SPLENDID RECORD IN
THE CIVIL WAR SERVE AS AN EXAMPLE AND
INSPIRATION TO COMING GENERATIONS.
PREFACE
The following Diary covering the interesting period of the Civil
War from January 1, to December 31, 1864, and a portion of 1865 to
the surrender of General R. E. Lee at Appomattox Court House, Va.,
was kept by the Author at the age of twenty-two when an officer
of the Tenth Regiment Vermont Volunteer Infantry, Third and First
Brigade, Third Division, Third and Sixth Corps respectively, Army of
the Potomac, and is a brief war history as seen by a young soldier
literally from the front line of battle during General U. S. Grant's
celebrated campaign from the Rapidan River to Petersburg, Va., and
Gen. P. H. Sheridan's famous Shenandoah Valley campaign in the
summer and fall of 1864. During this time the Author passed from
the grades of Second to First Lieutenant and Captain, and commanded
in the meantime in different battles five or more companies in
his regiment which afforded an excellent opportunity to make a
fairly interesting general diary of the fighting qualities of his
regiment and especially of the companies which he commanded during
that most interesting period of the Civil War when the backbone of
the Rebellion was broken, which, together with Sherman and Thomas'
cooperations led to the surrender of General R. E. Lee at Appomattox
C. H. April 9, 1865.
For thirty-eight years the diary remained closed, and indeed had
been forgotten by the Author until he accidentally ran across it
one day in an old chest, when on leave of absence in Vermont, where
it had been placed after the war by someone for safe keeping, the
Author in the meantime having been an officer in the regular army
many years and honored with the degree of B. S. by his Alma Mater on
account of his supposed accomplishments in military science after
many years of hard service, a large portion of which was on the
frontier among the Indians whose civilization was finally largely
brought about through his recommendation to educate all the Indian
children throughout the United States, about 1877-9, when he was
considered an expert on the Indian question both by the War and
Interior Departments.
On reviewing the diary with the eye of an expert, it was found so
uniquely interesting on account of the many dramatic situations
simply given in a youth's unpretentious way that, from the fact
it contained so much of interest to the surviving men whom the
Author was honored in and fortunate enough to command during such
a historic period, and especially to the kinsmen of those who have
passed along to the higher life, he concluded to publish it in full.
It is not pretended that it is based on any official general orders
but is solid fact and experience simply told by a young soldier
who stood up to the rack in the front line of battle and took
uncomplainingly whatever was in store for him, steadily refusing to
accept whatever was offered which would remove him from the line of
battle to a safer place at home or in the rear because he not only
preferred to occupy a place in the front line of battle in command
of men, which he considered the most honorable place for a soldier
in the army at such a time, but because he had grown sincerely
attached to the brave men in the different companies and detachments
he commanded which comprised the whole regiment and some in others
who not infrequently by reason of superior physical endurance and
courage led and inspired him in some of the most noted battles of
ancient or modern times.
A diary was kept during a portion of 1865 to the close of the war,
but its whereabouts if preserved are unknown to the Author
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THE BELGIAN FRONT
AND ITS NOTABLE FEATURES
BY
CAPTAIN WILLY BRETON
OF THE BELGIAN ARMY
_Translated from the French_
LONDON:
CHATTO & WINDUS
MCMXVIII
_Price Sixpence net_
THE BELGIAN FRONT
AND ITS NOTABLE FEATURES
[Illustration: VIEW OF FRONT LINE THROUGH THE FLOODS]
_The illustrations are from photographs taken by the Photographic
Service of the Belgian Army Command_
THE BELGIAN FRONT
AND ITS NOTABLE FEATURES.
THE BELGIAN ARMY'S ACTIVITIES SINCE THE BATTLE OF THE YSER.
Everyone knows how severely the Belgian Army was tested in the initial
stages of the campaign. Caught unawares by the war while in the midst of
re-organisation, it had to struggle alone, for long weeks on end,
against forces greatly superior in both numbers and equipment, suddenly
hurled against it in accordance with a deliberate and carefully planned
scheme of attack.
Yet the Belgian Army bravely faced the enemy, grimly determined to
fulfil its duty to the last, and at once aroused enthusiasm by its
heroic resistance at Liège, from August 8 onwards, to the onset of
several army corps. On the 12th the troops emerged victoriously from the
bloody engagements at Haelen; and not till the 18th, and then only to
escape being overwhelmed by the ever-rising flood of invasion, did the
Belgian Army abandon its positions at La
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GERMAN PHILOSOPHY
AND POLITICS
BY
JOHN DEWEY
Professor of Philosophy in Columbia University
NEW YORK
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
1915
COPYRIGHT, 1915,
BY
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
THE QUINN & BODEN CO. PRESS
RAHWAY, N. J.
PREFACE
The will of John Calvin McNair established a Foundation at the
University of North Carolina upon which public lectures are to be given
from time to time to the members of the University. This book contains
three lectures which were given in February of this year upon this
Foundation. It is a pleasure to acknowledge the many courtesies enjoyed
during my brief stay at Chapel Hill, the seat of the University.
J. D.
Columbia University,
New York City, April, 1915.
CONTENTS
PAGE
I GERMAN PHILOSOPHY: THE TWO WORLDS 3
II GERMAN MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY 47
III THE GERMANIC PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY 91
INDEX 133
GERMAN PHILOSOPHY AND POLITICS
I
GERMAN PHILOSOPHY: THE TWO WORLDS
The nature of the influence of general ideas upon practical affairs is a
troubled question. Mind dislikes to find itself a pilgrim in an alien
world. A discovery that the belief in the influence of thought upon
action is an illusion would leave men profoundly saddened with
themselves and with the world. Were it not that the doctrine forbids any
discovery influencing affairs--since the discovery would be an idea--we
should say that the discovery of the wholly _ex post facto_ and idle
character of ideas would profoundly influence subsequent affairs. The
strange thing is that when men had least control over nature and their
own affairs, they were most sure of the efficacy of thought. The
doctrine that nature does nothing in vain, that it is directed by
purpose, was not engrafted by scholasticism upon science; it formulates
an instinctive tendency. And if the doctrine be fallacious, its pathos
has a noble quality. It testifies to the longing of human thought for a
world of its own texture. Yet just in the degree in which men, by means
of inventions and political arrangements, have found ways of making
their thoughts effective, they have come to question whether any
thinking is efficacious. Our notions in physical science tend to reduce
mind to a bare spectator of a machine-like nature grinding its
unrelenting way. The vogue of evolutionary ideas has led many to regard
intelligence as a deposit from history, not as a force in its making. We
look backward rather than forward; and when we look forward we seem to
see but a further unrolling of a panorama long ago rolled up on a cosmic
reel. Even Bergson, who, to a casual reader, appears to reveal vast
unexplored vistas of genuinely novel possibilities, turns out, upon
careful study, to regard _intellect_ (everything which in the past has
gone by the name of observation and reflection) as but an evolutionary
deposit whose importance is confined to the conservation of a life
already achieved, and bids us trust to instinct, or something akin to
instinct, for the future:--as if there were hope and consolation in
bidding us trust to that which, in any case, we cannot intelligently
direct or control.
I do not see that the school of history which finds Bergson mystic and
romantic, which prides itself upon its hard-headed and scientific
character, comes out at a different place. I refer to the doctrine of
the economic interpretation of history in its extreme form--which, so
its adherents tell us, is its only logical form. It is easy to follow
them when they tell us that past historians have ignored the great part
played by economic forces, and that descriptions and explanations have
been correspondingly superficial. When one reflects that the great
problems of the present day are those attending economic reorganization,
one might even take the doctrine as a half-hearted confession that
historians are really engaged in construing the past in terms of the
problems and interests of an impending future, instead of reporting a
past in order to discover some mathematical curve which future events
are bound to describe. But no; our strictly scientific economic
interpreters will have it that economic forces present an inevitable
evolution, of which state and church, art and literature, science and
philosophy are by-products. It is useless to suggest that while modern
industry has given an immense stimulus to scientific inquiry, yet
nevertheless the industrial revolution of the eighteenth century comes
after the scientific revolution of the seventeenth. The dogma forbids
any connection.
But when we note that Marx gave it away that his materialistic
interpretation of history was but the Hegelian idealistic dialectic
turned upside down, we may grow wary. Is it, after all, history we are
dealing with or another philosophy of history? And when we discover that
the great importance of the doctrine is urged upon us, when we find that
we are told that the general recognition of its truth helps us out of
our present troubles and indicates a path for future effort, we
positively take heart. These writers do not seem to mean just what they
say. Like the rest of us, they are human, and infected with a belief
that ideas, even highly abstract theories, are of efficacy in the
conduct of human affairs influencing the history which is yet to be.
* * * * *
I have, however, no intention of entering upon this controversy, much
less of trying to settle it. These remarks are but preliminary to a
consideration of some of the practical affiliations of portions of the
modern history of philosophical thought with practical social affairs.
And if I set forth my own position in the controversy in question, the
statement is frankly a personal one, intended to make known the
prepossessions with which I approach the discussion of the political
bearings of one phase of modern philosophy. I do not believe, then, that
_pure_ ideas, or pure thought, ever exercised any influence upon human
action. I believe that very much of what has been presented as
philosophic reflection is in effect simply an idealization, for the sake
of emotional satisfaction, of the brutely given state of affairs, and is
not a genuine discovery of the practical influence of ideas. In other
words, I believe it to be esthetic in type even when sadly lacking in
esthetic form. And I believe it is easy to exaggerate the practical
influence of even the more vital and genuine ideas of which I am about
to speak.
But I also believe that there are no such things as _pure_ ideas or
_pure_ reason. Every living thought represents a gesture made toward
the world, an attitude taken to some practical situation in which we
are implicated. Most of these gestures are ephemeral; they reveal the
state of him who makes them rather than effect a significant alteration
of conditions. But at some times they are congenial to a situation in
which men in masses are acting and suffering. They supply a model for
the attitudes of others; they condense into a dramatic type of action.
They then form what we call the "great" systems of thought. Not all
ideas perish with the momentary response. They are voiced and others
hear; they are written and others read. Education, formal and informal,
embodies them not so much in other men's minds as in their permanent
dispositions of action. They are in the blood, and afford sustenance to
conduct; they are in the muscles and men strike or retire. Even
emotional and esthetic systems may breed a disposition toward the world
and take overt effect. The reactions thus engendered are, indeed,
superficial as compared with those in which more primitive instincts are
embodied. The business of eating and drinking, buying and selling,
marrying and being given in marriage, making war and peace, gets somehow
carried on along with any and every system of ideas which the world has
known. But how, and when and where and for what men do even these things
is tremendously affected by the abstract ideas which get into
circulation.
* * * * *
I take it that I may seem to be engaged in an emphatic urging of the
obvious. However it may be with a few specialized schools of men, almost
everybody takes it as a matter of course that ideas influence action and
help determine the subsequent course of events. Yet there is a purpose
in this insistence. Most persons draw the line at a certain kind of
general ideas. They are especially prone to regard the ideas which
constitute philosophic theories as practically innocuous--as more or
less amiable speculations significant at the most for moments of
leisure, in moments of relief from preoccupation with affairs. Above
all, men take the particular general ideas which happen to affect their
own conduct of life as normal and inevitable. Pray what other ideas
would any sensible man have? They forget the extent to which these ideas
originated as parts of a remote and technical theoretical system, which
by multitudes of non-reflective channels has infiltrated into their
habits of imagination and behavior. An expert intellectual anatomist,
my friends, might dissect you and find Platonic and Aristotelian
tissues, organs from St. Augustine and St. Thomas Aquinas, Locke and
Descartes, in the make-up of the ideas by which you are habitually
swayed, and find, indeed, that they and other thinkers of whose names
you have never heard constitute a larger part of your mental structure
than does the Calvin or Kant, Darwin or Spencer, Hegel or Emerson,
Bergson or Browning to whom you yield conscious allegiance.
Philosophers themselves are naturally chiefly responsible for the
ordinary estimate of their own influence, or lack of influence. They
have been taken mostly at their own word as to what they were doing, and
what for the most part they have pretended to do is radically different
from what they have actually done. They are quite negligible as seers
and reporters of ultimate reality, or the essential natures of things.
And it is in this aspect that they have mostly fancied seeing
themselves. Their actual office has been quite other. They have told
about nature and life and society in terms of collective human desire
and aspiration as these were determined by contemporary difficulties
and struggles.
I have spoken thus far as if the influence of general ideas upon action
were likely to be beneficial. It goes against the grain to attribute
evil to the workings of intelligence. But we might as well face the
dilemma. What is called pure thought, thought freed from the empirical
contingencies of life, would, even if it existed, be irrelevant to the
guidance of action. For the latter always operates amid the circumstance
of contingencies. And thinking which is colored by time and place must
always be of a mixed quality. In part, it will detect and hold fast to
more permanent tendencies and arrangements; in part, it will take the
limitations of its own period as necessary and universal--even as
intrinsically desirable.
The traits which give thinking effectiveness for the good give it also
potency for harm. A physical catastrophe, an earthquake or
conflagration, acts only where it happens. While its effects endure, it
passes away. But it is of the nature of ideas to be abstract: that is to
say, severed from the circumstances of their origin, and through
embodiment in language capable of operating in remote climes and alien
situations. Time heals physical ravages, but it may only accentuate the
evils of an intellectual catastrophe--for by no lesser name can we call
a systematic intellectual error. To one who is professionally
preoccupied with philosophy there is much in its history which is
profoundly depressing. He sees ideas which were not only natural but
useful in their native time and place, figuring in foreign contexts so
as to formulate defects as virtues and to give rational sanction to
brute facts, and to oppose alleged eternal truths to progress. He sees
movements which might have passed away with change of circumstance as
casually as they arose, acquire persistence and dignity because thought
has taken cognizance of them and given them intellectual names. The
witness of history is that to think in general and abstract terms is
dangerous; it elevates ideas beyond the situations in which they were
born and charges them with we know not what menace for the future. And
in the past the danger has been the greater because philosophers have so
largely purported to be concerned not with contemporary problems of
living, but with essential Truth and Reality viewed under the form of
eternity.
In bringing these general considerations to a close, I face an
embarrassment. I must choose some particular period of intellectual
history for more concrete illustration of the mutual relationship of
philosophy and practical social affairs--which latter, for the sake of
brevity, I term Politics. One is tempted to choose Plato. For in spite
of the mystic and transcendental coloring of his thought, it was he who
defined philosophy as the science of the State, or the most complete and
organized whole known to man; it is no accident that his chief work is
termed the "Republic." In modern times, we are struck by the fact that
English philosophy from Bacon to John Stuart Mill has been cultivated by
men of affairs rather than by professors, and with a direct outlook upon
social interests. In France, the great period of philosophy, the period
of _les philosophes_, was the time in which were forged the ideas which
connect in particular with the French Revolution and in general with the
conceptions which spread so rapidly through the civilized world, of the
indefinite perfectibility of humanity, the rights of man, and the
promotion of a society as wide as humanity, based upon allegiance to
reason.
Somewhat arbitrarily I have, however, selected some aspects of classic
German thought for my illustrative material. Partly, I suppose, because
one is piqued by the apparent challenge which its highly technical,
professorial and predominantly _a priori_ character offers to the
proposition that there is close connection between abstract thought and
the tendencies of collective life. More to the point, probably, is the
fact that the heroic age of German thought lies almost within the last
century, while the creative period of continental thought lies largely
in the eighteenth century, and that of British thought still earlier. It
was Taine, the Frenchman, who said that all the leading ideas of the
present day were produced in Germany between 1780 and 1830. Above all,
the Germans, as we say, have philosophy in their blood. Such phrases
generally mean something not about hereditary qualities, but about the
social conditions under which ideas propagate and circulate.
Now Germany is the modern state which provides the greatest facilities
for general ideas to take effect through social inculcation. Its system
of education is adapted to that end. Higher schools and universities in
Germany are really, not just nominally, under the control of the state
and part of the state life. In spite of freedom of academic instruction
when once a teacher is installed in office, the political authorities
have always taken a hand, at critical junctures, in determining the
selection of teachers in subjects that had a direct bearing upon
political policies. Moreover, one of the chief functions of the
universities is the preparation of future state officials. Legislative
activity is distinctly subordinate to that of administration conducted
by a trained civil service, or, if you please, bureaucracy. Membership
in this bureaucracy is dependent upon university training. Philosophy,
both directly and indirectly, plays an unusually large role in the
training. The faculty of law does not chiefly aim at the preparation of
practicing lawyers. Philosophies of jurisprudence are essential parts of
the law teaching; and every one of the classic philosophers took a hand
in writing a philosophy of Law and of the State. Moreover, in the
theological faculties, which are also organic parts of state-controlled
institutions, the theology and higher criticism of Protestant Germany
have been developed, and developed also in close connection with
philosophical systems--like those of Kant, Schleiermacher and Hegel. In
short, the educational and administrative agencies of Germany provide
ready-made channels through which philosophic ideas may flow on their
way to practical affairs.
Political public opinion hardly exists in Germany in the sense in which
it obtains in France, Great Britain or this country. So far as it
exists, the universities may be said to be its chief organs. They,
rather than the newspapers, crystallize it and give it articulate
expression. Instead of expressing surprise at the characteristic
utterances of university men with reference to the great war, we should
then rather turn to the past history in which the ideas now uttered were
generated.
In an account of German intellectual history sufficiently extensive we
should have to go back at least to Luther. Fortunately, for our
purposes, what he actually did and taught is not so important as the
more recent tradition concerning his peculiarly Germanic status and
office. All peoples are proud of all their great men. Germany is proud
of Luther as its greatest national hero. But while most nations are
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WORKS OF S. S. CURRY, PH.D., LITT.D.
_Of eminent value._--DR. LYMAN ABBOTT.
_Both method and spirit practically without precedent._--J. M. LEVEQUE,
Editor Morning World, New Orleans.
PROVINCE OF EXPRESSION. A study of the general problems regarding delivery
and the principles underlying its development. $1.50; to teachers, $1.20.
The work of a highly intellectual man who thinks and feels deeply, who is
in earnest and whose words are entitled to the most thoughtful
consideration.--WILLIAM WINTER.
LESSONS IN VOCAL EXPRESSION. Study of the modulations of the voice as
caused by action of the mind.
It is the best book on expression I ever read, far ahead of anything
published.--PROF. GEORGE A. VINTON, _Chicago_.
IMAGINATION AND DRAMATIC INSTINCT. Creative action of the mind, insight,
sympathy, and assimilation in vocal expression.
The best book ever published on elocution.--_A prominent teacher and
public reader._
VOCAL AND LITERARY INTERPRETATION OF THE BIBLE.
Deserves the attention of everyone.--_The Scotsman, Edinboro._
Will serve to abolish "hardshell" reading where "hardshell" preaching is
no longer tolerated.--DR. LYMAN ABBOTT.
FOUNDATIONS OF EXPRESSION. Principles and fundamental steps in the
training of the mind, body, and voice in speaking.
"By its aid I have accomplished double the usual results."
BROWNING AND THE DRAMATIC MONOLOGUE. Introduction to Browning's poetry and
dramatic platform art. Studies of some later phases of dramatic
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[Illustration: VISCOUNT MILNER
The new British War Secretary in succession to Lord Derby. He had been a
member of the War Cabinet since its creation in December, 1916
(_Central News_)]
[Illustration: GENERAL SIR W. R. MARSHALL
Commander in Chief of the British forces in Mesopotamia
(_Central News_)]
[Illustration]
CURRENT HISTORY
_A Monthly Magazine of The New York Times_
Published by The New York Times Company, Times Square, New York, N. Y.
Vol. VIII.
Part I.
No. 3
June, 1918
25 Cents a Copy
$3.00 a Year
[Illustration]
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PAGE
CURRENT HISTORY CHRONICLED 381
BATTLES IN PICARDY AND FLANDERS 389
THE GREATEST BATTLE OF THE WAR, By Philip Gibbs 398
America's Sacrifice, By Harold Begbie 410
AMERICAN SOLDIERS IN BATTLE 411
Overseas Forces More Than Half a Million 413
American Troops in Central France, By Laurence Jerrold 415
American Shipbuilders Break All Records 418
THIRD LIBERTY LOAN OVERSUBSCRIBED 419
Former War Loans of the United States 421
AMERICAN LABOR MISSION IN EUROPE 424
PROGRESS OF THE WAR 426
GERMAN LOSSES ON ALL FRONTS 431
GREAT BRITAIN'S FINANCES 432
TRADE AFTER THE WAR 434
FINLAND UNDER GERMAN CONTROL 438
Peace Treaty Between Finland and Germany 445
GERMAN AGGRESSION IN RUSSIA 449
MORE BOLSHEVIST LEGISLATION, By Abraham Yarmolinsky 455
LITHUANIA'S EFFORTS TOWARD AUTONOMY, By A. M. Martus 458
THE RAID ON ZEEBRUGGE AND OSTEND 460
GERMAN U-BOAT CLAIMS: Address by Admiral von Capelle 467
The Admiral's Statements Attacked 469
The Month's Submarine Record 470
A Secret Chapter of U-Boat History 471
SEA-RAIDER WOLF AND ITS VICTIMS 473
Career and Fate of the Raider Seeadler 476
TREATMENT OF BRITISH PRISONERS: Official Report 479
American Prisoners Exploited 484
THE TOTAL DESTRUCTION OF RHEIMS, By G. H. Perris 485
The Abomination of Desolation, By Dr. Norman Maclean 486
LLOYD GEORGE AND GENERAL MAURICE 488
THE NEW BRITISH SERVICE ACT 491
British Aid to Italy: General Plumer's Report 492
EMPEROR CHARLES'S "DEAR SIXTUS" LETTER 494
THE ISSUES IN IRELAND: Report of the Irish Convention 496
Greatest Gas Attack of the War 504
PLUCKY DUNKIRK By Anna Milo Upjohn 505
GERMANY'S ATTEMPT TO DIVIDE BELGIUM 511
STRIPPING BELGIAN INDUSTRIES: The Rathenau Plan 516
Spoliation of Belgian Churches: Cardinal Mercier's Protest 523
Belgium's Appeal to the Bolsheviki 525
SERBIA'S HOPES AND RUSSIA'S DEFECTION By Nicholas Pashitch 526
RUMANIA'S PEACE TREATY 529
Summary of the Peace of Bucharest 531
Bessarabia Voluntarily United to Rumania 535
THE WAR AND THE BAGDAD RAILWAY By Dr. Morris Jastrow 536
LICHNOWSKY'S MEMORANDUM 539
Full Text of von Jagow's Reply 541
German Comments on von Jagow's Views 545
Germany's Long Plotting for Domination By H. Charles Woods 548
THE EUROPEAN WAR AS SEEN BY CARTOONISTS: 31 Cartoons 551
ROTOGRAVURE ILLUSTRATIONS
VISCOUNT MILNER _Frontis_
GENERAL SIR W. R. MARSHALL "
CHARLES M. SCHWAB 394
JOHN D. RYAN 395
STAFF OFFICERS WITH PERSHING 410
LEADERS IN WAR ACTIVITIES 411
BARON STEPHAN BURIAN 426
LEADERS IN IRISH CONTROVERSY 427
BRITISH WAR LEADERS 458
FRENCH AND AMERICAN TANKS 459
AMERICAN REGIMENT IN FRANCE 474
FRENCH CHATEAU IN RUINS 475
MARCHING TO THE FRONT 506
HARVARD REGIMENT IN BOSTON 507
TRAFALGAR SQUARE IN WARTIME 522
TYPICAL SCENE IN FLANDERS 523
CURRENT HISTORY CHRONICLED
[PERIOD ENDED MAY 19, 1918.]
SUMMARY OF WAR ACTIVITIES
Four weeks of comparative calm on the western front
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[Illustration: Cover]
[Transcriber's Note: Bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and italic
text is surrounded by _underscores_.]
OVER THE SEAS FOR UNCLE SAM
[Illustration: "Only the hits count!"]
OVER THE SEAS FOR UNCLE SAM
BY ELAINE STERNE
_Author of "The Road of Ambition," "Sunny Jim" Stories, Etc._
"We're ready _now_!"--Navy slogan.
NEW YORK
BRITTON PUBLISHING COMPANY
Copyright, 1918
BRITTON PUBLISHING COMPANY, INC.
Made in U. S. A. All rights reserved.
_To the Honorable Josephus Daniels
Secretary of the Navy,
whose devotion to the interests of the men in the
American Navy has been an inspiration to them
no less than to the nation as a whole._
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE WHEREFORE OF MY LITTLE BOOK 11
SUNK BY A SUBMARINE 21
WAR CLOUDS GATHER 35
THE STUFF HEROES ARE MADE OF 49
DEPTH BOMBS AND DESTROYERS 61
IN TRAINING 73
ZEPS AND TORPEDOES 91
"THE LEATHER NECKS" 107
THE WAY WITH THE FRENCHIES 119
A YANKEE STANDS BY 135
A TASTE OF HELL 147
THE WANDERLUST AND THE WAR 161
UNDER THE RED CROSS BANNER 175
"ABANDON SHIP!" 191
PRISONERS OF WAR 209
FRITZ GETS TAGGED 221
THE FLOWER OF FRANCE 233
THE WHEREFORE OF MY LITTLE BOOK
We have learned some things in war times that we did not know in days of
peace. We have made the amazing discovery that our own fathers and
brothers and husbands and lovers are potential heroes. We knew they were
brave and strong and eager to defend us if need be. We knew that they
went to work in the morning and returned at night just so that we might
live in comfort; but we never dreamed that the day would come when we
would see them marching off to war--a war that would take them far from
their own shores. We never dreamed that, like the knights of old, they
would ride away on a quest as holy as that of the Crusaders.
As for army and navy life--it had always been a sealed book to us, a
realm into which one was born, a heritage that passed from father to
son. We heard of life at the army post. We saw a uniform now and then,
but not until our own men donned khaki and blue did we of the outside
world learn of the traditions of the army and of the navy, which dated
back to the days of our nation's birth.
We did not know that each regiment had its own glorious story of
achievement--a story which all raw recruits were eager to live up to--a
story of undaunted fighting in the very face of death that won for it
its sobriquet.
Because the army lay at our very door, we came to know it better, to
learn its proud lesson more swiftly, but little by little the navy,
through the lips of our men, unlocked its traditions, tenderly fostered,
which had fired its new sons to go forth and fight to the finish rather
than yield an inch.
As a first lieutenant in the Girls' National Honor Guard, I was
appointed in May, 1917, for active duty in hospital relief work. It was
then that I came to know Miss Mary duBose, Chief Nurse of the United
States Naval Hospital, whose co-operation at every turn has helped this
little volume to come into being.
The boys of the navy are her children. She watches over them with the
brooding tenderness of a mother. Praise of their achievements she
receives with flashing pride. With her entire heart and soul she is
wrapped up in her work. Through her shines the spirit of the
service--the tireless devotion to duty.
I had never before been inside a naval hospital. I had a vague idea that
it would be a great machine, rather overcrowded, to be sure, in war
times, but running on oiled hinges--completely soulless.
I found instead a huge building, which, in spite of its size, breathed a
warm hominess. Its halls and wards are spotless. Through the great
windows the sun pours in on the patients, as cheery a lot of boys as you
would care to see.
There are always great clusters of flowers in the wards--bright spots of
color--there are always games spread out on the beds. There is always
the
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GRAPES OF WRATH
GRAPES OF
WRATH
BY
BOYD CABLE
AUTHOR OF
"BETWEEN THE LINES," "ACTION FRONT,"
AND "DOING THEIR BIT"
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
E. P. DUTTON & CO.
681 FIFTH AVENUE
COPYRIGHT, 1917,
BY
E. P. DUTTON AND COMPANY
Printed in the United States of America
_TO
ALL RANKS OF THE NEW ARMIES_
_Men of the Old Country, Men of the Overseas, and those good men
among the Neutrals who put all else aside to join up and help us to
Victory, this book is dedicated with pride and admiration by_
_THE AUTHOR_
_In the Field,
20th January, 1917_
THE AUTHOR'S ACKNOWLEDGMENT
Acknowledgments are due to the Editors of _The Cornhill Magazine_,
_Land and Water_, and _Pearson's Magazine_ for permission to reprint
such portions of this book as have appeared in their pages.
[Illustration]
BOYD CABLE--A PREFATORY NOTE
The readers of Boyd Cable's "Between the Lines," "Action Front," and
"Doing Their Bit," have very naturally had their curiosity excited
as to an author who, previously unheard of, has suddenly become the
foremost word-painter of active fighting at the present day, and the
greatest "literary discovery" of the War.
Boyd Cable is primarily a man of action; and for half of his not very
long life he has been doing things instead of writing them. At the
age of twenty he joined a corps of Scouts in the Boer War, and saw
plenty of fighting in South Africa. After the close of that war, his
life consisted largely of traveling in Great Britain and the principal
countries of Europe and the Mediterranean, his choice always leading
him from the beaten track. He also spent some time in Australia
and in New Zealand, not only in the cities, but in the outposts of
civilization, on the edge of the wilderness, both there and in the
Philippines, Java, and other islands of the Pacific.
When he travels, Mr. Cable does not merely take a steamer-berth or
a railway-ticket and write up his notes from an observation car or
a saloon deck. He looks out after a job, and puts plenty of energy
into it while he is at it; in fact, so many different things has he
done, that he says himself that it is easier to mention the things he
has not done than the ones he has. He has been an ordinary seaman,
typewriter agent, a steamer-fireman, office-manager, hobo, farmhand,
gold prospector, coach-driver, navvy, engine-driver, and many other
things. And strangely enough, though he knows so much from practical
experience, he has, until recently, never thought of writing down what
he has seen.
Before this present War, he was on the staff of a London advertising
agency. At the outbreak of hostilities, he offered his services and was
accepted in 1914, being one of the first men not in the regular army to
get a commission and be sent to the front.
It was his experience as "Forward Officer" (or observation officer
in the artillery) that gave him the material which he began to use in
"Between the Lines."
In this dangerous and responsible position, his daily life of literally
"hairbreadth" escapes afforded him experiences as thrilling as any he
has described in his books. On one occasion, for instance, when his
position had been "spotted" by enemy sharp-shooters, he got a bullet
through his cap, one through his shoulder-strap, one through the inside
of his sleeve close to his heart, and fifty-three others near enough
for him to hear them pass--all in less than an hour.
After eighteen months of this death-defying work, without even a
wound, Mr. Boyd Cable was naturally disgusted at being invalided home
on account of stomach trouble; but it was only this enforced leisure
that gave him really time to take up writing seriously. As may be
remembered, the British Government selected him officially to
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[Illustration: Cover]
THESE TWAIN
BY
ARNOLD BENNETT
AUTHOR OF "THE OLD WIVES' TALE," "THE OLD ADAM,"
"CLAYHANGER," "HILDA LESSWAYS," ETC.
NEW YORK
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
Copyright, 1915,
BY ARNOLD BENNETT
CONTENTS
BOOK I
THE WOMAN IN THE HOUSE
CHAPTER
I. THE HOUSE
II. HILDA ON THE STAIRS
III. ATTACK AND REPULSE
IV. THE WORD
V. TERTIUS INGPEN
VI. HUSBAND AND WIFE
VII. THE TRUCE
VIII. THE FAMILY AT HOME
IX. THE WEEK-END
X. THE ORGREAVE CALAMITY
BOOK II
THE PAST
XI. LITHOGRAPHY
XII. DARTMOOR
XIII. THE DEPARTURE
XIV. TAVY MANSION
XV. THE PRISON
XVI. THE GHOST
BOOK III
EQUILIBRIUM
XVII. GEORGE'S EYES
XVIII. AUNTIE HAMPS SENTENCED
XIX. DEATH AND BURIAL
XX. THE DISCOVERY
BOOK I
THE WOMAN IN THE HOUSE
THESE TWAIN
CHAPTER I
THE HOUSE
I
In the year 1892 Bleakridge, residential suburb of Bursley, was still
most plainly divided into old and new,--that is to say, into the dull
red or dull yellow with stone facings, and the bright red with terra
cotta gimcrackery. Like incompatible liquids congealed in a pot, the
two components had run into each other and mingled, but never mixed.
Paramount among the old was the house of the Member of Parliament, near
the top of the important mound that separates Hanbridge from Bursley.
The aged and widowed Member used the house little, but he kept it up,
and sometimes came into it with an unexpectedness that extremely
flattered the suburb. Thus you might be reading in the morning paper
that the Member had given a lunch in London on the previous day to
Cabinet Ministers and ladies as splendid as the Countess of Chell,
and--glancing out of the window--you might see the Member himself
walking down Trafalgar Road, sad, fragile, sedately alert, with his
hands behind him, or waving a gracious hand to an acquaintance.
Whereupon you would announce, not apathetically: "Member's gone down to
MacIlvaine's!" (MacIlvaine's being the works in which the Member had an
interest) and there would perhaps be a rush to the window. Those were
the last great days of Bleakridge.
After the Member's house ranked such historic residences as those of
Osmond Orgreave, the architect, (which had the largest, greenest garden
and the best smoke-defying trees in Bleakridge), and Fearns, the
Hanbridge lawyer; together with Manor "Cottage" (so-called, though a
spacious house), where lived the mechanical genius who had
revolutionised the pottery industry and strangely enough made a fortune
thereby, and the dark abode of the High Church parson.
Next in importance came the three terraces,--Manor Terrace, Abbey
Terrace, and the Sneyd Terrace--each consisting of three or four houses,
and all on the west side of Trafalgar Road, with long back-gardens and a
distant prospect of Hillport therefrom over the Manor fields. The
Terraces, considered as architecture, were unbeautiful, old-fashioned,
inconvenient,--perhaps paltry, as may be judged from the fact that rents
ran as low as L25 a year; but they had been wondrous in their day, the
pride of builders and owners and the marvel of a barbaric populace.
They too had histories, which many people knew. Age had softened them
and sanctioned their dignity. A gate might creak, but the harsh curves
of its ironwork had been mollified by time. Moreover the property was
always maintained in excellent repair by its landlords, and residents
cared passionately for the appearance of the windows and the
front-steps. The plenary respectability of the residents could not be
impugned. They were as good as the best. For address, they would not
give the number of the house in Trafalgar Road, but the name of its
Terrace. Just as
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COLLECTION OF FOREIGN AUTHORS,
No. XII.
* * * * *
IN PARADISE.
VOL. I.
VOLUMES ALREADY PUBLISHED:
I. _SAMUEL BROHL AND COMPANY_. A Novel. From the French of Victor
Cherbuliez. 1 vol., 16mo. Paper cover, 60 cents; cloth, $1.00.
II. _GERARD'S MARRIAGE_. A Novel. From the French of Andre Theuriet.
Paper cover, 50 cents; cloth, 75 cents.
III. _SPIRITE_. A Fantasy. From the French of Theophile Gautier. Paper
cover, 50 cents; cloth, 75 cents.
IV. _THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT_. From the French of George Sand. Paper
cover, 50 cents; cloth, 75 cents.
V. _META HOLDENIS_. A Novel. From the French of Victor Cherbuliez.
Paper cover, 50 cents; cloth, 75 cents.
VI. _ROMANCES OF THE EAST_. From the French of Comte de Gobineau. Paper
cover, 60 cents; cloth, $1.00.
VII. _RENEE AND FRANZ_ (Le Bleuet). From the French of Gustave Haller.
Paper cover, 50 cents; cloth, 75 cents.
VIII. _MADAME GOSSELIN_. From the French of Louis Ulbach. Paper cover,
60 cents; cloth, $1.00.
IX. _THE GODSON OF A MARQUIS_. From the French of Andre Theuriet. Paper
cover, 50 cents; cloth, 75 cents.
X. _ARIADNE_. From the French of Henry Greville. Paper cover, 50 cents;
cloth, 75 cents.
XI. _SAFAR-HADGI_; or, Russ and Turcoman. From the French of Prince
Lubomirski. Paper cover, 60 cents; cloth, $1.00.
XII. _IN PARADISE_. From the German of Paul Heyse. 2 vols. Per vol.,
paper cover, 60 cents; doth, $1.00.
IN
PARADISE
_A NOVEL_
FROM THE GERMAN OF
PAUL HEYSE
VOL. I
NEW YORK
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
549 AND 551 BROADWAY
1878
***_It has been decided to omit from this translation the poems which
are scattered through the novel in the German. A few trifling changes
in certain passages have been made necessary by this omission; and the
translator has in two or three cases very slightly condensed the text._
* * * * *
COPYRIGHT BY
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY,
1878.
IN PARADISE.
_BOOK I_.
CHAPTER I.
It was a Sunday in the midsummer of 1869.
The air, cleared by a thunderstorm the night before, was still
tremulous with that soft, invigorating warmth which, farther south,
makes breathing such an easy matter, but which, north of the Alps,
seldom outlasts the early morning. And yet the bells, that sounded from
the Munich Frauenkirche far across the Theresienwiese, and the field
where stands the great statue of Bavaria, were already ringing for high
mass. Here, outside the city, there seemed to be no human ear to
listen. The great bronze maiden stood there in the deepest solitude,
holding her wreath above her head, and with a mazed and dreamy look, as
though she might be thinking whether this were not an opportune moment
to step down from her granite pedestal, and to wander at will through
the town, that to-day raised its towers and roofs like a city of the
dead above the bare green plain. Now and then a bird flew out of the
little grove behind the Ruhmes-halle, and fluttered about the
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THE TALE OF
FERDINAND FROG
SLEEPY-TIME TALES
(Trademark Registered)
BY
ARTHUR SCOTT BAILEY
AUTHOR OF TUCK-ME-IN TALES
(Trademark Registered)
THE TALE OF CUFFY BEAR
THE TALE OF FRISKY SQUIRREL
THE TALE OF TOMMY FOX
THE TALE OF FATTY <DW53>
THE TALE OF BILLY WOODCHUCK
THE TALE OF JIMMY RABBIT
THE TALE OF PETER MINK
THE TALE OF SANDY CHIPMUNK
THE TALE OF BROWNIE BEAVER
THE TALE OF PADDY MUSKRAT
THE TALE OF FERDINAND FROG
THE TALE OF DICKIE DEER MOUSE
[Illustration: Mr. Frog Bows to Aunt Polly Woodchuck]
SLEEPY-TIME TALES (Trademark Registered)
THE TALE OF
FERDINAND
FROG
BY
ARTHUR SCOTT BAILEY
Author of "TUCK-ME-IN TALES"
(Trademark Registered)
ILLUSTRATED BY
HARRY L. SMITH
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
Made in the United States of America
Copyright, 1918,
by GROSSET & DUNLAP
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I PRETTY AS A PICTURE 9
II THE DANGERS OF TRAVEL
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TWO POETS
(Lost Illusions Part I)
By Honore De Balzac
Translated By Ellen Marriage
PREPARER'S NOTE
Two Poets is part one of a trilogy and begins the story of
Lucien, his sister Eve, and his friend David in the provincial
town of Angouleme. Part two, A Distinguished Provincial at
Paris is centered on Lucien's Parisian life. Part three, Eve
and David, reverts to the setting of Angouleme. In many
references parts one and three are combined under the title
Lost Illusions and A Distinguished Provincial at Paris is given
its individual title. Following this trilogy Lucien's story
is continued in another book, Scenes from a Courtesan's Life.
DEDICATION
To Monsieur Victor Hugo,
It was your birthright to be, like a Rafael or a Pitt, a great
poet at an age when other men are children; it was your fate, the
fate of Chateaubriand and of every man of genius, to struggle
against jealousy skulking behind the columns of a newspaper, or
crouching in the subterranean places of journalism. For this
reason I desired that your victorious name should help to win a
victory for this work that I inscribe to you, a work which, if
some persons are to be believed, is an act of courage as well as a
veracious history. If there had been journalists in the time of
Moliere, who can doubt but that they, like marquises, financiers,
doctors, and lawyers, would have been within the province of the
writer of plays? And why should Comedy, _qui castigat ridendo
mores_, make an exception in favor of one power, when the Parisian
press spares none? I am happy, monsieur, in this opportunity of
subscribing myself your sincere admirer and friend,
DE BALZAC.
TWO POETS
At the time when this story opens, the Stanhope press and the
ink-distributing roller were not as yet in general use in small
provincial printing establishments. Even at Angouleme, so closely
connected through its paper-mills with the art of typography in Paris,
the only machinery in use was the primitive wooden invention to which
the language owes a figure of speech--"the press groans" was no mere
rhetorical expression in those days. Leather ink-balls were still used
in old-fashioned printing houses; the pressman dabbed the ink by hand
on the characters, and the movable table on which the form of type
was placed in readiness for the sheet of paper, being made of marble,
literally deserved its name of "impression-stone." Modern machinery
has swept all this old-world mechanism into oblivion; the wooden press
which, with all its imperfections, turned out such beautiful work for
the Elzevirs, Plantin, Aldus, and Didot is so completely forgotten, that
something must be said as to the obsolete gear on which Jerome-Nicolas
Sechard set an almost superstitious affection, for it plays a part in
this chronicle of great small things.
Sechard had been in his time a journeyman pressman, a "bear" in
compositors' slang. The continued pacing to and fro of the pressman
from ink-table to press, from press to ink-table, no doubt suggested
the nickname. The "bears," however, make matters even by calling the
compositors monkeys, on account of the nimble industry displayed by
those gentlemen in picking out the type from the hundred and fifty-two
compartments of the cases.
In the disastrous year 1793, Sechard, being fifty years old and a
married man, escaped the great Requisition which swept the bulk of
French workmen into the army. The old pressman was the only hand left in
the printing-house; and when the master (otherwise the "gaffer") died,
leaving a widow, but no children, the business seemed to be on the verge
of extinction; for the solitary "bear" was quite incapable of the feat
of transformation into a "monkey," and in his quality of pressman had
never learned to read or write. Just then, however, a Representative
of the People being in a mighty hurry to publish the Decrees of
the Convention, bestowed a master printer's license on Sechard, and
requisitioned the establishment. Citizen Sechard accepted the dangerous
patent, bought the business of his master's widow with his wife's
savings, and took over the plant at half its value. But he was not even
at the beginning. He was bound to print the Decrees of the Republic
without mistakes and without delay.
In this strait Jerome-Nicolas Sechard had the luck to discover a noble
Marseillais who had no mind to emigrate and lose his lands, nor yet to
show himself openly and lose his head, and consequently was fain to earn
a living by some lawful industry. A bargain was struck. M. le Com
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[Illustration: Cover]
The Pagan's Cup
BY
Fergus Hume
AUTHOR OF
"THE MYSTERY OF A HANSOM CAB,"
"THE RAINBOW FEATHER,"
"CLAUDE DUVAL OF NINETY-FIVE,"
ETC.
[Illustration: Vignette]
NEW YORK
G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1902, by
G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY
[All rights reserved]
_The Pagan's Cup_
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. A Modern Arcadia 1
II. The Crusaders' Chapel 14
III. The Lady of the Manor 28
IV. The Dinner-Party 42
V. Love's Young Dream 58
VI. Trouble 71
VII. A Nine Days' Wonder 87
VIII. Haverleigh's Defence 101
IX. A Bad Reputation 113
X. The Price of Silence 126
XI. The London Detective 140
XII. A Surprise 154
XIII. An Interesting Document 168
XIV. An Unexpected Meeting 183
XV. A New Complication 198
XVI. Sybil's Visitor 214
XVII. Lord Kilspindie Explains 227
XVIII. A Miracle 242
XIX. A Story of the Past 257
XX. Mrs Gabriel's Secret 276
THE PAGAN'S CUP
CHAPTER I
A MODERN ARCADIA
Certain portions of England yet remain undiscovered by Americans and
uncivilised by railways. Colester village above King's-meadows, in a
county which need not be named, is one of these unknown spots. No doubt
before long the bicycle and the motor-car will enliven its somnolent
neighbourhood, but at present it is free from the summer jaunts of
tourists. With this neglect the Colester folk profess themselves
satisfied. They have no wish to come into contact with the busy world.
This prejudice against intrusion dates from mediaeval times, when
strangers rarely came to the village with peaceful intentions. Even now
a chance comer is looked upon with suspicion.
Mr Richard Pratt said something of this sort to the vicar during a
morning ramble, some six weeks after he had taken up his residence in
The Nun's House. With the parson and the gentry of the parish Mr Pratt
agreed very well, his respectability having been vouched for by Mrs
Gabriel, the lady of the manor. But the villagers still held aloof,
although the newcomer did his best to overcome their churlish doubts.
They did not credit his story that he had settled in Colester to pass
his remaining years in peace, and even the money he scattered so freely
could not buy their loyalty. Pratt had never met with such people
before. In most countries an open purse invites an open heart; but the
Colester villagers were above Mammon worship. Such an experience was
refreshing to Pratt, and introduced him to a new type of humanity.
"The first place I ever struck in which the dollar is not all-powerful,"
he said, with his Yankee twang and pleasant laugh.
"We are not sufficiently educated in that respect," replied Mr Tempest
in his simple way. "For my part, I am not ill pleased that my
parishioners should refuse to worship the Golden Calf."
"There is no calf about me, I guess," said Pratt, grimly, "and very
little gold. I don't say I haven't a decent income, but as to being a
millionaire--no, sir."
"In the kingdom of the blind the one-eyed is king, Mr Pratt. You are a
millionaire in this poor place. But I fear you find it dull."
"Why, no, vicar. I'm glad to be out of the buzz. The world's made up of
nerves and machinery nowadays. At fifty-two years of age I can't stand
the racket. This Sleepy Hollow's good enough for me to stay in until I
peg out. Guess I'll buy an allotment in that graveyard of yours."
"Hollow!" said the vicar, smiling, "and our earthly dwelling-place is
set upon a hill! Mr Pratt, I suspect you have Irish blood in your
veins."
Pratt laughed, and being to a large extent devoid of humour, explained
earnestly that he had used the word figuratively. "Washington Irving,
Rip Van Winkle," he explained, nodding, whereat the vicar smiled again.
The situation of Colester was striking and strange. A green-clothed
promontory extended abruptly from the high table-land into
King's-meadow. To right and left chalky cliffs of considerable height
flared away for miles, forming a buttress to the moors above and walls
to the plains
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BENJAMIN H. TICKNOR. THOMAS B. TICKNOR. GEORGE F. GODFREY.
A LIST OF BOOKS
PUBLISHED BY
TICKNOR AND COMPANY,
BOSTON.
#Full-faced type# indicates books published since January, 1886.
*** FOR THE LATEST ISSUES DESCRIBED, SEE PAGE 19.
_AMERICAN-ACTOR SERIES_ (The). Edited by LAURENCE HUTTON. A series of
12mo volumes by the best writers, embracing the lives of the most
famous and popular American Actors. Illustrated. Six volumes in
three. Sold only in sets. Per set, $5.00.
Vol. I. Edwin Forrest. By LAWRENCE BARRETT. The Jeffersons.
By WILLIAM WINTER.
Vol. II. The Elder and the Younger Booth. By Mrs. ASIA BOOTH
CLARKE. Charlotte Cushman. By CLARA ERSKINE CLEMENT.
Vol. III. Mrs. Duff. By JOSEPH N. IRELAND. Fechter. By KATE
FIELD. Also a limited edition on large paper, especially
adapted to the use of collectors and bibliophiles, for
extending, etc. 6 vols. Per vol., $5.00.
_AMERICAN ARCHITECT._ See back page of cover.
_ARNOLD'S_ (Edwin) The Light of Asia. Beautiful illustrated edition.
8vo. $6.00. In antique morocco, or tree-calf, $10.00.
-------- (George) Poems. Edited, with a Biographical Sketch of the
Poet, by WILLIAM WINTER. With Portrait. 16mo. $1.50. Half-calf,
$3.00. Morocco antique or tree-calf, $4.00.
_AUSTIN'S_ (Jane G.) A Nameless Nobleman. A Novel. 1 vol. 16mo.
Seventh edition. $1.00. In paper covers, 50 cents.
-------- The Desmond Hundred. A Novel. 16mo $1.00. In paper covers,
50 cents.
-------- Nantucket Scraps; Being Experiences of an Off-Islander, in
Season and out of Season, among a Passing People. 16mo. $1.50.
_BACON'S_ (Henry) Parisian Art and Artists. 8vo. Profusely
illustrated. $3.00.
_BALLOU'S_ (Maturin M.) Genius in Sunshine and Shadow. 1 vol. 12mo.
$1.50.
-------- Edge-Tools of Speech. 1 vol. 8vo. $3.50. Sheep, $5.00.
Half-calf or half-morocco, $6.50.
_BARTLETT'S_ (Truman H.) The Art-Life of William Rimmer. With
Illustrations after his Paintings, Drawings, and Sculptures. 4to.
Full gilt. $10.00.
_BATES'S_ (Arlo) Patty's Perversities. A Novel. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00.
In paper covers, 50 cents.
_BELLAMY'S_ (Edward) Miss Ludington's Sister. $1.25.
_BENJAMIN'S_ (S. G. W.) Persia and the Persians. 1 vol. 8vo. With
Portrait and many Illustrations. Beautifully bound. $5.00. Half-calf,
$9.00.
_BENT'S_ (Samuel Arthur) Familiar Short Sayings of Great Men. 8vo.
Third edition. $3.00. Half-calf, $5.50.
New and cheaper edition. Fifth edition, revised and augmented.
12mo. $2.00.
_BOIT'S_ (Robert Apthorp) Eustis. 12mo. $1.50.
_BOSTON_, Memorial History of. See page 24.
_BOWDOIN COLLEGE_. See Cleaveland.
_BROOKS'S_ (Henry M.) The Olden-Time Series. Each vol. 16mo. 50
cents. The six volumes, in a neat box, $3.00.
I. Curiosities of the Old Lottery.
II. Days of The Spinning-Wheel in New England.
III. New-England Sunday.
IV. Quaint and Curious Advertisements.
V. Some Strange and Curious Punishments.
VI. Literary Curiosities.
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[Illustration: The old lady tapped her stick impatiently on the hard
gravel.
PAGE 36.]
ROBIN REDBREAST
A STORY FOR GIRLS
BY
MRS MOLESWORTH
AUTHOR OF 'CARROTS;' 'THE PALACE IN THE GARDEN;' 'A CHARGE FULFILLED;'
'IMOGEN;' 'THE BEWITCHED LAMP,' etc.
WITH SIX ILLUSTRATIONS BY ROBERT BARNES
W. & R. CHAMBERS, LIMITED
LONDON AND EDINBURGH
A good old country lodge, half hid with blooms
Of honeyed green, and quaint with straggling rooms.
LEIGH HUNT.
Give me simplicity, that I may know Thy ways,
Know them and practise them.
GEORGE HERBERT.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE HOUSE IN THE LANE 7
II. THE OLD LADY 23
III. TWO JACINTHS 39
IV. A LETTER AND A DISCUSSION 54
V. AN OLD STORY 69
VI. BESSIE'S MISGIVINGS 84
VII. AN INVITATION 99
VIII. DELICATE GROUND 116
IX. THE INDIAN MAIL 135
X. THE HARPERS' HOME 150
XI. GREAT NEWS 164
XII. '"CAMILLA" AND "MARGARET," YES' 181
XIII. MAMMA 192
XIV. A COURAGEOUS PLEADER 206
XV. LADY MYRTLE'S INTENTIONS 224
XVI. A BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT 239
XVII. TWO DEGREES OF HONESTY 255
XVIII. I WILL THINK IT OVER 270
XIX. UNCLE MARMY'S GATES 281
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
THE OLD LADY TAPPED HER STICK IMPATIENTLY ON THE
HARD GRAVEL _Frontispiece_
AND THEN FRANCES RELATED THE WHOLE, MARGARET LISTENING
INTENTLY TILL ALMOST THE END Page 75
JACINTH'S BROWS CONTRACTED, AND THE LINES OF HER
DELICATE FACE HARDENED, BUT SHE SAID NOTHING 141
JACINTH SAT DOWN ON A STOOL AT LADY MYRTLE'S FEET
AND LOOKED UP IN HER FACE 177
'IT IS SO GOOD OF YOU, MEETING ME LIKE THIS,' THE
YOUNGER WOMAN WHISPERED 207
'AH WELL!' SAID LADY MYRTLE, 'ANOTHER DREAM VANISHED!' 243
ROBIN REDBREAST.
CHAPTER I.
THE HOUSE IN THE LANE.
It stood not very far from the corner--the corner where the lane turned
off from the high-road. And it suited its name, or its name suited it.
It was such a pretty, cosy-looking house, much larger really than it
seemed at the first glance, for it spread out wonderfully at the back.
It was red too--the out-jutting front, where the deep porch was, looking
specially red, in contrast with the wings, which were entirely covered
with ivy, while this centre was kept clear of any creepers. And high up,
almost in the roof, two curious round windows, which caught and
reflected the sunset glow--for the front was due west--over the top of
the wall, itself so ivy grown that it seemed more like a hedge, might
easily have been taken as representing two bright, watchful eyes. For
these windows were, or always looked as if they were, spotlessly clean
and shining.
'What a quaint name! how uncommon and picturesque!' people used to say
the first time they saw the house and heard what it was called. I don't
know if it will spoil the prettiness and the quaintness if I reveal its
real origin. Not so _very_ long ago, the old house was a queer, rambling
inn, and its sign was the redbreasted bird himself; somewhere up in the
attics, the ancient board that used to swing and creak of a windy night,
was still hidden--it may perhaps be there to this day! And somebody (it
does not matter who, for it was not any somebody that has to do with
this story) took a fancy to the house--fast growing dilapidated, and in
danger of sinking from a respectable old inn into a very undesirable
public-house, for the coaches had left off running, and the old traffic
was all at an end--and bought it just in time to save it from such
degradation.
This somebody repaired and restored it to a certain extent, and then
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THE
NURSERY
_A Monthly Magazine_
FOR YOUNGEST READERS.
VOLUME XXX.--No. 2.
BOSTON:
THE NURSERY PUBLISHING COMPANY,
NO. 36 BROMFIELD STREET.
1881.
Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1881, by
THE NURSERY PUBLISHING COMPANY,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.
[Illustration: JOHN WILSON & SON UNIVERSITY PRESS]
[Illustration: Contents.]
IN PROSE.
PAGE
The Young Fisherman 225
A slight Mistake 227
Two Games 231
More about "Zip <DW53>" 232
Sam and his Goats 234
Mary's Squirrel 240
Drawing-Lesson 241
The Chimney-sweep 244
Billy and Bruiser 246
"If I were only a King" 248
Use before Beauty 249
Ten Minutes with Johnny 251
A Cat Story 252
Tom's Apple 254
IN VERSE.
The Hen-Yard Door 228
Toy-Land 238
A Turtle Show 242
Two Little Maidens 247
Summer Rambles 250
See-Saw (_with music_) 256
[Illustration]
THE YOUNG FISHERMAN.
WHEN Charley was eight years old, his father gave him, for a birthday
present, a nice fishing-line.
The little boy was greatly pleased. He had fished often in a tub of
water with a pin-hook; but now, for the first time, he had a real
fishing-line and pole, and was able to go a-fishing in earnest.
The very first pleasant day, he got leave from his father to go to the
pond and try his luck.
"Be sure to bring home a good mess of fish, Charley," said his father.
"Oh, yes! papa," said Charley, and with his fishing-pole on his shoulder
out he went.
What fun it was! First he dug some worms for bait; then he baited his
hook nicely; then he took his stand on a little platform, made on
purpose for the use of fishermen, and threw out his hook.
There he stood, in the shade of the old willow-tree, and waited for the
fish to bite. As he looked down into the calm, clear water, he saw a
boy, just about his own size, looking up at him. He had no other
company.
He kept close watch of the pretty painted cork, expecting every moment
to see it go under water. But for a long, long time it floated almost
without motion.
Charley's patience began to give out. "I don't believe there are any
fish here," thought he. Just then the cork dipped a little on one side.
Then it stopped. Then it dipped again.
"Hurrah!" said Charley, and he pulled up the line with a jerk. Was there
a fish on it? Not a bit of one. But the bait was all gone.
"Never mind!" said Charley, "I'll catch him next time." He baited the
hook, and threw it out again. The sport was getting exciting.
Pretty soon the cork bobbed under, as before. "Now I have him!" said
Charley. He pulled up once more, and this time with such a jerk that he
tossed the hook right over his head, and it caught in the weeds behind
him. But there was no fish on it.
"The third time never fails," said Charley, as he threw out his line
again. He waited now until the cork was pulled clear under water; then
he lifted it out, without too much haste, and, sure enough, he had
caught a fish.
How long do you suppose it had taken him to do it? Pretty nearly all the
forenoon. No matter! he had one fish to carry home, and he had had a
real good time besides.
Charley has caught many a mess of fish since then; but I doubt if he has
ever enjoyed the sport more than he did in catching that one fish.
UNCLE SAM.
[Illustration]
A SLIGHT MISTAKE.
A DONKEY walking with a lion, fancied himself a lion also, and pretended
not to know his own brother.
[Illustration]
THE HEN-YARD DOOR.
WHEN careless Tommy fed the fowls,
He did not shut the door;
Out came the rooster and the hens;
Out came the pullets four;
Out came old Speckle-wings, with six
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[Transcriber's Notes:
The first part of this volume (September 1879) was produced as Project
Gutenberg Ebook #30048. The relevant part of the table of contents has
been extracted from that document, and a brief title page added.
_Italic words_ have been enclosed in underscores. *Gesperrt* (spaced)
letters have been enclosed in asterisks. Greek letters have been
transliterated and enclosed in equals signs, e.g. =schole=. Symbols such
as hieroglyphics or script letters have been represented using braces,
e.g. {symbol}. As the oe ligature cannot be included in this format, it
has been replaced with the separate letters, e.g. "Phoenician".
A few minor typographical errors have been silently corrected. Some
inconsistent hyphenation and accents have been retained.]
THE
CONTEMPORARY
REVIEW
VOLUME XXXVI. NOVEMBER, 1879
CONTENTS.
NOVEMBER, 1879.
PAGE
On Freedom. By Professor Max Muller 369
Mr. Gladstone: Two Studies suggested by his "Gleanings of Past
Years." I. By a Liberal.--II. By a Conservative 398
The Ancien Regime and the Revolution in France. By Professor
von Sybel 432
What is the Actual Condition of Ireland? By Edward Stanley
Robertson 451
The Deluge: Its Traditions in Ancient Nations. By Francois
Lenormant 465
Suspended Animation. By Richard A. Proctor 501
John Stuart Mill's Philosophy Tested. IV.--Utilitarianism.
By Professor W. Stanley Jevons 521
ON FREEDOM.[1]
Not more than twenty years have passed since John Stuart Mill sent forth
his plea for Liberty.[2]
If there is one among the leaders of thought in England who, by the
elevation of his character and the calm composure of his mind, deserved
the so often misplaced title of Serene Highness, it was, I think, John
Stuart Mill.
But in his Essay "On Liberty," Mill for once becomes passionate. In
presenting his Bill of Rights, in stepping forward as the champion of
individual liberty, a new spirit seems to have taken possession of him.
He speaks like a martyr, or the defender of martyrs. The individual
human soul, with its unfathomable endowments, and its capacity of
growing to something undreamt of in our philosophy, becomes in his eyes
a sacred thing, and every encroachment on its world-wide domain is
treated as sacrilege. Society, the arch-enemy of the rights of
individuality, is represented like an evil spirit, whom it behoves every
true man to resist with might and main, and whose demands, as they
cannot be altogether ignored, must be reduced at all hazards to the
lowest level.
I doubt whether any of the principles for which Mill pleaded so warmly
and strenuously in his Essay "On Liberty" would at the present day be
challenged or resisted, even by the most illiberal of philosophers, or
the most conservative of politicians. Mill's demands sound very humble
to _our_ ears. They amount to no more than this, "that the individual is
not accountable to society for his actions so far as they concern the
interests of no person but himself, and that he may be subjected to
social or legal punishments for such actions only as are prejudicial to
the interests of others."
Is there any one here present who doubts the justice of that principle,
or who would wish to reduce the freedom of the individual to a smaller
measure? Whatever social tyranny may have existed twenty years ago, when
it wrung that fiery protest from the lips of John Stuart Mill, can we
imagine a state of society, not totally Utopian, in which the individual
man need be less ashamed of his social fetters, in which he could more
freely utter all his honest convictions, more boldly propound all his
theories, more fearlessly agitate for their speedy realization; in
which, in fact, each man can be so entirely himself as the society of
England, such as it now is, such as generations of hard-thinking and
hard-working Englishmen have made it, and left it as the most sacred
inheritance to their sons and daughters?
Look through the whole of history, not excepting the brightest days of
republican freedom at Athens and Rome, and I know you will not find one
single period in which the measure of Liberty accorded to each
individual was larger than it is at present, at least in England. And if
you wish to realize the full blessings of the time in which we live,
compare Mill's plea for Liberty with another written not much more than
two hundred years ago, and by a thinker not inferior either in power or
boldness to Mill himself. According to Hobbes, the only freedom which an
individual in his ideal state has a right to claim is what he calls
"freedom of thought," and that freedom of thought consists in our being
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THE WHEEL O' FORTUNE
BY
LOUIS TRACY
Author of "The Wings of the Morning," "The Pillar of Light," "The
Captain of the Kansas" etc.
ILLUSTRATIONS BY JAMES MONTGOMERY FLAGG
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. WHEREIN FORTUNE TURNS HER WHEEL
CHAPTER II. THE COMPACT
CHAPTER III. A CHANGE OF SKY, BUT NOT OF HABIT
CHAPTER IV. VON KERBER EXPLAINS
CHAPTER V. MISS FENSHAWE SEEKS AN ALLY
CHAPTER VI. AT THE PORTAL
CHAPTER VII. MRS. HAXTON RECEIVES A SHOCK
CHAPTER VIII. MASSOWAH ASSERTS ITSELF
CHAPTER IX. A GALLOP IN THE DARK
CHAPTER X. THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM
CHAPTER XI. A WOMAN INTERVENES
CHAPTER XII. STUMP DEPENDS ON OBSERVATION
CHAPTER XIII. THE SIGN IN THE SKY
CHAPTER XIV. WHEREIN A BISHARIN CAMEL BECOMES USEFUL
CHAPTER XV. THE DESERT AWAKES
CHAPTER XVI. A FLIGHT--AND A FIGHT
CHAPTER XVII. HOW THREE ROADS LED IN ONE DIRECTION
CHAPTER XVIII. THE FINDING OF THE TREASURE
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
"By the Prophet!" he exclaimed, "I am overjoyed at seeing you"
"I don't want your charity, I want work!"
"Let your prisoner go, Mr. King"
"Good morning, Mr. King," she cried
"You need no promise from me, Miss Fenshawe"
The Arab appraised Royson with critical eye
He did not dare meet the glance suddenly turned upon him
"Go, Dick, but come back to me in safety"
CHAPTER I
WHEREIN FORTUNE TURNS HER WHEEL
At ten o'clock on a morning in October--a dazzling, sunlit morning
after hours of wind-lashed rain--a young man hurried out of Victoria
Station and dodged the traffic and the mud-pools on his way towards
Victoria Street. Suddenly he was brought to a stand by an unusual
spectacle. A procession of the "unemployed" was sauntering out of
Vauxhall Bridge Road into the more important street. Being men of
leisure, the processionists moved slowly. The more alert pedestrian who
had just emerged from the station did not grumble at the delay--he even
turned it to advantage by rolling and lighting a cigarette. The ragged
regiment filed past, a soiled, frayed, hopeless-looking gang. Three
hundred men had gathered on the south side of the river, and were
marching to join other contingents on the Thames Embankment, whence
some thousands of them would be shepherded by policemen up
Northumberland Avenue, across Trafalgar Square, and so, by way of Lower
Regent Street and Piccadilly, to Hyde Park, where they would hoarsely
cheer every demagogue who blamed the Government for their miseries.
London, like Richard Royson, would stand on the pavement and watch
them. Like him, it would drop a few coins into the collecting boxes
rattled under its nose, and grin at the absurd figure cut by a very fat
man who waddled notably, among his leaner brethren, for hunger and
substance are not often found so strangely allied. But, having salved
its conscience by giving, and gratified its sarcastic humor by
laughing, London took thought, perhaps, when it read the strange device
on the banner carried by this Vauxhall contingent. "Curse your
charity--we want work," said the white letters, staring threateningly
out of a wide strip of red cotton. There was a brutal force in the
phrase. It was Socialism in a tabloid. Many a looker-on, whose lot was
nigh as desperate as that of the demonstrators, felt that it struck him
between the eyes.
It had some such effect on Royson. Rather abruptly he turned away, and
reached the less crowded Buckingham Palace Road. His face was darkened
by a frown, though his blue eyes had a glint of humor in them. The
legend on the banner had annoyed him. Its blatant message had
penetrated the armor of youth, high spirits, and abounding good health.
It expressed his own case, with a crude vigor. The "unemployed" genius
who railed at society in that virile line must have felt as he, Dick
Royson, had begun to feel during the past fortnight, and the knowledge
that this was so was exceedingly distasteful. It was monstrous that he
should rate himself on a par with those slouching wastrels. The mere
notion brought its own confutation. Twenty-four years of age, well
educated, a gentleman by birth and breeding, an athlete who stood six
feet two inches high in his stockings, the gulf was wide, indeed,
between him and the charity-cursers who had taken his money. Yet--the
words stuck....
Evidently, he was fated to be a sight-seer that morning. When he
entered Buckingham Palace Road, the strains of martial music banished
the gaunt specter called into being by the red cotton banner. A
policeman, more cheerful and spry than his comrades who marshaled the
procession shuffling towards Westminster, strode to the center of the
busy crossing, and cast an alert eye on the converging lines of
traffic. Another section of the ever-ready London crowd lined up on the
curb. Nursemaids, bound for the parks, wheeled their perambulators into
strategic positions, thus commanding a clear view and blocking the edge
of the pavement. Drivers of omnibuses, without waiting for the lifted
hand of authority, halted in Lower Grosvenor Gardens and Victoria
Street. Cabs going to the station, presumably carrying fares to whom
time meant lost trains, spurted to cross a road which would soon be
barred. And small boys gathered from all quarters in amazing profusion.
In a word, the Coldstream Guards were coming from Chelsea Barracks to
do duty at St. James's, coming, too, in the approved manner of the
Guards, with lively drumming and clash of cymbals, while brass and
reeds sang some jaunty melody of the hour.
The passing of a regimental band has whisked many a youngster out of
staid Britain into the far lands, the lilt and swing of soldiers on the
march have a glamour all the more profound because it is evanescent.
That man must indeed be careworn who would resist it. Certainly, the
broad-shouldered young giant who had been momentarily troubled by the
white-red ghost of poverty was not so minded. He could see easily, over
the heads of the people standing on the edge of the pavement, so he did
not press to the front among the rabble, but stood apart, with his back
against a shop window. Thus, he was free to move to right or left as he
chose. That was a slight thing in itself, an unconscious trick of
aloofness--perhaps an inherited trait of occupying his own territory,
so to speak. But it is these slight things which reveal character. They
oft-times influence human lives, too; and no man ever extricated
himself more promptly from the humdrum of moneyless existence in London
than did Richard Royson that day by placing the width of the sidewalk
between himself and the unbroken row of spectators. Of course, he knew
nothing of that at the moment. His objective was an appointment at
eleven' o'clock in the neighborhood of Charing Cross, and, now that he
was given the excuse, he meant to march along the Mall behind the
Guards. Meanwhile, he watched their advance.
Above the tall bearskins and glittering bayonets he caught the flourish
of energetic drumsticks. The big drum gave forth its clamor with
window-shaking insistence; it seemed to be the summons of power that
all else should stand aside. On they came, these spruce Guards, each
man a marching machine, trained to strut and pose exactly as his
fellows. There was a sense of omnipotence in their rhythmic movement.
And they all had the grand manner--from the elegant captain in command
down to the smallest drummer-boy. Although the sun was shining brightly
now, the earlier rain and hint of winter in the air had clothed all
ranks in dark gray great-coats and brown leggings. Hence, to the
untrained glance, they were singularly alike. Officers, sergeants,
privates and bandsmen might have been cast in molds, after the style of
toy soldiers. There were exceptions, of course, just as the fat man
achieved distinction among the unemployed. The crimson sashes of the
officers, the drum-major, with his twirling staff, the white apron of
the big drummer, drew the eye. A
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CATALOGUE No. 40.
MICROSCOPES
AND
ACCESSORY APPARATUS.
ERNST LEITZ
WETZLAR
GERMANY.
Founded in 1850.
Branch Offices:
NEW-YORK: CHICAGO: BERLIN NW.
411 West 59th Str. 32-38 Clark Str. 45 Luisenstrasse.
30 East 18th Street.
1903.
="Highest award"= Worlds Columbian Exhibition =Chicago 1893=.
Contents.
New constructions 5
Objectives and Eye-pieces 7
Stands 16
Illuminating Apparatus 20
Complete Microscope Outfits 24
Microscopes for Mineralogical Research 57
Dissecting Microscopes and Lupes 62
Apparatus for Blood Examinations 70
Micrometers 73
Drawing Apparatus 74
Mechanical Stages 78
Photo-micrographic Apparatus 82
Projection Apparatus (Edinger) 84
The Large Projection Apparatus 87
Microtomes 92
Miscellaneous Accessories 99
Publications 104
Index 105
Notice.
All previous editions of this catalogue are superceded by the present
one, which should be exclusively used in ordering.
Orders will be filled at once after their receipt.
In ordering care should be taken to give the =number= of each article
desired and to state listprice.
To avoid delay and misunderstandings, we request that name and address
be plainly written.
Goods are forwarded at the expense and risk of the purchaser.
Our instruments for use in =Universities, Colleges, Schools= &c. of the
=United
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[Illustration: THE WOLF, THE FOX, AND THE APE
(See page 153)]
Æsop’s Fables
A Version for
Young Readers
_By_
J. H. Stickney
Illustrated by
Charles Livingston Bull
Ginn and Company
Boston—New York—Chicago—London
Atlanta—Dallas—Columbus—San Francisco
[Illustration]
COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY GINN AND COMPANY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
321.11
THE Athenæum Press
GINN AND COMPANY·PROPRIETORS·BOSTON·U.S.A.
PREFACE
THE good fortune which has attended the earlier edition of this book
is a proof that there is less occasion now than formerly to plead the
cause of fables for use in elementary schools. And yet their value
is still too little recognized. The homely wisdom, which the fables
represent so aptly, was a more common possession of intelligent people
of a generation or two ago than it is at the present time. It had
then a better chance of being passed on by natural tradition than
is now the case among the less homogeneous parentage of our school
children. And there has never been a greater need than now for the
kind of seed-sowing for character that is afforded by this means. As
in the troubled times in Greece in Æsop’s day, twenty-five centuries
ago, moral teaching to be salutary must be largely shorn of didactic
implications and veiled with wit and satire. This insures its most
vital working wherever its teaching is pertinent. To
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LINCOLN***
E-text prepared by Richard Hulse and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
Internet Archive/American Libraries (https://archive.org/details/americana)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 48364-h.htm or 48364-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/48364/48364-h/48364-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/48364/48364-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
https://archive.org/details/notedspeechesofa00linc
American History in Literature
NOTED SPEECHES OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN
[Illustration: ABRAHAM LINCOLN]
American History in Literature
NOTED SPEECHES OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN
Including the Lincoln-Douglas Debate
Edited with Biographical Sketches by
LILIAN MARIE BRIGGS
Assistant in the New York Public Library
With Portraits
New York
Moffat, Yard and Company
1911
Copyright, 1911, by
Moffat, Yard and Company
New York
The Quinn & Boden Co. Press
Rahway, N. J.
CONTENTS
PAGE
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH--LINCOLN ix
COOPER INSTITUTE SPEECH 1
LINCOLN’S FIRST INAUGURAL ADDRESS 35
LINCOLN’S GETTYSBURG SPEECH 51
LINCOLN’S SECOND INAUGURAL ADDRESS 53
PROCLAMATION OF EMANCIPATION 57
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH--DOUGLAS 61
LINCOLN-DOUGLAS DEBATE:
_Opening Speech_ 63
_Lincoln’s Reply_ 82
ILLUSTRATIONS
ABRAHAM LINCOLN _Frontispiece_
STEPHEN A. DOUGLAS Facing page 62
FOREWORD
This series, American History in Literature, will include only the
best-known American speeches,--those which commemorate the most
important events in the history of our country.
The biographical sketches have been included for the convenience of
the student and reader, and for the schoolboys and girls, who are
constantly seeking concise accounts of the lives of our great Americans.
This present volume, the first of the series, gives to the student and
reader Abraham Lincoln’s most noted speeches in compact form, making a
chronological anthology.
L. M. B.
ABRAHAM LINCOLN
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH
In a little log-cabin in Hardin County, Kentucky, on the 12th of
February, 1809, was born a future President of the United States,
Abraham Lincoln.
When Abraham was seven years old, his father, Thomas Lincoln, moved
with his family to Indiana. It was a cold, dreary winter for them in
the rude shed which Abraham, knowing well how to handle an ax, had
helped his father to build. The following autumn found them in a better
cabin, but brought to Abraham the loss of his mother, Nancy Hanks
Lincoln, leaving his sister Sarah, eleven years old, to care for the
household. But the next year the little home was much changed; for a
stepmother had come, a woman of energy and thrift, who provided the
children with comforts before unknown to them. She became very fond of
Abraham and encouraged his inclination for reading and study. One year
would probably cover all the schooling he ever had, but he set to work
with a will to educate himself, sometimes walking miles to borrow a
book.
In the spring of 1830 Thomas Lincoln sold his farm in Indiana and moved
to Illinois. Abraham, though wishing to do something for himself,
remained with his father about a year longer, to see him comfortably
settled in his new home. Then, in April, he went on his second
expedition to New Orleans in a flatboat. On his return his employer
placed him in charge of a store at New Salem.
When he was twenty-three years old, he enlisted in what was called the
Black Hawk War, and was chosen captain of his company. When the war
was at an end and he returned home, he was told that the people wished
to send him to the legislature. He agreed to be a candidate, but was
not elected. All this time he did not give up the idea of becoming a
lawyer, and soon after the next election, at which he received a large
majority, he commenced the study of law.
In 1837 he left New Salem and removed to Springfield, which was ever
after his home. He was elected to the Illinois legislature four times
in succession and again in 1846, and the following year he was chosen
to be a Representative in Congress. At the close of his two years in
Congress, Mr. Lincoln returned to Springfield and applied himself to
the practice of law. But very soon he was again taking
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Transcriber's Note
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
THE INTERNATIONAL SCIENTIFIC SERIES
VOLUME LXIX
THE
INTERNATIONAL SCIENTIFIC SERIES.
Each book complete in One Volume, 12mo, and bound in Cloth.
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2. PHYSICS AND POLITICS; or, Thoughts on the Application of the
Principles of "Natural Selection" and "Inheritance" to Political
Society. By Walter Bagehot. $1.50.
3. FOODS. By Edward Smith, M. D., LL. B., F. R. S. With numerous
Illustrations. $1.75.
4. MIND AND BODY: The Theories of their Relation. By Alexander
Bain, LL. D. With 4 Illustrations. $1.50.
5. THE STUDY OF SOCIOLOGY. By Herbert Spencer. $1.50.
6. THE NEW CHEMISTRY. By Professor J. P. Cooke, Harvard University.
With 31 Illustrations. $2.00.
7. THE CONSERVATION OF ENERGY. By Balfour Stewart, M.A., LL. D., F.
R. S. With 14 Illustrations. $1.50.
8. ANIMAL LOCOMOTION; or, Walking, Swimming, and Flying. By J. B.
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Locomotion. By Professor E. J. Marey, College of France. With
117 Illustrations. $1.75.
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13. THE DOCTRINE OF DESCENT AND DARWINISM. By Professor Oscar
Schmidt, Strasburg University. With 26 Illustrations. $1.50.
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TO ART, SCIENCE, AND INDUSTRY. By Dr. Hermann Vogel, Royal
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Edited by the Rev. M. J. Berkeley, M. A., F. L. S. With 109
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By Dr. Eugene Lommel. With 188 Illustrations and a Table of
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23. STUDIES IN SPECTRUM ANALYSIS. By J. Norman Lockyer, F. R. S.
With 7 Photographic Illustrations of
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Studies _in the_
Epistle _of_ James
_First published as_
PRACTICAL AND SOCIAL ASPECTS
OF CHRISTIANITY
A. T. ROBERTSON
Late Professor of New Testament Interpretation, Southern Baptist
Theological Seminary, Louisville, Kentucky
_Revised and Edited by_
Heber F. Peacock
[Illustration: ]
BROADMAN PRESS
_Nashville, Tennessee_
421-06232
_Library of Congress catalog card number: 59-5861_
Printed in the United States of America
5.AT58K.S.P.
Preface
In August, 1912, it was my privilege to deliver a course of lectures at
the Northfield Bible Conference. There were many requests for the
publication of the addresses. I shall never forget the bright faces of
the hundreds who gathered in beautiful Sage Chapel at 8:30 on those
August mornings. In August, 1913, the lectures were repeated at the New
York Chautauqua and at the Winona Bible Conference. There were renewed
appeals for publication, but it was not possible to put the material
into shape because of my work on _A Grammar of the Greek New Testament
in the Light of Historical Research_.
I have expanded the lectures a good deal and have added some
introductory discussion about James himself. I have in mind ministers,
social workers, students of the Bible, Sunday school teachers, and all
lovers of the Word of God and of rightness of life. Technical matters
are placed in parentheses or in footnotes so that the reader may go on
without these if he cares to do so. There is a freshness in the Greek
text not possible in the English, but those who do not know Greek may
still read this book with entire ease.
I do not claim that these addresses are a detailed commentary on the
Epistle of James. They are expository talks based, I trust, on sober,
up-to-date scholarship and applied to modern life. It is the old gospel
in the new age that we need and must know how to use. There is a
wondrous charm in these words of the long ago from one who walked so
close by the side of the Son of man, who misunderstood him at first but
who came at last to rejoice in his Brother in the flesh as the Lord
Jesus Christ. It is immensely worthwhile to listen to what James has to
say about Christianity and the problems of everyday life. His words
throb with power today and strike a peculiarly modern note in the
emphasis upon social problems and reality in religion. They have the
breath of heaven and the warmth of human sympathy and love. Except for a
few quotations from the King James Version, Scripture quotations follow
the American Standard Version.
Preface to Second Edition
The welcome accorded this interpretation of the Epistle of James makes a
new edition necessary. Opportunity is thus afforded for weeding out
misprints. Prof. S. L. Watson, of Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, has kindly
verified all the references in the book. The words of James strike a
peculiarly modern note during these days of war.
A. T. R.
Contents
I. James, a Servant of God and of the Lord Jesus Christ 1
II. To the Twelve Tribes Which Are of the Dispersion 28
III. Joy in Trial 33
IV. The Way of Temptation 48
V. The Practice of the Word of God 60
VI. Class Prejudice 75
VII. The Appeal to Life 91
VIII. The Tongues of Teachers 104
IX. The True Wise Man 124
X. The Outer and the Inner Life 140
XI. God and Business 158
XII. Perseverance and Prayer 177
I
James, a Servant of God and of the Lord Jesus Christ
The Brother of the Lord
It will be well to put together the bits of information about James, or
Jacob,[1] as he is called in the Greek. They are not very numerous, and
yet it is possible to form a reasonably clear picture of his
personality.
It is here assumed that James the author of the epistle is James the
brother of the Lord (Gal. 1:19). It is hardly conceivable that James the
brother of John could have written the epistle, since he was put to
death as early as A.D. 44 by Herod Agrippa I (Acts 12:2). The matters
presented in the epistle were hardly acute in the Jewish Christian world
by that date, and there is no evidence that this James had attained a
special position of leadership that justified a general appeal to Jewish
Christians.[2]
The epistle belongs to the five “disputed” epistles (James, Jude, 2 and
3 John, 2 Peter) and it circulated in the East before it did in the
West. It occurs in the Peshitta Syriac Version. Origen (in Johan. xix.
6) knows it as “the Epistle current as that of James” and Eusebius (H.
E. III. xxv. 3) describes it with the other four as “nevertheless
well-known to most people.”
There are many proofs[3] that the epistle was written by the author of
the speech in Acts 15:13-21—delicate similarities of thought and style
too subtle for mere imitation or copying. The same likeness appears
between the Epistle of James and the letter to Antioch, probably written
also by James (Acts 15:23-29). There are, besides, apparent
reminiscences of the Sermon on the Mount, which James may have heard
personally or at least heard the substance of it. There is the same
vividness of imagery in the epistle that is so prominent a
characteristic
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E-text prepared by Turgut Dincer, David E. Brown, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images
generously made available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/forstorytellerst00bail
Transcriber’s note:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
FOR THE STORY TELLER
* * * * * *
BOOKS BY
CAROLYN SHERWIN BAILEY
DAILY PROGRAM OF GIFT AND OCCUPATION WORK
FOR THE CHILDREN’S HOUR
FIRELIGHT STORIES
STORIES AND RHYMES FOR A CHILD
SONGS OF HAPPINESS
* * * * * *
FOR THE STORY TELLER
Story Telling and Stories to Tell
by
CAROLYN SHERWIN BAILEY
[Illustration]
1913
Milton Bradley Company
Springfield, Mass.
New York Boston Philadelphia Atlanta San Francisco
Copyright, 1913,
By Milton Bradley Company,
Springfield, Mass.
PREFACE
The new-old art of story telling is being rediscovered. We are finding
that the children’s daily story hour in school, in the neighborhood
house, and at home is a real force for mental and moral good in their
lives. We are learning that it is possible to educate children by means
of stories.
Story telling to be a developing factor in a child’s life must be
studied by the story teller. There are good stories and there are poor
stories for children. The story that fits a child’s needs to-day may
not prove a wise choice for him to-morrow. Some stories teach, some
stories only give joy, some stories inspire, some stories just make a
child laugh. Each of these story phases is important. To discover these
special types of stories, to fit stories to the individual child or
child group, and to make over stories for perfect telling has been my
aim in writing this book.
Through telling stories to many thousands of children and lecturing to
students I have found that story telling is a matter of psychology. The
pages that follow give my new theory of story telling to the teacher or
parent.
CAROLYN SHERWIN BAILEY.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE APPERCEPTIVE BASIS OF STORY TELLING 1
II. THE STORY WITH A SENSE APPEAL 23
III. WHEN THE CURTAIN RISES 41
IV. USING SUSPENSE TO DEVELOP CONCENTRATION 57
V. STORY CLIMAX 83
VI. TRAINING A CHILD’S MEMORY BY MEANS OF A STORY 105
VII. THE INSTINCT STORY 122
VIII. THE DRAMATIC STORY 142
IX. STORY TELLING AN AID TO VERBAL EXPRESSION 171
X. STIMULATING THE EMOTIONS BY MEANS OF A STORY 191
XI. IMAGINATION AND THE FAIRY STORY 212
XII. MAKING OVER STORIES 231
XIII. PLANNING STORY GROUPS 245
STORIES FOR TELLING
THE CAP THAT MOTHER MADE, adapted from Swedish Fairy Tales 8
GOODY TWO SHOES 16
THE THREE CAKES, from Monsieur Berquin’s L’Ami des Enfants 35
THE PRINCE’S VISIT, Horace E. Scudder 52
THE TRAVELS OF A FOX, Clifton Johnson 60
LITTLE LORNA DOONE, adapted from Richard Blackmore 68
LITTLE IN-A-MINUTE 76
OLD MAN RABBIT’S THANKSGIVING DINNER 92
THE GREAT STONE FACE, adapted from Nathaniel Hawthorne 98
LITTLE TUK, Hans Christian Andersen 115
THE SELFISH GIANT, Oscar Wilde 133
THE GINGERBREAD BOY (dramatized), Carolyn Sherwin Bailey 153
THE TOWN MOUSE AND THE COUNTRY MOUSE (dramatized),
Carolyn Sherwin Bailey 163
THE WOODPECKER WHO WAS SELFISH, adapted from an Indian Folk Tale 181
THE LITTLE RABBIT WHO WANTED RED WINGS, adapted from a
Southern Folk Tale 185
THE LITTLE LAME PRINCE, adapted from Miss Mulock 201
THE BLUE ROBIN, Mary Wilkins Freeman 219
THE GIRL WHO TROD ON THE LOAF, Hans Christian Andersen 238
FOR THE STORY TELLER
CHAPTER I
THE APPERCEPTIVE BASIS OF STORY TELLING
App
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Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was
produced from scanned images of public domain material
from the Google Print project.)
SINISTER STREET
BY
COMPTON MACKENZIE
SOME PRESS OPINIONS OF OTHER BOOKS BY COMPTON MACKENZIE
SOME PRESS OPINIONS OF
Kensington Rhymes
_By_ COMPTON MACKENZIE
_SATURDAY REVIEW:_
"These are particularly jolly rhymes, that any really good sort of
a chap, say a fellow of about ten would like. Mr. J. R. Monsell's
pictures are exceptionally jolly too.... If we may judge by
ourselves, not only the children, but the grown-ups of the family
will be enchanted by this quite delightful and really first-rate
book."
_DAILY MAIL:_
"Among the picture-books of the season, pride of place must go to
Mr. Compton Mackenzie's 'Kensington Rhymes.' They are full of quiet
humour and delicate insight into the child-mind."
_OBSERVER:_
"Far the best rhymes of the year are 'Kensington Rhymes,' by
Compton Mackenzie, almost the best things of the kind since the
'Child's Garden of Verse.'"
_ATHENAEUM:_
"Will please children of all ages, and also contains much that will
not be read without a sympathetic smile by grown-ups possessed of a
sense of humour."
_TIMES:_
"The real gift of child poetry, sometimes almost with a
Stevensonian ring."
_OUTLOOK:_
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The Project Gutenberg Etext of Vittoria by George Meredith, v6
#46 in our series by George Meredith
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Produced by Marcia Brooks, Cindy Beyer and the Distributed
Proofreaders Canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net.
SUMMER CRUISE
IN
THE MEDITERRANEAN.
SUMMER CRUISE
IN
THE MEDITERRANEAN
ON BOARD AN AMERICAN FRIGATE.
BY
N. PARKER WILLIS.
LONDON:
T. BOSWORTH, 215, REGENT STREET.
1853.
LONDON:
BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS
PREFACE.
* * * * *
Of one of the most delicious episodes in a long period of foreign
travel, this volume is the imperfect and hastily written transcript.
Even at the time it was written, the author felt its experience to be a
dream—so exempt was it from the interrupting and qualifying drawbacks
of happiness in common and working life—but, now, after an interval of
many years, it seems indeed like a dream, and one so full of unmingled
pleasure, that its telling almost wants the contrast of a sadness. Of
the noble ship, whose summer cruise is described, and her kind and
hospitable officers, the recollection is as fresh and grateful now, as
when, (twenty years ago,) the author bade them farewell in the port of
Smyrna. Of the scenes he passed through, while their guest, he has a
less perfect remembrance—relying indeed on these chance memoranda, for
much that would else be forgotten. It is with a mingled sense of the
real and the unreal, therefore, that the book is offered, in a new
shape, to the Public, whose approbation has encouraged its long
existence, and the author trusts that his thanks to the surviving
officers
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E-text prepared by Camille François, Suzanne Shell, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
EN ROUTE
by
J. K. HUYSMANS
Translated by W. Fleming
EN ROUTE.
CHAPTER I.
During the first week in November, the week within the Octave of All
Souls, Durtal entered St. Sulpice, at eight o'clock in the evening. He
often chose to turn into that church, because there was a trained choir,
and because he could there examine himself at peace, apart from the
crowd. The ugliness of the nave, with its heavy vaulting, vanished at
night, the aisles were often empty, it was ill-lighted by a few
lamps--it was possible for a man to chide his soul in secret, as if at
home.
Durtal sat down behind the high altar, on the left, in the aisle along
the Rue de St. Sulpice; the lamps of the choir organ were lighted. Far
off, in the almost empty nave, an ecclesiastic was preaching. He
recognized, by the unctuousness of his delivery, and his oily accent, a
well-fed priest who poured on his audience, according to his wont, his
best known commonplaces.
"Why are they so devoid of eloquence?" thought Durtal. "I have had the
curiosity to listen to many of them, and they are much the same. They
only vary in the tones of their voice. According to their temperament,
some are bruised down in vinegar, others steeped in oil. There is no
such thing as a clever combination." And he called to mind orators
petted like tenors, Monsabre, Didon, those Coquelins of the Church, and
lower yet than those products of the Catholic training school, that
bellicose booby the Abbe d'Hulst.
"Afterwards," he continued, "come the mediocrities, each puffed by the
handful of devotees who listen to them. If those cooks of the soul had
any skill, if they served their clients with delicate meats, theological
essences, gravies of prayer, concentrated sauces of ideas, they would
vegetate misunderstood by their flocks. So, on the whole, it is all for
the best. The low-water mark of the clergy must conform to the level of
the faithful, and indeed Providence has provided carefully for this."
A stamping of shoes, then the movement of chairs grinding on the flags
interrupted him. The sermon was over.
Then a great stillness was broken by a prelude from the organ, which
dropped to a low tone, a mere accompaniment to the voices.
A slow and mournful chant arose, the "De Profundis." The blended voices
sounded under the arches, intermingling with the somewhat raw sounds of
the harmonicas, like the sharp tones of breaking glass.
Resting on the low accompaniment of the organ, aided by basses so hollow
that they seemed to have descended into themselves, as it were
underground, they sprang out, chanting the verse "De profundis ad te
clamavi, Do--" and then stopped in fatigue, letting the last syllables
"mine" fall like a heavy tear; then these voices of children, near
breaking, took up the second verse of the psalm, "Domine exaudi vocem
meam," and the second half of the last word again remained in suspense,
but instead of separating, and falling to the ground, there to be
crushed out like a drop, it seemed to gather itself together with a
supreme effort, and fling to heaven the anguished cry of the
disincarnate soul, cast naked, and in tears before God.
And after a pause, the organ, aided by two double-basses, bellowed out,
carrying all the voices in its torrent--baritones, tenors, basses, not
now serving only as sheaths to the sharp blades of the urchin voices,
but openly with full throated sound--yet the dash of the little soprani
pierced them through all at once like a crystal arrow.
Then a fresh pause, and in the silence of the church, the verses mourned
out anew, thrown up by the organ, as by a spring board. As he listened
with attention endeavouring to resolve the sounds, closing his eyes,
Durtal saw them at first almost horizontal, then rising little by
little, then raising themselves upright, then quivering in tears, before
their final breaking.
Suddenly at the end of the psalm, when the response of the antiphon
came--"Et lux perpetua luceat eis"--the children's voices broke into a
sad, silken cry, a sharp sob, trembling on the word "eis," which
remained suspended in the void.
These children's voices stretched to breaking, these clear sharp voices
threw into the darkness of the chant some whiteness of the dawn, joining
their pure, soft sounds to the resonant tones of the bass
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THE LAST AMERICAN
By J. A. Mitchell
Amos Judd
The Pines of Lory
The Last American
That First Affair
Gloria Victis
Life's Fairy Tales
[Illustration: "--In the soft earth was the imprint of human feet!"]
The Last American
A Fragment from The Journal of KHAN-LI, Prince of
Dimph-Yoo-Chur and Admiral in the Persian Navy
Presented by J. A. MITCHELL
EDITION DE LUXE
Illustrated in Color by F. W. Read
With Decorative Designs by Albert D. Blashfield and
Illustrations by the Author
NEW YORK
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
_PUBLISHERS_
1889
By Frederick A. Stokes and Brother
1902
By Frederick A. Stokes Company
TO THOSE THOUGHTFUL PERSIANS
WHO CAN READ A WARNING IN THE SUDDEN RISE
AND SWIFT EXTINCTION OF A FOOLISH PEOPLE
THIS VOLUME IS DEDICATED
A FEW WORDS BY HEDFUL
SURNAMED "THE AXIS OF WISDOM"
_Curator of the Imperial Museum at Shiraz._
_Author of "The Celestial Conquest of Kaly-phorn-ya," and of_
_"Northern Mehrika under the Hy-Bernyan Rulers"_
The astounding discoveries of Khan-li of Dimph-yoo-chur have thrown
floods of light upon the domestic life of the Mehrikan people. He
little realized when he landed upon that sleeping continent what a
service he was about to render history, or what enthusiasm his
discoveries would arouse among Persian archaeologists.
Every student of antiquity is familiar with these facts.
But for the benefit of those who have yet to acquire a knowledge of
this extraordinary people, I advise, first, a visit to the Museum at
Teheran in order to excite their interest in the subject, and second,
the reading of such books as Nofuhl's "What we Found in the West," and
Noz-yt-ahl's "History of the Mehrikans." The last-named is a complete
and reliable history of these people from the birth of the Republic
under George-wash-yn-tun to the year 1990, when they ceased to exist
as a nation. I must say, however, that Noz-yt-ahl leaves the reader
much confused concerning the period between the massacre of the
Protestants in 1927, and the overflow of the Murfey dynasty in 1940.
He holds the opinion with many other historians that the Mehrikans
were a mongrel race, with little or no patriotism, and were purely
imitative; simply an enlarged copy of other nationalities extant at
the time. He pronounces them a shallow, nervous, extravagant people,
and accords them but few redeeming virtues. This, of course, is just;
but nevertheless they will always be an interesting study by reason of
their rapid growth, their vast numbers, their marvellous mechanical
ingenuity and their sudden and almost unaccountable disappearance.
The wealth, luxury, and gradual decline of the native population; the
frightful climatic changes which swept the country like a mower's
scythe; the rapid conversion of a vast continent, alive with millions
of pleasure-loving people, into a silent wilderness, where the sun and
moon look down in turn upon hundreds of weed-grown cities,--all this
is told by Noz-yt-ahl with force and accuracy.
"Here's Truth. 'T is a bitter pill but good physic."
ABOARD THE ZLOTUHB IN THE YEAR 2951
_10th May_
There is land ahead!
Grip-til-lah was first to see it, and when he shouted the tidings my
heart beat fast with joy. The famished crew have forgotten their
disconsolate stomachs and are dancing about the deck. 'T is not I,
forsooth, who shall restrain them! A month of emptiness upon a heavy
sea is preparation for any folly. Nofuhl alone is without enthusiasm.
The old man's heart seems dead.
We can see the land plainly, a dim strip along the western horizon. A
fair wind blows from the northeast, but we get on with cruel
hindrance, for the _Zlotuhb_ is a heavy ship, her bluff bow and
voluminous bottom ill fitting her for speed.
The land, as we near it, seems covered with trees, and the white breakers
along the yellow beach are a welcome sight.
_11th May_
Sighted a fine harbor this afternoon, and are now at anchor in it.
Grip-til-lah thinks we have reached one of the western islands mentioned
by Ben-a
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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
Joyce Morrell's Harvest, by Emily Sarah Holt.
________________________________________________________________________
This book is one of a series involving the same late sixteenth century
family. Its predecessor is "Lettice Eden", and its successor is "It
might have been." Readers may find a little difficulty with the
language, for it is written in Elizabethan English, though that won't
bother you if you are familiar with the plays of Shakespeare.
Three young teenage girls, and their aunt Joyce are chatting together
one evening, when one of the girls suggests they might all try to keep a
journal. The idea is scoffed at, because, it was said, nothing ever
happens in their neck of the woods. A few exaggerated examples of the
daily events that might be recorded were given, but nonetheless, they
applied to their father for the paper, pens and ink, that they would
need, and set to work, taking it in turns to write up the journal.
It is slightly annoying that every proper name is written in italics,
which your reviewer found rather unusual, but you can get used to
anything, and once you have done that it doesn't seem too bad.
The author was said to be a good historian, and so you will find the
book informative and interesting, as the great issues of the day are
discussed, many of them being of a religious nature.
________________________________________________________________________
JOYCE MORRELL'S HARVEST, BY EMILY SARAH HOLT.
PREFACE.
Those to whom "Lettice Eden" is an old friend will meet with many
acquaintances in these pages. The lesson is partly of the same type--
the difference between that which seems, and that which is; between the
gold which will stand the fire, and the imitation which the flame will
dissolve in a moment; between the true diamond, small though it be,
which is worth a fortune, and the glittering paste which is worth little
more than nothing.
But here there is a further lesson beyond this. It is one which God
takes great pains to teach us, and which we, alas! are very slow to
learn. "Tarry thou the Lord's leisure." In the dim eyes of frail
children of earth, God's steps are often very slow. We are too apt to
forget that they are very sure. But He will not be hurried: He has
eternity to work in, "If we ask anything according to His will, He
heareth us." How many of us, who fancied their prayers unheard because
they could not see the answer, may find that answer, rich, abundant,
eternal, in that Land where they shall know as they are known! Let us
wait for God. We shall find some day that it was worth while.
CHAPTER ONE.
THE DWELLERS AT SELWICK HALL.
"He would be on the mountain's top, without the toil and travail of the
climbing."--Tupper.
SELWICK HALL, LAKE DERWENTWATER, OCTOBER YE FIRST, MDLXXIX.
It came about, as I have oft noted things to do, after a metely deal of
talk, yet right suddenly in the end.
Aunt _Joyce_, _Milly_, _Edith_, and I, were in the long gallery. We had
been talking a while touching olden times (whereof Aunt _Joyce_ is a
rare hand at telling of stories), and _Mother's_ chronicle she was wont
to keep, and hath shown us, and such like matter. When all at once
quoth _Edith_--
"Why should not _we_ keep a chronicle?"
"Ay, why not?" saith Aunt _Joyce_, busied with her sewing.
_Milly_ fell a-laughing.
"Dear heart, _Edith_, and what should we put in a chronicle?" saith she.
"`_Monday_, the cat washed her face. _Tuesday_, it rained.
_Wednesday_, _Nell_ made a tansy pudding. _Thursday_, I lost my temper.
_Friday_, I found it again. _Saturday_, _Edith_ looked in the mirror,
and Aunt _Joyce_ made an end of a piece of sewing.' Good lack, it shall
be a rare jolly book!"
"Nay, I would never set down such stuff as that," answered _Edith_.
"Why, what else is there?" saith _Milly_. "We have dwelt hither ever
since we were born, saving when we go to visit Aunt _Joyce_, and one day
is the very cut of an other. Saving when Master _Stuyvesant_ came
hither, nought never happened in this house since I
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Produced by Charlene Taylor, Jonathan Ingram, Keith Edkins
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Library of Early
Journals.)
Transcriber's note: A few typographical errors have been corrected: they
are listed at the end of the text.
* * * * *
{485}
NOTES AND QUERIES:
A MEDIUM OF INTER-COMMUNICATION FOR LITERARY MEN, ARTISTS, ANTIQUARIES,
GENEALOGISTS, ETC.
"When found, make a note of."--CAPTAIN CUTTLE.
* * * * *
No. 239.]
SATURDAY, MAY 27. 1854.
[Price Fourpence. Stamped Edition 5d.
* * * * *
CONTENTS.
NOTES:-- Page
Reprints of Early Bibles, by the Rev. R. Hooper, M.A. 487
Marriage Licence of John Gower, the Poet, by W. H. Gunner 487
Aska or Asca 488
Legends of the County Clare, by Francis Robert Davies 490
Archaic Words 491
MINOR NOTES:--Inscriptions on Buildings--Epitaphs--Numbers--
Celtic Language--Illustration of Longfellow: "God's Acre" 492
QUERIES:--
John Locke 493
MINOR QUERIES:--"The Village Lawyer"--Richard Plantagenet,
Earl of Cambridge--Highland Regiment--Ominous Storms--Edward
Fitzgerald--Boyle Family--Inn Signs--Demon
| 657.919375 | 3,155 |
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Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: "ALL DAY THE RIVALS FISHED UP THE STREAM"]
JEAN BAPTISTE
A STORY OF FRENCH CANADA
BY
J. E. LE ROSSIGNOL
Author of "Little Stories of Quebec"
LONDON & TORONTO
J. M. DENT & SONS LTD.
MCMXV
To
MY MOTHER
LA RIVE NATALE
O patrie! o rive natale.
Pleine d'harmonieuses voix!
Chants etranges que la rafale
Nous apporte du fond des bois!
O souvenirs de la jeunesse,
Frais comme un rayon du printemps!
O fleuve, temoin de l'ivresse
De nos jeunes coeurs de vingt ans!
O vieilles forets ondoyantes,
Teinte du sang de nos aieux!
O lacs! o plaines odorantes
Dont le parfum s'eleve aux cieux!
Bords, ou les tombeaux de nos peres
Nous racontent, le temps ancien,
Vous seuls possedez ces voix cheres
Qui font battre un coeur canadien!
OCTAVE CREMAZIE.
*CONTENTS*
CHAP.
I. The Vocation of Jean Baptiste
II. The Migration
III. The Sorcerer
IV. The Loup Garou
V. Castles in Spain
VI. The Habitant
VII. Her Majesty's Mail
VIII. The City Man
IX. The Loan
X. Blanchette
XI. La Folie
XII. Profit and Loss
XIII. The Return of Pamphile
XIV. The Triumph of Pamphile
XV. The Pastime of Love
XVI. The Temptation of Jean Baptiste
XVII. Vengeance
XVIII. Michel
XIX. Mother Sainte Anne
XX. The Robbery
XXI. Love and War
XXII. The Wilderness
XXIII. The Cure
XXIV. The Relapse
XXV. Treasure Trove
*JEAN BAPTISTE*
*CHAPTER I*
*THE VOCATION OF JEAN BAPTISTE*
"You may read, Jean," said Mademoiselle Angers; whereupon a breath of
renewed interest passed through the schoolroom, as Jean Baptiste Giroux
rose in his place and began to read, in a clear and resonant voice, the
story of that other Jean Baptiste, his patron saint.
"Saint John, dwelling alone in the wilderness beyond the Dead Sea,
prepared himself by self discipline and by constant communion with God,
for the wonderful office to which he had been divinely called. The very
appearance of the holy Baptist was of itself a lesson to his countrymen.
His dress was that of the old prophets--a garment of camel's hair
attached to his body by a leathern girdle. His food was such as the
desert afforded--locusts and wild honey. Because of his exalted
sanctity a great multitude came to him from every quarter. Brief and
startling was his final exhortation to them: 'Repent ye, for the Kingdom
of Heaven is at hand.'"
It was a simple and oft-repeated story, but there was something in the
voice and manner of Jean that compelled attention. All the children
listened; also the teacher; and the visitor, M. Paradis, cure of the
parish, was visibly impressed. He brought his horn-rimmed spectacles
down from the top of his head, set them firmly on the bridge of his
nose, and regarded Jean for some moments without saying a word.
Jean returned the gaze with a steady, respectful glance; then let his
eyes fall until they were looking at the floor just below the cure's
feet. It was not polite to stare at visitors, but one might look at
their boots. The boots of M. Paradis were covered with dust. He had
walked all the way from the presbytery, two miles or more--that was
evident.
"Ah, it is you, Jean," said the cure.
"Oui, Monsieur," said Jean,
"How old are you, Jean?"
"Sixteen years, Monsieur."
"Sixteen years! It seems like yesterday since you were baptized. How
the time goes! Sixteen years, you say? You are no longer a child,
Jean, no indeed. Well, it is high time to decide what we are going to
make of you, certainly. Tell me, Jean; you admire the character of your
patron saint, do you not?"
"Mais oui, Monsieur."
"In what respect, my son?"
"Oh, Monsieur, he was a hero, without fear and without reproach, like
Bayard."
| 658.014764 | 3,156 |
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| 4,974 | 132 |
E-text prepared by David Edwards, Haragos Pál, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made
available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 46289-h.htm or 46289-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/46289/46289-h/46289-h.htm)
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(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/46289/46289-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
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Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Small capitals have been rendered in full capitals.
[Illustration: AS THE DEER BOUNCED UP THE BANK, JACK FIRED--_Page 41_]
JACK THE YOUNG CANOEMAN
An Eastern Boy's Voyage in a Chinook Canoe
by
GEORGE BIRD GRINNELL
Author of "Jack in the Rockies," "Jack the Young Ranchman,"
"Jack Among the Indians," "Pawnee Hero Stories," "Blackfoot
Lodge Tales," "The Story of the Indian,"
"The Indian of To-day," etc.
Illustrated by Edwin Willard Deming
And by Half-tone Engravings of Photographs
[Illustration]
New York
Frederick A. Stokes Company
Publishers
Copyright, 1906
By Frederick A. Stokes Company
Published in September, 1906
All rights reserved
The University Press, Cambridge, U.S.A.
PREFACE
The mountains which border the British Columbia coast between the mouth
of the Frazer River and the southeastern point of Alaska are still
unknown to the world at large. Few people have sailed up the wonderful
fiords, which, as great water-floored canyons, run back forty or fifty
miles into the interior. Fewer still have penetrated by land into the
mountains where there are neither roads nor trails, and where progress
on foot is barred by a thousand insurmountable obstacles.
Since the time that Jack Danvers made his voyage in a Chinook canoe
along this beautiful coast, it has not greatly changed. The mountains
still abound in game, the sea in fish; the scenery is as beautiful as
it was then; and over the waters, dancing blue beneath the brilliant
sky, or black under the heavy rain clouds, the Indian still paddles his
high-prowed canoe.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. VICTORIA, V. I. 11
II. HOW JACK AND HUGH CAME TO BRITISH COLUMBIA 22
III. A MYSTERIOUS WATER MONSTER 31
IV. THE COBBLER NATURALIST OF BURRARD INLET 40
V. AN UNEXPECTED BEAR 53
VI. OF INDIANS IN ARMOR 68
VII. SEAMMUX IN DANGER 78
VIII. THE COAST INDIANS AND THEIR WAYS 91
IX. PREPARATION FOR THE VOYAGE 103
X. THE START 111
XI. FOOD FROM THE SEA 124
XII. THE ISLAND DEER 135
XIII. AN ADVENTURE OF THE CASSIAR 147
XIV. BUTE INLET 158
XV. THE WORK THAT GLACIERS DO 172
XVI. A MOTHER'S COURAGE 189
XVII. JACK MEETS A SEAL PIRATE 209
XVIII. MILLIONS OF SALMON 228
XIX. FISHING WITH A SIWASH 236
XX. OFF FOR A HUNT IN THE MOUNTAINS 251
XXI. LAST DAYS IN BRITISH COLUMBIA 264
XXII. THE HOMEWARD ROAD 277
ILLUSTRATIONS
As the deer bounded up the bank, Jack fired _Frontispiece_
Jack fired at the white spot on the beast's breast _Facing page_ 58
Seammux also rolled after the goat, and he, too,
disappeared " " 82
Here they wear white men's clothes, including
shoes and hats " " 92
"Close to some of the houses stand tall carved
poles, called totem poles" " " 98
When they saw the canoe they all stopped and
began to stare at it " " 190
Drove her short horns deep into his side " " 204
An Indian salmon weir " " 234
Jack the Young Canoeman
CHAPTER I
VICTORIA, V. I.
"Say, Hugh, what is that Indian doing in that canoe? I thought at first
that he was paddling, but he doesn't seem to move, and that doesn't
look like a paddle that he has in his hand."
"To tell you the truth, son, I don't know what he is doing. This
business here on the salt water puzzles me, and everything is strange
and queer. This ain't like the prairie, nor these ain't like any
mountains that I've ever seen. I am beginning at the bottom and have
got to learn everything. But about that Indian in the canoe, you can
see that the boat doesn't move; and you can see, too, if you look
sharp, that he's anchored. Don't you see that taut line reaching down
into the water?"
"That's so," said Jack; "he surely is anchored, but he works his arms
just as if he were paddling. I am going to ask this man over here."
Jack walked over to a sailor who stood leaning against the rail of the
deck on which they were sitting, and who was looking over the water,
and said to him: "Will you tell me, sir, what that Indian is doing in
the canoe over there?"
The man turned his head and looked in the direction in which Jack
was pointing, and said: "Yes, I can tell you what he is doing; he is
fishing. Don't you see that every stroke he makes he is bringing up
some herrings?"
"No, I don't see it, and I will be much obliged to you if you will
describe to me how he is fishing."
"Of course I will," said the man. "You see his canoe is anchored there
in that deep water, just this side of that point around which the tide
runs strong. At this season of the year the herrings gather in big
schools in that eddy there. Of course we don't know just how they lie,
but they must be mighty thick together. That thing the Indian has in
his hand is a pole about a dozen feet long, flattened on the sides,
and maybe a couple of inches across in its widest part. The flattening
makes the pole sort of oval shaped, if you should saw through it; and
each of the narrow edges of the pole is studded with a row of sharp
nails, about an inch or two apart. These nails are firmly driven into
the wood and the points that stick out for about an inch are very
sharp. The nails run for about one half the length of the pole. The
Indian, sitting in his canoe and holding the upper part of the pole in
his two hands, as you see, just as he would hold a paddle, sweeps the
end of it, that has the nails in, through the water, using just the
same motion that he does in paddling. The herrings down there are so
thick that every time he passes the pole vertically through the water
it strikes the bodies of three or four of the fish with force enough to
drive the nails into them; and as the man continues the stroke they are
pushed ahead of the pole. When the stroke is finished and the end of
the pole brought out of the water, the fish are still sticking on the
nails. Then, you will see, if you watch him, he brings the nailed end
of the pole in over the canoe, taps the pole on the canoe, and the fish
drop off into the bottom of the boat. Don't you see the white shiny
specks on the pole every time he makes a stroke?"
"Yes," said Jack, "of course I see them, but that is a new way of
fishing to me, and I never should have guessed what he was trying to
do. I should think it would take a long time to get fish enough for a
mess in that way."
"Don't you believe it," said the sailor; "one of those fellows may get
a bushel or two of fish in two or three hours. Just you watch the pole
as one brings it up and see how many fish he gets to a stroke, and then
figure how many strokes he makes to a minute."
Jack watched for a few minutes and saw that at every sweep of the pole
two or half a dozen fish were brought up and knocked loose so as to
fall into the canoe, and he made up his mind that after all this was a
quick and easy way of fishing.
In the meantime Hugh had strolled up and was listening to their talk,
but without making any comment.
Presently Jack said to the sailor: "We are not near enough to make a
very good guess at the size of those fish; how big are they?"
"Oh," said the sailor, "they are not very big, maybe not more than four
or six inches long, but there are lots of them, as you can see. They
catch oolichans in that way too, when they are here, but they have gone
now. We only have them during the month of May, but then they gather in
certain places and there are worlds of them. The Indians catch them,
and the white folks catch them; in fact, for a little while pretty
nearly everybody lives on oolichans. They are mighty good eating, I
can tell you, and besides those eaten fresh, lots of them are smoked
and salted. The Indians don't save many of them. What they don't eat
fresh they use to make oil with, for the oolichan is an awful fat fish
and you can get lots of oil out of them. They are so fat, that after
they have been dried you can light them at one end and they will burn
just like a candle. I expect that is the reason that sometimes they are
called candle-fish."
"Say, friend," said Hugh, "you ain't joking, are you?"
"No," said the man, "I ain't joking; that's just the way it is, like I
tell you."
"Well, no offence," said Hugh. "Where I come from, in the mountains
and in the cattle country, sometimes the boys, when a stranger comes
around, sort of josh him in a good-natured way, and tell tall stories
just to see how much he will believe. I didn't know that maybe you had
such a custom as that out here."
"No, sir," said the sailor, "we don't do anything like that here. We
suppose that people ask us questions about the country because they
want to know how things really are, and we tell them just what the
facts are."
"Well," said Hugh, "it seems to me, from what I have seen, that the
facts are strange enough here, and it wouldn't be necessary for you to
stretch them a mite to astonish folks."
Soon after this Hugh and Jack went back to the place where they had
been sitting, in the shelter of the deck cabin, and sat there looking
over the beautiful view that was stretched out before them. Neither
said very much. Both were impressed by the beauty of the scene and
the novelty of their surroundings; for neither of them had ever seen
anything like it before.
"I tell you, son," said Hugh, "this here is a wonderful country to
me, and I never saw anything to match it. You see it's the first time
that I ever got down to the edge of the salt water. I don't know what
to make of it all. Everything is different; the mountains and timber,
the people, the animals, and the birds. And as for fish--why! I never
supposed there was any place in the world where fish were as plenty as
they are here."
"Yes," said Jack, "it's surely a wonderful country. There is something
new to look at every minute; and it's all just as different as can be
from anything I ever saw before. I was talking to one of the passengers
here a little while ago and he told me that these Indians here live
almost altogether on fish. They dig clams and catch mussels and catch
the salmon and the herrings and those little fish this sailor was
talking about; and they kill seals and porpoises and even whales. It's
all mighty strange, but doesn't it show just how people fit themselves
to the conditions that surround them? Now, suppose you take one of the
Blackfeet, turn him loose on his horse at the edge of the water, and
how do you think he would go to work to get his next meal? Why, he
would starve to death."
"He surely would," said Hugh. "Don't you know, that the things these
Indians here eat would be sort of poison to the Blackfeet? It is
against their medicine to eat fish or most anything that lives in the
water. They think those things are not fit to eat, and many of them
would starve before they would even touch them."
The vessel ploughed its way through the strait with the land rising
high on the right and lower on the left-hand side. Both coasts were
rock-bound, and the heavy swell dashed against the shore great waves,
whose foam flew high into the air. Away to the south rose high rough
mountains, their summits white with snow. To the north the land rose
gently, and green fields, dotted here and there with white houses,
stretched away for miles. Beyond were hills, forest-clad.
The travellers were busy looking in all directions at the beautiful
prospect spread before them. Suddenly, not far from the ship, a great
head rose above the water, remaining there for a moment looking at
the boat. Jack saw it and called out to his companion: "O Hugh! that
must be a sea-lion or a fur seal! It's bigger than the seals that I
have seen on the coast of Maine." After a moment the head disappeared
beneath the water. But in a few moments several other heads were seen;
and these seals, less timid than the first, swam along not far from
the boat, showing their great bodies partly out of the water, and
sometimes, in chasing one another, jumping high into the air. Further
along, the boat startled from the surface of the water a group of black
birds. Less in size than ducks, they flew swiftly along, close to the
water's surface. Jack could see that on the shoulders of each bird was
a round spot of white, while the legs were coral-red.
"There is a new bird to me, Hugh, and I bet it is to you, too. That
must be one of the birds they call guillemots. They live up in the
North and breed on the ledges of the rock. I have read about them
often."
"Well," said Hugh, "there's surely plenty to see here; and I wouldn't
be surprised if you and I travelled around all the time with our mouths
open, just because we are too surprised to remember to shut them."
All this time the boat was moving swiftly along. Toward afternoon she
rounded a sharp point of rocks; and, proceeding up a narrow channel,
the buildings of the town of Victoria were soon seen in the distance.
Hugh said:
"That must be our landing place, son. I'll be glad to get ashore and
stretch my legs. I take it, this here land that we are coming to is an
island, and very likely there won't be a horse in the place. We'll have
to do all of our travelling afoot, or in one of these cranky canoes,
and I haven't much of a notion of getting into one of them. I'll be a
good deal like you were the first time you got on a horse--afraid I'll
fall off; and yet I don't know as they'll be any harder to ride in than
the birch canoes I used to travel in up in the North."
Victoria, where our travellers landed that afternoon, was a charming,
quiet town of six or seven thousand inhabitants, situated on the
extreme southeastern point of Vancouver Island. For many years after
its settlement it had been nothing more than the Hudson's Bay fort and
trading post, with a few dwellings occupied by those employed there.
But the discovery of gold in small quantities on the Frazer River in
1857, and later on at the placer mines on the Quesnelle and at Caribou,
made a great change in the prospects of the place. Word of the new
diggings travelled fast and soon reached California, causing a world of
excitement among the mining population of that State, then ripe for a
fresh move. A rush took place, and all those who travelled toward the
new mines in British Columbia passed by the drowsy old Hudson's Bay
fort, where hitherto the only event of the year had been the arrival of
the ship from England with the mail. Now the fort was startled by the
coming of twenty thousand miners, who pitched their tents about it and
founded Victoria. Buildings sprang up and trade was attracted. Every
one going to the mines or coming from them passed through the town
and paid its tribute, and high hopes were entertained of its future
importance. People who lived there began to call it "the emporium of
commerce," "the metropolis of the northwest coast of America." But,
unfortunately for Victoria, the mines, which caused this excitement
soon ceased to pay; and the town's commerce fell off. It did not fulfil
the promises of its early youth, and its growth has since been slow.
Now, however, there was a prospect of speedy communication with the
rest of the world; for during the summer when our travellers reached
there, the Canadian Pacific Railroad was being built and the loyal
inhabitants of Victoria were again anticipating that the place would
become a great city--"a second San Francisco." There was reason for
their hopes. While the railroad could not directly reach Victoria, its
terminus on the mainland would be within easy reach of the Island City,
and would give Vancouver Island a market for its products. Its trade
at that time was little or nothing, for the goods sent to the United
States had to pay a heavy duty, which left little margin for profit.
Hugh and Jack spent several days at Victoria. The country was
picturesque and attractive, and the roads good. They took long walks
into the country to the Gorge and to Cedar Hill, from which a beautiful
view of the city could be obtained. The panorama included also a view
of the Straits of Fuca, the Gulf of Georgia with its hundreds of
islands, and the mainland, rough with mountain peaks, among which,
rising above all, stood Mt. Baker, calm and white, a snow-clad monarch.
While they remained in the town they lived literally on the fat of
the land. Victoria boasted one of the best hotels in the world; not
a pretentious structure, but one where everything that was good to
eat, in abundance, well cooked and well served, was furnished. There
were fish of many sorts,--salmon and sea bass, herring and oolichans,
oysters and clams, crabs, game, delicious vegetables, and abundance of
fruit.
Mr. Sturgis had given to Hugh a letter to an acquaintance of his in
Victoria, and one day Hugh and Jack called on Mr. MacTavish. He was
an old Hudson Bay man, who, after retiring from the service of the
Company had come to Victoria to live. He had a delightful family, and a
charming house, full of a multitude of interesting curiosities, picked
up during his long service in the North. Of these, one of the most
interesting was a complete set of dinner dishes, carved out of black
slate by the Haida Indians of the North. While the figures exhibited on
these were conventional in form and of Indian type, the carving was so
remarkably good that it was hard for Hugh and Jack to believe that the
work was Indian. Neither had ever seen anything done by Indians more
artistic than the ordinary painted skins of the plains' Tribes; and
when they saw such delicate, beautifully carved work, often inlaid with
the white teeth or fragments of bones of animals, it was hard for them
to understand how it all could have been done by native artists.
Mr. MacTavish told them much about the life of the island,--the fishing
and hunting. He said that at that very time, during the month of July,
the salt waters of the Straits and of the Gulf of Georgia abounded with
salmon, which were readily taken by trolling; and when thus taken, on a
light rod, furnished fine sport. Many of the brooks of the island, too,
afforded excellent trout fishing.
About Victoria there were found, he said, two species of grouse,--the
ruffed grouse and the blue grouse. The California quail had been
introduced and seemed to be increasing, but sportsmen did not care much
for it, because it did not lie well to a dog, but ran when alarmed and
took to the thickest brush, where it was impossible to shoot it. In the
autumn ducks and geese occurred in great numbers; and, on the whole,
shooting was good. Their host also told them there was a considerable
variety of big game. Deer were abundant within a few miles of Victoria;
and it was not uncommon for people, starting out in the evening, to
drive into the country and return the next night with several. There
were some places where still-hunting could be successfully followed;
but in most cases it was necessary to use hounds to drive the deer to
the water, for the timber was so thick, and the underbrush and ferns so
dense and tangled, that it was impossible to travel through the forests
without making a great deal of noise.
Their entertainer astonished Hugh and Jack by telling them that further
north on the island, in the neighborhood of Comox, elk were to be
found. They were not abundant, he said, and were hard
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IV (OF 6)***
E-text prepared by Adrian Mastronardi and the Online Distributed
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Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
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Transcriber's note:
1. Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
2. A carat character is used to denote superscription. A
single character following the carat is superscripted
(example: 1^2).
3. Mixed fractions in this text version are indicated with
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transliterations.
THE HISTORY OF ANTIQUITY.
From the German of
PROFESSOR MAX DUNCKER,
by
Evelyn Abbott, M.A., LL.D.,
Fellow And Tutor Of Balliol College, Oxford.
VOL. IV.
London:
Richard Bentley & Son, New Burlington Street,
Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen.
1880.
Bungay:
Clay and Taylor, Printers.
CONTENTS.
BOOK V.
_THE ARIANS ON THE INDUS AND THE GANGES._
CHAPTER I. PAGE
THE LAND AND THE PEOPLE 1
CHAPTER II.
THE ARYAS ON THE INDUS 27
CHAPTER III.
THE CONQUEST OF THE LAND OF THE GANGES
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[Illustration: W. A. ALLEN, AUTHOR]
THE SHEEP EATERS
BY
W. A. ALLEN, D.D.S.
[Illustration]
THE SHAKESPEARE PRESS,
114-116 EAST 28TH STREET,
NEW YORK.
1913.
COPYRIGHT, 1913,
_by_
W. A. ALLEN
_This Book Is Affectionately
Dedicated To My Friend_
MRS. CLARA DALLAS.
CONTENTS
Chapter Page
I AN EXTINCT MOUNTAIN TRIBE 7
II THE OLD SQUAW'S TALE 12
III THE GOLD SEEKER IN THE MOUNTAINS 21
IV STARTING FOR THE PAINT ROCKS 30
V A TALK WITH LITTLE BEAR 35
VI CURIOSITIES AROUND PAINT ROCK 45
VII THE STORY OF AGGRETTA AND THE RED ARROW 51
VIII CLOSING WORDS 72
THE SHEEP EATERS
CHAPTER I
AN EXTINCT MOUNTAIN TRIBE
The Sheep Eaters were a tribe of Indians that became extinct about fifty
years ago, and what remaining history there is of this tribe is
inscribed upon granite walls of rock in Wyoming and Montana, and in a
few defiles and canyons, together with a few arrows and tepees remaining
near Black Canyon, whose stream empties into the Big Horn River. Bald
Mountain still holds the great shrine wheel, where the twenty-eight
tribes came semi-annually to worship the sun, and in the most
inaccessible places may still be found the remains of a happy people.
Small in stature and living among the clouds, this proud race lived a
happy life far removed from all other Indians.
The Shoshones seem to be a branch of the Sheep Eaters who afterwards
intermarried with the Mountain Crows, a tall race of people who gave to
the Shoshones a taller and better physique. From what can be gleaned,
the Sheep Eater women were most beautiful, but resembled the Alaskan
Indians in their shortness of stature.
These people drew their name from their principal article of food,
Mountain Sheep, although, when winter set in, elk and deer were often
killed when coming down before a driving snow storm.
Their home life was simple. They lived in the grassy parks of the
mountains which abounded in springs of fresh water, and were surrounded
by evergreens and quaking asps and sheltered by granite walls rising
from fifty to a thousand feet high. Their tepees were different from
those of all other tribes, and were not covered with rawhide but
thatched with quaking asp bark, and covered with a gum and glue made
from sheep's hoofs. Another variety were covered with pitch pine gum.
[Illustration: WHEEL OF THE HOLY SHRINE, BALD MOUNTAIN, WYO.]
In this manner lived the twenty-eight tribes of Sheep Eaters, carving
their history on granite walls, building their homes permanently among
the snowy peaks where they held communion with the sun, and worshipping
at their altar on Bald Mountain, which seems likely to remain until the
Sheep Eaters are awakened by Gabriel's trumpet on the morning of the
resurrection.
Never having been taught differently, they believed in gods, chief of
which was the sun, and consecrated their lives to them; and their
eternal happiness will be complete in the great Happy Region where all
is bright and warm. The great wheel, or shrine, of this people is eighty
feet across the face, and has twenty-eight spokes, representing the
twenty-eight tribes of their race. At the center or hub there is a house
of stone, where Red Eagle held the position of chief or leader of all
the tribes. Facing the north-east was the house of the god of plenty,
and on the south-east faced the house of the goddess of beauty; and due
west was the beautifully built granite cave dedicated to the sun god,
and from this position the services were supposed to be directed by him.
Standing along the twenty-eight spokes were the worshippers, chanting
their songs of praise to the heavens, while their sun dial on earth was
a true copy of the sun.
A short time ago I learned that among the Mountain Crows there lived an
old woman, who was the very last of her tribe, and who was so old she
seemed like a spirit from another world. She had outlived her people and
had wandered away from her home on the mountains into the valleys,
living on berries and wild fruit as she wandered. She alone could read
the painted rocks and tell their meaning, and could relate the past
glories of the tribe and the methods of the arrow makers, who
transformed the obsidian into the finished arrows ready to kill the
mountain ram.
I was very anxious to see this creature, who had outlived her race and
her usefulness, and so one day I saddled my horse, Billie, put on my
cartridge belt, took my rifle in my hand, and set out for the mountains
where I knew a small band of Mountain Crows were hunting buffalo on Wind
River.
After a long ride I passed Bovay Creek and struck the Buffalo Trail,
which led directly toward the mountains. It soon headed toward the south
and I crossed a mountain stream and headed toward the Big Horn Canyon. I
had gone about two miles when I discovered something to my right sitting
on the remains of a mountain cedar, and in a moment I was on the scene.
I pulled up my horse and dismounted and discovered that I had found the
object of my search, the Sheep Eater squaw.
CHAPTER II
THE OLD SQUAW'S TALE
Passing the Big Horn Canyon, where the rushing waters were beaten into
spray, and where granite walls were shining like great sapphires
reflected in the sun's bright rays, I wondered how many centuries it
took to chisel that mighty water way fifty-two miles through this
tortuous mountain. Perpendicular walls of fully 2000 feet are standing
sentinels above this silvery water which goes roaring and foaming
through the narrow abyss.
The golden eagle closes its wings and falls through space like a rocket
from some unknown world, uttering a scream that resounds like a crash of
lightning. The Big Horn, proudly perched on yonder crag, bids defiance
to all living creatures. For fifteen miles this box canyon has cut
through the backbone of the mountains and holds the clear waters as in
the palm of one's hand. At the mouth of the canyon, where the waters
flow calm as a summer lake, as though tired from their terrible journey,
the rounded boulders, the white sands and quartz that have passed
through, are resting, peaceful as the wild rose which waves to and fro
in the spring zephyrs.
In the sand lies a dead cedar. Torn from the mountain top and crashing
down the canyon, it was carried by the rushing waters out on to the
beach and deposited in the sand. Sitting on a branch of this cedar is an
old woman. Her white locks hang crisp and short on her bony shoulders;
her face is covered with a semi-parchment, brown as the forest leaves,
and drawn tight over her high cheek bones; her eyes are small and sunken
in her head, but the fire has not yet gone out. An old elk skin robe,
tattered and torn, is thrown across her shoulders, with its few
porcupine quills still hanging by the sinew threads where they were
placed a century ago. The last of her race! Yes, long ago her people
have become extinct, passed away leaving her to die. But alas, death
does not claim her, and she wanders alone until picked up by the
mountain Absarokees.
I sat down by her side and asked her by sign talk: "Are you a Sioux?"
She shook her head. "Are you a Blackfoot?" Again she shook her head, and
the effort seemed to tire her. I made many signs of the different
tribes, but in the Crow sign she said "No" to them all. Her form seemed
to be of rawhide, and on her fingers were still a few old rings made
from the horn of the bighorn ram.
I gave her some of my lunch, as I ate, and she munched it with a set of
old teeth worn to the gums. She ate in silence until all was gone; then
I told her I was a medicine man, and asked her how old she was. She held
up ten stubs of fingers, all of which had been partly cut off while
mourning for dead relatives, then took them down until she had counted
one hundred and fifteen years. Her eyes brightened, and she fronted away
to the main range to a towering crag of granite, facing the north,
where Bull Elk Canyon empties into the Big Horn. She held her withered
arm high above her head and said in sign language:
"My people lived among the clouds. We were the Sheep Eaters who have
passed away, but on those walls are the paint rocks, where our
traditions are written on their face, chiseled with obsidian arrow
heads. Our people were not warriors. We worshipped the sun, and the sun
is bright and so were our people. Our men were good and our women were
like the sun. The Great Spirit has stamped our impressions on the rocks
by His lightnings; there are many of our people who were outlined on
those smooth walls years ago; then
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ELIZABETH
KECKLEY
Behind the Scenes,
Or,
Thirty Years a Slave,
and Four Years in the White House
* * * * *
Contents
BEHIND THE SCENES
Preface 3
Chapter I. Where I was born 7
Chapter II. Girlhood and its Sorrows 13
Chapter III. How I gained my Freedom 19
Chapter IV. In the Family of Senator Jefferson Davis 28
Chapter V. My Introduction to Mrs. Lincoln 34
Chapter VI. Willie Lincoln's Death-bed 41
Chapter VII. Washington in 1862-3 50
Chapter VIII. Candid Opinions 57
Chapter IX. Behind the Scenes 62
Chapter X. The Second Inauguration 68
Chapter XI. The Assassination of President Lincoln 77
Chapter XII. Mrs. Lincoln leaves the White House 89
Chapter XIII. The Origin of the Rivalry between
Mr. Douglas and Mr. Lincol 101
Chapter XIV. Old Friends 106
Chapter XV. The Secret History of Mrs. Lincoln's
Wardrobe in New York 119
Appendix--Letters from Mrs. Lincoln to Mrs. Keckley 147
* * * * *
BEHIND THE SCENES.
BY
ELIZABETH KECKLEY,
FORMERLY A SLAVE, BUT MORE RECENTLY MODISTE,
AND FRIEND TO MRS. ABRAHAM LINCOLN.
OR,
THIRTY YEARS A SLAVE, AND FOUR YEARS IN
THE WHITE HOUSE.
NEW YORK:
G. W. Carleton & Co., Publishers.
M DCCC LXVIII.
* * * * *
PREFACE
I have often been asked to write my life, as those who know me know that
it has been an eventful one. At last I have acceded to the importunities
of my friends, and have hastily sketched some of the striking incidents
that go to make up my history. My life, so full of romance, may sound
like a dream to the matter-of-fact reader, nevertheless everything I
have written is strictly true; much has been omitted, but nothing has
been exaggerated. In writing as I have done, I am well aware that I have
invited criticism; but before the critic judges harshly, let my
explanation be carefully read and weighed. If I have portrayed the dark
side of slavery, I also have painted the bright side. The good that I
have said of human servitude should be thrown into the scales with the
evil that I have said of it. I have kind, true-hearted friends in the
South as well as in the North, and I would not wound those Southern
friends by sweeping condemnation, simply because I was once a slave.
They were not so much responsible for the curse under which I was born,
as the God of nature and the fathers who framed the Constitution for the
United States. The law descended to them, and it was but natural that
they should recognize it, since it manifestly was their interest to do
so. And yet a wrong was inflicted upon me; a cruel custom deprived me of
my liberty, and since I was robbed of my dearest right, I would not have
been human had I not rebelled against the robbery. God rules the
Universe. I was a feeble instrument in His hands, and through me and the
enslaved millions of my race, one of the problems was solved that
belongs to the great problem of human destiny; and the solution was
developed so gradually that there was no great convulsion of the
harmonies of natural laws. A solemn truth was thrown to the surface, and
what is better still, it was recognized as a truth by those who give
force to moral laws. An act may be wrong, but unless the ruling power
recognizes the wrong, it is useless to hope for a correction of it.
Principles may be right, but they are not established within an hour.
The masses are slow to reason, and each principle, to acquire moral
force, must come to us from the fire of the crucible; the fire may
inflict unjust punishment, but then it purifies and renders stronger the
principle, not in itself, but in the eyes of those who arrogate judgment
to themselves. When the war of the Revolution established the
independence of the American colonies, an evil was perpetuated, slavery
was more firmly established; and since the evil had been planted, it
must pass through certain stages before it could be eradicated. In fact,
we give but little thought to the plant of evil until it grows to such
monstrous proportions that it overshadows important interests; then the
efforts to destroy it become earnest. As one of the victims of slavery I
drank of the bitter water; but then, since destiny willed it so, and
since I aided in bringing a solemn truth to the surface _as a truth_,
perhaps I have no right to complain. Here, as in all things pertaining
to life, I can afford to be charitable.
It may be charged that I have written too freely on some questions,
especially in regard to Mrs. Lincoln. I do not think so; at least I have
been prompted by the purest motive. Mrs. Lincoln, by her own acts,
forced herself into notoriety. She stepped beyond the formal lines which
hedge about a private life, and invited public criticism. The people
have judged her harshly, and no woman was ever more traduced in the
public prints of the country. The people knew nothing of the secret
history of her transactions, therefore they judged her by what was
thrown to the surface. For an act may be wrong judged purely by itself,
but when the motive that prompted the act is understood, it is construed
differently. I lay it down as an axiom, that only that is criminal in
the sight of God where crime is meditated. Mrs. Lincoln may have been
imprudent, but since her intentions were good, she should be judged more
kindly than she has been. But the world do not know what her intentions
were; they have only been made acquainted with her acts without knowing
what feeling guided her actions. If the world are to judge her as I have
judged her, they must be introduced to the secret history of her
transactions. The veil of mystery must be drawn aside; the origin of a
fact must be brought to light with the naked fact itself. If I have
betrayed confidence in anything I have published, it has been to place
Mrs. Lincoln in a better light before the world. A breach of trust--if
breach it can be called--of this kind is always excusable. My own
character, as well as the character of Mrs. Lincoln, is at stake, since
I have been intimately associated with that lady in the most eventful
periods of her life. I have been her confidante, and if evil charges are
laid at her door, they also must be laid at mine, since I have been a
party to all her movements. To defend myself I must defend the lady that
I have served. The world have judged Mrs. Lincoln by the facts which
float upon the surface, and through her have partially judged me, and
the only way to convince them that wrong was not meditated is to explain
the motives that actuated us. I have written nothing that can place Mrs.
Lincoln in a worse light before the world than the light in which she
now stands, therefore the secret history that I publish can do her no
harm. I have excluded everything of a personal character from her
letters; the extracts introduced only refer to public men, and are such
as to throw light upon her unfortunate adventure in New York. These
letters were not written for publication, for which reason they are all
the more valuable; they are the frank overflowings of the heart, the
outcropping of impulse, the key to genuine motives. They prove the
motive to have been pure, and if they shall help to stifle the voice of
calumny, I am content. I do not forget, before the public journals
vilified Mrs. Lincoln, that ladies who moved in the Washington circle in
which she moved, freely canvassed her character among themselves. They
gloated over many a tale of scandal that grew out of gossip in their own
circle. If these ladies, could say everything bad of the wife of the
President, why should I not be permitted to lay her secret history bare,
especially when that history plainly shows that her life, like all
lives, has its good side as well as its bad side! None of us are
perfect, for which reason we should heed the voice of charity when it
whispers in our ears, "Do not magnify the imperfections of others." Had
Mrs. Lincoln's acts never become public property, I should not have
published to the world the secret chapters of her life. I am not the
special champion of the widow of our lamented President; the reader of
the pages which follow will discover that I have written with the utmost
frankness in regard to her--have exposed her faults as well as given her
credit for honest motives. I wish the world to judge her as she is, free
from the exaggerations of praise or scandal, since I have been
associated with her in so many things that have provoked hostile
criticism; and the judgment that the world may pass upon her, I flatter
myself, will present my own actions in a better light.
ELIZABETH KECKLEY.
14 Carroll Place, New York,
March 14, 1868.
CHAPTER I
WHERE I WAS BORN
My life has been an eventful one. I was born a slave--was the child of
slave parents--therefore I came upon the earth free in God-like thought,
but fettered in action. My birthplace was Dinwiddie Court-House, in
Virginia. My recollections of childhood are distinct, perhaps for the
reason that many stirring incidents are associated with that period. I
am now on the shady side of forty
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[Frontispiece: "Almost silently, with his stick drew the
wallet toward him."]
THE HERO OF TICONDEROGA
OR
ETHAN ALLEN AND HIS GREEN MOUNTAIN BOYS
BY
JOHN DE MORGAN
AUTHOR OF
"Paul Revere,"
"The Young Ambassador,"
"The First Shot for Liberty."
"The Young Guardsman," etc.
PHILADELPHIA
DAVID McKAY, PUBLISHER
610 SOUTH WASHINGTON SQUARE
Copyright, 1896
By NORMAN L. MUNRO
The Hero of Ticonderoga
Table of Contents
Chapter
I. At the Courthouse
II. The Green Mountain Boys
III. A Child of Nature
IV. "The Rising of the Moon"
V. Defiance
VI. Before the Governor
VII. An Ambuscade
VIII. The Convention
IX. Treachery
X. Zeb's Double Dealing
XI. The Tables Turned
XII. The Opening of the War
XIII. Benedict Arnold
XIV. Arnold's Powers of Fascination
XV. The Hero of Ticonderoga
XVI. The Temptation
XVII. Crown Point
XVIII. "Who is Commander?"
XIX. News from Boston
XX. A Roadside Adventure
XXI. The Continental Progress
XXII. Eben's Adventures
XXIII. Foraging
XXIV. Secret Service
XXV. Diplomacy
XXVI. An Interesting Experiment
XXVII. A Prisoner
XXVIII. On the Gaspee
XXIX. Arrival in England
XXX. Irish Hospitality
XXXI. A Daring Swim
XXXII. How England Treated Prisoners of War
XXXIII. Beverly Robinson's Offer
THE HERO OF TICONDEROGA.
CHAPTER I.
AT THE COURTHOUSE.
It was a cold, bleak and freezing day, was that second day of the year
1764, in the good town of Bennington.
The first day of the year had been celebrated in a devout fashion by
nearly all the inhabitants of the district. Truly, some stayed away
from the meeting-house, and especially was the absence of one family
noticed.
"It seems to me kind of strange and creepy-like that those Allen boys
will never come to meeting," good old Elder Baker had said, and the
people shook their heads, and were quite ready to believe that the
Allen boys were uncanny.
But after meeting, when the social celebration was at its height, the
absence from the meeting-house was not thought of, and Ethan Allen and
his brothers were welcomed as among the best farmers of the district.
When the farmers separated on that New Year's Day they had no thought
of trouble, and each and all were planning what crops they should plant
that year, and how much land they should reserve for pasture.
The snow was falling fast, and the Green Mountains looked grandly
glorious as they, capped with the white snow, reflected into the
valleys the feeble rays of the sun which were struggling through the
clouds.
The hour of noon had arrived, and the good farmers were sitting down to
good boiled dinners, which were as seasonable as the weather, when the
ringing of the crier's bell caused every man and woman and child to
leave the hot dinner and hurry to the door to hear the news.
All public and important events were announced in that manner, and it
would not do to miss an announcement.
"Wonder what is in the wind now, eh, master?"
"Cannot say, but it's likely to be important, for Faithful Quincy has
on his best coat."
Faithful Quincy was the official crier, or announcer of events, and was
a most important character.
He never spoke one word, though everyone asked him what he had to
announce, but he stood as silent as a statue, and as rigid until he
thought the people had time to assemble.
Then he rang his bell once more, and followed the last sound of the
brass with a most solemn appeal for attention:
"Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!"
Three times the phrase had to be repeated. Faithful would not have
done his duty if he had only repeated it twice.
"This is to give notice, in the name of his majesty and of his
excellency, the governor, that all true and faithful residents of the
Green Mountain district must assemble at the courthouse at two hours
after noon, on this second day of January. So let it be!"
That was all, but it was enough to set all the people wondering what
was to be heard at the courthouse.
They returned to their homes, and finished their dinners, scarcely
noticing that the dumplings were cold or that the boiled carrots had
got sog
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HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS.
BY
T. S. ARTHUR,
AUTHOR OF "LIFE PICTURES," "OLD MAN'S BRIDE," AND "SPARING TO SPEND."
NEW YORK:
1853.
CONTENTS.
RIGHTS AND WRONGS
THE HUMBLED PHARISEE
ROMANCE AND REALITY
BOTH TO BLAME
IT'S NONE OF MY BUSINESS
THE MOTHER'S PROMISE
THE TWO HUSBANDS
VISITING AS NEIGHBORS
NOT AT HOME
THE FATAL ERROR
FOLLOWING THE FASHIONS
A DOLLAR ON THE CONSCIENCE
AUNT MARY'S SUGGESTION
HELPING THE POOR
COMMON PEOPLE
MAKING A SENSATION
SOMETHING FOR A COLD
THE PORTRAIT
VERY POOR
PREFACE.
HOME! How at the word, a crowd of pleasant thoughts awaken. What
sun-bright images are pictured to the imagination. Yet, there is no
home without its shadows as well as sunshine. Love makes the
home-lights and selfishness the shadows. Ah! how dark the shadow at
times--how faint and fleeting the sunshine. How often selfishness
towers up to a giant height, barring out from our dwellings every
golden ray. There are few of us, who do not, at times, darken with
our presence the homes that should grow bright at our coming. It is
sad to acknowledge this; yet, in the very acknowledgement is a
promise of better things, for, it is rarely that we confess, without
a resolution to overcome the evil that mars our own and others'
happiness. Need we say, that the book now presented to the reader is
designed to aid in the work of overcoming what is evil and selfish,
that home-lights may dispel home-shadows, and keep them forever from
our dwellings.
RIGHTS AND WRONGS.
IT is a little singular--yet certainly true--that people who are
very tenacious of their own rights, and prompt in maintaining them,
usually have rather vague notions touching the rights of others.
Like the too eager merchant, in securing their own, they are very
apt to get a little more than belongs to them.
Mrs. Barbara Uhler presented a notable instance of this. We cannot
exactly class her with the "strong-minded" women of the day. But she
had quite a leaning in that direction; and if not very strong-minded
herself, was so unfortunate as to number among her intimate friends
two or three ladies who had a fair title to the distinction.
Mrs. Barbara Uhler was a wife and a mother. She was also a woman;
and her consciousness of this last named fact was never indistinct,
nor ever unmingled with a belligerent appreciation of the rights
appertaining to her sex and position.
As for Mr. Herman Uhler, he was looked upon, abroad, as a mild,
reasonable, good sort of a man. At home, however, he was held in a
very different estimation. The "wife of his bosom" regarded him as
an exacting domestic tyrant; and, in opposing his will, she only
fell back, as she conceived, upon the first and most sacred law of
her nature. As to "obeying" him, she had scouted that idea from the
beginning. The words, "honor and obey," in the marriage service, she
had always declared, would have to be omitted when she stood at the
altar. But as she had, in her maidenhood, a very strong liking for
the handsome young Mr. Uhler, and, as she could not obtain so
material a change in the church ritual, as the one needed to meet
her case, she wisely made a virtue of necessity, and went to the
altar with her lover. The difficulty was reconciled to her own
conscience by a mental reservation.
It is worthy of remark that above all other of the obligations here
solemnly entered into, this one, _not_ to honor and obey her
husband, ever after remained prominent in the mind of Mrs. Barbara
Uhler. And it was no fruitless sentiment, as Mr. Herman Uhler could
feelingly testify.
From the beginning it was clearly apparent to Mrs. Uhler that her
husband expected too much from her; that he regarded her as a kind
of upper servant in his household, and that he considered himself as
having a right to complain if things were not orderly and
comfortable. At first, she met his looks or words of displeasure,
when his meals, for instance, were late, or so badly cooked as to be
unhealthy and unpalatable, with--
"I'm sorry, dear; but I can't help it."
"Are you sure you can't help it, Barbara?" Mr. Uhler at length
ventured to ask, in as mild a tone of voice as his serious feelings
on the subject would enable him to assume.
Mrs. Uhler's face flushed instantly, and she answered, with dignity:
"I _am_ sure, Mr. Uhler."
It was the first time, in speaking to her husband,
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Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by
Google Books (University of Virginia)
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source: Google Books
https://books.google.com/books?id=hLFEAAAAYAAJ
(University of Virginia)
2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
Mary _of_ Burgundy.
_By_
G. P. R. James
London
George Routledge
and Sons Limited.
MDCCCCIII.
_The Introduction is written by_ Laurie Magnus, M.A.;
_the Title-page is designed by_ Ivor I. J. Symes.
INTRODUCTION.
George Payne Rainsford James, Historiographer Royal to King William
IV., was born in London in the first year of the nineteenth century,
and died at Venice in 1860. His comparatively short life was
exceptionally full and active. He was historian, politician and
traveller, the reputed author of upwards of a hundred novels, the
compiler and editor of nearly half as many volumes of letters,
memoirs, and biographies, a poet and a pamphleteer, and, during the
last ten years of his life, British Consul successively in
Massachusetts, Norfolk (Virginia), and Venice. He was on terms of
friendship with most of the eminent men of his day. Scott, on whose
style he founded his own, encouraged him to persevere in his career as
a novelist; Washington Irving admired him, and Walter Savage Landor
composed an epitaph to his memory. He achieved the distinction of
being twice burlesqued, by Thackeray, and two columns are devoted to
an account of him in the new "Dictionary of National Biography." Each
generation follows its own gods, and G. P. R. James was, perhaps, too
prolific an author to maintain the popularity which made
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produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
THE VIGIL OF
BRUNHILD
A NARRATIVE POEM
BY FREDERIC MANNING
LONDON
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W.
1907
PRINTED BY
HAZELL, WATSON AND VINEY, LD.,
LONDON AND AYLESBURY.
INTRODUCTION
BRUNHILD, died A.D. 613
The intervention of women in the course of the world’s history has
nearly always been attended by those events upon which poets delight to
meditate: events of sinister and tragic significance, the chief value
of which is to show in rude collision the ideals and the realities of
life; the common humanity of the central figures in direct conflict
with the inhuman march of circumstance; and the processes through which
these central figures, like Lady Macbeth or Cleopatra, are made to
transcend all conventional morality, and, though completely evil in the
ordinary sense, to redeem themselves and win our sympathy by a moment
of heroic fortitude, or of supreme and consuming anguish. Such events
and processes, however, belong properly to dramatic art; narrative
poetry, being of a smoother and easier texture allowing more scope to the
subjective play of ideas: in short, it is more spiritual than real. The
Queen of Austrasia and Burgundy, whom I have made the subject of my poem,
is essentially a figure of tragedy. Perhaps it might have been better to
treat her as a subject of dramatic action; but in order to do so it would
have been necessary to limit her personality, to define her character, to
treat only a part of her various and complex psychology. I preferred to
show her at the moment of complete renunciation, a prisoner in her own
castle of Orbe on the banks of the lake of Neuchâtel, after she had been
betrayed by her own army, and had become the prey of her own rebellious
nobles; and the poem is but a series of visions that come to her in
the stress of her final degradation, while she is awaiting the brutal
death which the victors reserved for her. Indeed, so entirely spiritual
was my intention, I have scarcely thought it worth while to enumerate
the ironies of her situation. The squalor of her cell, the triumph
of her foes, the prospect of her own immediate death become entirely
insignificant beside the pageantry, the splendour, the romance of a past
which her memories evoke and clothe with faint, reflected glories. She
hears, in the charming phrase of Renan, “les cloches d’une ville d’Is.”
In a note at the end of the volume I have given some extracts from
the _Histoire de France_, edited by M. Ernest Lavisse, which show the
principal events of her life.
F. M.
THE VIGIL OF BRUNHILD
Brunhild, with worn face framed in withered hands,
Sate in her wounded royalty; and seemed
Like an old eagle, taken in the toils,
And fallen from the wide extended sway
Of her dominion, whence the eye looks down
On mountains shrunk to nothing, and the sea
Fretting in vain against its boundaries.
She sate, with chin thrust forward, listening
To the loud shouting and the ring of swords
On shields, that sounded from the crowded hall;
Where all her ancient bards were emulous
In praise, now, of her foes who feasted there.
Her humid cell was strown with rotten straw,
A roost of owls, and haunt of bats; the wind
Blew the cold rain in, and made tremulous
The smoking flame, on which her eyes were set;
Her raiment was all torn, and stained with blood;
Her hair had fallen, and she heeded not:
She was alone and friendless, but her eyes
Held something kingly that could outfrown Fate.
Gray, haggard, wan, and yet with dignity,
Which had been beauty once, and now was age,
She sate in that foul cellar, as one sits
To whom life owes no further injury,
Whom no hopes cheat, and no despairs make pale;
Though in her heart, and on her rigid face,
Despair was throned in gaunt magnificence.
A sound disturbed her thought; she turned her head,
Waiting, while a strong hand unbarred the door,
With hatred burning in her tearless eyes,
Ready to front her foes. The huge door gave
Creaking, unwillingly, to close again
Behind a priest,
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Produced by Annie R. McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S ROUND TABLE]
Copyright, 1896, by HARPER & BROTHERS. All Rights Reserved.
* * * * *
PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, MARCH 17, 1896. FIVE CENTS A COPY.
VOL. XVII.--NO. 855. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
A BOY OF 1775.
BY MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL.
Can you not see the boy of 1775 now--his sturdy legs encased in stout
black stockings, german-silver buckles to his knee-breeches, his hair
plaited and tied with a smart black ribbon, and all this magnificence
topped by three real silver buttons with which his hat is rakishly
cocked? But the boy himself is better worth looking at than all his
finery--so thought Captain Moore, of his Majesty's ship _Margaretta_,
lying at anchor in the harbor of Machias. Jack Leverett was the boy's
name--a handsome stripling of sixteen, with a quiet manner but a
fearless eye.
The two were sitting opposite each other at the cabin table, and through
the open port they could see the village and the harbor, bathed in the
bright white light of a day in May. The Captain was conscious that this
young guest was decidedly in a hurry to leave. A whole hour had they sat
at the dinner table, Captain Moore, with the utmost art, trying to find
out Jack's errand to Machias--for those were the stirring days when
every American had to take his stand for or against King George--and
Captain Moore particularly desired to know how Squire Leverett, Jack's
father, stood toward the King. But Jack, with native mother-wit, had
managed to baffle the Captain. He had readily admitted that he was the
bearer of a letter from his father to Jerry O'Brien, master of Squire
Leverett's sloop _Priscilla_, in regard to heaving down the sloop. But
the Captain, with a seaman's eye, had noted that the _Priscilla_ was in
perfect order and did not need to be hove down, and he more than
suspected that Jack was the bearer of other and more important news.
Through the cabin windows they could see the sloop, a beautiful craft,
being warped into her dock, while across the blue water was wafted
sweetly the voices of the men, led by the shanty man,[1] singing the old
shanty song:
"Haul the bowline, our jolly ship's a-rolling,
Haul the bowline, the bowline _haul_!
Haul the bowline, our jolly mate's a-growling,
Haul the bowline, the bowline _haul_!"
[1] "Shanty man"--from "Chantez"--a man who could lead the singing while
the men worked. A good shanty man was considered to be a valuable
acquisition to a vessel.
As soon as Jack decently could, he started to rise from the table.
Captain Moore had observed that the glass of wine at Jack's plate
remained untasted, and it suggested a means of finding out whether the
Leveretts meant to go with the King or not.
"Do not go," he said, "until you have joined me in drinking the health
of his Majesty King George."
Jack had no notion whatever of drinking the King's health, but he was at
his wits' end how to avoid it. Just then, though, the Captain turned to
speak to his orderly, and Jack took the opportunity of gulping down his
wine with more haste than elegance. Captain Moore, seeing it, was
surprised and disgusted at the boy's apparent greediness for wine, but
raising his glass, said, "To the King."
"Excuse me, sir," answered Jack, coolly, "but my father never allows me
to drink but one glass of wine, and that I have already had."
"Then I will drink the toast alone," said Captain Moore, with a stern
look at the boy. "Here is to his Majesty King George. Health and long
life to him! God save the King!"
As Captain Moore uttered this sentiment Jack rose and promptly put on
his hat. The Captain was quite sure that the boy's action, like his
gulping down the wine, meant a distaste for the King, and not a want of
breeding. But he thought it best not to notice the incident, and said,
civilly, to his young guest:
"Present my compliments to your honored father, and tell him that his
Majesty's officers have the kindest feelings toward these misguided
people; and while if attacked we will certainly defend ourselves, we
have strict orders to avoid a conflict if possible, and not to fire
until fired upon."
"I will remember your message, sir," was Jack's answer; and the Captain,
having no further excuse for det
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Produced by a Project Gutenberg volunteer from digital
material generously made available by the Internet Archive
ACROSS THE EQUATOR.
[Frontispiece: TEMPLE, PARAMBANAN.]
ACROSS THE
EQUATOR.
A HOLIDAY
TRIP IN JAVA.
BY
THOS. H. REID.
KELLY & WALSH, LIMITED,
SINGAPORE--SHANGHAI--HONGKONG--YOKOHAMA.
1908.
[all rights reserved.]
PREFACE.
It was at the end of the month of September, 1907, that the writer
visited Java with the object of spending a brief vacation there.
The outcome was a series of articles in the "Straits Times," and after
they appeared so many applications were made for reprints that we were
encouraged to issue the articles in handy form for the information of
those who intend to visit the neighbouring Dutch Colony. There was no
pretension to write an exhaustive guide-book to the Island, but the
original articles were revised and amplified, and the chapters have
been arranged to enable the visitor to follow a given route through the
Island, from west to east, within the compass of a fortnight or three
weeks.
For liberty to reproduce some of the larger pictures, we are indebted
to Mr. George P. Lewis (of O. Kurkdjian), Sourabaya, whose photographs
of Tosari and the volcanic region of Eastern Java form one of the
finest and most artistic collections we have seen of landscape work.
SINGAPORE, _July, 1908_.
CONTENTS.
FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF BATAVIA 1
THE BRITISH IN JAVA 15
BOTANIST'S PARADISE AT BUITENZORG 23
ON THE ROAD TO SINDANGLAYA 33
SINDANGLAYA AND BEYOND 42
HINDU RUINS IN CENTRAL JAVA 49
THE TEMPLES OF PARAMBANAN 58
PEOPLE AND INDUSTRIES OF CENTRAL JAVA 65
THE HEALTH RESORT OF EAST JAVA 73
SUNRISE AT THE PENANDJAAN PASS 77
HOTELS AND TRAVELLING FACILITIES 87
First Impressions of Batavia.
When consideration is given to the fact that Java is only two days'
steaming from Singapore, that it is more beautiful in some respects than
Japan, that it contains marvellous archaeological remains over 1,100
years old, and that its hill resorts form ideal resting places for the
jaded European, it is strange that few of the British residents
throughout the Far East, or travellers East and West, have visited the
Dutch Colony.
The average Britisher, weaving the web of empire, passes like a shuttle
in the loom from London to Yokohama, from Hongkong to Marseilles. He
thinks imperially in that he thinks no other nation has Colonies worth
seeing. British port succeeds British port on the hackneyed line of
travel, and he may be excused if he forgets that these convenient
calling places, these links of Empire, can have possible rivals under
foreign flags.
There is no excuse for the prevailing ignorance of the Netherland
Indies. We do not wish it to be inferred that we imagine we have
discovered Java, as Dickens is said to have discovered Italy, but we
believe we are justified in saying that few have realised the
possibilities of Java as a health resort and the attractions it has to
offer for a holiday.
Miss Marianne North, celebrated as painter and authoress and the rival
of Miss Mary Kingsley and Mrs. Bishop (Isabella Bird) as a traveller in
unfrequented quarters of the globe, has described the island as one
magnificent garden, surpassing Brazil, Jamaica and other countries
visited by her, and possessing the grandest of volcanoes; and other
famous travellers have written in terms of the highest praise of its
natural beauties.
Its accessibility is one of its recommendations to the holiday maker.
The voyage across the Equator from Singapore is a smooth one, for the
most part through narrow straits and seldom out of sight of islands clad
with verdure down to the water's edge.
Excellent accommodation is provided by the Rival Dutch Mail steamers
running between Europe and Java and the Royal Packet Company's local
steamers, and the Government of the Netherland Indies co-operates with a
recently-formed Association for the encouragement of tourist traffic on
the lines of the Welcome Society in Japan. This Association has a
bureau, temporarily established in the Hotel des Indes in Batavia, to
provide information and travelling facilities for tourists, not only
throughout Java, but amongst the various islands that are being brought
under the sway of civilised
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Produced by Curtis Weyant and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
A
NEW BANKING SYSTEM:
THE
NEEDFUL CAPITAL FOR REBUILDING
THE BURNT DISTRICT.
BY LYSANDER SPOONER.
BOSTON:
SOLD BY A. WILLIAMS & CO.
135 WASHINGTON STREET.
1873.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873.
BY LYSANDER SPOONER,
in the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
Printed by
WARREN RICHARDSON,
112 Washington St
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.--A New Banking System, 5
CHAPTER II.--Specie Payments, 12
CHAPTER III.--No Inflation of Prices, 21
CHAPTER IV.--Security of the System, 35
CHAPTER V.--The System as a Credit System, 41
CHAPTER VI.--Amount of Currency Needed, 48
CHAPTER VII.--Importance of the System to Massachusetts, 59
CHAPTER VIII.--The True Character of the "National" System, 70
CHAPTER IX.--Amasa Walker's Opinion of the Author's System, 75
The reader will understand that the ideas presented in the following
pages admit of a much more thorough demonstration than can be given in
so small a space. Such demonstration, if it should be necessary, the
author hopes to give at a future time.
_Boston, March, 1873._
CHAPTER I.
A NEW BANKING SYSTEM.
Under the banking system--an outline of which is hereafter given--the
real estate of Boston alone--taken at only three-fourths its
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Produced by David Newman, PB, Linda Cantoni, Chuck Greif
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's Note
Music notation in this ebook is rendered using scientific pitch
notation, in which, for example, middle C is rendered as C4,
C below middle C is rendered as C3, and C above middle C is rendered
as C5, etc. For more information on this notation method, see
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scientific_pitch_notation
THE VOICE
Its Production, Care and
Preservation
_By_
FRANK E. MILLER, M. D.
_With a Note by_
GUSTAV KOBBE
_SIXTH EDITION_
NEW YORK: G. SCHIRMER
BOSTON: BOSTON MUSIC CO.
COPYRIGHT, 1910
BY G. SCHIRMER
NOTE
Dr. Frank E. Miller, the author of this book, is one of the leading New
York specialists on throat, nose and ear. He numbers many singers among
his patients and is physician to the Manhattan Opera House, Mr. Oscar
Hammerstein's company.
To expert knowledge of the physiology of the vocal organs he adds
practical experience as a vocalist. Before and during his student years
he was a singer and held, among other positions, that of tenor in one of
the large New York churches. This experience has been of great value to
him in his practice among singers. He understands them temperamentally
as well as physically. Moreover, it has led him, in writing this book,
to consider questions of temperament as well as principles of physiology.
Great as is the importance that he attaches to a correct physiological
method of voice-production, he makes full allowance for what may be
called the psychological factors involved therein--mentality, artistic
temperament, correct concept on the part of the singer of the pitch and
quality of the tone to be produced, etc.
Above all, Dr. Miller, while convinced that the tones of the vocal scale
require, for their correct emission, subtly corresponding changes of
adjustment in the vocal organs, utterly rejects anything like a
deliberate or conscious attempt on the singer's part to bring about
these adjustments. He holds that they should occur automatically (or
subconsciously) as the result, in very rare instances, of supreme
natural gifts, in others as a spontaneous sequence to properly developed
artistry.
In fact, while based on accurate scientific knowledge, Dr. Miller's book
also is the outcome of long observation and experience, so that it might
well be entitled "The Common Sense of Singing."
GUSTAV KOBBE.
CONTENTS
PAGE
NOTE v
CHAPTER I. A RATIONAL VOCAL METHOD 1
CHAPTER II. THE CHOICE OF A TEACHER 15
CHAPTER III. ON BREATHING: INSPIRATION 27
CHAPTER IV. ON BREATHING: EXPIRATION 49
CHAPTER V. THE PHYSIOLOGY AND PSYCHOLOGY
OF VOICE-PRODUCTION 67
CHAPTER VI. PITCH AND SYMPATHETIC VIBRATION 89
CHAPTER VII. REGISTERS OF THE VOICE 103
CHAPTER VIII. SUBDIVISIONS OF THE VOICE 117
CHAPTER IX. THE STROKE OF THE GLOTTIS 132
CHAPTER X. HYGIENE OF THE VOICE 147
CHAPTER XI. MORE VOCAL HYGIENE 169
CHAPTER XII. NODES AND THEIR CURE 182
[Illustration: FIG. 1. THE THROAT AND ADJOINING STRUCTURES
1, Larynx. 2, Epiglottis. 3, Lower Pharynx. 4, Lips. 5, Teeth. 6,
Tongue. 7, Mouth (Oral Cavity). 8, Uvula and Soft Palate. 9, Hard
Palate. 10, Upper Pharynx. 11, Nasal Cavities. 12, Nose.
A, Arytenoid Cartilage. C, Cricoid Cartilage. T, Thyroid Cartilage.
W, Windpipe. X, Adam's Apple.]
CHAPTER I
A RATIONAL VOCAL METHOD
Song, so far as voice-production is concerned, is the result of
physiological action, and as voice-production is the basis of all song,
it follows that a singing method, to be correct, must be based on the
correct physiological use of the vocal organs. The physiology of
voice-production lies, therefore, at the very foundation of artistic
singing.
The proper physiological basis for a singing method having been laid,
something else, something highly important, remains to be superimposed.
Voice is physical. But everything that colors voice, charging it with
emotion, giving it its peculiar quality and making it different from
other voices, is largely, although not wholly, the result of a psychical
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Produced by Al Haines
[Frontispiece: OLD FLYNN, MOVING ALONG THE VERGE, BECAME IDYLLIC]
Further Experiences of an
Irish R.M.
By
E. [OE]. Somerville and Martin Ross
Authors of "Some Experiences of an Irish R.M.,"
"Some Irish Yesterdays," "All on the Irish Shore,"
"The Real Charlotte," etc. etc. etc.
With 35 Illustrations by E. [OE]. Somerville
Longmans, Green, and Co.
39 Paternoster Row, London
New York, Bombay, and Calcutta
1908
All rights reserved
_BY THE SAME AUTHORS_
SOME EXPERIENCES OF AN IRISH R.M.
With 31 Illustrations by E. [OE]. SOMERVILLE. Crown 8vo, 6s.
SOME IRISH YESTERDAYS
With 51 Illustrations by E. [OE]. SOMERVILLE. Crown 8vo, 6s.
AN IRISH COUSIN
Crown 8vo, 6s.
THE REAL CHARLOTTE
Crown 8vo, 3s. 6d.
THE SILVER FOX
Crown 8vo, 3s. 6d.
ALL ON THE IRISH SHORE
With 10 Illustrations by E. [OE]. SOMERVILLE. Crown 8vo, 6s.
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
LONDON, NEW YORK, BOMBAY, AND CALCUTTA
CONTENTS
I. THE PUG-NOSED FOX
II. A ROYAL COMMAND
III. POISSON D'AVRIL
IV. "THE MAN THAT CAME TO BUY APPLES"
V. A CONSPIRACY OF SILENCE
VI. THE BOAT'S SHARE
VII. THE LAST DAY OF SHRAFT
VIII. "A HORSE! A HORSE!" (Part I.)
IX. "AHORSE! A HORSE!" (Part II.)
X. SHARPER THAN A FERRET'S TOOTH
XI. OWENEEN THE SPRAT
XII. THE WHITEBOYS
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
HALF-TONE
Old Flynn, moving along the verge, became idyllic.... Frontispiece
Suspicious of an ill-timed pleasantry
"Take me out of this"
Whizzed like a driven grouse past the combatants
The guard put his hand over his mouth
"And not a brown farthing more would he give"
"I'm dashed if she hasn't got Sullivan's pony"
He crowned the arrangement with the bottle of potheen
A trayful of burning sods of turf
He did not deny himself a most dissolute wink
Maria's performance was faultless
The Modulator opened with a long-drawn and nasal cadenza
"Did ye see the police!"
"Is that my darlin' Major Yeates?" shouted the cook
"I will walk--I should really prefer it"
Flurry and I put in a blazing September day on the mountain
Braney's Lake
An intricate and variously moving tide of people
"Them hounds are in my family, seed and breed, this hundred years"
"I'll go bail 'twas him that picked me wife's fashionable cocks"
IN THE TEXT
The egregious Slipper
The victim came
"Ye have them in great form, Michael"
Pure ecstasy stretched his grin from ear to ear
"They're lovely fish altogether! they're leppin' fresh!"
The invalid removed herself
Con Brickley
"Let the divil clear me out of the sthrand!"
A witness to be proud of
His mornings were spent in proffering Irish phrases
The Sergeant's manner was distressingly apologetic
"That's a great sign of fine weather when a horse will lie
down in wather that way"
My wife came and asked me if I would take her to the workhouse
"Thim's no joke, sir, thim's Sprats!"
"He knows what's what!" said the Locum
FURTHER EXPERIENCES OF
AN IRISH R.M.
I
THE PUG-NOSED FOX
"5 Turkies and their Mother
5 Ducks and the Drake
5 Hins and the Cock
CATHARINE O'DONOVAN, Skeagh."
A leaf from a copy-book, with these words written on it, was placed in
my hand as I was in the act of dragging on a new pair of gloves in the
stableyard. There was something rhythmic in the category, suggestive
of burnt-offerings and incantations; some touch of pathos, pointing to
tragedy; something, finally, that in the light of previous events
recalled to me suddenly and unpleasantly my new-born position of Deputy
M.F.H.
Not, indeed, that I was in need at that moment of circumstances to
remind me of it. A new hunting-cap, pressing implacably upon my
forehead, an equally new red coat, heavy as a coat of mail, a
glittering horn, red hot from the makers, and so far totally
unresponsive to my apoplectic wooings; these things in themselves,
without the addition of a poultry bill, were sufficient to bring home
to me my amazing folly in having succumbed to the wiles of Mr. Florence
McCarthy Knox, and accepted the charge of his hounds, during his
absence with the Irish Yeomanry at the South African war.
I had yielded in a burst of patriotic emotion to the spirit of
volunteering that was in the air. It would be, Flurry had assured me,
a purely nominal position.
"They'll only go out one day a week, and Jerome Hickey and Michael'll
do all the work. I do secretary for myself, but that'll be no trouble
to you. There's nothing at all to do but to send out the cards of the
meets. It'll be a comfort to me to think you were running the show."
I suggested other names that seemed to me infinitely more comfortable,
but found them blocked by intricate and insuperable objections, and
when I became aware that Mr. Knox had so engineered his case as to get
my wife on his side it seemed simpler to give in.
A week afterwards I saw Flurry off at the station. His last words to
me were:
"Well, good-bye, Major. Be fighting my grandmother for her
subscription, and whatever you do, don't give more than half-a-crown
for a donkey. There's no meat on them."
Upon this touching farewell the train steamed out, and left me
standing, shelterless, a reluctant and incapable Master of Hounds.
Exhaustive as Flurry's instructions had been on the subject of the
cuisine and other details of kennel management, he had not even hinted
at the difficulties that are usually composed by means of a fowl fund.
My first experience of these had taken place but a week ago, when from
the breakfast-table I had perceived a donkey and cart rambling,
unattended, in the shrubberies, among the young hydrangeas and azaleas.
The owner, a most respectable looking old man, explained that he had
left it there because he was "dilicate" to bring it up to the house,
and added that he had come for compensation for "a beautiful milking
goat" that the hounds had eaten last March, "and she having two kids
that died afther her."
I asked why he had not long since been to Mr. Knox about it, and was
favoured with an interminable history of the claimant's ill-health
during the summer, consequent on his fretting after the goat; of how he
had been anointed four times, and of how the donkey was lame this long
while where a branch bet her in the thigh one day she ran into the wood
from the hounds. Fearing that the donkey was about to be included in
the bill, I made haste to settle for the goat and her offspring, a
matter of fifteen shillings.
Next day two women took up a position on the steps at luncheon time, a
course which experience has taught me indicates affairs too exalted and
too personal to be transmitted _via_ the kitchen. They were, according
to their own showing, ruined proprietors of poultry yards, in proof of
which they pointed to a row of decapitated hens, laid forth on the
grass like the bag at a fashionable shoot. I was irritably aware of
their triumph in the trophy.
"Sure he didn't make off with anny of them only three, but he snapped
the heads off all that was in it, and faith, if Masther Flurry was at
home, he'd give us the blood of his arm before he'd see our little hins
desthroyed on us this way."
I gave them thirty-two and sixpence as an alternative compensation,
not, I admit, without an uneasy sense of something unusual in Peter
Cadogan's expression, as he assiduously raked the gravel hard by.
It was Michael Leary, Flurry's Michael, who placed the matter of a fowl
fund upon a basis. Catharine O'Donovan and her list of casualties had
been dismissed at a cost of ten shillings, a price so inadequate, and
so cheerfully accepted, as to confirm my dawning suspicions.
"Is it what would they get from Mr. Flurry?" replied Michael when I put
the matter to him; "it isn't ten shillings, no, nor thirty-two
shillings that they'd get from him, but a pelt of a curse after their
heels! Why wouldn't they keep their hens inside in the house with
themselves at night, the same as annyone that'd have sense, and not to
leave them out enticing the fox this way."
Michael was in a bad temper, and so, for the matter of that, was I,
quite irrespective of dealings in poultry. Our red coats, our horses,
and the presence of the hounds, did not betoken the chase, they merely
indicated that the Hunt was about to be photographed. The local
photographer, backed by Mrs. Sinclair Yeates, had extorted from me the
privilege of "a sitting," a figurative expression, involving a ride of
five miles to a covert, selected by my wife as being typical of the
country, accompanied by the fourteen and a-half couple of half-bred
harriers who figured in Hound Lists as "Mr. Knox's Fox-hounds."
It was a blazing day in late August, following on forty-eight hours of
blanketing sea-fog; a day for flannels and a languid game of croquet.
Lady Jane, the grey mare lent to me by Flurry, had been demoralised by
her summer at grass, and was in that peculiarly loathsome frame of mind
that is a blend of laziness and bumptiousness. If I left her to her
own devices she drowsed, stumbling, through the dust; if I corrected
her, she pranced and pulled, and kicked up behind like a donkey. My
huntsman, Doctor Jerome Hickey, who was to have been in the forefront
of the photograph, was twenty miles off in an open boat, on his way to
an island at the far end of his dispensary district, with fifteen cases
of measles ahead of him. I envied him; measles or no, he had on a
turned down collar. As a result of his absence I rode in solitary
dignity at the head of the pack, or, to speak more correctly, I
preceded Michael by some thirty yards of unoccupied road, while the
pack, callous to flogging, and disdainful of my cajoleries, clave to
the heels of Michael's horse.
In this order, we arrived at the tryst, a heathery hill side, flanked
by a dense and rambling wood. A sea-gull scream from the hill-side
announced the presence of my wife, and summoned me to join her and the
photographer at the spot where they were encamped. I put the mare at a
suitable place in the wall by the roadside. She refused it, which was
no more than I had expected. I sampled my new spurs on her fat sides,
with the result that she charged the wall, slantways, at the exact spot
where Philippa had placed her bicycle against it, missed the bicycle by
a hair's-breadth, landed in the field with a thump, on all four feet,
and ended with two most distressing bucks. It was a consolation to me,
when I came in touch again with the saddle, to find that one of the new
spurs had ploughed a long furrow in her shoulder.
The photographer was a young man from Belfast, a new comer to the
neighbourhood; Philippa is also a photographer, a fact that did not
tend as much as might have been expected to the harmony of the occasion.
"Mrs. Yeates has selected this hillock," said Mr. McOstrich, in tones
of acrid resignation, indicating as he spoke a sugar-loaf shaped knoll,
thickly matted with furze and heather. "She considers the background
characteristic. My own suggestion would have been the grass-field
yonder."
It is an ancient contention of my wife that I, in common with all other
men, in any dispute between a female relative and a tradesman, side
with the tradesman, partly from fear, partly from masculine
clannishness, and most of all from a desire to stand well with the
tradesman. Nothing but the remembrance of this preposterous reproach
kept me from accepting Mr. McOstrich's point of view, and, while I
hesitated, Michael was already taking up his position on the hillock,
perhaps in obedience to some signal from Philippa, perhaps because he
had realised the excellent concealment afforded by the deep heather to
his horse's fetlocks, whose outline was of a somewhat gouty type. It
was part of Flurry Knox's demoniac gift for horseflesh that he should
be able to buy screws and make them serve his exacting purposes.
Michael's horse, Moses, had, at a distance, the appearance of standing
upon four champagne bottles, but he none the less did the work of two
sound horses and did it well.
I goaded Lady Jane through the furze, and established myself beside
Michael on the sugarloaf, the hounds disposed themselves in an interval
of bracken below, and Mr. McOstrich directed his camera upon us from an
opposite <DW72>.
"Show your teeth, please," said Mr. McOstrich to Michael. Michael,
already simmering with indignation at the senseless frivolity of the
proceedings, glowered at his knuckles, evidently suspicious of an
ill-timed pleasantry.
[Illustration: SUSPICIOUS OF AN ILL-TIMED PLEASANTRY]
"Do you hear, Whip?" repeated Mr. McOstrich, raising his bleak northern
voice, "show your teeth, please!"
"He only wants to focus us," said I, foreseeing trouble, and hurriedly
displaying my own new front row in a galvanic smile.
Michael murmured to Moses' withers something that sounded like a
promise to hocus Mr. McOstrich when occasion should serve, and I
reflected on the hardship of having to feel apologetic towards both
Michael and the photographer.
Only those who have participated in "Hunt Groups" can realise the
combined tediousness and tension of the moments that followed. To keep
thirty hounds headed for the camera, to ensure that your horse has not
closed its eyes and hung its head in a doze of boredom, to preserve for
yourself that alert and workmanlike aspect that becomes a sportsman,
and then, when these things have been achieved and maintained for what
feels like a month, to see the tripod move in spider strides to a fresh
position and know that all has to be begun over again. After several
of these tentative selections of a site, the moment came when Mr.
McOstrich swung his black velvet pall in the air and buried his head
under its portentous folds. The hounds, though uneasy, had hitherto
been comparatively calm, but at this manifestation their nerve broke,
and they unanimously charged the glaring monster in the black hood with
loud and hysterical cries.
Had not Michael perceived their intention while there was time awful
things might have happened. As it was, the leaders were flogged off
with ignominy, and the ruffled artist returned from the rock to which
he had fled. Michael and I arranged ourselves afresh upon the hillock;
I squared my shoulders, and felt my wonted photographic expression of
hang-dog desperation settle down upon me.
"The dogs are not in the picture, Whip!" said Mr. McOstrich in the
chill tone of outraged dignity.
I perceived that the hounds, much demoralised, had melted away from the
<DW72> in front of us, and were huddling in a wisp in the intervening
hollow. Blandishments were of no avail; they wagged and beamed
apologetically, but remained in the hollow. Michael, in whose
sensitive bosom the term "Whip" evidently rankled, became scarlet in
the face and avalanched from the hill top upon his flock with a fury
that was instantly recognised by them. They broke in panic, and the
astute and elderly Venus, followed by two of the young entry, bolted
for the road. They were there met by Mr. McOstrich's carman, who most
creditably headed the puppies with yells and his driving-whip, but was
out-played by Venus, who, dodging like a football professional, doubled
under the car horse, and fled irrevocably. Philippa, who had been
flitting from rock to rock with her kodak, and unnerving me with
injunctions as to the angle of my cap, here entered the lists with a
packet of sandwiches, with which, in spite of the mustard, she restored
a certain confidence to the agitated pack, a proceeding observed from
afar with trembling indignation by Minx, her fox-terrier. By reckless
expenditure of sandwich the hounds
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To H. T. Swedenberg, Junior
_founder_, _protector_, _friend_
_He that delights to_ Plant _and_ Set,
_Makes_ After-Ages _in his_ Debt.
Where could they find another formed so fit,
To poise, with solid sense, a sprightly wit?
Were these both wanting, as they both abound,
Where could so firm integrity be found?
The verse and emblem are from George Wither, _A Collection of Emblems,
Ancient and Modern_ (London, 1635), illustration xxxv, page 35.
The lines of poetry (123-126) are from "To My Honoured Kinsman John
Driden," in John Dryden, _The Works of John Dryden_, ed. Sir Walter
Scott, rev. and corr. George Saintsbury (Edinburgh: William Patterson,
1885), xi, 78.
THE AUGUSTAN REPRINT SOCIETY
COLLEY CIBBER
A LETTER FROM Mr. _CIBBER_ TO Mr. _POPE_
(1742)
_Introduction by_
HELENE KOON
PUBLICATION NUMBER 158
WILLIAM ANDREWS CLARK MEMORIAL LIBRARY
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, LOS ANGELES
1973
GENERAL EDITORS
William E. Conway, William Andrews Clark Memorial Library
George Robert Guffey, University of California, Los Angeles
Maximillian E. Novak, University of California, Los Angeles
David S. Rodes, University of California, Los Angeles
ADVISORY EDITORS
Richard C. Boys, University of Michigan
James L. Clifford, Columbia University
Ralph Cohen, University of Virginia
Vinton A. Dearing, University of California, Los Angeles
Arthur Friedman, University of Chicago
Louis A. Landa, Princeton University
Earl Miner, Princeton University
Samuel H. Monk, University of Minnesota
Everett T. Moore, University of California, Los Angeles
Lawrence Clark Powell, William Andrews Clark Memorial Library
James Sutherland, University College, London
H. T. Swedenberg, Jr., University of California, Los Angeles
Robert Vosper, William Andrews Clark Memorial Library
Curt A. Zimansky, State University of Iowa
CORRESPONDING SECRETARY
Edna C. Davis, William Andrews Clark Memorial Library
EDITORIAL ASSISTANT
Jean T. Shebanek, William Andrews Clark Memorial Library
Typography by Wm. M. Cheney
INTRODUCTION
In the twentieth century, Colley Cibber's name has become synonymous
with "fool." Pope's _Dunciad_, the culmination of their long quarrel,
has done its work well, and Cibber, now too often regarded merely as a
pretentious dunce, has been relegated to an undeserved obscurity.
The history of this feud is replete with inconsistencies.[1] The image
Cibber presents of himself as a charming, good-natured, thick-skinned
featherbrain is as true as Pope's of himself as a patient, humorous,
objective moralist. Each picture is somewhat manipulated by its creator.
The reasons behind the manipulation are less matters of outright untruth
than of complex personalities disclosing only what they regard as
pertinent. Cibber, the actor, always tries to charm his audience; Pope,
the satirist, proffers those aspects best suited to his moral purpose.
Although the fact of their differences is evident in Pope's writings
after 1730, explanations of the cause, continuation and climax tend to
be muddled. The cause generally cited is Cibber's story in the Letter
concerning _Three Hours after Marriage_ and _The Rehearsal_. This is not
only a one-sided version, it is not even strongly substantiated. As
Norman Ault pointed out, it was not reported in any of the periodicals
at a time when such incidents were seized upon by journalists hungry for
gossip.[2] The only confirmation aside from Cibber is Montagu Bacon's
letter to his cousin James Montagu, which gives a slightly less
vivacious account:
'I don't know whether you heard, before you went out of town, that
_The Rehearsal_ was revived... and Cibber interlarded it with
several things in ridicule of the last play, upon which Pope went
up to him and told him he was a rascal, and if he were able he
would cane him; that his friend Gay was a proper fellow, and if he
went on in his sauciness he might expect such a reception from
him. The next night Gay came accordingly, and, treating him as Pope
had done the night
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THE
BREAD AND BISCUIT BAKER’S
AND
SUGAR-BOILER’S ASSISTANT
Including a large variety of Modern Recipes
FOR
_BREAD -- TEA CAKES -- HARD AND FANCY BISCUITS --
BUNS -- GINGERBREADS -- SHORTBREADS -- PASTRY --
CUSTARDS -- FRUIT CAKES -- SMALL GOODS FOR
SMALL MASTERS -- CONFECTIONS IN SUGAR --
LOZENGES -- ICE CREAMS -- PRESERVING
FRUIT -- CHOCOLATE, ETC., ETC._
WITH REMARKS ON
THE ART OF BREAD-MAKING
AND
CHEMISTRY AS APPLIED TO BREAD-MAKING
BY
ROBERT WELLS
PRACTICAL BAKER, CONFECTIONER, AND PASTRYCOOK, SCARBOROUGH
Second Edition, with Additional Recipes.
[Illustration: Capio Lumen]
LONDON
CROSBY LOCKWOOD AND SON
7, STATIONERS’ HALL COURT, LUDGATE HILL
1890
[_All rights reserved._]
PREFACE.
In submitting the following pages for public approval, the Author hopes
that the work may prove acceptable and useful to the Baking Trade as a
Book of Instruction for Learners, and for daily reference in the Shop
and Bakehouse; and having exercised great care in its compilation, he
believes that in all its details it will be found a trustworthy guide.
From his own experience in the Baker’s business, he is satisfied that
a book of this kind, embodying in a handy form the accumulated results
of the work of practical men, is really wanted; and as in the choice
of Recipes he has been guided by an intimate acquaintance with the
requirements of the trade, and as every recipe here given has been
tested by actual and successful use, he trusts that the labour which he
has bestowed upon the preparation of the work may be rewarded by its
wide acceptance by his brethren in the trade.
The work being divided into sections, as shown in the Contents, and
a full Index having been added, reference can readily be made, as
occasion may arise, either to a class of goods, or to a particular
recipe.
Any suggestions for the improvement of the work, which the experience
of others may lead them to propose, will, if communicated to the
Author, be gratefully esteemed and carefully dealt with in future
editions.
SCARBOROUGH,
_October, 1888_.
ADVERTISEMENT TO THE SECOND EDITION.
It is very gratifying to both Author and Publishers that this little
book has been so favourably received by the Baking Trade and the public
that a second edition is required within a few months of the first
issue of the work.
The opportunity has been taken to insert some additional recipes for
the whole-meal and other breads which of late have been so frequently
recommended as substitutes for the white bread in established use,
together with some remarks on the subject by Professors Jago and
Graham; and a few corrections in the text (the necessity for which
escaped notice when the work was first in the press) have also been
made.
_August, 1889._
CONTENTS.
BREAD AND BISCUIT BAKING, ETC.
PAGE
I.--INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER.
Slow Process in the Art of Bread-making 1
Need of Technical Training 1
Chemistry as applied to Bread-making 2
Process of Fermentation 4
Liebig on the Process of Bread-making 5
Professors Jago and Graham on Brown Bread 7, 8
II.--GENERAL REMARKS ON BAKING.
Baking and its several Branches 10
Essentials of good Bread-making 10
German Yeast and Parisian Barm 11
Recipe for American Patent Yeast 12
Judging between good and bad Flour 13
Liebig on the Action of Alum in Bread 13
Professor Vaughan on Adulteration with Alum 13
Importance of good Butter to the Pastrycook 13
III.--BREAD, TEA CAKES, BUNS, ETC.
1. To make Home-made Bread 17
2. Bread-making by the Old Method 17
3. Modern Way of making Bread 18
4. Scotch Style of making Bread 19
5. Home-made Whole Meal Bread 20
6. Whole Meal Bread for Master Bakers 21
7. Unfermented or Diet Bread 21
8. Rye Bread 22
9. Coarse Bread 22
10. Germ Flour Bread 23
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CLEOPATRA
by H. Rider Haggard
DEDICATION
My dear Mother,
I have for a long while hoped to be allowed to dedicate some book
of mine to you, and now I bring you this work, because whatever its
shortcomings, and whatever judgment may be passed upon it by yourself
and others, it is yet the one I should wish you to accept.
I trust that you will receive from my romance of "Cleopatra" some such
pleasure as lightened the labour of its building up; and that it
may convey to your mind a picture, however imperfect, of the old and
mysterious Egypt in whose lost glories you are so deeply interested.
Your affectionate and dutiful Son,
H. Rider Haggard.
January 21, 1889.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
The history of the ruin of Antony and Cleopatra must have struck many
students of the records of their age as one of the most inexplicable
of tragic tales. What malign influence and secret hates were at work,
continually sapping their prosperity and blinding their judgment? Why
did Cleopatra fly at Actium, and why did Antony follow her, leaving his
fleet and army to destruction? An attempt is made in this romance to
suggest a possible answer to these and some other questions.
The reader is asked to bear in mind, however, that the story is told,
not from the modern point of view, but as from the broken heart and
with the lips of an Egyptian patriot of royal blood; no mere
beast-worshipper, but a priest instructed in the inmost mysteries, who
believed firmly in the personal existence of the gods of Khem, in the
possibility of communion with them, and in the certainty of immortal
life with its rewards and punishments; to whom also the bewildering and
often gross symbolism of the Osirian Faith was nothing but a veil woven
to obscure secrets of
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[Illustration: BALDWIN LOCOMOTIVE WORKS.
[Bird's-Eye View.]]
BALDWIN LOCOMOTIVE WORKS.
ILLUSTRATED CATALOGUE
OF
LOCOMOTIVES.
M. BAIRD & Co.,
PHILADELPHIA.
MATTHEW BAIRD,
GEORGE BURNHAM,
CHARLES T. PARRY,
EDWARD H. WILLIAMS,
WILLIAM P. HENSZEY,
EDWARD LONGSTRETH.
PRESS OF
J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO.,
PHILADELPHIA.
SKETCH OF THE BALDWIN LOCOMOTIVE WORKS.
THE BALDWIN LOCOMOTIVE WORKS dates its origin from the inception of
steam railroads in America. Called into existence by the early
requirements of the railroad interests of the country, it has grown
with their growth and kept pace with their progress. It has reflected
in its career the successive stages of American railroad practice, and
has itself contributed largely to the development of the locomotive as
it exists to-day. A history of the Baldwin Locomotive Works,
therefore, is, in a great measure, a record of the progress of
locomotive engineering in this country, and as such cannot fail to be
of interest to all who are concerned in this important element of our
material progress.
MATTHIAS W. BALDWIN, the founder of the establishment, learned the
trade of a jeweler, and entered the service of Fletcher & Gardiner,
Jewelers and Silversmiths, Philadelphia, in 1817. Two years later he
opened a small shop, in the same line of business, on his own account.
The demand for articles of this character falling off, however, he
formed a partnership, in 1825, with David Mason, a machinist, in the
manufacture of bookbinders' tools and cylinders for calico-printing.
Their shop was in a small alley which runs north from Walnut Street,
above Fourth. They afterwards removed to Minor Street, below Sixth.
The business was so successful that steam-power became necessary in
carrying on their manufactures, and an engine was bought for the
purpose. This proving unsatisfactory, Mr. Baldwin decided to design
and construct one which should be specially adapted to the
requirements of his shop. One of these requirements was that it should
occupy the least possible space, and this was met by the construction
of an upright engine on a novel and ingenious plan. On a bed-plate
about five feet square an upright cylinder was placed; the piston-rod
connected to a cross-bar having two legs, turned downward, and sliding
in grooves on the sides of the cylinder, which thus formed the guides.
To the sides of these legs, at their lower ends, was connected by
pivots an inverted U-shaped frame, prolonged at the arch into a single
rod, which took hold of the crank of a fly-wheel carried by upright
standards on the bed-plate. It will be seen that the length of the
ordinary separate guide-bars was thus saved, and the whole engine was
brought within the smallest possible compass. The design of the
machine was not only unique, but its workmanship was so excellent, and
its efficiency so great, as readily to procure for Mr. Baldwin orders
for additional stationary engines. His attention was thus turned to
steam engineering, and the way was prepared for his grappling with the
problem of the locomotive when the time should arrive.
This original stationary engine, constructed prior to 1830, has been
in almost constant service since its completion, and at this day is
still in use, furnishing all the power required to drive the machinery
in the erecting-shop of the present works. The visitor who beholds it
quietly performing its regular duty in a corner of the shop, may
justly regard it with considerable interest, as in all probability the
indirect foundation of the Baldwin Locomotive Works, and permitted
still to contribute to the operation of the mammoth industry which it
was instrumental in building up.
The manufacture of stationary steam-engines thus took a prominent
place in the establishment, and Mr. Mason shortly afterward withdrew
from the business.
In 1829-30 the use of steam as a motive power on railroads had begun
to engage the attention of American engineers. A few locomotives had
been imported from England, and one (which, however, was not
successful) had been constructed at the West Point Foundry, in New
York City. To gratify the public interest in the new motor, Mr.
Franklin Peale, then proprietor of the Philadelphia Museum, applied to
Mr. Baldwin to construct a miniature locomotive for exhibition in his
establishment. With the aid only of the imperfect published
descriptions and sketches of the locomotives which had taken part in
the Rainhill competition in
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THE
GERRARD STREET MYSTERY
AND OTHER
WEIRD TALES.
BY
JOHN CHARLES DENT.
PREFATORY SKETCH.
John Charles Dent, the author of the following remarkable stories, was
born in Kendal, Westmorland, England, in 1841. His parents emigrated to
Canada shortly after that event, bringing with them, of course, the
youth who was afterwards to become the Canadian author and historian.
Mr. Dent received his primary education in Canadian schools, and
afterwards studied law, becoming in due course a member of the Upper
Canada Bar. He only practised for a few years. He found the profession
profitable enough but uncongenial--as it could not well help being, in
an obscure Canadian, village, twenty years ago--and very probably he
was already cherishing ambitious dreams of literary labors, which he
was eager to begin in the world's literary centre, London. He
accordingly relinquished his practice as soon as he felt himself in a
position to do so, and went to England. He had not miscalculated his
powers, as too many do under like circumstances. He soon found
remunerative literary work, and as he became better known, was engaged
to write for several high-class periodicals, notably, _Once a
Week_, for which he contributed a series of articles on interesting
topics. But in England Mr. Dent produced no very long or ambitious
work. Perhaps he found that the requisite time for such an undertaking
could not be spared. At this period he had a wife and family depending
on him for support, and it speaks well for his abilities, that he was
able to amply provide for them out of the profits solely derived from
his literary labours. But of course to do this he had to devote himself
to work that could be thrown off readily, and which could be as readily
sold.
After remaining in England for several years, Mr. Dent and his family
returned to America. He obtained a position in Boston, which he held
for about two years. But he finally relinquished it and came to
Toronto, having accepted a position on the editorial staff of the
_Telegram_, which was then just starting. For several years Mr.
Dent devoted himself to journalistic labours on various newspapers, but
principally the _Toronto Weekly Globe_. To that journal he
contributed a very notable series of biographical sketches on "Eminent
Canadians." Shortly after the death of the Hon. George Brown, Mr. Dent
severed his connection with the _Globe_, and immediately
thereafter commenced his first ambitious undertaking, _The Canadian
Portrait Gallery_, which ran to four large volumes. It proved to be
a most creditable and successful achievement. Of course in a brief
sketch no detailed criticism of either this or the succeeding works can
be attempted. Suffice it to say that the biographies of Canadian public
men, living and dead, were carefully prepared, and written from an
un-partisan standpoint. In this book there was no padding; every
individual admitted had achieved something of national value, and the
biographies are, therefore, of importance to the student of Canadian
history. This book deserved and attained a considerable circulation,
and brought to its author a comparatively large sum of money.
Mr. Dent's second book was "The Last Forty Years: Canada since the
Union of 1841." This work has been highly praised in all quarters, and
is in every way a credit to its author's really brilliant powers as a
literary artist.
The third work was a "History of the Rebellion in Upper Canada."
Although written in his best manner, with the greatest possible care,
from authentic sources of information not hitherto accessible, this
work has had the misfortune to meet with undeservedly severe criticism.
When Mr. Dent began his studies for the book he held William-Lyon
Mackenzie in high esteem, but he found it necessary afterwards to
change his opinion. He was able to throw a flood of new light on the
characters of the men who took part in the struggle, and if the facts
tended to darken the fair fame of some of them, the historian certainly
ought not to be censured for it. The tendency of the book was decidedly
in opposition to the ideas entertained to this day by the partizans of
the "Old Family Compact" on the one side, and also to the friends and
admirers of William Lyon Mackenzie on the other.
But the severe criticism the work sustained, has left it stronger than
before, and it will stand undoubtedly as by far the best history of the
"Rebellion" that has appeared.
In addition to these important works on which his reputation as a
writer will rest, Mr. Dent has written from time to time a great many
sketches, essays and stories, some of which are exceedingly interesting
and worthy of being preserved. All of Mr. Dent's work contains a charm
of its own. In writing, history, he was in accord with Macaulay. He
always believed that a true story should be told as agreeably as a
fictitious one; "that the incidents of real life, whether political or
domestic, admit of being so arranged as, without detriment to accuracy,
to command all the interest of an artificial series of facts; that the
chain of circumstances which constitute history may be as finely and
gracefully woven as any tale of fancy." Acting upon this theory, he has
made Canadian history very interesting reading. He is to my mind the
only historian, beside Mr. Parkman, who has been able to make Canadian
events so dry in detail, fascinating throughout.
In private life, Mr. Dent was a most estimable man. He possessed
qualities of mind and heart, having their visible outcome in a
courteous, genial manner that endeared him very closely to his friends.
With all his wealth of learning, which was very great, he was
light-hearted, witty and companionable, and his early death leaves a
gap not very easily closed.
The four stories composing the present volume were contributed by their
author at considerable intervals to different periodicals. Some time
prior to his death he contemplated publishing them in book form, and
actually selected and carefully revised them with that purpose in view.
He thought they were worthy of being rescued from obscurity, and if we
compare them with much of a similar class of work constantly issuing
from the press, we cannot think that his judgment erred. They are now
published in accordance with his wish, to take their chances in the
great world of literature.
R. W. D.
TORONTO, Oct. 25th, 1888.
CONTENTS
THE GERRARD STREET MYSTERY
GAGTOOTH'S IMAGE
THE HAUNTED HOUSE ON DUCHESS STREET
SAVAREEN'S DISAPPEARANCE
THE GERRARD STREET MYSTERY.
I.
My name is William Francis Furlong. My occupation is that of a
commission merchant, and my place of business is on St. Paul Street, in
the City of Montreal. I have resided in Montreal ever since shortly
after my marriage, in 1862, to my cousin, Alice Playter, of Toronto. My
name may not be familiar to the present generation of Torontonians,
though I was born in Toronto, and passed the early years of my life
there. Since the days of my youth my visits to the Upper Province have
been few, and--with one exception--very brief; so that I have doubtless
passed out of the remembrance of many persons with whom I was once on
terms of intimacy. Still, there are several residents of Toronto whom I
am happy to number among my warmest personal friends at the present
day. There are also a good many persons of middle age, not in Toronto
only, but scattered here and there throughout various parts of Ontario,
who will have no difficulty in recalling my name as that of one of
their fellow-students at Upper Canada College. The name of my late
uncle, Richard Yardington, is of course well known to all old residents
of Toronto, where he spent the last thirty-two years of his life. He
settled there in the year 1829, when the place was still known as
Little York. He opened a small store on Yonge Street, and his
commercial career was a reasonably prosperous one. By steady degrees
the small store developed into what, in those times, was regarded as a
considerable establishment. In the course of years the owner acquired a
competency, and in 1854 retired from business altogether. From that
time up to the day of his death he lived in his own house on Gerrard
Street.
After mature deliberation, I have resolved to give to the Canadian
public an account of some rather singular circumstances connected
with my residence in Toronto. Though repeatedly urged to do so, I
have hitherto refrained from giving any extended publicity to those
circumstances, in consequence of my inability to see any good to
be served thereby. The only person, however, whose reputation can be
injuriously affected by the details has been dead for some years. He
has left behind him no one whose feelings can be shocked by the
disclosure, and the story is in itself sufficiently remarkable to be
worth the telling. Told, accordingly, it shall be; and the only
fictitious element introduced into the narrative shall be the name of
one of the persons most immediately concerned in it.
At the time of taking up his abode in Toronto--or rather in Little
York--my uncle Richard was a widower, and childless; his wife having
died several months previously. His only relatives on this side of the
Atlantic were two maiden sisters, a few years younger than himself. He
never contracted a second matrimonial alliance, and for some time after
his arrival here his sisters lived in his house, and were dependent
upon him for support. After the lapse of a few years both of them
married and settled down in homes of their own. The elder of them
subsequently became my mother. She was left a widow when I was a mere
boy, and survived my father only a few months. I was an only child,
and as my parents had been in humble circumstances, the charge of my
maintenance devolved upon my uncle, to whose kindness I am indebted for
such educational training as I have received. After sending me to
school and college for several years, he took me into his store, and
gave me my first insight into commercial life. I lived with him, and
both then and always received at his hands the kindness of a father, in
which light I eventually almost came to regard him. His younger
sister, who was married to a watchmaker called Elias Playter, lived
at Quebec from the time of her marriage until her death, which took
place in 1846. Her husband had been unsuccessful in business, and
was moreover of dissipated habits. He was left with one child--a
daughter--on his hands; and as my uncle was averse to the idea of his
sister's child remaining under the control of one so unfit to provide
for her welfare, he proposed to adopt the little girl as his own. To
this proposition Mr. Elias Playter readily assented, and little Alice
was soon domiciled with her uncle and myself in Toronto.
Brought up, as we were, under the same roof, and seeing each other
every day of our lives, a childish attachment sprang up between my
cousin Alice and myself. As the years rolled by, this attachment
ripened into a tender affection, which eventually resulted in an
engagement between us. Our engagement was made with the full and
cordial approval of my uncle, who did not share the prejudice
entertained by many persons against marriages between cousins. He
stipulated, however, that our marriage should
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STEPHEN H. BRANCH’S
ALLIGATOR.
Volume I.—No. 20 SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, Price 2 Cents.
1858.
And they Stoned Stephen.
We are told by the Holy Scriptures that one of the Apostles, who,
preaching integrity and truth to the Pharisees of old, offended those
who belonged to the Tabernacle of libertines, was brought before the
council, which, by arousing public sentiment in a seditious manner,
caused Stephen to be stoned. And in our modern day they have likewise
stoned Stephen by placing him, unaccustomed to toil, and guiltless of
all crime, save the free exercise of opinion, to labor in a quarry along
with felons, thieves, and other obnoxious convicts; and in this wise
have our modern Pharisees stoned Stephen.
The Warden of the Penitentiary, suffering from din of public opinion,
has seen proper to extenuate his conduct by stating that he was
compelled, by rigidity of duty, thus to place Mr. Branch in a position
of labor. Thus has he communicated his thoughts for publication to the
editor of the _Sunday Mercury_, and when he uttered them he was well
aware that they were a mere subterfuge to avoid personal indignity. And
now we challenge the Warden to show one single word in his instructions
rendering it compulsory upon him to employ any one soul in the quarrying
of stone. On the contrary, his instructions particularly enjoin upon him
the exercise of moderation and forbearance as a taskmaster, and most
explicitly direct that no prisoner, incapable of physical labor, shall
be employed at manual servitude. The law of the State, despite the
tendencies of Mr. Fitch, recognizes every being, created in human form,
to be possessed of a soul, as well as being of value to the
commonwealth; for a man incarcerated in the penitentiary, is not devoid
of civil life as is the case with a convict to the State prison, and
wherefore then did he stone Stephen?
Mr. Fitch, the Warden, may remember that a woman, convicted of the most
brutal of crimes, which the law unfortunately has left unvisited by
proper punishment, that of the murder of the innocents, as yet unborn,
was, during her residence at the Island, favored not only with the
comforts, but the luxuries of an easy existence. And still they stoned
Stephen.
The Warden, in addition to this instance of the famous Madame Restell,
may remember that a French gentleman, convicted of a most gross and
obscene libel upon the Rev. Mr. Verien, was not only suffered to remain
in idleness, and without the prison clothes, but was absolutely lodged
in the Warden’s house, remunerating him for his comfortable existence by
instructing his daughters in a knowledge of the French tongue. And still
they stoned Stephen!
The Warden may remember, moreover, that Mr. Judson, convicted of a
misdemeanor in exciting the Astor Place riot, was allowed two days of
weekly absence to attend the publication of a journal by him published—a
fact notorious to every reader of _Ned Buntline’s Own_. And still they
stoned Stephen!
We are sorry that the Warden so far committed himself as intentionally
to persecute a harmless, unoffensive man, whose true crime is a steady
adherence to truth. Allow us to assure him that while we admire his
penitence for the moment, we cannot forgive the fact that he stoned
Stephen!
Is the Atlantic Telegraph Actually Complete?
It is still doubted by many whether the Atlantic cable is actually laid
and perfect, as is reported. There is, we believe, no actual proof of
the fact, beyond that in the hands of those who have a pecuniary
interest in its being completed. It is said that the Queen’s message and
the President’s reply have been transmitted. Have they? Who knows?
Mr. Field has notified the public that the line will not be opened for
its use in much less than a month—that he also has resigned the
directorship. Has he sold his stock, and thus disqualified himself from
holding office? And will most of the stock have changed hands within the
month? And will something have happened to the cable in the meantime to
render it useless? Will the directors prove the fact of the cable being
securely laid and in working order, by transmitting a message and
returning an answer, if it is but a single sentence? If they are able to
transmit one word they can do this. It would certainly be too bad if it
should prove to be a Kidd salvage affair. Then all the gas which has
been evolved, and all the powder burnt in the extreme jollification,
would be a total loss; together with part of the City Hall, and Justice
into the bargain. We certainly would advise those who have been lately
canonized to show these surmises to be false before their honors grow
dim.
A Commotion in the Jarsies.
The ALLIGATOR, feeling himself some pump
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Transcriber's note.
Minor punctuation inconsistencies have been silently repaired. A list of
other changes made can be found at the end of the book.
Mark up: _italics_
=bold=
=MADAME LANORMAND'S FORTUNE-TELLER AND DREAM BOOK.=
This is the greatest book ever published on these subjects, and contains
plain and correct rules for foretelling what is going to happen. It
treats on the art of telling fortunes by the hands or Palmistry, as
practiced by the Gypsies.--On Moles.--The Birth of Children, and
Foretelling Events by the Moon's Age and the days of the week; and How
to know if your love for a person will be returned.--Also, on Charms,
Spells, and Incantations.--Fast of St. Agnes.-The Nine Keys.--Magic
Rose.--Cupid's Nosegay.--The Ring and Olive Branch.--Love's
Cordial.--The Witch's Chain.--Love Letters.--Strange Bed.--To see a
Future Husband.--The Lover's Charm.--How soon you will marry.--How to
tell a person's character by Cabalistic Calculations.--How to tell
Fortunes by Tea Leaves and Coffee Grounds; by the White of an Egg.--How
to Choose a Husband by the Hair.--Lucky Days, etc., etc. It also
contains a complete Dictionary of all Dreams, arranged alphabetically,
and with a clear interpretation of each.--Also, Hymen's Lottery, and all
good and bad Omens.--Also, the only true copy of the Oraculum ever
published in this country; it is the Oracle that foretold to Alexander
the Great, his successes; it was found by MADAME LANORMAND, in 1801, in
one of the Royal Egyptian Tombs; it was given by her to Napoleon the
First, who always consulted it previous to any of his undertakings.
=Mailed for 20 Cents.=
=THE SHOWMAN'S GUIDE; OR, THE BLACK ART FULLY EXPOSED AND LAID BARE.=
This book contains most of the marvelous things in Ancient or Modern
Magic, and is the Text Book for all showmen. It shows How to knock a
Tumbler through a Table.--To drive one Tumbler through another.--How to
make the Protean Liquid.--To make a Watch stop or go at the word of
command.--How to walk barefooted on a hot iron bar.--To discover any
Card in a pack by its weight or smell.--To turn Water into Wine.--How to
eat Fire.--To Dip the Hand into Water without wetting it.--How to Fill a
Glass with two different Liquids, without mixing them.--How to Light a
Candle by a Glass of Water.--To Freeze Water by shaking it.--To break a
Stone with a Blow of the Fist.--To tear a Handkerchief into pieces and
to make it whole again.--How to fire a loaded Pistol at the Hand without
hurting it.--To change a bowl of Ink into clear Water with Fish swimming
in it.--To produce Candies, Nuts, etc., from a handkerchief, and many
other tricks too numerous to mention. =Mailed for 25 Cents.=
=THE MAGICIAN'S GUIDE; OR, CONJURING MADE EASY.=
This work was written by the celebrated HOUDIN, who, being prompted by
an honest desire to instruct those who wish to be initiated into the
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and has treated the subject in the most eminently successful manner. By
a series of lessons he has thoroughly explained the principles of the
higher science. Numerous illustrations, together with full and explicit
directions, make success sure, and he who desires to be the sought after
and honored guest at every party or entertainment, has but to study this
book. It treats on all kinds of Magic, Legerdemain, and Prestidigitation;
Galvanism, Magnetism and Electricity, and is illustrated with 33 first
class engravings. =Mailed for 25 Cents.=
OUR KNOWLEDGE BOX:
OR,
OLD SECRETS AND NEW DISCOVERIES.
_A COMPENDIUM OF VALUABLE INFORMATION, AND AN INDISPENSABLE
HAND-BOOK FOR THE USE OF EVERYBODY: THE BEST COLLECTION OF RARE AND
VALUABLE RECIPES EVER PUBLISHED._
GEO. BLACKIE & CO.,
Publishers,
_746 BROADWAY, NEW YORK._
CONTENTS.
PAGE.
Secrets of the Liquor Trade 3
Druggists' Department 8
Manufacturers' Department 14
The Toilet, Perfumery, Etc. 27
Hunters' and Trappers' Secrets 34
The Fine Arts and Sciences 36
Farmers' Department 43
Confectioners' Department 46
Valuable Miscellaneous Recipes for the Household and every day
Requirements 48
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, by CHAS.
MCARTHUR, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington,
D. C.
OUR KNOWLEDGE BOX.
SECRETS OF THE LIQUOR TRADE.
_Cider Without Apples._--To each gallon of cold water, put 1 lb. common
sugar, 1/2 oz. tartaric acid, 1 tablespoonful of yeast, shake well, make
in the evening, and it will be fit for use next day. I make in a keg a
few gallons at a time, leaving a few quarts to make into next time; not
using yeast again until the keg needs rinsing. If it gets a little sour
make a little more into it, or put as much water with it as there is
cider, and put it with the vinegar. If it is desired to bottle this
cider by manufacturers of small drinks, you will proceed as follows: Put
in a barrel 5 gallons hot water, 30 lbs. brown sugar, 3/4 lb. tartaric
acid, 25 gallons cold water, 3 pints of hop or brewers' yeast worked
into paste with 3/4 lb. flour, and 1 pint water will be required in making
this paste, put altogether in a barrel, which it will fill, and let it
work 24 hours--the yeast running out at the bung all the time, by
putting in a little occasionally to keep it full. Then bottle, putting
in 2 or 3 broken raisins to each bottle, and it will nearly equal
Champagne.
_Cider Champagne, No. 1._--Good cider, 20 gallons; spirits, 1 gallon;
honey or sugar, 6 lbs. Mix, and let them rest for a fortnight; then fine
with skimmed milk, 1 quart. This, put up in champagne bottles, silvered
and labeled, has often been sold for Champagne. It opens very sparkling.
_Cider--To Keep Sweet._--1st. By putting into the barrel before the
cider has begun to work, about half a pint of whole fresh mustard seed
tied up in a coarse muslin bag. 2d. By burning a little sulphur or
sulphur match in the barrel previous to putting in the cider. 3d. By the
use of 3/4 of an ounce of the bi-sulphite of lime to the barrel. This
article is the preserving powder sold at rather a high price by various
firms.
_To Neutralize Whiskey to make various Liquors._--To 40 gallons of
whiskey, add 1-1/2 lbs. unslacked lime; 3/4 lb. alum, and 1/2 pint of spirits
of nitre. Stand 24 hours and draw it off.
_Madeira Wine._--To 40 gallons prepared cider, add, 1/4 lb. tartaric acid;
4 gallons spirits; 3 lbs. loaf sugar. Let it stand 10 days, draw it off
carefully; fine it down, and again rack it into another cask.
_Sherry Wine._--To 40 gallons prepared cider, add, 2 gallons spirits; 3
lbs. of raisins; 6 gallons good sherry, and 1/2 ounce oil bitter almonds,
(dissolved in alcohol). Let it stand 10 days, and draw it off carefully;
fine it down and again rack it into another cask.
_Port Wine._--To 40 gallons prepared cider, add, 6 gallons good port
wine; 10 quarts wild grapes, (clusters); 1/2 lb. bruised rhatany root; 3
oz. tincture of kino; 3 lbs. loaf sugar; 2 gallons spirits. Let this
stand ten days; color if too light, with tincture of rhatany, then rack
it off and fine it. This should be repeated until the color is perfect
and the liquid clear.
_To correct a bad Taste and sourness in Wine._--Put in a bag the root of
wild horse-radish cut in bits. Let it down in the wine, and leave it
there two days; take this out, and put another, repeating the same till
the wine is perfectly restored. Or fill a bag with wheat; it will have
the same effect.
_To restore Flat Wine._--Add four or five pounds of sugar, honey, or
bruised raisins, to every hundred gallons, and bung close. A little
spirits may also be added.
_To restore Wine that has turned sour or sharp._--Fill a bag with
leek-seed, or of leaves or twisters of vine, and put either of them to
infuse in the cask.
_Ginger Wine._--Take one quart of 95 per cent. alcohol, and put into it
one ounce of best ginger root (bruised and not ground), five grains of
capsicum, and one drachm of tartaric acid. Let stand one week and
filter. Now add one gallon of water, in which one pound of crushed sugar
has been boiled. Mix when cold. To make the color, boil 1/2 ounce of
cochineal, 3/4 ounce of cream tartar, 1/2 ounce of saleratus, and 1/2 ounce
alum in a pint of water till you get a bright red color.
_French Brandy._--Pure spirits, 1 gallon; best French brandy, or any
kind you wish to imitate, 1 quart; loaf sugar, 2 ounces; sweet spirits
of nitre, 1/2 ounce; a few drops of tincture of catechu, or oak bark, to
roughen the taste if desired, and color to suit.
_Gin._--Take 100 gallons of clean, rectified spirits; add, after you
have killed the oils well, 1-1/2 ounces of the oil of English juniper, 1/2
ounce of angelica essence, 1/2 ounce of the oil bitter almonds, 1/2 ounce of
the oil of coriander, and 1/2 ounce of the oil of caraway; put this into
the rectified spirit and well rummage it up; this is what the rectifiers
call strong gin.
To make this _up_, as it is called by the trade, add 45 pounds of
loaf-sugar, dissolved; then rummage the whole well up together with 4
ounces of roche alum. For finings there may be added two ounces of salts
of tartar.
_Aromatic Schiedam Schnapps, to imitate._--To 25 gallons good common
gin, 5 over proof, add 15 pints strained honey; 2 gallons clear water; 5
pints white-sugar syrup; 5 pints spirit of nutmegs mixed with the nitric
ether; 5 pints orange-flower water; 7 quarts pure water; 1 ounce acetic
ether; 8 drops of oil of wintergreen, dissolved with the acetic ether.
Mix all the ingredients well; if necessary, fine with alum and salt of
tartar.
_St. Croix Rum._--To 40 gallons p. or n. spirits, add 2 gallons St.
Croix Rum; 2 oz. acetic acid; 1-1/2 ounce butyric acid; 3 pounds loaf
sugar.
_Pine-Apple Rum._--To 50 gallons rum, made by the fruit method, add 25
pine-apples sliced, and 8 pounds white sugar. Let it stand two weeks
before drawing off.
_Irish or Scotch Whiskey._--To 40 gallons proof spirits, add 60 drops of
creosote, dissolved in 1 quart of alcohol; 2 oz. acetic acid; 1 pound
loaf sugar. Stand 48 hours.
_Rum Shrub._--Tartaric acid, 5 pounds; pale sugar, 100 pounds; oil
lemon, 4 drs.; oil orange, 4 drs.; put them into a large cask (80
gallons), and add water, 10 gallons. Rummage till the acid and sugar are
dissolved, then add rum (proof), 20 gallons; water to make up 55 gallons
in all; coloring one quart or more. Fine with 12 eggs. The addition of
12 sliced oranges will improve the flavor.
_Bourbon Whiskey._--To 100 gallons pure proof spirit, add 4 ounces pear
oil; 2 ounces pelargonif ether; 13 drs. oil of wintergreen, dissolved in
the ether; 1 gallon wine vinegar. Color with burnt sugar.
_Strong Beer, English Improved._--Malt, 1 peck; coarse brown sugar, 6
pounds; hops, 4 ounces; good yeast, 1 teacup; if you have not malt, take
a little over 1 peck of barley, (twice the amount of oats will do, but
are not as good,) and put it into an oven after the bread is drawn, or
into a stove oven, and steam the moisture from them. Grind coarsely. Now
pour upon the ground malt 3-1/2 gallons of water at 170 or 172 deg. of heat.
The tub in which you scald the malt should have a false bottom, 2 or 3
inches from the real bottom; the false bottom should be bored full of
gimlet holes, so as to act as a strainer, to keep back the malt meal.
When the water is poured on, stir them well, and let it stand 3 hours,
and draw off by a faucet; put in 7 gallons more of water at 180 to 182 deg.;
stir it well, and let it stand 2 hours, and draw it off. Then put on a
gallon or two of cold water, stir it well, and draw it off; you should
have about 5 or 6 gallons. Put the 6 pounds of coarse brown sugar in an
equal amount of water; mix with the wort, and boil 1-1/2 to 2 hours with
the hops; you should have eight gallons when boiled; when cooled to 80 deg.
put in the yeast, and let it work 18 to 20 hours, covered with a sack;
use sound iron hooped kegs or porter bottles, bung or cork tight, and in
two weeks it will be good sound beer, and will keep a long time; and for
persons of a weak habit of body, and especially females, 1 glass of this
with their meals is far better than tea or coffee, or all the ardent
spirits in the universe. If more malt is used, not exceeding 1/2 a bushel,
the beer, of course, would have more spirit, but this strength is
sufficient for the use of families or invalids.
_Root Beer._--For 10 gallons beer, take 3 pounds common burdock root, or
1 ounce essence of sassafras; 1/2 pound good hops; 1 pint corn, roasted
brown. Boil the whole in 6 gallons pure water until the strength of the
materials is obtained; strain while hot into a keg, adding enough cold
water to make 10 gallons. When nearly cold, add clean molasses or syrup
until palatable,--not sickishly sweet. Add also as much fresh yeast as
will raise a batch of 8 loaves of bread. Place the keg in a cellar or
other cool place, and in 48 hours you will have a keg of first-rate
sparkling root beer.
_Superior Ginger Beer._--Ten pounds of sugar; 9 ounces of lemon juice; 1/2
a pound of honey; 11 ounces of bruised ginger root; 9 gallons of water;
3 pints of yeast. Boil the ginger half an hour in a gallon of water;
then add the rest of the water and the other ingredients, and strain it
when cold. Add the white of an egg, beaten, and 1/2 an ounce of essence of
lemon. Let it stand 4 days, then bottle, and it will keep many months.
_Spruce Beer._--Take of the essence of spruce half a pint; bruised
pimento and ginger, of each four ounces; water, three gallons. Boil five
or ten minutes, then strain and add 11 gallons of warm water, a pint of
yeast, and six pints of molasses. Allow the mixture to ferment for 24
hours.
_To Cure Ropy Beer._--Put a handful or two of flour, and the same
quantity of hops, with a little powdered alum, into the beer and rummage
it well.
_To give Beer the appearance of Age._--Add a few handfuls of pickled
cucumbers and Seville oranges, both chopped up. This is said to make
malt liquor appear six months older than it really is.
_How to make Mead._--The following is a good receipt for Mead:--On
twenty pounds of honey pour five gallons of boiling water; boil, and
remove the scum as it rises; add one ounce of best hops, and boil for
ten minutes; then put the liquor into a tub to cool; when all but cold
add a little yeast, spread upon a slice of toasted bread; let it stand
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THE AUGUSTAN REPRINT SOCIETY
SAMUEL RICHARDSON,
_CLARISSA:_
Preface, Hints of Prefaces,
and Postscript.
_Introduction_
BY
R. F. BRISSENDEN.
PUBLICATION NUMBER 103
WILLIAM ANDREWS CLARK MEMORIAL LIBRARY
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, LOS ANGELES
1964
GENERAL EDITORS
Richard C. Boys, _University of Michigan_
Earl R. Miner, _University of California, Los Angeles_
Maximillian E. Novak, _University of California, Los Angeles_
Lawrence Clark Powell, _Wm. Andrews Clark Memorial Library_
ADVISORY EDITORS
John Butt, _University of Edinburgh_
James L. Clifford, _Columbia University_
Ralph Cohen, _University of California, Los Angeles_
Vinton A. Dearing, _University of California, Los Angeles_
Arthur Friedman, _University of Chicago_
Louis A. Landa, _Princeton University_
Samuel H. Monk, _University of Minnesota_
Everett T. Moore, _University of California, Los Angeles_
James Sutherland, _University College, London_
H. T. Swedenberg, Jr., _University of California, Los Angeles_
CORRESPONDING SECRETARY
Edna C. Davis, _Clark Memorial Library_
INTRODUCTION
The seven volumes of the first edition of _Clarissa_ were published in
three instalments during the twelve months from December 1747 to
December 1748. Richardson wrote a Preface for Volume I and a Postscript
for Volume VII, and William Warburton supplied an additional Preface for
Volume III (or IV).[1] A second edition, consisting merely of a reprint
of Volumes I-IV was brought out in 1749. In 1751 a third edition of
eight volumes in duodecimo and a fourth edition of seven volumes in
octavo were published simultaneously.
For the third and fourth editions the author revised the text of the
novel, rewrote his own Preface and Postscript, substantially expanding
the latter, and dropped the Preface written by Warburton. The additions
to the Postscript, like the letters and passages'restored' to the novel
itself, are distinguished in the new editions by points in the margin.
The revised Preface and Postscript, which in the following pages are
reproduced from the fourth edition, constitute the most extensive and
fully elaborated statement of a theory of fiction ever published by
Richardson. The Preface and concluding Note to _Sir Charles Grandison_
are, by comparison, brief and restricted in their application; while the
introductory material in _Pamela_ is, so far as critical theory is
concerned, slight and incoherent.
The _Hints of Prefaces for Clarissa_, a transcript of which is also
included in this publication, is an equally important and in some ways
an even more interesting document. It appears to have been put together
by Richardson while he was revising the Preface and Postscript to the
first edition. Certain sections of it are preliminary drafts of some of
the new material incorporated in the revised Postscript. Large portions
of _Hints of Prefaces_, however, were not used then and have never
previously appeared in print. Among these are two critical assessments
of the novel by Philip Skelton and Joseph Spence; and a number of
observations--some merely jottings--by Richardson himself on the
structure of the novel and the virtues of the epistolary style. The
statements of Skelton and Spence are unusual amongst contemporary
discussions of _Clarissa_ for their brevity, lucidity, and sustained
critical relevance. Richardson's own comments, though disorganized and
fragmentary, show that he was attempting to develop a theory of the
epistolary novel as essentially dramatic, psychologically realistic, and
inherently superior to 'the dry Narrative',[2] particularly as
exemplified in the novels of Henry Fielding.
It is impossible to determine how much of _Hints of Prefaces_ or of the
published Preface and Postscript is Richardson's own work. All were to
some extent the result of collaborative effort, and Richardson did not
always distinguish clearly between what he had written and what had been
supplied by other people.[3] The concluding paragraph of the Postscript,
for example, appears in the first edition to be the work of Richardson
himself, although in the revised version he indicates that it was
composed by someone else. In this instance due acknowledgment may have
been easy; but in many other places it may have been extraordinarily
difficult for the author/editor to disentangle his own words and ideas
from those of
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for replacement pages, OZClub.org for a better cover image,
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from scanned
images of public domain material from the Google Books
project.)
Transcriber Notes
Text emphasis id denoted as _Italics_ and =Bold=.
+--------------------------------------------------------------+
| |
| The |
| |
| Scarecrow of Oz |
| |
| |
| |
| by |
| |
| L. Frank Baum |
| |
+--------------------------------------------------------------+
[Illustration]
===== The Famous Oz Books =====
Since 1900, when L. Frank Baum introduced to the children of America
THE WONDERFUL WIZARD OF OZ and all the other exciting characters who
inhabit the land of Oz, these delightful fairy tales have stimulated the
imagination of millions of young readers.
These are stories which are genuine fantasy creative, funny, tender,
exciting and surprising. Filled with the rarest and most absurd
creatures, each of the 14 volumes which now comprise the series, has been
eagerly sought out by generation after generation until to-day they are
known to all except the very young or those who were never young at all.
When, in a recent survey, The =New York Times= polled a group of teen agers
on the books they liked best when they were young, the Oz books topped
the list.
THE FAMOUS OZ BOOKS
-------------------
By L. Frank Baum:
THE WIZARD OF OZ
THE LAND OF OZ
OZMA OF OZ
DOROTHY AND THE WIZARD IN OZ
THE ROAD TO OZ
THE EMERALD CITY OF OZ
THE PATCHWORK GIRL OF OZ
TIK-TOK OF OZ
THE SCARECROW OF OZ
RINKITINK IN OZ
THE LOST PRINCESS OF OZ
THE TIN WOODMAN OF OZ
THE MAGIC OF OZ
GLINDA OF OZ
Chicago THE REILLY & LEE CO. _Publishers_
[Illustration: THE SCARECROW _OF_ OZ]
Dedicated to
"The Uplifters" of Los Angeles, California, in grateful appreciation
of the pleasure I have derived from association with them, and in
recognition of their sincere endeavor to uplift humanity through
kindness, consideration and good-fellowship. They are big men all of them
and all with the generous hearts of little children.
L. Frank Baum
[Illustration]
+--------------------------------------------------------------+
| |
| THE |
| |
| =SCARECROW OF OZ= |
| |
| |
| BY |
| |
| L. FRANK BAUM |
| |
| AUTHOR OF |
| |
| THE ROAD TO OZ, DOROTHY AND THE WIZARD IN OZ, THE EMERALD |
| CITY OF OZ, THE LAND OF OZ, OZMA OF OZ. THE PATCHWORK GIRL |
| OF OZ, TIK-TOK OF OZ |
| |
| |
| |
| [Illustration] |
| |
| |
| |
| ILLUSTRATED BY |
| JOHN R. NEILL |
| |
| |
| =The Reilly & Lee Co= |
| Chicago |
| |
+--------------------------------------------------------------+
+--------------------------------------------------------------+
| |
| COPYRIGHT |
| |
| 1915 BY |
| |
| L Frank Baum |
| |
| ALL |
| |
| RIGHTS RESERVED |
| |
+--------------------------------------------------------------+
[Illustration]
'TWIXT YOU AND ME
The Army of Children which besieged the Postoffice, conquered the Postmen
and delivered to me its imperious Commands, insisted that Trot and Cap'n
Bill be admitted to the Land of Oz, where Trot could enjoy the society
of Dorothy, Betsy Bobbin and Ozma, while the one-legged sailor-man might
become a comrade of the Tin Woodman, the Shaggy Man, Tik-Tok and all the
other quaint people who inhabit this wonderful fairyland.
It was no easy task to obey this order and land Trot and Cap'n Bill
safely in Oz, as you will discover by reading this book. Indeed, it
required the best efforts of our dear old friend, the Scarecrow, to save
them from a dreadful fate on the journey; but the story leaves them
happily located in Ozma's splendid palace and Dorothy has promised me
that Button-Bright and the three girls are sure to encounter, in the near
future, some marvelous adventures in the Land of Oz, which I hope to be
permitted to relate to you in the next Oz Book.
Meantime, I am deeply grateful to my little readers for their continued
enthusiasm over the Oz stories, as evinced in the many letters they send
me, all of which are lovingly cherished. It takes more and more Oz Books
every year to satisfy the demands of old and new readers, and there
have been formed many "Oz Reading Societies," where the Oz Books owned
by different members are read aloud. All this is very gratifying to me
and encourages me to write more Oz stories. When the children have had
enough of them, I hope they will let me know, and then I'll try to write
something different.
L. Frank Baum
"Royal Historian of Oz."
"OZCOT"
at HOLLYWOOD
in CALIFORNIA,
1915.
[Illustration]
LIST OF CHAPTERS
1 The Great Whirlpool 18
2 Cavern Under the Sea 22
3 The Ork 33
4 Daylight at Last! 52
5 The Little Old Man of the Island 62
6 The Flight of the <DW40>s 82
7 The Bumpy Man 89
8 Button-Bright is Lost, and Found Again 101
9 The Kingdom of Jinxland 119
10 Pon, the Gardener's Boy 131
11 The Wicked King and Googly-Goo 138
12 The Wooden-Legged Grasshopper 151
13 Glinda the Good and the Scarecrow of Oz 167
14 The Frozen Heart 178
15 Trot Meets the Scarecrow 195
16 Pon Summons the King to Surrender 204
17 The Ork Rescues Button-Bright 213
18 The Scarecrow Meets an Enemy 220
19 The Conquest of the Witch 230
20 Queen Gloria 241
21 Dorothy, Betsy and Ozma 255
22 The Waterfall 264
23 The Land of Oz 273
24 The Royal Reception 278
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration: Cap'n Bill]
CHAPTER 1
The Great Whirlpool
"Seems to me," said Cap'n Bill, as he sat beside Trot under the big
acacia tree, looking out over the blue ocean, "seems to me, Trot, as how
the more we know, the more we find we don't know."
"I can't quite make that out, Cap'n Bill," answered the little girl in a
serious voice, after a moment's thought, during which her eyes followed
those of the old sailor-man across the glassy surface of the sea. "Seems
to me that all we learn is jus' so much gained."
"I know; it looks that way at first sight," said the sailor, nodding his
head; "but those as knows the least have a habit of thinkin' they know
all there is to know, while them as knows the most admits what a turr'ble
big world this is. It's the knowing ones that realize one lifetime ain't
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VOL. 146, MAY 20, 1914***
E-text prepared by Neville Allen, Malcolm Farmer, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 24720-h.htm or 24720-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/4/7/2/24720/24720-h/24720-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/4/7/2/24720/24720-h.zip)
Transcribers note:
Stage directions are enclosed by equal signs (example: =Enter=).
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI
VOL. 146
MAY 20, 1914
CHARIVARIA.
It is comforting to know that we need not yet despair of human nature.
Even the most abandoned politician may have one redeeming quality. For
example, _The Express_ tells us that Mr. WINSTON CHURCHILL is a reader
of _The Express._
* * *
It is reported to be the intention of General BOTHA to visit this
country in June or July, and the Labour Party here are said to be
already taking steps with a view to having him deported as an
undesirable.
* * *
If Mr. HENRY CHAPLIN has been correctly reported he is even more of a
reactionary than most of his opponents imagined. In the course of the
debate on the Sunday Closing Bill he is said to have delivered himself
as follows:--"Drunkenness is diminishing, and I say Thank God; long may
it continue." The pious ejaculation would seem to be an expression of
gratitude for the joys of inebriety.
* * *
"Does the nightingale really boycott the land of Llewelyn and Mr. Lloyd
George--and why?" asks an anxious inquirer in a contemporary. If it is
so we suspect the reason is a fear on the part of the bird that the
CHANCELLOR may get to know of the rich quality of his notes and tax him
out of existence.
* * *
Mr. GEORGE STOREY has been elected a Royal Academician. This will
surprise no one. Burlington House has always favoured the Storey
picture. And as regards Mr. H. S. TUKE, who was promoted at the same
time, his serial tale, "Three Boys and a Boat," has now been running for
quite a number of years.
* * *
"English," says Mr. BALFOUR, "is abominably difficult." But Erse is
worse.
* * *
Despatched at Teddington twenty-three years ago a postcard has just been
delivered at Walton-on-Thames. The postal authorities trust that the
publication of this fact will induce people to exercise a little
patience when they do not receive correspondence which they expect,
instead of at once jumping to the conclusion that it has been lost.
* * *
As a consequence of recent outrages at the Royal Academy the Council is
reported to be testing "unbreakable glass." No doubt the Indestructible
Paint Company is also circularising artists.
* * *
A man walking across St. Paul's Churchyard gave a remarkable exhibition
of presence of mind one day last week. He was knocked down under a
motor-omnibus, but managed so to arrange himself that the wheels passed
clear of him. Cinema operators will be obliged if he will give them due
notice of any intention to repeat the turn.
* * *
"The London General Omnibus Company advertises itself, so why shouldn't
we?" said the L.C.C. Tramways--so they had a nice little collision on
the Embankment last week.
* * *
At the second annual celebration of "Mothers' Day" at the London Central
Y.M.C.A., an eloquent address was delivered by the secretary of the
association, Mr. VIRGO. The thought that, in spite of his name, this
gentleman, try as he might, could never become a mother is said to have
raised a lump in the throat of many a member of the audience.
* * *
We are glad to hear that "Hospital Egg Week" has been a success. We find
it difficult, however, to believe one account, which states that
sufficient new-laid eggs have been contributed to last the whole year.
* * *
"If Adam had lived till now," says Mr. SNOWDEN, "and had worked hard at
honest labour the whole time, and had been a thrifty man withal, he
would not have had an income like some of those enjoyed to-day." Mr.
SNOWDEN is apparently presuming that ADAM'S wife would have lived as
long as her husband.
* * *
At
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[Frontispiece: "YOU ARE SO GENEROUS TO ME" (page 24)]
AVERY
_By Elizabeth Stuart Phelps_
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
The Riverside Press, Cambridge
1902
COPYRIGHT, 1901, BY HARPER & BROS.
COPYRIGHT, 1902, BY ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS WARD
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
_Published October, 1902_
_Avery_ originally appeared as a serial in _Harper's Magazine_ under
the title of _His Wife_.
AVERY
PART I
"Oh, Pink! Mother _can't_ lift you.... I would if I could.... Yes, I
know I used to--
"Molly, take the baby. Couldn't you amuse him, somehow? Perhaps, if
you tried hard, you could keep him still. When he screams so, it seems
to hit me--here. It makes it harder to breathe. He cried'most all
night. And if you could contrive to keep Pink, too--
"What is it, Kate? You'll have to manage without me this morning.
Pick up anything for luncheon--I don't care. I couldn't eat. You can
warm over that mutton for yourselves. We must keep the bills down.
They were too large last month. Order a grouse for Mr. Avery. He says
he will dine at home to-night--
"There's the telephone! Somebody answer it. I can't get down,
myself.... Is it Mr. Avery?... Wants me?... I don't see how I
can.... Yes. Hold the wire. I 'll try--
"Did you speak to me, Molly?... No, I'm not feeling any worse. It's
only getting up the stairs, and... something that tired me a little.
I don't want Dr. Thorne. I can't call the doctor so often. I'm no
worse than... I sometimes... am. It's only that I cannot breathe....
Molly! _Molly_! Quick, Molly! The window! Air!"
As Molly dashed the window up, Mrs. Avery's head fell back upon the
pillows of the lounge. They were blue pillows, and her blanching cheek
took a little reflection from the color. But she was not ghastly; she
never was. At the lowest limit of her strength she seemed to challenge
death with an indomitable vitality.
There was a certain surprise in the discovery that so blond a being
could have so much of it. She was very fair--blue of eye, yellow of
hair, pearly of skin; but all her coloring was warm and rich; when she
was well, it was an occupation to admire her ear, her cheek, her
throat; and when she was ill her eye conquered. Every delicate trait
and feature of her defied her fate, except her mouth; this had begun to
take on a pitiful expression. The doctor's blazing eye flashed on it
when he was summoned hastily. It had become a symptom to him, and was
usually the first one of which he took note.
Dr. Esmerald Thorne had the preoccupations of his eminence, and his
patients waited their turns with that undiscouraged endurance which is
the jest and the despair of less-distinguished physicians. Women took
their crochet work to his office, and men bided their time with gnawed
mustache and an unnatural interest in the back-number magazines upon
his table. Indifferent ailments received his belated attention, and to
certain patients he came when he got ready. Mrs. Avery's was not one
of these cases.
When Molly's tumultuous telephone call reached him that dav, it found
him at the hospital, sewing up an accident. He drew the thread through
the stitch, handed the needle to the house surgeon, who was standing
by, and ran downstairs. The hospital was two miles from Marshall
Avery's house. Dr. Thorne's horse took the distance on a gallop, and
Dr. Thorne took Avery's stairs two at a
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LOVE AFFAIRS
OF THE COURTS OF EUROPE
BY
THORNTON HALL, F.S.A.,
Barrister-at-Law,
Author of "Love romancies of the Aristocracy",
"Love intrigues of Royal Courts", etc., etc.
TO
MY COUSIN,
LENORE
CONTENTS
CHAP
I. A COMEDY QUEEN
II. THE "BONNIE PRINCE'S" BRIDE
III. THE PEASANT AND THE EMPRESS
IV. A CROWN THAT FAILED
V. A QUEEN OF HEARTS
VI. THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER
VII. A PRINCESS OF MYSTERY
VIII. THE KING AND THE "LITTLE DOVE"
IX. THE ROMANCE OF THE BEAUTIFUL SWEDE
X. THE SISTER OF AN EMPEROR
XI. A SIREN OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY
XII. THE CORSICAN AND THE CREOLE
XIII. THE ENSLAVER OF A KING
XIV. AN EMPRESS AND HER FAVOURITES
XV. A SEVENTEENTH-CENTURY CINDERELLA
XVI. BIANCA, GRAND DUCHESS OF TUSCANY
XVII. RICHELIEU, THE ROUE
XVIII. THE INDISCRETIONS OF A PRINCESS
XIX. THE INDISCRETIONS OF A PRINCESS--_continued_
XX. THE LOVE-AFFAIRS OF A REGENT
XXI. A DELILAH OF THE COURT OF FRANCE
XXII. THE "SUN-KING" AND THE WIDOW
XXIII. A THRONED BARBARIAN
XXIV. A FRIEND OF MARIE ANTOINETTE
XXV. THE RIVAL SISTERS
XXVI. THE RIVAL SISTERS--_continued_
XXVII. A MISTRESS OF INTRIGUE
XXVIII. AN ILL-FATED MARRIAGE
XXIX. AN ILL-FATED MARRIAGE--_continued_
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
BIANCA CAPELLO BONAVENTURA GRAND DUCHESS OF TUSCANY
CATHERINE THE SECOND OF RUSSIA
COUNT GREGORY ORLOFF
DESIREE CLARY
JOSEPHINE DE BEAUHARNAIS, EMPRESS (BY PRUD'HON)
LOLA MONTEZ, COUNTESS OF LANDSFELD
LUDWIG I., KING OF BAVARIA
FRANCESCO I., GRAND DUKE OF TUSCANY
CAROLINE OF BRUNSWICK, WIFE OF GEORGE IV
LOVE AFFAIRS OF THE COURTS OF EUROPE
CHAPTER I
A COMEDY QUEEN
"It was to a noise like thunder, and close clasped in a soldier's
embrace, that Catherine I. made her first appearance in Russian
history."
History, indeed, contains few chapters more strange, more seemingly
impossible, than this which tells the story of the maid-of-all-work--the
red-armed, illiterate peasant-girl who, without any dower of beauty or
charm, won the idolatry of an Emperor and succeeded him on the greatest
throne of Europe. So obscure was Catherine's origin that no records
reveal either her true name or the year or place of her birth. All that
we know is that she was cradled in some Livonian village, either in
Sweden or Poland, about the year 1685, the reputed daughter of a
serf-mother and a peasant-father; and that her numerous brothers and
sisters were known in later years by the name Skovoroshtchenko or
Skovronski. The very Christian name by which she is known to history
was not hers until it was given to her by her Imperial lover.
It is not until the year 1702, when the future Empress of the Russias
was a girl of seventeen, that she makes her first dramatic appearance on
the stage on which she was to play so remarkable a part. Then we find
her acting as maid-servant to the Lutheran pastor of Marienburg,
scrubbing his floors, nursing his children, and waiting on his resident
pupils, in the midst of all the perils of warfare. The Russian hosts had
for weeks been laying siege to Marienburg; and the Commandant, unable to
defend the town any longer against such overwhelming odds, had announced
his intention to blow up the fortress, and had warned the inhabitants to
leave the town.
Between the alternatives of death within the walls and the enemy
without, Pastor Glueck chose the latter; and sallying forth with his
family and
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produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
FIVE MINUTE STORIES
[Transcriber's Note: Bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and
italic text is surrounded by _underscores_.]
Books by Laura E. Richards
=STEPPING WESTWARD=
This charming autobiography by the daughter of Julia
Ward Howe and Samuel Gridley Howe is replete with
amusing anecdotes and portraits, especially of famous
literary figures of Boston. It epitomizes a long and
useful life. Illustrated. $3.00
=FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE=
The absorbing story of “The Angel of the Crimea” told
by the daughter of the person most responsible for
encouraging Miss Nightingale to become a nurse. $1.75
=JOAN OF ARC=
The stirring life and pathetic death of Domremy’s
girlish heroine, who once saved France and today
inspires it. $2.00
=ELIZABETH FRY=
The true story of Elizabeth Fry, the famous Quakeress,
who through extraordinary zeal revolutionized the
English prison system and was known as the “Angel of
the Prisons.” $1.75
ABIGAIL ADAMS AND HER TIMES
A biography of the interesting and active wife of
John Adams, based upon her own diaries and letters
and contemporary records, and told in Mrs. Richard’s
delightful style. $2.00
=LAURA BRIDGMAN=
The famous American woman who though stricken blind and
deaf led such a wonderfully rich and helpful life is
the subject of this biography. $2.00
=SAMUEL GRIDLEY HOWE=
Mrs. Richards is especially qualified to write the
biography of her distinguished father. Woven into the
biography is the account of the many friendships Dr.
Howe formed through his amazing personality and his
work. As a picture of a great man and his times, her
book is warm, glowing and human. Illustrated. $2.50
=QUICKSILVER SUE=
A charmingly told story for girls of impetuous, lovable
Sue and steady Mary. $1.50
=MERRY-GO-ROUND=
A delightful collection of rhymes, jingles, nonsense
poems, and light and amusing narrative bits by the
supreme American exponent in this field of verse for
children. Illustrated, $1.50
=HARRY IN ENGLAND: Being the Partly-True Adventures of H. R. in the
Year 1857.=
A charming tale of a little American boy’s adventures
during a visit to England. Delightfully illustrated by
Reginald Birch. $1.50
=New York= =D. Appleton-Century Company= =London=
_Books by Laura E. Richards._
“Mrs. Richards has made for herself a little niche apart in the
literary world, from her delicate treatment of New England village
life.”—_Boston Post._
[Illustration]
“=SOME SAY=,” and a companion story, “=NEIGHBOURS IN
CYRUS=.” 16mo, 50 cents.
=JIM OF HELLAS=; or, =IN DURANCE VILE=, and a companion
story, =BETHESDA POOL=. 16mo, 50 cents.
=MARIE.= 16mo, 50 cents.
“Seldom has Mrs. Richards drawn a more irresistible picture, or framed
one with more artistic literary adjustment.”—_Boston Herald._
“A perfect literary gem.”—_Boston Transcript._
=NARCISSA=, and a companion story, =IN VERONA=. 16mo,
cloth, 50 cents.
“Each is a simple, touching, sweet little story of rustic New England
life, full of vivid pictures of interesting character, and refreshing
for its unaffected genuineness and human feeling.”—_Congregationalist._
“They are the most charming stories ever written of American country
life.”—_New York World._
=MELODY.= The story of a Child. 16mo, 50 cents.
“Had there never been a ‘Captain January,’ ‘Melody’ would easily take
first place.”—_Boston Times._
“The quaintly pretty, touching, old-fashioned story is told with
perfect grace; the few persons who belong to it are touched in with
distinctness and with sympathy.”—_Milwaukee Sentinel._
=SAME.= _Illustrated
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Transcriber's Note: Italics are indicated by _underscores_.
Not Paul, But Jesus
BY JEREMY BENTHAM, ESQR.,--The Eminent
Philosopher of Sociology, Jurisprudence,
&c., of London.
With Preface Containing Sketches of His Life and
Works Together with Critical Notes by John
J. Crandall, Esqr., of the New Jersey Bar--author
of Right to Begin and Reply
EDITOR'S PREFACE.
Jeremy Bentham, an eminent English judicial or jural philosopher, was
born in London, February 15, 1748, and died at Westminster, his
residence for six years previously, June 6, 1832. His grandfather was a
London Attorney; his father, who followed the same profession, was a
shrewd man of business, and added considerably to his patrimony by land
speculations. These London Benthams were probably an offshoot from an
ancient York family of the same name, which boasted a Bishopric among
its members; but our author did not trouble himself to trace his
genealogy beyond the pawnbroker. His mother, Alicia Groove, was the
daughter of an Andover shopkeeper. Jeremy, the eldest, and for nine
years the only child of this marriage, was for the first sixteen years
of his life exceedingly puny, small and feeble. At the same time, he
exhibited a remarkable precocity which greatly stimulated the pride and
affection of his father. At five years of age he acquired a knowledge of
musical notes and learned to play the violin. At four or earlier, having
previously learned to write, he was initiated into Latin grammar, and in
his seventh year entered Westminster School. Meanwhile, he was taught
French by a private master at home and at seven read Telemaque, a book
which strongly impressed him. Learning to dance was a much more serious
undertaking, as he was so weak in his legs.
Young as he was, he acquired distinction at Westminster as a fabricator
of Latin and Greek verses, the great end and aim of the instruction
given there.
When twelve years old, he was entered as a Commoner at Queen's College,
Oxford, where he spent the next three years. Though very uncomfortable
at Oxford, he went through the exercises of the College with credit and
even with some distinction. Some Latin verses of his, on the accession
of George III, attracted a great deal of attention as the production of
one so young. Into all of the disputations which formed a part of the
College exercises, he entered with zeal and much satisfaction; yet he
never felt at home in the University because of its historical monotony,
and of all of which he retained the most unfavorable recollections.
In 1763, while not yet sixteen, he took the degree of A.B. Shortly
after this he began his course of Law in Lincoln's Inn, and journeyed
back and forth to Oxford to hear Blackstone's Lectures. These lectures
were published and read throughout the realm of England and particularly
in the American Colonies. These were criticised by the whole school of
Cromwell, Milton and such followers as Priestly and others in England
and many in the Colonies in America. Young Bentham returned to London
and attended as a student the Court of the King's Bench, then presided
over by Mansfield, of whom he continued for some years a great admirer.
Among the advocates, Dunning's clearness, directness and precision most
impressed him. He took the degree of A.M. at the age of 18, the
youngest graduate that had been known at the Universities; and in 1772
he was admitted to the Bar.
Young Bentham had breathed from infancy, at home, at school, at college
and in the Courts, an atmosphere conservative and submissive to
authority, yet in the progress of his law studies, he found a striking
contrast between the structural imperialism of the British Empire as
expounded by Blackstone and others of his day, and the philosophical
social state discussed by Aristotle, Plato, Aurelius, the struggling
patriots of France, and the new brotherhood, then agitating the colonies
of America.
His father had hoped to see him Lord-Chancellor, and took great pains to
push him forward. But having perceived a shocking contrast between the
law as it was under the Church imperial structure and such as he
conceived it ought to be, he gradually abandoned the position of a
submissive and admiring student and assumed a position among the school
of reformers and afterwards the role of sharp critic and indignant
denouncer.
He heroically suffered privations for several years in Lincoln's Inn
garrett, but persevered in study. He devoted some of his time to the
study of science. The writings of Hume, Helvetius and others led him to
adopt utility as the basis of Morals and Legislation. There had
developed two distinct parties in England: The Radicals and
Imperialists. The Radicals contended that the foundation of Legislation
was that utility which produced the greatest happiness to the greatest
number.
Blackstone and the Ecclesiastics had adopted the theory of Locke, that
the foundation of Legislation was a kind of covenant of mankind to
conform to the laws of God and Nature, as interpreted by hereditarily
self-constituted rulers.
Bentham contended that this was only a vague and uncertain collection of
words well adapted to the promotion of rule by dogmatic opinions of the
Lords and King and Ecclesiastics in combination well calculated to
deprive the people of the benefits of popular government. He conceived
the idea of codifying the laws so as to define them in terms of the
greatest good to the greatest number, and devoted a large share of the
balance of his life to this work.
In 1775 he published a small book in defense of the policy of Lord North
toward the Colonies, but for fear of prosecution it was issued by one
John Lind and extensively read. A little later he published a book
entitled "A Fragment on Government." This created a great deal of
attention. Readers variously ascribed the book to Mansfield, to Camden
and to Dunning. The impatient pride of Bentham's father betrayed this
secret. It was variously interpreted as a philosophical Treatise and a
Critical Personal Attack upon the Government. But he persevered in the
advocacy of his principals of Morals and Government. He hoped also to be
appointed Secretary of the Commission sent out by Lord North to propose
terms to the revolted American Colonies. But as King George III had
contracted a dislike to him, he was disappointed in his plan of
Conference with the Colonies. His writings were, however, more
appreciated in France. He was openly espoused as a philosopher and
reformer by D'Alimbert, Castillux, Brissat and others. But in the
meantime some such men as Lord Shelbourne, Mills and others became his
friends and admirers, and encouraged him to persevere with his
philosophical Code of laws, largely gleaned from the ancient
philosophers of liberty and equality which had been smothered and
superseded by military and Church imperialism.
In 1785 he took an extensive tour across the Alps and while at Kricov on
the Dou, he wrote his letters on Usury. These were printed in London,
which were now welcomed by the people largely on account of his
reputation in France as a philosopher of popular government. In the
meantime, Paley had printed a treatise on the Principle of applying
utility to morals and legislation. He determined to print his views in
French and address them to that people then struggling for liberal
government.
He revised his sheets on his favorite penal Code and published them
under the title of "An Introduction to the Principles of Morals and
Legislation." The Principles enunciated in this treatise attracted the
attention of the liberals in France, as well as England and America.
Mirabeau and other French publishers spread his reputation far and wide.
Meanwhile, Bentham with the idea of aiding the deliberations of the
States General of France, and encouraged by the liberals on both
continents, and especially such men as Franklin, Jefferson and others,
printed a "Draft of a Code for the organization of a Judicial
Establishment in France," for which services the National Assembly
conferred on him the Citizenship of France by a decree, August 23, 1792,
in which his name was included with those of Priestly, Paine,
Wilberforce, Clarkson, Mackintosh, Anacharsis, Clootz, Washington,
Klopstock, Kosiosco, and several others.
In the meantime,
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THE ANCIENT WELSH BARDS***
Transcribed from the [1862] John Pryse, Llanidloes edition by David
Price, email [email protected]
SOME
SPECIMENS OF THE POETRY
OF
THE ANCIENT WELSH BARDS.
Translated into English,
WITH EXPLANATORY NOTES ON THE HISTORICAL PASSAGES, AND A SHORT ACCOUNT OF
MEN AND PLACES MENTIONED BY THE BARDS.
BY THE
REV. EVAN EVANS, (IEUAN PRYDYDD HIR.)
"Vos quoque, qui fortes animas belloque peremptas
Laudibus in longum, Vates, dimittitis aevum,
Plurima securi fudistis carmina Bardi."
LUCANUS.
--"Si quid mea carmina possunt
Aonio statuam sublimes vertice Bardos,
Bardos Pieridum cultores atque canentis
Phoebi delicias, quibus est data cura perennis
Dicere nobilium clarissima facta virorum,
Aureaque excelsam famam super astra locare."
LELANDUS in Assertione Arturii.
REPRINTED FROM DODSLEY'S EDITION OF 1764.
* * * * *
PUBLISHED BY JOHN PRYSE, LLANIDLOES, MONTGOMERY;
AND SOLD BY ALL BOOKSELLERS.
TO
SIR ROGER MOSTYN,
OF
MOSTYN AND GLODDAITH, BART.,
Representative of the County, Lord Lieutenant, and Lieutenant Colonel of
the Militia of Flintshire.
SIR,
I hope you will pardon my presumption in prefixing your name to the
following small collection of British poems, to which you have a just
claim, as being lineally descended from those heroes they celebrate, and
retain in an eminent manner the worth and generous principles of your
renowned ancestors. The British Bards were received by the nobility and
gentry with distinguished marks of esteem, in every part of Wales, and
particularly at Gloddaith and Mostyn, where their works are still
preserved in your curious libraries. I hope, therefore, an attempt to
give the public a small specimen of their works will not fail of your
approbation, which the editor flatters himself with, from the generous
manner with which you treated him, particularly by lending him some of
your valuable books and manuscripts.
That you may long continue to be an ornament to your country, and a
pattern of virtuous actions, and a generous patron of learning, is the
sincere wish, of,
Sir,
Your obliged
Humble Servant,
EVAN EVANS.
PREFACE.
As there is a natural curiosity in most people to be brought acquainted
with the works of men, whose names have been conveyed down to us with
applause from very early antiquity, I have been induced to think, that a
translation of some of the Welsh Bards would be no unacceptable present
to the public. It is true they lived in times when all Europe was
enveloped with the dark cloud of bigotry and ignorance; yet, even under
these disadvantageous circumstances, a late instance may convince us,
that poetry shone forth with a light, that seems astonishing to many
readers. They who have perused the works of Ossian, as translated by Mr.
Macpherson, will, I believe, be of my opinion.
I mean not to set the following poems in competition with those just
mentioned; nor did the success which they have met with from the world,
put me upon this undertaking. It was first thought of, and encouraged
some years before the name of Ossian was known in England. I had long
been convinced, that no nation in Europe possesses greater remains of
ancient and genuine pieces of this kind than the Welsh; and therefore was
inclined, in honour to my country, to give a specimen of them in the
English language.
As to the genuineness of these poems, I think there can be no doubt; but
though we may vie with the Scottish nation in this particular, yet there
is another point, in which we must yield to them undoubtedly. The
language of their oldest poets, it seems, is still perfectly
intelligible, which is by no means our case.
The works of Taliesin, Llywarch Hen, Aneurin Gwawdrydd, Myrddin Wyllt,
Avan Verddig, who all flourished about the year 560, a considerable time
after Ossian, are hardly understood by the best critics
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THE LOST CONTINENT
C. J. Cutliffe Hyne
CONTENTS
PREFATORY: THE LEGATEES OF DEUCALION
1 MY RECALL
2 BACK TO ATLANTIS
3 A RIVAL NAVY
4 THE WELCOME OF PHORENICE
5 ZAEMON'S CURSE
6 THE BITERS OF THE CITY WALLS
7 THE BITERS OF THE WALLS
(FURTHER ACCOUNT)
8 THE PREACHER FROM THE MOUNTAINS
9 PHORENICE, GODDESS
10 A WOOING
11 AN AFFAIR WITH THE BARBAROUS FISHERS
12 THE DRUG OF OUR LADY THE MOON
13 THE BURYING ALIVE OF NAIS
14 AGAIN THE GODS MAKE CHANGE
15 ZAEMON'S SUMMONS
16 SIEGE OF THE SACRED MOUNTAIN
17 NAIS THE REGAINED
18 STORM OF THE SACRED MOUNTAIN
19 DESTRUCTION OF THE ATLANTIS
20 ON THE BOSOM OF THE DEEP
PREFATORY:
THE LEGATEES OF DEUCALION
We were both of us not a little stiff as the result of sleeping out in
the open all that night, for even in Grand Canary the dew-fall and the
comparative chill of darkness are not to be trifled with. For myself on
these occasions I like a bit of a run as an early refresher. But here on
this rough ground in the middle of the island there were not three yards
of level to be found, and so as Coppinger proceeded to go through some
sort of dumb-bell exercises with a couple of lumps of bristly lava, I
followed his example. Coppinger has done a good deal of roughing it in
his time, but being a doctor of medicine amongst other things--he takes
out a new degree of some sort on an average every other year--he is
great on health theories, and practises them like a religion.
There had been rain two days before, and as there was still a bit of
stream trickling along at the bottom of the barranca, we went down there
and had a wash, and brushed our teeth. Greatest luxury imaginable, a
toothbrush, on this sort of expedition.
"Now," said Coppinger when we had emptied our pockets, "there's precious
little grub left, and it's none the better for being carried in a local
Spanish newspaper."
"Yours is mostly tobacco ashes."
"It'll get worse if we leave it. We've a lot more bad scrambling ahead
of us."
That was obvious. So we sat down beside the stream there at the bottom
of the barranca, and ate up all of what was left. It was a ten-mile
tramp to the fonda at Santa Brigida, where we had set down our traps;
and as Coppinger wanted to take a lot more photographs and measurements
before we left this particular group of caves, it was likely we should
be pretty sharp set before we got our next meal, and our next taste of
the PATRON'S splendid old country wine. My faith! If only they knew down
in the English hotels in Las Palmas what magnificent wines one could
get--with diplomacy--up in some of the mountain villages, the old
vintage would become a thing of the past in a week.
Now to tell the truth, the two mummies he had gathered already quite
satisfied my small ambition. The goatskins in which they were sewn up
were as brittle as paper, and the poor old things themselves gave out
dust like a puffball whenever they were touched. But you know what
Coppinger is. He thought he'd come upon traces of an old Guanche
university, or sacred college, or something of that kind, like the one
there is on the other side of the island, and he wouldn't be satisfied
till he'd ransacked every cave in the whole face of the cliff. He'd
plenty of stuff left for the flashlight thing, and twenty-eight more
films in his kodak, and said we might as well get through with the job
then as make a return journey all on purpose. So he took the crowbar,
and I shouldered the rope, and away we went up to the ridge of the
cliff, where we had got such a baking from the sun the day before.
Of course these caves were not easy to come at, or else they would have
been raided years before. Coppinger, who on principle makes out he
knows all about these things, says that in the old Guanche days they
had ladders of goatskin rope which they could pull up when they were at
home, and so keep out undesirable callers; and as no other plan occurs
to me, perhaps he may be right. Anyway the mouths of the caves were in
a more or less level row thirty feet below the ridge of the cliff, and
f
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(This file was produced from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive)
TEN THOUSAND
WONDERFUL THINGS
COMPRISING
WHATEVER IS MARVELLOUS AND RARE, CURIOUS
ECCENTRIC AND EXTRAORDINARY
IN ALL AGES AND NATIONS
ENRICHED WITH
_HUNDREDS OF AUTHENTIC ILLUSTRATIONS_
EDITED BY
EDMUND FILLINGHAM KING, M.A.
LONDON
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS, LIMITED
BROADWAY, LUDGATE HILL
MANCHESTER AND NEW YORK
1894
STANDARD WORKS OF REFERENCE.
_UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME._
LEMPRIERE'S CLASSICAL DICTIONARY.
WALKER'S RHYMING DICTIONARY.
MACKAY'S THOUSAND AND ONE GEMS OF ENGLISH POETRY.
D'ISRAELI'S CURIOSITIES OF LITERATURE.
BARTLETT'S FAMILIAR QUOTATIONS.
CRUDEN'S CONCORDANCE TO THE BIBLE.
THE FAMILY DOCTOR.
PREFACE.
A BOOK OF WONDERS requires but a brief introduction. Our title-page
tells its own tale and forms the best exposition of the contents of the
volume.
Everything that is marvellous carries with it much that is instructive,
and, in this sense, "Ten Thousand Wonderful Things," may be made useful
for the highest educational purposes. Events which happen in the
regular course have no claim to a place in any work that professes to
be a register of what is uncommon; and were we to select such Wonders
only as are capable of familiar demonstration, we should destroy their
right to be deemed wondrous, and, at the same time, defeat the very
object which we profess to have in view. A marvel once explained away
ceases to be a marvel. For this reason, while rejecting everything that
is obviously fictitious and untrue, we have not hesitated to insert
many incidents which appear at first sight to be wholly incredible.
In the present work, interesting Scenes from Nature, Curiosities
of Art, Costume and Customs of a bygone period rather predominate;
but we have devoted many of its pages to descriptions of remarkable
Occurrences, beautiful Landscapes, stupendous Water-falls, and sublime
Sea-pieces. It is true that some of our illustrations may not be
beautiful according to the sense in which the word is generally used;
but they are all the more curious and characteristic, as well as
truthful, on that account; for whatever is lost of beauty, is gained by
accuracy. What is odd or quaint, strange or startling, rarely possesses
much claim to the picturesque and refined. Scrape the rust off an
antique coin, and, while you make it look more shining, you invariably
render it worthless in the eyes of a collector. To polish up a fact
which derives its value either from the strangeness of its nature, or
from the quaintness of its narration, is like the obliterating process
of scrubbing up a painting by one of the old masters. It looks all the
cleaner for the operation, but, the chances are, it is spoilt as a work
of art.
We trust it is needless to say that we have closed our pages against
everything that can be considered objectionable in its tendency; and,
while every statement in this volume has been culled with conscientious
care from authentic, although not generally accessible, sources, we
have scrupulously rejected every line that could give offence, and
endeavoured, in accordance with what we profess in our title-page, to
amuse by the eccentric, to startle by the unexpected, and to astonish
by the marvellous.
INDEX TO ENGRAVINGS
PAGE
ABYSSINIAN ARMS, 509
---- LADIES, 492
---- ORNAMENTS OF, 493
---- LADY TATTOOED, 496
ALTAR-PIECE OF SAN MINIATO, 601
AMULET WORN BY EGYPTIAN FEMALES, 452
AMULET BROTCHE, 332
ANCIENT METHOD OF KEEPING A WASHING ACCOUNT, 3
---- NUT-CRACKERS, 236
---- SNUFF-BOXES, 210
ANGLO-SAXONS, SEPULCHRAL BARROW OF THE, 27
APTERYX, THE, OR WINGLESS BIRD, 308
ARCH, A BEAUTIFUL, IN CANNISTOWN CHURCH, 433
---- OF TRAJAN AT BENEVENTUM, 445
ARCHITECTURE FOR EARTHQUAKES, 324
ARMLET, AN ANCIENT, 425
ARMOUR, ANCIENT, CURIOUS PIECE OF, 341
ASH, THE SHREW, 397
AZTEC CHILDREN, THE, 37
BAGPIPES, 505
BANDOLIERS, 560
BANNERS AND STANDARDS, ANCIENT, 584, 585
BASTILLE, STORMING OF THE, 195
BEAU BRUMMELL (A), OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY, 61
BECTIVE ABBEY, 392
BEDESMEN IN THE TIME OF HENRY VII, 593
BELLOWS, A PRIMITIVE PAIR OF, 637
BELL SHRINE, AN ANCIENT, 348
---- OF SAINT MURA, 412
BIBLE USED BY CHARLES I. ON THE SCAFFOLD, 271
BILLY IN THE SALT BOX, 181
BLACKFRIARS, PARIS GARDEN AT, 465
BLIND GRANNY, 70
---- JACK, 23
BOAT, A BURMESE, 668
BOOK-SHAPED WATCH, 328
BRACELET, A MAGICIAN'S, 345
BRAMA, THE HINDOO DEITY, 556
BRANK, THE, 2
BRASS MEDAL OF OUR SAVIOUR, 241
BRITANNIA TUBULAR BRIDGE, 173
BROOCH, ANCIENT SCANDINAVIAN, 401
BRICKS OF BABYLON, 613
BRIDGE OVER THE THAMES, THE FIRST, 428
---- A CHINESE, 440
---- CROMWELL'S, AT GLENGARIFF, 648
BUCKINGER, MATTHEW, 53
BUCKLER OF THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY, WITH PISTOL INSERTED, 30
BUNYAN'S (JOHN) TOMB, 157
BURMESE PRIEST PREACHING, 266
BUST, AN ANCIENT ETRURIAN, 677
CAMDEN CUP, THE, 250
CANDLESTICK, A REMARKABLE, IN FAYENCE, 592
---- OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS, 436
CARFAX CONDUIT, 333
CARRIAGE, A TURKISH, 656
CASCADE DES PELERINES, 135
CATACOMBS AT ROME, 87
CAVE, PORT <DW53>, 516
---- THE TIGER, AT CUTTACK, 361
CHAIR BROUGHT OVER TO AMERICA BY THE PILGRIM FATHERS, 186
---- DAGOBERT'S, ANCIENT, 421
---- HENRY VIII.'S, 488
---- THE DUCHESS OF LAUDERDALE'S, 401
CHAPTER-HOUSE, A, IN THE TIME OF HENRY VII., 600
CHARLEMAGNE, CROWN OF, 377
CHIEFTAIN, ANCIENT SCOTTISH, 500
CHINESE METHOD OF FISHING, 316
---- PUNISHMENT OF THE KANG, OR WOODEN COLLAR, 134
CHRISTMAS, PROCLAIMING THE NON-OBSERVANCE OF, 19
CISTERN OF MAJOLICA WARE, 597
COFFEE POT, IN STONEWARE, A CURIOUS, 649
COIN, THE FIRST, WITH BRITANNIA ON IT, 468
COLLARS, ANCIENT STONE, 665
COLUMN AT CUSSI, 533
COMB, A CURIOUS INDIAN, 657
CORAL REEFS, 74
CORPSE BEARER DURING THE PLAGUE, 284
COSTUMES, ANCIENT, 18, 71, 78, 86, 212, 213, 220, 296, 297
---- GERMAN, OF THE 16TH CENTURY, 548
COSTUME, FOREIGN, IN 1492, 543
---- OF A GERMAN NOBLE, 536
COUTEAU-DE-CHASSE, 633
CRADLE OF MOSS, 325
---- HENRY V., 416
CROSBY, SIR JOHN, HELMET OF, 520
CROSS OF CONG, 457
---- MUIREDACH, 369
CUCKING STOOL, 1
CUPID OF THE HINDOOS, THE, 552
CURFEW BELL, THE, 33
CURIOUS FIGURES ON A SMALL SHRINE, 203
DAGGER OF RAOUL DE COURCY, 263
---- AN ANCIENT, 673
DAGOBERT, ANCIENT CHAIR OF, 421
DANCING NATIVES OF NEW SOUTH WALES, 225
DARNEY (JENNY), A HARMLESS ECCENTRIC OF THE YEAR 1790, 187
DERVISHES DANCING, 669
DIAL AND FOUNTAIN IN LEADENHALL STREET, 553
DINNER PARTY IN THE 17TH CENTURY, 609
---- TABLE, AN EGYPTIAN, 537
DIOGENES IN A PITHOS--NOT TUB, 524
DOG-WHEEL, THE OLD, 101
DRINKING CUP, A CURIOUSLY SHAPED, 413
---- EARLY GERMAN, 460
---- VESSEL, A DECORATIVE, 336
---- GLASS, ANCIENT, 153
DROPPING WELL OF KNARESBOROUGH, 143
DRUID'S SEAT, THE, 464
DUCK-BILLED PLATYPUS, OR ORNITHORYNCHUS PARADOXUS, 273
DYAK WITH HEADS, SKULL HOUSE, AND HOUSE OF SEA DYAKS, 276, 277
---- WAR BOAT IN BORNEO, 540
DYAKS OF BORNEO, WAR DANCE OF THE, 541
EAST INDIA HOUSE, THE FIRST, 206
EDDYSTONE LIGHTHOUSE, 109
EGYPTIAN TOYS IN THE BRITISH MUSEUM, 130
EMBROIDERED GLOVE, PRESENTED BY MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTLAND,
TO AN ATTENDANT ON THE MORNING OF HER EXECUTION, 263
EXTRAORDINARY CATARACT, 224
---- SITUATION FOR A TREE, 313
---- TREE, 183
FASHIONABLE DISFIGUREMENT OF THE TIME OF CHARLES I., 213
FAWKES HALL, OLD MANOR HOUSE OF, 380
FETE OF THE FEDERATION OF THE NATIONAL GUARDS OF
FRANCE, 1790, 289
FIGG (JAMES), THE CHAMPION PRIZE-FIGHTER OF 1733, 113
FISH, SHOOTING, 432
FISHERMAN, BULGARIAN, 497
FLOATING CITY OF BANKOK, 309
FONT AT KILCARN, THE, 417
FRENCH ASSIGNATS, FAC-SIMILE OF THE FORMS IN WHICH THEY
WERE ISSUED TO THE PUBLIC, 254
FULLERTON'S (COLONEL) DEVICE FOR PASSING A MOUNTAIN TORRENT, 194
FUNEREAL JAR, 481
GARDEN, EGYPTIAN, 349
GARRICK'S CUP, 232
GATE, THE, ON OLD LONDON BRIDGE, 561
GAUNTLET OF HENRY, PRINCE OF WALES, 661
GIANT TREE, 229
GLAIVE, A, 504
GRACE KNIVES, 641
GRAVES OF THE STONE PERIOD, 364
GREAT WALL OF CHINA, 233
GREY MAN'S PATH, THE, 528
GUN, A CELEBRATED, 568
GUY, THOMAS, PORTRAIT OF, 605
HACKNEY COACHMAN OF THE TIME OF CHARLES II., 258
HACKNEY COACH, THE EARLIEST, 211
HEAD-BREAKER, A, 665
---- ORNAMENT, ANTIQUE, 393
HEART OF LORD EDWARD BRUCE AND CASE, 246, 247
HELMET, AN EARLY ENGLISH, 632
HELMET OF SIR JOHN CROSBY, 520
HENRY V., CRADLE OF, 516
---- VII., BEDESMEN IN THE TIME OF, 393
---- VIII., CHAIR OF, 488
---- I. (KING) DREAM OF, 26
---- VIII.'S WALKING STICK, 30
HINDOO ADORATION OF THE SALAGRAM, 588
HOLY-WATER SPRINKLER, 532
HOOPS, LADIES', IN 1740, 6
HUDSON, JEFFERY, THE DWARF OF THE COURT OF CHARLES I., 472
IMPLEMENTS USED IN BUDDHIST TEMPLES, 621
INCENSE CHARIOT, AN ANCIENT, 513
INSTRUMENTS OF TORTURE:--THE EXECUTIONER'S AXE; THE BLOCK
ON WHICH LORDS BALMERINO AND LOVAT WERE BEHEADED; THE
SCAVENGER'S DAUGHTER; SPANISH BILBOES; MASSIVE IRON
COLLAR FOR THE NECK; THUMB SCREW. BRAND FOR MARKING
FELONS: IMPRESSION OF BRAND; PUNISHMENT FOR DRUNKARDS,
FORMERLY IN USE AT NEWCASTLE-ON-TYNE; THE WHIRLIGIG,
A MILITARY METHOD OF PUNISHMENT; PILLORY, STOCKS, AND
WHIPPING-POST FORMERLY ON LONDON BRIDGE, 60, 90
IRRIGATION, TURKISH MACHINE FOR, 681
JAMES I., CURIOUS JEWEL WHICH BELONGED TO, 456
---- II., AND THE CHURCH OF DONORE, 557
JEWEL PRESENTED BY MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS, TO EARL HUNTLEY, 243
JOHNSON'S (DR. SAMUEL), RESIDENCE IN INNER TEMPLE LANE, 48
---- OLD STAIRCASE IN, 49
JOY (WILLIAM), THE ENGLISH SAMPSON, 177
KING'S STONE, THE, 461
KNIGHT'S COSTUME OF THE 13TH CENTURY, 480
LAMPS, ANCIENT ROMAN, 437
LOCOMOTIVE, THE FIRST, 96
---- THE PRESENT, AND TRAIN, 97
LORD OF MISRULE, 15
LOUIS XII., IVORY SCEPTRE OF, 476
LOUIS XVI., EXECUTION OF, 255
LUTHER'S (MARTIN) TANKARD, 150
LYNCH'S CASTLE, GALWAY, 581
MAGICIAN'S MIRROR, 344
---- BRACELET, 345
MAY-POLES, 101
MAIL, ANCIENT SUIT OF, 484
MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS', CANDLESTICK, 436
MEDMENHAM ABBEY, 429
MILITARY HATS IN THE OLDEN TIME, 75
MILL AT LISSOY, 469
MIRROR, A MAGICIAN'S, 344
MONSOONS, 180
MONSTROUS HEAD-DRESS OF 1782, 242
MONUMENTS, WAYSIDE, 588
---- ROCK CUT, OF ASIA MINOR, 444
MORAYSHIRE FLOODS, 126
MOSQUE OF OMAR, 317
---- ST. SOPHIA, 104
MUMMERS, OR ANCIENT WAITS, 14
MUMMY CASES, 409
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THE CRITIC
IN THE ORIENT
[Illustration:
The Taj Mahal at
Agra. This Tomb,
Built by Shah Jahan
to Immortalize His
Favorite Wife, Is
Conceded to be the
Most Beautiful Building
in the World
"Matchless, perfect in
form, a miracle
Of grace and tenderness
and symmetry,
Pearl-pure against the
sapphire of the
sky"]
THE CRITIC
IN THE ORIENT
GEORGE HAMLIN FITCH
AUTHOR OF
"COMFORT FOUND IN GOOD OLD BOOKS"
"MODERN ENGLISH BOOKS OF POWER"
"THE CRITIC IN THE OCCIDENT"
East is East and West is West and
never the twain shall meet,
Till Earth and Sky stand presently
at God's great Judgment Seat.
--Kipling
ILLUSTRATED
FROM
PHOTOGRAPHS
PAUL ELDER AND COMPANY
PUBLISHERS. SAN FRANCISCO
_Copyright, 1913_
by PAUL ELDER AND COMPANY
The chapters of this
book appeared originally in the
Sunday supplement of the San Francisco _Chronicle_.
The privilege of reproducing them
here is due to the courtesy of
M. H. de Young, Esq.
The author is greatly
indebted to Isaac O. Upham, Esq.,
for the fine photographs which illustrate the
section on Japan and for several
photographs of Indian
scenes
TO MY FELLOW TOURISTS
ON THE MINNESOTA, WHOSE
COMPANIONSHIP MADE MANY
TEDIOUS JOURNEYS BY LAND
AND SEA ENJOYABLE
CONTENTS
PAGE
Introduction IX
The Best Results of Travel in the Orient XIII
Japan, The Picture Country of the Orient 1
First Impressions of Japan and the Life of the Japanese--
The Japanese Capital and its Parks and Temples--The
Most Famous City of Temples in all Japan--In Kyoto,
The Ancient Capital of Japan--Kobe, Osaka, The Inland
Sea and Nagasaki--Development of the Japanese Sense of
Beauty--Conclusions on Japanese Life and Character--
Will the Japanese Retain Their Good Traits?
Manila, Transformed by the Americans 49
First Impressions of Manila and Its Picturesque People--
American Work in the Philippine Islands--Scenes in the
City of Manila and Suburbs.
Hongkong, Canton, Singapore and Rangoon 63
Hongkong, the Greatest British Port in the Orient--A
Visit to Canton in Days of Wild Panic--Singapore, the
Meeting Place of Many Races--strange Night Scenes in
the City of Singapore--Characteristic Sights in Burma's
Largest City.
India, The Land of Temples, Palaces and Monuments 93
Calcutta, the Most Beautiful of Oriental Cities--Bathing,
and Burning the Dead at Benares--Lucknow and Cawnpore,
Cities of the Mutiny--The Taj Mahal, the World's
Loveliest Building--Delhi and Its Ancient Mohammedan
Ruins--Scenes in Bombay When the King Arrived--Religion
and Customs of the Bombay Parsees.
Egypt, The Home of Hieroglyphs, Tombs and Mummies 135
Picturesque Oriental Life as Seen in Cairo--Among the
Ruins of Luxor and Karnak--Tombs of The Kings at
Ancient Thebes--Sailing Down the Nile on a Small
Steamer--Before the Pyramids and the Sphinx.
Hints for Travelers 167
Some Suggestions That May Save the Tourist Time and
Money.
Bibliography 171
Books Which Help One to Understand the Orient and
Its People.
Index 175
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
The Taj Mahal at Agra _Frontispiece_
The Yomei-mori Gate, Ieyasu Temple, Nikko _Facing_ 14
The Daibutsu or Great Bronze Buddha at Hyogo 30
Imperial Gate, Fort Santiago, Manila 56
The City of Boats at Canton 74
Hindoos Bathing in the Ganges at Benares 100
Front View of the Taj Mahal, Agra 114
One of the Main Avenues of Bombay 126
The Great Hypostyle Hall at Karnak 146
PLATES
PLATE
Japan _Following page_ 48
Street Scene, Asakusa Park, Tokyo I
Entrance Hall of Modern Home of a Tokyo Millionaire II
Bronze Lanterns and Sacred Fountain, Shiba Temple, Tokyo III
Sacred Red Bridge at Nikko IV
Avenue of Cryptomeria to Futaaru Temple, Nikko V
Avenue of Cryptomeria Trees, near Nikko VI
Great Bronze Torii, Nikko VII
Stone Lanterns, Kasuga Temple Park, Nara VIII
Religious Procession, Kyoto IX
Scene on Canal, Kyoto X
Street Scene in Kobe XI
A Group of Japanese Schoolboys XII
Japanese Peasant Group by the Roadside XIII
Scene in Large Private Garden, Kyoto XIV
Iris Bed at Horikiri, near Tokyo XV
Private Garden, Kamakura XVI
Manila _Following page_ 62
A Glimpse of the Escolta, Manila XVII
Old Church and Bridge at Pasig XVIII
The Binondo Canal at Manila XIX
On the Malecon Drive, Manila XX
View on a Manila Canal XXI
A Filipino Peasant Girl on the Way to Market XXII
The Carabao Cart in the Philippines XXIII
The Nipa Hut of the Filipino XXIV
Hongkong, Canton, Singapore, Rangoon _Following page_ 91
Queen's Road in Hongkong. XXV
Flower Market in a Hongkong Street XXVI
Coolies Carrying Burdens at Hongkong XXVII
The Spacious Foreign Bund at Hongkong XXVIII
Chinese Junks in Hongkong Harbor XXIX
View of the Water-front at Canton XXX
The New Chinese Bund at Canton XXXI
A Confucian Festival at Singapore XXXII
A Main Street in the Native Quarter of Singapore XXXIII
The Y. M. C. A. Building at Singapore XXXIV
The Great Shwe Dagon Pagoda at Rangoon XXXV
Entrance to the Shwe Dagon Pagoda XXXVI
Burmese Worshipping in the Pagoda at Rangoon XXXVII
Riverside Scene at Rangoon XXXVIII
Trained Elephant Piling Teak at Rangoon XXXIX
Palm Avenue, Royal Lakes, Rangoon XL
India _Following page_ 134
One of the Main Gates to Government House, Calcutta XLI
A Street Scene in Calcutta XLII
The Great Burning Ghat at Benares XLIII
View of the Bathing Ghats at Benares XLIV
A Holy Man of Benares Under His Umbrella XLV
The Residency at Lucknow XLVI
Tomb of Itmad-ul-Daulet at Agra XLVII
The Mutiny Memorial at Cawnpore XLVIII
Detail of Carving in the Jasmine Tower, Agra XLIX
The Jasmine Tower in Agra Fort L
Snap-shot of a Jain Family at Agra LI
The Fort at Agra Which Encloses Many Palaces LII
Kutab Minar, the Arch and the Iron Pillar, near Delhi LIII
Shah Jehan's Heaven on Earth, Delhi LIV
Street View in Delhi LV
A Parsee Tower of Silence at Bombay LVI
Egypt _Following page_ 164
A Typical Street in Old Cairo LVII
An Arab Cafe in One of Cairo's Streets LVIII
Women Water Carriers in Turkish Costume LIX
The Rameseon at Karnak LX
The Avenue of Sphinxes at Karnak LXI
An Arab Village on the Nile LXII
The Colossi of Memnon, near Thebes LXIII
The Great Sphinx, Showing the Temple Underneath LXIV
Introduction
This book of impressions of the Far East is called "The Critic in the
Orient," because the writer for over thirty years has been a
professional critic of new books--one trained to get at the best in all
literary works and reveal it to the reader. This critical work--a
combination of rapid reading and equally rapid written estimate of new
publications--would have been deadly, save for a love of books, so deep
and enduring that it has turned drudgery into pastime and an enthusiasm
for discovering good things in every new book which no amount of
literary trash was ever able to smother.
After years of such strenuous critical work, the mind becomes molded in
a certain cast. It is as impossible for me to put aside the habit of the
literary critic as it would be for a hunter who had spent his whole life
in the woods to be content in a great city. So when I started out on
this trip around the world
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Produced by Rose Mawhorter and the Online Distributed
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Internet Archive)
Transcriber's Notes
All obvious spelling errors have been corrected.
The Greek word Ὠθεὰ has been corrected to Ὠ θεὰ.
BELL'S ENGLISH HISTORY SOURCE BOOKS
_General Editors_: +S. E. Winbolt+, M.A., and +Kenneth Bell+, M.A.
YORK AND LANCASTER
BELL'S ENGLISH HISTORY SOURCE BOOKS.
_Volumes now Ready, 1s. 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 Growth of Parliament, and the War with
Scotland.= 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+, B.A.
=1547-1603.= =The Age of Elizabeth.= Edited by +Arundell
Esdaile+, M.A.
=1603-1660.= =Puritanism and
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A MOTOR-FLIGHT
THROUGH FRANCE
[Illustration: CHAUVIGNY: RUINS OF CASTLE]
A MOTOR-FLIGHT
THROUGH FRANCE
BY
EDITH WHARTON
ILLUSTRATED
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
1908
COPYRIGHT, 1908, BY
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
Published October, 1908
[Illustration]
CONTENTS
PART I
CHAPTER PAGE
I. BOULOGNE TO AMIENS 1
II. BEAUVAIS AND ROUEN 15
III. FROM ROUEN TO FONTAINEBLEAU 24
IV. THE LOIRE AND THE INDRE 34
V. NOHANT TO CLERMONT 48
VI. IN AUVERGNE 56
VII. ROYAT TO BOURGES 66
PART II
I. PARIS TO POITIERS 73
II. POITIERS TO THE PYRENEES 95
III. THE PYRENEES TO PROVENCE 117
IV. THE RHONE TO THE SEINE 143
PART III
A FLIGHT TO THE NORTH-EAST 172
ILLUSTRATIONS
Chauvigny: Ruins of castle Frontispiece
Facing page
Arras: Hôtel de Ville 2
Amiens: West front of the Cathedral 6
Amiens: Ambulatory of the Cathedral 10
Beauvais: West front of the Cathedral 14
Rouen: Rue de l’Horloge 18
Rouen: The façade of the Church of Saint-Maclou 22
Rouen: Monument of the Cardinals of Amboise in the Cathedral 26
Le Petit Andely: View of the town and Château Gaillard 30
Orléans: General view of the town 38
Nohant: Château of George Sand 42
Nohant: Garden pavilion 44
Clermont-Ferrand: Notre-Dame du Port 50
Orcival: The church 62
Moulins: Place del’Hôtel-de-Ville and the Jacquemart tower 70
Bourges: Apse of the Cathedral 74
Château of Maintenon 76
Neuvy Saint-Sépulcre: Church of the Precious Blood 84
Neuvy Saint-Sépulcre: Interior of the church 88
Poitiers: Baptistery of St. John 90
Poitiers: The Church of Notre-Dame-la-Grande 92
Angoulême: Façade of the Cathedral 96
Thiers: View of the town from the Pont de Seychalles 98
Bordeaux: Church of The Holy Cross 100
Bétharram: The bridge 106
Argelès-Gazost: The old bridge 108
Salies de Béarn: View of old town 110
St. Bertrand-de-Comminges: Pier of the Four Evangelists in the
Cloister 116
Albi: General view of the Cathedral 118
Albi: Interior of the Cathedral 120
Nîmes: The Baths of Diana--public gardens 122
Carcassonne: The Porte de l’Aude 124
Saint-Remy: The Mausoleum 126
St. Maximin: Choir stalls in the church 130
Toulon: The House of Puget 134
Orange: The Arch of Marius 136
Grignan: Gate of the castle 138
Valence: The Cathedral 142
Vienne: General view of the town 146
Brou: Tomb of Margaret of Austria in the church 150
Dijon: Mourners on the tomb of Jean Sans Peur 154
Avallon: General view of the town 158
Vézelay: Narthex of the Church of the Madeleine 160
Sens: Apse of the Cathedral 168
Noyon: Hôtel de Ville 186
St. Quentin: Hôtel de Ville 188
Laon: General view of the town and Cathedral 192
Soissons: Ruined church of Saint-Jean-des-Vignes 196
A MOTOR-FLIGHT THROUGH FRANCE
PART I
I
BOULOGNE TO AMIENS
The motor-car has restored the romance of travel.
Freeing us from all the compulsions and contacts of the railway,
the bondage to fixed hours and the beaten track, the approach to
each town through the area of ugliness and desolation created by the
railway itself, it has given us back the
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[Illustration: Then Mimer saw the bear, (see page 4)]
TOLD TO THE CHILDREN SERIES
EDITED BY LOUEY CHISHOLM
STORIES OF
SIEGFRIED
TOLD TO THE CHILDREN BY
MARY MACGREGOR
WITH PICTURES BY
GRANVILLE FELL
LONDON: T. C. & E. C. JACK
NEW YORK: E. P. DUTTON & CO.
* * * * *
TO
DENIS
* * * * *
Dear Denis,--Here is a story that I found in an old German poem called
the Nibelungenlied. The poem is full of strange adventure, adventure
of both tiny dwarf and stalwart mortal.
Some of these adventures will fill this little book, and already I can
see you sitting in the nursery as you read them.
The door is opened but you do not look up. 'Denis! Denis!' You are
called, but you do not hear, for you are not really in the nursery any
longer.
You have wandered away to Nibelheim, the home of the strange little
people of whom you are reading, and you have ears only for the harsh
voices of the tiny Nibelungs, eyes only for their odd, wrinkled faces.
Siegfried is the merry hero of the Nibelungenlied. I wonder will you
think him as brave as French Roland or as chivalrous as your English
favourite, Guy of Warwick? Yet even should you think the German hero
brave and chivalrous as these, I can hardly believe you will read and
re-read this little book as often as you read and re-read the volumes
which told you about your French and English heroes.--Yours
affectionately,
MARY MACGREGOR.
* * * * *
CONTENTS
Chap. Page
I. Mimer the Blacksmith, 1
II. Siegfried wins the Treasure, 11
III. Siegfried comes home, 18
IV. Kriemhild's Dream, 23
V. Siegfried journeys to Worms, 27
VI. Siegfried's Welcome to Worms, 32
VII. Siegfried's Sojourn at Worms, 42
VIII. Siegfried sees Kriemhild, 59
IX. Siegfried goes to Isenland, 64
X. Siegfried subdues Brunhild, 71
XI. Siegfried goes to the Cave, 80
XII. The Wedding Feast, 87
XIII. Siegfried goes home with Kriemhild, 93
XIV. Siegfried and Kriemhild go to Worms, 99
XV. Siegfried is slain, 106
* * * * *
LIST OF PICTURES
Then Mimer saw the bear, _Frontispiece_
Facing page
'I will kill thee, for in truth thou art an ugly monster', 8
Seizing the magic sword, he cut off their heads, 16
Knighted by the royal hand of Siegmund the King, 20
The heroes entered the streets of Worms, 32
The maiden hurled her spear, 76
Siegfried bent low before the lady Kriemhild, 86
While Siegfried drank of the cool, clear water, Hagen
stabbed him, 114
* * * * *
CHAPTER I
MIMER THE BLACKSMITH
Siegfried was born a Prince and grew to be a hero, a hero with a heart
of gold. Though he could fight, and was as strong as any lion, yet he
could love too and be as gentle as a child.
The father and mother of the hero-boy lived in a strong castle near
the banks of the great Rhine river. Siegmund, his father, was a rich
king, Sieglinde, his mother, a beautiful queen, and dearly did they
love their little son Siegfried.
The courtiers and the high-born maidens who dwelt in the castle
honoured the little Prince, and thought him the fairest child in all
the land, as indeed he was.
Sieglinde, his queen-mother, would ofttimes dress her little son in
costly garments and lead him by the hand before the proud, strong
men-at-arms who stood before the castle walls. Nought had they but
smiles and gentle words for their little Prince.
When he grew older, Siegfried would ride into the country, yet always
would he be attended by King Siegmund's most trusted warriors.
Then one day armed men entered the Netherlands, the country over which
King Siegmund ruled, and the little Prince was sent away from the
castle, lest by any evil chance he should fall into the hands of the
foe.
Siegfried was hidden away safe in the thickets of a great forest, and
dwelt there under the care of a blacksmith, named Mimer.
Mimer was a dwarf, belonging to a strange race of little folk called
Nibelungs. The Nibelungs lived for the most part in a dark little town
beneath the ground. Nibelheim was the name of this little town and
many of the tiny men who dwelt there were smiths. All the livelong day
they would hammer on their little anvils, but all through the long
night they would dance and play with tiny little Nibelung women.
It was not in the little dark town of Nibelheim that Mimer had his
forge, but under the trees of the great forest to which Siegfried had
been sent.
As Mimer or his pupils wielded their tools the wild beasts would start
from their lair, and the swift birds would wing their flight through
the mazes of the wood, lest danger lay in those heavy, resounding
strokes.
But Siegfried, the hero-boy, would laugh for glee, and seizing the
heaviest hammer he could see he would swing it with such force upon
the anvil that it would be splintered into a thousand pieces.
Then Mimer the blacksmith would scold the lad, who was now the
strongest of all the lads under his care; but little heeding his
rebukes, Siegfried would fling himself merrily out of the smithy and
hasten with great strides into the gladsome wood. For now the Prince
was growing a big lad, and his strength was even as the strength of
ten.
To-day Siegfried was in a merry mood. He would repay Mimer's rebukes
in right good fashion. He would frighten the little blacksmith dwarf
until he was forced to cry for mercy.
Clad in his forest dress of deerskins, with his hair as burnished gold
blowing around his shoulders, Siegfried wandered away into the depths
of the woodland.
There he seized the silver horn which hung from his girdle and raised
it to his lips. A long, clear note he blew, and ere the sound had died
away the boy saw a sight which pleased him well. Here was good prey
indeed! A bear, a great big shaggy bear was peering at him out of a
bush, and as he gazed the beast opened its jaws and growled, a fierce
and angry growl.
Not a whit afraid was Siegfried. Quick as lightning he had caught the
great creature in his arms, and ere it could turn upon him, it was
muzzled, and was being led quietly along toward the smithy.
Mimer was busy at his forge sharpening a sword when Siegfried reached
the doorway.
At the sound of laughter the little dwarf raised his head. It was the
Prince who laughed. Then Mimer saw the bear,[1] and letting the sword
he held drop to the ground with a clang, he ran to hide himself in the
darkest corner of the smithy.
[Footnote 1: See frontispiece.]
Then Siegfried laughed again. He was no hero-boy to-day, for next he
made the big bear hunt the little Nibelung dwarf from corner to
corner, nor could the frightened little man escape or hide himself in
darkness. Again and again as he crouched in a shadowed corner,
Siegfried would stir up the embers of the forge until all the smithy
was lighted with a ruddy glow.
At length the Prince tired of his game, and unmuzzling the bear he
chased the bewildered beast back into the shelter of the woodlands.
Mimer, poor little dwarf, all a-tremble with his fear, cried angrily,
'Thou mayest go shoot if so it please thee, and bring home thy dead
prey. Dead bears thou mayest bring hither if thou wilt, but live bears
shalt thou leave to crouch in their lair or to roam through the
forest.' But Siegfried, the naughty Prince, only laughed at the little
Nibelung's frightened face and harsh, croaking voice.
Now as the days passed, Mimer the blacksmith began to wish that
Siegfried had never come to dwell with him in his smithy. The Prince
was growing too strong, too brave to please the little dwarf, moreover
many were the mischievous tricks his pupil played on him.
Prince though he was, Mimer would see if he could not get rid of his
tormentor. For indeed though, as I have told you, Siegfried had a
heart of gold, at this time the gold seemed to have grown dim and
tarnished. Perhaps that was because the Prince had learned to distrust
and to dislike, nay, more, to hate the little, cunning dwarf.
However that may be, it is certain that Siegfried played many pranks
upon the little Nibelung, and he, Mimer, determined to get rid of the
quick-tempered, strong-handed Prince.
One day, therefore, it happened that the little dwarf told Siegfried
to go deep into the forest to bring home charcoal for the forge. And
this Mimer did, though he knew that in the very part of the forest to
which he was sending the lad there dwelt a terrible dragon, named
Regin. Indeed Regin was a brother of the little blacksmith, and would
be lying in wait for the Prince. It would be but the work of a moment
for the monster to seize the lad and greedily to devour him.
To Siegfried it was always joy to wander afar through the woodland.
Ofttimes had he thrown himself down on the soft, moss-covered ground
and lain there hour after hour, listening to the wood-birds' song.
Sometimes he would even find a reed and try to pipe a tune as sweet as
did the birds, but that was all in vain, as the lad soon found. No
tiny songster would linger to hearken to the shrill piping of his
grassy reed, and the Prince himself was soon ready to fling it far
away.
It was no hardship then to Siegfried to leave the forge and the hated
little Nibelung, therefore it was that with right good-will he set out
in search of charcoal for Mimer the blacksmith.
As he loitered there where the trees grew thickest, Siegfried took his
horn and blew it lustily. If he could not pipe on a grassy reed, at
least he could blow a rousing note on his silver horn.
[Illustration: "I will kill thee, for in truth thou art an ugly
monster"]
Suddenly as Siegfried blew, the trees seemed to sway, the earth to
give out
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https://archive.org/details/veiledwomen00pickiala
VEILED WOMEN
by
MARMADUKE PICKTHALL
Author of “Saïd the Fisherman,” etc.
London
Eveleigh Nash
1913
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER I 5
CHAPTER II 14
CHAPTER III 20
CHAPTER IV 24
CHAPTER V 38
CHAPTER VI 47
CHAPTER VII 59
CHAPTER VIII 64
CHAPTER IX 71
CHAPTER X 77
CHAPTER XI 83
CHAPTER XII 93
CHAPTER XIII 100
CHAPTER XIV 112
CHAPTER XV 121
CHAPTER XVI 131
CHAPTER XVII 143
CHAPTER XVIII 156
CHAPTER XIX 166
CHAPTER XX 174
CHAPTER XXI 182
CHAPTER XXII 188
CHAPTER XXIII 195
CHAPTER XXIV 203
CHAPTER XXV 210
CHAPTER XXVI 218
CHAPTER XXVII 228
CHAPTER XXVIII 236
CHAPTER XXIX 246
CHAPTER XXX 254
CHAPTER XXXI 263
CHAPTER XXXII 271
CHAPTER XXXIII 277
CHAPTER XXXIV 283
CHAPTER XXXV 288
CHAPTER XXXVI 296
CHAPTER XXXVII 300
CHAPTER XXXVIII 305
CHAPTER XXXIX 310
CHAPTER XL 314
MR. EVELEIGH NASH’S LIST OF NEW BOOKS
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE
CHAPTER I
“If good the news, O bird, alight and welcome;
If bad, draw up thy claws and hie away!”
At the corner of a lofty housetop overlooking a great part of Cairo,
a woman stood with arms uplifted and solemnly addressed a crow which
seemed about to settle. The bird, as if the meaning of the chant had
reached him, turned in the air with clumsy flapping, and withdrew,
rising to join the hundreds of his kind which circled high above the
city bathed in early sunlight. The woman shook her fist at his receding
shape, glass bracelets tinkling on her strong brown arm. She sighed,
“The curse of God on thy religion, O thou faithless messenger!” then,
with a laugh, turned round to join the group of slave-girls, her
companions, sent up to lay out herbs to dry upon the roof. These had
watched her invocation of the crow with knowing grins. But one, a young
Circassian, who sat watching while the others worked, betrayed surprise
and asked the meaning of the little ceremony.
At that there was much giggling.
“Knowest thou not, O flower? It is the woman’s secret!”
“Secret of secrets, all unknown of men!”
“By Allah, men know nothing of it. In sh´Allah, they will be astonished
some day!”
“O Hind, relate the story! Our honey, our gazelle, Gulbeyzah, has not
heard it.”
Thus urged, the one who had adjured the crow, a free servant of the
house, obsequious towards the slaves, its pampered children, explained
as she knelt down again to work:
“In the name of Allah, thus it is related: Know, O my sweet, that, in
the days of our lord Noah (may God bless him), after the flood, the men
and women were in equal numbers and on equal terms. What then? Why,
naturally they began disputing which should have the right to choose
in marriage and, as the race increased, enjoy more mates than one. The
men gave judgment on their own behalf, as usual; and when the women
made polite objection, turned and beat them. What was to be done? The
case was thus: the men were stronger than the women, but there exists
One stronger than the men--Allah Most High. The women sought recourse
to Allah’s judgment; but--O calamity!--by ill advice they made the crow
their messenger. The crow flew off towards Heaven, carrying their dear
petition in his claws, and from that day to this he brings no answer.
But God is everliving and most merciful; a thousand years with Him
seem but an hour. Perhaps He does but hold our favour over, as might a
son of Adam, till the evening for reflection, to grant it at the last.
In sh´All
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THE STAR-TREADER AND OTHER POEMS
BY
CLARK ASHTON SMITH
A. M. ROBERTSON
STOCKTON STREET AT UNION SQUARE
SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA
MCMXII
COPYRIGHT 1912
BY
A. M. ROBERTSON
Philopolis Press
San Francisco
TO MY MOTHER
CONTENTS
NERO
CHANT TO SIRIUS
THE STAR-TREADER
THE MORNING POOL
THE NIGHT FOREST
THE MAD WIND
SONG TO OBLIVION
MEDUSA
ODE TO THE ABYSS
THE SOUL OF THE SEA
THE BUTTERFLY
THE PRICE
THE MYSTIC MEANING
ODE TO MUSIC
THE LAST NIGHT
ODE ON IMAGINATION
THE WIND AND THE MOON
LAMENT OF THE STARS
THE MAZE OF SLEEP
THE WINDS
THE MASK OF FORSAKEN GODS
A SUNSET
THE CLOUD-ISLANDS
THE SNOW-BLOSSOMS
THE SUMMER MOON
THE RETURN OF HYPERION
LETHE
ATLANTIS
THE UNREVEALED
THE ELDRITCH DARK
THE CHERRY SNOWS
FAIRY LANTERNS
NIRVANA
THE NEMESIS OF SUNS
WHITE DEATH
RETROSPECT AND FORECAST
SHADOW OF NIGHTMARE
THE SONG OF
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THE MAGIC OF THE MIDDLE AGES
BY VIKTOR RYDBERG
_Translated from the Swedish_
BY AUGUST HJALMAR EDGREN
NEW YORK
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
1879
Copyright 1879,
BY HENRY HOLT & CO
CONTENTS.
PAGE.
I. THE COSMIC PHILOSOPHY OF THE MIDDLE AGES,
AND ITS HISTORICAL DEVELOPMENT 1
II. THE MAGIC OF THE CHURCH 56
III. THE MAGIC OF THE LEARNED 95
IV. THE MAGIC OF THE PEOPLE AND THE STRUGGLE
OF THE CHURCH AGAINST IT 158
I.
THE COSMIC PHILOSOPHY OF THE MIDDLE AGES, AND ITS HISTORICAL DEVELOPMENT.
INTRODUCTORY.
It was the belief of Europe during the Middle Ages, that our globe was the
centre of the universe.
The earth, itself fixed and immovable, was encompassed by ten heavens
successively encircling one another, and all of these except the highest
in constant rotation about their centre.
This highest and immovable heaven, enveloping all the others and
constituting the boundary between created things and the void, infinite
space beyond, is the Empyrean, the heaven of fire, named also by the
Platonizing philosophers the world of archetypes. Here "in a light which
no one can enter," God in triune majesty is sitting on his throne, while
the tones of harmony from the nine revolving heavens beneath ascend to
him, like a hymn of glory from the universe to its Creator.
Next in order below the Empyrean is the heaven of crystal, or the sphere
of the _first movable_ (_primum mobile_). Beneath this revolves the heaven
of fixed stars, which, formed from the most subtile elements in the
universe, are devoid of weight. If now an angel were imagined to descend
from this heaven straight to earth,--the centre, where the coarsest
particles of creation are collected,--he would still sink through seven
vaulted spaces, which form the planetary world. In the first of these
remaining heavens is found the planet Saturn, in the second Jupiter, in
the third Mars; to the fourth and middle heaven belongs the Sun, queen of
the planets, while in the remaining three are the paths of Venus, Mercury,
and finally the moon, measuring time with its waning and increasing disk.
Beneath this heaven of the moon is the enveloping atmosphere of the earth,
and earth itself with its lands and seas.
There are four prime elements in the structure of the universe: fire, air,
water and earth. Every thing existing in the material world is a peculiar
compound of these elements, and possesses as such an energy of its own;
but matter in itself is devoid of quality and force. All power is
spiritual, and flows from a spiritual source,--from God, and is
communicated to the earth and the heavens above the earth and all things
in them, by spiritual agents, personal but bodiless. These beings fill the
universe. Even the prime elements derive their energy from them. They are
called intelligences or angels; and the _primum mobile_ as well as the
heaven of fixed stars is held in motion by them. The planets are guided in
their orbits by angels. "All the energies of plants, metals, stones and
all other objects, are derived from those intelligences whom God has
ordained to be the guardians and leaders of his works."[1] "God, as the
source and end of all power, lends the seal of ideas to his ministering
spirits, who, faithfully executing his divine will, stamp with a vital
energy all things committed to their care."[2]
No inevitable causation is admitted. Every thing is produced by the will
of God, and upheld by it. The laws of nature are nothing but the precepts
in accordance with which the angels execute their charge. They obey from
love and fear; but should they in a refractory spirit transgress the given
commandments, or cease their activity, which they have the power to do,
then the order of nature would be changed, and the great mechanism of the
universe fall asunder, unless God saw fit to interpose. "Sometimes God
suspends their agency, and is himself the immediate actor everywhere; or
he gives unusual commandments to his angels, and then their operations are
called miracles."[3]
A knowledge of the nature of things is consequently in the main a
knowledge of the angels. Their innumerable hosts form nine choirs or
orders, divided into three hierarchies, corresponding to the three worlds:
the empyreal, that of the revolving heavens, and the terrestrial. The
orders of Seraphim, Cherubim and Thrones which constitute the first
hierarchy, are nearest God. They surround his throne like a train of
attendants, rejoice in the light of his countenance, feel the abundant
inspiration of his wisdom, love and power, and chant eternal praises to
his glory. The order of the Thrones, which is the lowest in this empyreal
hierarchy, proclaims God's will to the middle hierarchy, to which is given
the rule of the movable heavens. It is the order of Dominion which thus
receives the commands of God; that of Power, which guides the stars and
planets in their orbits, and brings to pass all other celestial phenomena,
carries them into execution, while a third of Empire wards off every thing
which could interfere with their accomplishment. The third and lowest
hierarchy, embracing the orders of Principalities, Archangels and Angels,
holds supremacy over terrestrial things. Principalities, as the name
implies, are the guardian spirits of nations and kingdoms; Archangels
protect religion, and bear the prayers of saints on high to the throne of
God; Angels, finally, have the care of every mortal, and impart to beasts,
plants, stones and metals their peculiar nature. Together these
hierarchies and orders form a continuous chain of intermingling
activities, and thus the structure of the universe resembles a Jacob's
ladder, upon which
"Celestial powers, mounting and descending,
Their golden buckets ceaseless interchange."
All terrestrial things are images of the celestial; and all celestial have
their archetypes in the Empyrean. Things on earth are composed of the
coarsest of all matter; things in the surrounding heavens of a finer
substance, accessible to the influence of intelligences. Archetypes are
immaterial; and as such may be filled without resistance with spiritual
forces, and give of their plenitude to their corresponding effigies in
the worlds of stars and planets. These again through their rays send forth
of the abundance of their power to those objects on earth by which they
are represented. Every thing on earth is consequently not only under the
guidance of its own angel, but also under the influence of stars, planets,
and archetypes. The universe is a vast lyre whose strings, struck no
matter where, are sure to vibrate throughout their length.
It was for man that God called forth the four elements from nothing by his
fiat, and it was for man that he fashioned this wonderful earth from those
elements in six days. Man is the crown of creation, its master-piece, and
within the narrow limits of his nature an epitome of all things
existing,--a microcosm, and the image of the supreme God himself.
But since man, as a microcosm, must partake also of the coarsest matter,
his dwelling-place could not be within the Empyrean, but must be fixed on
earth. In order that it might be worthy to receive him, it was adorned
with all the beauty of a paradise, and angels gazed from heaven with
delight upon its vales and mountains, its lakes and groves, which in
changing lights and shadows shone now with the purple of morning, now with
the gold of the sun, and again with the silver of the moon. And this place
of habitation explains symbolically by its very position the destiny of
man and his place in the kingdom of God; for wherever he wanders, the
zenith still lingers over his head, and all the revolving heavens have his
habitation for their centre. The dance of the stars is but a fete in honor
of him, the sun and moon exist but to shine upon his pathway and fill his
heart with gladness.
The first human beings lived in this their paradise in a state of highest
happiness. Their will was undepraved; their understanding filled with the
immediate light of intuition. Often when the angel of the sun sank with
his gleaming orb towards the horizon and "day was growing cool," God
himself descended from his Empyrean to wander under the lovely trees of
paradise, in the company of his favored ones.
The world was an unbroken harmony. There was, to be sure, a contrast
between spirit and matter, but as yet none between good and evil. It was
not long to remain thus.
Lucifer, that is the Light-bringer, or Morning Star, was the highest of
all angels, the prince of seraphim, the favorite of the Creator, and in
purity, majesty and power inferior only to the Holy Trinity. Pride and
envy took possession, it is not known how, of this mighty spirit. He
conceived the plan of overthrowing the power of God, and seating himself
upon the throne of Omnipotence. Angels of all orders were won over to his
treason. At the first beck of the reckless spirit numberless intelligences
from the lower heavens and from earth assailed the Empyrean and joined
themselves to the rebellious seraphim, cherubim and thrones who had
flocked to the standard of revolt. In heaven raged a mighty contest, the
vicissitudes of which are covered by the veil of mystery. St. John,
however, in his Book of Revelation, lifts a single fold of it, and shows
us Michael at the head of the legions of God battling against Lucifer. The
contest ended with the overthrow of the rebel and his followers. The
beautiful Morning Star fell from heaven.[4] Christ beheld the once
faithful seraph hurled from its ramparts like a thunder-bolt from the
clouds.[5]
The conquered was not annihilated. Calm in the consciousness of
omnipotence, God inscrutably determined that Lucifer, changed by his
rebellion into a spirit wholly evil, should enjoy liberty of action within
certain limits. The activity of the fallen spirit consists in desperate
and incessant warfare against God; and he gains in the beginning a victory
of immeasurable consequence. He tempts man, and brings him under his
dominion. Humanity, as well as the beautiful earth which is its abode, is
under the curse of God.
The world is no longer an unbroken harmony, a moral unity. It is divided
forever into two antagonistic kingdoms, those of Good and Evil. That God
so wills, and permits the inevitable consequences, is confirmed by an
immediate change in the structure of the universe. Death is sent forth
commissioned to destroy all life. Hell opens its jaws in the once peaceful
realms of earth's bosom, and is filled with a fire which burns every
thing, but consumes nothing.
The battle-field is the whole creation except the spaces of the Empyrean;
for into its pure domain nothing corrupt can enter. Lucifer still adheres
to his claims upon its throne, and in every thing seeks to imitate God.
The fallen seraphim, cherubim and thrones constitute his princely retinue
and his council of war. The rebel intelligences of the middle hierarchy,
now transformed into demons, still love to rove among the same stars and
planets which were once confided to their care, and war against the good
angels who now guide the movements of the heavens. Other demons float upon
the atmosphere, causing storm and thunder, hail and snow, drouth and awful
omens (whence it is said the devil is a prince who controls the weather).
Others again fill the earth; its seas, lakes, fountains and rivers; its
woods, groves, meadows and mountains. They pervade the elements; they are
everywhere.
Man, the chief occasion of the strife, is in a sad condition. The bodily
pains and sufferings which the earth since its curse heaps upon the path
that successive generations, all partakers of Adam's sin, must tread, are
as nothing compared with the perils which on all sides assail and threaten
their immortal souls. And how can these dangers be averted? Each mortal is
indeed followed from his birth by a guardian angel; but how can his
promptings be distinguished from those that issue from the thousand hidden
agents of the Evil. Lucifer can transform himself into an angel of light,
his demons can entice with a voice which counterfeits that of God and
conscience. Man's will has no power to resist these temptations; it is
depraved by the fall. Reason gives no guidance; darkened on account of
man's apostasy, it degenerates, if left to itself, into a Satanic
instrument of heresy and error. Feeling is in subjection to matter, which,
already from the beginning opposed to spirit, shares the curse. Is it then
to be wondered at that the career of man, beginning with conception in a
sinful womb, has for its end, behind the portals of death, the eternal
torments of a hell? All these myriads of souls created by God and clothed
in garments of clay,--all these microcosms, each of which is a
master-piece, the glory of creation, a being of infinite value, form, link
by link, a chain extending from that nothingness out of which God has
created them, to that abyss in which, after a brief life on earth, they
must be tormented through countless ages, despairing and cursing their
Creator.
Lucifer triumphs. His kingdom increases; but the poor mortal has no right
to complain. The vessel must not blame the potter. When man looks into his
own heart he discovers a sinfulness and depravity as infinite as are his
punishments. However severe the law of the universe appears, it still
bears the impress of divine justice.
It is, therefore, but an act of pure grace, when God determines the
salvation of mankind. The Church, prepared for by the election of the
Jewish people, and founded by Jesus Christ the Son of God, who offered
himself for crucifixion to atone for the sins of men, has grown up and
disseminated its influences throughout regions where once demons, the gods
of the heathen, possessed temples, idols and altars. The Church is the
magic circle within which alone is salvation possible (_Extra ecclesiam
nullus salus_). Within her walls the Son of God offers himself daily as a
sacrifice for the transgressions of humanity; the Communion wine is by a
miracle changed into his blood, and the bread into his flesh, which,
eaten by the members of the Church, promote their growth in holiness and
their power of resistance to the Tempter. The Church is one body, animated
by the Holy Spirit of God; and thus one member compensated by surplus of
virtue for the deficiencies of another. Holy men, resigning all sensual
delights, and devoting their lives to the practice of penance and
severities, the contemplation of spiritual things, and doing good,
accumulate thereby a wealth of supererogatory works, which, deposited in
the treasury of the Church, enables her to compound for the sins of less
self-denying members. With liberal hand she grants remission of sins not
to the living merely, but also to the dead. Thus the race of men may
breathe more freely, and the multitude attach themselves again to the
transient joys and pleasures of a wretched life on earth; and when a
mortal plucks the flowers of pleasure which bloom in this vale of sorrows,
he need not fear so much its hidden poison, for the remedy is near at
hand. The knight in the castle yonder on the summit of the crag, or the
burgher beneath him in the valley, may without scruple take a wife, rear
children and live in conviviality according to his means; the happy
student may sing and realize his "_Gaudeamus igitur_"; the undaunted
soldier may seek a recompense for the hardships of his campaign by a merry
life in taverns and in women's company; even the followers of Mary
Magdalene, sinning in expectation of grace, may obtain at the feet of the
Church the same absolution which was given to their model at the feet of
Jesus, provided only that, grateful for the mercy of Christ, who has made
them members of his Church, they venerate it as their mother, partake of
its sacraments, and seek its aid. The continually increasing number of
cloisters, the homes of rigorous self-denial, uninterrupted penance, and
mysterious contemplation, is a guarantee of the inexhaustibleness of those
works of supererogation which the Church possesses.
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THE ROYAL MAIL
[Illustration: MAIL-COACH ACCIDENT NEAR ELVANFOOT, LANARKSHIRE.]
THE ROYAL MAIL
ITS CURIOSITIES AND ROMANCE
BY
JAMES WILSON HYDE
SUPERINTENDENT IN THE GENERAL POST-OFFICE,
EDINBURGH
THIRD EDITION
LONDON
SIMPKIN, MARSHALL AND CO.
MDCCCLXXXIX.
_All Rights reserved._
NOTE.--It is of melancholy interest that Mr Fawcett's death occurred
within a month from the date on which he accepted the following
Dedication, and before the issue of the Work.
TO
THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
HENRY FAWCETT, M. P.
HER MAJESTY'S POSTMASTER-GENERAL,
THE FOLLOWING PAGES ARE, BY PERMISSION,
RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED.
PREFACE TO THIRD EDITION.
The second edition of 'The Royal Mail' having been sold out some
eighteen months ago, and being still in demand, the Author has arranged
for the publication of a further edition. Some additional particulars of
an interesting kind have been incorporated in the work; and these,
together with a number of fresh illustrations, should render 'The Royal
Mail' still more attractive than hitherto.
The modern statistics have not been brought down to date; and
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Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was
produced from scanned images of public domain material
from the Google Print project.)
THE BRASS BELL
OR
THE CHARIOT OF DEATH
A Tale of Caesar's Gallic Invasion
By EUGENE SUE
TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL FRENCH BY
SOLON DE LEON
NEW YORK LABOR NEWS COMPANY, 1907
NEW EDITION 1916
COPYRIGHT, 1907, BY THE
NEW YORK LABOR NEWS CO.
PREFACE TO THE TRANSLATION
_The Brass Bell_; or, _The Chariot of Death_ is the second of Eugene
Sue's monumental serial known under the collective title of _The
Mysteries of the People; or History of a Proletarian Family Across the
Ages_.
The first story--_The Gold Sickle; or, Hena, the Virgin of the Isle of
Sen_--fittingly preludes the grand drama conceived by the author. There
the Gallic people are introduced upon the stage of history in the
simplicity of their customs, their industrious habits, their bravery,
lofty yet childlike--such as they were at the time of the Roman invasion
by Caesar, 58 B. C. The present story is the thrilling introduction to
the class struggle, that starts with the conquest of Gaul, and, in the
subsequent seventeen stories, is pathetically and instructively carried
across the ages, down to the French Revolution of 1848.
D. D. L.
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
Preface to the Translation
Chapter 1. The Conflagration 1
Chapter 2. In the Lion's Den 8
Chapter 3. Gallic Virtue 24
Chapter 4. The Trial 35
Chapter 5. Into the Shallows 41
Chapter 6. The Eve of Battle 52
Chapter 7. The Battle of Vannes 59
Chapter 8. After the Battle 80
Chapter 9. Master and Slave 88
Chapter 10. The Last Call to Arms 102
Chapter 11. The Slaves' Toilet 107
Chapter 12. Sold into Bondage 115
Chapter 13. The Booth across the Way 126
FOOTNOTES
CHAPTER I.
THE CONFLAGRATION.
The call to arms, sounded by the druids of the forest of Karnak and by
the Chief of the Hundred Valleys against the invading forces of the
first Caesar, had well been hearkened to.
The sacrifice of Hena, the Virgin of the Isle of Sen, seemed pleasing to
Hesus. All the peoples of Brittany, from North to South, from East to
West, rose to combat the Romans. The tribes of the territory of Vannes
and Auray, those of the Mountains of Ares, and many others, assembled
before the town of Vannes, on the left bank, close to the mouth of the
river which empties into the great bay of Morbihan. This redoubtable
position where all the Gallic forces were to meet, was situated ten
leagues from Karnak, and had been chosen by the Chief of the Hundred
Valleys, who had been elected Commander-in-Chief of the army.
Leaving behind them their fields, their herds, and their dwellings, the
tribes were here assembled, men and women, young and old, and were
encamped round about the town of Vannes. Here also were Joel, his
family, and his tribe.
Albinik the mariner, together with his wife Meroe left the camp towards
sunset, bent on an errand of many days' march. Since her marriage with
Albinik, Meroe; was the constant, companion of his voyages and dangers
at sea, and like him, she wore the seaman's costume. Like him she knew
at a pinch how to put her hand to the rudder, to ply the oar or the axe,
for stout was her heart, and strong her arm.
In the evening, before leaving the Gallic army, Meroe dressed herself in
her sailor's garments--a short blouse of brown wool, drawn tight with a
leather belt, large broad breeches of white cloth, which fell below her
knees, and shoes of sealskin. She carried on her left shoulder her
short, hooded cloak, and on her flowing hair was a leathern bonnet. By
her resolute air, the agility of her step, the perfection of her sweet
and virile countenance, one might have taken Meroe for one of those
young men whose good looks make maidens dream of marriage. Albinik also
was dressed as a mariner. He had flung over his back a sack with
provisions for the way. The large sleeves of his blouse revealed his
left arm, wrapped to the elbow in a bloody bandage.
Husband and wife had left Vannes for some minutes, when Albinik,
stopping, sad and deeply moved, said to Meroe:
"There is still time--consider. We are going to beard the lion in his
den. He is tricky, distrustful and savage. It may mean for us slavery,
torture, or death. Meroe, let me finish alone this trip and this
enterprise, beside which a desperate fight would be but a trifle. Return
to my father and mother, whose daughter you are also!"
"Albinik, you had to wait for the darkness of night to say that to me.
You would not see me blush with shame at the thought of your thinking
me a coward;" and the young woman, while making this answer, instead of
turning back, only hastened her step.
"Let it be as your courage and your love for me bid," replied her
husband. "May Hena, my holy sister, who is gone, protect us at the side
of Hesus."
The two continued their way along the crests of a chain of lofty hills.
They had thus at their feet and before their eyes a succession of deep
and fertile valleys. As far as eye could reach, they saw here villages,
yonder small hamlets, elsewhere isolated farms; further off rose a
flourishing town crossed by an arm of the river, in which were moored,
from distance to distance, large boats loaded with sheaves of wheat,
casks of wine, and fodder.
But, strange to say, although the evening was clear, not a single one of
those large herds of cattle and of sheep was to be seen, which
ordinarily grazed there till nightfall. No more was there a single
laborer in sight on the fields, although it was the hour when, by every
road, the country-folk ordinarily began to return to their homes; for
the sun was fast sinking. This country, so populous the preceding
evening, now seemed deserted.
The couple halted, pensive, contemplating the fertile lands, the
bountifulness of nature, the opulent city, the hamlets, and the houses.
Then, recollecting what they knew was to happen in a few moments, soon
as the sun was set and the moon risen, Albinik and Meroe; shivered with
grief and fear. Tears fell from their eyes, they sank to their knees,
their eyes fixed with anguish on the depths of the valleys, which the
thickening evening shade was gradually invading. The sun had
disappeared, but the moon, then in her decline, was not yet up. There
was thus, between sunset and the rising of the moon, a rather long
interval. It was a bitter one for husband and wife; bitter, like the
certain expectation of some great woe.
"Look, Albinik," murmured the young woman to her spouse, although they
were alone--for it was one of those awful moments when one speaks low in
the middle of a desert--"just look, not a light: not one in these
houses, hamlets, or the town. Night is come, and all within these
dwellings is gloomy as the night without."
"The inhabitants of this valley are going to show themselves worthy of
their brothers," answered Albinik reverently. "They also wish to respond
to the voice of our venerable druids, and to that of the Chief of the
Hundred Valleys."
"Yes; by the terror which is now come upon me, I feel we are about to
see a thing no one has seen before, and perhaps none will see again."
"Meroe, do you catch down there, away down there, behind the crest of
the forest, a faint white glimmer!"
"I do. It is the moon, which will soon be up. The moment approaches. I
feel terror-stricken. Poor women! Poor children!"
"Poor laborers; they lived so long, happy on this land of their fathers:
on this land made fertile by the labor of so many generations! Poor
workmen; they found plenty in their rude trades! Oh, the unfortunates!
the unfortunates! But one thing equals their great misfortune, and that
is their great heroism. Meroe! Meroe!" exclaimed Albinik, "the moon is
rising. That sacred orb of Gaul is about to give the signal for the
sacrifice."
"Hesus! Hesus!" cried the young woman, her cheeks bathed in tears, "your
wrath will never be appeased if this last sacrifice does not calm you."
The moon had risen radiant among the stars. She flooded space with so
brilliant a light that Albinik and his wife could see as in full day,
and as far as the most distant horizon, the country that stretched at
their feet.
Suddenly, a light cloud of smoke, at first whitish, then black,
presently with the red tints of a kindling fire, rose above one
of the hamlets scattered in the plain.
"Hesus! Hesus!" exclaimed Meroe. Then, hiding her face in the bosom of
her husband who was kneeling near her, "You spoke truly. The sacred orb
of Gaul has given the signal for the sacrifice. It is fulfilled."
"Oh, liberty!" cried Albinik, "Holy liberty!----"
He could not finish. His voice was smothered in tears, and he drew his
weeping wife close in his arms.
Meroe did not leave her face hidden in her husband's breast any longer
than it would take a mother to kiss the forehead, mouth, and eyes, of
her new born babe, but when she again raised her head and dared to look
abroad, it was no longer only one house, one village, one hamlet, one
town in that long succession of valleys at their feet that was
disappearing in billows of black smoke, streaked with red gleams. It was
all the houses, all the villages, all the hamlets, all the towns in the
laps of all those valleys, that the conflagration was devouring. From
North to South, from East to West, all was afire. The rivers themselves
seemed to roll in flame under their grain and forage-laden barges, which
in turn took fire, and sank in the waters.
The heavens were alternately obscured by immense clouds of smoke, or
reddened with innumerable columns of fire. From one end to the other,
the panorama was soon nothing but a furnace, an ocean of flame.
Nor were the houses, hamlets, and towns of only these valleys given over
to the flames. It was the same in all the regions which Albinik and
Meroe had traversed in one night and day of travel, on their way from
Vannes to the mouth of the Loire, where was pitched the camp of
Caesar.[1]
All this territory had been burned by its inhabitants, and they
abandoned the smoking ruins to join the Gallic army, assembled in the
environs of Vannes. Thus the voice of the Chief of the Hundred Valleys
had been obeyed--the command repeated from place to place, from village
to village, from city to city:
"In three nights, at the hour when the moon, the sacred orb of Gaul
shall rise, let all the countryside, from Vannes to the Loire, be set on
fire. Let Caesar and his army find in their passage neither men nor
houses, nor provisions, nor forage, but everywhere, everywhere cinders,
famine, desolation, and death."
It was done as the druids and the Chief of the Hundred Valleys had
ordered.[2]
The two travelers, who witnessed this heroic devotion of each and all to
the safety of the fatherland, had thus seen a sight no one had ever seen
in the past; a sight which perhaps none will ever see in the future.
Thus were expiated those fatal dissensions, those rivalries between
province and province, which for too long a time, and to the triumph of
their enemies, had divided the people of Gaul.
CHAPTER II.
IN THE LION'S DEN.
The night passed. When the next day drew to its close Albinik and Meroe
had traversed all the burnt country, from Vannes to the mouth of the
Loire, which they were now approaching. At sunset they came to a fork in
the road.
"Of these two ways, which shall we take?" mused Albinik. "One ought to
take us toward the camp of Caesar, the other away from it."
Reflecting an instant, the young woman answered:
"Climb yonder oak. The camp fires will show us our route."
"True," said the mariner, and confident in his agility he was about to
clamber up the tree. But stopping, he added: "I forgot that I have but
one hand left. I cannot climb."
The face of the young woman saddened as she replied:
"You are suffering, Albinik? Alas, you, thus mutilated!"
"Is the sea-wolf[3] caught without a lure?"
"No."
"Let the fishing be good," answered Albinik, "and I shall not regret
having given my hand for bait."
The young woman sighed, and after looking at the tree a minute, said to
her husband:
"Come, then, put your back to the trunk. I'll step in the hollow of your
hand, then onto your shoulder, and from your shoulder I can reach that
large branch overhead."
"Fearless and devoted! You are always the dear wife of my heart, true as
my sister Hena is a saint," tenderly answered Albinik, and steadying
himself against the tree, he took in his hand the little foot of his
companion. With his good arm he supported his wife while she placed her
foot on his shoulder. Thence she reached the first large bough. Then,
mounting from branch to branch, she gained the top of the oak. Arrived
there, Meroe cast her eyes abroad, and saw towards the south, under a
group of seven stars, the gleam of several fires. She descended, nimble
as a bird, and at last, putting her feet on the mariner's shoulder, was
on the ground with one bound, saying:
"We must go towards the south, in the direction of those seven stars.
That way lie the fires of Caesar's camp."
"Let us take that road, then," returned the sailor, indicating the
narrower of the two ways, and the two travelers pursued their journey.
After a few steps, the young woman halted. She seemed to be searching in
her garments.
"What is the matter, Meroe?"
"In climbing the tree, I've let my poniard drop. It must have worked out
of the belt I was carrying it in, under my blouse."
"By Hesus; we must get that poniard back," said Albinik, retracing his
steps toward the tree. "You have need of a weapon, and this one my
brother Mikael forged and tempered himself. It will pierce a sheet of
copper."
"Oh; I shall find it, Albinik. In that well-tempered little blade of
steel one has an answer for all, and in all languages."
After some search up the foot of the oak, Meroe found her poniard. It
was cased in a sheath hardly as long as a hen's feather, and not much
thicker. Meroe fastened it anew under her blouse, and started again on
the road with her husband. After some little travel along deserted
paths, the two arrived at a plain. They heard far in the distance the
great roar of the sea. On a hill they saw the lights of many fires.
"There, at last, is the camp of Caesar," said Albinik, stopping short,
"the den of the lion."
"The den of the scourge of Gaul. Come, come, the evening is slipping
away."
"Meroe, the moment has come."
"Do you hesitate now?"
"It is too late. But I would prefer a fair fight under the open heavens,
vessel to vessel, soldier to soldier, sword to sword. Ah, Meroe, for us,
Gauls, who despise ambuscade or cowardice, and hang brass bells on the
iron of our lances to warn the enemy of our approach, to come
here--traitorously!"
"Traitorously!" exclaimed the young woman. "And to oppress a free
people--is that loyalty? To reduce the inhabitants to slavery, to exile
them by herds with iron collars on their necks--is that loyalty? To
massacre old men and children, to deliver the women and virgins to the
lust of soldiers--is that loyalty? And now, you would hesitate, after
having marched a whole day and night by the lights of the conflagration,
through the midst of those smoking ruins which were caused by the horror
of Roman oppression? No! No! to exterminate savage beasts, all means are
good, the trap as well as the boar-spear. Hesitate? Hesitate? Answer,
Albinik. Without mentioning your voluntary mutilation, without
mentioning the dangers which we brave in entering this camp--shall we
not be, if Hesus aids our project, the first victims of that great
sacrifice which we are going to make to the Gods? Come, believe me; he
who gives his life has nothing to blush for. By the love which I bear
you, by the virgin blood of your sister Hena, I have at this moment, I
swear to you, the consciousness of fulfilling a holy duty. Come, come,
the evening is passing."
"What Meroe, the just and valiant, finds to be just and valiant, must be
so," said Albinik
| 665.364152 | 3,198 |
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| 407 | 113 |
E-text prepared by Suzanne Shell, Melissa McDaniel, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images
generously made available by Internet Archive/American Libraries
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Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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See 42246-h.htm or 42246-h.zip:
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Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
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Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
QUICKSILVER SUE
[Illustration: READING CLARICE'S LETTER.]
QUICKSILVER SUE
by
LAURA E. RICHARDS
Author of "Captain January," etc.
Illustrated by W. D. Stevens
New York
The Century Co.
1901
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I SOMETHING EXCITING 1
II THE NEW-COMER 16
III MARY'S VIEW 34
IV EARLY IN THE MORNING 50
V THE PICNIC 67
VI AT THE HOTEL 89
VII THE MYSTERY, AND WHAT CAME OF IT 105
VIII THE CIRCUS 122
IX THE LONELY ROAD 140
X ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL 158
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
READING CLARICE'S LETTER _Frontispiece
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