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Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Brian Wilsden and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's Notes:
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold
text by =equal signs=. Footnotes have been moved to the end of the
relevant chapters.
The original magazine is a two column magazine, but for the sake of
clarity and ease of transcribing, this eBook version has been produced
in a single column format.
Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as
possible. Minor typos have been corrected.
Words containing oe-ligatures the ligature is shown as [oe].
A Table of Contents has been generated by the transcriber.
LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE
OF
_POPULAR LITERATURE AND SCIENCE._
NOVEMBER, 1880.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1880, by J. B.
LIPPINCOTT & CO., in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at
Washington.
CONTENTS
THE RUINS OF THE COLORADO VALLEY. Alfred Terry Bacon. 521
THE ARTS OF INDIA. Jennie J. Young. 521
ADAM AND EVE. 547
CHAPTER XXXIII. 547
CHAPTER XXXIV. 552
CHAPTER XXXV. 556
A PIVOTAL POINT 559
THE MISTAKES OF TWO PEOPLE. Margaret Bertha Wright. 567
LIMOGES, AND ITS PORCELAIN. George L. Catlin. 576
THREE ROSES. Julia C.R. Dorr. 585
THE PRACTICAL HISTORY OF A PLAY
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Transcribed from the 1893 Cassell & Company edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
CASSELL’S NATIONAL LIBRARY
* * * * *
PETER PLYMLEY’S LETTERS
AND
SELECTED ESSAYS
* * * * *
BY
SYDNEY SMITH
[Picture: Decorative graphic]
CASSELL & COMPANY LIMITED
_LONDON PARIS & MELBOURNE_
1893
INTRODUCTION.
SYDNEY SMITH, of the same age as Walter Scott, was born at Woodford, in
Essex, in the year 1771, and he died of heart disease, aged seventy-four,
on the 22nd of February, 1845. His father was a clever man of wandering
habits who, when he settled in England, reduced his means by buying,
altering, spoiling, and then selling about nineteen different places in
England. His mother was of a French family from Languedoc, that had been
driven to England by the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes. Sydney
Smith’s grandfather, upon the mother’s side, could speak no English, and
he himself ascribed some of his gaiety to the French blood in his veins.
He was one of four sons. His eldest brother Robert—known as Bobus—was
sent to Eton, where he joined Canning, Frere, and John Smith, in writing
the Eton magazine, the _Microcosm_; and at Cambridge Bobus afterwards was
known as a fine Latin scholar. Sydney Smith went first to a school at
Southampton, and then to Winchester, where he became captain of the
school. Then he was sent for six months to Normandy for a last polish to
his French before he went on to New College, Oxford. When he had
obtained his fellowship there, his father left him to his own resources.
His eldest brother had been trained for the bar, his two younger brothers
were sent out to India, and Sydney, against his own wish, yielded to the
strong desire of his father that he should take orders as a clergyman.
Accordingly, in 1794, he became curate of the small parish of
Netherhaven, in Wiltshire. Meat came to Netherhaven only once a week in
a butcher’s cart from Salisbury, and the curate often dined upon potatoes
flavoured with ketchup.
The only educated neighbour was Mr. Hicks Beach, the squire, who at first
formally invited the curate to dinner on Sundays, and soon found his wit,
sense, and high culture so delightful, that the acquaintance ripened into
friendship. After two years in the curacy, Sydney Smith gave it up and
went abroad with the squire’s son. “When first I went into the Church,”
he wrote afterwards, “I had a curacy in the middle of Salisbury Plain;
the parish was Netherhaven, near Amesbury. The squire of the parish, Mr.
Beach, took a fancy to me, and after I had served it two years, he
engaged me as tutor to his eldest son, and it was arranged that I and his
son should proceed to the University of Weimar in Saxony. We set out,
but before reaching our destination Germany was disturbed by war, and, in
stress of politics, we put into Edinburgh, where I remained five years.”
Young Michael Beach, who had little taste for study, lived with Sydney
Smith as his tutor, and found him a wise guide and pleasant friend. When
Michael went to the University, his brother William was placed under the
same good care. Sydney Smith, about the same time, went to London to be
married. His wife’s rich brother quarrelled with her for marrying a man
who said that his only fortune consisted in six small silver teaspoons.
One day after their happy marriage he ran in to his wife and threw them
in her lap, saying, “There, Kate, you lucky girl, I give you all my
fortune!” The lucky girl had a small fortune of her own which her
husband had strictly secured to herself and her children. Mr. Beach
recognised the value of Sydney Smith’s influence over his son by a
wedding gift of £750. In 1802 a daughter was born, and in the same year
Sydney Smith joined Francis Jeffrey and other friends, who then
maintained credit for Edinburgh as the Modern Athens, in the founding of
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Produced by Charlene Taylor, Paul Clark, Larry B. Harrison
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's Note:
Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as
possible.
Italic text has been marked with _underscores_.
UNITED STATES DEPARTMENT OF AGRICULTURE
FARMERS' BULLETIN
WASHINGTON, D. C. 670 JUNE 3, 1915.
Contribution from the Bureau of Biological Survey, Henry W. Henshaw,
Chief.
FIELD MICE AS FARM AND ORCHARD PESTS.
By D. E. LANTZ, _Assistant Biologist_.
NOTE.--This bulletin describes the habits, geographic
distribution, and methods of destroying meadow mice and pine mice,
and discusses the value of protecting their natural enemies among
mammals, birds, and reptiles. It is for general distribution.
INTRODUCTION.
The ravages of short-tailed field mice in many parts of the United
States result in serious losses to farmers, orchardists, and those
concerned with the conservation of our forests, and the problem of
controlling the animals is one of considerable importance.
Short-tailed field mice are commonly known as meadow mice, pine mice,
and voles; locally as bear mice, buck-tailed mice, or black mice.
The term includes a large number of closely related species widely
distributed in the Northern Hemisphere. Over 50 species and races occur
within the United States and nearly 40 other forms have been described
from North America. Old World forms are fully as numerous. For the
purposes of this paper no attempt at classification is required, but
two general groups will be considered under the names meadow mice and
pine mice. These two groups have well-marked differences in habits,
and both are serious pests wherever they inhabit regions of cultivated
crops. Under the term "meadow mice"[1] are included the many species of
voles that live chiefly in surface runways and build both subterranean
and surface nests. Under the term "pine mice"[2] are included a few
forms that, like moles, live almost wholly in underground burrows. Pine
mice may readily be distinguished from meadow mice by their shorter and
smoother fur, their red-brown color, and their molelike habits. (See
fig. 1.)
[1] Genus _Microtus_.
[2] Genus _Pitymys_.
[Illustration: FIG. 1.--Field mice: _a_, Meadow mouse; _b_, pine mouse.]
MEADOW MICE.
Meadow mice inhabit practically the whole of the Northern Hemisphere--
America, north of the Tropics; all of Europe, except Ireland; and
Asia, except the southern part. In North America there are few wide
areas except arid deserts free from meadow mice, and in most of the
United States they have at times been numerous and harmful. The animals
are very prolific, breeding several times a season and producing
litters of from 6 to 10. Under favoring circumstances, not well
understood, they sometimes produce abnormally and become a menace to
all growing crops. Plagues of meadow mice have often been mentioned
in the history of the Old World, and even within the United States
many instances are recorded of their extraordinary abundance with
accompanying destruction of vegetation.
The runs of meadow mice are mainly on the surface of the ground under
grass, leaves, weeds, brush, boards, snow, or other sheltering litter.
They are hollowed out by the animals' claws, and worn hard and smooth
by being frequently traversed. They are extensive, much branched, and
may readily be found by parting the grass or removing the litter. The
runs lead to shallow burrows where large nests of dead grass furnish
winter retreats for the mice. Summer nests are large balls of the same
material hidden in the grass and often elevated on small hummocks in
the meadows and marshes where the animals abound. The young are brought
forth in either underground or surface nests.
Meadow mice are injurious to most crops. They destroy grass in
meadows and pastures; cut down grain, clover, and alfalfa; eat grain
left standing in shocks; injure seeds, bulbs, flowers, and garden
vegetables; and are especially harmful to trees and shrubbery. The
extent of their depredations is usually in proportion to their numbers.
Thus, in the lower Humboldt Valley, Nevada, during two winters (1906-8)
these mice were abnormally abundant, and totally ruined the alfalfa,
destroying both stems and roots on about 18,000 acres and entailing a
loss estimated at fully $250,000.
When present even in ordinary numbers meadow mice cause serious
injury to orchards and nurseries. Their attacks on trees are often
made in winter under cover of snow, but they may occur at any season
under shelter of growing vegetation or dry litter. The animals have
been known almost totally to destroy large nurseries of young apple
trees. It was stated that during the winter of 1901-2 nurserymen near
Rochester, N. Y., sustained losses from these mice amounting to fully
$100,000.
Older orchard trees sometimes are killed by meadow mice. In Kansas in
1903 the
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by Cornell University Digital Collections)
Transcriber's Note: Table of Contents / Illustrations added.
* * * * *
TRINITY COLLEGE, HARTFORD.
BY SAMUEL HART, D.D., PROFESSOR OF LATIN.
Illustrations:
Trinity College In 1869.
T. C. Brownell.
Trinity College In 1828.
J. Williams.
Statue Of Bishop Brownell, On The Campus.
Proposed New College Buildings.
Geo Williamson Smith.
James Williams, Forty Years Janitor Of Trinity College.
Bishop Seabury's Mitre, In The Library.
Chair Of Gov. Wanton, Of Rhode Island, In The Library.
Trinity College In 1885.
(Signature) N. S. Wheaton
(Signature) Silas Totten
(Signature) D. R. Goodwin
(Signature) Samuel Eliot
(Signature) J. B. Kerfoot
(Signature) A. Jackson
(Signature) T. R. Pynchon
The New Gymnasium.
College Logo.
THE WEBSTER FAMILY.
BY HON. STEPHEN M. ALLEN.
Illustration:
Marshfield--Residence Of Daniel Webster.
TO OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.
ON HIS DEPARTURE FOR EUROPE.
BY EDWARD P. GUILD.
A ROMANCE OF KING PHILIP'S WAR.
BY FANNY BULLOCK WORKMAN.
THE PICTURE.
BY MARY D. BRINE.
NEW BEDFORD.
BY HERBERT L. ALDRICH.
Illustrations:
Old Whalers And Barrels Of Oil.
City Hall And Depot.
Front Street And Fish Markets Along The Wharves.
The Head Of The River.
Along The Wharfs And Relics Of The Last Century.
New Station Of The Old Colony Railroad.
Custom House.
Court House.
Grace Episcopal Church.
Looking Down Union Street.
Unitarian Church, Union Street.
Mandell's House, Hawthorne Street.
Residence Of Mayor Rotch.
The Stone Church And Yacht Club House.
Fish Island.
Seamen's Bethel And Sailor's Home.
Merchants' And Mechanics' Bank.
Residence Of Joseph Grinnell.
Friends Meeting-House.
Public Library.
HENRY BARNARD--THE AMERICAN EDUCATOR.
BY THE LATE HON. JOHN D. PHILBRICK.
A DAUGHTER OF THE PURITANS.
BY ANNA B. BENSEL.
JUDICIAL FALSIFICATIONS OF HISTORY.
BY CHARLES COWLEY, LL.D.
DORRIS'S HERO.
A ROMANCE OF THE OLDEN TIME.
BY MARJORIE DAW.
EDITOR'S TABLE.
HISTORICAL RECORD.
NECROLOGY.
LITERATURE.
INDEX TO MAGAZINE LITERATURE.
Illustration:
MARK HOPKINS, D.D., LL.D.
* * * * *
THE
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
AND
BAY STATE MONTHLY.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
OLD SERIES, MAY, 1886. NEW SERIES,
VOL. IV. NO. 5. VOL. I. NO. 5.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Copyright, 1886, by Bay State Monthly Company. All rights reserved.
#TRINITY COLLEGE, HARTFORD.#
BY SAMUEL HART, D.D., PROFESSOR OF LATIN.
[Illustration: TRINITY COLLEGE IN 1869.]
The plan for the establishment of a second college in Connecticut was
not carried into effect until after the time of the political and
religious revolution which secured the adoption of a State Constitution
in 1818. Probably no such plan was seriously entertained till after the
close of the war of Independence. The Episcopal church in Connecticut
had, one may almost say, been born in the library of Yale College; and
though Episcopalians, with other dissenters from the "standing order,"
had been excluded from taking any part in the government or the
instruction of the institution, they did not forget how much they owed
to it as the place where so many of their clergy had received their
education. In fact, when judged by the standards of that day, it would
appear that they had at first little cause to complain of illiberal
treatment, while on the other hand they did their best to assist the
college in the important work which it had in hand. But Yale College,
under the presidency of Dr. Clap, assumed a more decidedly theological
character than before, and set itself decidedly in opposition to those
who dissented from the Westminster Confession of Faith and the Saybrook
Platform of Discipline. Besides, King's College, which had been lately
founded in New York, drew away some Episcopal students from Connecticut
and made others dissatisfied; and had not the war with the mother
country rudely put a stop to the growth of Episcopacy in the colony, it
would seem that steps might have been soon taken for the establishment
of some institution of learning, at least a school of theology, under
the care of the
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E-text prepared by Andrew Turek and revised and annotated by Joseph E.
Loewenstein, M.D.
THE KELLYS AND THE O'KELLYS
by
ANTHONY TROLLOPE
Contents
I. The Trial
II. The Two Heiresses
III. Morrison's Hotel
IV. The Dunmore Inn
V. A Loving Brother
VI. The Escape
VII. Mr Barry Lynch Makes a Morning Call
VIII. Mr Martin Kelly Returns to Dunmore
IX. Mr Daly, the Attorney
X. Dot Blake's Advice
XI. The Earl of Cashel
XII. Fanny Wyndham
XIII. Father and Son
XIV. The Countess
XV
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Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
_SPECIAL EDITION_
WITH THE WORLD'S
GREAT TRAVELLERS
EDITED BY CHARLES MORRIS
AND OLIVER H. G. LEIGH
VOL. III
CHICAGO
UNION BOOK COMPANY
1901
COPYRIGHT 1896 AND 1897
BY
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
COPYRIGHT 1901
E. R. DUMONT
[Illustration: THE CATHEDRAL, CITY OF MEXICO]
CONTENTS.
SUBJECT. AUTHOR. PAGE
London, Glasgow, Dublin, Manchester,
Liverpool OLIVER H. G. LEIGH 5
Kenilworth and Warwick Castles ELIHU BURRITT 25
Windsor Forest and Castle ANONYMOUS 36
The Aspect of London HIPPOLYTE TAINE 47
Westminster Abbey NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 56
The Gardens at Kew JULIAN HAWTHORNE 64
Chatsworth Castle JOHN LEYLAND 75
King Arthur's Land J. YOUNG 84
The English Lake District AMELIA BARR 93
The Roman Wall of Cumberland ROSE G. KINGSLEY 105
English Rural Scenery SARAH B. WISTER 112
The "Old Town" of Edinburgh ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 120
In the Land of Rob Roy NATHANIEL P. WILLIS 129
The Island of Staffa and Fingal's Cave BERIAH BOTFIELD 140
Ireland and Its Capital MATTHEW WOODS, M. D. 148
From Cork to Killarney SARA J. LIPPINCOTT 157
North of Ireland Scenes W. GEORGE BEERS 168
Paris and Its Attractions HARRIET BEECHER STOWE 178
Travel in France Fifty Years Ago CHARLES DICKENS 189
From Normandy to Provence DONALD G. MITCHELL 200
A French Farmer's Paradise M. BENTHAM-EDWARDS 211
Cordova and Its Mosque S. P. SCOTT 218
The Spanish Bull-Fight JOSEPH MOORE 230
Seville, the Queen of Andalusia S. P. SCOTT 238
Street Scenes in Genoa AUGUSTA MARRYAT 249
The Alhambra S. P. SCOTT 257
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
VOLUME III
THE CATHEDRAL, CITY OF MEXICO _Frontispiece_
LONDON BRIDGE 14
BANK OF ENGLAND 50
WESTMINSTER ABBEY AND VICTORIA TOWER 62
CANTERBURY CATHEDRAL FROM THE NORTHWEST 114
PRINCES STREET AND SIR WALTER SCOTT'S MONUMENT, EDINBURGH 122
THE FORTH BRIDGE FROM THE NORTH 136
CUSTOM-HOUSE, DUBLIN, IRELAND 150
QUEENSTOWN HARBOR 164
GRAND OPERA HOUSE, PARIS 180
THE LUMINOUS PALACE, PARIS 216
THE GROTTO OF THE SIBYL, TIVOLI 250
WITH THE WORLD'S
GREAT TRAVELLERS.
THE WORLD'S GREAT CAPITALS OF TO-DAY.
OLIVER H. G. LEIGH.
LONDON.
To the ordinary eye the moon and stars have at least prettiness, perhaps
grandeur. To the trained astronomer, and the contemplative poet, the
mighty firmament overwhelms the mind with the sense of human inability
to grasp the vast. Knowing and loving the features and characteristics
of London as a lover those of his mistress, it can be imagined how such
a one despairs of doing justice, in a brief space, either to his subject
or his own sane enthusiasm. He would fain impart his knowledge, insight,
and what glimmerings of romantic fancy may add charm to the prosy
exposition, but the showman's harangue is received as art without heart.
London is a hundred captivating sights and themes for our hundred
capacities and moods. You go to it the first time with the child's
enviable eye-delight in novelty, and are lucky if in a week you are not
eye-sore, dazed, and jaded with the very monotony of new scenes and
blurred impressions. You wisely fly to the lovely country lanes for
restful change, and come back with new eyes and a clean slate. Then
the mysterious quality which lifts visible London into the London of
real romance and realizable antiquity dawns upon the mind. A third
exploration reveals its almost omniscient and omnipotent headship as for
three centuries the world's centre for the intellectual and material
forces that have so largely built up our civilization. Continued
observation brings other and endless aspects of the indescribable city,
which is no city, but a Chinese puzzle of separately whirling worlds
within each other.
This mystifying prelude may seem rather disheartening to the stranger,
primed with rational curiosity to understand
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DICK AND BROWNIE.
by
Mabel Quiller-Couch
CONTENTS.
Chapter.
I. THE ESCAPE.
II. A NIGHT SCARE.
III. WHAT THE MORNING BROUGHT.
IV. MISS ROSE.
V. SURPRISES.
VI. HULDAH GOES SHOPPING.
VII. A MEETING AND AN ALARM.
VIII. TRACKED DOWN.
IX. TO THE RESCUE.
X. ONE SUMMER'S AFTERNOON.
XI. HULDAH'S NEW HOME.
XII. HAPPY HOURS.
CHAPTER I.
THE ESCAPE.
The summer sun blazed down scorchingly on the white road, on the wide
stretch of moorland in the distance, and on the little coppice which
grew not far from the road.
The only shady spot for miles, it seemed, was that one under the
trees in the little coppice, where the caravan stood; but even there
the heat was stifling, and the smell of hot blistering varnish
mingled with the faint scent of honeysuckle and dog-roses.
Not a sound broke the stillness, for even the birds had been driven
to shelter and to silence, and except for the rabbits very few other
live things lived about there, to make any sounds. That afternoon
there were four other live things in the coppice, but they too were
silent, for they were wrapped in deep sleep. The four were a man and
a woman, a horse and a dog, and of all the things in that stretch of
country they were the most unlovely. The man and the woman were
dirty, untidy, red-faced and coarse. Even in their sleep their faces
looked cruel and sullen. The old horse standing patiently by, with
drooping head and hopeless, patient eyes, looked starved and weak.
His poor body was so thin that the bones seemed ready to push through
the skin, on which showed the marks of the blows he had received that
morning. The fourth creature there was a dog, as thin as the horse,
but younger, a lank, yellow, ugly, big-bodied dog, with a clever
head, bright, speaking brown eyes, and as keen a nose for scent as
any dog ever born possessed.
The brown eyes had been closed for a while in slumber, but presently
they opened alertly; a fly had bitten his nose, and the owner of the
nose got up to catch the fly. This done, he looked around him.
He looked with drooped ears and tail at the sleeping man and woman,
with ears a little raised at the old horse, and then with both ears
and tail alertly cocked he looked about him eagerly, even anxiously.
A second later he was leaping up the steps and into the caravan; but
in less than a minute he was out again, leaping over the steps at the
other end, and out to the edge of the coppice. What he was in search
of was not in the van, or under it, or anywhere near it.
The dog did not whine, or make a sound. He knew better than that.
A whine would have brought a heavy boot flying through the air at
him, or a stick across his back, or a kick in the ribs, if he were
foolish enough to go within reach of a foot. With his long nose to
the ground he stepped delicately to the edge of the coppice, then
stood still looking about him, his brown eyes full of wistful
anxiety.
He looked to the right, he looked to the left, he listened eagerly,
then he stepped back to the van again. This time he found something.
It was only a clue, but it sent his spirits up again, and with his
nose to the ground he came quickly back to the edge of the little
wood and beyond it; then, evidently satisfied, he took to his heels
and raced away with a joy which almost forced a yelp of triumph from
his throat.
The old horse raised his head and looked after the dog wistfully.
"If only I were as young and fleet, and able to get away as quietly!"
he thought longingly, and sighed a sigh which made his thin sides
heave painfully. Then his head drooped again, even more sadly than
before, and he closed his eyes patiently once more. He loved the
lank yellow dog. Next to little Huldah he loved him better than
anything in the world. It hurt him as much or more to hear the stick
raining blows on them as it did to feel it on his own poor battered
body, for his poor skin was hardened, but his feelings were not.
On each side of the wide road which ran past the coppice and away
from it were sunk ditches and high hedges, separating it from a bit
of wild moorland, which stretched away on either side as far as eye
could see. Here and there in the hedges were gaps, through which a
person or an animal could pass from the road to the moor, and back
again. To Dick, who did not understand it, this was very
bewildering. Ahead of him a black shadow would flit for a moment,
dark against the dazzling white road, then it would disappear.
It moved so swiftly and so close to the ground, that if it had not
been for the scent he might have thought it was some animal dodging
about among the ditches and dry grasses. Dick could not know that
when it had slipped through a gap in the hedge it became, instead of
a shadow, a solid little dingy brown figure.
Dick was puzzled. He was sure that Huldah was on ahead of him
somewhere, and he was very sure that he wanted her, but he was not at
all sure where she was, or that she wanted him; and there are times
in the lives of caravan dogs when they are not wanted, and are made
to know it. Dick had learnt that fact, but he wanted Huldah, and he
could not help feeling that she wanted him. It was very seldom that
she did not.
So he followed along slowly, keeping at a safe distance, his eyes and
his senses all on the alert to find out if that shadow ahead of him
was really his little mistress, or what it was--and if she would be
angry if he ran after her and joined her.
For a mile, for two miles, they went on like this, then the moor
ended, and roads and fields and houses came in sight. The black
shadow, which was really a little brown girl, stood for a moment
under the shelter of the hedge and looked hurriedly about her.
"Which'll be the safest way to go?" she gasped to herself, and wished
her heart would not thump so hard, for it made her tremble so that
she could hardly stand or move. She shaded her eyes with her little
sun-burnt hand and looked about her anxiously.
"They'd be certain sure to take the van along the main road," she
said to herself; "and anyway somebody might see me, and tell _'im_.
He's sure to ask everybody if they've seen me." A sob caught in her
throat, and tears came very near her eyes. She had often and often
thought of running away, but had never before had the courage and the
opportunity at the same time, and now that she had got both, and had
seized them, she was horribly frightened.
She was not so frightened by the prospect of want and loneliness and
uncertainty which lay before her, as she was by the thought of being
caught, and taken back again. The risk of capture after this bold
step of hers, and what would follow, were so terrible that the mere
thought of them made her turn off the high road at a run, and dash
into the nearest lane she came to. She had the sense to choose one
on the opposite side of the road, lest she should find herself back
on the moor again. A moor was so treacherous, there was no shelter,
and one never knew when one would be pounced on. There was no
shelter either, no food, no house, no safe hiding-place, and of
course there was no chance of finding a friend there, who might take
pity on her.
The lane she dashed into so blindly was a steep one, it led up, and
up, and up, but the hedges were so high she could not see anything
beyond them. They shut out all the air too, and the heat was quite
stifling, her poor thin little face grew scarlet, the perspiration
ran off her brow in heavy drops. She picked up her apron at last, to
wipe them away, and then it was she found the bundle of raffia and
the two or three baskets she had brought out to sell, when the
thought had come to her that she would never go back any more--that
here was the chance she had longed for. Now, when she noticed the
baskets for the first time, her heart beat faster than ever, for she
could well picture the rage there would be, when it was discovered
that not only had she run away, but had taken with her two baskets
ready for sale!
"They are mine! I made them," she gasped, nervously, "and I left some
behind!" but her alarm put fresh energy into her tired feet, and, in
spite of the heat and her weariness, she ran, and ran madly, she did
not know or care whither, as long as she got lost. Wherever she saw
a way, she took it; the more winding it was the better. Anything
rather than keep to a straight, direct road that they could trace.
At one moment she thought of hiding away her baskets and raffia, but
she was very, very hungry by this time, and with the baskets lay her
only chance of being able to buy food, and oh, she needed food badly.
She needed it so much that at last, from sheer exhaustion, she had to
stop and lie down on the ground to recover herself.
It was then that Huldah first caught sight of Dick. All the way she
had gone, he had followed her at a distance, careful never to get too
close, cautiously keeping well out of sight, running when she ran,
drawing back and half-concealing himself when she slackened her pace,
and there was a likelihood of her looking around. Now at last,
though, they had come to moorland again, with only a big boulder here
and there for shelter, and when Huldah suddenly fell down, exhausted,
Dick, in his fright at seeing her lying on the ground motionless,
forgot all about hiding away. Everything but concern for his little
mistress went out of his head. Huldah, lying flat on the ground with
her head resting on her outstretched arm, her face turned away from
the pitiless sun, saw nothing. She did not want to see anything; the
desolateness of the great bare stretch of land frightened her.
She felt terribly frightened, and terribly lonely. Should she die
here, she wondered, alone! At the prospect a sob broke from her.
To poor Dick, who had crept up so close that he stood beside her,
this was too much. At the sound of her distress he was so overcome,
he could no longer keep his feelings under restraint. A bark broke
from him, eager, coaxing, half frightened; then, repentant and
ashamed, he thrust his hot nose into Huldah's hand, and licked it
apologetically.
Weary, dead-beat as she was, Huldah sprang up into a sitting
position. "Dick!" she cried, "oh, Dick! How did you come here?
Oh, I am so glad, so glad!" and flinging her arms round his long
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WORKS ISSUED BY
The Hakluyt Society.
DIARY
OF
RICHARD COCKS.
FIRST SERIES. NO. LXVI-MDCCCLXXXIII
DIARY
OF
RICHARD COCKS
CAPE-MERCHANT IN THE ENGLISH FACTORY IN JAPAN
1615-1622
_WITH CORRESPONDENCE_
EDITED BY
EDWARD MAUNDE THOMPSON
VOL. I
BURT FRANKLIN, PUBLISHER
NEW YORK, NEW YORK
Published by
BURT FRANKLIN
514 West 113th Street
New York 25, N. Y.
ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE HAKLUYT SOCIETY
REPRINTED BY PERMISSION
PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.
COUNCIL
OF
THE HAKLUYT SOCIETY.
COLONEL H. YULE, C.B., PRESIDENT.
ADMIRAL C. R. DRINKWATER BETHUNE, C.B. } VICE-PRESIDENTS.
MAJOR-GENERAL SIR HENRY RAWLINSON, K.C.B. }
W. A. TYSSEN AMHERST, ESQ., M.P.
REV. DR. G. P. BADGER, D.C.L.
J. BARROW, ESQ., F.R.S.
WALTER DE GRAY BIRCH, ESQ., F.S.A.
CAPTAIN LINDESAY BRINE, R.N.
E. H. BUNBURY, ESQ.
THE EARL OF DUCIE, F.R.S.
CAPTAIN HANKEY, R.N.
LIEUT.-GENERAL SIR J. HENRY LEFROY, C.B., K.C.M.G.
R. H. MAJOR, ESQ., F.S.A.
REAR-ADMIRAL MAYNE, C.B.
E. DELMAR MORGAN, ESQ.
ADMIRAL SIR ERASMUS OMMANNEY, C.B., F.R.S.
LORD ARTHUR RUSSELL, M.P.
THE LORD STANLEY, OF ALDERLEY.
B. F. STEVENS, ESQ.
EDWARD THOMAS, ESQ., F.R.S.
LIEUT.-GEN. SIR HENRY THUILLIER, C.S.I., F.R.S.
T. WISE, ESQ., M.D.
CLEMENTS R. MARKHAM, ESQ., C.B., F.R.S., HONORARY SECRETARY.
PREFACE.
The history of the English trading settlement in Japan in the first
quarter of the seventeenth century is the history of a failure; and the
causes of the failure are not far to seek. Choosing for their depôt
an insignificant island in the extreme west of the kingdom, without
even good anchorage to recommend it, and at a far distance from the
capital cities of Miako and Yedo, with the Dutch for their neighbours
and, as it proved, their rivals, the English may be said to have
courted disaster. It is true that Firando was a ready port for shipping
coming from Europe; its ruler was friendly; and it lay in a convenient
position from whence to open the much-desired trade with China. And
the policy of making common cause with the Protestant Hollanders
against the Spaniards and Portuguese, who had first secured a footing
in Japan and were powerful in the neighbouring town of Nagasaki, would
have been a sound one, had the latter remained supreme. But, when the
English landed, the Dutch had already obtained privileges and had
established their trade in the country; and what ought to have been
foreseen inevitably came to pass. The Dutch were not allies; they were
rivals, who undersold the English in the market and in the end starved
them out of the country. Possibly, if our countrymen had been allowed
to maintain the branch factories which they started in some of the
principal towns, they might have held their own against their rivals,
in spite of the limited trade which Japan afforded; but when their
privileges were curtailed and they were restricted to Firando, their
case became desperate.
Purchas, in his _Pilgrimes_,[1] has told us the story of the first
landing of the English and its causes. The present volumes
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_Love's Usuries_
BY
LOUIS CRESWICKE
_Author of "Magnetism and Mystery"_
London
HENRY J. DRANE
SALISBURY HOUSE
SALISBURY SQUARE, FLEET STREET, E.C.
[_Several of the following stories are reprinted by kind
permission of the Editor of_ "BLACK AND WHITE," _in which
journal they originally appeared. "On the Eve of the Regatta"
is reprinted by kind permission of the Editor of_ "THE
GENTLEWOMAN."]
TO
H. F. PREVOST BATTERSBY,
IN APPRECIATION
OF MUCH GOOD FELLOWSHIP.
Is happiness courted in vain?
A will o' the wisp--nothing more?
A bubble? a dream? a refrain?
Is happiness courted in vain
A certain begetter of pain--
A fruit with an asp at the core?
Is happiness courted in vain
A will o' the wisp----Nothing more!
CONTENTS
PAGE
LOVE'S USURIES 7
A QUAINT ELOPEMENT 25
TROOPER JONES OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE 53
THE "CELIBATE" CLUB (DIALOGUE) 70
IN THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP 78
SOME CRAZY PATCHWORK 94
"THE SOUL OF ME" 112
IN A CORNFIELD (DIALOGUE) 131
ON THE EVE OF THE REGATTA 136
PEACH BLOOM 151
TWIN SOULS (DIALOGUE) 176
PAIN'S PENSIONERS 182
FOR LOVE OR SCIENCE? 201
ROMANCE OF THE COULISSES 228
Love's Usuries.
"The star of love is a flower--a deathless token,
That grows beside the gate of unseen things."
Among friends, parting for a lengthy spell has its disadvantages. They
age in character and physique, and after the reconnoitre there is a
pathetic consciousness of the grudging confessions which time has
inscribed on the monumental palimpsest. My meeting with Bentham after a
severance of years was bleak with this pathos. But he was gay as ever,
and better dressed than he used to be in the old art school days, with a
self-respecting adjustment of hat and necktie that had been unknown in
Bohemia; for he was no longer a boy, but a man, and a noted one, and
fortune had stroked him into sleekness. The gender of success must be
feminine: she is so capricious. Hitherto her smiles have been for
veterans grown hoary in doing; now she opens her arms for youngsters
grown great merely by daring. Bentham, it must be owned, had dared
uncommonly well, and success had pillowed his head in her lap while she
twined the bay with her fingers. But lines round his mouth and fatigued
cynicism on the eyelids betrayed the march of years, and, more, the
thinker, who, like most thinkers, plumbs to exhaustion in a bottomless
pit. For all that he was excellent company. On his walls hung
innumerable trophies of foreign travel and unique specimens of his own
art-bent and with these, by gesture or by anecdote, he gave an
unconscious synopsis of the skipped pages in our friendship's volume.
"This," he said, "is the original of 'Earth's Fair Daughters,' the
canvas that brought me to the front; and here"--handing an album--"is
the presentment of my benefactress."
"Benefactress?" I queried.
"Yes. I don't attempt to pad you with the social tarra-diddle that
genius finds nuggets on the surface of the diggings. Fame was due to
myself, and fortune to Mrs Brune--a dear old creature who bought my
pictures with a persistence worthy a better cause. She died, leaving me
her sole heir."
"And hence these travels?"
"Yes. When I lost sight of you in Paris I hewed a new route to notice. I
played at being successful, bought my own pictures through
dealers--_incog._, of course--at enormous prices. That tickled the ears
of the Press."
"But how about commission?"
"Oh, the dealers earned it, and my money was well invested. I became
talked about. The public knew nothing of my talent, and people love to
talk of what they understand least."
"You belittle yourself, Bentham. You felt your work was sound--that you
were bound to become great."
"True; otherwise I could not have stooped to play the charlatan. Without
it my work might as well have been rotten for all the public could
judge. Charlatanism is the only 'open sesame' to the world's cave, once
you get inside you may be as honest as you please. All is fair in love
or art or war, and there is a consolation in knowing that one's aim is
Jesuitical, and not merely base. Had it not been for Mrs Brune--good
soul--and the gambling instinct, I might be still, like you and Grey's
'gem of purest ray serene,' flashing my facets in the desert."
From Mrs Brune's portrait he devolved on one or two others of persons
distinguished in the art sphere, whose autographs, with cordial or
extravagant expressions of devotion, scrambled octopus-wise over the
card.
"And here," he said, handling an album bound in chicken skin, adorned
with the grace of Watteau's rurality--"here are my Flower Martyrs."
"What does that mean?" asked I, knowing him for an eccentric of
eccentrics.
"Don't you remember the quotation, 'Butchered to make a Roman holiday?'
It struck me once I should like to make an index of the flower lives
that had been sacrificed on the Altar of Selfishness."
"And this is the index?"
"No, not exactly. I soon tired of the experiment, for there was such
wholesale murder it was impossible to keep pace with it. I then confined
myself to the martyrs, the veritable martyrs broken on the rack of human
emotion. Here are a few--with remarks and dates--they have each a little
history of love or heroism or----" he shuffled for a term.
"Lunacy," I offered.
"Yes, that is the best word. They convey little histories of lunacy--my
own and others."
"May I inspect them?"
"You may," he conceded, throwing himself into an arm-chair and looking
over his elbow at the open page. "First," he said, "some rose leaves."
He coughed slightly, and stirred the fire with caution, as though it
shaped some panorama he feared to disarrange. Then he began his story:--
"First some rose leaves shaken into the finger-glass of a great
actress--you know Lalage?--on the night when all Paris was intoxicated
by her. It was my supper, and she honoured me. Many men would gladly
have been that rose--to lay down its life for a touch of her
finger-tips: several have parted with all that life holds dear for less
than that."
He struck a match and lit a cigarette, throwing the case to me, and then
proceeded:--
"The bowls were fragrant with attar, and those petals like fairy boats
skimmed over the scented surface of the water. They seemed very red
then, but they are faded enough now."
He again stared at the fire as though to assist his memory by its
pictures.
"Lalage is a great artist, and like all great artists her contact brings
completeness and a sense of fulfilment to everything--colour, purpose,
expression. I had just heard her in the _role_ of Chimene, in the
wonderful scene when, not daring to avow her love for Rodrigue, she
should have uttered '_Va-je ne te hais point_,' and where she merely
stood with moving lips--powerless to articulate from the suppressed
immensity of her passion. We, of the audience, by one consent seemed to
shiver--to shudder as though a polar breeze had swept over the tropic
night--so tragic, so real, so ardent, this unspeakable, this unspoken
confession."
"And what of Mons. Redan?" I questioned.
"The Count that turned actor? He played the part of Rodrigue, and he
told me afterwards that there were times when a sob would choke him as
he listened."
"And Redan loved her?"
"Loved? Oh, pale, anaemic, wan-complexioned word to run in leash with
Redan. He loved her so much that he was willing to barter name,
possessions, career for the warmth of her lips."
"And she?"
"And she----" he said, suddenly disturbing his fire panorama with a dash
of the poker. "Well, she took them."
There was silence for a moment or two as I turned the page--silence that
was accentuated by the falling ash, which dropped white and weightless
like the thousand lives that sink daily to dust exhausted with hope
deferred. Then he eyed the vegetable mass that faced me.
"A camellia," he explained, "crushed and brown. It was plucked from the
dead breast of a woman. It was the solitary witness of the last act of a
tragedy. The Prince K. was more than a kind patron--an almost friend to
me. He valued my apprehension of art, and shadowed me from the hour I
first began to paint little Gretchen carrying her father's cobblings to
their owners. He bought the picture, and ceaselessly employed me to make
sketches of her in some way or another--as a queen--as a boy--as a
_danseuse_. He loved to see her in all disguises, for she had the true
model's faculty for lending herself to, and developing every pose. Then
came the question of marriage--it is inevitable when a man meets a girl
with eyes like altar lights, clear and holy beacons of God. Marriage,
between a prince of the blood and the child of a shoemaker!"
Bentham gave vent to a low laugh, which was quite devoid of merriment.
It is the trick of those who spend their lives in plumbing the
unfathomable; it translates the meagreness and vacuity of their lore.
"Of course the family was outraged," he went on; "his mother appealed,
grovelled on her knees, so it is said, and in the end he gave way. He
agreed to part from his beloved. But he asked that she might sit for me,
and would sometimes muse for hours over the latest travail of my brush.
Then he became engaged to the Countess Dahlic--there is no accounting
for the moral weakness of men under family pressure--and the wedding day
was fixed. All this time he had kept his word. He had never spoken to or
seen Gretchen, and she, poor child, was dying--yes, dying slowly--not as
we die, but fading like twilight, imperceptibly, fainting like high
purpose, blighted by the coarse breath of the million."
He knocked the end off his cigarette and stared for a while at the
gas-smoked ceiling.
"Then--one day when the marriage was close at hand, when flags hung from
the housetops and garlands across the streets, there was a stir in the
house of the cobbler. Gretchen had been sitting to me as a Spanish maid
in a mantilla, with a camellia in her hair and on her chest. Dressed so,
she was found locked in the arms of the Prince. Both were dead--and the
camellia was crushed to brown as you see. It came into my possession
with the lace which belonged to me--an art property that is now too
entangled with the human and with the divine ever to be used lightly
again."
"A sad story," I sighed, turning the leaf. "Poor child, so young and
pretty and----"
"Good," he added. "It is astonishing to calculate the amount of virtue
which lurks about unlabelled by the wedding ring."
* * * * *
"That," he said, turning over a fresh page, "was once a bunch of
violets; it should have belonged to Jacquaine."
"Who was Jacquaine?"
"She was a romantic creature, full of music and passionate inspiration;
but she had one fault, that of inventing ideals. Don't you find that
most women come to grief over this pastime?"
He scarcely demanded a reply, but went on as though thinking aloud.
"She made a deity of her husband, who was a clever 'cellist, but merely
a man. When he became dazzled with a vulgar, opulent, overblown person,
Jacquaine would not view it as a temporary fascination. Her soul was not
adapted to the analysis of triviality. She ran away from him.
Husband-like, he was too proud or pig-headed--I won't venture to decide
which--to chase her. Meanwhile, with the perversity of woman, she pined
for him, and haunted every concert room to hear the voice of his art. By
degrees the very intensity of her soul's longing seemed to creep into
his hands and sob its despair through his fingers. His technical skill
came forth through a halo, as though crowned with the fire of her
thought which surrounded and encompassed it. Of course, the world saw
but the amplification of his artistic faculty, and his fortune was made.
Then a beautiful charmer metaphorically wiped away his tears, for he had
yearned for his wife in the enigmatical fashion of weak creatures who
prefer to morally gamble and deplore their losses rather than save.
Jacquaine became poor as well as sorrowful; she pined for her husband's
love, but whenever she would have craved it, other women courted him.
Her talent waned as his expanded. At this juncture Broton, the
millionaire, who had always admired her, gave a big supper to Bohemia,
leaving her husband out. The entertainment was mightily enjoyable, for
Broton's wine was sound and his guests witty. When the fun was fast and
furious I happened to cross a drawing-room in search of brandy and
seltzer. Not a soul was there, but on the verandah I spotted our host
and Jacquaine. The earnestness of his expression and pose were a
contrast to his usual stolidity and to her apparently callous mood. He
was offering to her what showed like a bunch of violets enfolded in a
note. For the moment I fancied she had given acceptance, but suddenly
she sprang from the chair, threw the bouquet and paper on the floor, and
ruthlessly ground her heel into them. Then she stalked away--he
following and remonstrating."
"What happened?"
"Well, in my zest for flower history I leapt forward to rescue this
little bouquet and found that which I imagined to be a note was in fact
a cheque for L8000."
"Signed by him?"
"Yes; made payable to bearer."
"What did you do?"
"What I knew she would have desired. I enclosed it in an envelope
addressed to him and left it before daybreak at his own house."
"Without a word?"
"Without a word."
"And this is the bouquet?"
"Yes. It is the only souvenir I have of one who was dear to me. Whether
I loved because I pitied or pitied because I loved I cannot say. There
are some riddles which no one can solve."
"You never tried?"
"No. She was a noble woman, and her husband, too, was a decent fellow,
as far as men go. They were admirably fitted by nature for each other,
but matrimony dislocated them. That is another of the riddles that
frustrate us."
To avert further comment Bentham folded the page and lounged deeper into
his chair, as though overcome by fatigue.
Presently he resumed.
"That is a <DW29>. It was pressed in a book. It marked the place. We read
the poem together, she and I, that creature of warm wax pulsating with
childish naivetes and provoking contrariety. We read it together in the
orange gardens of the hotel looking out over a green transparency of
Mediterranean. I wonder if the scent of orange blossom, warmed by the
breath of the sea, is an intoxicant, if it soaks in at the pores and
quickens the veins to madness? Mine never seemed so palpitating with
delirium as in those days with her by my side, and the free heavens and
ocean for her setting. Yet she was ready to leave me without changing
the indefinitude which always accompanied her words and actions, to
leave me on the morrow--for I was anchored to a studio and some
commissions to which I was pledged. But though she had a certain prosaic
flippancy of speech which spelt discouragement, my heart refused a
literal translation of her idiom. On the last day I determined to sound
her, and subtly contrived to wrest her attention with this poem. We read
it together. Her soft cheek neared mine with a downy magnetism, and
vagrant fibrils of tawny hair danced with the wind against my ear. After
the second verse I placed this <DW29> as a mile-stone to colour our
travels on the open page. She assisted me to flatten the curling leaves,
and my huge hand extinguished her tiny one. Then I whispered--oh, never
mind what I whispered--it was a line of nature that the artistic reserve
of the poet had omitted. She closed the book and covered her face with
her hands to hide the trouble and the tears which puckered it. I made a
nest for her in my arms, but she fluttered free out into the orange
orchards and so to the house. All day I wandered about sore and sulky.
At night I tried to see her, and was informed she was ill. On the morrow
I was startled to find she had gone with her friends by the early
train."
"And did you not hear from her?"
"Yes, she left a letter behind; I should like to show it you--to see
what you make of it."
He rose and from his bureau extracted a note; then he resumed his seat
and tossed me the almost illegible scrawl:--
DEAR LIONEL,--All this time I have been too blessed--too
supremely happy to face the truth. You do not know my real name
nor my grievous history, and the more I love and honour you the
harder becomes the revelation. I can endure it no more--so
good-bye.
"And was that all?"
"Absolutely. I pressed the <DW29> in the poem, and vowed--such vows are
cheap--never to trust a woman again. But, after all, what claim have we
to view our love as a priceless gift when we invariably demand cent. per
cent. in kind? I have argued this out with myself, and realise that I
was her debtor, I was first an artist whom she had patronised and
then--a man whom she had----"
"Well?"
"I was going to say--ennobled. Don't you think there are some women who,
by power of faith, transmute even clay-footed idols into gold?"
I shook my head and prepared to turn over the leaf, but he made as
though to remove the book.
"That last one is a marguerite. It tells a very bald narrative--just a
common instance of man's blockheadedness and Fate's topsy-turvydom."
Bentham threw aside his cigarette and closed his eyes. He was looking
worn and old.
"I think I have told you all," he continued presently, "except about
these petals. They were gathered from the ground as her fingers shredded
them to discover whether I loved her _passionement_ or _pas du tout."_
"The same person?"
"No, another; she was what is called a coquette--an innocent girl baby,
who played with men's hearts as children probe sawdust dolls--from a
spirit of inquiry. For some silly wager she flirted with a man staying
in the hotel, an uncouth provincial clown whom I ignored. But it
maddened me. I started for the States to accept a commission that had
been offered--that my love for her had held in the balance--and--and I
never saw her alive again."
There was a long pause, during which the clock on the chimney ticked its
forever--never--without remorse. Gradually the synopsis became more
complete, for I could trace the outlines of the buried hours in
Bentham's grey, impassive face. Then he went on as though
soliloquising:--
"Now I return to it, England seems wider--its population smaller. It is
as if we lived in a great silence like that in the rarified atmosphere
of Swiss heights. Yet the streets are in a turmoil. Beaming girls and
bedizened harridans flaunt in the Row, carriages roll, and polite and
impolite jostle each other for gain or gaiety. There are great singers
at the Opera, great pictures on the Line, great festivities everywhere.
There is a _frou-frou_ of silken skirts, with the scent and the laughter
of happy women round and about me, from dawn till nightfall. Yet my soul
shivers somewhere outside. Shivers"--he repeated, shrinking into his
coat as though midsummer were March--"Why is it? I have lived and loved
and--as you know--recovered, but now--oh, Louis, is there anything so
mutely desolate as fresh spade prints on a grassless grave?"
A Quaint Elopement
"Ah! little sweetheart, the romance
Of life, with all its change and chance,
Is but a sealed book to thee."
It took Ralph Hilyard over twelve hours to journey from Southampton to
St Malo on that momentous June night. The sea tossed and bounded and
roared, but he kept his footing on deck, well satisfied with Nature's
frenzied accompaniment to his own tempestuous thoughts. He was being
borne to the historic town where She, from infancy to womanhood, had
dwelt; he would meet those frank blue Breton eyes adjured for a
year--eyes, whose innocence in one less well descended might have spelt
ignorance--he would adore the graceful form, that, while clamouring of
beauty, hinted all unconsciously of the _haute noblesse_, the ghost of
which abides in St Malo to this moment, though the substance has long
since passed away. He would risk all for the encounter, he told himself.
Round the subject his mind had revolved for three hundred and sixty-four
days; on the three hundred and sixty-fifth his thoughts had sprung to
action--he had set sail.
Her people, an austere mother--who loathed the name of the Republic and
rigidly clamped her door against both the bourgeoisie and our British
nation of shopkeepers--and her brother, Le Sieur de Quesne, a foolish
and thoroughly useless fine gentleman, occupied "La Chaumais," their
ancestral domain, near St Servan, on the river Rance. This domain was
almost as hermetically sealed as a convent, and far more gloomy. It
served to perfection as a prison for the peccant Leonie, when it was
discovered that, during a fortnight's stay with an aunt in Paris, she
had ventured to eye as a lover a portionless upstart, an artist who
worked for mere bread in the Quartier Latin. Here, for twelve months,
the poor delinquent was incarcerated. In this mouldy mansion she either
knitted or stared vacantly out at the rank unkempt grass and the
dilapidated fences, kept by poverty unrepaired, while her parent
reiterated stories of the grand old days when the tapestried chairs,
woefully faded, had been fresh and beauteous, and when the de Quesne
nobles had flitted from the splendours of the Tuilleries to hold rural
court within those blackened portals now so severe of aspect, so
melancholy and silent with the pulselessness of stagnation.
A sore punishment this for having confessed in her heart's _naivete_ a
passion for a hero of the brush, a vagrant in velveteen who painted
pictures and--vulgarian!--sold them to any patronising passer-by. It was
penalty dire enough for a _debutante_ who had but sipped Paris, it waxed
doubly dreadful to inquiring Eve within scent of the apple tree. There
were tears at first, sobs of despair, then dumb contumacy, and
latterly--when the spring weather returned again--kicks! But the pricks
of family pride were sharp to lunge against, and many drops of heart's
blood were spilt in the exercise. Restrictions only grew more rigid, and
the poor little damsel, who had tricoteed sombrely in the ancestral
dungeon during the winter, was, in summer, never permitted to roam
without the vigilant companionship of the substantial retainer
Valentine, a worthy who, from her elaborately starched _coiffe_ to the
heels of her _sabots_, was strongly imbued with a sense of conscientious
vassalage to "Madame," as Leonie's mother in these degenerate days
condescended to be styled.
But love, which laughs at iron bars, makes also mock at the effrontery
of blue blood. There came a day, not long after Ralph Hilyard's sudden
arrival at St Malo, when, Valentine's expansive back being for a moment
turned, a two-lined scribble on a shred of drawing paper was placed in
Mademoiselle de Quesne's hands.
It said curtly, with concise eloquence:--
"I want you. I can live without you no longer."
The opportunity presented itself in this wise. Though cut off from all
other pleasures of youth, Leonie was, at midsummer, for the short six
weeks' season, allowed to bathe in the sea, attended by the faithful
Valentine. She crossed daily to St Malo on the "_Pont Roulant_"--a
quaint structure that, moved by chains and steam, plies the water on
sand-embedded rails--and there joined in the acquatic gambols of the
merry crowd. With the strange inconsistency of the narrow, her
relatives, who had almost tabooed society, permitted her to indulge her
taste for swimming, a sport in which she excelled. This laxity probably
owed its origin to routine cultivated in the girl's childhood, and
retained--as were all the observances of Madame's distinguished
household--still intact and unchallenged.
At St Malo, as the tide ebbed, all the delightfully _insouciant_ and
cheery French world congregated. The sands near the giant rock that
marks the ideal resting-place of Chateaubriand were dotted with tents--a
perfect army of mushrooms--which served as disrobing shelters for the
bathers. From these emerged a brilliant throng of masqueraders of both
sexes, who tripped to the tide with varying degrees of elegant
assurance. As Leonie's lithe figure, with its natty tunic and cherry
waist-band, slipped from the tent (Valentine for the moment was
arranging the shed raiment) a gamin with bare limbs and furled shrimping
net lurched up against her. There was unusual audacity in the eye of the
youngster, but the disrespect was forgiven when a missive, crunched in
his plump palm, was transferred to hers.
She clasped her hands, drew a long breath of rapturous surprise, and
devoutly whispered:--
"_Que Dieu soit beni!_"
The Catholic and Breton temperament is so finely interwoven that even
this sudden overstepping of family restrictions had to her its pious
side. She could there and then, in effervescent thankfulness, have knelt
to worship all the infinitesimal saintlings of whom her lover had never
heard, but who, with her, were active pioneers to mercy. Besides this,
love, which, when real, touches the religious string in every breast,
had so long played an accompaniment to prayer and worship, that her
first action was almost mechanically devotional. Her second, in
contrast, was crudely mundane. Valentine, complacency beaming from her
triple chins, loomed expansively in the doorway of the tent, so Leonie,
slipping the billet in her mouth, sped for protection to the ocean, the
only haven where she could be free from company and espionage.
She battled against the waves till she neared the protective raft in
deep water where timorous bathers never ventured. Then she hoisted
herself up, took the scrap of paper
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THE STORY OF MY MIND
How I Became a Rationalist
By M. M. Mangasarian
1909
DEDICATION
To My Children
My Dear Children:--
You have often requested me to tell you how, having been brought up by
my parents as a Calvinist, I came to be a Rationalist. I propose now to
answer that question in a more connected and comprehensive way than I
have ever done before. One reason for waiting until now was, that you
were not old enough before, to appreciate fully the mental struggle
which culminated in my resignation from the Spring Garden Presbyterian
church of Philadelpha, in which, my dear Zabelle, you received your
baptism at the time I was its pastor. Your brother, Armand, and your
sister, Christine, were born after I had withdrawn from the Presbyterian
church, and they have therefore not been baptised. But you are, all
three of you, now sufficiently advanced in years, and in training, to
be interested in, and I trust also, to be benefited by, the story of my
religious evolution. I am going to put the story in writing that you may
have it with you when I am gone, to remind you of the aims and interests
for which I lived, as well as to acquaint you with the most earnest and
intimate period in my career as a teacher of men. If you should ever
become parents yourselves, and your children should feel inclined to
lend their support to dogma, I hope you will prevail upon them, first to
read the story of their grand-father, who fought his way out of the camp
of orthodoxy by grappling with each dogma, hand to hand and breast to
breast.
I have no fear that you yourselves will ever be drawn into the meshes of
orthodoxy, which cost me my youth and the best years of my life to break
through, or that you will permit motives of self-interest to estrange
you from the Cause of Rationalism with which my life has been so closely
identified. My assurance of your loyalty to freedom of thought in
religion is not based, nor do I desire it to be based, on considerations
of respect or affection which you may entertain for me as your father,
but on your ability and willingness to verify a proposition before
assenting to it. Do not believe me because I am your parent, but believe
what you have yourselves, by conscientious and earnest endeavor, found
to be worthy of belief. It will never be said of you, that you have
inherited your opinions from me, or borrowed them from your neighbors,
if you can give a reason for the faith that is in you.
I wish you also to know that during those years of storm and stress,
when everything seemed so discouraging, and when my resignation from
the church had left us exposed to many privations,--without money and
without help, your mother's sympathy with me in my combat with the
church--a lone man, and a mere youth, battling with the most powerfully
intrenched institution in all the world, was more than my daily bread
to me during the pain and travail of my second birth. My spirits, often
depressed from sheer weariness, were nursed to new life and ardor by her
patience and sympathy.
One word more: Nothing will give your parents greater satisfaction than
to see in you, increasing with the increase of years, a love for those
ideals which instead of dragging the world backward, or arresting its
progress, urge man's search to nobler issues. Co-operate with the
light. Be on the side of the dawn. It is not enough to profess
Rationalism--make it your religion. Devotedly,
M. M. Mangasarian.
CHAPTER I. In the Cradle of Christianity
I was a Christian because I was born one. My parents were Christians for
the same reason. It had never occurred to me, any more than it had to
my parents, to ask for any other reason for professing the Christian
religion. Never in the least did I entertain even the most remote
suspicion that being born in a religion was not enough, either to make
the religion true, or to justify my adherence to it.
My parents were members of the Congregational church, and when I was
only a few weeks old, they brought me, as I have often been told by
those who witnessed the ceremony, to the Rev. Mr. Richardson, to be
baptized and presented to the Lord. It was the vow of my mother, if she
ever had a son, to dedicate him to the service of God. As I advanced in
years, the one thought constantly instilled into my mind was that I did
not belong to myself but to God. Every attempt was made to wean me from
the world, and to suppress in me those hopes and ambitions which might
lead me to choose some other career than that of the ministry.
This constant surveillance over me, and the artificial sanctity
associated with the life of one set apart for God, was injurious to me
in many ways. Among other things it robbed me of my childhood. Instead
of playing, I began very early to pray. God, Christ, Bible, and the
dogmas of the faith monopolized my attention, and left me neither the
leisure nor the desire for the things that make childhood joyous. At the
age of eight years I was invited to lead the congregation in prayer, in
church, and could recite many parts of the New Testament by heart. One
of my favorite pastimes was "to play church." I would arrange the chairs
as I had seen them arranged at church, then mounting on one of the
chairs, I would improvise a sermon and follow it with an unctuous
prayer. All this pleased my mother very much, and led her to believe
that God had condescended to accept her offering.
My dear mother is still living, and is still a devout member of the
Congregational church. I have not concealed my Rationalism from her,
nor have I tried to make light of the change which has separated us
radically in the matter of religion. Needless to say that my withdrawal
from the Christian ministry, and the Christian religion, was a painful
disappointment to her. But like all loving mothers, she hopes and prays
that I may return to the faith she still holds, and in which I was
baptized. It is only natural that she should do so. At her age of life,
beliefs have become so crystallized that they can not yield to new
impressions. When my mother had convictions I was but a child, and
therefore I was like clay in her hands, but now that I can think for
myself my mother is too advanced in years for me to try to influence
her. She was more successful with me than I shall ever be with her.
That my mother had a great influence upon me, all my early life attests.
As soon as I was old enough I was sent to college with a view of
preparing myself for the ministry. Having finished college I went to the
Princeton Theological Seminary, where I received instruction from such
eminent theologians as Drs. A. A. Hodge, William H. Green, and Prof.
Francis L. Patton. At the age of twenty-three, I became pastor of the
Spring Garden Presbyterian church of Philadelphia.
It was the reading of Emerson and Theodore Parker which gave me my first
glimpse of things beyond the creed I was educated in. I was at this time
obstinately orthodox, and, hence, to free my mind from the Calvinistic
teaching which I had imbibed with my mother's milk, was a most painful
operation. Again and again, during the period of doubt, I returned to
the bosom of my early faith, just as the legendary dove, scared by the
waste of waters, returned to the ark. To dislodge the shot fired into
a wall is not nearly so difficult an operation as to tear one's self
forever from the early beliefs which cling closer to the soul than the
skin does to the bones.
While it was the reading of a new set of books which first opened my
eyes, these would have left no impression upon my mind had not certain
events in my own life, which I was unable to reconcile with the belief
in a "Heavenly Father", created in me a predisposition to inquire into
the foundations of my Faith.
An event, which happened when I was only a boy, gave me many anxious
thoughts about the truth of the beliefs my dear mother had so eloquently
instilled into me. The one thought I was imbued with from my youth was
that "the tender mercies of God are over all his children," I believed
myself to be a child of God, and counted confidently upon his special
providence. But when the opportunity came for providence to show his
interest in me, I was forsaken, and had to look elsewhere for help. My
first disappointment was a severe shock. I got over it at the time, but
when I came to read Rationalistic books, the full meaning of that early
experience, which I will now briefly relate, dawned upon me, and helped
to make my mind good soil for the new ideas.
In 1877 I was traveling in Asia Minor, going from the Euphrates to the
Bosphorus, accompanied by the driver of my horses, one of which I rode,
the other carrying my luggage. We had not proceeded very far when we
were overtaken by a young traveler on foot, who, for reasons of safety,
begged to join our little party. He was a Mohammedan, while my driver
and I professed the Christian religion.
For three days we traveled together, going at a rapid pace in order to
overtake the caravan. It need hardly be said that in that part of the
world it is considered unsafe to travel even with a caravan, but, to
go on a long journey, as we were doing, all by ourselves, was certainly
taking a great risk.
We were armed with only a rifle--one of those flint fire-arms which
frequently refused to go off. I forgot to say that my driver had also
hanging from his girdle a long and crooked knife sheathed in a
black canvas scabbard. Both the driver, who was a Christian, and the
Mohammedan, who had placed himself under our protection, were, I am
sorry to say, much given to boasting. They would tell how, on various
occasions, they had, single-handed, driven away the Kurdish brigands,
who outnumbered them, ten to one; how that rusty knife had disemboweled
one of the most renowned Kurdish chiefs, and how the silent and
meek-looking flint-gun had held at bay a pack of those "curs" who go
about scenting for human flesh. All this was reassuring to me--a lad of
seventeen, and I began to think that I was indebted to Providence for my
brave escort.
On the morning of the 18th of February, 1877, we reached the valley said
to be a veritable den of thieves, where many a traveler had lost his
life as well as his goods. A great fear fell upon us when we saw on
the wooden bridge which spanned the river at the base of the hills, two
Kurds riding in our direction. I was at once disillusioned as to the
boasted bravery of my comrades, and felt that it was all braggadocio
with which they had been regaling me. As I was the one supposed to have
money, I would naturally be the chief object of attack, which made
my position the more perilous. But this sudden fear which seemed to
paralyze me at first, was followed by a bracing resolve to cope with
these "devils" mentally.
As I look back now upon the events of that day, I am puzzled to know
how I got through it all without any serious harm to my person. I was
surprised also that I, who had been brought up to pray and to trust in
divine help, forgot in the hour of real peril, all about "other help"
and bent all my energies upon helping myself.
But why did I not pray? Why did I not fall upon my knees to commit
myself to God's keeping? Perhaps it was because I was too much
pre-occupied--too much in earnest to take the time to pray. Perhaps my
better instincts would not let me take refuge in words when something
stronger was wanted. We may ask the good Lord not to burn our house,
but when the house is actually on fire, water is better than prayer.
Perhaps, again, I did not pray because of an instinctive feeling that
this was a case of self-help or no help at all. Perhaps, again, there
was a feeling in me, that if all the prayers my mother and I had offered
did not save me from falling into the hands of thieves neither would any
new prayer that I might offer be of any help. But the fact is that in
the hour of positive and imminent peril--when face to face with death--I
was too busy to pray.
My mother, before I started on this journey, had made a bag for my
valuables--watch and chain, etc.--and sewed it on my underflannels, next
to my body. But my money (all in gold coins) was in a snuff-box, and
that again in a long silk purse. I was, of course, the better dressed
of the three--with long boots which reached higher than my knees, a
warm English broadcloth cloak reaching down to my ankles, and an Angora
collarette, soft and snow white, about my neck.
I rode ahead, and the others, with the baggage horse, followed me. When
the two Kurdish riders who were advancing in our direction reached me,
they saluted me very politely, saying, according to the custom of the
country, "God be with you," to which I timidly returned the customary
answer, "We are all in his keeping." At the time it did not occur to me
how absurd it was for both travelers and robbers to recommend each other
to God while carrying fire-arms--the ones for attack, the others for
defense.
Of course now I can see, though I could not at the time I am speaking
of, that God never interfered to save an _unarmed_ traveler from
brigands--I say never, for if he ever did, and could, he would do it
always. But as we know, alas, too well, that hundreds and thousands have
been robbed and cut to pieces by these Kurds, it would be reasonable to
infer that God is indifferent. Of course, the strongly-armed travelers,
as a rule, escape, thanks to their own courage and firearms. For, we ask
again, if the Lord can save one, why not all? And if he can save all,
but will not, does he not become as dangerous as the robbers? But really
if God could do anything in the matter, He would reform the Kurds out
of the land, or--out of the thieving business. If God is the unfailing
police force in Christian, lands, he is not that in Mohammedan
countries, at any rate.
As the two mounted Kurds passed by me, they scanned me very closely--my
costume, boots, furs, cap and so on. Then I heard them making inquiries
of my driver about me--who I was, where I was going, and why I was going
at all.
My driver answered these, inquiries as honestly as the circumstances
permitted. Wishing us all again the protection of Allah, the Kurds
spurred their horses and galloped away.
For a moment we began to breathe freely--but only for a moment, for as
our horses reached the bridge we saw that the Kurds had turned around
and were now following us. And before we reached the middle of the
bridge over the river, one of the Kurds galloping up close to me laid
his hand on my shoulders and, unceremoniously, pulled me out of my
saddle. At the same time he dismounted himself, while his partner
remained on horseback with his gun pointed squarely in my-face, and
threatening to kill me if I did not give him my money immediately.
I can never forget his savage grin when at last he found my purse, and
grabbing it, with another oath, pulled it out of its hiding place. I
have already described that my coins were all in a little box hid away
in my purse, hence, as soon as the robber had loosened the strings he
took out the box, held it in his left hand, while with his right he kept
searching in the inner folds of my long purse. While he was running his
fingers through the tortuous purse, I slipped mine into his left hand,
and, taking hold of the box, I emptied its contents into my pocket
in the twinkling of an eye and handed it back to the robber. The Kurd
incensed at finding nothing in the purse which he kept shaking and
fingering, snatched the box from my hand, opened it, and finding it as
empty as the purse, flung it away with an oath.
"Are you Moslems or Christians?" inquired one of the Kurds, to my
companions.
"We are all Moslems, by Allah," they answered.
In Turkey you are not supposed to speak the truth unless you say, "by
Allah," which means "_by God_."
Of course it was not true that I was a Mohammedan. My companions told
the Kurds a falsehood about me, to save my life. There was no doubt the
Kurds would have killed me, but for the lie _which I did not correct_.
When I reached my destination many of my co-religionists declared that I
had denied Christ by allowing the Kurds to think that I was a Moslem.
As I feel now, my conscience does not trouble me for helping, by my
silence, to deceive the Kurds about my religion. In withholding the
truth from these would-be assassins I was doing them no evil, but
protecting the most sacred rights of man, the Kurd's included. Here was
an instance in which silence was golden. But I would not hesitate,
any moment, to mislead a thief or a murderer, by speech, as well as
by silence. If it is right to kill the murderer in self-defense, it is
right to deny him also the truth.
But young as I was, what alarmed me at the time was that we should
have been led into the temptation of lying to save our lives. Why did a
"Heavenly Father" deliver us to the brigands? And of what help was God
to us, if, in real peril, we had to resort to fighting or falsehood for
self-protection? In
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[Illustration: "I don't like men, I never did." (Page 100)]
*The
Laughing Girl*
By ROBERT W. CHAMBERS
AUTHOR OF
"The Restless Sex,"
"The Dark Star,"
"The Business of Life," Etc.
With Frontispiece
By HENRY HUTT
A. L. BURT COMPANY
Publishers New York
Published by arrangement with D. APPLETON & COMPANY
Copyright, 1918, by
ROBERT W. CHAMBERS
Printed in the United States of America
TO
MY SON
BOB
AT PLATTSBURGH BARRACKS
*FOREWORD*
I
Here's a pretty tale to tell
All about the beastly boche--
How the Bolsheviki fell
Out of grace and in the wash!
--How all valiant lovers love,
How all villains go to hell,
Started thither by a shove
From the youth who loved so well,
Virtue mirrored in the glass
Held by his beloved lass.
II
_He who grins in clown's disguise_
_Often hides an aching heart--_
_Sadness, sometimes worldly-wise,_
_Dresses for a motley part--_
_Cap, and bells to cheat the ears,_
_Chalk and paint to hide the tears_
_Lest the world, divining pain,_
_Turn to gape and stare again._
III
You who read but may not run
Where the bugles summon youth,
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THE KNIGHT OF GWYNNE
By Charles James Lever
A Tale of the Time of the Union
With Illustrations By Phiz.
In Two Volumes. Vol. II.
Boston: Little, Brown, And Company 1894.
THE KNIGHT OF GWYNNE
CHAPTER I. SOME CHARACTERS NEW TO THE KNIGHT AND THE READER
Soon after breakfast the following morning the Knight set out to pay
his promised visit to Miss Daly, who had taken up her abode at a little
village on the coast, about three miles distant. Had Darcy known that
her removal thither had been in consequence of his own arrival at
"The Corvy," the fact would have greatly added to an embarrassment
sufficiently great on other grounds. Of this, however, he was not aware;
her brother Bagenal accounting for her not inhabiting "The Corvy" as
being lonely and desolate, whereas the village of Ballintray was, after
its fashion, a little watering-place much frequented in the season by
visitors from Coleraine, and other towns still more inland.
Thither now the Knight bent his steps by a little footpath across the
fields which, from time to time, approached the seaside, and wound again
through the gently undulating surface of that ever-changing tract.
Not a human habitation was in sight; not a living thing was seen to
move over that wide expanse; it was solitude the very deepest, and well
suited the habit of his mind who now wandered there alone. Deeply lost
in thought, he moved onward, his arms folded on his breast, and his eyes
downcast; he neither bestowed a glance upon the gloomy desolation of
the land prospect, nor one look of admiring wonder at the giant cliffs,
which, straight as a wall, formed the barriers against the ocean.
"What a strange turn of fortune!" said he, at length, as relieving his
overburdened brain by speech. "I remember well the last day I ever saw
her; it was just before my departure for England for my marriage. I
remember well driving over to Castle Daly to say good-bye! Perhaps,
too, I had some lurking vanity in exhibiting that splendid team of four
grays, with two outriders. How perfect it all was! and a proud fellow
I was that day! Maria was looking very handsome; she was dressed for
riding, but ordered the horses back as I drove up. What spirits she
had!--with what zest she seized upon the enjoyments her youth, her
beauty, and her fortune gave her!--how ardently she indulged every
costly caprice and every whim, as if revelling in the pleasure of
extravagance even for its own sake! Fearless in everything, she did
indeed seem like a native princess, surrounded by all that barbaric
splendor of her father's house, the troops of servants, the equipages
without number, the guests that came and went unceasingly, all rendering
homage to her beauty. 'T was a gorgeous dream of life, and well she
understood how to realize all its enchantment. We scarcely parted good
friends on that same last day," said he, after a pause; "her manner
was almost mordant. I can recall the cutting sarcasms she dealt around
her,--strange exuberance of high spirits carried away to the wildest
flights of fancy; and after all, when, having dropped my glove, I
returned to the luncheon-room to seek it, I saw her in a window, bathed
in tears; she did not perceive me, and we never met after. Poor girl!
were those outpourings of sorrow the compensation nature exacted for
the exercise of such brilliant powers of wit and imagination? or had she
really, as some believed, a secret attachment somewhere? Who knows? And
now we are to meet again, after years of absence,--so fallen too! If it
were not for these gray hairs and this wrinkled brow, I could believe it
all a dream;--and what is it but a dream, if we are not fashioned to act
differently because of our calamities? Events are but shadows if they
move us not."
From thoughts like these he passed on to others,--as to how he should be
received, and what changes time might have wrought in her.
"She was so lovely, and might have been so much more so, had she but
curbed that ever-rising spirit of mockery that made the sparkling lustre
of her eyes seem like the scathing flash of lightning rather than the
soft beam of tranquil
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Title: Supplemental Nights, Volume 5
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A DUEL IN THE DARK.
_An original Farce,_
IN ONE ACT.
BY J. STIRLING COYNE,
AUTHOR OF
"_My Wife's Daughter_," "_Binks the Bagman_," "_Separate
Maintenance_," "_How to settle Accounts with your Laundress_," "_Did
you ever send your Wife to Camberwell_,"
_&c. &c. &c._
THOMAS HAILES LACY,
WELLINGTON STREET, STRAND,
LONDON.
_First Performed at the Theatre Royal Haymarket,
On Saturday, January_ 31_st,_ 1852.
CHARACTERS.
MR. GREGORY GREENFINCH Mr. BUCKSTONE.
MRS. GREENFINCH }
COUNTESS DE RAMBUTEAU } Mrs. FITZWILLIAM.
CHARLEY BATES }
BETSY Mrs. CAULFIELD.
WAITER Mr. EDWARDS.
COSTUMES.
Mr. GREENFINCH.--Green coat, light blue trowsers, and French
travelling cap.
Mrs. GREENFINCH.--Fawn polka jacket, waistcoat and skirt.
COUNTESS DE RAMBUTEAU.--Loose travelling pelisse, bonnet and green
veil.
CHARLEY BATES.--Blue frock coat and white trowsers.
BETSY.--Travelling dress and servant's dress.
WAITER.--Gendarme suit.
SCENE _lies at a Hotel at Dieppe._
Time in Representation, 50 minutes.
A DUEL IN THE DARK!
SCENE.--_A handsomely furnished Apartment on the ground floor of a
Hotel at Dieppe. A French window at back opening on a garden. Door,
2 E. L. Door, 3 E. L. A large stove, L. between the two doors. Door,
2 E. R. Easy chair near door, R. Tables, R. and L. C. at back; bottle
of brandy with glasses on table, L. Chairs, &c. Two lighted candles
on._
_Enter GREENFINCH, carrying bandbox, large travelling cloak, carpet
bag and umbrella, L. 3 E._
GREEN. Well now this is something like an adventure. (_putting down
the umbrella and bandbox, R._) There's a romantic mystery attached to
me that I can't unravel, in fact I feel myself like a tangled
penn'orth of thread; the more I try to clear myself the more
complicated I become. Let me calmly consider my singular position.
(_throws the cloak on the easy chair, R. and places the carpet bag
beside it_) In the first place here I have arrived at the Hotel d'
Angleterre in Dieppe accompanied by the Countess de Rambuteau--a real
Countess! Poor Mrs. Greenfinch little dreams what a rake I am--but for
a long time I've been dying for an aristocratic flirtation--I have
looked at lovely women in the private boxes at the theatres--and have
run after carriages in the park--but all in vain, and now, startling
as the fact may seem, I have been for the last thirty hours the
travelling companion of a French Countess, and have shared her
post-chaise from Paris: when I say shared, I mean the Countess and her
maid took the inside and left me the outside, where I was exalted to
the dickey amongst a miscellaneous assortment of trunks and bandboxes,
by which I have been jolted and jammed till I haven't a bone in my
body without its particular ache. But the most extraordinary part of
the affair is that I have never yet seen the Countess's face, for she
has always concealed it from me beneath a thick veil. However that's
nothing, there's a secret sympathy by which I think I could discover a
pretty face under a piecrust. Hah! here she comes, and now for the
tender revelation--the soft confession--the blushing avowal--the--
_Enter MRS. GREENFINCH, 2 E. R., in a travelling dress closely veiled,
she carries in her hand a lady's walking basket._
Ah, my charming Countess, at length after a painful--I mean a
delightful journey--we have arrived in Dieppe, and now permit me to
gaze on those lovely features.
MRS. G. (_retires as he approaches_) No, no, _je ne permittez pas;_
nevare, not at all, Monsieur Grinfeench.
GREEN. Dear, Countess, take pity on me. (_aside_) What delightful
accents! She told me she could speak English fluently, and she does.
Am I never to see your face, dear Countess? Oh! have pity on me.
MRS. G. _Oui_, you sall ordere diner _toute de suite._
GREEN. Dinner? certainly, Count
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[Illustration: For a beginner that's the best schedule I ever saw.]
RALPH, THE TRAIN DISPATCHER
OR
THE MYSTERY OF THE PAY CAR
BY
ALLEN CHAPMAN
AUTHOR OF "RALPH OF THE ROUNDHOUSE," "RALPH IN THE SWITCH TOWER,"
"RALPH ON THE ENGINE," ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS
Made in the United States of America
THE RAILROAD SERIES
By Allen Chapman
Cloth. 12mo. Illustrated
RALPH OF THE ROUNDHOUSE Or, Bound to Become a Railroad Man
RALPH IN THE SWITCH TOWER Or, Clearing the Track
RALPH ON THE ENGINE Or, The Young Fireman of the Limited Mail
RALPH ON THE OVERLAND EXPRESS Or, The Trials and Triumphs of
a Young Engineer
RALPH, THE TRAIN DISPATCHER Or, The Mystery of the Pay Car
GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, New York
Copyright, 1911 by GROSSET & DUNLAP
Ralph, the Train Dispatcher
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I--THE OVERLAND EXPRESS
CHAPTER II--THE WRECK
CHAPTER III--TROUBLE BREWING
CHAPTER IV--THE WIRE TAPPERS
CHAPTER V--IKE SLUMP
CHAPTER VI--IN THE TUNNEL
CHAPTER VII--DANGER SIGNALS
CHAPTER VIII--THE OLD SWITCH SHANTY
CHAPTER IX--A SUSPICIOUS DISCOVERY
CHAPTER X--THE TRAIN DISPATCHER
CHAPTER XI--MAKING A SCHEDULE
CHAPTER XII--AT THE RELAY STATION
CHAPTER XIII--"HOLD THE LIMITED MAIL!"
CHAPTER XIV--OLD 93
CHAPTER XV--CHASING A RUNAWAY
CHAPTER XVI--THE WRECK
CHAPTER XVII--A STRANGE MESSAGE
CHAPTER XVIII--THE SLUMP "SECRET"
CHAPTER XIX--ON THE LOOKOUT
CHAPTER XX--A TRUSTY FRIEND
CHAPTER XXI--A DASTARDLY PLOT
CHAPTER XXII--HOLDING THE FORT
CHAPTER XXIII--ONE MINUTE AFTER TWELVE
CHAPTER XXIV--THE BATTLE OF WITS
CHAPTER XXV--A WILD NIGHT
CHAPTER XXVI--AN AMAZING ANNOUNCEMENT
CHAPTER XXVII--THE STOLEN PAY CAR
CHAPTER XXVIII--THE "TEST" SPECIAL
CHAPTER XXIX--"CRACK THE WHIP!"
CHAPTER XXX--THE PAY CAR ROBBER
CHAPTER XXXI--QUICK WORK
CHAPTER XXXII--CONCLUSION
CHAPTER I
THE OVERLAND EXPRESS
"Those men will bear watching--they are up to some mischief, Fairbanks."
"I thought so myself, Mr. Fogg. I have been watching them for some
time."
"I thought you would notice them--you generally do notice things."
The speaker with these words bestowed a glance of genuine pride and
approbation upon his companion, Ralph Fairbanks.
They were a great pair, these two, a friendly, loyal pair, the grizzled
old veteran fireman, Lemuel Fogg, and the clear-eyed, steady-handed
young fellow who had risen from roundhouse wiper to switchtower service,
then to fireman, then to engineer, and who now pulled the lever on the
crack racer of the Great Northern Railroad, the Overland express.
Ralph sat with his hand on the throttle waiting for the signal to pull
out of Boydsville Tracks. Ahead were clear, as he well knew, and his
eyes were fixed on three men who had just passed down the platform with
a scrutinizing glance at the locomotive and its crew.
Fogg had watched them for some few minutes with an ominous eye. He had
snorted in his characteristic, suspicious way, as the trio lounged
around the end of the little depot.
"Good day," he now said with fine sarcasm in his tone, "hope I see you
again--know I'll see you again. They're up to tricks, Fairbanks, and
don't you forget it."
"Gone, have they?" piped in a new voice, and a brakeman craned his neck
from his position on the reverse step of the locomotive. "Say, who are
they, anyway?"
"Do you know?" inquired the fireman, facing the intruder sharply.
"I'd like to. They got on
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MEXICAN COPPER TOOLS:
THE USE OF COPPER BY THE MEXICANS BEFORE THE CONQUEST;
AND
THE KATUNES OF MAYA HISTORY,
A CHAPTER IN THE
EARLY HISTORY OF CENTRAL AMERICA,
WITH SPECIAL REFERENCE TO THE PIO PEREZ MANUSCRIPT.
BY
PHILIPP J. J. VALENTINI, PH.D.
[TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN, BY STEPHEN SALISBURY, JR.]
WORCESTER, MASS.:
PRESS OF CHARLES HAMILTON.
1880.
[PROCEEDINGS OF AMERICAN ANTIQUARIAN SOCIETY, APRIL 29, AND OCTOBER 21,
1879.]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS.
PAGE.
MEXICAN COPPER TOOLS 5
THE KATUNES OF MAYA HISTORY 45
NOTE BY COMMITTEE OF PUBLICATION 47
_Introductory Remarks_ 49
_The Maya Manuscript and Translation_ 52
_History of the Manuscript_ 55
_Elements of Maya Chronology_ 60
_Table of the 20 Days of the Maya Month_ 62
_Table of the 18 Months of the Maya Year_ 63
_Table of Maya Months and Days_ 64
_Translation of the Manuscript by Señor Perez_ 75
_Discussion of the Manuscript_ 77
_Concluding Remarks_ 92
_Sections of the Perez Manuscript Expressed in Years_ 96
_Table of Maya Ahaues Expressed in Years_ 100
_Results of the Chronological Investigation_ 102
Illustrations.
PAGE.
COPPER AXES IN THE ARMS OF TEPOZTLA, TEPOZTITLA AND 12
TEPOZCOLULA
COPPER AXES, THE TRIBUTE OF CHILAPA 13
COPPER AXES AND BELLS, THE TRIBUTE OF CHALA 14
MEXICAN GOLDSMITH SMELTING GOLD 18
YUCATAN COPPER AXES 30
COPPER CHISEL FOUND IN OAXACA 33
MEXICAN CARPENTER’S HATCHET 35
COPPER AXE OF TEPOZCOLULA 36
COPPER AXE OF TLAXIMALOYAN 36
COPPER TOOL, FOUND BY DUPAIX IN OAXACA 37
MAYA AHAU KATUN WHEEL 72
MAP SHOWING THE MOVEMENT OF THE MAYAS, AS STATED IN THE 78
MANUSCRIPT
FOOTNOTE
YUCATAN AXE, FROM LANDA 17
INDIAN BATTLE AXE, FROM OVIEDO 19
MEXICAN COPPER TOOLS.
BY PHILIPP J. J. VALENTINI, PH.D.
[_From the German, by Stephen Salisbury, Jr_.]
[From Proceedings of American Antiquarian Society, April 30, 1879.]
The subject of prehistoric copper mining, together with the trade in the
metal and the process of its manufacture into implements and tools by
the red men of North America, has engaged the attention of numerous
investigators.
It was while listening to an interesting paper on prehistoric copper
mining at Lake Superior, read by Prof. Thomas Egleston before the
Academy of Sciences, of New York, March 9, 1879, that the writer was
reminded of a number of notes which he had made, some time previous, on
the same subject. These notes, however, covered a department of research
not included in the lecture of that evening. They were collected in
order to secure all the material extant in relation to the copper
products of Mexico and Central America. Nevertheless, this treatment of
a subject so germain to ours, could not help imparting an impulse to a
rapid comparison of the results of our own studies with those of others.
It brought to light striking agreements, as well as disagreements, which
existed in connection with the copper industries of the two widely
separated races. On the one hand it appeared that both of these ancient
people were unacquainted with iron; both were trained to the practise of
war, and, strange to say, both had invariably abstained from shaping
copper into any implement of war, the metal being appropriated solely to
the uses of peace.
But, on the other hand, whilst the northern red man attained to his
highest achievement in the production of the axe, the native of Central
America could boast of important additions to his stock of tools. He
possessed copper implements for tilling the fields, and knew the uses of
the chisel. Besides, when he wished to
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ANCIENT HISTORY OF THE SIX NATIONS***
E-text prepared by Mary Glenn Krause 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 57237-h.htm or 57237-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/57237/57237-h/57237-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/57237/57237-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/davidcusickssket00cusi
Transcriber’s note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
The author’s style is that of a non-native speaker of English,
and in places is grammatically unusual, mixing tenses and
using odd sentence structure. Only printer’s errors have been
changed; a full list is given at the end.
DAVID CUSICK’S
SKETCHES OF
ANCIENT HISTORY
OF THE
SIX NATIONS,
COMPRISING
FIRST—A TALE OF THE FOUNDATION OF THE
GREAT ISLAND,
(NOW NORTH AMERICA.)
THE TWO INFANTS BORN,
AND THE
CREATION OF THE UNIVERSE.
SECOND—A REAL ACCOUNT OF THE EARLY SETTLERS OF NORTH
AMERICA, AND THEIR DISSENSIONS.
THIRD—ORIGIN OF THE KINGDOM OF THE FIVE NATIONS, WHICH
WAS CALLED
A LONG HOUSE:
THE WARS, FIERCE ANIMALS, &c.
LOCKPORT, N. Y.:
TURNER & McCOLLUM, PRINTERS, DEMOCRAT OFFICE.
1848.
PREFACE.
I have been long waiting in hopes that some of my people, who have
received an English education, would have undertaken the work as to
give a sketch of the Ancient History of the Six Nations; but found no
one seemed to concur in the matter, after some hesitation I determined
to commence the work; but found the history involved with fables;
and besides, examining myself, finding so small educated that it was
impossible for me to compose the work without much difficulty. After
various reasons I abandoned the idea: I however, took up a resolution to
continue the work, which I have taken much pains procuring the materials,
and translating it into English language. I have endeavored to throw
some light on the history of the original population of the country,
which I believe never have been recorded. I hope this little work will be
acceptable to the public.
DAVID CUSICK.
TUSCARORA VILLAGE, June 10th, 1825.
[Illustration: _ATOTARHO, A FAMOUS WAR CHIEF, RESIDED AT ONONDAGA._]
[Illustration: _A WAR DANCE._]
[Illustration: _STONISH GIANTS._]
[Illustration: _THE FLYING HEAD PUT TO FLIGHT BY A WOMAN PARCHING
ACORNS._]
PART I.
A TALE OF THE FOUNDATION OF THE GREAT ISLAND, NOW NORTH
AMERICA;—THE TWO INFANTS BORN, AND THE CREATION OF THE UNIVERSE.
Among the ancients there were two worlds in existence. The lower world
was in a great darkness;—the possession of the great monster; but the
upper world was inhabited by mankind; and there was a woman conceived and
would have the twin born. When her travail drew near, and her situation
seemed to produce a great distress on her mind, and she was induced by
some of her relations to lay herself on a mattress which was prepared,
so as to gain refreshments to her wearied body; but while she was asleep
the very place sunk down towards the dark world. The monsters of the
great water were alarmed at her appearance of descending to the lower
world; in consequence all the species of the creatures were immediately
collected into where it was expected she would fall. When the monsters
were assembled, and they made consultation, one of them was appointed
in haste to search the great deep, in order to procure some earth, if
it could be obtained; accordingly the monster descends, which succeeds,
and returns to the place. Another requisition was presented, who would
be capable to secure the woman from the terrors of the great water, but
none was able to comply except a large turtle came forward and made
proposal to them to endure
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------------------------------------
This book has been transcribed for Project Gutenberg by
Distributed Proofreaders,
in memory of our friend and colleague Emmy
* * * Mentor extraordinaire, and so much more * * *
------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration:
A
BUTTERFLY CHASE
Strasburgh, printed G. Silbermann.
]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
A
BUTTERFLY CHASE.
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF
P. J. STAHL.
WITH TWENTY-FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS BY
LORENZ FRÖLICH.
[Illustration]
NEW YORK:
D. APPLETON & CO. GRAND STREET.
1869.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: Bertie and Minnie at desk with tools in hand, looking at
butterfly book.]
I.
Yes, little Minnie and her cousin Bertie have quite made up their minds
to have a splendid collection of butterflies. They have been reading all
about it in a book which their uncle, who is a professor at the Museum,
has sent them. In this beautiful book they have learnt all about it—how
to chase the butterflies, and how to catch them, and how to arrange them
in glass cases when they are caught. Everything they want is ready for
them. Their uncle has sent with the book two butterfly-nets; a pretty
case filled with crooked scissors, tweezers, pincers, and all sorts of
sharp steel instruments; a pretty box, at the bottom of which are little
round pieces of cork, glued in rows, with long large-headed pins to run
through the butterflies; and another little box, with a lot of small
squares of glass, which are to be put over their wings to keep them
open, and prevent them from fluttering and beating about.
In the beautiful book there are pretty coloured pictures of the fine
butterflies that they may meet with in their chases, with the names of
each kind printed underneath, so that they will know them all when they
catch them.
How very interesting butterflies are!
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: Minnie's mamma seated in a chair, looking at the children
with nets in their hands.]
II.
Minnie’s mamma, who is almost like a mamma to Bertie too, though she is
only his aunt, would be very glad to see her little ones fond of natural
history, but still she does not seem quite pleased with their uncle’s
idea in sending them, not only the pretty book, but the nets and the
sharp, dreadful-looking steel things which they are to use in making
their collection. She shook her head rather sadly when she saw the
pretty nets which were to stop the butterflies from flying about so
happily, and the pins and tweezers which were to turn them into lifeless
specimens in a glass box.
But she did not wish to vex their kind uncle, who was a very learned
man, and was always thinking of collections and museums, and science and
experiments; and she did not like to tell him that she would rather her
little ones should learn about butterflies from the book with its
beautiful pictures, and from watching them flying about, and settling on
the flowers in the fields; and that she did not think it could be a nice
play for children to catch and kill the pretty harmless creatures.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: Minnie's mamma at the bottom of the steps as the children
are leaving with nets in hand.]
III.
It is a beautiful day. Minnie and Bertie are all ready to start, with
their light gauze nets in their hands. Bertie’s is green, and Minnie’s
is blue. Bertie has slung the butterfly-box, with the corks and great
pins, over his shoulder. He looks quite like a sportsman.
They are going to the daisy field for their first chase; it is a
beautiful meadow, full of flowers, which the butterflies are very fond
of.
They say good-bye to mamma. She goes with them to the bottom of the
steps. The daisy field is not far off. From the drawing-room window dear
mamma will be able to see the chase. They have promised not to make
themselves too hot.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: Bertie and Minnie talking outdoors, nets in their hands.]
IV.
Now they are off, armed with their nets. They are sure to have a
splendid chase. Bertie intends to catch a dozen peacock butterflies, and
Minnie a dozen emperors. That will make twenty-four butterflies.
Peacocks and emperors are the finest of all—the only butterflies they
mean to catch. As soon as they reach the field the two hunters hold a
consultation and arrange the plan of proceeding. Bertie will take the
right side of the field, and Minnie the left. They must not come in each
other’s way, only if one should want help, then the other is to fly to
the rescue.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: Minnie and Bertie in the field, with the donkey looking
on from the side.]
V.
They walk gently along, each on the proper side, just as they agreed;
for, in the first place, the grass is very high, and that makes it
difficult to run fast; and then, of course, they must not frighten the
butterflies. They must go very cautiously, so as to take them by
surprise.
There is a donkey in the field. He looks very much astonished at
something. I think he is asking himself if the butterfly-hunters are not
come to hunt him. What an absurd donkey! to think of any one hunting
donkeys with a butterfly-net!
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: Minnie with her leg bent, one hand holding her calf as
the other holds her net up. The donkey watches her as Bertie walks in
the background.]
VI.
Everything is blooming in the meadow, the air is full of soft murmurs,
and the insects make a musical hum.
At the hunters’ approach the grasshoppers hop, the bees fly off, and
thousands of pale-blue or white butterflies seem to come out of the
flowers. But they are too small, and there are so many of them that they
do not know which to catch. Peacocks are what they want, or emperors.
Minnie finds that there are holes in the ground, hidden under the grass,
which make her trip, and there are disagreeable plants growing among the
daisies, which sting her legs, and even some that tear little slits in
her frock—but when one goes a-hunting one must not be particular;
another time she will ask for a pair of gaiters, like Bertie’s, and a
very thick frock. Mr. Donkey is very inquisitive.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: Bertie holds his net, watching a butterfly that is
perched on a plant nearby. The donkey is watching him and Minnie stands
in the background.]
VII.
Hush!—Bertie stops all on a sudden, and makes signs to Minnie not to
stir. He must have spied a peacock. How cleverly and quietly he steals
up—nearer, nearer, without the slightest noise; he scarcely seems to
breathe. Minnie would like to run across to see the beautiful peacock.
Bertie holds up his net, all ready to catch the butterfly; the wind
puffs the green gauze a little, and Minnie’s heart beats with
impatience.
The Donkey cannot conceive what the children are doing. They seem to pay
no attention to him.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: Bertie on his hands and knees, looking at the net he is
holding on the ground, while the butterfly flies above. The donkey looks
over at him and Minnie stands in the background.]
VIII.
All on a sudden Bertie brings down the net, and then throws himself on
his hands and knees, to make sure of his success. He must have caught
the butterfly....
No! there is no butterfly—nothing at all in the net but a bit of clover.
Bertie seems rather unhappy about it; but I know who is happy enough—the
beautiful butterfly that has had such a fortunate escape. How he soars
away! However, Bertie calls out to his cousin that it was not a real
peacock after all, which is some comfort.
The Donkey, seeing Bertie on all-fours, wonders whether he is mocking
him, and making fun of him.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: Minnie holding her net down.]
IX.
Butterflies are very silly. I think the peacock cannot have noticed
Minnie, for he flies very imprudently close to her. Minnie will manage
much better than Bertie; yes, indeed, she is not going to let such a
beautiful butterfly get away, for he is very beautiful though he may not
be a peacock.
Pat! she has got him, and very tight too, so that he cannot possibly get
away under the rim.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: Minnie and Bertie looking up at the sky. The donkey is
grazing in the background, facing away from them.]
X.
‘Have you got him?’ cries Bertie.
‘Yes, yes,’ answers Minnie. ‘Oh, come quick!’
Bertie runs up; but, oh, dear, the ill-natured butterfly has made his
escape through a hole in the net, which had been torn by a hedge.
He laughs at Miss Minnie, the good-for-nothing butterfly! He flies up so
high, so high, that the little hunters, gazing up at him, almost tumble
over on their backs.
But the Donkey is not going to waste his time in staring up into the
sky, and very wisely goes back to his browsing.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: Bertie and Minnie lying on the grass, the donkey watching
as the butterfly flies over them.]
XI.
‘Let us lie down on the grass,’ says Bertie, ‘and be on the watch to
take the peacock by surprise. When he cannot see any more of us, he will
come down. Butterflies are too greedy to stay up in the air very long;
they want to come down to suck the honey out of the flowers.’
The two hunters hide themselves carefully, and wait for their revenge,
with their nets all ready in their hands. It is a long time to wait; but
if one goes a-hunting, one must have
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THE AMATEUR CRACKSMAN
BY
E. W. HORNUNG
TO
A. C. D.
THIS FORM OF FLATTERY
THE AMATEUR CRACKSMAN
CONTENTS
THE IDES OF MARCH
A COSTUME PIECE
GENTLEMEN AND PLAYERS
LE PREMIER PAS
WILFUL MURDER
NINE POINTS OF THE LAW
THE RETURN MATCH
THE GIFT OF THE EMPEROR
THE IDES OF MARCH
I
It was half-past twelve when I returned to the Albany as a last
desperate resort. The scene of my disaster was much as I had left it.
The baccarat-counters still strewed the table, with the empty glasses
and the loaded ash-trays. A window had been opened to let the smoke
out, and was letting in the fog instead. Raffles himself had merely
discarded his dining jacket for one of his innumerable blazers. Yet he
arched his eyebrows as though I had dragged him from his bed.
"Forgotten something?" said he, when he saw me on his mat.
"No," said I, pushing past him without ceremony. And I led the way
into his room with an impudence amazing to myself.
"Not come back for your revenge, have you? Because I'm afraid I can't
give it to you single-handed. I was sorry myself that the others--"
We were face to face by his fireside, and I cut him short.
"Raffles," said I, "you may well be surprised at my coming back in this
way and at this hour. I hardly know you. I was never in your rooms
before to-night. But I fagged for you at school, and you said you
remembered me. Of course that's no excuse; but will you listen to
me--for two minutes?"
In my emotion I had at first to struggle for every word; but his face
reassured me as I went on, and I was not mistaken in its expression.
"Certainly, my dear man," said he; "as many minutes as you like. Have
a Sullivan and sit down." And he handed me his silver cigarette-case.
"No," said I, finding a full voice as I shook my head; "no, I won't
smoke, and I won't sit down, thank you. Nor will you ask me to do
either when you've heard what I have to say."
"Really?" said he, lighting his own cigarette with one clear blue eye
upon me. "How do you know?"
"Because you'll probably show me the door," I cried bitterly; "and you
will be justified in doing it! But it's no use beating about the bush.
You know I dropped over two hundred just now?"
He nodded.
"I hadn't the money in my pocket."
"I remember."
"But I had my check-book, and I wrote each of you a check at that desk."
"Well?"
"Not one of them was worth the paper it was written on, Raffles. I am
overdrawn already at my bank!"
"Surely only for the moment?"
"No. I have spent everything."
"But somebody told me you were so well off. I heard you had come in for
money?"
"So I did. Three years ago. It has been my curse; now it's all
gone--every penny! Yes, I've been a fool; there never was nor will be
such a fool as I've been.... Isn't this enough for you? Why don't you
turn me out?" He was walking up and down with a very long face instead.
"Couldn't your people do anything?" he asked at length.
"Thank God," I cried, "I have no people! I was an only child. I came
in for everything there was. My one comfort is that they're gone, and
will never know."
I cast myself into a chair and hid my face. Raffles continued to pace
the rich carpet that was of a piece with everything else in his rooms.
There was no variation in his soft and even footfalls.
"You used to be a literary little cuss," he said at length; "didn't you
edit the mag. before you left? Anyway I recollect fagging you to do my
verses; and literature of all sorts is the very thing nowadays; any
fool
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THE GOLDEN MAIDEN and
other folk tales and fairy
stories told in Armenia
A. G. SEKLEMIAN
Introduction
Alice Stone Blackwell
Initial Letters
Ella Dolbear
Cover Design
Elizabeth Geary
The Helman-Taylor Company
Cleveland and New York
1898
INTRODUCTION.
A distinguished English student of folk-lore has written:
"Armenia offers a rich and hitherto almost untouched field to the
folk-lorist, the difficulty of grappling with the language--the
alphabet even of which
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SONNETS
BY THE
NAWAB NIZAMAT JUNG BAHADUR
"_Love is not discoverable by the eye, but only by the soul. Its
elements are indeed innate in our mortal constitution, and we
give it the names of Joy and Aphrodite; but in its highest nature no
mortal hath fully comprehended it_."
EMPEDOCLES.
"_Every one choose the object of his affections according to his
character.... The Divine is beauty, wisdom, goodness, and by these the
wings of the soul are nourished_."
PLATO.
1917
CONTENTS
FOREWORD, BY R.C. FRASER
NOTE ON THE HISTORY OF THE SONNET IN ENGLISH LITERATURE
PROLOGUE
I. REBIRTH
II. THE CROWN OF LIFE
III. BEFORE THE THRONE
IV. WORSHIP
V. UNITY
VI. LOVE'S SILENCE
VII. THE SUBLIME HOPE
VIII. THE HEART OF LOVE
IX. "'TWIXT STAR AND STAR"
X. THE HIGHER KNIGHTHOOD
XI. IN BEAUTY'S BLOOM
XII. ETERNAL JOY
XIII. CONSTANCY
XIV. CALM AFTER STORM
XV. THE STAR OF LOVE
XVI. IMPRISONED MUSIC
XVII. LOVE'S MESSAGE
XVIII. ECSTASY
XIX. THE DREAM
XX. ETHEREAL BEAUTY
XXI. A CROWN OF THORNS
XXII. TWO HEARTS IN ONE
XXIII. YEARNING
XXIV. LOVE'S GIFT
EPI
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II (OF 2)***
E-text prepared by Chris Curnow 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 46634-h.htm or 46634-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/46634/46634-h/46634-h.htm)
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(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/46634/46634-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/lifeofrichardtre02trevrich
LIFE OF RICHARD TREVITHICK,
With an Account of His Inventions.
by
FRANCIS TREVITHICK, C.E.
Illustrated with Engravings on Wood by W. J. Welch.
VOLUME II.
London:
E. & F. N. Spon, 48, Charing Cross.
New York:
446, Broome Street.
1872.
London: Printed by William Clowes and Sons, Duke Street,
Stamford Street and Charing Cross.
CONTENTS OF VOLUME II.
CHAPTER XVII.
VARIOUS INVENTIONS.
Stone-crushing mill, 1804--Portable puffer, 1805--Staffordshire
potteries--Engine for South America--Diversity of steam
appliance--Numerous high-pressure engines--West India Dock
locomotive--Engines at Newcastle--Blacklead lubricator--Engines in
Wales--Mine engines on wheels, 1804--Engines in London--Engines to be
sold in market towns--Blast-furnaces--Aerated steam-boiler--St. Ives
Breakwater--Dolcoath blast copper furnace--Davies Gilbert's opinion of
the aerated steam-boiler--Trevithick's advice to a brewer--Agricultural
engines--West India engines--Thrashing engine--Horizontal
engines--Expansive steam--Cold surface condenser--Air-pump--Expansive
cam--Fire-bars--Comparison with Watt's engine--Stone-boring engine,
1813--Plymouth Breakwater, reduction in cost--Locomotive engine,
1813--Stone splitting--New method of stone boring, 1813--Screw bit,
1813--Falmouth Harbour--Exeter Bridge--Engine at Lima--Proposed train
from Buenos Ayres to Lima--West India portable engine Page 1-35
CHAPTER XVIII.
AGRICULTURAL ENGINES; LOSS OF PAPERS.
Sir Christopher Hawkins's thrashing machine, 1812--Report of three
wise men--Cost of horse and steam power--Wheal Liberty engine--Sir
John Sinclair and the Board of Agriculture--Cost of engine--Power of
engine--Welsh locomotive--Trevithick on steam agriculture--West Indies
engine--Horse-power--Trevithick on patents--Engines in charge of
labourers--Teapot--Detail of agricultural engine--Lord Dedunstanville's
thrashing machine--Plymouth Breakwater locomotive--Wheal Prosper
engine--Wheal Alfred engine--Steam-plough--Cultivation of
commons--Combined steam-tormentor, narrower, and shoveller--Mr.
Rendal's thrashing machine--Cost and work performed by thrashing
engines--Their durability--Bridgenorth engine--Trevithick's drawings
light the tires 36-68
CHAPTER XIX.
POLE STEAM-ENGINE.
Return to Cornwall, 1810--Wheal Prosper pole vacuum engine,
1811--Cylindrical boilers, 1811--Steam pressure, 100 lbs.--Duty
of engine, 40 millions--Expansive working, 1811--Herland
high-pressure pole puffer, 1815--Steam pressure, 150 lbs.--Boiler
making--Comparison with Watt's engine--Blue-fire--Steam--Patent
specification--Steam-ring stuffing box--Engines in Lima--A 33-inch
pole-puffer more powerful than a 72-inch Watt engine--Description
of pole engine and boilers--Trevithick's calculation--Trial of
Herland engines--Steam-cushion--Power of the pole-engine--Defective
workmanship--Sims examines the pole-engine--Opposition from
shareholders--Defective boilers--Challenge to Woolf--Davies
Giddy's opinion--First cost, and cost of working one-third of
the Watt engine--Meeting of opposing shareholders--Duty of the
high-pressure steam pole puffer-engine, 1816--Comparison with the Watt
engine--Combined high-pressure pole and cylinder for expansion--Wheal
Alfred Watt engine converted to high pressure--Wheal Chance combined
engine--Mr. Michael Williams's opinion--Woolf and Trevithick Page 69-113
CHAPTER XX.
THE WATT AND THE TREVITHICK ENGINES AT DOLCOATH.
Early steam-engines--Semicircular boiler, 1775, net power 7 lbs.
on the inch--Watt's statement in 1777--Engines in Dolcoath--Watt's
engine, 1778--Watt's engine at Herland, 1798--Trevithick's tubular
boiler, 1799--Reconstruction of the Carloose 45-inch, 1799--Gross and
net power of engines--Comparison of Newcomen, Watt, and Trevithick
engines--Boiler explosion, 1803--Strong rivalry with Watt--Locomotive
at Coalbrookdale, 1803--Watt's proposed locomotive--Competition in
Wales--Numerous high-pressure engines, 1803--Patent difficulty--Watt's
opposition, 1804--Government inquiry--Competitive trials in
Wales--Tramway locomotive, 1804--The bet--Opposition because of saving
of labour--Worcester engine--West India Docks engine--High-pressure
steam condensing engines--One or two cylinders for expansion--Sirhowey
boilers--Mr. Homfray's opinion of
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FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
CONTENTS
A Story
By the Almshouse Window
The Angel
Anne Lisbeth
Beauty of Form and Beauty of Mind
The Beetle who went on his Travels
The Bell
The Bell-deep
The Bird of Popular Song
The Bishop of Borglum and his Warriors
The Bottle Neck
The Buckwheat
The Butterfly
A Cheerful Temper
The Child in the Grave
Children's Prattle
The Farm-yard Cock and the Weather-cock
The Daisy
The Darning-Needle
Delaying is not Forgetting
The Drop of Water
The Dryad
Jack the Dullard
The Dumb Cook
The Elf of the Rose
The Elfin Hill
The Emperor's New Suit
The Fir Tree
The Flax
The Flying Trunk
The Shepherd's Story of the Bond of Friendship
The Girl Who Trod on the Loaf
The Goblin and the Huckster
The Golden Treasure
The Goloshes of Fortune
She was Good for Nothing
Grandmother
A Great Grief
The Happy Family
A Leaf from Heaven
Holger Danske
Ib and Little Christina
The Ice Maiden
The Jewish Maiden
The Jumper
The Last Dream of the Old Oak
The Last Pearl
Little Claus and Big Claus
The Little Elder-tree Mother
Little Ida's Flowers
The Little Match-seller
The Little Mermaid
Little Tiny or Thumbelina
Little Tuk
The Loveliest Rose in the World
The Mail-coach Passengers
The Marsh King's Daughter
The Metal Pig
The Money-box
What the Moon Saw
The Neighbouring Families
The Nightingale
There is no Doubt about it
In the Nursery
The Old Bachelor's Nightcap
The Old Church Bell
The Old Grave-stone
The Old House
What the Old Man Does is Always Right
The Old Street Lamp
Ole-Luk-Oie, the Dream God
Ole the Tower-keeper
Our Aunt
The Garden of Paradise
The Pea Blossom
The Pen and the Inkstand
The Philosopher's Stone
The Phoenix Bird
The Portuguese Duck
The Porter's Son
Poultry Meg's Family
The Princess and the Pea
The Psyche
The Puppet-show Man
The Races
The Red Shoes
Everything in the Right Place
A Rose from Homer's Grave
The Snail and the Rose-tree
A Story from the Sand-hills
The Saucy Boy
The Shadow
The Shepherdess and the Sheep
The Silver Shilling
The Shirt-collar
The Snow Man
The Snow Queen
The Snowdrop
Something
Soup from a Sausage Skewer
The Storks
The Storm Shakes the Shield
The Story of a Mother
The Sunbeam and the Captive
The Swan's Nest
The Swineherd
The Thistle's Experiences
The Thorny Road of Honor
In a Thousand Years
The Brave Tin Soldier
The Tinder-box
The Toad
The Top and Ball
The Travelling Companion
Two Brothers
Two Maidens
The Ugly Duckling
Under the Willow Tree
In the Uttermost Parts of the Sea
What One Can Invent
The Wicked Prince
The Wild Swans
The Will-o-the-Wisp in the Town, Says the Wild Woman
The Story of the Wind
The Windmill
The Story of the Year
A STORY
In the garden all the apple-trees were in blossom. They had
hastened to bring forth flowers before they got green leaves, and in
the yard all the ducklings walked up and down, and the cat too: it
basked in the sun and licked the sunshine from its own paws. And
when one looked at the fields, how beautifully the corn stood and
how green it shone, without comparison! and there was a twittering and
a fluttering of all the little birds, as if the day were a great
festival; and so it was, for it was Sunday. All the bells were
ringing, and all the people went to church, looking cheerful, and
dressed in their best clothes. There was a look of cheerfulness on
everything. The day was so warm and beautiful that one might well have
said: "God's kindness to us men is beyond all limits." But inside
the church the pastor stood in the pulpit, and spoke very loudly and
angrily. He said that all men were wicked, and God would punish them
for their sins, and that the wicked, when they died, would be cast
into hell, to burn for ever and ever. He spoke very excitedly,
saying that their evil propensities would not be destroyed, nor
would the fire be extinguished, and they should never find rest.
That was terrible to hear, and he said it in such a tone of
conviction; he described hell to them as a miserable hole where all
the refuse of the world gathers. There was no air beside the hot
burning sulphur flame, and there was no ground under their feet; they,
the wicked ones, sank deeper and deeper, while eternal silence
surrounded them! It was dreadful to hear all that, for the preacher
spoke from his heart, and all the people in the church were terrified.
Meanwhile, the birds sang merrily outside, and the sun was shining
so beautifully warm, it seemed as though every little flower said:
"God, Thy kindness towards us all is without limits." Indeed,
outside it was not at all like the pastor's sermon.
The same evening, upon going to bed, the pastor noticed his wife
sitting there quiet and pensive.
"What is the matter with you?" he asked her.
"Well, the matter with me is," she said, "that I cannot collect my
thoughts, and am
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CAMBRIDGE BIOLOGICAL SERIES.
GENERAL EDITOR:--ARTHUR E. SHIPLEY, M.A., F.R.S.
FELLOW AND TUTOR OF CHRIST’s COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE.
GRASSES.
CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS WAREHOUSE,
C. F. CLAY, MANAGER.
London: FETTER LANE, E.C.
Edinburgh: 100, PRINCES STREET.
[Illustration]
ALSO
London: H. K. LEWIS, 136, GOWER STREET, W.C.
Leipzig: F. A. BROCKHAUS.
New York: G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS.
Bombay and Calcutta: MACMILLAN & CO. LTD.
[_All Rights reserved._]
GRASSES
A HANDBOOK FOR USE IN THE FIELD
AND LABORATORY.
BY
H. MARSHALL WARD, SC.D., F.R.S.
LATE PROFESSOR OF BOTANY IN THE UNIVERSITY OF CAMBRIDGE.
CAMBRIDGE:
AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS.
1908
_First Edition 1901 Reprinted 1908_
PREFACE.
The following pages have been written in the hope that they may be
used in the field and in the laboratory with specimens of our ordinary
grasses in the hand. Most of the exercises involved demand exact
study by means of a good hand-lens, a mode of investigation far too
much neglected in modern teaching. The book is not intended to be a
complete manual of grasses, but to be an account of our common native
species, so arranged that the student may learn how to closely observe
and deal with the distinctive characters of these remarkable plants
when such problems as the botanical analysis of a meadow or pasture,
of hay, of weeds, or of “seed” grasses are presented, as well as when
investigating questions of more abstract scientific nature.
I have not hesitated, however, to introduce general statements on the
biology and physiological peculiarities of grasses where such may serve
the purpose of interesting the reader in the wider botanical bearings
of the subject, though several reasons may be urged against extending
this part of the theme in a book intended to be portable, and of direct
practical use to students in the field.
I have pleasure in expressing my thanks to Mr R. H. Biffen for
carefully testing the classification of “seeds” on pp. 135-174, and to
him and to Mr Shipley for kindly looking over the proofs; also to Mr
Lewton-Brain, who has tested the classification of leaf-sections put
forward on pp. 72-82, and prepared the drawings for Figs. 21-28.
That errors are entirely absent from such a work as this is perhaps too
much to expect: I hope they are few, and that readers will oblige me
with any corrections they may find necessary or advantageous for the
better working of the tables.
The list of the chief authorities referred to, which students who
desire to proceed further with the study of grasses should consult, is
given at the end.
I have pleasure in acknowledging my indebtedness to the following
works for illustrations which are inserted by permission of the
several publishers:--Stebler’s _Forage Plants_ (published by Nutt &
Co.), Nobbe’s _Handbuch der Samenkunde_ (Wiegandt, Hempel and Parey,
Berlin), Harz’s _Landwirthschaftliche Samenkunde_ (Paul Parey, Berlin),
Strasburger and Noll’s _Text-Book of Botany_ (Macmillan & Co.),
Figuier’s _Vegetable World_ (Cassell & Co.), Lubbock’s _Flowers, Fruits
and Seeds_ (Macmillan & Co.), Kerner’s _Natural History of Plants_
(Blackie & Son), and Oliver’s _First Book of Indian Botany_ (Macmillan
& Co.).
It is impossible to avoid the question of variation in work of this
kind, and students will without doubt come across instances--especially
in such genera as _Agropyrum_, _Festuca_, _Agrostis_ and _Bromus_--of
small variations which show how impossible it is to fit the facts
of living organisms into the rigid frames of classification. It
may possibly be urged that this invalidates all attempts at such
classifications: the same argument applies to all our systems, though
it is perhaps less disastrous to the best Natural Systems which attempt
to take in large groups of facts, than to artificial systems selected
for special purposes. Perhaps something useful may be learned by
showing more clearly where and how grasses vary, and I hope that the
application to them of these preliminary tests may elucidate more facts
as we proceed.
H. M. W.
CAMBRIDGE, _April_, 1901.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I
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ACTIONS OF HIS GRACE JOHN, D. OF MARLBOROGH***
E-text prepared by Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper, and the Online Distributed
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The Augustan Reprint Society
[DANIEL DEFOE]
A SHORT NARRATIVE OF THE
Life and Actions
Of His GRACE
_JOHN_, D. of Marlborough
(1711)
_Introduction by_
PAULA R. BACKSCHEIDER
Publication Number 168
William Andrews Clark Memorial Library
University Of California, Los Angeles
1974
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
CORRESPONDING SECRETARY
Edna C. Davis, William Andrews Clark Memorial Library
EDITORIAL ASSISTANT
Beverly J. Onley, William Andrews Clark Memorial Library
Typography by Wm. M. Cheney
INTRODUCTION
Opinion is a mighty matter in war, and I doubt but the French think it
impossible to conquer an army that he leads, and our soldiers think
the same; and how far even this step may encourage the French to play
tricks with us, no man knows.
Swift's _Journal to Stella_, 1 January 1711
... the moment he leaves the service and loses the protection of
the Court, such scenes will open as no victories can varnish over.
Bolingbroke's _Letters and Correspondence_,
23 January 1711
The career of John Churchill, Duke of Marlborough, reflects the
political battles of nearly thirty years of English politics. In an
age when duplicity, intrigue, personality, and an immediate history of
violence characterized politics, John Churchill was a constant, steady
military success even while his political and personal fortunes
alternately plunged and soared. His military ability insured his
importance to the Grand Alliance and his victories brought the
reverence of the European powers opposing Louis XIV as well as that of
his own people, but, at the same time, his successes also assured his
involvement with the fortunes of nearly every major English political
figure and movement in the years 1688 to 1712.
Marlborough's military career spanned two periods. Aware of the danger
of the "exorbitant power of France" and the corresponding danger to
the Protestant religion, disgusted with James's actions at the
_Gloucester_ shipwreck and in dealing with Scottish Protestants,
Marlborough had joined the bloodless shift to William of Orange. For
William, he led the English forces in Flanders in 1689 and in Ireland
in 1690; in 1691 he was in charge of the British forces in Europe with
the rank of lieutenant-general. In January, 1692, however, Marlborough
was dismissed from all of his offices for a combination of reasons,
each insufficient in itself but all too typical for him--open
opposition to William's Dutch dominated army, rumors that he and
Sarah, his ambitious and sometimes presumptuous wife, were plotting
Anne's usurpation of the throne, and dissension aroused between Anne
and her sister Queen Mary by the quixotic Sarah. When rumors of a
Jacobite uprising began, Marlborough spent six weeks in the Tower.
Although Marlborough was restored to political favor in 1698 partly as
a placatory gesture to Anne, it was 1701 before he resumed his
military career, this time as William's Commander-in-Chief and
Ambassador Extraordinary to the United Provinces. In this second phase
of his military career, he won every battle, took every fort that he
besieged, held the Grand Alliance together, broke the threatening
supremacy of France, and established England as a major power. Yet,
during these ten years, Queen Anne's ministry and Parliament underwent
several major upheavals: the resulting shifts in policy and
personalities alternately inconvenienced and vexed Marlborough. The
year 1711 marked the culmination of warring factions and clandestine
arrangement, and Daniel Defoe's _A Short Narrative of the Life and
Actions of his grace, John, Duke of Marlborough_, published 20
February 1711, originated in this battle. (For discussion of
authorship, please see Appendix.)
Much that happened in these years can be unraveled back to Harley,
Earl of Oxford. His influences and circuitous dealing emerge wherever
a close examination of politics is made.[1] Hiding his activities from
even his closest associates, employing
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AT THE GATE OF SAMARIA
By William J. Locke
London
William Heinemann
1895
TO ONE WHOSE WORK IT IS AS MUCH AS MINE
I INSCRIBE THIS BOOK.
AT THE GATE OF SAMARIA.
CHAPTER I.
It was a severe room, scrupulously neat. Along one side ran a bookcase,
with beaded glass doors, containing, as one might see by peering through
the spaces, the collected, unread literature of two stern generations.
A few old prints, placed in bad lights, hung on the walls. In the centre
of the room was a leather-covered library table, with writing materials
arranged in painful precision. A couch was lined along one wall, in the
draught of the door. On either side of the fireplace were ranged two
stiff leather armchairs.
In one of these chairs sat an old man, in the other a faded woman just
verging upon middle age. The old man was looking at a picture which he
supported on his knees-a narrow, oblong strip of canvas nailed on to
a rough wooden frame. The woman eyed him with some interest, as if
awaiting a decision.
They were father and daughter, and bore a strange family resemblance
to each other. Both faces were pale, their foreheads high and narrow,
marked by faint horizontal lines, their eyes gray and cold, their upper
lips long and thin, setting tightly, without mobility, upon the lower.
The only essential point of difference was that the father's chin was
weakly pointed, the daughter's squarer and harder. Both faces gave one
the impression of negativeness, joylessness, seeming to lack the power
of strong emotive expression. One can see such, minus the refinement
of gentle birth and social amenities, in the pews of obscure dissenting
chapels, testifying that they have been led thither not by strong
convictions, but by the force of mild circumstance.
Indeed, as is the case with hundreds of our upper middle-class families,
the Davenants had descended from a fierce old Puritan stock, and though
the reality of their Puritanism had gradually lost itself in the current
of more respectable orthodoxy, its shadow hung over them still. The
vigorous enthusiasm that spurred the Puritan on to lofty action
was gone; the vague dread of sin that kept him in moral and mental
inactivity alone remained. Perhaps it is this survival amongst us of
the negative element of Puritanism that produces in England the curious
anomaly of education without enlightenment. It has dulled our perception
of life as an art, whose “great incidents,” as Fielding finely says,
“are no more to be considered as mere accidents than the several
members of a fine statue or a noble poem.” It has caused us to live in
a perpetual twilight in which the possibilities of existence loom
fantastic and indistinct. The Davenants were gentlefolk, holding a good
position in the small country town of Durdleham; they visited among
the county families, and, on ordinary, conventional grounds, considered
themselves to belong to the cultured classes. They were the curious yet
familiar product of the old-fashioned, high-church Toryism impregnated
with the Puritan taint.
The light was fading through the French window behind the old man's
chair. He laid down the canvas on his lap and looked in a puzzled way at
the fire. Then he raised it nearer to his eyes for further examination.
“This is really very dreadful,” he said at last, looking at his
daughter.
“Something will have to be done soon,” replied the latter.
“It is so horribly vulgar, Grace,” said the old man; “look at that boy's
nose--and that drunken man--his face is a nightmare of evil. I really
must begin to talk seriously to Clytie.”
Mrs. Blather smiled somewhat pityingly. Since the earliest days of her
long widowhood she had undertaken the charge of her father's house and
the care of her two younger sisters, Janet and Clytie. Her familiarity,
therefore, with the seamy side of Clytie's nature had been of long
duration.
“You might as well talk to that fender, papa,” she said. “Clytie has
got it into her head that she is going to be an artist, and no amount of
talking will get it out.”
“It's all through her visiting those friends of hers, the Farquharsons.
They are not nice people for her to know. I shall not let her go there
again.”
“If she goes on like this there is no knowing what will happen.”
“Where did the child get these repulsive and ungirlish notions from?”
the old man asked querulously.
The conception of the picture was not that of a young girl, and though
the execution was crude and untrained, there was a bold cruelty of touch
that saved it from being amateurish. The canvas was divided into two
panels. On the one was painted a tiny bully of a boy with his arm
rounded across his throat, about to strike a weakly, poverty-stricken
little girl. They were children of the poorest classes, the boy
realistically, offensively dirty--the _petit morveux_ in its absolute
sense. Behind them was the open doorway of a red-brick, jerry-built
cottage, showing a strip of torn and dirty matting along the passage
that lost itself in the gloom beyond. On the other panel was the corner
of a public house in a low slum, the window lights and a gas-lamp
throwing a lurid glare upon wet pavement and the figures of a woman
and a drunken man. The faces were those of the children in the first
picture, and the eternal tragedy was repeating itself. The man's face
was loathsome in its sodden ferocity; the woman, with a child in her
arms, was reeling from the blow. The evident haste in which the panels
had been painted, the glaring, unsoftened colouring, heightened as if by
impressionist design the coarse realism of the effect. Above was written
the legend, “_La joie de vivre_” and in the left-hand bottom corner,
“_Clytie Davenant pinxit_.”
“She has certainly grown much worse of late,” sighed Mrs. Blather,
holding out her thin, short hand to shield her face from the fire.
There was a pause of some moments. Mr. Davenant ceased nursing the
picture and stood it on the floor.
“Have you quite made up your mind, papa,” said Mrs. Blather at length,
“not to let Clytie go to the Slade School in London?”
“It is out of the question,” replied the old man.
“I don't think so, papa. It would perhaps do her good. A year or so's
hard work would take all these silly ideas out of her.”
“I question it,” said Mr. Davenant. “They are not silly ideas. They are
debased, degraded ideas.”
“My dear papa, they are only fads. All young girls have them. Look how
crazy Janet was to join the cookery classes. We let her join, and now
she hates the sight of a pie-dish. With Clytie it is quite the same,
only she wants to daub.”
“Well, let her daub in a decent way at home,” replied the old man
testily.
Mrs. Blather shrugged her lean shoulders.
“We have tried that and it hasn't succeeded, apparently,” she said
drily. “You seldom come in her way; you don't know how unpleasant things
are for Janet and myself. What do you think she had the impertinence
to tell me this morning? She said that we were not real people. We
were machines or abstractions based, I think she said, on a formula,
or something of that sort. She was pining to live amongst living human
beings. And then she is so rude to visitors. What do you think she said
to the vicar, who came, at Janet's request, to talk to her about her
shameful neglect of her religious duties? She said, if he was a pillar
of the Church, she saw no reason why she should be a seat-cushion.”
“Tut, tut,” said the old man angrily. He was vicar's churchwarden, and a
power in the parish.
“And then,” continued Mrs. Blather, “when I scolded her for her
rudeness, she said that if she had been a man she would have sworn at
him for his impertinence. Really people will soon be afraid of coming to
the house.”
“They will indeed,” said Mr. Davenant.
Like a wise woman, Mrs. Blather did not press her point. She knew she
had thoroughly alarmed her father and had shown him but one way out of
the difficulty. His taking it, if left to himself, was only a question
of time. She rang the bell for the servant to come and light Mr.
Davenant's gas, and then she left him to his reflections.
Mr. Davenant possessed some landed property, which he had occupied his
life in mismanaging. Fortunately for him, his wife had brought him a
small fortune which sufficed to keep up a position, modest when compared
with that of the Davenants of former days, but still high enough to
satisfy the social aspirations of his family. He had lived a colourless
life, severe and respectable. Even his university days had passed in
a dull uniformity, leaving no glamour behind them. He had walked
honourably and blindly in the paths his parents had indicated, and, now
that he was nearing the end of the journey, thanked God for having given
him the grace not to err from them. He had married when still fairly
young, and he had loved his wife in a gentlemanly, passionless way. She,
poor thing, had filled up so small a space in life that she had faded
out of it almost unnoticed--even by himself. He had no storms of joy or
sorrow to look back upon. His thoughts, as he brooded over the fireside,
generally wandered back to trifling incidents:
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SAXE HOLM'S STORIES
[by Helen Hunt Jackson]
1873
Content.
Draxy Miller's Dowry
The Elder's Wife
Whose Wife Was She?
The One-Legged Dancers
How One Woman Kept Her Husband
Esther Wynn's Love-Letters
Draxy Miller's Dowry.
Part I.
When Draxy Miller's father was a boy, he read a novel in which the heroine
was a Polish girl, named Darachsa. The name stamped itself indelibly upon
his imagination; and when, at the age of thirty-five, he took his
first-born daughter in his arms, his first words were--"I want her called
Darachsa."
"What!" exclaimed the doctor, turning sharply round, and looking out above
his spectacles; "what heathen kind of a name is that?"
"Oh, Reuben!" groaned a feeble voice from the baby's mother; and the nurse
muttered audibly, as she left the room, "There ain't never no luck comes
of them outlandish names."
The whole village was in a state of excitement before night. Poor Reuben
Miller had never before been the object of half so much interest. His
slowly dwindling fortunes, the mysterious succession of his ill-lucks, had
not much stirred the hearts of the people. He was a retice'nt man; he
loved books, and had hungered for them all his life; his townsmen
unconsciously resented what they pretended to despise; and so it had
slowly come about that in the village where his father had lived and died,
and where he himself had grown up, and seemed likely to live and die,
Reuben Miller was a lonely man, and came and went almost as a stranger
might come and go. His wife was simply a shadow and echo of himself; one
of those clinging, tender, unselfish, will-less women, who make pleasant,
and affectionate, and sunny wives enough for rich, prosperous,
unsentimental husbands, but who are millstones about the necks of
sensitive, impressionable, unsuccessful men. If Jane Miller had been a
strong, determined woman, Reuben would not have been a failure. The only
thing he had needed in life had been persistent purpose and courage. The
right sort of wife would have given him both. But when he was discouraged,
baffled, Jane clasped her hands, sat down, and looked into his face with
streaming eyes. If he smiled, she smiled; but that was just when it was of
least consequence that she should smile. So the twelve years of their
married life had gone on slowly, very slowly, but still surely, from bad
to worse; nothing prospered in Reuben's hands. The farm which he had
inherited from his father was large, but not profitable. He tried too long
to work the whole of it, and then he sold the parts which he ought to have
kept. He sunk a great portion of his little capital in a flour-mill, which
promised to be a great success, paid well for a couple of years, and then
burnt down, uninsured. He took a contract for building one section of a
canal, which was to pass through part of his land; sub-contractors cheated
him, and he, in his honesty, almost ruined himself to right their wrong.
Then he opened a little store; here, also, he failed. He was too honest,
too sympathizing, too inert. His day-book was a curiosity; he had a vein
of humor which no amount of misfortune could quench; and he used to enter
under the head of "given" all the purchases which he knew were not likely
to be paid for. It was at sight of this book, one day, that Jane Miller,
for the first and only time in her life, lost her temper with Reuben.
"Well, I must say, Reuben Miller, if I die for it," said she, "I haven't
had so much as a pound of white sugar nor a single lemon in my house for
two years, and I do think it's a burnin' shame for you to go on sellin'
'em to them shiftless Greens, that'll never pay you a cent, and you know
it!"
Reuben was sitting on the counter smoking his pipe and reading an old
tattered copy of Dryden's translation of Virgil. He lifted his clear blue
eyes in astonishment, put down his pipe, and, slowly swinging his long
legs over the counter, caught Jane by the waist, put both his arms round
her, and said,--
"Why, mother, what's come over you! You know poor little Eph's dyin' of
that white swellin'. You wouldn't have me refuse his mother anything we've
got, would you?"
Jane Miller walked back to the house with tears in her eyes, but her
homely sallow face was transfigured by love as she went about her work,
thinking to herself,--
"There never was such a man's Reuben, anyhow. I guess he'll get interest
one o'
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[Illustration: AUGUSTUS SAINT-GAUDENS FROM THE PAINTING BY ELLEN EMMET
_Copyright, 1908, by Ellen Emmet_]
McCLURE'S MAGAZINE
VOL. XXXI JUNE, 1908 No. 2
MY FIRST APPEARANCE IN AMERICA
THE DECREE MADE ABSOLUTE
PRESIDENT JOHNSON AND HIS WAR ON CONGRESS
THE CRYSTAL-GAZER
BOB, DEBUTANT
TWO PORTRAITS BY GILBERT STUART
MARY BAKER G. EDDY
HER FRUITS
THE KEY TO THE DOOR
THE WAYFARERS
THE PROBLEMS OF SUICIDE
PRAIRIE DAWN
THE DOINGS OF THE DEVIL
YOUNG HENRY AND THE OLD MAN
EDITORIAL
* * * * *
Transcriber's Note: The Table of Contents was
added by the transcriber.
* * * * *
MY FIRST APPEARANCE IN AMERICA[1]
BY
ELLEN TERRY
The first time that there was any talk of my going to America was, I
think, in 1874, when I was playing in "The Wandering Heir." Dion
Boucicault wanted me to go, and dazzled me with figures, but I expect
the cautious Charles Reade influenced me against accepting the
engagement.
When I did go, in 1883, I was thirty-five and had an assured position in
my profession.
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STORIES BY ENGLISH AUTHORS
THE SEA
THE EXTRAORDINARY ADVENTURE OF A CHIEF MATE BY W. CLARK RUSSELL
QUARANTINE ISLAND BY SIR WALTER BESANT
THE ROCK SCORPIONS ANONYMOUS
THE MASTER OF THE "CHRYSTOLITE" BY G. B. O'HALLORAN
"PETREL" AND "THE BLACK SWAN" ANONYMOUS
MELISSA'S TOUR BY GRANT ALLEN
VANDERDECKEN'S MESSAGE HOME ANONYMOUS
THE EXTRAORDINARY ADVENTURE OF A CHIEF MATE
BY W. CLARK RUSSELL
In
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HEART OF MAN
BY
GEORGE EDWARD WOODBERRY
COPYRIGHT 1899,
BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
1899
"Deep in the general heart of man"
--WORDSWORTH
TO THE MEMORY OF
EUGENE MONTGOMERY
MY FRIEND
DEAR WAS HIS PRAISE, AND PLEASANT 'TWERE TO ME,
ON WHOSE FAR GRAVE TO-NIGHT THE DEEP SNOWS DRIFT;
IT NEEDS NOT NOW; TOGETHER WE SHALL SEE
HOW HIGH CHRIST'S LILIES O'ER MAN'S LAURELS LIFT
February 18, 1899.
PREFACE
OF the papers contained in this volume
"Taormina" was published in the _Century
Magazine_; the others are new. The intention
of the author was to illustrate how poetry, politics,
and religion are the flowering of the same
human spirit, and have their feeding roots in
a common soil, "deep in the general heart of
men."
COLUMBIA COLLEGE,
February 22, 1809.
CONTENTS
TAORMINA
A NEW DEFENCE OF POETRY
DEMOCRACY
THE RIDE
TAORMINA
I
What should there be in the glimmering lights of a poor fishing-village
to fascinate me? Far below, a mile perhaps, I behold them in the
darkness and the storm like some phosphorescence of the beach; I see the
pale tossing of the surf beside them; I hear the continuous roar borne
up and softened about these heights; and this is night at Taormina.
There is a weirdness in the scene--the feeling without the reality of
mystery; and at evening, I know not why, I cannot sleep without stepping
upon the terrace or peering through the panes to see those lights. At
morning the charm has flown from the shore to the further heights above
me. I glance at the vast banks of southward-lying cloud that envelop
Etna, like deep fog upon the ocean; and then, inevitably, my eyes seek
the double summit of the Taorminian mountain, rising nigh at hand a
thousand feet, almost sheer, less than half a mile westward. The nearer
height, precipice-faced, towers full in front with its crowning ruined
citadel, and discloses, just below the peak, on an arm of rock toward
its right, a hermitage church among the heavily hanging mists. The other
horn of the massive hill, somewhat more remote, behind and to the old
castle's left, exposes on its slightly loftier crest the edge of a
hamlet. It, too, is cloud-wreathed--the lonely crag of Mola. Over these
hilltops, I know, mists will drift and touch all day; and often they
darken threateningly, and creep softly down the <DW72>s, and fill the
next-lying valley, and roll, and lift again, and reveal the flank of
Monte d'Oro northward on the far-reaching range. As I was walking the
other day, with one of these floating showers gently blowing in my face
down this defile, I noticed, where the mists hung in fragments from the
cloud out over the gulf, how like air-shattered arches they groined the
profound ravine; and thinking how much of the romantic charm which
delights lovers of the mountains and the sea springs from such Gothic
moods of nature, I felt for a moment something of the pleasure of
recognition in meeting with this northern and familiar element in the
Sicilian landscape.
One who has grown to be at home with nature cannot be quite a stranger
anywhere on earth. In new lands I find the poet's old domain. It is not
only from the land-side that these intimations of old acquaintance come.
When my eyes leave, as they will, the near girdle of rainy mountain
tops, and range home at last upon the sea, something familiar is there
too,--that which I have always known,--but marvellously transformed and
heightened in beauty and power. Such sudden glints of sunshine in the
offing through unseen rents of heaven, as brilliant as in mid-ocean, I
have beheld a thousand times, but here they remind me rather of
cloud-lights on far western plains; and where have I seen those still
tracts of changeful colour, iridescent under the silvery vapours of
noon; or, when the weather freshens darkens, those whirlpools of pure
emerald in the gray expanse of storm? They seem like memories of what
has been, made fairer. One recurring scene has the same fascination for
my eyes as the fishers' lights. It is a simple picture: only an arm of
mist thrusting out from yonder lowland by the little cape, and making a
near horizon, where, for half an hour, the waves break with great dashes
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pg-i
SYMBOLIC LOGIC
By Lewis Carroll
pg-ii
pg-iii
pg-iv
A Syllogism worked out.
That story of yours, about your once meeting the sea-serpent, always
sets me off yawning;
I never yawn, unless when I'm listening to something totally devoid of
interest.
The Premisses, separately.
.---------------. .---------------.
|( ) | ( )| | | |
| .---|---. | | .---|---. |
| | (#) | | | | |( )| |
|---|---|---|---| |---|---|---|---|
| | | | | | | |( )| |
| .---|---. | | .---|---. |
| | | | | |
.---------------. .---------------.
The Premisses, combined.
.---------------.
|( ) | ( )|
| .---|---. |
| |(#)|( )| |
|---|---|---|---|
| | |( )| |
| .---|---. |
| | |
.---------------.
The Conclusion.
.-------.
|(#)|( )|
|---|---|
| | |
.-------.
That story of yours, about your once meeting the sea-serpent, is totally
devoid of interest.
pg-v
SYMBOLIC LOGIC
_PART I_
ELEMENTARY
BY
LEWIS CARROLL
SECOND THOUSAND
FOURTH EDITION
_PRICE TWO SHILLINGS_
London
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1897
_All rights reserved_
pg-vi
RICHARD CLAY AND SONS, LIMITED,
LONDON AND BUNGAY
pg-vii
ADVERTISEMENT.
An envelope, containing two blank Diagrams (Biliteral and Triliteral)
and 9 counters (4 Red and 5 Grey), may be had, from Messrs. Macmillan,
for 3_d._, by post 4_d._
* * * * *
I shall be grateful to any Reader of this book who will point out any
mistakes or misprints he may happen to notice in it, or any passage
which he thinks is not clearly expressed.
* * * * *
I have a quantity of MS. in hand for Parts II and III, and hope to be
able----should life, and health, and opportunity, be granted to me, to
publish them in the course of the next few years. Their contents will be
as follows:--
_PART II. ADVANCED._
Further investigations in the subjects of Part I. Propositions of other
forms (such as "Not-all x are y"). Triliteral and Multiliteral
Propositions (such as "All abc are de"). Hypotheticals. Dilemmas. &c.
&c.
_Part III. TRANSCENDENTAL._
Analysis of a Proposition into its Elements. Numerical and Geometrical
Problems. The Theory of Inference. The Construction of Problems. And
many other _Curiosa Logica_.
pg-viii
PREFACE TO THE FOURTH EDITION.
The chief alterations, since the First Edition, have been made in the
Chapter on 'Classification' (pp. 2, 3) and the Book on 'Propositions'
(pp. 10 to 19). The chief additions have been the questions on words and
phrases, added to the Examination-Papers at p. 94, and the Notes
inserted at pp. 164, 194.
In Book I, Chapter II, I have adopted a new definition of
'Classification', which enables me to regard the whole Universe as a
'Class,' and thus to dispense with the very awkward phrase 'a Set of
Things.'
In the Chapter on 'Propositions of Existence' I have adopted a new
'normal form,' in which the Class, whose existence is affirmed or
denied, is regarded as the _Predicate_, instead of the _Subject_, of the
Proposition, thus evading a very subtle difficulty which besets the
other form. These subtle difficulties seem to lie at the root of every
Tree of Knowledge, and they are _far_ more hopeless to grapple with than
any that occur in its higher branches. For example, the difficulties of
the Forty-Seventh Proposition of Euclid are mere child's play compared
with the mental torture endured in the effort to think out the essential
nature of a straight Line. And, in the present work
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ANN ARBOR TALES
By
Karl Edwin Harriman
Philadelphia, George W. Jacobs and Company, MCMII
COPYRIGHT, 1902,
BY GEORGE W. JACOBS & CO.
_Published November, 1902._
_TO MY PARENTS_
Contents
PAGE
THE MAKING OF A MAN 11
THE KIDNAPPING 61
THE CHAMPIONS 97
THE CASE OF CATHERWOOD 123
THE DOOR--A NOCTURNE 177
A MODERN MERCURY 207
THE DAY OF THE GAME 259
THE OLD PROFESSOR 303
THE MAKING OF A MAN
Florence affected low candle-lights, glowing through softly tinted
shades, of pale-green, blue, old-rose, pink; for such low lights set
each coiled tress of her golden hair a-dancing--and Florence knew this.
The hangings in the little round room where she received her guests were
deeper than the shades, and the tapestry of the semi-circular
window-seat was red. It was in the arc of this that Florence was wont to
sit--the star amidst her satellites.
It was one's privilege to smoke in the little room, and somehow the odor
of the burned tobacco did not get into the draperies; nor filter through
the _portieres_ into the hall beyond; and the air of the _boudoir_ was
always cool and fresh and sweet.
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday--every night--and Sunday most of all--there
were loungers on that window-seat, their faces half in shadow. It was
hard at such times to take one's eyes off Florence, sitting in the arc,
the soft light of old-rose moving across her cheek, creeping around her
white throat, leaping in her twisted hair, quivering in her blue, soft
eyes.
When she smiled, one thought in verse--if one were that sort--or,
perhaps, muttered, "Gad!" shiveringly under the breath.
Well may you--or I--shake our heads now and smile, albeit a bit sadly;
but then it was different. We have learned much, too much perhaps, and
the once keen edge of joy is dulled. But then we were young. Youth was
our inheritance and we spent it, flung it away, you say, as we knelt
before the Shrine of Beauty set up in a little round room where low
lights glimmered among deep shaded draperies.
We realized that it was a serious matter--a deadly serious matter; just
as did a score or more of our fellows on the campus in whose hearts, as
well, flared the flame of the fine young love that we were feeling in
our own.
For you--and I--loved Florence.
Dear little room! Dearest, dearest Florence! Many are the men who never
learned; in whose hearts your image is enshrined to-night. And few are
they who ever learned and really knew you, dear.
Some few thought they did and called you a "College Widow," because they
could remember a certain tall, dark-browed senior who danced ten times
with you at the Jay Hop of '87. Others were convinced through them; but
these were mostly freshmen upon whom you had not sought to work your
magic. How far wrong they were! Yet even you, Florence, I am thinking,
were wont, at least in blue moments, to take yourself at the scant
valuation these few saw fit to place upon you.
But in the end you, even, saw and understood.
I am glad, my dear, that I may tell the story. And if those who read it
here shall call it fiction, you, and Jim, and I, at least, shall know it
for the truth.
And then, when I have done, and you have put aside the book, to hide
your eyes from him who holds you fonder far than you can know, remember,
dear, the glory of it and be glad.
I
It was June.
The rain had been plentiful and the green things of earth rioted
joyously in their silent life. In the trees were many birds that sang
all day long, and in the night the moon was pale and the shadows were
ghostly and the air was sweet with roses that hung in pink profusion
from the trellis.
The grass was soft beneath the quick, light tread of the lads; and the
laughter of the summer-time was in the eyes of all the maids.
Many the gay straw-rides to the Lake; frequent and long the walks
through leafy lanes, down which the footfalls echoed; sweet the vigils
on the broad stone steps distributed about the campus with so much
regard for youthful lovers.
Too warm for dancing; too languorous for study, that June was made only
for swains and sweethearts.
At least Jack Houston thought as much, and casting an eye about the town
it chanced to fall upon fair Florence. Older than he by half-a-dozen
years--older still in the experience of her art--her blue eyes captured
him, the sheen of her soft hair, coiled high upon her head, dazzled him;
and the night of the day they met he forgot--quite forgot--that
half-a-dozen boon companions awaited him in a dingy, hot room down-town,
among whom he was to have been the ruling spirit--a party of vain
misguided youths of his own class, any one of whom he could drink under
the table at a sitting, and nearly all of whom he had.
The next night, however, he was of the party and led the roistering and
drank longer, harder than the rest, until--in the little hours of the
new day--sodden, unsteady, he found his way to his room, where he flung
himself heavily upon his bed to sleep until the noonday sun mercifully
cast a beam across his heavy eyes and wakened him.
This life he had led for two years and now his face had lines; his eyes
lacked lustre; his hand trembled when he rolled his cigarettes, but his
brain was keener, his intelligence subtler, than ever. The wick of his
mental lamp was submerged in alcohol and the light it gave seemed
brighter for it. There were those who shook their heads when his name
was mentioned; while others only laughed and called it the way of youth
unrestrained.
There was only one who seemed to see the end--
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
CAPS AND CAPERS
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: _Frontispiece--Caps and Capers_.
"NOW, GIRLS, COME ON! LET'S EAT OUR CREAM." See p. 92.]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CAPS and CAPERS
A Story of Boarding-School Life
by
GABRIELLE E. JACKSON
Author of "Pretty Polly Perkins,"
"Denise and Ned Toodles," "By Love's
Sweet Rule," "The Colburn Prize,"
etc., etc.
With illustrations
by C. M. Relyea
PHILADELPHIA
HENRY ALTEMUS COMPANY
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Copyright, 1901, by Henry Altemus
------------------------------------------------------------------------
To
the dear girls of "Dwight School,"
who, by their sweet friendship, have unconsciously helped to make
this winter one of the happiest she has ever known, this little
story is most affectionately inscribed by the AUTHOR.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. Which Shall It Be? 13
II. "A Touch Can Make or a Touch Can Mar" 21
III. "A Feeling of Sadness and Longing" 29
IV. New Experiences 41
V. Two Sides of a Question 53
VI. Dull and Prosy 63
VII. The P. U. L. 71
VIII. Caps and Capers 81
IX. A Modern Diogenes 89
X. "They Could Never Deceive Me" 97
XI. "La Somnambula" 107
XII. "Have You Not Been Deceived This Time?" 119
XIII. English as She is Spelled 127
XIV. "Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells" 135
XV. "Pride Goeth Before a Fall" 143
XVI. Letters 153
XVII. "Haf Anybody Seen My Umbrel?" 161
XVIII. The Little Hinge 169
XIX. "Fatal or Fated are Moments" 179
XX. "Now Tread We a Measure." 187
XXI. Conspirators 197
XXII. "We've Got 'em! We've Got 'em!" 205
XXIII. A Camera's Capers. 213
XXIV. Whispers 225
XXV. "What Are You Doing Up this Time of Night?" 233
XXVI. "Love (and Schoolgirls) Laugh at Locksmiths" 243
XXVII. Ariadne's Clue 253
XXVIII. "When Buds And Blossoms Burst" 261
XXIX. Commencement 271
XXX. "O Fortunate, O Happy Day" 279
------------------------------------------------------------------------
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
"Now, girls, come on! let's eat our cream." Frontispiece
"You could have popped me over from ambush." 37
"Do you wish to join the P. U. L.?" 71
"Go, tell Mrs. Stone she isn't up to snuff." 109
"Sthick to yer horses, Moik." 141
"Let us begin a brand new leaf to-day." 165
"I feel so sort of grown up and grand." 181
"An' have ye been in there all this time?" 207
"Away went Marie, vanishing bit by bit." 231
"Her hand resting lightly on the arm of her friend." 267
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CHAPTER I
WHICH SHALL IT BE?
"And now that I have them, how am I to decide? That is the question?"
The speaker was a fine-looking man about thirty-five years of age, seated
before a large writing-table in a handsomely appointed library. It was
littered with catalogues, pamphlets, letters and papers sent from dozens
of schools, and from the quantity of them one would fancy that every
school in the country was represented. This was the result of an
advertisement in the "Times" for a school in which young children are
received, carefully trained, thoroughly taught, and which can furnish
unquestionable references regarding its social standing and other
qualifications.
It was a handsome, but seriously perplexed, face which bent over the
letters, and more than once the shapely hand was raised to the puckered
forehead and the fingers thrust impatiently through the golden brown hair,
setting it on end and causing its owner to look more distracted than
ever.
"Poor, wee lassie, you little realize what a problem you are to me. Would
to God the one best qualified to solve it could have been spared to you,"
and the handsome head fell forward upon the hands, as tears of bitter
anguish flooded the brown eyes.
Can anything be more pathetic than a strong man's tears? And Clayton
Reeve's were wrung from an almost despairing heart.
For ten years his life had been a dream of happiness. At twenty-five he
had married a beautiful, talented girl, who made his home as nearly
perfect as a home can be made, and when, three years later, a little
daughter, her mother's living image, came to live with them, he felt that
he had no more to ask for. Seven years slipped away, as only years of
perfect happiness can slip, and then came the end. The beautiful wife and
mother went to sleep forever, leaving the dear husband and lovely little
daughter alone. For six months Mr. Reeve strove to fill the mother's
place, but until she was taken from him he had never realized how
perfectly and completely his almost idolized wife had filled his home,
conducting all so quietly and gracefully that even those nearest and
dearest never suspected how much thought she had given to their comfort
until her firm, yet gentle, rule was missed.
Happily, Toinette was too young to fully appreciate her loss, and although
she grieved in her childish way for the sweet, smiling mother who had so
loved her, it was a child's blessed evanescent grief, which could find
consolation in her pets and dollies, and--blessed boon--forget.
But Clayton Reeve never forgot, not for one moment; and though the six
months had in a measure softened his grief, his sense of loss and
loneliness increased each day, until at last he could no longer endure the
sight of the home which they together had planned and beautified.
Unfortunately, neither he nor his wife had near relatives. She had been an
only child whose parents had died shortly after her marriage, and such
distant relatives as remained to him were far away in England, his native
land. His greatest problem was the little daughter. Nursemaids and
nursery-governesses were to be had by the score, but nursemaids and
nursery-governesses were one thing with a mistress at the head of the
household and quite another without one, as, during the past six months,
Mr. Reeve had learned to his sorrow, and the poor man had more than once
been driven to the verge of insanity by their want of thought, or even
worse.
At last he determined to close his house, place Toinette in some "ideal"
school, and travel for six months, or even longer, little dreaming that
the six months would lengthen into as many years ere he again saw her. The
trip begun for diversion was soon merged into one for business interests,
as the prominent law firm of which he was a member had matters of
importance to be looked after upon the other side of the water, and were
only too glad to have so efficient a person to do it.
So, before he realized it, half the globe divided him from the
sunny-haired little daughter whom he had placed in the supposed ideal
school, chosen after deliberate consideration from those he had
corresponded with.
But this anticipates a trifle.
As he sits in the library of his big house, a house which seems so like
some beautiful instrument lacking the touch of the master hand to draw
forth its sweetest and best, the sound of little dancing feet can be heard
through the half-open door, and a sweet little voice calls out:
"Papa, Papa Clayton. Where is my precious Daddy?" and a golden-haired
child running into the room throws herself into his arms, clasps her own
about his neck and nestles her head upon his shoulder.
He held her close as he asked:
"Well, little Heart's-Ease, what can the old Daddy do for you?"
The child raised her head, and, looking at him with her big brown eyes,
eyes so like his own, said, reproachfully: "You are _not_ an old Daddy;
Stanton (the butler) is old, you are just my own, own Papa Clayton, and
mamma used to say that you _couldn't_ grow old 'cause she and I loved you
so hard."
Mr. Reeve quivered slightly at the child's words, and with a surprised
look she asked:
"Are you cold, dear Daddy? It isn't cold here, is it?"
"No, not in the room, Heart's-Ease, but right here," laying his hand upon
his heart.
The child regarded him questioningly with her big, earnest eyes, and
said:
"Did it grow cold because mamma went so sound asleep?"
"I'm afraid so; but now let us talk about something else: I've some news
for you, but do not know how you will like it; sit still while I tell it
to you," and he began to unfold his plan regarding the school.
CHAPTER II
"A TOUCH CAN MAKE OR A TOUCH CAN MAR"
The school was chosen and Toinette placed therein. What momentous results
often follow a simple act. When Clayton Reeve placed his little girl with
the Misses Carter, intending to leave her there a few months, and seek the
change of scene so essential to his health, he did not realize that her
whole future would be more or less influenced by the period she was
destined to spend there. No brighter, sunnier, happier disposition could
have been met with than Toinette's when she entered the school; none more
restless, distrustful and dissatisfied than her's when she left it, nearly
six years later.
If we are held accountable for sins of omission, as well as sins of
commission, certainly the Misses Carter had a long account to meet.
Like many others who had chosen that vocation, they were utterly incapable
of filling it either to their own credit or the advantage of those they
taught. While perfectly capable of imparting the knowledge they had
obtained from books, and of making any number of rules to be followed as
those of the "Medes and Persians," they did not, in the very remotest
degree, possess the insight into character, the sympathy with their pupils
so essential in true teachers.
It is not alone to learn that which is contained between the covers of a
book that our girls are sent to school or college, but also to gather in
the thousand and one things untaught by either books or words. These must
be absorbed as the flowers absorb the sunshine and dew, growing lovelier,
sweeter and more attractive each day and never suspecting it.
And so the shaping of Toinette's character, so beautifully begun by the
wise, gentle mother, passed into other and less sensitive hands. It was
like a delicate bit of pottery, the pride of the potter's heart, upon
which he had spent uncountable hours, and was fashioning so skilfully,
almost fearing to touch it lest he mar instead of add to its beauty;
dreading to let others approach lest, lacking his own nice conceptions,
they bring about a result he had so earnestly sought to avoid, and the
vase lose its perfect symmetry. But, alas! called from his work never to
return, it is completed by less skilful hands, a less delicate conception,
and, while the result is pleasing, the perfect harmony of proportion is
wanting, and those who see it feel conscious of its incompleteness, yet
scarcely know why.
We will skip over those six miserable years, so fraught with small trials,
jealousies, deceptions and an ever-increasing distrust, to a certain
Saturday morning in December.
The early winter had been an exceptionally trying one, and Toinette, now
nearly fourteen years old, had seen and learned many things which can only
be taught by experience. She had seen that in some people's eyes the
possession of money can atone for many shortcomings in character, and that
certain lines of conduct may be condoned in a girl who has means, while
they are condemned in a girl who has not; that she herself had many
liberties and many favors shown her which were denied some of her
companions, although those companions were quite as well born and bred as
herself, and with all the latent nobility of her character did she scorn
not only the favors but those who showed them, and often said to her
roommate, Cicely Powell: "If _I_ chose to steal the very Bible out of
chapel, Miss Carter would only say, 'Naughty Toinette,' in that smirking
way of hers, and then never do a single thing; but if Barbara Ellsworth
even looks sideways she simply annihilates her. I _hate_ it, for it is
only because Barbara is poor and I'm--well, Miss Carter likes to have the
income I yield; I'm a profitable bit of'stock,' and must be well cared
for," and a burning flush rose to the girl's sensitive cheeks.
It was a bitter speech for one so young, and argued an all too intimate
acquaintance with those who did not bear the mark patent of
"gentlewoman."
The six years had wrought many changes in the little child, both in mind
and body, for, even though one had been cramped, and lacked a healthful
development, the other had blossomed into a very beautiful young girl, who
would have gladdened any parent's heart. She was neither tall nor short,
but beautifully proportioned. Her head, with its wealth of sunny, wavy
hair, was carried in the same stately manner which had always been so
marked a characteristic in her father, and gave to her a rather dignified
and reserved air for her years. The big brown eyes looked you squarely in
the face, although latterly they had a slightly distrustful expression.
Hurry home, Clayton Reeve, before it becomes habitual. The nose was
straight and sensitive, and the mouth the saving grace of the face, for
nothing could alter its soft, beautiful curves, and the lips continued to
smile as they had done in early childhood, when there was cause for smiles
only. The mother's finger seemed to rest there, all invisible to others,
and curve the corners upward, as though in apology for the hardened
expression gradually creeping over the rest of the face.
It is difficult to understand how a parent can leave a child wholly to the
care of strangers for so long a period as Mr. Reeve left Toinette, but one
thing after another led him further and further from home, first to
Southern Europe, then across the Mediterranean into wilder, newer scenes,
where nations were striving mightily. Then, just as he began to think that
ere long his own land would welcome him, news reached him of trouble in a
land still nearer the rising sun, and his firm needed their interests in
that far land carefully guarded. So thither he journeyed. But at last all
was adjusted, and, with a heart beating high with hope, he started for his
own dear land and dearer daughter.
It must be confessed that he had many conflicting emotions as the great
ship plowed its way across the broad Pacific, and ample time in which to
indulge them. Many were the mental pictures he drew of the girl there
awaiting him, and would have felt no little surprise, as well as
indignation, could he have known that she was left in ignorance of the
date of his arrival. But Miss Carter had reasons of her own for concealing
it, and had merely told Toinette that her father was contemplating a
return to the States during the coming year. It seemed rather a cold
message to the girl whose _all_ he was, for she had written to him
repeatedly, and poured out in her letters all the suppressed warmth of her
nature, yet never had his replies touched upon the subject of her
loneliness and intense desire to see him, but had always assured her that
he was delighted to know that she was happy and fond of her teachers. And
Toinette had not _quite_ reached the age of wisdom which caused her to
suspect _why_ he gave so little heed to such information, although it
would not have required a much longer residence at the Misses Carter's to
enlighten her. Happily, before the revelation was made she was beyond
further chicanery.
CHAPTER III
"A FEELING OF SADNESS AND LONGING"
The half year was nearly ended, and most of the girls were looking eagerly
forward to the Christmas vacation, which would release them from a
cordially detested surveillance. But Toinette had no release to look
forward to; vacation or term time were much the same to her. She had spent
some of her holidays with her schoolmates, but the greater part of them
had been passed in the school, and dull enough they were, too.
The past week had been a particularly stormy one, and the outcome had
reflected anything but credit upon the school. Consequently, the girls
were out of sorts and miserable, and the world looked decidedly blue, with
only a faint rosy tint far down in the horizon, where vacation peeped.
As in most schools, Saturday was a holiday. The day was wonderfully soft
and mild for December, and shortly after breakfast Toinette threw her
golf-cape about her shoulders and stepped out upon the piazza to see if
the fresh air would blow away the mental vapors hovering about her, for
she felt not unlike a ship at sea without a compass. Poor little lassie,
although what might be called a rich girl, in one respect she was a very
poor one indeed, for she had scarcely known the influence of a happy home,
or the tender mother love which we all need, whether we be big daughters
or little ones. True, she had never known what it meant to want those
things which girls often wish to have, but which limited means place
beyond their reach. But often amidst the luxuries of her surroundings, for
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THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL.
NUMBER 38. SATURDAY, MARCH 20, 1841. VOLUME I.
[Illustration: HOLY-CROSS ABBEY, COUNTY OF TIPPERARY.]
In a recent number of our Journal we led our readers to the banks of that
beautiful river,
“The gentle Shire, that, making way
By sweet Clonmel, adorns rich Waterford;”
and we now return to it with pleasure to notice another of the beautiful
architectural remains of antiquity seated on its banks--the celebrated
Abbey of the Holy Cross. This noble monastic ruin is situated in the
barony of Eliogarty, county of Tipperary, three miles from Thurles, on
the road to Cashel, and seven miles north-east of the latter.
The origin as well as the name of this celebrated monastery is derived
from a piece of the holy cross for which it was erected as a fitting
depository. This relic, covered with gold and ornamented with precious
stones, was, as O’Halloran states, but without naming his authority,
a present from Pope Pascal II, in 1110, to Murtogh O’Brien, monarch
of Ireland, and grandson to Brian Boru, who determined to found a
monastery in its honour, but did not live to complete it. But, however
true this account may be as to the gift of the relic, there is every
reason to doubt it as far as the date of the foundation of the monastery
is concerned, which, as appears from the original charter still in
existence, was founded by Donald O’Brien, King of Limerick, the son
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Produced by Daniel Fromont
[Transcriber's note: Susan Warner (1819-1885) & Anna Warner
(1824-1915), _Say and seal_(1860), Tauchnitz edition 1860 volume 1]
COLLECTION
OF
BRITISH AUTHORS
VOL. CCCXCVIII.
SAY AND SEAL.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
"If any man make religion as twelve, and the world as thirteen, such a
one hath not the spirit of a true New England man."
HIGGINSON.
PREFACE.
It is a melancholy fact, that this book is somewhat larger than the
mould into which most of the fluid fiction material is poured in this
degenerate age. You perceive, good reader, that it has run over--in the
latest volume.
Doubtless the Procrustean critic would say, "Cut it off,"--which point
we waive.
The book is really of very moderate limits--considering that two women
had to have their say in it.
It is pleasant to wear a glove when one shakes hands with the Public;
therefore we still use our ancestors' names instead of our own,--but it
is fair to state, that in this case there are a pair of gloves!--Which
is the right glove, and which the left, the Public will never know.
A word to that "dear delightful" class of readers who believe
everything that is written, and do not look at the number of the last
page till they come to it--nor perhaps even then. Well they and the
author know, that if the heroine cries--or laughs--too much, it is
nobody's fault but her own! Gently they quarrel with him for not
permitting them to see every Jenny happily married and every Tom with
settled good habits. Most lenient readers!--when you turn publishers,
then will such books doubt less be written! Meantime, hear this.
In a shady, sunshiny town, lying within certain bounds--geographical or
imaginary,--these events (really or in imagination) occurred. Precisely
when, the chroniclers do not say. Scene opens with the breezes which
June, and the coming of a new school teacher, naturally create. After
the fashion of the place, his lodgings are arranged for him beforehand,
by the School Committee. But where, or in what circumstances, the scene
may close,--having told at the end of the book, we do not incline to
tell at the beginning.
ELIZABETH WETHERELL.
AMY LOTHROP.
NEW YORK, _Feb. 1, 1860_.
SAY AND SEAL.
BY
THE AUTHOR OF "WIDE WIDE WORLD,"
AND
THE AUTHOR OF "DOLLARS AND CENTS."
_COPYRIGHT EDITION_.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LEIPZIG
BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ
1860.
SAY AND SEAL.
VOL. I.
CHAPTER I.
The street was broad, with sidewalks, and wide grass-grown borders, and
a spacious track of wheels and horses' feet in the centre. Great elms,
which the early settlers planted, waved their pendant branches over the
peaceful highway, and gave shelter and nest-room to numerous orioles,
killdeer, and robins; putting off their yellow leaves in the autumn,
and bearing their winter weight of snow, in seeming quiet assurance
that spring would make amends for all. So slept the early settlers in
the churchyard!
Along the street, at pleasant neighbourly intervals--not near enough to
be crowded, nor far enough to be lonely--stood the
houses,--comfortable, spacious, compact,--"with no nonsense about
them." The <DW41> lay like a mere blue thread in the distance, its course
often pointed out by the gaff of some little sloop that followed the
bends of the river up toward Suckiaug. The low rolling shore was
spotted with towns and spires: over all was spread the fairest blue sky
and floating specks of white.
Not many sounds were astir,--the robins whistled, thief-like, over the
cherry-trees; the killdeer, from some high twig, sent forth his sweet
clear note; and now and then a pair of wheels rolled softly along the
smooth road: the rush of the wind filled up the pauses. Anybody who was
down by the <DW41> might have heard the soft roll of his blue
waters,--any one by the light-house might have heard the harsher dash
of the salt waves.
I might go on, and say that if anybody had been looking out of Mrs.
Derrick's window he or she might have seen--what Mrs. Derrick really
saw! For she was looking out of the window (or rather through the
blind) at the critical moment that afternoon. It would be too much to
say that she placed herself there on purpose,--let the reader suppose
what he likes.
At the time, then, that the village clock was striking four, when
meditative cows were examining the length of their shadows, and all the
geese were setting forth for their afternoon swim, a stranger opened
Mrs. Derrick's little gate and walked in. Stretching out one hand to
the dog in token of good fellowship, (a classical mind might have
fancied him breaking the cake by whose help Quickear got past the
lions,) he went up the walk, neither fast nor slow, ascended the steps,
and gave what Mrs. Derrick called "considerable of a rap" at the door.
That done, he faced about and looked at the far off blue <DW41>.
Not more intently did he eye and read that fair river; not more swiftly
did his thoughts pass from the <DW41> to things beyond human ken; than
Mrs. Derrick eyed and read--his back, and suffered her ideas to roam
into the far off regions of speculation. The light summer coat, the
straw hat, were
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Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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See 57918-h.htm or 57918-h.zip:
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(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/57918/57918-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/pirateofjasperpe00meig
THE PIRATE OF JASPER PEAK
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO · DALLAS
ATLANTA · SAN FRANCISCO
MACMILLAN & CO., Limited
LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE
THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd.
TORONTO
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: Close to the hearth a big chair had been drawn and in
this some one was sitting.]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE PIRATE OF JASPER PEAK
by
ADAIR ALDON
Author of “The Island of Appledore,” etc.
With Frontispiece
New York
The Macmillan Company
1918
All rights reserved
Copyright, 1918
By the Macmillan Company
Set up and electrotyped.
Published, September, 1918
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS
I. A Stranger in a Strange Land
II. The Brown Bear’s Skin
III. Laughing Mary
IV. The Heart of the Forest
V. Oscar Dansk
VI. The Promised Land
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Produced by Al Haines
[Illustration: Cover art]
A Bunch of Cherries
A STORY OF CHERRY COURT SCHOOL
BY
Mrs. L. T. MEADE
AUTHOR OF
"A Modern Tomboy," "The School Favorite," "Children's Pilgrimage,"
"Little Mother to the Others," Etc.
CHICAGO:
M. A. DONOHUE & CO.
1898
CONTENTS
CHAPTER.
I. The School
II. The Girls
III. The Telegram
IV. Sir John's Great Scheme
V. Florence
VI. Kitty and Her Father
VII. Cherry-Colored Ribbons
VIII. The Letter
IX. The Little Mummy
X. Aunt Susan
XI. "I Always Admired Frankness"
XII. The Fairy Box
XIII. An Invitation
XIV. At the Park
XV. The Pupil Teacher
XVI. Temptation
XVII. The Fall
XVIII. The Guests Arrive
XIX. Tit for Tat
XX. The Hills for Ever
XXI. The Sting of the Serpent
XXII. The Voice of God
A BUNCH OF CHERRIES.
CHAPTER I.
THE SCHOOL.
The house was long and low and rambling. In parts at least it must
have been quite a hundred years old, and even the modern portion was
not built according to the ideas of the present day, for in 1870 people
were not so aesthetic as they are now, and the lines of beauty and
grace were not considered all essential to happiness.
So even the new part of the house had square rooms destitute of
ornament, and the papers were small in pattern and without any artistic
designs, and the windows were square and straight, and the ceilings
were somewhat low.
The house opened on to a wide lawn, and at the left of the lawn was a
paddock and at the right a shrubbery, and the shrubbery led away under
its overhanging trees into the most perfect walled-in garden that was
ever seen. The garden was two or three hundred years old. The oldest
inhabitants of the place had never known the time when Cherry Court
garden was not the talk of the country. Visitors came from all parts
round to see it. It was celebrated on account of its very high walls
built of red brick, its size, for it covered at least three acres of
ground, and its magnificent cherries. The cherry trees in the Court
garden bore the most splendid fruit which could be obtained in any part
of the county. They were in great demand, not only for the girls who
lived in the old house and played in the garden, but for the neighbors
all over the country. A big price was always paid for these cherries,
for they made such splendid jam, as well as being so full of juice and
so ripe and good to eat that their like could not be found anywhere
else.
The cherries were of all sorts and kinds, from the celebrated White
Heart to the black cherry. There were cherries for cooking and
cherries for eating, and in the season the trees, which were laden with
ripe fruit, were a sight to behold.
In the height of the cherry season Mrs. Clavering always gave a cherry
feast. It was the event of the entire year, and the girls looked
forward to it, making all their arrangements in connection with it,
counting the hours until it arrived, and looking upon it as the great
feature of their school year. Everything turned on whether the
cherries were good and the weather fine. There was no greater stimulus
to hard work than the merest mention of this golden day, which came as
a rule towards the end of June and just before the summer vacation.
For Cherry Court School was old-fashioned according to our modern
ideas, and one of its old-fashioned plans was to give holidays at the
end of June instead of the end of July, so that the girls had the
longest, finest days at home, and came back to work at the end of
August refreshed and strengthened, and prepared for a good long tug at
lessons of all sorts until Christmas.
The school consisted of twenty girls, never more and never less, for
Mrs. Clavering was too great a favorite and had too wise and excellent
ideas with regard to education ever to be without pupils, and never
more, for she believed twenty to be the perfect number to whom she
could give every attention and offer every advantage.
The school, small as it was, was divided into two sections, the Upper
and the Lower. In the Upper school were girls from eighteen to
fourteen years of age, and in the Lower some of the small scholars
numbered even as few years as six. There was a resident French
mistress in the school and also a resident German, and
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GUIDE
TO
HOTEL HOUSEKEEPING
BY
MARY E. PALMER
1908
Copyrighted 1908,
BY
MARY E. PALMER
THE TRIBUNE PRINTING CO.
Charleston. W. Va.
[Illustration]
CREDIT TO THE HOTEL WORLD.
The greater part of the contents of this book was published, in
instalments, in The Hotel World, of Chicago.
A FOREWORD.
My chief purpose in writing this book was to place a few guide-posts
along the route of hotel housekeepers to warn them against certain
errors common to women engaged in the arduous and difficult occupation
of keeping house for hotels.
If anything that I have set forth herein shall make the work of hotel
housekeepers easier, more inviting, or more efficient, thereby
contributing to the satisfaction of proprietors and to the comfort of
patrons, I shall feel amply repaid for writing this book.
MARY E. PALMER.
Hotel Ruffner,
Charleston, West Va.
March 1, 1908.
THE MANAGER AND THE HELP.
The average hotel manager is only too prone to complain of the
incompetency and the inefficiency of hotel "help."
It is true that it is difficult to secure skilled help, for there is no
sort of institution that trains men and women for the different kinds
of hotel work. Each hotel must train its own help, or obtain them from
other hotels.
Thus there is no uniform and generally accepted standard of excellence
in the different departments of hotel-keeping.
A good
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The Academic Questions,
Treatise De Finibus.
and
Tusculan Disputations
Of
M. T. Cicero
With
A Sketch of the Greek Philosophers Mentioned by Cicero.
Literally Translated by
C. D. Yonge, B.A.
London: George Bell and Sons
York Street
Covent Garden
Printed by William Clowes and Sons,
Stamford Street and Charing Cross.
1875
CONTENTS
A Sketch of the Greek Philosophers Mentioned by Cicero.
Introduction.
First Book Of The Academic Questions.
Second Book Of The Academic Questions.
A Treatise On The Chief Good And Evil.
First Book Of The Treatise On The Chief Good And Evil.
Second Book Of The Treatise On The Chief Good And Evil.
Third Book Of The Treatise On The Chief Good And Evil.
Fourth Book Of The Treatise On The Chief Good And Evil.
Fifth Book Of The Treatise On The Chief Good And Evil.
The Tusculan Disputations.
Introduction.
Book I. On The Contempt Of Death.
Book II. On Bearing Pain.
Book III. On Grief Of Mind.
Book IV. On Other Perturbations Of The Mind.
Book V. Whether Virtue Alone Be Sufficient For A Happy Life.
Footnotes
A SKETCH OF THE GREEK PHILOSOPHERS MENTIONED BY CICERO.
In the works translated in the present volume, Cicero makes such constant
references to the doctrines and systems of the ancient Greek Philosophers,
that it seems desirable to give a brief account of the most remarkable of
those mentioned by him; not entering at length into the history of their
lives, but indicating the principal theories which they maintained, and
the main points in which they agreed with, or differed from, each other.
The earliest of them was _Thales_, who was born at Miletus, about 640 B.C.
He was a man of great political sagacity and influence; but we have to
consider him here as the earliest philosopher who appears to have been
convinced of the necessity of scientific proof of whatever was put forward
to be believed, and as the originator of mathematics and geometry. He was
also a great astronomer; for we read in Herodotus (i. 74) that he
predicted the eclipse of the sun which happened in the reign of Alyattes,
king of Lydia, B.C. 609. He asserted that water is the origin of all
things; that everything is produced out of it, and everything is resolved
into it. He also asserted that it is the soul which originates all motion,
so much so, that he attributes a soul to the magnet. Aristotle also
represents him as saying that everything is full of Gods. He does not
appear to have left any written treatises behind him: we are uncertain
when or where he died, but he is said to have lived to a great age--to 78,
or, according to some writers, to 90 years of age.
_Anaximander_, a countryman of Thales, was also born at Miletus, about 30
years later; he is said to have been a pupil of the former, and deserves
especial mention as the oldest philosophical writer among the Greeks. He
did not devote himself to the mathematical studies of Thales, but rather
to speculations concerning the generation and origin of the world; as to
which his opinions are involved in some obscurity. He appears, however, to
have considered that all things were formed of a sort of matter, which he
called {~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON WITH VARIA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA WITH PSILI AND OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER PI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER RHO~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}, or The Infinite; which was something everlasting and
divine, though not invested with any spiritual or intelligent nature. His
own works have not come down to us; but, according to Aristotle, he
considered this "Infinite" as consisting of a mixture of simple,
unchangeable elements, from which all things were produced by the
concurrence of homogeneous particles already existing in it,--a process
which he attributed to the constant conflict between heat and cold, and to
affinities of the particles: in this he was opposed to the doctrine of
Thales, Anaximenes, and Diogenes of Apollonia, who agreed in deriving all
things from a single, not _changeable_, principle.
Anaximander further held that the earth was of a cylindrical form,
suspended in the middle of the universe, and surrounded by water, air, and
fire, like the coats of an onion; but that the interior stratum of fire
was broken up and collected into masses, from which originated the sun,
moon, and stars; which he thought were carried round by the three spheres
in which they were respectively fixed. He believed that the moon had a
light of her own
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VOL. XXXIV. No. 8.
THE
AMERICAN MISSIONARY.
“To the Poor the Gospel is Preached.”
* * * * *
AUGUST, 1880.
_CONTENTS:_
EDITORIAL.
ANNUAL MEETINGS 225
FINANCIAL NOTICE 225
PARAGRAPHS 226
HARD CASES 228
TEACHER OR MISSIONARY, WHICH? 229
WRONGS OF THE PONCAS 230
THE <DW64> ON THE INDIAN 231
EADLE KEAHTAH TO
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E-text prepared by Roger Frank, Juliet Sutherland, and the Project
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Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 25865-h.htm or 25865-h.zip:
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or
(http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/5/8/6/25865/25865-h.zip)
PATTY'S SUMMER DAYS
by
CAROLYN WELLS
Author of "Idle Idylls," "Patty in the City," etc.
Illustrated
[Illustration]
New York Dodd, Mead & Company 1909
Copyright, 1906, by
Dodd, Mead & Company
Published, September, 1906
To
ELEANOR SHIPLEY HALSEY
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I A Gay Household 1
II Wedding Bells 13
III Atlantic City 27
IV Lessons Again 40
V A New Home 53
VI Busy Days 66
VII A Rescue 79
VIII Commencement Day 92
IX The Play 105
X A Motor Trip 118
XI Dick Phelps 130
XII Old China 143
XIII A Stormy Ride 155
XIV Pine Branches 169
XV Miss Aurora <DW12> 182
XVI A Quilting Party 195
XVII A Summer Christmas 208
XVIII At Sandy Cove 221
XIX Rosabel 234
XX The Rolands 246
XXI The Crusoes 259
XXII The Bazaar Of All Nations 271
XXIII The End Of The Summer 287
ILLUSTRATIONS
"Patty fairly reveled in Nan's beautiful trousseau" 8
"'There, you can see for yourself, there ain't no chip or
crack into it'" 147
"Although a successful snapshot was only achieved after
many attempts" 176
"Patty arrayed herself in a flowered silk of Dresden effect" 203
"In a few minutes Patty was feeding Rosabel bread and milk" 234
PATTY'S SUMMER DAYS
CHAPTER I
A GAY HOUSEHOLD
"Isn't Mrs. Phelps too perfectly sweet! That is the loveliest fan I ever
laid eyes on, and to think it's mine!"
"And _will_ you look at this? A silver coffee-machine! Oh, Nan, mayn't I
make it work, sometimes?"
"Indeed you may; and oh, see this! A piece of antique Japanese bronze!
Isn't it _great?_"
"I don't like it as well as the sparkling, shiny things. This silver tray
beats it all hollow. Did you ever see such a brightness in your life?"
"Patty, you're hopelessly Philistine! But that tray is lovely, and of an
exquisite design."
Patty and Nan were unpacking wedding presents, and the room was strewn
with boxes, tissue paper, cotton wool, and shredded-paper packing.
Only three days more, and then Nan Allen was to marry Mr. Fairfield,
Patty's father.
Patty was spending the whole week at the Allen home in Philadelphia, and
was almost as much interested in the wedding preparations as Nan herself.
"I don't think there's anything so much fun as a house with a wedding
fuss in it," said Patty to Mrs. Allen, as Nan's mother came into the room
where the girls were.
"Just wait till you come to your own wedding fuss, and then see if you
think it's so much fun," said Nan, who was rapidly scribbling names of
friends to whom she must write notes of acknowledgment for their gifts.
"That's too far in the future even to think of," said Patty, "and
besides, I must get my father married and settled, before I can think of
myself."
She wagged her head at Nan with a comical look, and they all laughed.
It was a great joke that Patty's father should be about to marry her dear
girl friend. But Patty was mightily pleased at the prospect, and looked
forward with happiness to the enlarged home circle.
"The trouble is," said Patty, "I don't know what to call this august
personage who insists on becoming my father's wife."
"I shall rule you with a rod of iron," said Nan, "and you'll stand so in
awe of me, that you won't dare to call me anything."
"You think so, do you?" said Patty saucily. "Well, just let me inform
you, Mrs. Fairfield, that is to be, that I intend to lead you a dance!
You'll be responsible for my manners and behaviour, and I wish you joy of
your undertaking. I
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PRICE, TEN CENTS.
[Illustration:
CORTICELLI
HOME NEEDLEWORK
1898
NONOTUCK SILK Co.
FLORENCE,
MASS.
]
PRESS OF SPRINGFIELD PRINTING AND BINDING COMPANY, SPRINGFIELD, MASS.
CORTICELLI
... SPOOL SILK
and BUTTONHOLE TWIST.
[Illustration]
MADE EXPRESSLY FOR DRESSMAKING AND FAMILY SEWING.
It works EQUALLY WELL for hand or machine use.
[Illustration]
Corticelli is the Smoothest,
Strongest, and Best
Sewing Silk made.
Both Spool Silk and Buttonhole Twist are made in colors to match all
seasonable dress goods
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RANSON'S FOLLY
And Others
By Richard Harding Davis
Illustrations By Frederic Remington, Walter Appleton Clark, Howard
Chandler Christy, E.M. Ashe & F. Dorr Steele (illustrations not
available in this file)
CONTENTS
RANSOM'S FOLLY Illustrated by Frederic Remington.
THE BAR SINISTER Illustrated by E.M. Ashe.
A DERELICT Illustrated by Walter Appleton Clark.
LA LETTRE D'AMOUR Illustrated by Howard Chandler Christy.
IN THE FOG Illustrated by Frederic Dorr Steele.
Illustrations:
"Throw up your hands," he commanded.
Ranson faced the door, spinning the revolver around his fourth finger.
"I suppose I'm the ugliest bull-dog in America".
"Miss Dorothy snatches me up and kisses me between the ears."
"We've got a great story! We want a clear wire."
He played to the empty chair.
The men around the table turned and glanced toward the gentleman in
front of the fireplace.
"What was the object of your plot?"
RANSON'S FOLLY
I
The junior officers of Fort Crockett had organized a mess at the
post-trader's. "And a mess it certainly is," said Lieutenant Ranson. The
dining-table stood between hogsheads of molasses and a blazing log-fire,
the counter of the store was their buffet, a pool-table with a cloth,
blotted like a map of the Great Lakes, their sideboard, and Indian Pete
acted as butler. But none of these things counted against the great fact
that each evening Mary Cahill, the daughter of the post-trader, presided
over the evening meal, and turned it into a banquet. From her high
chair behind the counter, with the cash-register on her one side and
the weighing-scales on the other, she gave her little Senate laws, and
smiled upon each and all with the kind impartiality of a comrade.
At least, at one time she had been impartial. But of late she smiled
upon all save Lieutenant Ranson. When he talked, she now looked at the
blazing log-fire, and her cheeks glowed and her eyes seemed to reflect
the lifting flame.
For five years, ever since her father brought her from the convent at
St. Louis, Mary Cahill had watched officers come and officers go. Her
knowledge concerning them, and their public and private affairs, was
vast and miscellaneous. She was acquainted with the traditions of
every regiment, with its war record, with its peace-time politics, its
nicknames, its scandals, even with the earnings of each company-canteen.
At Fort Crockett, which lay under her immediate observation, she knew
more of what was going forward than did the regimental adjutant, more
even than did the colonel's wife. If Trumpeter Tyler flatted on church
call, if Mrs. Stickney applied to the quartermaster for three feet
of stovepipe, if Lieutenant Curtis were granted two days' leave for
quail-shooting, Mary Cahill knew it; and if Mrs. "Captain" Stairs
obtained the post-ambulance for a drive to Kiowa City, when Mrs.
"Captain" Ross wanted it for a picnic, she knew what words passed
between those ladies, and which of the two wept. She knew all of these
things, for each evening they were retailed to her by her "boarders."
Her boarders were very loyal to Mary Cahill. Her position was a
difficult one, and had it not been that the boy-officers were so
understanding, it would have been much more difficult. For the life of a
regimental post is as circumscribed as the life on a ship-of-war, and
it would no more be possible for the ship's barber to rub shoulders with
the admiral's epaulets than that a post-trader's child should visit the
ladies on the "line," or that the wives of the enlisted men should dine
with the young girl from whom they "took in" washing.
So, between the upper and the nether grindstones, Mary Cahill was left
without the society of her own sex, and was of necessity forced to
content herself with the society of the officers. And the officers
played fair. Loyalty to Mary Cahill was a tradition at Fort Crockett,
which it was the duty of each succeeding regiment to sustain. Moreover,
her father, a dark, sinister man, alive only to money-making, was known
to handle a revolver with the alertness of a town-marshal.
Since the day she left the convent Mary Cahill had held but two
affections: one for this grim, taciturn parent, who brooded over her as
jealously as a lover, and the other for the entire United States Army.
The Army returned her affection without the jealousy of the father, and
with much more than his effusiveness. But when Lieutenant Ranson
arrived from the Philippines, the affections of Mary Cahill became less
generously distributed, and her heart fluttered hourly between trouble
and joy.
There were two rooms on the first floor of the post-trader's--this
big one, which only officers and their women-folk might enter, and the
other, the exchange of the enlisted men. The two were separated by
a partition of logs and hung with shelves on which were displayed
calicoes, tinned meats, and patent medicines. A door, cut in one end
of the partition, with buffalo-robes for portieres, permitted Cahill to
pass from behind the counter of one store to behind the counter of the
other. On one side Mary Cahill served the Colonel's wife with many yards
of silk ribbons to be converted into german favors, on the other her
father weighed out bears' claws (manufactured in Hartford, Conn., from
turkey-bones) to make a necklace for Red Wing, the squaw of the Arrephao
chieftain. He waited upon everyone with gravity, and in obstinate
silence. No one had ever seen Cahill smile. He himself occasionally
joked with others in a grim and embarrassed manner. But no one had ever
joked with him. It was reported that he came from New York, where, it
was whispered, he had once kept bar on the Bowery for McTurk.
Sergeant Clancey, of G Troop, was the authority for this. But when,
presuming on that supposition, he claimed acquaintanceship with Cahill,
the post-trader spread out his hands on the counter and stared at the
sergeant with cold and disconcerting eyes. "I never kept bar nowhere,"
he said. "I never been on the Bowery, never been in New York, never been
east of Denver in my life. What was it you ordered?"
"Well, mebbe I'm wrong," growled the sergeant.
But a month later, when a coyote howled down near the Indian village,
the sergeant said insinuatingly, "Sounds just like the cry of the Whyos,
don't it?" And Cahill, who was listening to the wolf, unthinkingly
nodded his head.
The sergeant snorted in triumph. "Yah, I told you so!" he cried, "a man
that's never been on the Bowery, and knows the call of the Whyo gang!
The drinks are on you, Cahill."
The post-trader did not raise his eyes, but drew a damp cloth up and
down the counter, slowly and heavily, as a man sharpens a knife on a
whetstone.
That night, as the sergeant went up the path to the post, a bullet
passed through his hat. Clancey was a forceful man, and forceful men,
unknown to themselves, make enemies, so he was uncertain as to whether
this came from a trooper he had borne upon too harshly, or whether, In
the darkness, he had been picked off for someone else. The next night,
as he passed in the full light of the post-trader's windows, a shot
came from among the dark shadows of the corral, and when he immediately
sought safety in numbers among the Indians, cowboys, and troopers in the
exchange, he was in time to see Cahill enter it from the other store,
wrapping up a bottle of pain-killer for Mrs. Stickney's cook. But
Clancey was not deceived. He observed with satisfaction that the soles
and the heels of Cahill's boots were wet with the black mud of the
corral.
The next morning, when the exchange was empty, the post-trader turned
from arranging cans of condensed milk upon an upper shelf to face the
sergeant's revolver. He threw up his hands to the level of his ears as
though expressing sharp unbelief, and waited in silence. The sergeant
advanced until the gun rested on the counter, Its muzzle pointing at the
pit of Cahill's stomach. "You or me has got to leave this post," said
the sergeant, "and I can't desert, so I guess it's up to you."
"What did you talk for?" asked Cahill. His attitude was still that
of shocked disbelief, but his tone expressed a full acceptance of the
situation and a desire to temporize.
"At first I thought it might be that new 'cruity' in F Troop," explained
the sergeant "You came near making me kill the wrong man. What harm did
I do you by saying you kept bar for McTurk? What's there in that to get
hot about?"
"You said I run with the Whyos."
"What the h--l do I care what you've done!" roared the sergeant. "I
don't kmow nothing about you, but I don't mean you should shoot me in
the back. I'm going to tell this to my bunky, an' if I get shot up, the
Troop'll know who done it, and you'll hang for it. Now, what are you
going to do?"
Cahill did not tell what he would do; for, from the other store, the low
voice of Mary Cahill called, "Father! Oh, father!"
The two men dodged, and eyed each other guiltily. The sergeant gazed at
the buffalo-robe portieres with wide-opened eyes. Cahill's hands dropped
from the region of his ears, and fell flat upon the counter.
When Miss Mary Cahill pushed aside the portieres Sergeant Clancey, of
G Troop, was showing her father the mechanism of the new
regulation-revolver. He apparently was having some difficulty with the
cylinder, for his face was red. Her father was eying the gun with the
critical approval of an expert.
"Father," said Miss Cahill petulantly, "why didn't you answer? Where is
the blue stationery--the sort Major Ogden always buys? He's waiting."
The eyes of the post-trader did not wander from the gun before him.
"Next to the blank books, Mame," he said. "On the second shelf."
Miss Cahill flashed a dazzling smile at the big sergeant, and whispered,
so that the officer in the room behind her might not overhear, "Is
he trying to sell you Government property, dad? Don't you touch it.
Sergeant, I'm surprised at you tempting my poor father." She pulled the
two buffalo-robes close around her neck so that her face only showed
between them. It was a sweet, lovely face, with frank, boyish eyes.
"When the major's gone, sergeant," she whispered, "bring your gun around
my side of the store and I'll buy it from you."
The sergeant nodded in violent assent, laughing noiselessly and slapping
his knee in a perfect ecstasy of delight.
The curtains dropped and the face disappeared.
The sergeant fingered the gun and Cahill folded his arms defiantly.
"Well?" he said.
"Well?" asked the sergeant.
"I should think you could see how it is," said Cahill, "without my
having to tell you."
"You mean you don't want she should know?"
"My God, no! Not even that I kept a bar."
"Well, I don't know nothing. I don't mean to tell nothing, anyway, so if
you'll promise to be good I'll call this off."
For the first time in the history of Fort Crockett, Cahill was seen to
smile. "May I reach under the counter NOW?" he asked.
The sergeant grinned appreciatively, and shifted his gun. "Yes, but
I'll keep this out until I'm sure it's a bottle," he said, and laughed
boisterously.
For an instant, under the cover of the counter, Cahill's hand touched
longingly upon the gun that lay there, and then passed on to the bottle
beside it. He drew it forth, and there was the clink of glasses.
In the other room Mary Cahill winked at the major, but that officer
pretended to be both deaf to the clink of the glasses and blind to the
wink. And so the incident was closed. Had it not been for the folly of
Lieutenant Ranson it would have remained closed.
A week before this happened a fire had started in the Willow Bottoms
among the tepees of some Kiowas, and the prairie, as far as one could
see, was bruised and black. From the post it looked as though the sky
had been raining ink. At the time all of the regiment but G and H
Troops was out on a practice-march, experimenting with a new-fangled
tabloid-ration. As soon as it turned the buttes it saw from where the
light in the heavens came and the practice-march became a race.
At the post the men had doubled out under Lieutenant Ranson with wet
horse-blankets, and while he led G Troop to fight the flames, H Troop,
under old Major Stickney, burned a space around the post, across which
the men of G Troop retreated, stumbling, with their ears and shoulders
wrapped in the smoking blankets. The sparks beat upon them and the
flames followed so fast that, as they ran, the blazing grass burned
their lacings, and they kicked their gaiters ahead of them.
When the regiment arrived it found everybody at Fort Crockett talking
enthusiastically of Ranson's conduct and resentfully of the fact that
he had regarded the fire as one which had been started for his especial
amusement.
"I assure you," said Mrs. Bolland to the colonel, "if it hadn't been
for young Ranson we would have been burned in our beds; but he was most
aggravating. He treated it as though it were Fourth of July fireworks.
It is the only entertainment we have been able to offer him since he
joined in which he has shown the slightest interest." Nevertheless,
it was generally admitted that Ranson had saved the post. He had been
ubiquitous. He had been seen galloping into the advancing flames like
a stampeded colt, he had reappeared like a wraith in columns of black,
whirling smoke, at the same moment his voice issued orders from twenty
places. One instant he was visible beating back the fire with a wet
blanket, waving it above him jubilantly, like a substitute at the
Army-Navy game when his side scores, and the next staggering from out
of the furnace dragging an asphyxiated trooper by the collar, and
shrieking, "Hospital-steward, hospital-steward! here's a man on fire.
Put him out, and send him back to me, quick!"
Those who met him in the whirlwind of smoke and billowing flame related
that he chuckled continuously. "Isn't this fun?" he yelled at them.
"Say, isn't this the best ever? I wouldn't have missed this for a trip
to New York!"
When the colonel, having visited the hospital and spoken cheering words
to those who were sans hair, sans eyebrows and with bandaged hands,
complimented Lieutenant Ranson on the parade-ground before the assembled
regiment, Ranson ran to his hut muttering strange and fearful oaths.
That night at mess he appealed to Mary Cahill for sympathy. "Goodness,
mighty me!" he cried, "did you hear him? Wasn't it awful? If I'd thought
he was going to hand me that I'd have deserted. What's the use of
spoiling the only fun we've had that way? Why, if I'd known you could
get that much excitement out of this rank prairie I'd have put a match
to it myself three months ago. It's the only fun I've had, and he goes
and preaches a funeral oration at me."
Ranson came into the army at the time of the Spanish war because it
promised a new form of excitement, and because everybody else he
knew had gone into it too. As the son of his father he was made an
adjutant-general of volunteers with the rank of captain, and unloaded
on the staff of a Southern brigadier, who was slated never to leave
Charleston. But Ranson suspected this, and, after telegraphing his
father for three days, was attached to the Philippines contingent and
sailed from San Francisco in time to carry messages through the surf
when the volunteers moved upon Manila. More cabling at the cost of many
Mexican dollars caused him to be removed from the staff, and given a
second lieutenancy in a volunteer regiment, and for two years he pursued
the little brown men over the paddy sluices, burned villages,
looted churches, and collected bolos and altar-cloths with that
irresponsibility and contempt for regulations which is found chiefly
in the appointment from civil life. Incidentally, he enjoyed himself
so much that he believed in the army he had found the one place where
excitement is always in the air, and as excitement was the breath of his
nostrils he applied for a commission in the regular army. On his record
he was appointed a second lieutenant in the Twentieth Cavalry, and on
the return of that regiment to the States--was buried alive at Fort
Crockett.
After six months of this exile, one night at the mess-table Ranson broke
forth in open rebellion. "I tell you I can't stand it a day longer," he
cried. "I'm going to resign!"
From behind the counter Mary Cahill heard him in horror. Second
Lieutenants Crosby and Curtis shuddered. They were sons of officers
of the regular army. Only six months before they themselves had been
forwarded from West Point, done up in neat new uniforms. The traditions
of the Academy of loyalty and discipline had been kneaded into their
vertebrae. In Ranson they saw only the horrible result of giving
commissions to civilians.
"Maybe the post will be
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Produced by Martin Ward
Weymouth New Testament in Modern Speech, Revelation
Third Edition 1913
R. F. Weymouth
Book 66 Revelation
001:001 The revelation given by Jesus Christ, which God granted Him,
that He might make known to His servants certain events
which must shortly come to pass: and He sent His angel
and communicated it to His servant John.
001:002 This is the John who taught the truth concerning the Word
of God and the truth told us by Jesus Christ--a faithful
account of what he had seen.
001:003 Blessed is he who reads and blessed are those who listen to the
words of this prophecy and lay to heart what is written in it;
for the time for its fulfillment is now close at hand.
001:004 John sends greetings to the seven Churches in the province of Asia.
May grace be granted to you, and peace, from Him who is
and was and evermore will be; and from the seven Spirits
which are before His throne;
001:005 and from Jesus Christ, the truthful witness, the first of the dead
to be born to Life, and the Ruler of the kings of the earth.
To Him who loves us and has freed us from our sins with
His own blood,
001:006 and has formed us into a Kingdom, to be priests to God, His Father--
to Him be ascribed the glory and the power until the Ages
of the Ages. Amen.
001:007 He is coming in the clouds, and every eye will see Him,
and so will those who pierced Him; and all the nations
of the earth will gaze on Him and mourn. Even so. Amen.
001:008 "I am the Alpha and the Omega," says the Lord God, "He who is
and was and evermore will be--the Ruler of all."
001:009 I John, your brother, and a sharer with you in the sorrows
and Kingship and patient endurance of Jesus, found myself
in the island of Patmos, on account of the Word of God
and the truth told us by Jesus.
001:010 In the Spirit I found myself present on the day of the Lord,
and I heard behind me a loud voice which resembled the blast
of a trumpet.
001:011 It said, "Write forthwith in a roll an account of what you see,
and send it to the seven Churches--to Ephesus, Smyrna,
Pergamum, Thyateira, Sardis, Philadelphia and Laodicea."
001:012 I turned to see who it was that was speaking to me; and then
I saw seven golden lampstands,
001:013 and in the center of the lampstands some One resembling
the Son of Man, clothed in a robe which reached to His feet,
and with a girdle of gold across His breast.
001:014 His head and His hair were white, like white wool--as white as snow;
and His eyes resembled a flame of fire.
001:015 His feet were like silver-bronze, when it is white-hot in a furnace;
and His voice resembled the sound of many waters.
001:016 In His right hand He held seven stars, and a sharp,
two-edged sword was seen coming from His mouth; and His glance
resembled the sun when it is shining with its full strength.
001:017 When I saw Him, I fell at His feet as if I were dead.
But He laid His right hand upon me and said, "Do not be afraid:
I am the First and the Last, and the ever-living One.
001:018 I died; but I am now alive until the Ages of the Ages,
and I have the keys of the gates of Death and of Hades!
001:019 Write down therefore the things you have just seen,
and those which are now taking place, and those which are
soon to follow:
001:020 the secret meaning of the seven stars which you have seen
in My right hand, and of the seven lampstands of gold.
The seven stars are the ministers of the seven Churches,
and the seven lampstands are the seven Churches.
002:001 "To the minister of the Church in Ephesus write as follows:
"'This is what He who holds the seven stars in the grasp of His
right hand says--He who walks to and fro among the seven
lampstands of gold.
002:002 I know your doings and your toil and patient suffering.
And I know that you cannot tolerate wicked men, but have put
to the test those who say that they themselves are Apostles
but are not, and you have found them to be liars.
002:003 And you endure patiently and have borne burdens for My sake
and have never grown weary.
002:004 Yet I have this against you--that you no longer love Me as you
did at first.
002:005 Be mindful, therefore, of the height from which you have fallen.
Repent at once, and act as you did at first, or else
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GETTING & GOLD.
GRIFFIN’S STANDARD PUBLICATIONS.
Fourth Edition, Revised. Fully Illustrated. 21s.
=THE METALLURGY OF GOLD=. By T. KIRKE ROSE, D.Sc. Lond.,
Assoc. R.S.M., Chemist and Assayer to the Royal Mint.
“Adapted for all who are interested in the Gold Mining Industry,
being free from technicalities as far as possible, but is more
particularly of value to those engaged in the industry.”--_Cape
Times._
“A Comprehensive Practical Treatise on this important
subject.”--_The Times._
* * * * *
Medium 8vo. With numerous Plates, Maps, and Illustrations. 21s. net.
=CYANIDING GOLD AND SILVER ORES=: A Practical Treatise on the Cyanide
Process. By H. FORBES JULIAN, and EDGAR SMART, A.M.I.C.E.
“A handsome volume of 400 pages which will be a valuable book of
reference for all associated with the process.”--_Mining Journal._
* * * * *
Large Crown 8vo. Third English Edition. Fully Illustrated, 7s. 6d.
=THE CYANIDE PROCESS OF GOLD EXTRACTION=. By Professor JAMES PARK,
F.G.S., M.Inst.M.M.
“We can confidently recommend this book as a thoroughly
practical work,
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An Account
Of The
Life and Writings
Of
S. Irenaeus,
Bishop of Lyons and Martyr:
Intended to Illustrate
The Doctrine, Discipline, Practices, and History of the Church, and the
Tenets and Practices of the Gnostic Heretics, During the Second Century.
By
James Beaven, M.A.
Of St. Edmund Hall, Oxford
And Curate of Leigh, in the County of Stafford.
London:
J. G. F. & J. Rivington
1841
CONTENTS
Preface.
Subscribers' Names.
Chapter I. Life of S. Irenaeus, and General Account Of His Writings.
Chapter II. Testimony of Irenaeus to Certain Facts of Church History.
Chapter III. On The Nature, Office, Powers, and Privileges Of The Church.
Chapter IV. On The Doctrine of the Holy Trinity.
Chapter V. The Origin of Evil.
Chapter VI. The Evil Spirits.
Chapter VII. The Divine Dispensations.
Chapter VIII. On The Canon, Genuineness, Versions, Use, And Value Of Holy
Scripture.
Chapter IX. On The Nature And Use of Primitive Tradition.
Chapter X. On The Creed.
Chapter XI. Freewill, Predestination, And Election.
Chapter XII. On Baptism.
Chapter XIII. The Eucharist.
Chapter XIV. On Justification.
Chapter XV. On Ceremonies, Usages, And Forms Of Words.
Chapter XVI. On The Sabbath.
Chapter XVII. On The Typical Interpretation Of Scripture.
Chapter XVIII. On The Intermediate State.
Chapter XIX. On Unfulfilled Prophecy.
Chapter XX. The Virgin Mary.
Chapter XXI. Account of the Gnostic Teachers and Their Tenets.
Section I. Simon Magus, Nicolas, and the Ebionites.
Section II. Menander, Saturninus, And Basilides.
Section III. Carpocrates And Cerinthus.
Section IV. Cerdon, Marcion, Tatian, And The Cainites.
Section V. The Barbeliots, Ophites, And Sethites.
Section VI. Valentinus.
Section VII. Secundus, Epiphanes, Ptolemy, Colorbasus, And Marcus.
Section VIII. Gnostic Redemption.
Section IX. Reflections Upon Gnosticism.
Footnotes
[Cover Art]
[Transcriber's Note: The above cover image was produced by the submitter
at Distributed Proofreaders, and is being placed into the public domain.]
DEDICATION.
To the Memory
Of
Edward Burton, D.D.
Late Regius Professor Of Divinity In The University Of Oxford,
By Whose Advice And Encouragement
The Author Of This Work
Was First Led To Study, With Care And Attention,
The Writings Of
This Father and Martyr.
It Is Now Dedicated And Inscribed;
As A Humble Acknowledgement Of His Extensive Learning,
His Remarkable Singleness Of Mind,
And The Cordial Assistance He Ever Rendered
To Younger Travellers
In The Same Path Which He Himself Pursued.
PREFACE.
It was, perhaps, somewhat presumptuous in a person occupying so humble a
station in the sacred ministry to offer to the Church a work which would
necessarily induce comparisons between itself and the similar productions
of a Prelate of the Church--a Divine of the highest rank and character. The
author can, however, at least say, that it was no foolish ambition which
led to his employing himself on such a work. Having been led by
circumstances to a repeated perusal and study of the writings of S.
Irenaeus, he saw the great value of his testimony to the leading principles
and doctrines of the Church of England. He had himself derived much
benefit from the works of Bishop Kaye on others of the Fathers; he thought
that if he could do nothing more than to draw out the substance of the
doctrine and opinions of Irenaeus for the use of the student in theology,
in a more accessible form than that in which he himself had to look for
it, accompanied by the text of the portions from which he had formed his
statements, and with a little illustration of the meaning in passages
liable to misunderstanding,--he should have rendered a service to his
younger brethren: and if it should so happen that that distinguished
Prelate or any other writer did anticipate him, it would be so much clear
gain to himself to have been so employed. When he had completed his first
preparations, and had learnt by proper inquiry that the Illustrator of
Justin, Clement, and Tertullian was not engaged on Irenaeus, he endeavoured
to put the work somewhat into form: and being afterwards encouraged by one
upon whose judgment and acquirements public opinion had set its stamp, and
who had seen portions of the work, to believe that it possessed a certain
degree of value,--he ventured to bring it into public notice in the only
way which appeared open to him.
He desires here to record his sense of the most kind and most hearty
encouragement he has met with from persons of all ranks and classes,
capable of appreciating a work of this description, or of aiding in its
publication: more especially of that afforded him by her Majesty THE QUEEN
DOWAGER, by the Most Reverend and Right Reverend Prelates who have
honoured him with their support, by the many persons distinguished either
for station or for literary eminence, whose names will be found in the
subjoined list, and by the warm-hearted friends, both of the clergy and of
the laity, with whom he is either locally or personally connected.
His work, such as it is, he now sends forth, trusting that, through the
blessing of the Divine HEAD of the Church, it may be available to the
great ends of the ministry to which he has been called, and may tend to
the unity, the strength, and the stability of the Church.
Before, however, he takes his leave of his readers, he wishes to add a few
words on the Right Use of the Writings of the Fathers.
1. We use them as we do the writings of secular authors, to ascertain the
_facts_ of the _history_ of their own or of preceding times; principally
as concerning the Church, and secondarily as concerning the world. To this
use of them no objection in principle can be raised; and in so doing, we
treat them exactly as we do ordinary writers.
2. We use them, as _evidence_ of the state of the Church, in their own and
preceding ages, as regards either _discipline_ or _morals_. In regard to
the former, as it is a thing not in its nature liable to hasty
alteration,--discipline established in one age continuing on, for the most
part, into the next,--their testimony will avail for the immediately
preceding generation, as well as for their own. In regard to the latter,
it can scarcely be received for any thing anterior to their own age,
unless where they record the observations of some older person. In both,
moreover, it requires to be noted whether they are writing controversially
or historically: because we all know that through the imperfection of our
nature we are apt to overstate our own case, and to understate that of our
opponents. And if that is the case now, when a more extended and more
accurate education has disciplined the minds of writers to impartiality,
how much more must it have been so in an earlier stage of controversial
writing, when there had been no opportunity for any such discipline. It is
necessary, therefore, in the perusal of their controversial writings to be
on our guard, and to notice, in any particular case, whether the mind of
the writer is likely to have been influenced in his statements by any such
bias. It must be remembered, moreover, that no individual author can be
considered as evidence for the state of the universal Church, unless we
have sufficient proof that he had means of knowing the condition of the
whole Church, and unless we can gather that, being so qualified, he
intends to speak thus largely.
Again, when not writing controversially, if we are aware that they
laboured under any particular prejudice or bias, either towards any
particular opinion or state of feeling, or against any particular class or
individual, which is liable to affect their statements,--then likewise we
must view them with caution.
On the other hand, when we have no evidence of any circumstance likely to
pervert their perceptions, or to exaggerate their statements, it is
obvious that they must be taken at their full value.
3. We use the Fathers as evidence of the _doctrine_ which was taught by
the Church, in their own and preceding ages. And here some of the remarks
just made will apply again. The Fathers, like all other writers, sometimes
state their own individual opinions, or the views of doctrine which
prevailed in the sect or party to which they were attached, or in the
particular part of the Church in which they were placed, or in the age in
which they lived: at other times, and more frequently, the doctrines of
the whole Church, in their own and all preceding ages. Now, where a writer
states that what he is saying is held by the whole Church, unless we know
any thing to the contrary, it is reasonable to believe that it was the
case; because we know that the tradition of doctrine was, for the most
part, jealously kept up by the perpetual intercourse and communication
between the bishops of the several churches. And so again, where a writer
affirms that any particular doctrine has been handed down from the
beginning, unless we have opposing evidence, it is reasonable to take his
word; because we know that it was the custom and practice of the whole
Church to require every new bishop to confess the doctrine _already
received_, and to teach its doctrines to new converts as already received.
And, at all events, such a statement is conclusive evidence, that such
doctrine had come down from a generation or two preceding that of the
writer; unless (as was said before) we have proof to the contrary.
But, as has been already stated, it is possible for an individual to be
led away by controversy, or prejudice, or party bias; and therefore, when
he is manifestly under any such influence, it is well to be on our guard.
For that and other reasons, in any matter of serious doubt, it is
impossible to rest upon the word of any single writer; but we use him as a
link in the chain of evidence as to the doctrine taught from the beginning
by the united universal Church.
4. We use them to aid us in interpreting the text of Scripture. For many
of them quote very largely from the Sacred Volume; and as some lived near
apostolical times, and many wrote in the language in which the New
Testament was written, whilst others were persons of great inquiry and
learning, and lived nearer to the localities of the sacred events than we
do,--they had advantages which we do not possess. When, therefore, several
or many of them concur in giving one uniform meaning to particular
passages of Scripture, the evidence becomes very strong that they had the
right interpretation: and even where only one writer gives any assistance
upon any particular text, we shall frequently see reason for accepting his
acceptation of it in preference to more modern suggestions. At the same
time it is necessary to bear in mind, that most of them knew nothing of
the original language of the Old Testament; and that they are often only
_applying_ passages according to the prevalent habit (countenanced indeed
by our Lord and his Apostles, but carried to various degrees of excess by
most of the early writers) of seeking for mystical accommodations: and we
must distinguish between application and interpretation.
Now these methods of employing the writings of the Fathers are _a priori_
so obvious and so unobjectionable, that few writers of any credit object
to the principle: but as the results of the application of the principle
are highly inconvenient to those who have rejected the doctrine or
discipline universally upheld in the primitive ages of the Church, two
lines of argument have been taken to nullify this application. And as they
have been lately revived in various ways, and particularly by the re-
publication of the work from which most of them have been derived, viz.
Daille's Treatise _on the Right Use of the Fathers_, I have thought proper
to notice them in that brief manner which the limits of a preface permit.
Some, indeed, of the objections brought forward ought to be considered as
simply cautions to the inquirer, and as such I have already treated them;
the chief remaining ones I now proceed to mention.
(1.) Some contend that, however reasonable in the abstract this sort of
appeal to the Fathers may appear, it is beset with such difficulties, that
it is useless in practice: that we have so few early writings, that those
we have are so adulterated, that we have so many forgeries in the names of
early
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The Tent Dwellers
[Illustration: "He was swearing steadily and I think still blaming me
for most of his troubles."--_Page_ 83.]
THE TENT
DWELLERS
BY
ALBERT BIGELOW PAINE
_Author of "The Van Dwellers," "The Lucky Piece," etc_.
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY HY. WATSON_
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
THE OUTING PUBLISHING CO.
MCMVIII
COPYRIGHT, 1908, BY
THE OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY
Chapter One
_Come, shape your plans where the fire is bright,_
_And the shimmering glasses are--_
_When the woods are white in the winter's night,_
_Under the northern star._
Chapter One
It was during the holiday week that Eddie proposed the matter. That is
Eddie's way. No date, for him, is too far ahead to begin to plan
anything that has vari- flies in it, and tents, and the prospect
of the campfire smell. The very mention of these things will make his
hair bristle up (rather straight, still hair it is and silvered over
with premature wisdom) and put a new glare into his spectacles (rather
wide, round spectacles they are) until he looks even more like an
anarchist than usual--more indeed than in the old Heidelberg days, when,
as a matter of truth, he is a gentle soul; sometimes, when he has
transgressed, or thinks he has, almost humble.
As I was saying, it was during the holidays--about the end of the week,
as I remember it--and I was writing some letters at the club in the
little raised corner that looks out on the park, when I happened to
glance down toward the fireplace, and saw Eddie sitting as nearly on his
coat collar as possible, in one of the wide chairs, and as nearly in the
open hickory fire as he could get, pawing over a book of Silver
Doctors, Brown Hackles and the like, and dreaming a long, long dream.
Now, I confess there is something about a book of trout flies, even at
the year's end, when all the brooks are flint and gorged with white,
when all the north country hides under seamless raiment that stretches
even to the Pole itself--even at such a time, I say, there is something
about those bits of gimp, and gut, and feathers, and steel, that prick
up the red blood of any man--or of any woman, for that matter--who has
ever flung one of those gaudy things into a swirl of dark water, and
felt the swift, savage tug on the line and heard the music of the
singing reel.
I forgot that I was writing letters and went over there.
"Tell me about it, Eddie," I said. "Where are you going, this time?"
Then he unfolded to me a marvelous plan. It was a place in Nova
Scotia--he had been there once before, only, this time he was going a
different route, farther into the wilderness, the deep unknown,
somewhere even the guides had never been. Perhaps stray logmen had been
there, or the Indians; sportsmen never. There had been no complete
surveys, even by the government. Certain rivers were known by their
outlets, certain lakes by name. It was likely that they formed the usual
network and that the circuit could be made by water, with occasional
carries. Unquestionably the waters swarmed with trout. A certain
imaginative Indian, supposed to have penetrated the unknown, had
declared that at one place were trout the size of one's leg.
Eddie became excited as he talked and his hair bristled. He set down a
list of the waters so far as known, the names of certain guides, a
number of articles of provision and an array of camp paraphernalia.
Finally he made maps and other drawings and began to add figures. It was
dusk when we got back. The lights were winking along the park over the
way, and somewhere through the night, across a waste of cold, lay the
land we had visited, still waiting to be explored. We wandered out into
the dining room and settled the matter across a table. When we rose from
it, I was pledged--pledged for June; and this was still December, the
tail of the old year.
Chapter Two
_And let us buy for the days of spring,_
_While yet the north winds blow!_
_For half the joy of the trip, my boy,_
_Is getting your traps to go._
Chapter Two
Immediately we, that is to say, Eddie, began to buy things. It is
Eddie's way to read text-books and to consult catalogues with a view of
making a variety of purchases. He has had a great deal of experience in
the matter
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A DUEL IN THE DARK.
_An original Farce,_
IN ONE ACT.
BY J. STIRLING COYNE,
AUTHOR OF
"_My Wife's Daughter_," "_Binks the Bagman_," "_Separate
Maintenance_," "_How to settle Accounts with your Laundress_," "_Did
you ever send your Wife to Camberwell_,"
_&c. &c. &c._
THOMAS HAILES LACY,
WELLINGTON STREET, STRAND,
LONDON.
_First Performed at the Theatre Royal Haymarket,
On Saturday, January_ 31_st,_ 1852.
CHARACTERS.
MR. GREGORY GREENFINCH Mr. BUCKSTONE.
MRS. GREENFINCH }
COUNTESS DE RAMBUTEAU } Mrs. FITZWILLIAM.
CHARLEY BATES }
BETSY Mrs. CAULFIELD.
WAITER Mr. EDWARDS.
COSTUMES.
Mr. GREENFINCH.--Green coat, light blue trowsers, and French
travelling cap.
Mrs. GREENFINCH.--Fawn polka jacket, waistcoat and skirt.
COUNTESS DE RAMBUTEAU.--Loose travelling pelisse, bonnet and green
veil.
CHARLEY BATES.--Blue frock coat and white trowsers.
BETSY.--Travelling dress and servant's dress.
WAITER.--Gendarme suit.
SCENE _lies at a Hotel at Dieppe._
Time in Representation, 50 minutes.
A DUEL IN THE DARK!
SCENE.--_A handsomely furnished Apartment on the ground floor of a
Hotel at Dieppe. A French window at back opening on a garden. Door,
2 E. L. Door, 3 E. L. A large stove, L. between the two doors. Door,
2 E. R. Easy chair near door, R. Tables, R. and L. C. at back; bottle
of brandy with glasses on table, L. Chairs, &c. Two lighted candles
on._
_Enter GREENFINCH, carrying bandbox, large travelling cloak, carpet
bag and umbrella, L. 3 E._
GREEN. Well now this is something like an adventure. (_putting down
the umbrella and bandbox, R._) There's a romantic mystery attached to
me that I can't unravel, in fact I feel myself like a tangled
penn'orth of thread; the more I try to clear myself the more
complicated I become. Let me calmly consider my singular position.
(_throws the cloak on the easy chair, R. and places the carpet bag
beside it_) In the first place here I have arrived at the Hotel d'
Angleterre in Dieppe accompanied by the Countess de Rambuteau--a real
Countess! Poor Mrs. Greenfinch little dreams what a rake I am--but for
a long time I've been dying for an aristocratic flirtation--I have
looked at lovely women in the private boxes at the theatres--and have
run after carriages in the park--but all in vain, and now, startling
as the fact may seem, I have been for the last thirty hours the
travelling companion of a French Countess, and have shared her
post-chaise from Paris: when I say shared, I mean the Countess and her
maid took the inside and left me the outside, where I was exalted to
the dickey amongst a miscellaneous assortment of trunks and bandboxes,
by which I have been jolted and jammed till I haven't a bone in my
body without its particular ache. But the most extraordinary part of
the affair is that I have never yet seen the Countess's face, for she
has always concealed it from me beneath a thick veil. However that's
nothing, there's a secret sympathy by which I think I could discover a
pretty face under a piecrust. Hah! here she comes, and now for the
tender revelation--the soft confession--the blushing avowal--the--
_Enter MRS. GREENFINCH, 2 E. R., in a travelling dress closely veiled,
she carries in her hand a lady's walking basket._
Ah, my charming Countess, at length after a painful--I mean a
delightful journey--we have arrived in Dieppe, and now permit me to
gaze on those lovely features.
MRS. G. (_retires as he approaches_) No, no, _je ne permittez pas;_
nevare, not at all, Monsieur Grinfeench.
GREEN. Dear, Countess, take pity on me. (_aside_) What delightful
accents! She told me she could speak English fluently, and she does.
Am I never to see your face, dear Countess? Oh! have pity on me.
MRS. G. _Oui_, you sall ordere diner _toute de suite._
GREEN. Dinner? certainly, Countess.
_Exit 3 E. L._
BETSY. (_peeping in at door, R._) Is he gone, mum?
MRS. G. Yes, Betsy, you may come in. (_lays the basket she carries on
table, L. and puts up her veil_)
BETSY. (_enters by door, R._) Well, mum, does he suspect nothing yet?
MRS. G. Nothing. He has not yet seen my face--but if he had, I think
this red wig, these spectacles, and this cravat would completely
prevent his recognizing me.
BETSY. He little thinks, mum, 'tis his own lawful wife he's running
away with instead of a fine foreign Countess.
MRS. G. Oh, Betsy, when I think of that, I could tear his eyes out. A
man, Betsy, that I thought the most faithful creature woman ever was
blessed with, to deceive me so. A working model of a husband that I
may
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CAPTAIN KYD;
OR,
THE WIZARD OF THE SEA.
A ROMANCE.
BY THE AUTHOR OF
"THE SOUTHWEST," "LAFITTE," "BURTON," &c.
"There's many a one who oft has heard
The name of Robert Kyd,
Who cannot tell, perhaps, a word
Of him, or what he did.
"So, though I never saw the man,
And lived not in his day,
I'll tell you how his guilt began--
To what it led the way."
H. F. Gould.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
NEW-YORK:
HARPER & BROTHERS, 82 CLIFF-STREET.
1839.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1838,
By HARPER & BROTHERS,
In the Clerk's Office of the Southern District of New-York.
CAPTAIN KYD;
OR,
THE WIZARD OF THE SEA.
BOOK I.
CONTINUED.
CHAPTER VIII.
"The wind blows fair! the vessel feels
The pressure of the rising breeze,
And swiftest of a thousand keels,
She leaps to the careering seas."
WILLIS.
"Commanding, aiding, animating all,
Where foe appear'd to press, or friend to fall,
Cheers Lara's voice."
_Lara._
Towards noon of the day
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[Illustration: On the top of the ridge-boards, the lads saw a
half-dressed <DW64> boy.]
THE RIVER MOTOR BOAT BOYS
ON THE MISSISSIPPI
OR
On the Trail to the Gulf
By HARRY GORDON
Author of
"The River Motor Boat Boys on the Colorado,"
"The River Motor Boat Boys on the St. Lawrence,"
"The River Motor Boat Boys on the Amazon,"
"The River Motor Boat Boys on the Columbia,"
"The River Motor Boat Boys on the Ohio."
A. L. BURT COMPANY
NEW YORK
Copyright, 1913
By A. L. Burt Company
THE SIX RIVER MOTOR BOYS ON THE MISSISSIPPI
Contents
I--A Rambler Reception Day
II--Alex. Goes Fishing
III--A Waif from the River
IV--Two Boys Get a Tumble
V--A New Captain on Board
VI--Captain Joe Makes a Hit
VII--Searching for the _Rambler_
VIII--Faces at the Window
IX--Red Declines to Talk
X--More River Outlaws
XI--Fire-Faces on the Island
XII--Half Full of Diamonds
XIII--A River Robber in a New Role
XIV--Alex. Breaks Furniture
XV--The Leather Bag Missing
XVI--What Dropped on Deck
XVII--Getting out of the Mud
XVIII--Swept Into a Swamp
XIX--Pilgrims from Old Chicago
XX--The Darkey up the Tree
XXI--Dodging a Police Boat
XXII--The Sheriff Knows a Lot
XXIII--A Night in New Orleans
XXIV--Something Doing All the Time
XXV--Commonplace, After All
THE SIX RIVER MOTOR BOYS ON THE MISSISSIPPI
CHAPTER I
A RAMBLER RECEPTION DAY
A white bulldog of ferocious aspect lay sound asleep under a small
table. Lying across the dog's neck, with his soft muzzle hidden
between capable paws, was a quarter-grown grizzly bear. Now and then
Captain Joe, as the dog was named, stirred uneasily in his sleep, as
if in remonstrance at the liberties which Teddy, the cub, was taking
with his person. The bulldog and the cub snored in unison!
The table under which the animals slept stood in the middle of the
small cabin of the motor boat _Rambler_, and the _Rambler_ was pulling
at her anchor chain in the muddy water of the Mississippi
river--pulling and jerking for all the world like a fat pig with a
ring in his nose trying to get rid of the line which held him in
captivity.
Although early in November, there were wandering flakes of snow in the
air, and a chill wind from the northwest was sweeping over the
Mississippi valley. There had been several days of continuous rain,
and, at Cairo, where the motor boat lay, both the Mississippi and the
Ohio rivers were out of their banks.
In spite of the wind and snow, however, the cabin of the _Rambler_ was
cozy and warm. In front of the table where the bulldog and the young
bear lay stood a coal stove, on the top of which two boys of sixteen,
Clayton Emmett and Alexander Smithwick, were cooking ham and eggs, the
appetizing flavor of which filled the little room. A dish of sliced
potatoes stood not far away, and over the cherry-red coils of an
electric stove at the rear of the cabin a great pot of coffee was
sizzling and adding its fragrance to rich contributions of the frying
pan.
While the boys, growing hungrier every second, stirred the fire and
laid the table, footsteps were heard on the forward deck of the motor
boat, and then, without even announcing his presence by a knock, a
roughly-dressed man of perhaps forty years stepped into the cabin and
stood for a moment staring at the bulldog and the bear, stood with a
hand on the knob of the door, as if ready for retreat, his lips open,
as if the view of the interior had checked words half spoken. Alex.
Smithwick regarded the man for a moment with a flash of anger in his
eyes, then he caught the humor of the situation and resolved to punish
the intruder for his impudence in walking into the cabin without a bit
of ceremony.
"Look out for the bulldog and the bear!" he warned. "They consumed two
river-men last week! The bulldog tears 'em down, an' the bear eats
'em!"
"What kind of a menagerie is this?" began the visitor, but Alex. gave
the bulldog a touch with his foot, and the dog and the bear were in
the middle of the space between the table and the
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Produced by Chris Curnow, Eleni Christofaki and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber's note.
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
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=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
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=THE MAGICIAN'S GUIDE; OR, CONJURING MADE EASY.=
This work was written by the celebrated HOUDIN, who, being prompted by
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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
in a warm room. When fermentation is set up, put the mixture into a
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Produced by David Widger
AT SUNWICH PORT
BY
W. W. JACOBS
Part 4.
ILLUSTRATIONS
From Drawings by Will Owen
CHAPTER XVI
The two ladies received Mr. Hardy's information with something akin to
consternation, the idea of the autocrat of Equator Lodge as a stowaway on
board the ship of his ancient enemy proving too serious for ordinary
comment. Mrs. Kingdom's usual expressions of surprise, "Well, I never
did!" and "Good gracious alive!" died on her lips, and she sat gazing
helpless and round-eyed at her niece.
"I wonder what he said," she gasped, at last.
Miss Nugent, who was trying to imagine her father in his new role aboard
the Conqueror, paid no heed. It was not a pleasant idea, and her eyes
flashed with temper as she thought of it. Sooner or later the whole
affair would be public property.
"I had an idea all along that he wasn't in London," murmured Mrs.
Kingdom. "Fancy that Nathan Smith standing in Sam's room telling us
falsehoods like that! He never even blushed."
"But you said that you kept picturing father walking about the streets of
London, wrestling with his pride and trying to make up his mind to come
home again," said her niece, maliciously.
Mrs. Kingdom fidgeted, but before she could think of a satisfactory reply
Bella came to the door and asked to speak to her for a moment. Profiting
by her absence, Mr. Hardy leaned towards Miss Nugent, and in a low voice
expressed his sorrow at the mishap to her father and his firm conviction
that everything that could be thought of for that unfortunate mariner's
comfort would be done. "Our fathers will probably come back good
friends," he concluded. "There is nothing would give me more pleasure
than that, and I think that we had better begin and set them a good
example."
"It is no good setting an example to people who are hundreds of miles
away," said the matter-of-fact Miss Nugent. "Besides, if they have made
friends, they don't want an example set them."
"But in that case they have set us an example which we ought to follow,"
urged Hardy.
Miss Nugent raised her eyes to his. "Why do you wish to be on friendly
terms?" she asked, with disconcerting composure.
[Illustration: "'Why do you wish to be on friendly terms?' she asked."]
"I should like to know your father," returned Hardy, with perfect
gravity; "and Mrs. Kingdom--and you."
He eyed her steadily as he spoke, and Miss Nugent, despite her utmost
efforts, realized with some indignation that a faint tinge of colour was
creeping into her cheeks. She remembered his covert challenge at their
last interview at Mr. Wilks's, and the necessity of reading this
persistent young man a stern lesson came to her with all the force of a
public duty.
"Why?" she inquired, softly, as she lowered her eyes and assumed a
pensive expression.
"I admire him, for one thing, as a fine seaman," said Hardy.
"Yes," said Miss Nugent, "and--"
"And I've always had a great liking for Mrs. Kingdom," he continued; "she
was very good-natured to me when I was a very small boy, I remember. She
is very kind and amiable."
The baffled Miss Nugent stole a glance at him. "And--" she said again,
very softly.
"And very motherly," said Hardy, without moving a muscle.
Miss Nugent pondered and stole another glance at him. The expression of
his face was ingenuous, not to say simple. She resolved to risk it. So
far he had always won in their brief encounters, and monotony was always
distasteful to her, especially monotony of that kind.
"And what about me?" she said, with a friendly smile.
"You," said Hardy, with a gravity of voice belied by the amusement in his
eye; "you are the daughter of the fine seaman and the niece of the
good-natured and motherly Mrs. Kingdom."
Miss Nugent looked down again hastily, and all the shrew within her
clamoured for vengeance. It was the same masterful Jem Hardy that had
forced his way into their seat at church as a boy. If he went on in
this way he would become unbearable; she resolved, at the cost of much
personal inconvenience, to give him a much-needed fall. But she realized
quite clearly that it would be a matter of time.
"Of course, you and Jack are already good friends?" she said, softly.
"Very," assented Hardy. "Such good friends
| 751.961976 | 3,651 |
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THE LAST AMERICAN FRONTIER
Stories from American History
* * * * * *
[Illustration]
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK. BOSTON. CHICAGO
ATLANTA. SAN FRANCISCO
MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED
LONDON. BOMBAY. CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE
THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.
TORONTO
* * * * * *
[Illustration]
THE LAST AMERICAN FRONTIER
by
FREDERIC LOGAN PAXSON
Junior Professor of American History in the University of Michigan
Illustrated
New York
The Macmillan Company
1910
All rights reserved
Copyright, 1910,
By the Macmillan Company.
Set up and electrotyped. Published February, 1910.
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing Co.--Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
PREFACE
I have told here the story of the last frontier within the United
States, trying at once to preserve the picturesque atmosphere which
has given to the "Far West" a definite and well-understood meaning,
and to indicate those forces which have shaped the history of the
country beyond the Mississippi. In doing it I have had to rely largely
upon my own investigations among sources little used and relatively
inaccessible. The exact citations of authority, with which I might have
crowded my pages, would have been out of place in a book not primarily
intended for the use of scholars. But I hope, before many years, to
exploit in a larger and more elaborate form the mass of detailed
information upon which this sketch is based.
My greatest debts are to the owners of the originals from which the
illustrations for this book have been made; to Claude H. Van Tyne, who
has repeatedly aided me with his friendly criticism; and to my wife,
whose careful readings have saved me from many blunders in my text.
FREDERIC L. PAXSON.
ANN ARBOR, August 7, 1909.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
PAGE
THE WESTWARD MOVEMENT 1
CHAPTER II
THE INDIAN FRONTIER 14
CHAPTER III
IOWA AND THE NEW NORTHWEST 33
CHAPTER IV
THE SANTA FE TRAIL 53
CHAPTER V
THE OREGON TRAIL 70
CHAPTER VI
OVERLAND WITH THE MORMONS 86
CHAPTER VII
CALIFORNIA AND THE FORTY-NINERS 104
CHAPTER VIII
KANSAS AND THE INDIAN FRONTIER 119
CHAPTER IX
"PIKE'S PEAK OR BUST!" 138
CHAPTER X
FROM ARIZONA TO MONTANA 156
CHAPTER XI
THE OVERLAND MAIL 174
CHAPTER XII
THE ENGINEERS' FRONTIER 192
CHAPTER XIII
THE UNION PACIFIC RAILROAD 211
CHAPTER XIV
THE PLAINS IN THE CIVIL WAR 225
CHAPTER XV
THE CHEYENNE WAR 243
CHAPTER XVI
THE SIOUX WAR 264
CHAPTER XVII
THE PEACE COMMISSION AND THE OPEN WAY 284
CHAPTER XVIII
BLACK KETTLE'S LAST RAID 304
CHAPTER XIX
THE FIRST OF THE RAILWAYS 324
CHAPTER XX
THE NEW INDIAN POLICY 340
CHAPTER XXI
THE LAST STAND: CHIEF JOSEPH AND SITTING BULL 358
CHAPTER XXII
LETTING IN THE POPULATION 372
CHAPTER XXIII
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE 387
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
THE PRAIRIE SCHOONER _Frontispiece_
PAGE
MAP: INDIAN COUNTRY AND AGRICULTURAL FRONTIER, 1840-1841 22
CHIEF KEOKUK _facing_ 30
IOWA SOD PLOW. (From a Cut belonging to the Historical
Department of Iowa.) 46
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Produced by Nicole Apostola
RACKETTY-PACKETTY HOUSE
As told by Queen Crosspatch
By
Frances Hodgson Burnett
Author of "Little Lord Fauntleroy"
With illustrations by Harrison Cady
[Transcribers note: see frontispiece.jpg, dance.jpg and fairy.jpg]
Now this is the story about the doll family I liked and the doll
family I didn't. When you read it you are to remember something I
am going to tell you. This is it: If you think dolls never do
anything you don't see them do, you are very much mistaken. When
people are not looking at them they can do anything they choose.
They can dance and sing and play on the piano and have all sorts of
fun. But they can only move about and talk when people turn their
backs and are not looking. If any one looks, they just stop.
Fairies know this and of course Fairies visit in all the dolls'
houses where the dolls are agreeable. They will not associate,
though, with dolls who are not nice. They never call or leave their
cards at a dolls' house where the dolls are proud or bad tempered.
They are very particular. If you are conceited or ill-tempered
yourself, you will never know a fairy as long as you live.
Queen Crosspatch.
RACKETTY-PACKETTY HOUSE
Racketty-Packetty House was in a corner of Cynthia's nursery. And
it was not in the best corner either. It was in the corner behind
the door, and that was not at all a fashionable neighborhood.
Racketty-Packetty House had been pushed there to be out of the way
when Tidy Castle was brought in, on Cynthia's birthday. As soon as
she saw Tidy Castle Cynthia did not care for Racketty-Packetty
House and indeed was quite ashamed of it. She thought the corner
behind the door quite good enough for such a shabby old dolls'
house, when there was the beautiful big new one built like a castle
and furnished with the most elegant chairs and tables and carpets
and curtains and ornaments and pictures and beds and baths and
lamps and book-cases, and with a knocker on the front door, and a
stable with a pony cart in it at the back. The minute she saw it
she called out:
"Oh! what a beautiful doll castle! What shall we do with that
untidy old Racketty-Packetty House now? It is too shabby and
old-fashioned to stand near it."
In fact, that was the way in which the old dolls' house got its
name. It had always been called, "The Dolls' House," before, but
after that it was pushed into the unfashionable neighborhood behind
the door and ever afterwards--when it was spoken of at all--it was
just called Racketty-Packetty House, and nothing else.
[Transcriber's Note: See picture tidyshire_castle.jpg]
Of course Tidy Castle was grand, and Tidy Castle was new and had
all the modern improvements in it, and Racketty-Packetty House was
as old-fashioned as it could be. It had belonged to Cynthia's
Grandmamma and had been made in the days when Queen Victoria was a
little girl, and when there were no electric lights even in
Princesses' dolls' houses. Cynthia's Grandmamma had kept it very
neat because she had been a good housekeeper even when she was
seven years old. But Cynthia was not a good housekeeper and she did
not re-cover the furniture when it got dingy, or re-paper the
walls, or mend the carpets and bedclothes, and she never thought of
such a thing as making new clothes for the doll family, so that of
course their early Victorian frocks and capes and bonnets grew in
time to be too shabby for words. You see, when Queen Victoria was a
little girl, dolls wore queer frocks and long pantalets and boy
dolls wore funny frilled trousers and coats which it would almost
make you laugh to look at.
But the Racketty-Packetty House family had known better days. I and
my Fairies had known them when they were quite new and had been a
birthday present just as Tidy Castle was when Cynthia turned eight
years old, and there was as much fuss about them when their house
arrived as Cynthia made when she saw Tidy Castle.
Cynthia's Grandmamma had danced about and clapped her hands with
delight, and she had scrambled down upon her knees and taken the
dolls out one by one and thought their clothes beautiful. And she
had given each one of them a grand name.
"This one shall be Amelia," she said. "And this one is Charlotte,
and this is Victoria Leopoldina, and this one Aurelia Matilda, and
this one Leontine, and this one Clotilda, and these boys shall be
Augustus and Rowland and Vincent and Charles Edward Stuart."
For a long time they led a very gay and fashionable life. They had
parties and balls and were presented at Court and went to Royal
Christenings and Weddings and were married themselves and had
families and scarlet fever and whooping cough and funerals and
every luxury. But that was long, long ago, and now all was changed.
Their house had grown shabbier and shabbier, and their clothes had
grown simply awful; and Aurelia Matilda and Victoria Leopoldina had
been broken to bits and thrown into the dust-bin, and Leontine--who
had really been the beauty of the family--had been dragged out on
the hearth rug one night and had had nearly all her paint licked
off and a leg chewed up by a Newfoundland puppy, so that she was a
sight to behold. As for the boys; Rowland and Vincent had quite
disappeared, and Charlotte and Amelia always believed they had run
away to seek their fortunes, because things were in such a state at
home. So the only ones who were left were Clotilda and Amelia and
Charlotte and poor Leontine and Augustus and Charles Edward Stuart.
Even they had their names changed.
[Transcriber's Note: See picture ridiklis.jpg]
After Leontine had had her paint licked off so that her head had
white bald spots on it and she had scarcely any features, a boy
cousin of Cynthia's had put a bright red spot on each cheek and
painted her a turned up nose and round saucer blue eyes and a
comical mouth. He and Cynthia had called her, "Ridiklis" instead of
Leontine, and she had been called that ever since. All the dolls
were jointed Dutch dolls, so it was easy to paint any kind of
features on them and stick out their arms and legs in any way you
liked, and Leontine did look funny after Cynthia's cousin had
finished. She certainly was not a beauty but her turned up nose and
her round eyes and funny mouth always seemed to be laughing so she
really was the most good-natured looking creature you ever saw.
Charlotte and Amelia, Cynthia had called Meg and Peg, and Clotilda
she called Kilmanskeg, and Augustus she called Gustibus, and
Charles Edward Stuart was nothing but Peter Piper. So that was the
end of their grand names.
The truth was, they went through all sorts of things, and if they
had not been such a jolly lot of dolls they might have had fits and
appendicitis and died of grief. But not a bit of it. If you will
believe it, they got fun out of everything. They used to just
scream with laughter over the new names, and they laughed so much
over them that they got quite fond of them. When Meg's pink silk
flounces were torn she pinned them up and didn't mind in the least,
and when Peg's lace mantilla was played with by a kitten and
brought back to her in rags and tags, she just put a few stitches
in it and put it on again; and when Peter Piper lost almost the
whole leg of one of his trousers he just laughed and said it made
it easier for him to kick about and turn somersaults and he wished
the other leg would tear off too.
You never saw a family have such fun. They could make up stories
and pretend things and invent games out of nothing. And my Fairies
were so fond of them that I couldn't keep them away from the dolls'
house. They would go and have fun with Meg and Peg and Kilmanskeg
and Gustibus and Peter Piper, even when I had work for them to do
in Fairyland. But there, I was so fond of that shabby disrespectable
family myself that I never would scold much about them, and I often
went to see them. That is how I know so much about them. They were
so fond of each other and so good-natured and always in such
spirits that everybody who knew them was fond of them. And it was
really only Cynthia who didn't know them and thought them only a
lot of old disreputable looking Dutch dolls--and Dutch dolls were
quite out of fashion. The truth was that Cynthia was not a
particularly nice little girl, and did not care much for anything
unless it was quite new. But the kitten who had torn the lace
mantilla got to know the family and simply loved them all, and the
Newfoundland puppy was so sorry about Leontine's paint and her left
leg, that he could never do enough to make up. He wanted to marry
Leontine as soon as he grew old enough to wear a collar, but
Leontine said she would never desert her family; because now that
she wasn't the beauty any more she became the useful one, and did
all the kitchen work, and sat up and made poultices and beef tea
when any of the rest were ill. And the Newfoundland puppy saw she
was right, for the whole family simply adored Ridiklis and could
not possibly have done without her. Meg and Peg and Kilmanskeg
could have married any minute if they had liked. There were two
cock sparrows and a gentleman mouse, who proposed to them over and
over again. They all three said they did not want fashionable wives
but cheerful dispositions and a happy, home. But Meg and Peg were
like Ridiklis and could not bear to leave their families--besides
not wanting to live in nests, and hatch eggs--and Kilmanskeg said
she would die of a broken heart if she could not be with Ridiklis,
and Ridiklis did not like cheese and crumbs and mousy things, so
they could never live together in a mouse hole. But neither the
gentleman mouse nor the sparrows were offended because the news was
broken to them so sweetly and they went on visiting just as before.
Everything was as shabby and disrespectable and as gay and happy as
it could be until Tidy Castle was brought into the nursery and then
the whole family had rather a fright.
[Transcriber's Note: See picture mouse.jpg]
It happened in this way:
When the dolls' house was lifted by the nurse and carried into the
corner behind the door, of course it was rather an exciting and
shaky thing for Meg and Peg and Kilmanskeg and Gustibus and Peter
Piper (Ridiklis was out shopping). The furniture tumbled about and
everybody had to hold on to anything they could catch hold of. As
it was, Kilmanskeg slid under a table and Peter Piper sat down in
the coal-box; but notwithstanding all this, they did not lose their
tempers and when the nurse sat their house down on the floor with a
bump, they all got up and began to laugh. Then they ran and peeped
out of the windows and then they ran back and laughed again.
[Transcriber's Note: See picture fashionable_wives.jpg]
"Well," said Peter Piper, "we have been called Meg and Peg and
Kilmanskeg and Gustibus and Peter Piper instead of our grand names,
and now we live in a place called Racketty-Packetty House. Who
cares! Let's join hands and have a dance."
And they joined hands and danced round and round and kicked up
their heels, and their rags and tatters flew about and they laughed
until they fell down; one on top of the other.
It was just at this minute that Ridiklis came back. The nurse had
found her under a chair and stuck her in through a window. She sat
on the drawing-room sofa which had holes in its covering and the
stuffing coming out, and her one whole leg stuck out straight in
front of her, and her bonnet and shawl were on one side and her
basket was on her left arm full of things she had got cheap at
market. She was out of breath and rather pale through being lifted
up and swished through the air so suddenly, but her saucer eyes and
her funny mouth looked as cheerful as ever.
"Good gracious, if you knew what I have just heard!" she said. They
all scrambled up and called out together.
"Hello! What is it?"
"The nurse said the most awful thing," she answered them. "When
Cynthia asked what she should do with this old Racketty-Packetty
House, she said, 'Oh! I'll put it behind the door for the present
and then it shall be carried down-stairs and burned. It's too
disgraceful to be kept in any decent nursery.'"
"Oh!" cried out Peter Piper.
"Oh!" said Gustibus.
"Oh! Oh! Oh!" said Meg and Peg and Kilmanskeg. "Will they burn our
dear old shabby house? Do you think they will?" And actually tears
began to run down their cheeks.
Peter Piper sat down on the floor all at once with his hands
stuffed in his pockets.
"I don't care how shabby it is," he said. "It's a jolly nice old
place and it's the only house we've ever had."
"I never want to have any other," said Meg.
Gustibus leaned against the wall with his hands stuffed in his
pockets.
"I wouldn't move if I was made King of England," he said.
"Buckingham Palace wouldn't be half as nice."
"We've had such fun here," said Peg. And Kilmanskeg shook her head
from side to side and wiped her eyes on her ragged pocket-handkerchief.
There is no knowing what would have happened to them if Peter Piper
hadn't cheered up as he always did.
"I say," he said, "do you hear that noise?" They all listened and
heard a rumbling. Peter Piper ran to the window and looked out and
then ran back grinning.
"It's the nurse rolling up the arm-chair before the house to hide
it, so that it won't disgrace the castle. Hooray! Hooray! If they
don't see us they will forget all about us and we shall not be
burned up at all. Our nice old Racketty-Packetty House will be left
alone and we can enjoy ourselves more than ever--because we sha'n't
be bothered with Cynthia--Hello! let's all join hands and have a
dance."
So they all joined hands and danced round in a ring again and they
were so relieved that they laughed and laughed until they all
tumbled down in a heap just as they had done before, and rolled
about giggling and squealing. It certainly seemed as if they were
quite safe for some time at least. The big easy chair hid them and
both the nurse and Cynthia seemed to forget that there was such a
thing as a Racketty-Packetty House in the neighborhood. Cynthia was
so delighted with Tidy Castle that she played with nothing else for
days and days. And instead of being jealous of their grand
neighbors the Racketty-Packetty House people began to get all sorts
of fun out of watching them from their own windows. Several of
their windows were broken and some had rags and paper stuffed into
the broken panes, but Meg and Peg and Peter Piper would go and peep
out of one, and Gustibus and Kilmanskeg would peep out of another,
and Ridiklis could scarcely get her dishes washed and her potatoes
pared because she could see the Castle kitchen from her scullery
window. It was _so_ exciting!
[Transcriber's Note: See picture ridiklis_cooking.jpg]
The Castle dolls were grand beyond words, and they were all lords
and ladies. These were their names. There was Lady Gwendolen Vere
de Vere. She was haughty and had dark eyes and hair and carried her
head thrown back and her nose in the air. There was Lady Muriel
Vere de Vere, and she was cold and lovely and indifferent and
looked down the bridge of her delicate nose. And there was Lady
Doris, who had fluffy golden hair and laughed mockingly at
everybody. And there was Lord Hubert and Lord Rupert and Lord
Francis, who were all handsome enough to make you feel as if you
could faint. And there was their mother, the Duchess of Tidyshire;
and of course there were all sorts of maids and footmen and cooks
and scullery maids and even gardeners.
"We never thought of living to see such grand society," said Peter
Piper to his brother and sisters. "It's quite a kind of blessing."
"It's almost like being grand ourselves, just to be able to watch
them," said Meg and Peg and Kilmanskeg, squeezing together and
flattening their noses against the attic windows.
They could see bits of the sumptuous white and gold drawing-room
with the Duchess sitting reading near the fire, her golden glasses
upon her nose, and Lady Gwendolen playing haughtily upon the harp,
and Lady Muriel coldly listening to her. Lady Doris was having her
golden hair dressed by her maid in her bed-room and Lord Hubert was
reading the newspaper with a high-bred air, while Lord Francis was
writing letters to noblemen of his acquaintance, and Lord Rupert
was--in an aristocratic manner--glancing over his love letters from
ladies of title.
[Transcriber's Note: See picture duchess.jpg]
Kilmanskeg and Peter Piper just pinched each other with glee and
squealed with delight.
"Isn't it fun," said Peter Piper. "I say; aren't they awful swells!
But Lord Francis can't kick about in his trousers as I can in mine,
and neither can the others. I'll like to see them try to do this,"--
and he turned three summersaults in the middle of the
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MATED FROM THE MORGUE
_A TALE OF THE SECOND EMPIRE_
BY
JOHN AUGUSTUS O'SHEA
AUTHOR OF
'LEAVES FROM THE LIFE OF A SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT,' 'AN
IRON-BOUND CITY,' 'ROMANTIC SPAIN,' 'MILITARY
MOSAICS,' ETC.
'La Ville de Paris a son grand mât tout de bronze, sculpté de
victoires, et pour vigie Napoléon.'--DE BALZAC.
LONDON
SPENCER BLACKETT
[Successor to J. & R. Maxwell]
MILTON HOUSE, 35, ST. BRIDE STREET, E.C.
1889
[_All rights reserved_]
APOLOGETIC.
This tale, such as it is, has one merit. It is a study of manners,
mainly made on the spot, not evolved from the shelves of the British
Museum. There is in it, at least, a crude attempt at photography, a
process in which sunlight and air have some part, and, therefore, liker
to nature than the adumbrations of the reading-room. The localities are
faithfully drawn, the persons are not dolls with stuffing of sawdust,
but human animals who might have lived--and, mayhap, did live. If the
volume does not kill an hour, the writer is murderer only in thought.
TO MY FRIEND,
COLONEL THE BARON CRAIGNISH,
EQUERRY TO
HIS HIGHNESS THE DUKE OF SAXE-COBURG-GOTHA,
This Little Book,
IN TARDY THANK-OFFERING FOR THAT LARGE
LEG OF MUTTON.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A HOUSELESS DOG 1
II. A CRUSH AT THE MORGUE 8
III. LE VRAI N'EST PAS TOUJOURS VRAISEMBLABLE 20
IV. THE SONG-BIRD'S NEST 30
V. NAPOLEONIC IDEAS 40
VI. THE OLD BONAPARTIST'S STORY 52
VII. FRIEZECOAT AT HOME 65
VIII. POPPING THE QUESTION 75
IX. A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 85
X. 'LA JEUNE FRANCE' 96
XI. THE BONE OF CONTENTION 104
XII. ORANGE BLOSSOMS 121
XIII. THE HONEYMOON TRIP 128
XIV. VANITAS VANITATUM 139
XV. THE FIFTH OF MAY, 1870 152
MATED FROM THE MORGUE.
CHAPTER I.
A HOUSELESS DOG.
The scene is Paris, the Imperial Paris, but not a quarter that is
fashionable, wealthy, or much frequented by the tourist. It is the wild,
slovenly, buoyant quarter of the Paris of the left bank, known as _le
Pays Latin_--the Land of Latin. The quarter of frolic and genius, of
vaulting ambition and limp money-bags, of generosity and meanness, of
truth and hypocrisy; the quarter which supplies the France of the future
with its mighty thinkers, the France of the passing with the forlorn
hopes of its revolutions, the world--and the _demi monde_ too--very
often with its most brilliant and erratic meteors.
The time is the spring of 1866. The chestnut-tree, called the Twentieth
of March, in the Champs Elysées, has shown its first blossoms. But the
weather is cold and damp in spite of these deceitful blossoms: the skies
weep, and chill winds blow sullenly along the Seine. It is just the
weather to make the blaze of a ruddy fire a cheerful sight, and the hiss
of the crackling logs a cheerful sound; but there is neither fire nor,
indeed, grate or stove wherein to put it, in the cabinet numbered 37, on
the fifth story of the Hôtel de Suez, in the Rue du Four, into which we
ask the reader to penetrate. A portmanteau, whose half-opened lid
betrays 'the poverty of the land,' lies in a corner, a shabby suit of
man's wearing apparel hangs carelessly on a chair, and a head, thickly
covered with hair, protrudes from the blankets in a little bed in a
recess, and out of the mouth in this head protrudes a Turkish pipe of
exaggerated length, and out of the same mouth at regular intervals
filters a slender thread of smoke. The lips contract and open again, and
no smoke comes. The head is elevated, the blankets thrown back, and the
shoulders and torso of the smoker appear rising gradually from the bed
till they are erect; the bowl of the Turkish pipe is regarded a moment
deprecatingly (as if the pipe could have been kept alight without
tobacco), and the lips move again, this time to soliloquy:
'Mr. Manus O'Hara, I have a great respect for your father's son: you
come of a fine proud spend-thrift old Irish family; but I tell you what,
my brilliant friend, if you don't replenish the exchequer I shall be
obliged to cut your society. You're not in a position to pay any more
visits to that interesting elderly female acquaintance of yours, your
aunt.[1] Realize your position, sir, I beg of you. You're in a most
confounded state of impecuniosity; you haven't a sou left, and I'm
afraid your pipe is finally extinguished. Then, that delightful lady in
the den of
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SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE
A NOVEL
By Upton Sinclair
Author Of "The Jungle," Etc., Etc.
London
SOME PRESS NOTICES
"The importance of the theme cannot be doubted, and no one hitherto
ignorant of the ravages of the evil and therefore, by implication, in
need of being convinced can refuse general agreement with Mr. Sinclair
upon the question as he argues it. The character that matters most is
very much alive and most entertaining."--_The Times._
"Very severe and courageous. It would, indeed, be difficult to deny
or extenuate the appalling truth of Mr. Sinclair's indictment."-- _The
Nation._
"There is not a man nor a grown woman who would not be better for
reading Sylvia's Marriage."--_The Globe_
"Those who found Sylvia charming on her first appearance will find her
as beautiful and fascinating as ever."--_The Pall Mall_.
"A novel that frankly is devoted to the illustration of the dangers
that society runs through the marriage of unsound men with unsuspecting
women. The time has gone by when any objection was likely to be taken to
a perfectly clean discussion of a nasty subject."--_T.P.'s Weekly._
CONTENTS
BOOK I SYLVIA AS WIFE
BOOK II SYLVIA AS MOTHER
BOOK III SYLVIA AS REBEL
SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE
BOOK I. SYLVIA AS WIFE
1. I am telling the story of Sylvia Castleman. I should prefer to tell
it without mention of myself; but it was written in the book of fate
that I should be a decisive factor in her life, and so her story
pre-supposes mine. I imagine
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THE WORKS OF
MARY ROBERTS RINEHART
AFFINITIES
AND OTHER STORIES
THE REVIEW OF REVIEWS CORP.
_Publishers_ NEW YORK
PUBLISHED BY ARRANGEMENT WITH GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY.
_Copyright, 1920,
By George H. Doran Company_
_Copyright, 1909, 1913, 1914, 1915, by the Curtis Publishing
Company_
_Printed in the United States of America_
CONTENTS
I AFFINITIES 9
II THE FAMILY FRIEND 55
III CLARA'S LITTLE ESCAPADE 103
IV THE BORROWED HOUSE 161
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Transcriber's Notes
The original was printed with the Latin on verso and English on recto
pages with sections aligned. To preserve as much as possible of this
effect, Latin sections are followed immediately by the corresponding
translation.
Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Variations
in hyphenation spelling and punctuation remain unchanged.
Italics are represented thus _italic_, except in the main Latin text
which is almost entirely printed in italic script. Here the italics are
unmarked and plain text is indicted thus =plain=.
S. Augustinus (or Augustini) in the Latin text is translated as S.
Austin in the English.
* * * * *
DEMONIALITY
OR
INCUBI AND SUCCUBI
A TREATISE
_wherein is shown that there are in existence on earth rational
creatures besides man, endowed like him with a body and a soul, that
are born and die like him, redeemed by our Lord Jesus-Christ, and
capable of receiving salvation or damnation_,
BY THE REV. FATHER
SINISTRARI OF AMENO
(17^{th} century)
_Published from the original Latin manuscript
discovered in London in the year 1872,
and translated into French by_ ISIDORE LISEUX
Now first translated into English
With the Latin Text.
[Illustration: Colophon]
PARIS
_Isidore LISEUX, 2, Rue Bonaparte._
1879
[Illustration: Decoration]
PREFACE
TO THE FIRST EDITION (_Paris, 1875, in-8º_)
I was in London in the year 1872, and I hunted after old books:
_Car que faire là bas, à moins qu’on ne bouquine?_[1]
They caused me to live in past ages, happy to escape from the present,
and to exchange the petty passions of the day for the peaceable
intimacy of Aldus, Dolet or Estienne.
[1] What can one do over there, unless he hunts up old books?
One of my favourite booksellers was Mr Allen, a venerable old
gentleman, whose place of business was in the Euston road, close to the
gate of Regent’s park. Not that his shop was particularly rich in dusty
old books; quite the reverse: it was small, and yet never filled.
Scarcely four or five hundred volumes at a time, carefully dusted,
bright, arrayed with symmetry on shelves within reach of one’s hand;
the upper shelves remained unoccupied. On the right, Theology; on the
left, the Greek and Latin Classics in a majority, with some French and
Italian books; for such were Mr Allen’s specialties; it seemed as if
he absolutely ignored Shakespeare and Byron, and as if, in his mind,
the literature of his country did not go beyond the sermons of Blair or
Macculloch.
What, at first sight, struck one most in those books, was the
moderateness of their price, compared with their excellent state of
preservation. They had evidently not been bought in a lot, at so much a
cubic yard, like the rubbish of an auction, and yet the handsomest, the
most ancient, the most venerable from their size, folios or quartos,
were not marked higher than 2 or 3 shillings; an octavo was sold 1
shilling, the duodecimo six pence: each according to its size. Thus
ruled Mr Allen, a methodical man, if ever there was one; and he was all
the better for it, since, faithfully patronized by clergymen, scholars
and collectors, he renewed his stock at a rate which more assuming
speculators might have envied.
But how did he get those well bound and well preserved volumes,
for which, everywhere else, five or six times more would have been
charged? Here also Mr Allen had his method, sure and regular. No one
attended more assiduously the auctions which take place every day in
London: his stand was marked at the foot of the auctioneer’s desk.
The rarest, choicest books passed before his eyes, contended for at
often fabulous prices by Quaritch, Sotheran, Pickering, Toovey, and
other bibliopolists of the British metropolis; Mr Allen smiled at such
extravagance; when once a bid had been made by another, he would not
add a penny, had an unknown _Gutenberg_ or _Valdarfer’s Boccaccio_
been at stake. But if occasionally, through inattention or weariness,
competition slackened (_habent sua fata libelli_), Mr Allen came
forward: _six pence!_, he whispered, and sometimes the article was left
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THE KNICKERBOCKER.
VOL. X. SEPTEMBER, 1837. NO. 3.
SCANDINAVIAN LITERATURE AND ANTIQUITIES.
NUMBER ONE.
THE predominant taste for the study of ancient literature, and the
investigation of antiquity, has been the means of bringing to light
a vast quantity of matter, which, if written in modern times, would
hardly be regarded of sufficient value to preserve beyond the age in
which it was written. Elegance of style and composition is not the
distinguishing trait in _all_ the Grecian and Roman authors which
have come down to us; nor are the subjects of sufficient importance
to merit a preservation of twenty centuries; although it may be safe
to say, that these qualities in general constitute the beauty and
value of these writings; for we know that the ancients appreciated
the works of their great men, as well as we; and to this we must
owe their preservation. The philosophy of Plato and Socrates--the
histories of Herodotus and Livy--the poetry of Homer and Virgil--the
metaphysics of Aristotle--the geometry of Euclid, and the eloquence
of Cicero and Demosthenes, are not regarded now with more esteem
than they were in the period in which they were produced, although
the great mass of the people were far behind us in knowledge. Poetry
and eloquence are as attractive to the senses of a savage, as to him
who is civilized; and to this circumstance must be attributed the
preservation and transmission of many poems, of people who have left
no other memento of their existence.
The wisdom of the ancient writers above named, was in advance
of the age in which they lived, yet they were appreciated; and
although kingdoms have risen and fallen, nations have been scattered
and annihilated, and language itself become corrupted or lost,
these memorials of learning and genius have been preserved, amid
the general devastation, and still appear in all their original
beauty and grandeur, more imperishable than the sculptured column
or trophied urn; models for nations yet unborn, and drawing forth
the admiration of the most accomplished scholars and profound
philosophers.
In addition to these, we possess many valuable histories, learned
dissertations, poetical effusions, specimens of the early drama,
etc., which, although they may rank lower in their style of
composition, are valuable from the light they throw upon the manners
and customs of the age in which they were penned, and make us better
acquainted with the private life, the tastes and occupations, of the
ancients.
Thus much may be said of the Greek and Roman people. Their origin,
their history, and their literature, are known in all civilized parts
of the world; and from the downfall of their respective kingdoms to
the present time, we are tolerably well acquainted with the leading
events of the history of their descendants, in the modern nations
of the south of Europe. Not so with the Teutonic people, who occupy
the middle and northern parts of that continent. The glory of their
ancestors has never been immortalized; no poet or historian arose
to transmit to posterity an account of their origin, or the fame
of their deeds, as letters were first known to the Goths in A. D.,
360. It is not the intention, in the present essay, to illustrate
the literature of the Germanic nations, but to take up that portion
embraced in the general term of _Scandinavian_, which embraces the
literature of Norway, Sweden, Denmark, and Iceland. It is also known
by the term _Old-Northern_ or _Norse_, and as _Icelandic literature_.
It is embodied in the Eddas and Historical Sagas as they are called,
in the countries of the north. The former consists of collections of
Icelandic poems, written upon parchment, or skins, in the language of
that country; and the latter, which include the most important part,
are relations of historical events which have occurred in Iceland and
other countries of the north, including Great Britain and Ireland.
They also extend to the affairs of Greenland, which we know was
colonized by the Scandinavians at an early period, and to accounts of
voyages made by them to an unknown land, called Vinland--supposed to
be America--and to various parts of Europe.
Such are the sources of Scandinavian literature. But before we
attempt to examine these treasures, which form the subject of our
remarks, it may be well to ask the question,
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Produced by David Edwards, Emmy and the Online Distributed
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Internet Archive)
[Illustration: Cover]
THE LITTLE COLONEL'S HOLIDAYS
(Trade Mark)
Works of
ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON
The Little Colonel Series
(_Trade Mark, Reg. U. S. Pat. Of._)
Each one vol., large 12mo, cloth, illustrated
The Little Colonel Stories $1.50
(Containing in one volume the three stories, "The
Little Colonel," "The Giant Scissors," and "Two Little
Knights of Kentucky.")
The Little Colonel's House Party 1.50
The Little Colonel's Holidays 1.50
The Little Colonel's Hero 1.50
The Little Colonel at Boarding-School 1.50
The Little Colonel in Arizona 1.50
The Little Colonel's Christmas Vacation 1.50
The Little Colonel: Maid of Honor 1.50
The Little Colonel's Knight Comes Riding 1.50
The above 9 vols., _boxed_ 13.50
_In Preparation_--A New Little Colonel Book 1.50
* * * * *
The Little Colonel Good Times Book 1.50
Illustrated Holiday Editions
Each one vol., small quarto, cloth, illustrated, and printed in colour
The Little Colonel $1.25
The Giant Scissors 1.25
Two Little Knights of Kentucky 1.25
Big Brother 1.25
Cosy Corner Series
Each one vol., thin 12mo, cloth, illustrated
The Little Colonel $.50
The Giant Scissors .50
Two Little Knights of Kentucky .50
Big Brother .50
Ole Mammy's Torment .50
The Story of <DW55> .50
Cicely .50
Aunt 'Liza's Hero .50
The Quilt that Jack Built .50
Flip's "Islands of Providence" .50
Mildred's Inheritance .50
Other Books
Joel: A Boy of Galilee $1.50
In the Desert of Waiting .50
The Three Weavers .50
Keeping Tryst .50
The Legend of the Bleeding Heart .50
Asa Holmes 1.00
Songs Ysame (Poems, with Albion Fellows Bacon) 1.00
L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
200 Summer Street Boston, Mass.
[Illustration: "AUNT CINDY DARTED AN ANGRY LOOK AT HER SWORN ENEMY."
(_See Page 25_)]
The Little Colonel's Holidays
By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON
Author of "The Little Colonel," "Two Little Knights
of Kentucky," "The Story of <DW55>," "The Little
Colonel's House Party," etc.
Illustrated by L. J. BRIDGMAN
[Illustration]
BOSTON L. C. PAGE
& COMPANY PUBLISHERS
_Copyright, 1901_
BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
_All rights reserved_
_Twelfth Impression, March, 1908_
TO
"The Little Captain" and his sisters
WHOSE PROUDEST HERITAGE IS THAT
THEY BEAR THE NAME OF A
NATION'S HERO.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE MAGIC KETTLE 11
II. THE END OF THE SUMMER 17
III. BACK TO THE CUCKOO'S NEST 31
IV. TO BARLEY-BRIGHT 46
V. A TIME FOR PATIENCE 60
VI. MOLLY'S STORY 74
VII. A FEAST OF SAILS 91
VIII. EUGENIA JOINS THE SEARCH 105
IX. LEFT BEHIND 116
X. HOME-LESSONS AND JACK-O'-LANTERNS 129
XI. A HALLOWE'EN PARTY 146
XII. THE HOME OF A HERO 164
XIII. THE DAY AFTER THANKSGIVING 180
XIV. LLOYD MAKES A DISCOVERY 200
XV. A HAPPY CHRISTMAS 216
XVI. A PEEP INTO THE FUTURE 231
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
"AUNT CINDY DARTED AN ANGRY LOOK AT HER
SWORN ENEMY" (_see page 25_) _Frontispiece_
"TO THEIR EXCITED FANCY SHE SEEMED A REAL WITCH" 57
"THE PICTURE PASSED AROUND THE CIRCLE" 103
"THE PLAN WORKED LIKE A CHARM" 130
"SHE BEGAN THE OLD RHYME" 159
THE BUTTERFLY CARNIVAL 183
"'OH, _WHAT_ IS YOUR NAME?'" 208
"THE LITTLE HAND HELD HERS" 226
THE LITTLE COLONEL'S
(_Trade Mark_)
HOLIDAYS.
CHAPTER I.
THE MAGIC KETTLE.
ONCE upon a time, so the story goes (you may read it for yourself in the
dear old tales of Hans Christian Andersen), there was a prince who
disguised himself as a swineherd. It was to gain admittance to a
beautiful princess that he thus came in disguise to her father's palace,
and to attract her attention he made a magic caldron, hung around with
strings of silver bells. Whenever the water in the caldron boiled and
bubbled, the bells rang a little tune to remind her of him.
"Oh, thou dear Augustine,
All is lost and gone,"
they sang. Such was the power of the magic kettle, that when the water
bubbled hard enough to set the bells a-tinkling, any one holding his
hand in the steam could smell what was cooking in every kitchen in the
kingdom.
It has been many a year since the swineherd's kettle was set a-boiling
and its string of bells a-jingling to satisfy the curiosity of a
princess, but a time has come for it to be used again. Not that anybody
nowadays cares to know what his neighbour is going to have for dinner,
but all the little princes and princesses in the kingdom want to know
what happened next.
"What happened after the Little Colonel's house party?" they demand, and
they send letters to the Valley by the score, asking "Did Betty go
blind?" "Did the two little Knights of Kentucky ever meet Joyce again or
find the Gate of the Giant Scissors?" Did the Little Colonel ever have
any more good times at Locust, or did Eugenia ever forget that she too
had started out to build a Road of the Loving Heart?
It would be impossible to answer all these questions through the
post-office, so that is why the magic kettle has been dragged from its
hiding-place after all these years, and set a-boiling once more. Gather
in a ring around it, all you who want to know, and pass your curious
fingers through its wreaths of rising steam. Now you shall see the
Little Colonel and her guests of the house party in turn, and the bells
shall ring for each a different song.
But before they begin, for the sake of some who may happen to be in your
midst for the first time, and do not know what it is all about, let the
kettle give them a glimpse into the past, that they may be able to
understand all that is about to be shown to you. Those who already know
the story need not put their fingers into the steam, until the bells
have rung this explanation in parenthesis.
(In Lloydsboro Valley stands an old Southern mansion, known as "Locust."
The place is named for a long avenue of giant locust-trees stretching a
quarter of a mile from house to entrance gate, in a great arch of green.
Here for years an old Confederate colonel lived all alone save for the
<DW64> servants. His only child, Elizabeth, had married a Northern man
against his wishes, and gone away. From that day he would not allow her
name to be spoken in his presence. But she came back to the Valley when
her little daughter Lloyd was five years old. People began calling the
child the Little Colonel because she seemed to have inherited so many of
her grandfather's lordly ways as well as a goodly share of his high
temper. The military title seemed to suit her better than her own name,
for in her fearless baby fashion she won her way into the old man's
heart, and he made a complete surrender.
Afterward when she and her mother and "Papa Jack" went to live with him
at Locust, one of her favourite games was playing soldier. The old man
never tired of watching her march through the wide halls with his spurs
strapped to her tiny slipper heels, and her dark eyes flashing out
fearlessly from under the little Napoleon cap she wore.
She was eleven when she gave her house party. One of the guests was
Joyce Ware, whom some of you have met, perhaps, in "The Gate of the
Giant Scissors," a bright thirteen-year-old girl from the West. Eugenia
Forbes was another. She was a distant cousin of Lloyd's, who had no
home-life like the other girls. Her winters were spent in a fashionable
New York boarding-school, and her summers at the Waldorf-Astoria, except
the few weeks when her busy father could find time to take her to some
seaside resort.
The third guest, Elizabeth Lloyd Lewis, or Betty, as every one lovingly
called her, was Mrs. Sherman's little god-daughter. She was an orphan,
boarding on a backwoods farm on Green River. She had never been on the
cars until Lloyd's invitation found its way to the Cuckoo's Nest. Only
these three came to stay in the house, but Malcolm and Keith MacIntyre
(the two little Knights of Kentucky) were there nearly every day. So was
Rob Moore, one of the Little Colonel's summer neighbours.
The four Bobs were four little fox terrier puppies named for Rob, who
had given one to each of the girls. They were so much alike they could
only be distinguished by the colour of the ribbons tied around their
necks. Tarbaby was the Little Colonel's pony, and Lad the one that Betty
rode during her visit.
After six weeks of picnics and parties, and all sorts of surprises and
good times, the house party came to a close with a grand feast of
lanterns. Joyce regretfully went home to the little brown house in
Plainsville, Kansas, taking her Bob with her. Eugenia and her father
went to New York, but not until they had promised to come back for Betty
in the fall, and take her abroad with them. It was on account of
something that had happened at the house party, but which is too long a
tale to repeat here.
Betty stayed on at Locust until the end of the summer in the House
Beautiful, as she called her godmother's home, and here on the long
vine-covered porch, with its stately white pillars, you shall see them
first through the steam of
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See 28025-h.htm or 28025-h.zip:
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THE STORY OF JOHN G. PATON
Or Thirty Years Among South Sea Cannibals
by
REV. JAMES PATON, B.A.
Illustrated
A. L. Burt Company,Publishers, New York
PREFACE.
EVER since the story of my brother's life first appeared (January 1889)
it has been constantly pressed upon me that a YOUNG FOLKS' EDITION would
be highly prized. The Autobiography has therefore been re-cast and
illustrated, in the hope and prayer that the Lord will use it to inspire
the Boys and Girls of Christendom with a wholehearted enthusiasm for the
Conversion of the Heathen World to Jesus Christ.
A few fresh incidents have been introduced; the whole contents have been
rearranged to suit a new class of readers; and the service of a gifted
Artist has been employed, to make the book every way attractive to the
young. For _full_ details as to the Missionary's work and life, the
COMPLETE EDITION must still of course be referred to.
JAMES PATON.
GLASGOW, _Sept,_ 1892.
CONTENTS.
CHAP.
1. Our Cottage Home
2. Our Forebears
3. Consecrated Parents
4. School Days
5. Leaving the Old Home
6. Early Struggles
7. A City Missionary
8. Glasgow Experiences
9. A Foreign Missionary
10. To the New Hebrides
11. First Impressions of Heathendom
12. Breaking Ground on Tanna
13. Pioneers in the New Hebrides
14. The Great Bereavement
15. At Home with Cannibals
16. Superstitions and Cruelties
17. Streaks of Dawn amidst Deeds of Darkness
18. The Visit of H.M.S. "Cordelia"
19. "Noble Old Abraham"
20. A Typical South Sea Trader
21. Under Axe and Musket
22. A Native Saint and Martyr
23. Building and Printing for God
24. Heathen Dance and Sham Fight
25. Cannibals at Work
26. The Defying of Nahak
27. A Perilous Pilgrimage
28. The Plague of Measles
29. Attacked with Clubs
30. Kowia
31. The Martyrdom of the Gordons
32. Shadows Deepening on Tanna
33. The Visit of the Commodore
34. The War Chiefs in Council
35. Under Knife and Tomahawk
36. The Beginning of the End
37. Five Hours in a Canoe
38. A Race for Life
39. Faint yet Pursuing
40. Waiting at Kwamera
41. The Last Awful Night
42. "Sail O! Sail O!"
43. Farewell to Tanna
44. The Floating of the "Dayspring"
45. A Shipping Company for Jesus
46. Australian Incidents
47. Amongst Squatters and Diggers
48. John Gilpin in the Bush
49. The Aborigines of Australia
50. Nora
51. Back to Scotland
52. Tour through the Old Country
53. Marriage and Farewell
54. First Peep at the "Dayspring"
55. The French in the Pacific
56. The Gospel and Gunpowder
57. A Plea for Tanna
58. Our New Home on Aniwa
59. House-Building for God
60. A City of God
61. The Religion of Revenge
62. First Fruits on Aniwa
63. Traditions and Customs
64. Nelwang's Elopement
65. The Christ-Spirit at Work
66. The Sinking of the Well
67. Rain from Below
68. The Old Chief's Sermon
69. The First Book and the New Eyes
70. A Roof-Tree for Jesus
71. "Knock the Tevil out!"
72. The Conversion of Youwili
73. First Communion on Aniwa
74. The New Social Order
75. The Orphans and their Biscuits
76. The Finger-Posts of God
77. The Gospel in Living Capitals
78. The Death of Namakei
79. Christianity and Cocoa-Nuts
80. Nerwa's Beautiful Farewell
81. Ruwawa
82. Litsi
83. The Conversion of Nasi
84. The Appeal of Lamu
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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
Through South Africa, by Henry M. Stanley, MP, DCL.
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
THROUGH SOUTH AFRICA, BY HENRY M. STANLEY, MP, DCL.
PREFACE.
This little volume consists of the letters I wrote from Bulawayo,
Johannesburg and Pretoria for the journal _South Africa_, which is
exclusively devoted to matters relating to the region whence it derives
its title. Each letter contains the researches of a week. As the
public had already a sufficiency of books dealing with the history,
geography, politics, raids and revolts, I confined myself to such
impressions as one, who since 1867 had been closely connected with
equatorial, northern and western Africa, might derive from a first view
of the interior of South Africa. Being in no way associated with any
political or pecuniary concern relating to the country, it struck me
that my open-minded, disinterested and fresh impressions might be of
some interest to others, who like myself had only a general sympathy
with its civilisation and commercial development. And as I had
necessarily to qualify myself for appearing in a journal which had for
years treated of South African subjects, it involved much personal
inquiry and careful consideration of facts communicated to roe, and an
impartial weighing of their merits. To this motive, whatever may be the
value of what I have written, I am greatly indebted personally; for
henceforth I must carry with me for a long time a valuable kind of
knowledge concerning the colonies and states I traversed, which no
number of books could have given to me.
If, from my point of judgment, I differ in any way from other writers,
all I care to urge is, that I have had some experience of my own in
several new lands like the
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GARDENERS***
E-text prepared by L. Harrison and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Canada Team (http://www.pgdpcanada.net) from page images generously made
available by the Digital Media Repository, Archives and Special
Collections, Ball State University Libraries (http://libx.bsu.edu)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 39228-h.htm or 39228-h.zip:
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(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/39228/39228-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through the
Digital Media Repository, Archives and Special Collections,
Ball State University Libraries. See
http://libx.bsu.edu/cdm4/item_viewer.php?CISOROOT=/chapbks&CISOPTR=213&CISOBOX=1&REC=1
WOODBINE-ARBOR;
Or the
Little Gardeners.
A Story of a
Happy Childhood.
[Illustration]
New Haven.
Published by S. Babcock.
1849.
[Illustration: BUILDING THE ARBOR.]
WOODBINE ARBOR; OR THE LITTLE GARDENERS.
Let me tell you, my dear young reader, about a happy little family of
three brothers and three sisters, who lived in a pleasant home, not
far from the great city of New-York. Their father, Mr. Howard, was a
wealthy merchant, and had his store in the city, to which he usually
rode early in the morning, directly after breakfast, and returned home
in season to take tea with his family. He had six children, the little
folks whom I am now going to tell you about.
The girls were named Maria, Elizabeth, and Harriet. The boys were
Henry, Charles, and John.--Henry was the oldest, then Charles, Maria,
John, Elizabeth, and Harriet.
Their home was a beautiful country-seat, situated not far from the
East river, with fine old shade trees in front of it. In the rear was
a very large garden, laid out with great neatness and taste, and well
stocked with fruits and flowers. Then there were walks and borders,
and summer-houses, and arbors, and almost every thing which could
render it a delightful place.
One portion of his grounds Mr. Howard had laid out for a garden for his
children. This was to be their own, and in it they were to dig, and hoe,
and rake, and plant, and transplant, and water, just as they pleased, so
long as they were attentive to their lessons, obedient to their parents,
and kind to each other. When any of them misbehaved,--which was very
seldom,--that child was forbidden to visit the garden for one or two
days, or a week, according to the nature of its offence.
[Illustration: TRANSPLANTING.]
Mr. and Mrs. Howard were both anxious that their children should grow
up, not only good and intelligent, but that they should acquire
active and industrious habits; they therefore encouraged them all,
girls as well as boys, to pass their play-hours in the healthy and
delightful employment of gardening.
Well, our young friends heartily seconded the
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
* * * * *
+-----------------------------------------------------------+
| Transcriber's Note: |
| |
| Inconsistent hyphenation in the original document has |
| been preserved. |
| |
| Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. For |
| a complete list, please see the end of this document. |
| |
+-----------------------------------------------------------+
* * * * *
VOL. I. April, 1905 No. 4.
JOURNAL OF THE
UNITED STATES
INFANTRY
ASSOCIATION
PUBLISHED QUARTERLY
BY THE UNITED STATES INFANTRY ASSOCIATION
75 CENTS PER COPY; $3.00 PER YEAR
MAJOR WM. P. EVANS, A.A.G., _Editor_
1800 F STREET NORTHWEST,
WASHINGTON, D.C.
Entered July 5, 1904, at the Post Office at Washington, D.C.,
as second-class matter, under act of March 3, 1879. Copyright,
1904, by the U.S. Infantry Association. All rights reserved.
THE UNITED STATES
INFANTRY
ASSOCIATION
OFFICERS
_President._
Major-General J.C. BATES, U.S. Army.
_Vice-President._
Lieutenant-Colonel JAS. S. PETTIT, U.S. Infantry.
_Assistant Adjutant-General._
_Secretary and Treasurer._
Captain BENJAMIN ALVORD, General Staff.
_Executive Council._
Lieutenant-Colonel JAMES S. PETTIT, U.S. Infantry, A.A.G.
Major WM. P. EVANS, U.S. Infantry, A.A.G.
Major JOHN S. MALLORY, 12th Infantry, G.S.
Captain BENJAMIN ALVORD, 25th Infantry, G.S.
Captain H.C. HALE, 15th Infantry, G.S.
Captain C.H. MUIR, 2d Infantry, G.S.
Captain FRANK MCINTYRE, 19th Infantry, G.S.
Captain D.E. NOLAN, 30th Infantry, G.S.
THE DEFENCE OF DUFFER'S DRIFT.
BY CAPTAIN E.D. SWINTON, D.S.O., R.E.--(BACKSIGHT FORETHOUGHT.)
BY PERMISSION.
PROLOGUE.
Upon an evening after a long and tiring trek, I arrived at Dreamdorp.
The local atmosphere, combined with a heavy meal, are responsible for
the following nightmare, consisting of a series of dreams. To make the
sequence of the whole intelligible, it is necessary to explain that,
though the scene of each vision was the same, yet by some curious
mental process I had no recollection of the place whatsoever. In each
dream the locality was totally new to me, and I had an entirely fresh
detachment. Thus I had not the great advantage of working over
familiar ground. One thing, and one only, was carried on from dream to
dream, and that was the vivid recollection of the general lessons
previously learnt. These finally produced success.
The whole series of dreams, however, remained in my memory as a
connected whole when I awoke.
FIRST DREAM.
"Any fool can get into a hole."--_Old Chinese proverb._
"If left to you, for defence make spades."--_Bridge Maxim._
I felt lonely, and not a little sad, as I stood on the bank of the
river near Duffer's Drift and watched the red dust haze, raised by the
southward departing column in the distance, turn slowly into gold as
it hung in the afternoon sunlight. It was just three o'clock, and here
I was on the banks of the Silliaasvogel river, left behind by my
column with a party of fifty N.C.O.'s and men to hold the drift. It
was an important ford, because it was the only one across which
wheeled traffic could pass for some miles up or down the river.
[Illustration: MAP OF DUFFER'S DRIFT.]
The river was a sluggish stream, not now in flood, crawling along at
the very bottom of its bed between steep banks which were almost
vertical, or at any rate too steep for wagons everywhere except at the
drift itself. The banks from the river edge to their tops and some
distance outwards were covered with dense thorn and other bushes,
which formed a screen impenetrable to the sight. They were also broken
by small ravines and holes, where the earth had been eaten away by the
river when in flood, and were consequently very rough.
Some two thousand odd yards north of the drift was a flat-topped,
rocky mountain, and about a mile to the northeast appeared the usual
sugar-loaf kopje, covered with bushes and boulders--steep on the
south, but gently
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THE AMBER WITCH
by
Wilhelm Meinhold
The most interesting trial for witchcraft ever known. Printed from an
imperfect manuscript by her father Abraham Schweidler, the pastor of
Coserow, in the Island of Usedom.
Translated from the German by Lady Duff Gordon.
Original publication date: 1846.
PREFACE
In laying before the public this deeply affecting and romantic trial,
which I have not without reason called on the title-page the most
interesting of all trials for witchcraft ever known, I will first give
some account of the history of the manuscript.
At Coserow, in the Island of Usedom, my former cure, the same which was
held by our worthy author some two hundred years ago, there existed
under a seat in the choir of the church a sort of niche, nearly on a
level with the floor. I had, indeed, often seen a heap of various
writings in this recess; but owing to my short sight, and the darkness
of the place, I had taken them for antiquated hymn-books, which were
lying about in great numbers. But one day, while I was teaching in the
church, I looked for a paper mark in the Catechism of one of the boys,
which I could not immediately find; and my old sexton, who was past
eighty (and who, although called Appelmann, was thoroughly unlike his
namesake in our story, being a very worthy, although a most ignorant
man), stooped down to the said niche, and took from it a folio volume
which I had never before observed, out of which he, without the slightest
hesitation, tore a strip of paper suited to my purpose, and reached it to
me. I immediately seized upon the book, and, after a few minutes' perusal,
I know not which was greater, my astonishment or my vexation at this
costly prize. The manuscript, which was bound in vellum, was not only
defective both at the beginning and at the end, but several leaves had
even been torn out here and there in the middle. I scolded the old man as
I had never done during the whole course of my life; but he excused
himself, saying that one of my predecessors had given him the manuscript
for waste paper, as it had lain about there ever since the memory of man,
and he had often been in want of paper to twist round the altar candles,
etc. The aged and half-blind pastor had mistaken the folio for old
parochial accounts which could be of no more use to any one.[1]
No sooner had I reached home than I fell to work upon my new acquisition,
and after reading a bit here and there with considerable trouble, my
interest was powerfully excited by the contents.
I soon felt the necessity of making myself better acquainted with the
nature and conduct of these witch trials, with the proceedings, nay,
even with the history of the whole period in which these events occur.
But the more I read of these extraordinary stories, the more was I
confounded; and neither the trivial Beeker (_die bezauberte Welt_, the
enchanted world), nor the more careful Horst (_Zauberbibliothek_, the
library of magic), to which, as well as to several other works on the
same subject, I had flown for information, could resolve my doubts, but
rather served to increase them.
Not alone is the demoniacal character, which pervades nearly all these
fearful stories, so deeply marked, as to fill the attentive reader with
feelings of alternate horror and dismay, but the eternal and unchangeable
laws of human feeling and action are often arrested in a manner so
violent and unforeseen, that the understanding is entirely baffled. For
instance, one of the original trials which a friend of mine, a lawyer,
discovered in our province, contains the account of a mother, who, after
she had suffered the torture, and received the holy Sacrament, and was
on the point of going to the stake, so utterly lost all maternal feeling,
that her conscience obliged her to accuse as a witch her only dearly-loved
daughter, a girl of fifteen, against whom no one had ever entertained a
suspicion, in order, as she said, to save her poor soul. The court, justly
amazed at an event which probably has never since been paralleled, caused
the state of the mother's mind to be examined both by clergymen and
physicians, whose original testimonies are still appended to the records,
and are all highly favourable to her soundness of mind. The unfortunate
daughter, whose name was Elizabeth Hegel, was actually executed on the
strength of her mother's accusation.[2]
The explanation commonly received at the present day, that these
phenomena were produced by means of animal magnetism, is utterly
insufficient. How, for instance, could this account for the deeply
demoniacal nature of old Lizzie Kolken as exhibited in the following
pages? It is utterly incomprehensible, and perfectly explains why the
old pastor, notwithstanding the horrible deceits practised on him in
the person of his daughter, retained as firm a faith in the truth of
witchcraft as in that of the Gospel.
During the earlier centuries of the middle ages little was known of
witchcraft. The crime of magic, when it did occur, was leniently
punished. For instance, the Council of Ancyra (314) ordained the whole
punishment of witches to consist in expulsion from the Christian
community. The Visigoths punished them with stripes, and Charlemagne,
by advice of his bishops, confined them in prison until such time as
they should sincerely repent.[3] It was not until very soon before
the Reformation, that Innocent VIII. lamented that the complaints of
universal Christendom against the evil practices of these women had
become so general and so loud, that the most vigorous measures must be
taken against them; and towards the end of the year 1489, he caused the
not
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THE WORKS OF
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
SWANSTON EDITION
VOLUME IX
_Of this SWANSTON EDITION in Twenty-five
Volumes of the Works of ROBERT LOUIS
STEVENSON Two Thousand and Sixty Copies
have been printed, of which only Two Thousand
Copies are for sale._
_This is No._........
[Illustration: FACSIMILE OF NOTE FOUND AMONG THE PAPERS OF R. L. S.
[_See also overleaf._]]
[Illustration]
THE WORKS OF
ROBERT LOUIS
STEVENSON
VOLUME NINE
LONDON : PUBLISHED BY CHATTO AND
WINDUS : IN ASSOCIATION WITH CASSELL
AND COMPANY LIMITED : WILLIAM
HEINEMANN : AND LONGMANS GREEN
AND COMPANY MDCCCCXI
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
CONTENTS
MEMORIES AND PORTRAITS
PAGE
I. THE FOREIGNER AT HOME 7
II. SOME COLLEGE MEMORIES 19
III. OLD MORTALITY 26
IV. A COLLEGE MAGAZINE 36
V. AN OLD SCOTS GARDENER 46
VI. PASTORAL 53
VII. THE MANSE 61
VIII. MEMOIRS OF AN ISLET 68
IX. THOMAS STEVENSON 75
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[Illustration: Cover art]
[Frontispiece: HE THREW HIMSELF UPON THE GROUND. _See page 136_]
ROGER DAVIS
LOYALIST
BY
FRANK BAIRD
WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS
Toronto
THE MUSSON BOOK COMPANY LIMITED
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. THE OUTBREAK
II. AMONG ENEMIES
III. MADE PRISONER
IV. PRISON EXPERIENCES
V. THE TRIAL AND ESCAPE
VI. KING OR PEOPLE?
VII. THE DIE CAST
VIII. OFF TO NOVA SCOTIA
IX. IN THE 'TRUE NORTH'
X. THE TREATY
XI. HOME-MAKING BEGUN
XII. FACING THE FUTURE
XIII. THE GOVERNOR'S PERIL
XIV. VICTORY AND REWARD
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
HE THREW HIMSELF UPON THE GROUND......... _Frontispiece_
SHE MOTIONED ME TO MY FATHER'S EMPTY CHAIR
'THAT MAN,' I SAID, TURNING AND FACING THE 'COLONEL,'
WHO SAT PALE AND SHIVERING
'THIS IS NOVA SCOTIA,' HE SAID, POINTING TO THE MAP
Roger Davis, Loyalist
Chapter I
The Outbreak
It was Duncan Hale, the schoolmaster, who first brought us the news.
When he was half-way from the gate to the house, my mother met him. He
bowed very low to her, and then, standing with his head uncovered--from
my position in the hall--I heard him distinctly say, 'Your husband,
madam, has been killed, and the British who went out to
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THE WORKS OF
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
SWANSTON EDITION
VOLUME XIV
_Of this SWANSTON EDITION in Twenty-five
Volumes of the Works of ROBERT LOUIS
STEVENSON Two Thousand and Sixty Copies
have been printed, of which only Two Thousand
Copies are for sale._
_This is No._........
[Illustration: ALISON CUNNINGHAM, R. L. S.'S NURSE]
THE WORKS OF
ROBERT LOUIS
STEVENSON
VOLUME FOURTEEN
LONDON : PUBLISHED BY CHATTO AND
WINDUS : IN ASSOCIATION WITH CASSELL
AND COMPANY LIMITED : WILLIAM
HEINEMANN : AND LONGMANS GREEN
AND COMPANY MDCCCCXI
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
CONTENTS
A CHILD'S GARDEN OF VERSES
PAGE
I. BED IN SUMMER 3
In winter I get up at night
II. A THOUGHT 3
It is very nice to think
III. AT THE SEA-SIDE 4
When I was down beside the sea
IV. YOUNG NIGHT THOUGHT 4
All night long, and every night
V. WHOLE DUTY OF CHILDREN 5
A child should always say what's true
VI. RAIN 5
The rain is raining all around
VII. PIRATE STORY 5
Three of us afloat in the meadow by the swing
VIII. FOREIGN LANDS 6
Up into the cherry-tree
IX. WINDY NIGHTS 7
Whenever the moon and stars are set
X. TRAVEL 7
I should like to rise and go
XI. SINGING 9
Of speckled eggs the birdie sings
XII. LOOKING FORWARD 9
When I am grown to man's estate
XIII. A GOOD PLAY 9
We built a ship upon the stairs
XIV. WHERE GO THE BOATS? 10
Dark brown is the river
XV. AUNTIE'S SKIRTS 11
Whenever Auntie moves around
XVI. THE LAND OF COUNTERPANE 11
When I was sick and lay a-bed
XVII. THE LAND OF NOD 12
From breakfast on all through the day
XVIII. MY SHADOW 12
I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me
XIX. SYSTEM 13
Every night my prayers I say
XX. A GOOD BOY 14
I woke before the morning, I was happy all the day
XXI. ESCAPE AT BEDTIME 14
The lights from the parlour and kitchen shone out
XXII. MARCHING SONG 15
Bring the comb and play upon it
XXIII. THE COW 16
The friendly cow, all red and white
XXIV. HAPPY THOUGHT 16
The world is so full of a number of things
XXV. THE WIND 16
I saw you toss the kites on high
XXVI. KEEPSAKE MILL 17
Over the borders, a sin without pardon
XXVII. GOOD AND BAD CHILDREN 18
Children, you are very little
XXVIII. FOREIGN CHILDREN 19
Little Indian, Sioux or Crow
XXIX. THE SUN'S TRAVELS 20
The sun is not a-bed when I
XXX. THE LAMPLIGHTER 20
My tea is nearly ready and the sun has left the sky
XXXI. MY BED IS A BOAT 21
My bed is like a little boat
XXXII. THE MOON 22
The moon has a face like the clock in the hall
XXXIII. THE SWING 22
How do you like to go up in a swing
XXXIV. TIME TO RISE 23
A birdie with a yellow bill
XXXV. LOOKING-GLASS RIVER 23
Smooth it slides upon its travel
XXXVI. FAIRY BREAD 24
Come up here, O dusty feet
XXXVII. FROM A RAILWAY CARRIAGE 24
Faster than fairies
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Internet Archive)
[Illustration: STEPHEN A. DOUGLAS]
Statesman Edition VOL. V
Charles Sumner
HIS COMPLETE WORKS
With Introduction
BY
HON. GEORGE FRISBIE HOAR
[Illustration]
BOSTON
LEE AND SHEPARD
MCM
COPYRIGHT, 1900,
BY
LEE AND SHEPARD.
Statesman Edition.
LIMITED TO ONE THOUSAND COPIES.
OF WHICH THIS IS
No. 565
Norwood Press:
NORWOOD, MASS., U.S.A.
CONTENTS OF VOLUME V.
PAGE
THE ANTISLAVERY ENTERPRISE: ITS NECESSITY, PRACTICABILITY,
AND DIGNITY; WITH GLANCES AT THE SPECIAL DUTIES OF THE NORTH.
Address before the People of New York, at the Metropolitan
Theatre, May 9, 1855 1
NEW OUTRAGE FOR THE SAKE OF SLAVERY. Letter to Passmore
Williamson, in Moyamensing Prison, August 11, 1855 52
THE PEN BETTER THAN THE SWORD. Letter to Committee of
Publishers in New York, September 26, 1855 58
REPUBLICAN PARTY IN NEW YORK. Letter to a New York Committee,
October 7, 1855 60
REPUBLICAN PARTY OFFSPRING OF AROUSED CONSCIENCE OF THE
COUNTRY. Letter to a Boston Committee, October 8, 1855 61
POLITICAL PARTIES AND
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ROUNDABOUT PAPERS
By William Makepeace Thackeray
CONTENTS
ROUNDABOUT PAPERS
On a Lazy Idle Boy
On Two Children in Black
On Ribbons
On some late Great Victories
Thorns in the Cushion
On Screens in Dining-Rooms
Tunbridge Toys
De Juventute
On a Joke I once heard from the late Thomas Hood
Round about the Christmas Tree
On a Chalk-Mark on the Door
On being Found Out
On a Hundred Years Hence
Small-Beer Chronicle
Ogres
On Two Roundabout Papers which I intended to Write
A Mississippi Bubble
On Letts's Diary
Notes of a Week's Holiday
Nil Nisi Bonum
On Half a Loaf--A Letter to Messrs. Broadway, Battery and Co., of New
York, Bankers
The Notch on the Axe.--A Story a la Mode. Part I Part II Part III
De Finibus
On a Peal of Bells
On a Pear-Tree
Dessein's
On some Carp at Sans Souci
Autour de mon Chapeau
On Alexandrines--A Letter to some Country Cousins
On a Medal of George the Fourth
"Strange to say, on Club Paper"
The Last Sketch
ROUNDABOUT PAPERS.
ON A LAZY IDLE BOY.
I had occasion to pass a week in the autumn in the little old town
of Coire or Chur, in the Grisons, where lies buried that very ancient
British king, saint, and martyr, Lucius,* who founded the Church of St.
Peter, on Cornhill. Few people note the church now-a-days, and fewer
ever heard of the saint. In the cathedral at Chur, his statue appears
surrounded by other sainted persons of his family. With tight red
breeches, a Roman habit, a curly brown beard, and a neat little gilt
crown and sceptre, he stands, a very comely and cheerful image: and,
from what I may call his peculiar position with regard to Cornhill, I
beheld this figure of St. Lucius with more interest than I should have
bestowed upon personages who, hierarchically, are, I dare say, his
superiors.
* Stow quotes the inscription, still extant, from the table
fast chained in St. Peter's Church, Cornhill; and says, "he
was after some chronicle buried at London, and after some
chronicle buried at Glowcester"--but, oh! these incorrect
chroniclers! when Alban Butler, in the "Lives of the
Saints," v. xii., and Murray's "Handbook," and the Sacristan
at Chur, all say Lucius was killed there, and I saw his tomb
with my own eyes!
The pretty little city stands, so to speak, at the end of the world--of
the world of to-day, the world of rapid motion, and rushing railways,
and the commerce and intercourse of men. From the northern gate, the
iron road stretches away to Zurich, to Basle, to Paris, to home. From
the old southern barriers, before which a little river rushes, and
around which stretch the crumbling battlements of the ancient town, the
road bears the slow diligence or lagging vetturino by the shallow Rhine,
through the awful gorges of the Via Mala, and presently over the Splugen
to the shores of Como.
I have seldom seen a place more quaint, pretty, calm, and pastoral, than
this remote little Chur. What need have the inhabitants for walls
and ramparts, except to build summer-houses, to trail vines, and hang
clothes to dry on them? No enemies approach the great mouldering gates:
only at morn and even the cows come lowing past them, the village
maidens chatter merrily round the fountains, and babble like the
ever-voluble stream that flows under the old walls. The schoolboys,
with book and satchel, in smart uniforms, march up to the gymnasium,
and return thence at their stated time. There is one coffee-house in the
town, and I see one old gentleman goes to it. There are shops with no
customers seemingly, and the lazy tradesmen look out of their little
windows at the single stranger sauntering by. There is a stall with
baskets of queer little black grapes and apples, and a pretty brisk
trade with half a dozen urchins standing round. But, beyond this, there
is scarce any talk or movement in the street. There's nobody at the
book-shop. "If you will have the goodness to come again in an hour,"
says the banker, with his mouthful of dinner at one o'clock, "you can
have the money." There is nobody at the hotel, save the good landlady,
the kind waiters, the brisk young cook who ministers to you. Nobody is
in the Protestant church--(oh! strange sight, the two confessions are
here at peace!)--nobody in the Catholic church: until the sacristan,
from his snug abode in the cathedral close, espies the traveller eying
the monsters and pillars before the old shark-toothed arch of his
cathedral, and comes out (with a view to remuneration possibly) and
opens the gate, and shows you the venerable church, and the queer old
relics in the sacristy, and the ancient vestments (a black velvet
cope, amongst other robes, as fresh as yesterday, and presented by that
notorious "pervert," Henry of Navarre and France), and the statue of St.
Lucius who built St. Peter's Church, on Cornhill.
What a quiet, kind, quaint, pleasant, pretty old town! Has it been
asleep these hundreds and hundreds of years, and is the brisk young
Prince of the Sidereal Realms in his screaming car drawn by his snorting
steel elephant coming to waken it? Time was when there must have been
life and bustle and commerce here. Those vast, venerable walls were
not made to keep out cows, but men-at-arms, led by fierce captains, who
prowled about the gates, and robbed the traders as they passed in and
out with their bales, their goods, their pack-horses, and their wains.
Is the place so dead that even the clergy of the different denominations
can't quarrel? Why, seven or eight, or a dozen, or fifteen hundred years
ago (they haven't the register at St. Peter's up to that remote period.
I dare say it was burnt in the fire of London)--a dozen hundred years
ago, when there was some life in the town, St. Lucius was stoned here
on account of theological differences, after founding our church in
Cornhill.
There was a sweet pretty river walk we used to take in the evening
and mark the mountains round glooming with a deeper purple; the shades
creeping up the golden walls; the river brawling, the cattle calling,
the maids and chatter-boxes round the fountains babbling and bawling;
and several times in the course of our sober walks we overtook a lazy
slouching boy, or hobble-dehoy, with a rusty coat, and trousers not too
long, and big feet trailing lazily one after the other, and large lazy
hands dawdling from out the tight sleeves, and in the lazy hands a
little book, which my lad held up to his face, and which I dare say
so charmed and ravished him, that he was blind to the beautiful sights
around him; unmindful, I would venture to lay any wager, of the lessons
he had to learn for to-morrow; forgetful of mother, waiting supper, and
father preparing a scolding;--absorbed utterly and entirely in his book.
What was it that so fascinated the young student, as he stood by the
river shore? Not the Pons Asinorum. What book so delighted him, and
blinded him to all the rest of the world, so that he did not care to see
the apple-woman with her fruit, or (more tempting still to sons of Eve)
the pretty girls with their apple cheeks, who laughed and prattled round
the fountain! What was the book? Do you suppose it was Livy, or the
Greek grammar? No; it was a NOVEL that you were reading, you lazy, not
very clean, good-for-nothing, sensible boy! It was D'Artagnan locking
up General Monk in a box, or almost succeeding in keeping Charles the
First's head on. It was the prisoner of the Chateau d'If cutting himself
out of the sack fifty feet under water (I mention the novels I like best
myself--novels without love or talking, or any of that sort of
nonsense, but containing plenty of fighting, escaping, robbery, and
rescuing)--cutting himself out of the sack, and swimming to the island
of Monte Cristo. O Dumas! O thou brave, kind, gallant old Alexandre! I
hereby offer thee homage, and give thee thanks for many pleasant hours.
I have read thee (being sick in bed) for thirteen hours of a happy day,
and had the ladies of the house fighting for the volumes. Be assured
that lazy boy was reading Dumas (or I will go so far as to let the
reader here pronounce the eulogium, or insert the name of his favorite
author); and as for the anger, or it may be, the reverberations of
his schoolmaster, or the remonstrances of his father, or the tender
pleadings of his mother that he should not let the supper grow cold--I
don't believe the scapegrace cared one fig. No! Figs are sweet, but
fictions are sweeter.
Have you ever seen a score of white-bearded, white-robed warriors, or
grave seniors of the city, seated at the gate of Jaffa or Beyrout, and
listening to the story-teller reciting his marvels out of "Antar" or the
"Arabian Nights?" I was once present when a young gentleman at table put
a tart away from him, and said to his neighbor, the Younger Son (with
rather a fatuous air), "I never eat sweets."
"Not eat sweets! and do you know why?" says T.
"Because I am past that kind of thing," says the young gentleman.
"Because you are a glutton and a sot!" cries the Elder (and Juvenis
winces a little). "All people who have natural, healthy appetites, love
sweets; all children, all women, all Eastern people, whose tastes
are not corrupted by gluttony and strong drink." And a plateful of
raspberries and cream disappeared before the philosopher.
You take the allegory? Novels are
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PRAY YOU, SIR, WHOSE DAUGHTER?
By Helen H. Gardener
R. F. Fenno & Company
9 and 11 East 16th Street
New York
1892
I saw a woman sleeping. In her sleep she dreampt Life stood before her,
and held in each hand a gift--in the one Love, in the other Freedom. And
she said to the woman, "Choose!"
And the woman waited long; and she said: "Freedom!" And Life said, "Thou
hast well chosen. If thou hadst said, 'Love,' I would have given thee
that thou didst ask for; and I would have gone from thee, and returned
to thee no more. Now, the day will come when I shall return. In that
day I shall bear both gifts in one hand." I heard the woman laugh in her
sleep.
Olive Schreener's Dreams.
DEDICATED
With the love and admiration of the Author,
To Her Husband
Who is ever at once her first, most severe, and most sympathetic critic,
whose encouragement and interest in her work never flags; whose abiding
belief in human rights, without sex limitations, and in equality of
opportunity leaves scant room in his great soul to harbor patience with
sex domination in a land which boasts of freedom for all, and embodies
its symbol of Liberty in the form of the only legally disqualified and
unrepresented class to be found upon its shores.
PREFACE.
In the following story the writer shows us what poverty and dependence
are in their revolting outward aspects, as well as in their crippling
effects on all the tender sentiments of the human soul. Whilst the many
suffer for want of the decencies of life, the few have no knowledge of
such conditions.
They require the poor to keep clean, where water by landlords is
considered a luxury; to keep their garments whole, where they have
naught but rags to stitch together, twice and thrice worn threadbare.
The improvidence of the poor as a valid excuse for ignorance, poverty,
and vice, is as inadequate as is the providence of the rich, for their
virtue, luxury, and power. The artificial conditions of society are
based on false theories of government, religion, and morals, and not
upon the decrees of a God.
In this little volume we have a picture, too, of what the world would
call a happy family, in which a naturally strong, honest woman is
shrivelled into a mere echo of her husband, and the popular sentiment of
the class to which she belongs. The daughter having been educated in a
college with young men, and tasted of the tree of knowledge, and,
like the Gods, knowing good and evil, can no longer square her life by
opinions she has outgrown; hence with her parents there is friction,
struggle, open revolt, though conscientious and respectful withal.
Three girls belonging to different classes in society; each illustrates
the false philosophy on which woman's character is based, and each in a
different way, in the supreme moment of her life, shows the necessity of
self-reliance and self-support.
As the wrongs of society can be more deeply impressed on a large class
of readers in the form of fiction than by essays, sermons, or the facts
of science, I hail with pleasure all such attempts by the young writers
of our day. The slave has had his novelist and poet, the farmer his,
the victims of ignorance and poverty theirs, but up to this time the
refinements of cruelty suffered by intelligent, educated women, have
never been painted in glowing colors, so that the living picture could
be seen and understood. It is easy to rouse attention to the grosser
forms of suffering and injustice, but the humiliations of spirit are not
so easily described and appreciated.
A class of earnest reformers have, for the last fifty years, in the
press, the pulpit, and on the platform, with essays, speeches, and
constitutional arguments before legislative assemblies, demanded the
complete emancipation of women from the political, religious, and social
bondage she now endures; but as yet few see clearly the need of larger
freedom, and the many maintain a stolid indifference to the demand.
I have long waited and watched for some woman to arise to do for her sex
what Mrs. Stowe did for the black race in "Uncle Tom's Cabin," a book
that did more to rouse the national conscience than all the glowing
appeals and constitutional arguments that agitated our people during
half a century. If, from an objective point of view, a writer could
thus eloquently portray the sorrows of a subject race, how much more
graphically should some woman describe the degradation of sex.
In Helen Gardener's stories, I see the promise, in the near future,
of such a work of fiction, that shall paint the awful facts of woman's
position in living colors that all must see and feel. The civil and
canon law, state and church alike, make the mothers of the race a
helpless, ostracised class, pariahs of a corrupt civilization.
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THE FREEDOM OF LIFE
BY
ANNIE PAYSON CALL
_Author of "Power Through Repose,"
"As a Matter of Course," etc._
_FREEDOM_
_LORD GOD of Israel,--
Where Thou art we are free!
Call out Thy people, Lord, we pray,
From Egypt unto Thee.
Open our eyes that we may see
Our bondage in the past,--
Oh, help us, Lord, to keep Thy law,
And make us free at last!_
_Lord God of Israel,--
Where Thou art we are free!
Freed from the rule of alien minds,
We turn our hearts to Thee.
The alien hand weighs heavily,
And heavy is our sin,--
Thy children cry to Thee, O Lord,--
Their God,--to take them in._
_Lord God of Israel,--
Where Thou 'art we are free
Cast down our idols from on high,
That we may worship Thee.
In freedom we will live Thy Love
Out from our inmost parts;
Upon our foreheads bind Thy Law,--
Engrave it on our hearts!_
_Amen._
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
THE FREEDOM OF LIFE
HOW TO SLEEP RESTFULLY
RESISTANCE
HURRY, WORRY, AND IRRITABILITY
NERVOUS FEARS
SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS
THE CIRCUMSTANCES OF LIFE
OTHER PEOPLE
HUMAN SYMPATHY
PERSONAL INDEPENDENCE
SELF-CONTROL
THE RELIGION OF IT
ABOUT CHRISTMAS
TO MOTHERS
_INTRODUCTION_
INTERIOR freedom rests upon the principle of non-resistance to
all the things which seem evil or painful to our natural love of
self. But non-resistance alone can accomplish nothing good unless,
behind it, there is a strong love for righteousness and truth. By
refusing to resist the ill will of others, or the stress of
circumstances, for the sake of greater usefulness and a clearer
point of view, we deepen our conviction of righteousness as the
fundamental law of fife, and broaden our horizon so as to appreciate
varying and opposite points of view. The only non-resistance that
brings this power is the kind which yields mere personal and selfish
considerations for the sake of principles. Selfish and weak yielding
must always do harm. Unselfish yielding, on the other hand,
strengthens the will and increases strength of purpose as the petty
obstacles of mere self-love are removed. Concentration alone cannot
long remain wholesome, for it needs the light of growing
self-knowledge to prevent its becoming self-centred. Yielding alone
is of no avail, for in itself it has no constructive power. But if
we try to look at ourselves as we really are, we shall find great
strength in yielding where only our small and private interests are
concerned, and concentrating upon living the broad principles of
righteousness which must directly or indirectly affect all those
with whom we come into contact.
I
_The Freedom of Life_
I AM so tired I must give up work," said a young woman with a very
strained and tearful face; and it seemed to her a desperate state,
for she was dependent upon work for her bread and butter. If she
gave up work she gave up bread and butter, and that meant
starvation. When she was asked why she did not keep at work and
learn to do it without getting so tired, that seemed to her absurd,
and she would have laughed if laughing had been possible.
"I tell you the work has tired me so that I cannot stand it, and you
ask me to go back and get rest out of it when I am ready to die of
fatigue. Why don't you ask me to burn myself, on a piece of ice, or
freeze myself with a red-hot poker?"
"But," the answer was, "it is not the work that tires you at all, it
is the way you do it;" and, after a little soothing talk which
quieted the overexcited nerves, she began to feel a dawning
intelligence, which showed her that, after all, there might be life
in the work which she had come to look upon as nothing but slow and
painful death. She came to understand that she might do her work as
if she were working very lazily, going from one thing to another
with a feeling as near to entire indifference as she could
cultivate, and, at the same time, do it well. She was shown by
illustrations how she might walk across the room and take a book off
the table as if her life depended upon it, racing and pushing over
the floor, grabbing the book and clutching it until she got back to
her
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The Gospel of St. John
With Notes Critical and Explanatory
By the
Rev. Joseph MacRory, D.D.
Professor of Sacred Scripture and Hebrew, Maynooth College
{~GREEK CAPITAL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER UPSILON WITH PERISPOMENI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER DELTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON WITH VARIA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER GAMMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER GAMMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER RHO~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER PI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA~}, {~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA WITH DASIA AND OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER PI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER SIGMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER UPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER SIGMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON WITH DASIA AND OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA~} {~GREEK CAPITAL LETTER IOTA WITH PSILI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER SIGMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER UPSILON WITH PERISPOMENI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER FINAL SIGMA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON WITH PSILI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER SIGMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON WITH DASIA~} {~GREEK CAPITAL LETTER CHI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER RHO~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER SIGMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON WITH VARIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER FINAL SIGMA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON WITH DASIA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER UPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA WITH DASIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON WITH VARIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER FINAL SIGMA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER UPSILON WITH PERISPOMENI~}
{~GREEK SMALL LETTER THETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER UPSILON WITH PERISPOMENI~}, {~GREEK SMALL LETTER KAPPA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA WITH VARIA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA WITH DASIA AND OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER PI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER SIGMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER UPSILON WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER FINAL SIGMA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER ZETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMEGA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ETA WITH VARIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON WITH PSILI AND OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER CHI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON WITH PSILI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMEGA WITH PERISPOMENI AND YPOGEGRAMMENI~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON WITH PSILI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON WITH OXIA~}{~
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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.
P
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The Home Medical
Library
By
KENELM WINSLOW, B.A.S., M.D.
_Formerly Assistant Professor Comparative Therapeutics, Harvard
University; Late Surgeon to the Newton Hospital;
Fellow of the Massachusetts Medical Society, etc._
With the Cooeperation of Many Medical
Advising Editors and Special Contributors
IN SIX VOLUMES
_First Aid :: Family Medicines :: Nose, Throat, Lungs,
Eye, and Ear :: Stomach and Bowels :: Tumors and
Skin Diseases :: Rheumatism :: Germ Diseases
Nervous Diseases :: Insanity :: Sexual Hygiene
Woman and Child :: Heart, Blood, and Digestion
Personal Hygiene :: Indoor Exercise
Diet and Conduct for Long Life :: Practical
Kitchen Science :: Nervousness
and Outdoor Life :: Nurse and Patient
Camping Comfort :: Sanitation
of the Household :: Pure
Water Supply :: Pure Food
Stable and Kennel_
NEW YORK
The Review of Reviews Company
1907
Medical Advising Editors
Managing Editor
ALBERT WARREN FERRIS, A.M., M.D.
_Former Assistant in Neurology, Columbia University; Former Chairman,
Section on Neurology and Psychiatry, New York Academy of Medicine;
Assistant in Medicine, University and Bellevue Hospital Medical
College; Medical Editor, New International Encyclopedia._
Nervous Diseases
CHARLES E. ATWOOD, M.D.
_Assistant in Neurology, Columbia University; Former Physician, Utica
State Hospital and Bloomingdale Hospital for Insane Patients; Former
Clinical Assistant to Sir William Gowers, National Hospital, London._
Pregnancy
RUSSELL BELLAMY, M.D.
_Assistant in Obstetrics and Gynecology, Cornell University Medical
College Dispensary; Captain and Assistant Surgeon (in charge),
Squadron A, New York Cavalry; Assistant in Surgery, New York
Polyclinic._
Germ Diseases
HERMANN MICHAEL BIGGS, M.D.
_General Medical Officer and Director of Bacteriological Laboratories,
New York City Department of Health; Professor of Clinical Medicine in
University and Bellevue Hospital Medical College; Visiting Physician
to Bellevue, St. Vincent's, Willard Parker, and Riverside Hospitals._
The Eye and Ear
J. HERBERT CLAIBORNE, M.D.
_Clinical Instructor in Ophthalmology, Cornell University Medical
College; Former Adjunct Professor of Ophthalmology, New York
Polyclinic; Former Instructor in Ophthalmology in Columbia University;
Surgeon, New Amsterdam Eye and Ear Hospital._
Sanitation
THOMAS DARLINGTON, M.D.
_Health Commissioner of New York City; Former President Medical Board,
New York Foundling Hospital; Consulting Physician, French Hospital;
Attending Physician, St. John's Riverside Hospital, Yonkers; Surgeon
to New Croton Aqueduct and other Public Works, to Copper Queen
Consolidated Mining Company of Arizona, and Arizona and Southeastern
Railroad Hospital; Author of Medical and Climatological Works._
Menstruation
AUSTIN FLINT, JR., M.D.
_Professor of Obstetrics and Clinical Gynecology, New York University
and Bellevue Hospital Medical College; Visiting Physician, Bellevue
Hospital; Consulting Obstetrician, New York Maternity Hospital;
Attending Physician, Hospital for Ruptured and Crippled, Manhattan
Maternity and Emergency Hospitals._
Heart and Blood
JOHN BESSNER HUBER, A.M., M.D.
_Assistant in Medicine, University and Bellevue Hospital Medical
College; Visiting Physician to St. Joseph's Home for Consumptives;
Author of "Consumption: Its Relation to Man and His Civilization; Its
Prevention and Cure."_
Skin Diseases
JAMES C. JOHNSTON, A.B., M.D.
_Instructor in Pathology and Chief of Clinic, Department of
Dermatology, Cornell University Medical College._
Diseases of Children
CHARLES GILMORE KERLEY, M.D.
_Professor of Pediatrics, New York Polyclinic Medical School and
Hospital; Attending Physician, New York Infant Asylum, Children's
Department of Sydenham Hospital, and Babies' Hospital, N. Y.;
Consulting Physician, Home for Crippled Children._
Bites and Stings
GEORGE GIBIER RAMBAUD, M.D.
_P
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Internet Archive)
+-----------------------------------------------+
| Transcriber's Note: |
| |
| Transliterated Greek words are marked with |
| +'s like so: +Greek+. |
| |
+-----------------------------------------------+
ASBESTOS
ITS PRODUCTION AND USE
WITH
_SOME ACCOUNT OF THE ASBESTOS MINES OF CANADA_
BY ROBERT H. JONES
[Illustration]
LONDON:
CROSBY LOCKWOOD AND SON
7, STATIONERS' HALL COURT, LUDGATE HILL
1888
PREFACE.
The substance of the following pages was originally comprised in a
series of Letters from Canada to a friend in London, who was desirous of
obtaining all the authentic information possible on a subject on which
so little appears to be generally known.
The use of Asbestos in the arts and manufactures is now rapidly assuming
such large proportions that, it is believed, it will presently be found
more difficult to say to what purposes it cannot be applied than to what
it can and is.
Under these circumstances, although much of the information here given
is not new, but has been gathered from every available source, it is
hoped that the compilation in its present shape may be found acceptable.
R. H. J.
HOTEL VICTORIA,
NORTHUMBERLAND AVENUE
_April 20, 1888._
CONTENTS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTORY 5-8
ASBESTOS AT THE AMERICAN EXHIBITION 9, 10
WHERE FOUND 12-15
ITALIAN AND CANADIAN ASBESTOS COMPARED 16-18
WHERE USED 18
THE ASBESTOS OF ITALY 19-24
CANADIAN MINING FOR ASBESTOS 24-29
ASBESTOS MINES OF CANADA--
THE THETFORD GROUP 29-36
THE COLERAINE GROUP 36-42
BROUGHTON 42-46
DANVILLE 46
SOUTH HAM 47-50
WOLFESTOWN 50
USES TO WHICH ASBESTOS IS APPLIED 55-72
INDEX 75, 76
ASBESTOS.
One of Nature's most marvellous productions, asbestos is a physical
paradox. It has been called a mineralogical vegetable; it is both
fibrous and crystalline, elastic yet brittle; a floating stone, which
can be as readily carded, spun, and woven into tissue as cotton or the
finest silk.
Called by geologists "asbestus" (the termination in os being the
adjective form of the word), the name of the mineral in its Greek form
as commonly used (+asbestos+), signifies "indestructible." The French
adopt the same derivation, calling it "asbeste" (mineral filamenteux et
incombustible). In Germany it is called "steinflachs" (stone-flax); and
by the Italians "amianto" (from +amiantos+, pure, incorruptible);
so-called because cloth made from it was cleansed by passing it through
fire. Charlemagne, we are told, having a cloth made of this material in
his possession, one day after dinner astonished his rude warrior guests
by throwing it in the fire, and then withdrawing it cleansed and
unconsumed.
As a modern pendent to this well-known legend, the following is current
in Quebec. A labouring man, who had left the old country to seek a
better fortune in the Dominion, found employment at once on arrival in
one of the many lumber yards on the St. Lawrence, where his energy and
activity, supplemented by great bodily strength, soon secured for him a
good position. It so happened, however, that one evening, on returning
from their daily toil to their common apartment, some of his
fellow-workmen saw him deliberately throw himself into a seat, kick off
his boots, and then pull off his socks, and having opened the door of
the stove, coolly fling them in on to the mass of burning wood. Possibly
no particular notice would have been taken of this, judged as a mere act
of folly and waste on the part of the new-comer; but when, almost
immediately afterwards, they saw him open the stove door again, take out
the apparently blazing socks, and, after giving them a shake, proceed
just as deliberately to draw them on to his feet again, that was a
trifle too much! Human nature could not stand that. Consequently the
horrified spectators, having for a moment looked on aghast, fled
precipitately from the room. To them the facts were clear enough. This,
they said, was no human being like themselves; such hellish practices
could have but one origin. If not the devil himself, this man certainly
could be no other than one of his emissaries. So off they went in a body
to the manager and demanded his instant dismissal, loudly asseverating
that they would no longer eat, drink, or work in company with such a
monster. Enquiry being at once set on foot, it turned out that some time
before leaving England the man had worked at an asbestos factory, where
he had learned to appreciate the valuable properties of this mineral;
and being of an ingenious turn of mind, he had managed to procure some
of the fiberized material and therewith knit himself a pair of socks,
which he was accustomed to cleanse in the manner described. He was, as
has been said, an unusually good workman, consequently his employers had
no wish to part with him. Explanation and expostulation, however, were
all in vain; nothing could remove the horrible impression that his
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of Cornell University Law Library, Trial Pamphlets
Collection)
LIFE AND CONFESSION
OF
SOPHIA HAMILTON,
WHO WAS
TRIED, CONDEMNED AND SENTENCED TO BE
HUNG,
AT MONTREAL, L. C. ON THE 4TH OF AUGUST, 1845,
FOR THE
PERPETRATION OF THE MOST SHOCKING MURDERS AND DARING
ROBBERIES PERHAPS RECORDED IN THE ANNALS
OF CRIME.
[Illustration]
CAREFULLY SELECTED BY THE AUTHOR,
WILLIAM H. JACKSON.
MONTREAL, L. C.
PRINTED FOR THE PUBLISHER
1845.
[Illustration: THE ROAD OBSTRUCTED, AND THE TRAVELLERS MURDERED.
p. 12.]
LIFE AND CONFESSION OF SOPHIA HAMILTON.
It has probably never fallen to the lot of man to record a list of more
cruel, heart-rending, atrocious, cold-blooded murders and daring
robberies than have been perpetrated by the subjects of this narrative,
and that too in the midst of a highly civilized and Christian community;
deeds too, which, for the depravity of every human feeling, seem
scarcely to have found a parallel in the annals of crime. And it seems
doubly shocking and atrocious when we find them perpetrated by one of
the female sex, which sex has always and in all countries been esteemed
as having a higher regard for virtue, and far greater aversion to acts
of barbarity, even in the most vitiated, than is generally found in men
of the same class. We may truly say that the annals of history have
never unfolded to the world a greater instance of human depravity and
utter disregard of every virtuous feeling which should inhabit the human
breast, than the one it becomes our painful duty to lay before our
readers in the account of Sophia Hamilton, the subject of this very
interesting narrative. We deem it not unimportant to give a brief
account of her parentage, in order that our numerous readers may see the
source from which she sprung; as also the inestimable and intrinsic
value of a moral education in youth, which is a gem of imperishable
value, the loss of which many have had to deplore when perhaps too
late. The public may depend on the authenticity of the facts here
related, as it is from no less a source than a schoolmate of her
ill-fated father. The author has spared no exertions to collect every
minute and important particular relating to her extraordinary, though
unfortunate career.
Richard Jones, the father of the principal subject of this narrative was
the only son of a wealthy nobleman residing in Bristol, England; he had
in the early part of his life received a classical education. But in
consequence of the death of his mother, he of course got an uncontrolled
career, which continued too long, until at length he became a disgust to
his kind and loving father, whose admonitions he disregarded and whose
precepts he trampled upon. At the age of twenty-four, he was a perfect
sot, regardless of the kind counsel of his relatives; and at length his
character became so disreputable that he was accused of almost every
outrage perpetrated in the neighbourhood in which he belonged. This
preyed so much upon his aged father that he became ill, and it is
thought by many shortened his life. Richard had then attained the age of
twenty-five, and seemed so deeply afflicted by the death of his father,
that he promised amendment of conduct, so that his uncle took him as
partner at the druggist business; but this was to no effect, for in a
short time he sought every species of vice and wickedness, which the
depravity of human nature could suggest. His uncle and he dissolved, and
as he had considerable of the money that his father bequeathed to him,
he soon found company to suit his purpose, and became enamored of a
woman of low character, who succeeded in making a union with him, and
after spending considerable of the money, and seeing the funds likely to
be exhausted, immediately scraped up their effects, as she possessed a
little property of her own. They then resolved like many others, to
emigrate, finding that they could not live in their native country.
They embarked on board a ship bound for St. John, N. B. in the year
1811; remained a short time in the city, when they moved up the St. John
river and settled down between Frederickton and Woodstock, where he
learned the farming business, and in the course
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THE WRITINGS IN PROSE AND VERSE OF RUDYARD KIPLING
By Rudyard Kipling
VOLUME XI.
1889-1896
CONTENTS
Followed by first lines
BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS
1889-1891
TO WOLCOTT BALESTIER
Beyond the path of the outmost sun through utter darkness hurled --
BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS
To T. A.
I have made for you a song,
DANNY DEEVER
"What are the bugles blowin' for?" said Files-on-Parade.
TOMMY
I went into a public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer,
"FUZZY-WUZZY"
We've fought with many men acrost the seas,
SOLDIER, SOLDIER
"Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
SCREW-GUNS
Smokin' my pipe on the mountings, sniffin' the mornin' cool,
CELLS
I've a head like a concertina: I've a tongue like a button-stick:
GUNGA DIN
You may talk o' gin and beer
OONTS
Wot makes the soldier's 'eart to penk, wot makes 'im to perspire?
LOOT
If you've ever stole a pheasant-egg be'ind the keeper's back,
"SNARLEYOW"
This 'appened in a battle to a batt'ry of the corps,
THE WIDOW AT WINDSOR
'Ave you 'eard o' the Widow at Windsor?
BELTS
There was a row in Silver Street that's near to Dublin Quay,
THE YOUNG BRITISH SOLDIER
When the 'arf-made recruity goes out to the East,
MANDALAY
By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin
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and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
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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.
* * * * *
{261}
NOTES AND QUERIES:
A MEDIUM OF INTER-COMMUNICATION FOR LITERARY MEN, ARTISTS, ANTIQUARIES,
GENEALOGISTS, ETC.
"When found, make a note of."--CAPTAIN CUTTLE.
* * * * *
No. 203.]
SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 17. 1853.
[Price Fourpence. Stamped Edition 5d.
* * * * *
CONTENTS.
Page
Our Shakspearian Correspondence 261
NOTES:--
Mr. Pepys and East London Topography, &c. 263
Picts' Houses in Aberdeenshire 264
FOLK LORE:--Legends of the County Clare--Devonshire
Cures for the Thrush 264
HERALDIC NOTES:--Arms of Granville--Arms of
Richard, King of the Romans 265
Shakspeare Correspondence, by J. O. Halliwell and
Thos. Keightley 265
MINOR NOTES:--Longfellow's Poetical Works--Sir
Walter Raleigh--Curious Advertisement--Gravestone
Inscription--Monumental Inscription 267
QUERIES:--
Sir Philip Warwick 268
Seals of the Borough of Great Yarmouth, by E. S.
Taylor 269
MINOR QUERIES:--Hand in Bishop Canning's Church
--"I put a spoke in his wheel"--Sir W. Hewit--
Passage in Virgil--Fauntleroy--Animal Prefixes
descriptive of Size and Quality--Punning Devices
--"Pinece with a stink"--Soiled Parchment Deeds
--Roger Wilbraham, Esq.'s, Cheshire Collection
--Cambridge and Ireland--Derivation of Celt--
Ancient Superstition against the King of England
entering or even beholding the Town of Leicester
--Burton--The Camera Lucida--Francis Moore--
Waugh, Bishop of Carlisle--Palace at Enfield--
"Solamen miseris," &c.--Soke Mills--Second Wife
of Mallet 269
MINOR QUERIES WITH ANSWERS:--Books burned by
the Common Hangman--Captain George Cusack--
Sir Ralph Winwood 272
REPLIES:--
Books chained to Desks in Churches, by J. Booker, &c. 273
Epitaphs by Cuthbert Bede, B.A., &c. 273
Parochial Libraries 274
"Up, Guards, and at them!" by Frank Howard 275
PHOTOGRAPHIC CORRESPONDENCE:--Mr. Muller's Process
--Stereoscopic Angles--Ammonio-nitrate of
Silver 275
REPLIES TO MINOR QUERIES:--Sir Thomas Elyot--
Judges styled "Reverend"--"Hurrah" and other
War-cries--Major Andre--Early Edition of the
New Testament--Ladies' Arms borne in a Lozenge
--Sir William Hankford--Maullies, Manillas--The
Use of the Hour-glass in Pulpits--Derivation of the
Word "Island"--A Cob-wall--Oliver Cromwell's
Portrait--Manners of the Irish--Chronograms and
Anagrams--"Haul over the Coals,"--Sheer Hulk--
The Magnet--Fierce--Connexion between the
Celtic and Latin Languages--Acharis, &c. 276
MISCELLANEOUS:--
Notes on Books, &c. 282
Books and Odd Volumes wanted 282
Notices to Correspondents 282
Advertisements 283
* * * * *
OUR SHAKSPEARIAN CORRESPONDENCE.
We have received from a valued and kind correspondent (not one of those
emphatically good-natured friends so wittily described by Sheridan) the
following temperate remonstrance against the tone which has distinguished
several of our recent articles on Shakspeare:--
_Shakspeare Suggestions_ (Vol. viii., pp. 124. 169.).--
"Most busy, when least I do."
I am grateful to A. E. B. for referring me to the article on "Shakspeare
Criticism" in the last number of _Blackwood's Magazine_. It
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by The Internet Archive)
┌────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ │
│ Transcriber’s Notes │
│ │
│ │
│ Punctuation has been standardized. │
│ │
│ Characters in small caps have been replaced by all caps. │
│ │
│ The symbol ‘‡’ indicates the description in parenthesis has │
│ been added to an illustration. This may be needed if there │
│ is no caption or if the caption does not describe the image │
│ adequately. │
│ │
│ The page numbers from the original book are shown in braces │
│ {} for reference purposes. │
│ │
│ Non-printable characteristics have been given the following │
│ transliteration: │
│ Italic text: --> _text_ │
│ superscripts --> x{th} │
│ │
│ This book was written in a period when many words had │
│ not become standardized in their spelling. Words may have │
│ multiple spelling variations or inconsistent hyphenation in │
│ the text. These have been left unchanged unless indicated │
│ with a Transcriber’s Note. │
│ │
│ Footnotes are identified in the text with a number in │
│ brackets [2] and have been accumulated in a single section │
│ at the end of the text. │
│ │
│ Transcriber’s Notes are used when making corrections to the │
│ text or to provide additional information for the modern │
│ reader. These notes are not identified in the text, but have │
│ been accumulated in a single section at the end of the book. │
│ │
└────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘
Illustration: Engraved by J. Cochran.
JAMES STUART, EARL OF MURRAY.
FROM THE ORIGINAL IN THE COLLECTION AT
HOLYROOD PALACE, EDINBURGH.
_Published by W. Blackwood, Edinburgh, April 10, 1831._
{i}
LIFE
OF
JOHN KNOX:
CONTAINING
ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE HISTORY OF
THE REFORMATION IN SCOTLAND.
WITH BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES OF THE PRINCIPAL REFORMERS,
AND SKETCHES OF THE PROGRESS OF LITERATURE IN
SCOTLAND DURING THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY;
AND
AN APPENDIX,
CONSISTING OF ORIGINAL PAPERS.
BY
THOMAS M‘CRIE, D.D.
THE FIFTH EDITION.
VOL. II.
WILLIAM BLACKWOOD, EDINBURGH; AND
T. CADELL, STRAND, LONDON.
MDCCCXXXI.
{ii}
EDINBURGH:
PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND COMPANY,
PAUL’S WORK, CANONGATE.
{iii}
CONTENTS
OF
VOLUME SECOND.
PERIOD SEVENTH.
Knox resumes his situation in Edinburgh――urges the settlement
of ecclesiastical polity――aversion to this on the part
of the nobles――Knox is employed in compiling the Book of
Discipline――this is approved by General Assembly and subscribed
by greater part of Privy Council――sketch of the form and
order of the reformed church of Scotland――attention to
education――avarice of the nobility――influence of the Reformation
on literature――introduction of Hebrew into Scotland――John
Row――return of Buchanan――remarks on Mr Hume’s representation
of the rudeness of Scotland――literary hours in a
Scottish minister’s family――cultivation of the vernacular
language――David Ferguson――First General Assembly――Knox
loses his wife――corresponds with Calvin――his anxiety for
the safety of the reformed church――Queen Mary arrives in
Scotland――her education――her fixed determination to restore
popery――alarm excited by her setting up of mass――behaviour of
Knox on this occasion――remarks on this――sanguinary spirit and
proceedings of Roman Catholics――hostile intentions of the Queen
against Knox――first interview between them――Knox’s opinion of
her character――his austerity and vehemence useful――he vindicates
the right of holding ecclesiastical assemblies――inveighs
against the inadequate provision made for the ministers of
the church――his own stipend――attention of town‑council to his
support and accommodation――he installs two superintendents――is
employed in reconciling the nobility――the Queen is offended at
one of his sermons――second interview between them――his great
labours in Edinburgh――he obtains a colleague――incidents
in the {iv} life of John Craig――the Prior of St Andrew’s
created Earl of Murray, and made prime minister――insurrection
under Huntly――conduct of Knox on that occasion――Quintin
Kennedy――dispute between him and Knox――Ninian
Wingate――excommunication of Paul Methven――reflections on the
severity of the protestant discipline――third interview between
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UTOPIA OF USURERS AND OTHER ESSAYS
By Gilbert Keith Chesterton
CONTENTS
A Song of Swords
Utopia of Usurers
I. Art and Advertisement
II. Letters and the New Laureates
III. Unbusinesslike Business
IV. The War on Holidays
V. The Church of the Servile State
VI. Science and the Eugenists
VII. The Evolution of the Prison
VIII. The Lash for Labour
IX. The Mask of Socialism
The Escape
The New Raid
The New Name
A Workman's History of England
The French Revolution and the Irish
Liberalism: A Sample
The Fatigue of Fleet Street
The Amnesty for Aggression
Revive the Court Jester
The Art of Missing the Point
The Servile State Again
The Empire of the Ignorant
The Symbolism of Krupp
The Tower of Bebel
A Real Danger
The Dregs of Puritanism
The Tyranny of Bad Journalism
The Poetry of the Revolution
A SONG OF SWORDS
"A drove of cattle came into a village called Swords;
and was stopped by the rioters."--Daily Paper.
In the place called Swords on the Irish road
It is told for a new renown
How we held the horns of the cattle, and how
We will hold the horns of the devils now
Ere the lord of hell with the horn on his brow
Is crowned in Dublin town.
Light in the East and light in the West,
And light on the cruel lords,
On the souls that suddenly all men knew,
And the green flag flew and the red flag flew,
And many
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Project Gutenberg's Mohammed Ali and His House, by Louise Muhlbach
Translated from German by Chapman Coleman.
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Title: Mohammed Ali and His House
Author: Louise Muhlbach
Author: Luise Muhlbach
Author: Luise von Muhlbach
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[And there is an umlaut [ " ] over the u in Muhlbach]
Translator: from German by Chapman Coleman
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HOGAN, THE WICKEDEST MAN IN THE WORLD***
E-text prepared by 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 44282-h.htm or 44282-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/44282/44282-h/44282-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/44282/44282-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/lifeadventuresof00hoga
THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF BEN HOGAN
[Illustration: _BEN HOGAN._]
THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF BEN HOGAN, THE WICKEDEST MAN IN THE WORLD.
Containing a Full Account of His Thrilling and Remarkable
Experiences, Together with a Complete Report of His Triumphs in
the Prize Ring, and His Career in the Oil Regions, in The Far West,
and on the Sea.
Illustrated with over Twenty Engravings.
Written, Under Mr. Hogan's Immediate Supervision, by
GEORGE FRANCIS TRAINER.
Copyright, 1878, by Ben Hogan.
PREFACE.
The writer of these pages desires it understood that he has acted simply
in the capacity of an amanuensis for Mr. Ben Hogan. The statements,
opinions, incidents, revelations and views are all the latter gentleman's.
It should be further explained that Mr. Hogan, and no one else, is
responsible alike for the contents and publication of this volume.
This explicit statement is called forth by a sense of justice; for the
writer himself would be very loath to lay claim to any of the brilliancy,
wit, or delicacy in the choice of subjects which may be found in this
book. The honor of all these belongs exclusively to Mr. Hogan.
GEORGE FRANCIS TRAINER.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
Early Life--Arrival in America--How he Avenged the Robbery
of his Father--Mysterious Disappearance of the Old Jew--In
the House of Refuge--Seafaring Life--Beginning of his
Boxing Career 17
CHAPTER II.
A Remarkable Game of Poker, and What Came of it--Ben as a
Pirate--Fast Life in New York--How he gave a Combination
Show in Oswego 29
CHAPTER III.
A Southern Trip--Experiences in New Orleans and Mobile--
Three Men Put Under the Sod by Ben's Bullets 39
CHAPTER IV.
Ben as a Spy in both the Union and Confederate Armies--The
Buried Treasure--How he Fooled the Captain--At Port Royal
and Newbern--Bounty-Jumping 45
CHAPTER V.
Ben in Canada--He goes West again--Adventures in
Cincinnati, Nashville, and Louisville--How he Sold the
<DW52> Troops--Sets out for the Oil Regions 54
CHAPTER VI.
First Appearance in the Oil Country--Dance House in
Pitthole--French Kate--Babylon House--Fight with Bob
Donnelly--His Explanation in Court of the Character of his
House 62
CHAPTER VII.
Attempt to Rob Ben--How he became a Minister and Married a
Couple--A Jolly Wedding--French Kate Jealous 76
CHAPTER VIII.
Attempt to Murder Ben in Babylon--He Shoots a Man and is
Arrested--Frightens the Witnesses and Prevents Perjury--Is
Acquitted 82
CHAPTER IX.
Leaves Oil Country--In Saratoga--Arrested on False
Reports--Goes back to Tidioute--In Rochester--First
Meeting with Cummings 86
CHAPTER X.
The Gymnasium Business--Life in Rochester--First Meeting
of Hogan and Tom Allen--A Disgraceful Affair 94
CHAPTER XI.
How Ben Treated the Deputy Sheriff--Annie Gibbons, the
Pedestrian--Ben goes to Pittsburgh and Meets Mr. Green 102
CHAPTER XII.
Ben in St. Louis--First Entree into Parker's Landing--
Opens a Free-and-Easy--Trouble with the Authorities 113
CHAPTER XIII.
The "Floating Palace"--A Wonderful Institution--The Girls
and the Patrons--Scenes of Revelry--How Nights were
Passed--The Loss of the "Palace" 118
CHAPTER XIV.
Return to Parker's Landing--His Three Years' Sojourn in
that Town--Adventures and Incidents--
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Produced by Tor Martin Kristiansen, Margo von Romberg,
Michael and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net. This book was produced from scanned
images of public domain material, including material from
the Google Print project. Map reproduced by permission of
the Trustees of the National Library of Scotland.
[Illustration: FLOWERDALE HOUSE, GAIRLOCH,
WEST COAST RESIDENCE OF THE BARONETS OF GAIRLOCH.]
GAIRLOCH
IN NORTH-WEST ROSS-SHIRE
ITS RECORDS, TRADITIONS, INHABITANTS, AND NATURAL HISTORY
WITH A
GUIDE TO GAIRLOCH AND LOCH MAREE
AND A MAP AND ILLUSTRATIONS
By JOHN H. DIXON, F.S.A. Scot.
INCLUDING CHAPTERS BY
_WILLIAM JOLLY, F.G.S., F.R.S.E.; THE REV. JOHN McMURTRIE, M.A.;
AND PROFESSOR W. IVISON MACADAM, F.C.S., F.I.C., M.M.S., &c.,
EDINBURGH_
EDINBURGH
CO-OPERATIVE PRINTING COMPANY LIMITED
1886
[_Entered at Stationers' Hall._]
EDINBURGH
CO-OPERATIVE PRINTING COMPANY LIMITED,
BRISTO PLACE.
TO
_SIR KENNETH S. MACKENZIE_,
SIXTH BARONET AND THIRTEENTH LAIRD OF GAIRLOCH,
AND
HER MAJESTY'S LIEUTENANT OF ROSS-SHIRE,
Is Dedicated
THIS ACCOUNT OF THE ROMANTIC HIGHLAND PARISH
WITH WHICH, DURING FOUR CENTURIES,
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Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by Google Books
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source:
http://books.google.com/books?pg=PA381&id=12YTAAAAYAAJ#v=onepage&q&f=false
2. Diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
3. Footnotes are at the end of the book.
BLACK FOREST
VILLAGE STORIES
BY
BERTHOLD AUERBACH
TRANSLATED BY
CHARLES GOEPP
AUTHOR'S EDITION
_Illustrated with Facsimiles of the original
German Woodcuts._
NEW YORK
LEYPOLDT & HOLT
1869
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869, by
LEYPOLDT & HOLT,
In the Clerk's office of the District Court of the United States
for the Southern District of New York.
BLACK FOREST
VILLAGE STORIES.
THE GAWK
I see you now, my fine fellow, as large as life, with your yellow hair
cropped very short, except in the neck, where a long tail remains as if
you had cut yourself after the pattern of a plough-horse. You are
staring straight at me with your broad visage, your great blue goggle
eyes, and your mouth which is never shut. Do you remember the morning
we met in the hollow where the new houses stand now, when you cut me a
willow-twig to make a whistle of? We little thought then that I should
come to pipe the world a song about you when we should be thousands of
miles apart. I remember your costume perfectly, which is not very
surprising, as there is nothing to keep in mind but a shirt, red
suspenders, and a pair of linen pantaloons dyed black to guard against
all contingencies. On Sunday you were more stylish: then you wore a fur
cap with a gold tassel,
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Produced by D Alexander, Mary Meehan, The Internet Archive
(TIA) and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
THE WOLF-CUB
_A NOVEL OF SPAIN_
BY PATRICK and TERENCE CASEY
_WITH FRONTISPIECE BY
H. WESTON TAYLOR_
BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN AND COMPANY
1918
_Copyright, 1918_,
BY PATRICK AND TERENCE CASEY
_All rights reserved_
Published, January, 1918
[Illustration: "It is my officer, my parent!" whispered the young
policeman]
THE WOLF-CUB
CHAPTER I
When Jacinto Quesada was yet a very little Spaniard, his father kissed
him upon both cheeks and upon the brow, and went away on an enterprise
of forlorn desperation.
On a great rock at the brink of the village Jacinto Quesada stood with
his weeping mother, and together they watched the somber-faced
mountaineer hurry down the mountainside. He was bound for that hot,
sandy No Man's Land which lies between the British outpost, Gibraltar,
and sunburned, haggard, tragic Spain. The two dogs, Pepe and Lenchito,
went with him. They were pointers, retrievers. For months they had been
trained in the work they were to do. In all Spain there were no more
likely dogs for smuggling contraband.
The village, where Jacinto Quesada lived with his peasant mother, was
but a short way below the snow-line in the wild Sierra Nevada. Behind it
the Picacho de la Veleta lifted its craggy head; off to the northeast
bulked snowy old "Muley Hassan" Cerro de Mulhacen, the highest peak of
the peninsula; and all about were the bleak spires of lesser mountains,
boulder-strewn defiles, moaning dark gorges. The village was called
Minas de la Sierra.
The mother took the little Jacinto by the hand and led him to the
village chapel. She knelt before the dingy altar a long time. Then she
lit a blessed candle and prayed again. And then she handed the wick
dipped in oil to Jacinto and said:
"Light a candle for thy father, tiny one."
"But why should I light a candle for our Juanito, _mamacita_?"
"It is that Our Lady of the Sorrows and the Great Pity will not let him
be killed by the men of the _Guardia Civil_!"
"Men do not kill unless they hate. Do the men of the Guardia Civil hate,
then, the _pobre padre_ of me and the sweet husband of thee,
_mamacita_?"
"It is not the hate, child! The men of the Guardia Civil kill any
breaker of the laws they discover guilty-handed. It is the way they keep
the peace of Spain."
"But our Juanito is not a lawbreaker, little mother. He is no _lagarto_,
no lizard, no sly tricky one. He is an honest man."
"Hush, _nino_! There are no honest men left in Spain. They all have
starved to death. Thy father has become a _contrabandista_ And if it be
the will of the good God, and if Pepe and Lenchito be shrewd to skulk
through the shadows of night and swift to run past the policemen on
watch, we will have sausages and _garbanzos_ to eat, and those little
legs of thine will not be the puny reeds they are now. _Ojala!_ they
will be round and pudgy with fat!"
The men of Minas de la Sierra were all woodchoppers and
_manzanilleros_--gatherers of the white-flowered _manzanilla_. Their
fathers had been woodchoppers and manzanilleros before them. But too
persistently and too long, altogether too long, had the trees been cut
down and the manzanilla harvested. The mountains had grown sterile,
barren, bald. Not so many cords of Spanish pine were sledded down the
mountain <DW72>s as on a time; not so many men burdened beneath great
loads of manzanilla went down into the city of Granada to sell in the
market place that which was worth good silver pesetas.
There are no deer in the Sierra Nevada--neither red, fallow, nor roe.
There are no wild boar. There is only the Spanish ibex. And what poor
_serrano_ can provision his good wife and his _cabana_ full of lusty
brats by hunting the Spanish ibex? He has but one weapon--the ancient
muzzle-loading smooth-bore. And the ibex speeds like a chill glacial
wind across the snow fields and craggy solitudes, and only a man armed
with a cordite repeater can hope to bring him down.
Soon descended the mountains only men who had turned their backs upon
Minas de la Sierra and who thought to leave behind forever the bleak
peaks and the wind-swept gorges
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Produced by Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net/ for Project
Gutenberg (This book was produced from scanned images of
public domain material from the Google Print project.)
SAMBOE;
OR,
THE AFRICAN BOY.
BY THE AUTHOR OF
"Twilight Hours Improved," &c. &c.
And man, where Freedom's beams and fountains rise,
Springs from the dust, and blossoms to the skies.
Dead to the joys of light and life, the slave
Clings to the clod; his root is in the grave.
Bondage is winter, darkness, death, despair;
Freedom the sun, the sea, the mountain, and the air!
Montgomery.
London:
PRINTED FOR HARVEY AND DARTON,
GRACECHURCH-STREET.
1823.
TO
WILLIAM WILBERFORCE, Esq.
M. P.
THIS SMALL VOLUME,
DIFFIDENTLY AIMING TO SERVE THE CAUSE OF HUMANITY
IS,
BY HIS KIND PERMISSION
TO GIVE IT THE SANCTION OF HIS NAME,
HUMBLY DEDICATED;
WITH EVERY SENTIMENT OF UNFEIGNED VENERATION
AND RESPECT FOR HIS
EXALTED PATRIOTIC AND PRIVATE VIRTUES,
And grateful acknowledgment
OF HIS CONDESCENSION, IN HONOURING WITH HIS
ATTENTION THE HUMBLE EFFORTS OF
THE AUTHOR.
ADVERTISEMENT.
It has been justly remarked, "that all who read may become
enlightened;" for readers, insensibly imbibing the sentiments of
others, and having their own latent sensibilities called forth,
contract, progressively, virtuous inclinations and habits; and thereby
become fitted to unite with their fellow-beings, in the removal or
amelioration of any of the evils of life. With a full conviction
of this, I have attempted, and now offer to my young readers, the
present little work. To the rising generation, I am told, the great
question of the slave-trade is little known; the abolition of it, by
our legislature, having taken place either before many of them existed,
or at too early a period of their lives to excite any interest. Present
circumstances, however, in reference to the subject, ensure for it
an intense interest, in every heart feeling the blessing of freedom
and all the sweet charities of home; blessings which it is our care
to dispose the youthful heart duly to appreciate, and hence to feel
for those, deprived, by violence and crime, of these high privileges
of man.
It is true, England has achieved the triumph of humanity, in effacing
from her Christian character so dark a stain as a traffic in human
beings; a commerce, "the history of which is written throughout in
characters of blood." Yet there are but too strong evidences that
it is yet pursued to great and fearful extent by other nations,
notwithstanding the solemn obligations they have entered into to
suppress it; obligations "imposed on every Christian state, no less by
the religion it professes, than by a regard to its national honour;"
and notwithstanding it has been branded with infamy, at a solemn
congress of the great Christian powers, as a crime of the deepest
dye. Of this there has long been most abundant melancholy proof; yet,
under its present contraband character, it has been attended by, if
possible, unprecedented enormities and misery, as well as involving
the base and cruel agents of it in the further crime of deliberate
perjury, in order to conceal their nefarious employment.
Surely, then, no age can scarcely be too immature, in which to sow the
seeds of abhorrence in the young breast, against this blood-stained,
demoralizing commerce! Surely, no means, however trivial, should
be neglected, to arouse the spirit of youth against it! It would be
tedious, and, indeed, inconsistent with the brevity of this little
work, to name the number of the great and the good who have protested
against, and sacrificed their time and their treasure to abolish
it. Suffice it to say, that an apparently trifling incident first
aroused the virtuous energies of the ardent, persevering Clarkson, in
the great cause;--that a view of the produce of Africa, and proofs of
the ingenuity of Africans, kindled the fire of enthusiasm in the noble
and comprehensive mind of a Pitt. Nor did the flame quiver or become
dim while he was the pilot of the state, though he was not decreed to
see the success of perseverance in the cause of justice and humanity.
Let me, therefore, be acquitted of presumption, when I express a hope,
that, trifling as is the present work, yet, as the leading events
it records are not the creations of fancy, but realities that have
passed; that they have not been collected for effect, or uselessly
to awaken the feelings; but having been actually presented in the
pursuit
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Produced by Donald Lainson. HTML version by Al Haines.
THE WIND IN THE ROSE-BUSH
And Other Stories Of The Supernatural
By
Mary Wilkins
Contents
The Wind in the Rose-bush
The Shadows on the Wall
Luella Miller
The Southwest Chamber
The Vacant Lot
The Lost Ghost
THE WIND IN THE ROSE-BUSH
Ford Village has no railroad station, being on the other side of the
river from Porter's Falls, and accessible only by the ford which gives
it its name, and a ferry line.
The ferry-boat was waiting when Rebecca Flint got off the train with
her bag and lunch basket. When she and her small trunk were safely
embarked she sat stiff and straight and calm in the ferry-boat as it
shot swiftly and smoothly across stream. There was a horse attached to
a light country wagon on board, and he pawed the deck uneasily. His
owner stood near, with a wary eye upon him, although he was chewing,
with as dully reflective an expression as a cow. Beside Rebecca sat a
woman of about her own age, who kept looking at her with furtive
curiosity; her husband, short and stout and saturnine, stood near her.
Rebecca paid no attention to either of them. She was tall and spare
and pale, the type of a spinster, yet with rudimentary lines and
expressions of matronhood. She all unconsciously held her shawl, rolled
up in a canvas bag, on her left hip, as if it had been a child. She
wore a settled frown of dissent at life, but it was the frown of a
mother who regarded life as a froward child, rather than as
| 758.851994 | 3,687 |
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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
THE LIFEBOAT, BY R.M. BALLANTYNE.
CHAPTER ONE.
THE BEGINNING--IN WHICH SEVERAL IMPORTANT PERSONAGES ARE INTRODUCED.
There existed, not many years ago, a certain street near the banks of
old Father Thames which may be described as being one of the most modest
and retiring little streets in London.
The neighbourhood around that street was emphatically dirty and noisy.
There were powerful smells of tallow and tar in the atmosphere,
suggestive of shipping and commerce. Narrow lanes opened off the main
street affording access to wharves and warehouses, and presenting at
their termini segmentary views of ships' hulls, bowsprits, and booms,
with a background of muddy water and smoke. There were courts with
unglazed windows resembling doors, and massive cranes clinging to the
walls. There were yards full of cases and barrels, and great anchors
and chains, which invaded the mud of the river as far as was consistent
with safety; and adventurous little warehouses, which stood on piles, up
to the knees, as it were, in water, totally regardless of appearances,
and utterly indifferent as to catching cold. As regards the population
of this locality, rats were, perhaps, in excess of human beings; and it
might have been observed that the former were particularly frolicsome
and fearless.
Farther back, on the landward side of our unobtrusive street, commercial
and nautical elements were more mingled with things appertaining to
domestic life. Elephantine horses, addicted to good living, drew
through the narrow streets wagons and vans so ponderous and gigantic
that they seemed to crush the very stones over which they rolled, and
ran terrible risk of sweeping little children out of the upper windows
of the houses. In unfavourable contrast with these, donkeys, of the
most meagre and starved aspect, staggered along with cartloads of fusty
vegetables and dirty-looking fish, while the vendors thereof howled the
nature and value of their wares with deliberate ferocity. Low
pawnbrokers (chiefly in the "slop" line) obtruded their seedy wares from
doors and windows halfway across the pavement, as if to tempt the naked;
and equally low pastry-cooks spread forth their stale viands in unglazed
windows, as if to seduce the hungry.
Here the population was mixed and varied. Busy men of business and of
wealth, porters and wagoners, clerks and warehousemen, rubbed shoulders
with poor squalid creatures, men and women, whose business or calling no
one knew and few cared to know except the policeman on the beat, who,
with stern suspicious glances, looked upon them as objects of special
regard, and as enemies; except, also, the earnest-faced man in seedy
black garments, with a large Bible (_evidently_) in his pocket, who
likewise looked on them as objects of special regard, and as friends.
The rats were much more circumspect in this locality. They were what
the Yankees would call uncommonly "cute," and much too deeply intent on
business to indulge in play.
In the lanes, courts, and alleys that ran still farther back into the
great hive, there was an amount of squalor, destitution, violence, sin,
and misery, the depth of which was known only to the people who dwelt
there, and to those earnest-faced men with Bibles who made it their work
to cultivate green spots in the midst of such unpromising wastes, and to
foster the growth of those tender and beautiful flowers which sometimes
spring and flourish where, to judge from appearances, one might be
tempted to imagine nothing good could thrive. Here also there were
rats, and cats too, besides dogs of many kinds; but they all of them led
hard lives of it, and few appeared to think much of enjoying themselves.
Existence seemed to be the height of their ambition. Even the kittens
were depressed, and sometimes stopped in the midst of a faint attempt at
play to look round with a scared aspect, as if the memory of kicks and
blows was strong upon them.
The whole neighbourhood, in fact, teemed with sad yet interesting sights
and scenes, and with strange violent contrasts. It was not a spot which
one would naturally select for a ramble on a summer evening after
dinner; nevertheless it was a locality where time might have been
profitably spent, where a good lesson or two might have been learned by
those who have a tendency to "consider the poor."
But although the neighbourhood was dirty and noisy, our modest street,
which was at that time known by the name of Redwharf Lane, was
comparatively clean and quiet. True, the smell of tallow and tar could
not be altogether excluded, neither could the noises; but
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YALE UNIVERSITY
MRS. HEPSA ELY SILLIMAN MEMORIAL LECTURES
PROBLEMS OF GENETICS
SILLIMAN MEMORIAL LECTURES
PUBLISHED BY YALE UNIVERSITY PRESS
ELECTRICITY AND MATTER. _By_ JOSEPH JOHN THOMSON,
D.SC., LL.D., PH.D., F.R.S., _Fellow of Trinity College,
Cambridge, Cavendish Professor of Experimental Physics, Cambridge_.
_Price $1.25 net; postage 10 cents extra._
THE INTEGRATIVE ACTION OF THE NERVOUS SYSTEM.
_By_ CHARLES S. SHERRINGTON,
D.SC., M.D., HON. LL.D., TOR., F.R.S.,
_Holt Professor of Physiology in the University of Liverpool_.
_Price $3.50 net; postage 25 cents extra._
RADIOACTIVE TRANSFORMATIONS. _By_ ERNEST RUTHERFORD,
D.SC., LL.D., F.R.S., _Macdonald Professor of Physics,
McGill University_.
_Price $3.50 net; postage 22 cents extra._
EXPERIMENTAL AND THEORETICAL APPLICATIONS OF
THERMODYNAMICS TO CHEMISTRY.
_By_ DR. WALTHER NERNST, _Professor and Director of the
Institute of Physical Chemistry in the University of Berlin_.
_Price $1.25 net; postage 10 cents extra._
THE PROBLEMS OF GENETICS. _By_ WILLIAM BATESON, M.A.,
F.R.S., _Director of the John Innes Horticultural Institution,
Merton Park, Surrey, England_.
_Price $4.00 net; postage 25 cents extra._
STELLAR MOTIONS.
WITH SPECIAL REFERENCE TO MOTIONS DETERMINED BY MEANS OF
THE SPECTROGRAPH. _By_ WILLIAM WALLACE CAMPBELL, SC.D., LL.D.,
_Director of the Lick Observatory, University of California_.
_Price $4.00 net; postage 30 cents extra._
THEORIES OF SOLUTIONS. _By_ SVANTE AUGUST ARRHENIUS,
PH.D., SC.D., M.D., _Director of the Physico-Chemical
Department of the Nobel Institute, Stockholm, Sweden_.
_Price $2.25 net; postage 15 cents extra._
IRRITABILITY.
A PHYSIOLOGICAL ANALYSIS OF THE GENERAL EFFECT OF
STIMULI IN LIVING SUBSTANCES.
_By_ MAX VERWORN,
_Professor at Bonn Physiological Institute_.
_Price $3.50 net; postage 20 cents extra._
THE EVOLUTION OF MODERN MEDICINE.
_By_ SIR WILLIAM OSLER, BART., M.D., LL.D., SC.D.,
_Regius Professor of Medicine, Oxford University_.
_Price $3.00 net; postage 40 cents extra._
PROBLEMS OF GENETICS
BY
WILLIAM BATESON, M.A., F.R.S.
DIRECTOR OF THE JOHN INNES HORTICULTURAL INSTITUTION,
HON. FELLOW OF ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE,
AND FORMERLY PROFESSOR OF BIOLOGY IN THE UNIVERSITY
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS_
[Illustration]
NEW HAVEN: YALE UNIVERSITY PRESS
LONDON: HUMPHREY MILFORD
OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS
MCMXIII
Copyright, 1913
By YALE UNIVERSITY
First printed August, 1913, 1000 copies
[** Transcriber's Note:
Underscores "_" before and after a word or phrase indicate ITALICS
in the original text.
Hyphenation was used inconsistently by the author and has been
left as in the original text. ]
THE SILLIMAN FOUNDATION
In the year 1883 a legacy of about eighty-five thousand dollars was left
to the President and Fellows of Yale College in the city of New Haven,
to be held in trust, as a gift from her children, in memory of their
beloved and honored mother, Mrs. Hepsa Ely Silliman.
On this foundation Yale College was requested and directed to establish
an annual course of lectures designed to illustrate the presence and
providence, the wisdom and goodness of God, as manifested in the natural
and moral world. These were to be designated as the Mrs. Hepsa Ely
Silliman Memorial Lectures. It was the belief of the testator that any
orderly presentation of the facts of nature or history contributed
to the end of this foundation more effectively than any attempt to
emphasize the elements of doctrine or of creed; and he therefore
provided that lectures on dogmatic or polemical theology should be
excluded from the scope of this foundation, and that the subjects should
be selected rather from the domains of natural science and history,
giving special prominence to
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[Transcriber's note: _William Tell Told Again_ is two children's books
in one. One is a picture book--16 full-color illustrations by Philip
Dadd described in verse by John W. Houghton. The other is a humorous
novel by P. G. Wodehouse, based on the picture book. The novel has a
lengthier storyline, a more intricate plot, and more characterization.
The bound volume intermingled the picture book with the novel,
illustrations and poems appearing at regular intervals. Most pictures
and verses were distant from the page of the novel that they reflected.
For this text version, placeholders for the illustrations (with plate
numbers) have been inserted following the paragraph in the novel that
describes the events being illustrated. The verse descriptions of the
illustrations, labelled with plate numbers, have been moved to the end
of the novel, so as not to disrupt the story. Each verse also has an
illustration placeholder that includes the phrase from the novel shown
as a description on the List of Illustrations.]
[Illustration: Frontispiece]
WILLIAM TELL TOLD AGAIN
BY P. G. WODEHOUSE
1904
WITH
ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR BY PHILIP DADD
DESCRIBED IN VERSE BY JOHN W. HOUGHTON
[Dedication]
TO BIDDY O'SULLIVAN
FOR A CHRISTMAS PRESENT
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
SOMETIMES IT WAS ONLY A BIRD [Frontispiece]
GESSLER'S METHODS OF PERSUASION [Plate I]
THEY WOULD MARCH ABOUT, BEATING TIN CANS AND SHOUTING [Plate II]
AN EGG FLEW ACROSS THE MEADOW, AND BURST OVER LEUTHOLD'S SHOULDER
[Plate III]
"HERE! HI!" SHOUTED THE SOLDIERS, "STOP!" [Plate IV]
THEY SAW FRIESSHARDT RAISE HIS PIKE, AND BRING IT DOWN WITH ALL HIS
FORCE ON TELL'S HEAD [Plate V]
"LOOK HERE!" HE BEGAN. "LOOK THERE!" SAID FRIESSHARDT [Plate VI]
FRIESSHARDT RUSHED TO STOP HIM [Plate VII]
THE CROWD DANCED AND SHOUTED [Plate VIII]
"COME, COME, COME!" SAID GESSLER, "TELL ME ALL ABOUT IT" [Plate IX]
"I HAVE HERE AN APPLE" [Plate X]
THERE WAS A STIR OF EXCITEMENT IN THE CROWD [Plate XI]
A MOMENT'S SUSPENSE, AND THEN A TERRIFIC CHEER AROSE FROM THE
SPECTATORS [Plate XII]
"SEIZE THAT MAN!" HE SHOUTED [Plate XIII]
HE WAS LED AWAY TO THE SHORE OF THE LAKE [Plate XIV]
TELL'S SECOND ARROW HAD FOUND ITS MARK [Plate XV]
The Swiss, against their Austrian foes,
Had ne'er a soul to lead 'em,
Till Tell, as you've heard tell, arose
And guided them to freedom.
Tell's tale we tell again--an act
For which pray no one scold us--
This tale of Tell we tell, in fact,
As this Tell tale was told us.
WILLIAM TELL
CHAPTER I
Once upon a time, more years ago than anybody can remember, before the
first hotel had been built or the first Englishman had taken a
photograph of Mont Blanc and brought it home to be pasted in an album
and shown after tea to his envious friends, Switzerland belonged to the
Emperor of Austria, to do what he liked with.
One of the first things the Emperor did was to send his friend Hermann
Gessler to govern the country. Gessler was not a nice man, and it soon
became plain that he would never make himself really popular with the
Swiss. The point on which they disagreed in particular was the question
of taxes. The Swiss, who were a simple and thrifty people, objected to
paying taxes of any sort. They said they wanted to spend their money on
all kinds of other things. Gessler, on the other hand, wished to put a
tax on everything, and, being Governor, he did it. He made everyone who
owned a flock of sheep pay a certain sum of money to him; and if the
farmer sold his sheep and bought cows, he had to pay rather more money
to Gessler for the cows than he had paid for the sheep. Gessler also
taxed bread, and biscuits, and jam, and buns, and lemonade, and, in
fact, everything he could think of, till the people of Switzerland
determined to complain. They appointed Walter Fuerst, who had red hair
and looked fierce; Werner Sta
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YOU KNOW ME AL
RING W. LARDNER
YOU KNOW ME
AL
_A Busher's Letters_
BY
RING W. LARDNER
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
Copyright, 1916,
BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I A BUSHER'S LETTERS HOME 9
II THE BUSHER COMES BACK 45
III THE BUSHER'S HONEYMOON 83
IV A NEW BUSHER BREAKS IN 122
V THE BUSHER'S KID 166
VI THE BUSHER BEATS IT HENCE 208
YOU KNOW ME AL
YOU KNOW ME AL
CHAPTER I
A BUSHER'S LETTERS HOME
_Terre Haute, Indiana, September 6._
FRIEND AL: Well, Al old pal I suppose you seen in the paper where I
been sold to the White Sox. Believe me Al it comes as a surprise to
me and I bet it did to all you good old pals down home. You could of
knocked me over with a feather when the old man come up to me and says
Jack I've sold you to the Chicago Americans.
I didn't have no idea that anything like that was coming off. For five
minutes I was just dum and couldn't say a word.
He says We aren't getting what you are worth but I want you to go up to
that big league and show those birds that there is a Central League
on the map. He says Go and pitch the ball you been pitching down here
and there won't be nothing to it. He says All you need is the nerve and
Walsh or no one else won't have nothing on you.
So I says I would do the best I could and I thanked him for the
treatment I got in Terre Haute. They always was good to me here
and though I did more than my share I always felt that my work was
appresiated. We are finishing second and I done most of it. I can't
help but be proud of my first year's record in professional baseball
and you know I am not boasting when I say that Al.
Well Al it will seem funny to be up there in the big show when I never
was really in a big city before. But I guess I seen enough of life not
to be scared of the high buildings eh Al?
I will just give them what I got and if they don't like it they can
send me back to the old Central and I will be perfectly satisfied.
I didn't know anybody was looking me over, but one of the boys told me
that Jack Doyle the White Sox scout was down here looking at me when
Grand Rapids was here. I beat them twice in that serious. You know
Grand Rapids never had a chance with me when I was right. I shut them
out in the first game and they got one run in the second on account of
Flynn misjuging that fly ball. Anyway Doyle liked my work and he wired
Comiskey to buy me. Comiskey come back with an offer and they excepted
it. I don't know how much they got but anyway I am sold to the big
league and believe me Al I will make good.
Well Al I will be home in a few days and we will have some of the good
old times. Regards to all the boys and tell them I am still their pal
and not all swelled up over this big league business.
Your pal, JACK.
_Chicago, Illinois, December 14._
Old Pal: Well Al I have not got much to tell you. As you know Comiskey
wrote me that if I was up in Chi this month to drop in and see him. So
I got here Thursday morning and went to his office in the afternoon.
His office is out to the ball park and believe me its some park and
some office.
I went in and asked for Comiskey and a young fellow says He is not here
now but can I do anything for you? I told him who I am and says I had
an engagement to see Comiskey. He says The boss is out of town hunting
and did I have to see him personally?
I says I wanted to
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
Transcriber’s Note:
This version of the text cannot represent certain typographical effects.
Italics are delimited as _italic_. Bold font is delimited as =bold=.
Minor errors, attributable to the printer, have been corrected. Please
see the transcriber’s note at the end of this text for details regarding
the handling of any textual issues encountered during its preparation.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------------------------------
=The Island of Fantasy=
A Romance
------------------------------------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------------------------------
By FERGUS HUME
------------------------------------------------------------------------
_Author of “When I Lived In Bohemia,” “The Mystery of a Hansom Cab,”
“The Man Who Vanished,” etc_.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sorrow and weariness,
Heartache and dreariness,
None should endure;
Scale ye the mountain peak,
Vale ’o the fountain seek,
There is the cure.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------------------------------
_R. F. FENNO & COMPANY_
9 and 11 East Sixteenth Street, New York
1905
------------------------------------------------------------------------
COPYRIGHT, 1892,
BY
UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY
---
[_All rights reserved_]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE ISLAND OF FANTASY.
------------------------------------
CHAPTER I.
A MIND DISEASED.
Your Eastern drugs, your spices, your perfumes,
Are all in vain;
They cannot snatch my soul from out its glooms,
Nor soothe the brain.
My mind is dark as cycle-sealèd tombs,
And must remain
In darkness till the light of God illumes
Its black inane.
It was eight o’clock on a still summer evening, and, the ladies having
retired, two men were lingering in a pleasant, indolent fashion over
their wine in the dining-room of Roylands Grange. To be exact, only the
elder gentleman was paying any attention to his port, for the young man
who sat at the head of the table stared vaguely on his empty glass, and
at his equally empty plate, as if his thoughts were miles away, which
was precisely the case. Youth was moody, age was cheerful, for, while
the former indulged in a brown study, the latter cracked nuts and sipped
wine, with a just appreciation of the excellence of both. Judging from
this outward aspect of things, there was something wrong with Maurice
Roylands, for if reverend age in the presentable person of Rector
Carriston could be merry, there appeared to be no very feasible reason
why unthinking youth should be so ineffably dreary. Yet woe was writ
largely on the comely face of the moody young man, and he joined but
listlessly in the jocund conversation of his companion, which was
punctuated in a very marked manner by the cracking of filberts.
Outside, a magical twilight brooded over the landscape, and the chill
odors of eve floated from a thousand sleeping flowers into the mellow
atmosphere of the room, which was irradiated by the soft gleam of many
wax candles rising white and slender from amid the pale roses adorning
the dinner-table. All was pleasant, peaceful, and infinitely charming;
yet Maurice Roylands, aged thirty, healthy, wealthy, and not at all
bad-looking, sat moodily frowning at his untasted dessert, as though he
bore the weight of the world on his shoulders.
In truth, Mr. Roylands, with the usual self-worship of latter-day youth,
thought he was being very hardly treated by Destiny, as that
all-powerful goddess had given him everything calculated to make a
mortal happy, save the capability of being happy. This was undeniably
hard, and might be called the very irony of fate, for one might as well
offer a sumptuous banquet to a dyspeptic, as give a man all the means of
enjoyment, without the faculty of taking advantage of such good fortune.
Roylands had considerable artistic power, an income of nearly six
thousand a year, a fine house, friends innumerable—of the summer season
sort; yet he neither cared about nor valued these blessings, for the
simple reason that he was heartily sick of them, one and all. He would
have been happier digging a patch of ground for his daily bread, than
thus idling through life on an independent income, for Ennui, twin
sister of Care, had taken possession of his soul, and in the midst of
all his comforts he was thoroughly unhappy.
The proverb that “The rich are more miserable than the poor,” is but a
trite one on which to preach a sermon, for did not Solomon say all that
there was to be said in the matter? It was an easier task to write a new
play on the theme of Hamlet, than to compose a novel discourse on the
“All is vanity” text; for on some subjects the final word has been said,
and he who preaches thereon says nothing new, but only repeats the ideas
of former orators, who in their turn doubtless reiterated the sayings of
still earlier preachers, and so on back to Father Adam, to whom the wily
serpent possibly delivered a sermon on the cynically wise saying
illustrated so exhaustively
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Old-World Japan
Legends of the Land of the
Gods + + Re-told by Frank
Rinder + With Illustrations
by T. H. Robinson
"The spirit of Japan is as the
fragrance of the wild cherry-blossom
in the dawn of the
rising sun"
London: George Allen
156 Charing Cross Road
1895
Old-World Japan
[Illustration: Publisher's device]
Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson & Co.
At the Ballantyne Press
Preface
History and mythology, fact and fable, are closely interwoven in the
texture of Japanese life and thought; indeed, it is within relatively
recent years only that exact comparative criticism has been able, with
some degree of accuracy, to divide the one from the other. The
accounts of the God-period contained in the Kojiki and the
Nihongi--"Records of Ancient Matters" compiled in the eighth century
of the Christian era--profess to outline the events of the vast cycles
of years from the time of Ame-no-mi-naka-nushi-no-kami's birth in the
Plain of High Heaven, "when the earth, young and like unto floating
oil, drifted about medusa-like," to the death of the Empress Suiko,
A.D. 628.
The first six tales in this little volume are founded on some of the
most significant and picturesque incidents of this God-period. The
opening legend gives a brief relation of the birth of several of the
great Shinto deities, of the creation of Japan and of the world, of
the Orpheus-like descent of Izanagi to Hades, and of his subsequent
fight with the demons.
That Chinese civilisation has exercised a profound influence on that
of Japan, cannot be doubted. A scholar of repute has indicated that
evidence of this is to be found even in writings so early as the
Kojiki and the Nihongi. To give a single instance only: the curved
jewels, of which the remarkable necklace of Ama-terasu was made, have
never been found in Japan, whereas the stones are not uncommon in
China.
This is not the place critically to consider the wealth of myth,
legend, fable, and folk-tale to be found scattered throughout Japanese
literature, and represented in Japanese art: suffice it to say, that
to the student and the lover of primitive romance, there are here
vast fields practically unexplored.
The tales contained in this volume have been selected with a view
rather to their beauty and charm of incident and colour, than with the
aim to represent adequately the many-sided subject of Japanese lore.
Moreover, those only have been chosen which are not familiar to the
English-reading public. Several of the classic names of Japan have
been interpolated in the text. It remains to say that, in order not to
weary the reader, it has been found necessary to abbreviate the
many-syllabled Japanese names.
The sources from which I have drawn are too numerous to particularise.
To Professor Basil Hall Chamberlain, whose intimate and scholarly
knowledge of all matters Japanese is well known, my thanks are
especially due, as also the expression of my indebtedness to other
writers in English, from Mr. A. B. Mitford to Mr. Lafcadio Hearn,
whose volumes on "Unfamiliar Japan" appeared last year. The careful
text of Dr. David Brauns, and the studies of F. A. Junker von
Langegg, have also been of great service. The works of numerous French
writers on Japanese art have likewise been consulted with advantage.
FRANK RINDER.
Contents
PAGE
THE BIRTH-TIME OF THE GODS 1
THE SUN-GODDESS 15
THE HEAVENLY MESSENGERS 25
PRINCE RUDDY-PLENTY 35
THE PALACE OF THE OCEAN-BED 45
AUTUMN AND SPRING 57
THE STAR-LOVERS 67
THE ISLAND OF ETERNAL YOUTH 77
RAI-TARO, THE SON OF THE THUNDER-GOD 87
THE SOULS OF THE CHILDREN 97
THE MOON-MAIDEN 103
THE GREAT FIR TREE OF TAKASAGO 113
THE WILLOW OF MUKOCHIMA 121
THE CHILD OF THE FOREST 129
THE VISION OF TSUNU 141
PRINCESS FIRE-FLY 151
THE SPARROW'S WEDDING 161
THE LOVE OF THE SNOW-WHITE FOX 171
NEDZUMI 181
KOMA AND GON 189
List of Illustrations
PAGE
Heading to "The Birth-Time of the Gods" 3
_When he had so said, he plunged his jewelled spear
into the seething mass below_ 5
Heading to "The Sun-Goddess" 17
_Ama-terasu gazed into the mirror, and wondered greatly
when she saw therein a goddess of exceeding beauty_ 21
Heading to "The Heavenly Messengers" 27
_As the Young Prince alighted on the sea-shore, a
beautiful earth-spirit, Princess Under-Shining,
stood before him_ 29
Heading to "Prince Ruddy-Plenty" 37
_But the fair Uzume went fearlessly up to the giant,
and said: "Who is it that thus impedes our descent
from heaven?"_ 39
Heading to "The Palace of the Ocean-Bed" 47
_Suddenly she saw the reflection of Prince Fire-Fade
in the water_ 51
Heading to "Autumn and Spring" 59
_One after the other returned sorrowfully home, for
none found favour in her eyes_ 63
Heading to "The Star Lovers" 69
_The lovers were wont, standing on the banks of the
celestial stream, to waft across it sweet and
tender messages_ 71
Heading to "The Island of Eternal Youth" 79
_Soon he came to its shores, and landed as one in a
dream_ 83
Heading to "Rai-Taro, the Son of the Thunder-God" 89
_The birth of Rai-taro_ 93
Heading to "The Souls of the Children" 99
Heading to "The Moon-Maiden" 105
_At one moment she skimmed the surface of the sea, the
next her tiny feet touched the topmost branches of
the tall pine trees_ 109
Heading to "The Great Fir Tree of Takasago" 115
Heading to "The Willow of Mukochima" 123
Heading to "The Child of the Forest" 131
_Kintaro reigned as prince of the forest, beloved of
every living creature_ 135
Heading to "The Vision of Tsunu" 143
_On a plot of mossy grass beyond the thicket, sat two
maidens of surpassing beauty_ 147
Heading to "Princess Fire-Fly" 153
_But the Princess whispered to herself, "Only he who
loves me more than life shall call me bride"_ 155
Heading to "The Sparrow's Wedding" 163
Heading to "The Love of the Snow-White Fox" 173
_With two mighty strokes, he felled his adversaries to
the ground_ 177
Heading to "Nedzumi" 183
Heading to "Koma and Gon" 191
The Birth-Time of the Gods
[Illustration: _The Birth-Time of the Gods_]
Before time was, and while yet the world was uncreated, chaos reigned.
The earth and the waters, the light and the darkness, the stars and
the firmament, were intermingled in a vapoury liquid. All things were
formless and confused. No creature existed; phantom shapes moved as
clouds on the ruffled surface of a sea. It was the birth-time of the
gods. The first deity sprang from an immense bulrush-bud, which rose,
spear-like, in the midst of the boundless disorder. Other gods were
born, but three generations passed before the actual separation of the
atmosphere from the more solid earth. Finally, where the tip of the
bulrush points upward, the Heavenly Spirits appeared.
From this time their kingdom was divided from the lower world where
chaos still prevailed. To the fourth pair of gods it was given to
create the earth. These two beings were the powerful God of the Air,
Izanagi, and the fair Goddess of the Clouds, Izanami. From them sprang
all life.
Now Izanagi and Izanami wandered on the Floating Bridge of Heaven.
This bridge spanned the gulf between heaven and the unformed world; it
was upheld in the air, and it stood secure. The God of the Air spoke
to the Goddess of the Clouds: "There must needs be a kingdom beneath
us, let us visit it." When he had so said, he plunged his jewelled
spear into the seething mass below. The drops that fell from the point
of the spear congealed and became the island of Onogoro. Thereupon
the Earth-Makers descended, and called up a high mountain peak, on
whose summit could rest one end of the Heavenly Bridge, and around
which the whole world should revolve.
[Illustration: When he had so said, he plunged his jewelled spear
into the seething mass below.]
The Wisdom of the Heavenly Spirit had decreed that Izanagi should be a
man, and Izanami a woman, and these two deities decided to wed and
dwell together on the earth. But, as befitted their august birth, the
wooing must be solemn. Izanagi skirted the base of the mountain to the
right, Izanami turned to the left. When the Goddess of the Clouds saw
the God of the Air approaching afar off, she cried, enraptured: "Ah,
what a fair and lovely youth!" Then Izanagi exclaimed, "Ah, what a
fair and lovely maiden!" As they met, they clasped hands, and the
marriage was accomplished. But, for some unknown cause, the union did
not prove as happy as the god and goddess had hoped. They continued
their work of creation, but Awaji, the island that rose from the deep,
was little more than a barren waste, and their first-born son, Hiruko,
was a weakling. The Earth-Makers placed him in a little boat woven of
reeds, and left him to the mercy of wind and tide.
In deep grief, Izanagi and Izanami recrossed the Floating Bridge, and
came
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LESLIE BROOKE'S
A NURSERY RHYME
[Illustration]
PICTURE BOOK
NUMBER
ONE
CHILDREN'S BOOKS
A NURSERY RHYME PICTURE BOOK
[Illustration]
A NURSERY RHYME
PICTURE BOOK
WITH DRAWINGS IN COLOUR
AND BLACK AND WHITE
BY
L. LESLIE BROOKE
[Illustration]
LONDON
FREDERICK WARNE & CO. LTD.
AND NEW YORK
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE MAN IN THE MOON.
The Man in the Moon
Came tumbling down,
And asked his way to Norwich;
[Illustration]
They told him south,
And he burnt his mouth
With eating cold pease-porridge.
[Illustration]
TO MARKET, TO MARKET.
To market, to market, to buy a fat Pig;
Home again, home again, dancing a jig.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
To market, to market, to buy a fat Hog;
Home again, home again, jiggety-jog.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THERE WAS A MAN.
There was a man, and he had nought,
And robbers came to rob him;
[Illustration]
He crept up to the chimney-pot,
[Illustration: AND THEN THEY THOUGHT THEY HAD HIM]
[Illustration: BUT HE GOT DOWN ON T'OTHER SIDE]
[Illustration]
And then they could not find him;
[Illustration]
He ran fourteen miles in fifteen days,
And never looked behind him.
[Illustration]
THE LION AND THE UNICORN.
The Lion and the Unicorn
Were fighting for the Crown;
The Lion beat the Unicorn
All round about the town.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
Some gave them white bread,
And some gave them brown;
Some gave them plum-cake,
And sent them out of town.
[Illustration]
LITTLE MISS MUFFET.
[Illustration]
Little Miss Muffet
Sat on a tuffet
Eating of curds and whey;
[Illustration]
There came a big Spider
And sat down beside her,
And frightened Miss Muffet away.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration: ORANGES AND LEMONS]
[Illustration]
ORANGES AND LEMONS.
_Gay go up, and gay go down
To ring the bells of London Town._
[Illustration]
Bull's eyes and targets,
Say the bells of St. Marg'ret's.
Brickbats and tiles,
Say the bells of St. Giles'.
Pancakes and fritters,
Say the bells of St. Peter's.
Two sticks and an apple,
Say the bells at Whitechapel.
[Illustration]
Halfpence and farthings,
Say the bells of St. Martin's.
[Illustration]
Oranges and Lemons,
Say the bells of St. Clement's.
[Illustration]
Old Father Baldpate,
Say the slow bells at Aldgate.
Pokers and tongs,
Say the bells of St. John's.
Kettles and pans,
Say the bells of St. Ann's.
You owe me ten shillings,
Say the bells at St. Helen's.
When will you pay me?
Say the bells at Old Bailey.
When I grow rich,
Say the bells at Shoreditch.
Pray when will that be?
Say the bells of Stepney.
[Illustration]
I am sure I don't know,
Says the great bell of Bow.
_Here comes a candle to light you to bed,
And here comes a chopper to chop off your head._
[Illustration]
GOOSEY, GOOSEY GANDER.
Goosey, Goosey Gander,
Where shall I wander?
[Illustration]
Upstairs, downstairs,
And in my lady's chamber.
[Illustration]
There I met an old man
That would not say his prayers:
I took him by the left leg,
And threw him downstairs.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
HUMPTY DUMPTY.
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall;
[Illustration]
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall;
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
All the King's horses and all
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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
Mayne Reid
A Memoir of his Life
By Elizabeth Reid
Published by Ward and Downey, 12 York Street, Convent Garden, London.
This edition dated 1890.
Mayne Reid, by Elizabeth Reid.
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
MAYNE REID, BY ELIZABETH REID.
CHAPTER ONE.
EARLY LIFE. EMIGRATION TO AMERICA. EDGAR ALLAN POE.
To most of the world, Captain Mayne Reid is known only as a writer of
thrilling romances and works on natural history. It will appear in
these pages that he was also distinguished as a man of action and a
soldier, and the record of his many gallant deeds should still further
endear him to the hearts of his readers.
He was born in the north of Ireland, in April, 1818, at Ballyroney,
county Down, the eldest son of the Reverend Thomas Mayne Reid,
Presbyterian minister, a man of great learning and ability. His mother
was the daughter of the Reverend Samuel Rutherford, a descendant of the
"hot and hasty Rutherford" mentioned in Sir Walter Scott's "Marmion."
One of Mayne Reid's frequent expressions was: "I have all the talent of
the Reids and all the deviltry of the Rutherfords." He certainly may be
said to have inherited at least the "hot and hasty temper" of his
mother's family, for his father, the Reverend Thomas Mayne Reid, was of
a most placid disposition, much beloved by his parishioners, and a
favourite alike with Catholics and Protestants. It used to be said of
him by the peasantry, "Mr Reid is so polite he would bow to the ducks."
Several daughters had been born to them before the advent of their
first son. He was christened Thomas Mayne, but in after life dropped
the Thomas, and was known only as Mayne Reid. Other sons and daughters
followed, but Mayne was the only one destined to figure in the world's
history.
Young Mayne Reid early evinced a taste for war. When a small boy he was
often found running barefooted along the road after a drum and fife
band, greatly to his mother's dismay. She chided him, saying, "What
will the folks think to see Mr Reid's son going about like this?" To
which young Mayne replied, "I don't care. I'd rather be Mr Drum than
Mr Reid."
It was the ardent wish of both parents that their eldest son should
enter the Church; and, at the age of sixteen, Mayne Reid was sent to
college to prepare for the ministry of the Presbyterian Church, but
after four years' study, it was found that his inclinations were
altogether opposed to this calling. He carried off prizes in
mathematics, classics, and elocution; distinguished himself in all
athletic sports; anything but theology. It is recorded, on one occasion
when called upon to make a prayer, he utterly failed, breaking down at
the first few sentences. It was called by his fellow-students "Reid's
wee prayer."
Captain Mayne Reid has been heard to say, "My mother would rather have
had me settle down as a minister, on a stipend of one hundred a year,
than know me to be the most famous man in history."
The good mother could never understand her eldest son's ambition; but
she was happy in seeing her second son, John, succeed his father as
pastor of Closkilt, Drumgooland.
In the month of January, 1810, Mayne Reid first set foot in the new
world--landing at New Orleans. We quote his own words: "Like other
striplings escaped from college, I was no longer happy at home. The
yearning for travel was upon me, and without a sigh I beheld
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Produced by Al Haines, prepared from scans obtained from
The Internet Archive.
STAND UP, YE DEAD
BY
NORMAN MACLEAN
HODDER AND STOUGHTON
LONDON -- NEW YORK -- TORONTO
MCMXVI
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_
DWELLERS IN THE MIST
HILLS OF HOME
CAN THE WORLD BE WON FOR CHRIST?
THE BURNT-OFFERING
AFRICA IN TRANSFORMATION
THE GREAT DISCOVERY
{v}
PREFACE
Two years ago the writer published a book called _The Great Discovery_.
It seemed to him in those days, when the nation chose the ordeal of
battle rather than dishonour, that the people, as if waking from sleep,
discovered God once more. But, now, after an agony unparalleled in the
history of the world, the vision of God has faded, and men are left
groping in the darkness of a great bewilderment. The cause may not be
far to seek. For every vision of God summons men to the girding of
themselves that they may bring their lives more into conformity with
His holy will. And when men decline the venture to which the vision
beckons, then the vision fades.
It is there that we have failed. We were called to put an end to
social evils {vi} which are sapping our strength and enfeebling our arm
in battle, but we refused. We wanted victory over the enemy, but we
deemed the price of moral surgery too great even for victory. In the
rush and crowding of world-shaking cataclysms, memory is short. We
have already almost forgotten the moral tragedy of
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Produced by Katherine Ward, Matthew Wheaton and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
IN MY NURSERY.
BY
LAURA E. RICHARDS,
AUTHOR OF
"THE JOYOUS STORY OF TOTO," "TOTO'S MERRY WINTER
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Produced by Charlene Taylor, Michael and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: The stranger raised his hat and said: "Permit me to ask
your name?" "Salome Owen. And yours, sir, is--" "Ulpian Gray." Page
10.--_Vashti._]
VASHTI
_or_ UNTIL DEATH US DO PART
By AUGUSTA EVANS WILSON
(Augusta J. Evans)
Author of "Beulah," "Macaria," "Infelice," "St. Elmo," "Inez," etc.,
etc.,
"There is nothing a man knows, in grief or in sin half so bitter as to
think, what I might have been."
A. L. BURT COMPANY, PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
Entered according to Act of Congress
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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 his examination in bankruptcy a Clacton monumental mason attributed
his failure to the healthfulness of the neighbourhood. Suggested motto
for Clacton funeral artists: "_ Si monumentum requiris_--go elsewhere."
* * *
Among probable forthcoming improvements at the Zoological Gardens is the
provision of a band on Sunday. But one great difficulty, we imagine,
will be to persuade the laughing hyena and certain other rowdy animals
not to take part in the performances.
* * *
The didactic drama is with us again, and this time we are to be taught
to feel affection for the unpopular. _Love Cheats_ is the hortatory
title of a play to be produced by Miss HORNIMAN'S company next month.
* * *
Mr. MARGAM JONES has written a volume entitled _Angels in Wales._
Nonconformists, we presume.
* * * * *
Illustration: THE NEW DRESS.
"Going along Oxford Street, are you? I should love to come with you, but
it would be a little hard on Bond Street. You see, I haven't shown it to
Bond Street
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