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Produced by Donald Lainson
LITTLE RIVERS
A BOOK OF ESSAYS IN PROFITABLE IDLENESS
by Henry Van <DW18>
"And suppose he takes nothing, yet he enjoyeth a delightful walk by
pleasant Rivers, in sweet Pastures, amongst odoriferous Flowers, which
gratifie his Senses, and delight his Mind; which Contentments induce
many (who affect not Angling) to choose those places of pleasure for
their summer Recreation and Health."
COL. ROBERT VENABLES, The Experienc'd Angler, 1662.
DEDICATION
To one who wanders by my side
As cheerfully as waters glide;
Whose eyes are brown as woodland streams,
And very fair and full of dreams;
Whose heart is like a mountain spring,
Whose thoughts like merry rivers sing:
To her--my little daughter Brooke--
I dedicate this little book.
CONTENTS
I. Prelude
II. Little Rivers
III. A Leaf of Spearmint
IV. Ampersand
V. A Handful of Heather
VI. The Ristigouche from a Horse-Yacht
VII. Alpenrosen and Goat's-Milk
VIII. Au Large
IX. Trout-Fishing in the Traun
X. At the sign of the Balsam Bough
XI. A Song after Sundown
PRELUDE
AN ANGLER'S WISH IN TOWN
When tulips bloom in Union Square,
And timid breaths of vernal air
Are wandering down the dusty town,
Like children lost in Vanity Fair;
When every long, unlovely row
Of westward houses stands aglow
And leads the eyes toward sunset skies,
Beyond the hills where green trees grow;
Then weary is the street parade,
And weary books, and weary trade:
I'm only wishing to go a-fishing;
For this the month of May was made.
I guess the pussy-willows now
Are creeping out on every bough
Along the brook; and robins look
For early worms behind the plough.
The thistle-birds have changed their dun
For yellow coats to match the sun;
And in the same array of flame
The Dandelion Show's begun.
The flocks of young anemones
Are dancing round the budding trees:
Who can help wishing to go a-fishing
In days as full of joy as these?
I think the meadow-lark's clear sound
Leaks upward slowly from the ground,
While on the wing the bluebirds ring
Their wedding-bells to woods around:
The flirting chewink calls his dear
Behind the bush; and very near,
Where water flows, where green grass grows,
Song-sparrows gently sing, "Good cheer:"
And, best of all, through twilight's calm
The hermit-thrush repeats his psalm:
How much I'm wishing to go a-fishing
In days so sweet with music's balm!
'Tis not a proud desire of mine;
I ask for nothing superfine;
No heavy weight, no salmon great,
To break the record, or my line:
Only an idle little stream,
Whose amber waters softly gleam,
Where I may wade, through woodland shade,
And cast the fly, and loaf, and dream:
Only a trout or two, to dart
From foaming pools, and try my art:
No more I'm wishing--old-fashioned fishing,
And just a day on Nature's heart.
1894.
LITTLE RIVERS
A river is the most human and companionable of all inanimate things.
It has a life, a character, a voice of its own, and is as full of good
fellowship as a sugar-maple is of sap. It can talk in various tones,
loud or low, and of many subjects, grave and gay. Under favourable
circumstances it will even make a shift to sing, not in a fashion that
can be reduced to notes and set down in black and white on a sheet of
paper, but in a vague, refreshing manner, and to a wandering air that
goes
"Over the hills and far away."
For real company and friendship, there is nothing outside of the animal
kingdom that is comparable to a river.
I will admit that a very good case can be made out in favour of some
other objects of natural affection. For example, a fair apology has been
offered by those ambitious persons who have fallen in love with the sea.
But, after all, that is a formless and disquieting passion. It lacks
solid comfort and mutual confidence. The sea is too big for loving, and
too uncertain. It will not fit into our thoughts. It has no personality
because it has so many. It is a salt abstraction. You might as well
think of loving a glittering generality like "the American woman." One
would be more to the purpose.
Mountains are more satisfying because they are more individual. It is
possible to feel a very strong attachment for a certain range whose
outline has grown familiar to our eyes, or a clear peak that has looked
down, day after day, upon our joys and sorrows, moderating our passions
with its calm aspect. We come back from our travels, and the sight of
such a well-known mountain is like meeting an old friend unchanged.
But it is a one-sided affection. The mountain is voiceless and
imperturbable; and its very loftiness and serenity sometimes make us the
more lonely.
Trees seem to come closer to our life. They are often rooted in our
richest feelings, and our sweetest memories, like birds, build nests
in their branches. I remember, the last time that I saw James Russell
Lowell, (only a few weeks before his musical voice was hushed,) he
walked out with me into the quiet garden at Elmwood to say good-bye.
There was a great horse-chestnut tree beside the house, towering above
the gable, and covered with blossoms from base to summit,--a pyramid of
green supporting a thousand smaller pyramids of white. The poet looked
up at it with his gray, pain-furrowed face, and laid his trembling hand
upon the trunk. "I planted the nut," said he, "from which this tree
grew. And my father was with me and showed me how to plant it."
Yes, there is a good deal to be said in behalf of tree-worship; and when
I recline with my friend Tityrus beneath the shade of his favourite oak,
I consent in his devotions. But when I invite him with me to share my
orisons, or wander alone to indulge the luxury of grateful, unlaborious
thought, my feet turn not to a tree, but to the bank of a river, for
there the musings of solitude find a friendly accompaniment, and human
intercourse is purified and sweetened by the flowing, murmuring water.
It is by a river that I would choose to make love, and to revive old
friendships, and to play with the children, and to confess my faults,
and to escape from vain, selfish desires, and to cleanse my mind from
all the false and foolish things that mar the joy and peace of living.
Like David's hart, I pant for the water-brooks. There is wisdom in the
advice of Seneca, who says, "Where a spring rises, or a river flows,
there should we build altars and offer sacrifices."
The personality of a river is not to be found in its water, nor in its
bed, nor in its shore. Either of these elements, by itself, would be
nothing. Confine the fluid contents of the noblest stream in a walled
channel of stone, and it ceases to be a stream; it becomes what
Charles Lamb calls "a mockery of a river--a liquid artifice--a wretched
conduit." But take away the water from the most beautiful river-banks,
and what is left? An ugly road with none to travel it; a long, ghastly
scar on the bosom of the earth.
The life of a river, like that of a human being, consists in the union
of soul and body, the water and the banks. They belong together. They
act and react upon each other. The stream moulds and makes the shore;
hollowing out a bay here, and building a long point there; alluring the
little bushes close to its side, and bending the tall slim trees over
its current; sweeping a rocky ledge clean of everything but moss, and
sending a still lagoon full of white arrow-heads and rosy knot-weed
far back into the meadow. The shore guides and controls the stream;
now detaining and now advancing it; now bending it in a hundred sinuous
curves, and now speeding it straight as a wild-bee on its homeward
flight; here hiding the water in a deep cleft overhung with green
branches, and there spreading it out, like a mirror framed in daisies,
to reflect the sky and the clouds; sometimes breaking it with sudden
turns and unexpected falls into a foam of musical laughter, sometimes
soothing it into a sleepy motion like the flow of a dream.
Is it otherwise with the men and women whom we know and like? Does not
the spirit influence the form, and the form affect the spirit? Can we
divide and separate them in our affections?
I am no friend to purely psychological attachments. In some unknown
future they may be satisfying, but in the present I want your words and
your voice with your thoughts, your looks and your gestures to interpret
your feelings. The warm, strong grasp of Greatheart's hand is as dear
to me as the steadfast fashion of his friendships; the lively, sparkling
eyes of the master of Rudder Grange charm me as much as the nimbleness
of his fancy; and the firm poise of the Hoosier Schoolmaster's shaggy
head gives me new confidence in the solidity of his views of life. I
like the pure tranquillity of Isabel's brow as well as her
"most silver flow
Of subtle-paced counsel in distress."
The soft cadences and turns in my lady Katrina's speech draw me into
the humour of her gentle judgments of men and things. The touches of
quaintness in Angelica's dress, her folded kerchief and smooth-parted
hair, seem to partake of herself, and enhance my admiration for the
sweet order of her thoughts and her old-fashioned ideals of love and
duty. Even so the stream and its channel are one life, and I cannot
think of the swift, brown flood of the Batiscan without its shadowing
primeval forests, or the crystalline current of the Boquet without
its beds of pebbles and golden sand and grassy banks embroidered with
flowers.
Every country--or at least every country that is fit for habitation--has
its own rivers; and every river has its own quality; and it is the
part of wisdom to know and love as many as you can, seeing each in the
fairest possible light, and receiving from each the best that it has
to give. The torrents of Norway leap down from their mountain home with
plentiful cataracts, and run brief but glorious races to the sea.
The streams of England move smoothly through green fields and beside
ancient, sleepy towns. The Scotch rivers brawl through the open moorland
and flash along steep Highland glens. The rivers of the Alps are born in
icy caves, from which they issue forth with furious, turbid waters; but
when their anger has been forgotten in the slumber of some blue lake,
they flow down more softly to see the vineyards of France and Italy,
the gray castles of Germany, the verdant meadows of Holland. The mighty
rivers of the West roll their yellow floods through broad valleys,
or plunge down dark canyons. The rivers of the South creep under dim
arboreal archways hung with banners of waving moss. The Delaware and
the Hudson and the Connecticut are the children of the Catskills and the
Adirondacks and the White Mountains, cradled among the forests of spruce
and hemlock, playing through a wild woodland youth, gathering strength
from numberless tributaries to bear their great burdens of lumber
and turn the wheels of many mills, issuing from the hills to water
a thousand farms, and descending at last, beside new cities, to the
ancient sea.
Every river that flows is good, and has something worthy to be loved.
But those that we love most are always the ones that we have known
best,--the stream that ran before our father's door, the current on
which we ventured our first boat or cast our first fly, the brook on
whose banks we first picked the twinflower of young love. However far we
may travel, we come back to Naaman's state of mind: "Are not Abana and
Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel?"
It is with rivers as it is with people: the greatest are not always the
most agreeable, nor the best to live with. Diogenes must have been an
uncomfortable bedfellow: Antinous was bored to death in the society
of the Emperor Hadrian: and you can imagine much better company for a
walking trip than Napoleon Bonaparte. Semiramis was a lofty queen, but I
fancy that Ninus had more than one bad quarter-of-an-hour with her: and
in "the spacious times of great Elizabeth" there was many a milkmaid
whom the wise man would have chosen for his friend, before the royal
red-haired virgin. "I confess," says the poet Cowley, "I love littleness
almost in all things. A little convenient Estate, a little chearful
House, a little Company, and a very little Feast, and if I were ever to
fall in Love again, (which is a great Passion, and therefore, I hope, I
have done with it,) it would be, I think, with Prettiness, rather than
with Majestical Beauty. I would neither wish that my Mistress, nor my
Fortune, should be a Bona Roba, as Homer uses to describe his Beauties,
like a daughter of great Jupiter for the stateliness and largeness of
her Person, but as Lucretius says:
'Parvula, pumilio, [Greek text omitted], tota merum sal.'"
Now in talking about women it is prudent to disguise a prejudice like
this, in the security of a dead language, and to intrench it behind
a fortress of reputable authority. But in lowlier and less dangerous
matters, such as we are now concerned with, one may dare to speak in
plain English. I am all for the little rivers. Let those who will, chant
in heroic verse the renown of Amazon and Mississippi and Niagara, but my
prose shall flow--or straggle along at such a pace as the prosaic
muse may grant me to attain--in praise of Beaverkill and Neversink
and Swiftwater, of Saranac and Raquette and Ausable, of Allegash and
Aroostook and Moose River. "Whene'er I take my walks abroad," it shall
be to trace the clear Rauma from its rise on the fjeld to its rest
in the fjord; or to follow the Ericht and the Halladale through the
heather. The Ziller and the Salzach shall be my guides through the
Tyrol; the Rotha and the Dove shall lead me into the heart of England.
My sacrificial flames shall be kindled with birch-bark along the wooded
stillwaters of the Penobscot and the Peribonca, and my libations drawn
from the pure current of the Ristigouche and the Ampersand, and my altar
of remembrance shall rise upon the rocks beside the falls of Seboomok.
I will set my affections upon rivers that are not too great for
intimacy. And if by chance any of these little ones have also become
famous, like the Tweed and the Thames and the Arno, I at least will
praise them, because they are still at heart little rivers.
If an open fire is, as Charles Dudley Warner says, the eye of a room;
then surely a little river may be called the mouth, the most expressive
feature, of a landscape. It animates and enlivens the whole scene. Even
a railway journey becomes tolerable when the track follows the course of
a running stream.
What charming glimpses you catch from the window as the train winds
along the valley of the French Broad from Asheville, or climbs the
southern Catskills beside the Aesopus, or slides down the Pusterthal
with the Rienz, or follows the Glommen and the Gula from Christiania to
Throndhjem. Here is a mill with its dripping, lazy wheel, the type of
somnolent industry; and there is a white cascade, foaming in silent
pantomime as the train clatters by; and here is a long, still pool with
the cows standing knee-deep in the water and swinging their tails in
calm indifference to the passing world; and there is a lone fisherman
sitting upon a rock, rapt in contemplation of the point of his rod.
For a moment you become a partner of his tranquil enterprise. You turn
around, you crane your neck to get the last sight of his motionless
angle. You do not know what kind of fish he expects to catch, nor what
species of bait he is using, but at least you pray that he may have a
bite before the train swings around the next curve. And if perchance
your wish is granted, and you see him gravely draw some unknown,
reluctant, shining reward of patience from the water, you feel like
swinging your hat from the window and crying out "Good luck!"
Little rivers seem to have the indefinable quality that belongs to
certain people in the world,--the power of drawing attention without
courting it, the faculty of exciting interest by their very presence and
way of doing things.
The most fascinating part of a city or town is that through which the
water flows. Idlers always choose a bridge for their place of meditation
when they can get it; and, failing that, you will find them sitting
on the edge of a quay or embankment, with their feet hanging over the
water. What a piquant mingling of indolence and vivacity you can enjoy
by
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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
—Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected.
—This work is divided into three volumes, all of them available on PG;
index is on third volume. It has been splitted replacing every item in
the volume where they belong. A full version of index has been
mantained at the end of third volume.
HISTORICAL
PARALLELS.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. III.
LONDON:
CHARLES KNIGHT & Co., LUDGATE STREET.
1846.
LONDON: WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET.
CONTENTS.
Page
CHAPTER XIII.
Siege of Platæa—Numantia—Tyre—Syracuse—Lines of
Circumvallation—Siege of Jerusalem—Of La Réole—Effects of the
invention of gunpowder—Siege of Ostend—Magdeburg—Character of
the mercenary troops of the seventeenth century—Siege of
Zaragoza 5
CHAPTER XIV.
Corcyrean sedition—Civil wars of Rome—Jacquerie—Factions of the
Circus at Constantinople—Massacre of Sept. 2, 1792 78
CHAPTER XV.
Character of Cleon—Blockade and capture of the Lacedæmonians
at Pylos—Comparison with the capture of Porto Bello by Admiral
Vernon—Greek comedy—Sketch of the Knights of
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[Illustration: Caleb Huse]
DEAR SIR:--
In the Summer of 1903, two friends of Major Huse were hospitably
entertained by him at his charming home, "The Rocks," on the Hudson,
just south of West Point, and, during their visit, were greatly
interested in listening to his recital of some of his experiences as
agent in Europe for purchasing army supplies for the Confederate States
during the Civil war.
I was so impressed by this unique bit of history that I succeeded, after
much urging, in inducing him to write it, believing that it should be
preserved, and knowing that no one else could furnish it.
His four years' experience would, if fully told, fill a large volume,
but this brief recital is all that can be hoped for.
I am sending you herewith a copy of this pamphlet. If you wish to keep
it, please send 25 cents in enclosed coin card. If you do not want it,
please return it flat by pasting the enclosed stamped and addressed
envelope on the enclosing envelope.
Yours truly,
J. S. ROGERS.
Room 118, Barristers Hall,
15 Pemberton Square,
Boston, Mass.
THE SUPPLIES
FOR THE
CONFEDERATE ARMY
HOW THEY WERE OBTAINED IN EUROPE
AND HOW PAID FOR
PERSONAL REMINISCENCES AND
UNPUBLISHED HISTORY
BY
CALEB HUSE
MAJOR AND PURCHASING AGENT, C. S. A.
BOSTON
PRESS OF T. R. MARVIN & SON
1904
BY JAMES S. ROGERS
BOSTON, MASS.
In the Summer of 1903, two friends of Major Huse were hospitably
entertained by him at his charming home, "The Rocks," on the Hudson,
just south of West Point, and, during their visit, were greatly
interested in listening to his recital of some of his experiences as
agent in Europe for purchasing army supplies for the Confederate States
during the Civil war.
So impressed were they by this unique bit of history that they
succeeded, after much urging, in inducing him to write it, believing
that it should be preserved, and knowing that no one else could furnish
it.
His four years' experience would, if fully told, fill a large volume,
but this brief recital is all that can be hoped for.
If the cost of publication is not met by the nominal price charged for
this pamphlet, the satisfaction of preserving the record in print will
compensate for any loss sustained by the
TWO FRIENDS.
_August, 1904._
REMINISCENCES
On my return in May, 1860, from a six months' leave of absence spent in
Europe, I found an appointment as professor of chemistry and commandant
of cadets in the University of Alabama awaiting my acceptance. During my
absence the President of the University and a committee of the Board of
Trustees visited West Point and the Virginia Military Institute and,
pleased with the discipline of both institutions, decided to adopt the
military system, and applied to Colonel Delafield, then the
Superintendent at West Point, for an officer to start them. Col.
Delafield gave them my name but was unable to say whether or not I would
resign from the army. I was then a first lieutenant of artillery; and,
as such, was on the rolls of the garrison of Fort Sumter.
I accepted the position and began my duties in September. My leave of
absence had expired in May; but the authorities of the University,
fearing that I might regret severing irrevocably my connection with the
army--which I had entered as a cadet at sixteen--obtained from the
Secretary of War an extension of the leave till May, 1861, when I was to
resign if all was satisfactory at that time.
It is proper to mention here that the introduction of military drill and
discipline at the State University had no connection whatever with any
secession movement in Alabama, and the fact that a Massachusetts-born
man and of Puritan descent was selected to inaugurate the system, will,
or ought to be, accepted as confirmatory of this assertion.
Discipline was almost at an end at the University, and in seeking ways
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PHARAOH'S BROKER
BEING THE VERY REMARKABLE EXPERIENCES
IN ANOTHER WORLD OF
ISIDOR WERNER
(WRITTEN BY HIMSELF)
EDITED, ARRANGED, AND WITH AN INTRODUCTION
BY ELLSWORTH DOUGLASS
[Device]
LONDON
C. ARTHUR PEARSON LIMITED
HENRIETTA STREET W.C.
1899
Transcriber's Note:
Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note.
Obsolete spellings have been retained. The oe ligature is
represented by [oe].
CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTION: ELUSIVE TRUTH 7
BOOK I. SECRETS OF SPACE
CHAPTER
I. DR. HERMANN
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CAUCASIAN LEGENDS
Translated from the Russian of
A. GOULBAT
By
Sergei de Wesselitsky-Bojidarovitch
Hinds, Noble & Eldredge
31, 33, 35 West Fifteenth St. New York City
CONTENTS
Page
I. The Rain 9
II. Bakarr I., Tsar of Georgia 15
III. The Incombustible Tulip 18
IV. Saint Nina 37
V. The Diamond 82
VI. Happiness Is Within Us 95
VII. The Tribute of Roses 109
VIII. The Lot of the Holy Virgin 118
IX. The Comet 128
X. The Jewel Necklace 139
XI. St. Mourvanoss 146
XII. Zesva 153
XIII. The Tale of Mikhian 156
PREFACE OF THE TRANSLATOR
Last year the Georgian people celebrated the one hundredth anniversary
of the annexation of its country to the dominion of the Great White
Tsar. These past one hundred years have been an era of uninterrupted
and prosperous development of this nation of chivalry and heroism as
well as loyalty and devotion to a great and good cause. In the third
century A. D., the Georgians were converted to Christianity by Saint
Nina. Ever since they have been a mighty fortress of christendom
amidst wild and fanatic Mahometan tribes. Many a time their loyalty
to their faith was sorely tried by the unparalleled cruelty of the
Turks and Persians. Their capital was destroyed again and again,
their churches ransacked and they commanded to tread upon the holy
images which they venerated from childhood upwards. But even in such
a terrible moment the Georgians showed themselves worthy of their all
glorious traditions and thousands found their death in the River Koura
at Tiflis, their chosen capital. For centuries this little nation
of heroes battled with the Infidels and great was their distress,
almost overcome by the gigantic forces of savage enemies, when a
protector appeared in the north and re-established law and order,
confidence and happiness. Seeing that it was essential to assure a
permanent security, the ruler of Georgia asked in the name of his
people to be annexed to the Motherhood of Orthodox Nations.
I here reproduce a translation from the Russian of the reply of
Alexander I. Parlovitch, Emperor of all the Russias (1801):
"Not to increase our forces, not for the gain and extension of ours,
the mightiest empire in the world, do we take upon ourselves the
burden of the administration of the Georgian kingdom. Worthiness,
honor, and humanity alone place on us the holy duty to establish in
Georgia a government which may found righteousness, safety, and give
every one protection of the law."
Those are the noble terms of one of Russia's noblest rulers, and
upon them is based the policy of the administration in regard to the
Georgians. The Georgians, being of the same faith as the Russians,
sympathize with the latter and are nowadays both a bulwark of the
orthodox church and of the true Russian conservative governmental
spirit. In the wars of 1853-56 and 1877-78 they fully proved their
perfect fidelity and chivalrous readiness to assist their great
deliverers against the Turks. The men of Georgia are renowned for their
heroism, while the women of that country are the most beautiful in the
world. The chief occupations of the Georgians are: pasturing, farming,
jewelry work, silk-manufacturing, and wine-growing. The Georgians,
taken as a whole, receive a considerable amount of education, and
their newspapers, several of which are published at Tiflis, are very
good. The leading paper is the "Iveria" (i. e., Georgia). Tiflis,
the traditional capital of Georgia, is a city of 180,000 inhabitants,
among whom are 33,000 Georgians proper. A number of other tribes or
nationalities such as the Imeretians, Gourians, Mingrelians, Wanetes,
Khevsoures, etc., also belong to what is called the Georgian family
of nations. The greatest poet of Georgia is Prince Kazbek. Among the
grand old families we find the Orbelians, who trace their ancestry
back to an emperor of China, the Chavchavadzes, the Growzinskys,
Bgaration-Moukranskys, Amilakvar
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MONEY.
"Gold is a wonderful clearer of the understanding; it dissipates
every doubt and scruple in an instant, accommodates itself to the
meanest capacities, silences the loud and clamorous and brings
over the most obstinate and inflexible. Philip of Macedon refuted
by it all the wisdom of Athens, confounded their statesmen, struck
their orators dumb, and at length argued them out of their
liberties."
--ADDISON.
SPEECH
OF
HON. JOHN P. JONES,
OF NEVADA,
ON THE FREE COINAGE OF SILVER;
IN THE
UNITED STATES SENATE,
MAY 12 AND 13, 1890.
WASHINGTON.
1890.
SPEECH
OF
HON. JOHN P. JONES,
OF NEVADA.
On the bill (S. 2350) authorizing the issue of Treasury notes on
deposits of silver bullion.
Mr. JONES, of Nevada, said:
Mr. PRESIDENT: The question now about to be discussed by this body is in
my judgment the most important that has attracted the attention of
Congress or the country since the formation of the Constitution. It
affects every interest, great and small, from the slightest concern of
the individual to the largest and most comprehensive interest of the
nation.
The measure under consideration was reported by me from the Committee on
Finance. It is hardly necessary for me to say, however, that it does not
fully reflect my individual views regarding the relation which silver
should bear to the monetary circulation of the country or of the world.
I am, at all times and in all places, a firm and unwavering advocate of
the free and unlimited coinage of silver, not merely for the reason that
silver is as ancient and honorable a money metal as gold, and equally
well adapted for the money use, but for the further reason that, looking
at the annual yield from the mines, the entire supply that can come to
the mints will at no time be more than is needed to maintain at a steady
level the prices of commodities among a constantly increasing
population.
In view, however, of the great divergency of views prevailing on the
subject, the length of time which it was believed might be consumed in
the endeavor to secure that full and rightful measure of legislation to
which the people are entitled, and the possibility that this session of
Congress might terminate without affording the country some measure of
substantial relief, I was willing, rather than have the country longer
subjected to the baleful and benumbing influences set in motion by the
demonetization act of 1873, to join with other members of the Finance
Committee in reporting the bill now under consideration.
Under the circumstances I wish at the outset of the discussion to say
that I hold myself free to vote for any amendment that may be offered
that may tend to make the bill a more perfect measure of relief, and
that may be more in consonance with my individual views.
THE CONDITION OF THE COUNTRY.
The condition of this country to-day, Mr. President, is well calculated
to awaken the interest and arouse the attention of thinking men. It can
be safely asserted that no period of the world's history can exhibit a
people at once so numerous and homogeneous, living under one form of
government, speaking a common language, enjoying the same degree of
personal and political liberty, and sharing, in so equal a degree, the
same civilization as the population of the United States. Eminently
practical and ingenious, of indomitable will, untiring energy, and
unfailing hope; favored by nature with a domain of imperial expanse,
with soil and climate of unequaled variety and beneficence, with every
natural condition that can conduce to individual prosperity and national
glory, it might well be expected that among such a people industry,
agriculture, commerce, art, and science would reach an extent and
perfection of development surpassing anything ever known in the history
of mankind.
In some respects this expectation would appear to have been well
founded. For several years past our farmers have produced an annual
average of 400,000,000 bushels of wheat. Our oat crop for 1888 was
700,000,000 bushels, our corn crop 2,000,000,000 bushels, our cotton
crop 7,000,000 bales. In that year our coal mines yielded 170,000,000
tons of coal, our furnaces produced 6,500,000 tons of pig iron and
3,000,000 tons of steel. Our gold and silver mines add more than
$100,000,000 a year to the world's stock of the precious metals. We
print 16,000 newspapers and periodicals, have in operation 154,000 miles
of railroad and 250,000 miles of telegraph. The value of our
manufactured products at the date of the last census was $5,400,000,000.
Our farm lands at the same time were estimated at $10,000,000,000, our
cattle at $2,000,000,000, our railroads at $6,000,000,000, our houses at
$14,000,000,000. It is not too much to say that there has been an
increase of fully 50 per cent. in those values since the taking of the
census of 1880. Our national wealth to-day is reasonably estimated at
over $60,000,000,000.
Figures and facts such as these in the history of a young nation bespeak
the presence not merely of great natural opportunities, but of a people
marvelously apt and forceful. From such results should be anticipated
the highest attainable prosperity and happiness. Our population is
alert, aspiring, and buoyant, not given to needless repining or aimless
endeavor, but, with fixity of purpose, presses ever eagerly on,
utilizing every conception of the brain to supplement and multiply the
possibilities of the hand, and at every turn subordinating the subtle
forces of nature to the best and wisest purposes of man. No equal number
of persons on the globe better deserve success, or are better adapted
for its enjoyment.
But instead of finding, as we should find, happiness and contentment
broadcast throughout our great domain, there are heard from all
directions, even in this Republic, resounding cries of distress and
dissatisfaction. Every trade and occupation exhibits symptoms of
uneasiness and distrust. The farmer, the artisan, the merchant,--all
share in the general complaint that times are hard, that business is
"dull." The farmer is in debt, and is not realizing, on the products of
his labor, the wherewithal to meet either his deferred or his current
obligations; the artisan, when at work, finds himself compelled to share
his earnings with some relative or friend who is out of employment; the
merchant who buys his goods on time finds little profit in sales, and
difficulty in making his payments.
WHAT IS THE DIFFICULTY?
What can it be, Mr. President, that has thus brought to naught all the
careful estimates and painstaking computations, not of thousands, nor of
hundreds of thousands, but of millions, of keen, shrewd, and far-seeing
men? Our people take an intelligent interest in their business; they
look ahead; they endeavor, as far as possible, to estimate correctly
their assets and liabilities, so that on the day of reckoning they may
be found ready. Why this universal failure of all classes to compute
correctly in advance their situation on the coming pay-day? What potent
and sinister drug has been secretly introduced into the veins of
commerce that has caused the blood to flow so sluggishly--that has
narcotized the commercial and industrial world?
All have been looking for the cause, and many think they have discovered
it. With some it is "over-production," with others either a "high
tariff" or a "tariff not sufficiently high." Some think it due to trusts
and combinations, others to improved methods of production, or because
the crops are overabundant or not abundant enough. Some ascribe the
difficulty to speculation; others, to "strikes." All sorts of
insufficient and contradictory causes are assigned for the same general
and universal complaint. However inadequate in themselves, they serve to
emphasize the universal recognition of a difficulty whose cause without
close inquiry is likely to elude detection. But the evil is of such
magnitude, it is so widespread and pervasive, that, without a knowledge
of its cause, all effort at mitigation of its effects can but add to the
confusion and intensify the difficulty.
It behooves us, therefore, as we value the prosperity and happiness of
our people, to set ourselves diligently to the inquiry: What is the
cause of the unrest and discontent now universally prevailing?
ONE SYMPTOM COMMON TO ALL INDUSTRIES.
In surveying the question broadly, to discover whether there is anything
that affects the situation in common from the standpoint of varying
occupations, we find one, and only one, uniform and unfailing
characteristic; the prices of all commodities and of all property,
except in money centers, have fallen, and continue falling. Such a
phenomenon as a constant and progressive fall in the general range of
prices has always exercised so baleful an influence on the prosperity of
mankind that it never fails to arrest attention.
History gives evidence of no more prolific source of human misery than a
persistent and long continued fall in the general range of prices. But,
although exercising so pernicious an influence, it is not itself a
cause, but an effect.
When a fall of prices is found operating, not on one article or class of
articles alone, but on the products of all industries; when found to be
not confined to any one climate, country, or race of people, but to
diffuse itself over the civilized world; when it is found not to be a
characteristic of any one year, but to go on progressively for a series
of years, it becomes manifest that it does not and can not arise from
local, temporary or subordinate causes, but must have its genesis and
development in some principle of universal application.
WHAT PRODUCES A GENERAL FALL OF PRICES?
What, then, is it that produces a general decline of prices in any
country? It is produced by a shrinkage in the volume of money relatively
to population and business, which has never yet failed to cause an
increase in the value of the money unit, and a consequent decrease in
the price of the commodities for which such unit is exchanged. If the
volume of money in circulation be made to bear a direct and steady ratio
to population and business, prices will be maintained at a steady level,
and, what is of supreme importance, money will be kept of unchanging
value. With an advancing civilization, in which a large volume of
business is conducted on a basis of credit extending over long periods,
it is of the uttermost importance that money, which is the measure of
all equities, should be kept unchanging in value through time.
EFFECT OF A REDUCTION IN THE MONEY-VOLUME.
A reduction in the volume of money relatively to population and
business, or, (to state the proposition in another form) a volume which
remains stationary while population and business are increasing, has the
effect of increasing the value of each unit of money, by increasing its
purchasing power.
It is only within a comparatively recent period that an increasing value
in the money unit could produce such widespread disturbance of industry
as it produces to-day. In the rude periods of society commerce was by
barter; and even for thousands of years after the introduction of money,
credit, where known at all, was extremely limited. Under such
circumstances changes in the volume and in the value of money, while
operating to the disadvantage of society as a whole, could not instantly
or seriously affect any one individual. An increase of 25 per cent. in
one year in the value of the money unit--a change which now, by reason
of existing contracts or debts, would entail universal bankruptcy and
ruin--would not be seriously felt by a community in which no such
contracts or debts existed, in which payments were immediate or at short
intervals, and each individual parted with his money almost as soon as
he received it.
Such proportion of the annual increase in the value of the money unit as
could attach to any one month, week, or day would be wholly
insignificant, and as most transactions were closed on the spot, no
appreciable loss could accrue to any individual. Such loss as did accrue
was shared in and averaged among the whole community, making it the
veriest trifle upon any individual. But how is it in our day?
THAT EFFECT INTENSIFIED AS CIVILIZATION ADVANCES.
The inventions of the past one hundred years have established a new
order of the ages. The revolution of industry and commerce, effected by
the adaptation of steam and other forces of nature to the uses of man,
have given to civilization an impetus exceeding anything known in the
former experience of mankind. Under the operation of the new system, the
rapidity and intensity with which, within that period, civilization has
developed, is due in great part to an economic feature unknown to
ancient civilization and practically unknown even to civilized society
until the present century. That feature is the time-contract, by which
alone leading minds are enabled to project in advance enterprises of
magnitude and moment. It is only through intelligent and far-seeing
plans and projections that in a complex and minutely classified system
of industry great bodies of men can be kept in uninterrupted employment.
We have 22,000,000 workmen in this country. In order that they may be
kept uninterruptedly employed it is absolutely necessary that business
contracts and obligations be made long in advance. Accordingly, we read
almost daily of the inception of industrial undertakings requiring years
to fulfill. It is not too much to say that the suspension for one season
of the making of time-contracts would close the factories, furnaces, and
machine shops of all civilized countries.
The natural concomitant of such a system of industry is the elaborate
system of debt and credit which has grown up with it, and is
indispensable to it. Any serious enhancement in the value of the unit of
money between the time of making a contract or incurring a debt and the
date of fulfillment or maturity always works hardship and frequently
ruin to the contractor or debtor.
Three-fourths of the business enterprises of this country are conducted
on borrowed capital. Three-fourths of the homes and farms that stand in
the name of the actual occupants have been bought on time, and a very
large proportion of them are mortgaged for the payment of some part of
the purchase-money.
Under the operation of a shrinkage in the volume of money this enormous
mass of borrowers, at the maturity of their respective debts, though
nominally paying no more than the amount borrowed, with interest, are,
in reality, in the amount of the principal alone, returning a percentage
of value greater than they received--more than in equity they contracted
to pay and oftentimes more, in substance, than they profited by the
loan. To the man of business this percentage in many cases constitutes
the difference between success and failure. Thus a shrinkage in the
volume of money is the prolific source of bankruptcy and ruin. It is the
canker that, unperceived and unsuspected, is eating out the prosperity
of our people. By reason of the almost universal inattention to the
nature and functions of money this evil is permitted, unobserved, to
work widespread ruin and disaster. So subtle is it in its operations
that it eludes the vigilance of the most acute. It baffles all foresight
and calculation; it sets at naught all industry, all energy, all
enterprise.
CONTRAST OF EFFECTS PRODUCED BY AN INCREASING AND A DECREASING
MONEY-VOLUME.
The difference in the effects produced by an increasing and a
decreasing money-volume has not escaped the attention of observant
writers.
David Hume, in his Essay on Money, says:
It is certain that since the discovery of the mines in America
industry has increased in all the nations of Europe. * * We find
that in every kingdom into which money begins to flow in greater
abundance than formerly, everything takes a new face; labor and
industry gain life; the merchant becomes more enterprising, the
manufacturer more diligent and skillful, and even the farmer
follows his plow with greater alacrity and attention. * * * It is
of no manner of consequence with regard to the domestic happiness
of a state whether money be in a greater or less quantity. The
good policy of the magistrate consists only in keeping it, if
possible, still increasing; because by that means he keeps alive
a spirit of industry in the nation and increases the stock of
labor, in which consists all real power and riches. A nation
whose money decreases is actually at that time weaker and more
miserable than another nation which possesses no more money, but
is on the increasing hand.
William H. Crawford, Secretary of the Treasury, in a report to Congress,
dated 12th February, 1820, says:
All intelligent writers on currency agree that when it is
decreasing in amount poverty and misery must prevail.
Mr. R. M. T. Hunter, in a report to the United States Senate in 1852,
says:
Of all the great effects produced upon human society by the
discovery of America, there were probably none so marked as those
brought about by the great influx of the precious metals from the
New World to the Old. European industry had been declining under
the decreasing stock of the precious metals and an appreciating
standard of values; human ingenuity grew dull under the
paralyzing influences of declining profits, and capital absorbed
nearly all that should have been divided between it and labor.
But an increase of the precious metals, in such quantity as to
check this tendency, operated as a new motive power to the
machinery of commerce. Production was stimulated by finding the
advantages of a change in the standard on its side. Instead of
being repressed by having to pay more than it had stipulated for
the use of capital, it was stimulated by paying less. Capital
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By Margaret Sherwood
=THE PRINCESS POURQUOI.= Illustrated. $1.50.
=THE COMING OF THE TIDE.= With frontispiece. 12mo, $1.50.
=DAPHNE=: An Autumn Pastoral. 12mo, $1.00.
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO.
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
THE
PRINCESS POURQUOI
[Illustration]
[Illustration: EVERY DAY HER BIG EYES GREW WISER]
THE PRINCESS
POURQUOI
BY
MARGARET SHERWOOD
ILLUSTRATED
[Illustration]
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & COMPANY
MDCCCCVII
COPYRIGHT 1902 AND 1903 BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
COPYRIGHT 1907 BY THE S. S. McCLURE CO.
COPYRIGHT 1906 AND 1907 BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO.
COPYRIGHT 1907 BY MARGARET SHERWOOD
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
_Published October 1907_
CONTENTS
THE PRINCESS POURQUOI 1
THE CLEVER NECROMANCER 43
THE PRINCESS AND THE MICROBE 81
THE SEVEN STUDIOUS SISTERS 131
THE GENTLE ROBBER 175
[asterism] The Princess Pourquoi, The Princess and
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THROUGH THE TELESCOPE
AGENTS
AMERICA THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
64 & 66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK
CANADA THE MACMILLAN COMPANY OF CANADA, LTD.
27 RICHMOND STREET, TORONTO
INDIA MACMILLAN & COMPANY, LTD.
12 BANK STREET, BOMBAY
7 NEW CHINA BAZAAR STREET, CALCUTTA
[Illustration:
PLATE I.
The 40-inch Refractor of the Yerkes Observatory.]
THROUGH
THE TELESCOPE
BY
JAMES BAIKIE, F.R.A.S.
WITH 32 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS FROM PHOTOGRAPHS
AND 26 SMALLER FIGURES IN THE TEXT
[Illustration]
LONDON
ADAM AND CHARLES BLACK
1906
TO
C. N. B. AND H. E. B.
PREFACE
The main object of the following chapters is to give a brief and
simple description of the most important and interesting facts
concerning the heavenly bodies, and to suggest to the general reader
how much of the ground thus covered lies open to his personal survey
on very easy conditions. Many people who are more or less interested
in astronomy are deterred from making practical acquaintance with the
wonders of the heavens by the idea that these are only disclosed to
the possessors of large and costly instruments. In reality there is
probably no science which offers to
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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE: Volume I is available as Project Gutenberg ebook
number 49844.
WILLIAM COBBETT.
A BIOGRAPHY.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
GILBERT AND RIVINGTON, PRINTERS,
ST. JOHN’S SQUARE.
WILLIAM COBBETT:
_A BIOGRAPHY_.
BY EDWARD SMITH.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
London:
SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE, & RIVINGTON,
CROWN BUILDINGS, 188, FLEET STREET.
1878.
[_All rights reserved._]
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER XIV.
1805-1806.
“I NEVER SAT MYSELF DOWN ANYWHERE, WITHOUT MAKING THE FRUITS
AND FLOWERS TO GROW” 1
CHAPTER XV.
1806-1807.
“I DID DESTROY THEIR POWER TO ROB US ANY LONGER WITHOUT THE
ROBBERY BEING PERCEIVED” 24
CHAPTER XVI.
1807-1809.
“THEY NATURALLY HATE ME” 45
CHAPTER XVII.
1808-1809.
“THE OUTCRY AGAINST ME IS LOUDER THAN EVER” 63
CHAPTER XVIII.
1809-1810.
“COMPARED WITH DEFEATING ME, DEFEATING BUONAPARTE IS A MERE
TRIFLE” 88
CHAPTER XIX.
1810.
“THE FOLLY, COMMON TO ALL TYRANTS, IS THAT THEY PUSH THINGS
TOO FAR” 114
CHAPTER XX.
1810-1812.
“TO PUT A MAN IN PRISON FOR A YEAR OR TWO DOES NOT KILL HIM” 127
CHAPTER XXI.
1812-1816.
“THE NATION NEVER CAN BE ITSELF AGAIN WITHOUT A REFORM” 149
CHAPTER XXII.
1816-1817.
“BETWEEN SILENCE AND A DUNGEON LAY MY ONLY CHOICE” 173
CHAPTER XXIII.
1817-1821.
“WHATEVER OTHER FAULTS I MAY HAVE, THAT OF LETTING GO MY
HOLD IS NOT ONE” 198
CHAPTER XXIV.
1821-1826.
“THEY COMPLAIN THAT THE TWOPENNY TRASH IS READ” 229
CHAPTER XXV.
1821-1831.
“I HAVE PLEADED THE CAUSE OF THE WORKING-PEOPLE, AND I SHALL
NOW SEE THAT CAUSE TRIUMPH” 249
CHAPTER XXVI.
1832-1835.
“I NOW BELONG TO THE PEOPLE OF OLDHAM” 275
CHAPTER XXVII.
1835.
“I HAVE BEEN THE GREAT ENLIGHTENER OF THE PEOPLE OF ENGLAND” 291
APPENDIX: BIBLIOGRAPHICAL LIST OF WILLIAM COBBETT’S
PUBLICATIONS 305
INDEX 321
WILLIAM COBBETT: A BIOGRAPHY.
CHAPTER XIV.
“I NEVER SAT MYSELF DOWN ANYWHERE, WITHOUT MAKING THE FRUITS AND
FLOWERS TO GROW.”
The summer of 1805 finds Mr. Cobbett again at Botley with his family.
A letter to Wright, dated 5th July, says, “I have found here a most
delightful house and a more delightful garden.” Preparations are being
made for a prolonged stay, and for the occasional entertainment of his
correspondent: “I have given you a deal of trouble, and hope that you
will find hereafter some compensation during the time you will spend at
Botley.” The carpets are to be taken up (in Duke Street), and all the
bedding, &c., to be “removed upstairs, packed in mats or something.” On
the 28th of July Cobbett writes--
“I am glad that you are like to close your labours so soon,
for I really wish very much to see you here, and so do all the
children and their mother, all of whom have delightful health;
and Mrs. Cobbett is more attached to Botley than I am--one
cause of which is, she has made her servants humble, and she
bakes good bread. I shall have made it a delightful place
before you will have finished your volume.”[1]
There is a good deal about Botley and its neighbourhood to charm the
tastes of men like Cobb
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BLACKWOOD'S
EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.
NO. CCCCXXI. NOVEMBER, 1850. VOL. LXVIII.
CONTENTS.
MY NOVEL; OR, VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. PART III. 499
THE RISE, POWER, AND POLITICS OF PRUSSIA, 516
HOURS IN SPAIN, 534
MODERN STATE TRIALS. PART II. 545
ANNA HAMMER, 573
ALTON LOCKE, TAILOR AND POET: AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY, 592
THE RENEWAL OF THE INCOME-TAX, 611
EDINBURGH:
WILLIAM BLACKWOOD & SONS, 45 GEORGE STREET;
AND 37 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON.
_To whom all communications (post-paid) must be addressed._
SOLD BY ALL THE BOOKSELLERS IN THE UNITED KINGDOM.
PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, EDINBURGH.
BLACKWOOD'S
EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.
NO. CCCCXXI. NOVEMBER, 1850. VOL. LXVIII.
MY NOVEL; OR, VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE.
BY PISISTRATUS CAXTON.
BOOK II--INITIAL CHAPTER:--INFORMING THE READER HOW THIS WORK CAME TO
HAVE INITIAL CHAPTERS.
"There can't be a doubt," said my father, "that to each of the main
divisions of your work--whether you call them Books or Parts--you
should prefix an Initial or Introductory Chapter."
PISISTRATUS.--"Can't be a doubt, sir! Why so?"
MR CAXTON.--"Fielding lays it down as an
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"The Browning Cyclopaedia."
_SOME OPINIONS OF THE PRESS ON THE FIRST EDITION._
"Conscientious and painstaking,"--_The Times._
"Obviously a most painstaking work, and in many ways it is very well
done."--_Pall Mall Gazette._
"In many ways a serviceable book, and deserves to be widely bought."--_The
Speaker._
"A book of far-reaching research and careful industry... will make this
poet clearer, nearer, and dearer to every reader who systematically uses
his book."--_Scotsman._
"Dr. Berdoe is a safe and thoughtful guide; his work has evidently been a
labour of love, and bears many marks of patient research."--_Echo._
"Students of Browning will find it an invaluable aid."--_Graphic._
"A work suggestive of immense industry."--_Morning Post._
"Erudite and comprehensive."--_Glasgow Herald._
"As a companion to Browning's works the Cyclopaedia will be most valuable;
it is a laborious, if necessary, piece of work, conscientiously performed,
for which present and future readers and students of Browning ought to be
really grateful."--_Nottingham Daily Guardian._
"A monumental labour, and fitting company for the great compositions he
elucidates."--_Rock._
"It is very well that so patient and ubiquitous a reader as Dr. Berdoe
should have written this useful cyclopaedia, and cleared the meaning of
many a dark and doubtful passage of the poet."--_Black and White._
"It is not too much to say that Dr. Berdoe has earned the gratitude of
every reader of Browning, and has materially aided the study of English
literature in one of its ripest developments."--_British Weekly._
"Dr. Berdoe's Cyclopaedia should make all other handbooks
unnecessary."--_Star._
"We are happy to commend the volume to Browning students as the most
ambitious and useful in its class yet executed."--_Notes and Queries._
"A most learned and creditable piece of work. Not a difficulty is
shirked."--_Vanity Fair._
"A monument of industry and devotion. It has really faced difficulties, it
is conveniently arranged, and is well printed and bound."--_Bookman._
"A wonderful help."--_Gentlewoman._
"Can be strongly recommended as one for a favourite corner in one's
library."--_Whitehall Review._
"Exceedingly well done; its interest and usefulness, we think, may pass
without question."--_Publishers' Circular._
"In a singularly industrious and exhaustive manner he has set himself to
make clear the obscure and to accentuate the beautiful in Robert
Browning's poem... must have involved infinite labour and research. It
cannot be doubted that the book will be widely sought for and warmly
appreciated."--_Daily Telegraph._
"Dr. Berdoe tackles every allusion, every proper name, every phase of
thought, besides giving a most elaborate analysis of each poem. He has
produced what we might almost call a monumental work."--_Literary
Opinion._
"This cyclopaedia may certainly claim to be by a long way the most
efficient aid to the study of Browning that has been published, or is
likely to be published.... Lovers of Browning will prize it highly, and
all who wish to understand him will consult it with advantage."--_Baptist
Magazine._
"The work has evidently been one of love, and we doubt whether any one
could have been found better qualified to undertake it."--_Cambridge
Review._
"All readers of Browning will feel indebted to Dr. Berdoe for his
interesting accounts of the historical facts on which many of the dramas
are based, and also for his learned dissertations on 'The Ring and the
Book' and 'Sordello.'"--_British Medical Journal._
"The work is so well done that no one is likely to think of doing it over
again."--_The Critic_ (New York).
"This work reflects the greatest credit on Dr. Berdoe and on the Browning
Society, of which he is so distinguished a member,--it is simply
invaluable."--_The Hawk._
"The Cyclopaedia has at any rate brought his (Browning's) best work well
within the compass of all serious readers of intelligence--Browning made
easy."--_The Month._
THE BROWNING CYCLOPAEDIA.
By the Same Author.
=BROWNING'S MESSAGE TO HIS TIME. His Religion, Philosophy, and Science.=
With Portrait and Facsimile Letters. Second edition, price 2_s._ 6_d._
_OPINIONS OF THE PRESS._
"Full of admiration and sympathy."--_Saturday Review._
"Much that is helpful and suggestive."--_Scotsman._
"Should have a wide circulation, it is interesting and
stimulative."--_Literary World._
"It is the work of one who, having gained good himself, has made it his
endeavour to bring the same good within the reach of others, and, as such,
it deserves success."--_Cambridge Review._
"We have no hesitation in strongly recommending this little volume to any
who desire to understand the moral and mental attitude of Robert
Browning.... We are much obliged to Dr. Berdoe for his volume."--_Oxford
University Herald._
"Cannot fail to be of assistance to new readers."--_Morning Post._
"The work of a faithful and enthusiastic student is here."--_Nation._
THE BROWNING CYCLOPAEDIA
_A GUIDE TO THE STUDY OF THE WORKS_
OF ROBERT BROWNING
WITH
Copious Explanatory Notes and References
on all Difficult Passages
BY EDWARD BERDOE
LICENTIATE OF THE ROYAL COLLEGE OF PHYSICIANS, EDINBURGH; MEMBER OF
THE ROYAL COLLEGE OF SURGEONS, ENGLAND, ETC., ETC.
_Author of "Browning's Message to his Time," "Browning as a Scientific
Poet," etc., etc._
LONDON: SWAN SONNENSCHEIN & CO. LTD.
NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN CO.
1897
FIRST EDITION, _December, 1891_.
SECOND EDITION, _March, 1892_.
THIRD EDITION (Revised), _September, 1897_.
I gratefully Dedicate these pages
TO DR. F. J. FURNIVALL
AND MISS E. H. HICKEY,
THE FOUNDERS OF
THE BROWNING SOCIETY.
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.
The demand for a second edition of this work within three months of its
publication is a sufficient proof that such a book meets a want,
notwithstanding the many previous attempts of a more or less partial
character which have been made to explain Browning to "the general." With
the exception of certain superfine reviewers, to whom nothing is
obscure--except such things as they are asked to explain without previous
notice--every one admits that Browning requires more or less elucidation.
It is said by some that I have explained too much, but this might be said
of most commentaries, and certainly of every dictionary. It is difficult
to know precisely where to draw the line. If I am not to explain (say for
lady readers) what is meant by the phrase "_De te fabula narratur_," I
know not why any of the classical quotations should be translated. If
Browning is hard to understand, it must be on account of the obscurity of
his language, of his thought, or the purport of his verses; very often the
objection is made that the difficulty applies to all these. I have not
written for the "learned," but for the people at large. _The Manchester
Guardian_, in a kindly notice of my book, says "the error and marvel of
his book is the supposition that any <DW36> who can only be crutched by
it into an understanding of Browning will ever understand Browning at
all." There are many readers, however, who understand Browning a little,
and I hope that this book will enable them to understand him a great deal
more: though all <DW36>s cannot be turned into athletes, some undeveloped
persons may be helped to achieve feats of strength.
A word concerning my critics. No one can do me a greater service than by
pointing out mistakes and omissions in this work. I cannot hope to please
everybody, but I will do my best to make future editions as perfect as
possible.
E. B.
_March 1892._
PREFACE.
I make no apology for the publication of this work, because some such book
has long been a necessity to any one who seriously proposes to study
Browning. Up to its appearance there was no single book to which the
leader could turn, which gave an exposition of the leading ideas of every
poem, its key-note, the sources--historical, legendary, or fanciful--to
which the poem was due, and a glossary of every difficult word or allusion
which might obscure the sense to such readers as had short memories or
scanty reading. It would be affectation to pretend to believe that every
educated person ought to know, without the aid of such a work as this,
what Browning means by phrases and allusions which may be found by
hundreds in his works. The wisest reader cannot be expected to remember,
even if he has ever learned, a host of remote incidents in Italian
history, for example, to say nothing of classical terms which "every
schoolboy" ought to know, but rarely does. Browning is obscure,
undoubtedly, if a poem is read for the first time without any hint as to
its main purport: the meaning in almost every case lies more or less below
the surface; the superficial idea which a careless perusal of the poem
would afford is pretty sure to be the wrong one. Browning's poetry is
intended to make people think, and without thought the fullest commentary
will not help the reader much. "I can have little doubt," said the poet,
in his preface to the First Series of _Selections_ from his works, "that
my writing has been in the main too hard for many I should have been
pleased to communicate with; but I never designedly tried to puzzle
people, as some of my critics have supposed. On the other hand, I never
pretended to offer such literature as should be a substitute for a cigar
or a game at dominoes to an idle man. So, perhaps, on the whole, I get my
deserts, and something over--not a crowd, but a few I value more." As for
my own qualifications for the task I have undertaken, I can only say that
I have attended nearly every meeting of the Browning Society from its
inauguration; I have read every book, paper, and article upon Browning on
which I could lay my hands, have gone over every line of the poet's works
again and again, have asked the assistance of literary friends in every
difficulty, and have pegged away at the obscurities till they _seemed_ (at
any rate) to vanish. It is possible that a scientific education in some
considerable degree assists a man who addresses himself to a task of this
sort: a medical man does not like to be beaten by any difficulty which
common perseverance can conquer; when one has spent days in tracing a
nerve thread through the body to its origin, and through all its
ramifications, a few visits to the library of the British Museum, or a few
hours' puzzling over the meaning of a difficult passage in a poem, do not
deter him from solving a mystery,--and this is all I can claim. I have not
shirked any obscurities; unlike some commentators of the old-fashioned
sort, who in dealing with the Bible carefully told us that a score meant
twenty, but said nothing as to the meaning of the verse in Ezekiel's dream
about the women who wept for Tammuz--but have honestly tried to help my
readers in every case where they have a right to ask such aid. Probably I
have overlooked many things which I ought to have explained. It is not
less certain that some will say I have explained much that they already
knew. I can only ask for a merciful judgment in either case. I am quite
anxious to be set right in every particular in which I may be wrong, and
shall be grateful for hints and suggestions concerning anything which is
not clear. I have to thank Professor Sonnenschein for permission to
publish his valuable Notes to _Sordello_, with several articles on the
history of the Guelf and Ghibelline leaders: these are all indicated by
the initial [S.] at the end of each note or article. I am grateful also to
Mr. A. J. Campbell for permission to use his notes on Rabbi Ben Ezra. I
have also to thank Dr. Furnivall, Miss Frances Power Cobbe, and the Very
Rev. Canon Akers, M.A., for their kindness in helping me on certain
difficult points which came within their lines of study. It would be
impossible to read the works of commentators on Browning for the years
which I have devoted to the task without imbibing the opinions and often
insensibly adopting the phraseology of the authors: if in any case I have
used the ideas and language of other writers without acknowledging them, I
hope it will be credited to the infirmity of human nature, and not
attributed to any wilful appropriation of other men's and women's literary
valuables. As for the poet himself, I have largely used his actual words
and phrases in putting his ideas into plain prose; it has not always been
possible, for reasons which every one will understand, to put quotation
marks to every few words or portions of lines where this has occurred.
When, therefore, a beautiful thought is expressed in appropriate language,
it is most certainly not mine, but Browning's. My only aim has been to
bring the Author of the vast body of literature to which this book is an
introduction a little nearer to the English and American reading public;
my own opinions and criticisms I have endeavoured as much as possible to
suppress. In the words of Dr. Furnivall, "This is a business book," and
simply as such I offer it to the public.
EDWARD BERDOE.
LONDON, _November 28th, 1891_.
_BOOKS, ESSAYS, ETC., WHICH ARE ESPECIALLY USEFUL TO THE BROWNING
STUDENT._
BIOGRAPHICAL WORKS.
=Life of Robert Browning.= By MRS. SUTHERLAND ORR. London: 1891.
=Life of Robert Browning.= By WILLIAM SHARP. London: 1890.
On the whole, Mr. Sharp's Biography will be found the more useful for
the student. It contains an excellent Bibliography by Mr. John P.
Anderson of the British Museum, and a Chronological List of the Poet's
Works.
=Robert Browning: Chief Poet of the Age.= By W. G. KINGSLAND. London:
1890. Excellent for beginners.
=Robert Browning: Personalia.= By EDMUND GOSSE. Boston: 1890.
WORKS OF CRITICISM AND EXPOSITION.
=Robert Browning: Essays and Thoughts.= By JOHN T. NETTLESHIP. London:
1868. Artistic and suggestive.
=Stories from Robert Browning.= By F. M. HOLLAND; with Introduction by
MRS. SUTHERLAND ORR. London: 1882.
=A Handbook to the Works of Robert Browning.= By MRS. SUTHERLAND ORR.
London: 1885.
=An Introduction to the Study of Browning.= By ARTHUR SYMONS. London:
1886. Intensely sympathetic and appreciative.
=A Bibliography of Robert Browning, from 1833 to 1881.= By DR. F. J.
FURNIVALL. 1881.
=An Introduction to the Study of Robert Browning's Poetry.= By HIRAM
CORSON. Boston: 1888.
=Studies in the Poetry of Robert Browning.= By JAMES FOTHERINGHAM. London:
1887.
=Browning Guide Book.= By GEORGE WILLIS COOKE. Boston: 1891.
=Strafford: a Tragedy.= With Notes and Preface, by E. H. HICKEY, and
Introduction by S. R. GARDINER. London: 1884.
=Browning and the Christian Faith.= The Evidences of Christianity from
Browning's Point of View. By EDWARD BERDOE. London: 1896.
=Browning as a Philosophical Religious Teacher.= By Prof. HENRY JONES.
Glasgow: 1891.
=Browning's Message to His Time: His Religion, Philosophy and Science.= By
EDWARD BERDOE. London: 1890.
THE BROWNING SOCIETY'S PUBLICATIONS.
=The Browning Society's Papers, Part I.= Vol. I., 1881-4, pp. 1-116
(_presented by Dr. Furnivall_). [1881-2.
1. A Reprint of BROWNING'S Introductory Essay to the 25 spurious
_Letters of Percy Bysshe Shelley_, 1852: On the Objective and
Subjective Poet, on the Relation of the Poet's Life to his Work; on
Shelley, his Nature, Art, and Character.
2. A Bibliography of ROBERT BROWNING, 1833-81: Alphabetical and
Chronological Lists of his Works, with Reprints of discontinued
Prefaces, of _Ben Karshook's Wisdom_, partial collations of _Sordello_
1840, 1863, and _Paracelsus_ 1835, 1863, etc., and with Trial-Lists of
the Criticisms on BROWNING, Personal Notices of him, etc., by F. J.
FURNIVALL.
=The Browning Society's Papers, Part II.= Vol. I., 1881-4, pp. 117-258.
[1881-2.
3. Additions to the Bibliography of
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Produced by Annie R. McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE]
* * * * *
VOL. III.--NO. 132. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.
Tuesday, May 9, 1882. Copyright, 1882, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50 per
Year, in Advance.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
MR. STUBBS'S BROTHER.[1]
[1] Begun in No. 127, HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE.
BY JAMES OTIS,
AUTHOR OF "TOBY TYLER," "TIM AND TIP," ETC.
CHAPTER VI.
OLD BEN.
Toby watched anxiously as each wagon came up, but he failed to recognize
any of the drivers. For the first time it occurred to him that perhaps
those whom he knew were no longer with this particular company, and his
delight gave way to sadness.
Fully twenty wagons had come, and he had just begun to think his fears
had good foundation, when in the distance he saw the well-remembered
monkey wagon, with the burly form of old Ben on the box.
Toby could not wait for that particular team to come up, even though it
was driven at a
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The Riverside Library
High Adventure
A Narrative of Air Fighting in France
By
JAMES NORMAN HALL
[Illustration]
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Riverside Press Cambridge
COPYRIGHT, 1917 AND 1918, BY THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY JAMES NORMAN HALL
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
_Published June, 1918_
The Riverside Press
CAMBRIDGE. MASSACHUSETTS
PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.
TO
SERGENT-PILOTE DOUGLAS MACMONAGLE
KILLED IN COMBAT NEAR VERDUN
SEPTEMBER 25, 1917
[Illustration: THE AUTHOR]
Contents
I. THE FRANCO-AMERICAN CORPS 1
II. PENGUINS 24
III. BY THE ROUTE OF THE AIR 47
IV. AT G. D. E. 79
V. OUR FIRST PATROL 107
VI. A BALLOON ATTACK 144
VII. BROUGHT DOWN 167
VIII. ONE HUNDRED HOURS 182
IX. "LONELY AS A CLOUD" 200
X. "MAIS OUI, MON VIEUX!" 209
XI. THE CAMOUFLAGED COWS 216
XII. CAFARD 226
LETTER FROM A GERMAN PRISON CAMP 233
HIGH ADVENTURE
I
THE FRANCO-AMERICAN CORPS
It was on a cool, starlit evening, early in September, 1916, that I
first met Drew of Massachusetts, and actually began my adventures as a
prospective member of the Escadrille Americaine. We had sailed from
New York by the same boat, had made our applications for enlistment in
the Foreign Legion on the same day, without being aware of each
other's existence; and in Paris, while waiting for our papers, we had
gone, every evening, for dinner, to the same large and gloomy-looking
restaurant in the neighborhood of the Seine.
As for the restaurant, we frequented it, not assuredly because of the
quality of the food. We might have dined better and more cheaply
elsewhere. But there was an air of vanished splendor, of faded
magnificence, about the place which, in the capital of a warring
nation, appealed to both of us. Every evening the tables were laid
with spotless linen and shining silver. The wineglasses caught the
light from the tarnished chandeliers in little points of color. At the
dinner-hour, a half-dozen ancient serving-men silently took their
places about the room. There was not a sound to be heard except the
occasional far-off honk of a motor or the subdued clatter of dishes
from the kitchens. The serving-men, even the tables and the empty
chairs, seemed to be listening, to be waiting for the guests who never
came. Rarely were there more than a dozen diners-out during the course
of an evening. There was something mysterious in these elaborate
preparations, and something rather fine about them as well; but one
thought, not without a touch of sadness, of the old days when there
had been laughter and lights and music, sparkling wines and brilliant
talk, and how those merrymakers had gone, many of them, long ago to
the wars.
As it happened on this evening, Drew and I were sitting at adjoining
tables. Our common citizenship was our introduction, and after five
minutes of talk, we learned of our common purpose in coming to
France. I suppose that we must have eaten after making this latter
discovery. I vaguely remember seeing our old waiter hobbling down a
long vista of empty tables on his way to and from the kitchens. But if
we thought of our food at all, it must have been in a purely
mechanical way.
Drew can talk--by Jove, how the man can talk!--and he has the faculty
of throwing the glamour of romance over the most commonplace
adventures. Indeed, the difficulty which I am going to have in writing
this narrative is largely due to this romantic influence of his. I
might have succeeded in writing a plain tale, for I have kept my diary
faithfully, from day to day, and can set down our adventures, such as
they are, pretty much as they occurred. But Drew has bewitched me. He
does not realize it, but he is a weaver of spells, and I am so
enmeshed in his moonshine that I doubt if I shall be able to write of
our experiences as they must appear to those of our comrades in the
Franco-American Corps who remember them only through the medium of the
revealing light of day.
Not one of these men, I am sure, would confess to so strange an
immediate cause for joining the aviation service, as that related to
me by Drew, as we sat over our coffee and cigarettes, on the evening
of our first meeting. He had come to France, he said, with the
intention of joining the _Legion Etrangere_ as an infantryman. But he
changed his mind, a few days after his arrival in Paris, upon meeting
Jackson of the American Aviation Squadron, who was on leave after a
service of six months at the front. It was all because of the manner
in which Jackson looked at a Turkish rug. He told him of his
adventures in the most matter-of-fact way. No heroics, nothing of that
sort. He had not a glimmer of imagination, he said. But he had a way
of looking at the floor which was "irresistible," which "fascinated
him with the sense of height." He saw towns, villages, networks of
trenches, columns of toy troops moving up ribbons of road--all in the
patterns of a Turkish rug. And the next day, he was at the
headquarters of the Franco-American Corps, in the Champs Elysees,
making application for membership.
It is strange that we should both have come to France with so little
of accurate knowledge of the corps, of the possibilities for
enlistment, and of the nature of the requirements for the service. Our
knowledge of it, up to the time of sailing, had been confined to a few
brief references in the press. It was perhaps necessary that its
existence should not be officially recognized in America, or its
furtherance encouraged. But it seemed to us at that time, that there
must have been actual discouragement on the part of the Government at
Washington. However that may be, we wondered if others had followed
clues so vague or a call so dimly heard.
This led to a discussion of our individual aptitudes for the service,
and we made many comforting discoveries about each other. It is
permissible to reveal them now, for the particular encouragement of
others who, like ourselves at that time, may be conscious of
deficiencies, and who may think that they have none of the qualities
essential to the successful aviator. Drew had never been farther from
the ground than the top of the Woolworth building. I had once taken a
trip in a captive balloon. Drew knew nothing of motors, and had no
more knowledge of mechanics than would enable him to wind a watch
without breaking the mainspring. My ignorance in this respect was a
fair match for his.
We were further handicapped for the French service by our lack of the
language. Indeed, this seemed to be the most serious obstacle in the
way to success. With a good general knowledge of the language it
seemed probable that we might be able to overcome our other
deficiencies. Without it, we could see no way to mastering the
mechanical knowledge which we supposed must be required as a
foundation for the training of a military pilot. In this connection,
it may be well to say that we have both been handicapped from the
beginning. We have had to learn, through actual experience in the air,
and at risk to life and limb, what many of our comrades, both French
and American, knew before they had ever climbed into an aeroplane. But
it is equally true that scores of men become very excellent pilots
with little or no knowledge of the mechanics of the business.
In so far as Drew and I were concerned, these were matters for the
future. It was enough for us at the moment that our applications had
been approved, our papers signed, and that to-morrow we were leaving
for the _Ecole d'Aviation Militaire_ to begin our training. And so,
after a long evening of pleasant talk and pleasanter anticipation of
coming events, we left our restaurant and walked together through the
silent streets to the Place de la Concorde. The great windy square was
almost deserted. The monuments to the lost provinces bulked large in
the dim lamplight. Two disabled soldiers hobbled across the bridge and
disappeared in the deep shade of the avenue. Their service had been
rendered, their sacrifices made, months ago. They could look about
them now with a peculiar sense of isolation, and with, perhaps, a
feeling of the futility of the effort they had made. Our adventures
were all before us. Our hearts were light and our hopes high. As we
stood by the obelisk, talking over plans for the morrow, we heard,
high overhead, the faint hum of motors, and saw two lights, one green,
one red, moving rapidly across the sky. A moment later the long,
slender finger of a searchlight probed among little heaps of cloud,
then, sweeping in a wide arc, revealed in striking outline the shape
of a huge biplane circling over the sleeping city. It was one of the
night guard of Paris.
On the following morning, we were at the Gare des Invalides with our
luggage, a long half-hour before train-time. The luggage was absurdly
bulky. Drew had two enormous suitcases and a bag, and I a steamer
trunk and a family-size portmanteau. We looked so much the typical
American tourists that we felt ashamed of ourselves, not because of
our nationality, but because we revealed so plainly, to all the world
military, our non-military antecedents. We bore the hallmark of fifty
years of neutral aloofness, of fifty years of indifference to the
business of national defense. What makes the situation amusing as a
retrospect is the fact that we were traveling on third-class military
passes, as befitted our rank as _eleve-pilotes_ and soldiers of the
_deuxieme classe_.
To our great discomfiture, a couple of _poilus_ volunteered their
services in putting our belongings aboard the train. Then we crowded
into a third-class carriage filled with soldiers--_permissionnaires_,
_blesses_, _reformes_, men from all corners of France and her
colonies. Their uniforms were faded and weather-stained with long
service. The stocks of their rifles were worn smooth and bright with
constant usage, and their packs fairly stowed themselves upon their
backs.
Drew and I felt uncomfortable in our smart civilian clothing. We
looked too soft, too clean, too spick-and-span. We did not feel that
we belonged there. But in a whispered conversation we comforted
ourselves with the assurance that if ever America took her rightful
stand with the Allies, in six months after the event, hundreds of
thousands of American boys would be lugging packs and rifles with the
same familiarity of use as these French _poilus_. They would become
equally good soldiers, and soon would have the same community of
experience, of dangers and hardships shared in common, which make men
comrades and brothers in fact as well as in theory.
By the time we had reached our destination we had persuaded ourselves
into a much more comfortable frame of mind. There we piled into a
cab, and soon we were rattling over the cobblestones, down a long,
sunlit avenue in the direction of B----. It was late of a mild
afternoon when we reached the summit of a high plateau and saw before
us the barracks and hangars of the _Ecole d'Aviation_. There was not a
breath of air stirring. The sun was just sinking behind a bank of
crimson cloud. The earth was already in shadow, but high overhead the
light was caught and reflected from the wings of scores of _avions_
which shone like polished bronze and silver. We saw the long lines of
Bleriot monoplanes, like huge dragon-flies, and as pretty a sight in
the air as heart could wish. Farther to the left, we recognized Farman
biplanes, floating battleships in comparison with the Bleriots, and
twin-motor Caudrons, much more graceful and alert of movement.
But, most wonderful of all to us then, we saw a strange, new
_avion_,--a biplane, small, trim, with a body like a fish. To see it
in flight was to be convinced for all time that man has mastered the
air, and has outdone the birds in their own element. Never was swallow
more consciously joyous in swift flight, never eagle so bold to take
the heights or so quick to reach them. Drew and I gazed in silent
wonder, our bodies jammed tightly into the cab-window, and our heads
craned upward. We did not come back to earth until our ancient,
earth-creeping conveyance brought up with a jerk, and we found
ourselves in front of a gate marked "Ecole d'Aviation Militaire de
B----."
After we had paid the cabman, we stood in the road, with our mountain
of luggage heaped about us, waiting for something to happen. A moment
later a window in the administration building was thrown open and we
were greeted with a loud and not over-musical chorus of
"Oh, say, can you see by the dawn's early light--"
It all came from one throat, belonging to a chap in leathers, who came
down the drive to give us welcome.
"Spotted you _toute suite_" he said. "You can tell Americans at six
hundred yards by their hats. How's things in the States? Do you think
we're coming in?"
We gave him the latest budget of home news, whereupon he offered to
take us over to the barracks. When he saw our luggage he grinned.
"Some equipment, believe me! _Attendez un peu_ while I commandeer a
battalion of Annamites to help us carry it, and we'll be on our way."
The Annamites, from Indo-China, who are quartered at the camp for
guard and fatigue duty, came back with him about twenty strong, and we
started in a long procession to the barracks. Later, we took a
vindictive pleasure in witnessing the beluggaged arrival of other
Americans, for in nine cases out of ten they came as absurdly
over-equipped as did we.
Our barracks, one of many built on the same pattern, was a long, low
wooden building, weather-stained without and whitewashed within. It
had accommodation for about forty beds. One end of the room was very
manifestly American. There was a phonograph on the table, baseball
equipment piled in one corner, and the walls were covered with
cartoons and pictures clipped from American periodicals. The other end
was as evidently French, in the frugality and the neatness of its
furnishings. The American end of the room looked more homelike, but
the French end more military. Near the center, where the two nations
joined, there was a very harmonious blending of these characteristics.
Drew and I were delighted with all this. We were glad that we were not
to live in an exclusively American barracks, for we wanted to learn
French; but more than this, we wanted to live with Frenchmen on terms
of barrack-room familiarity.
By the time we had given in our papers at the captain's office and had
passed the hasty preliminary examination of the medical officer, it
was quite dark. Flying for the day was over, and lights gleamed
cheerily from the barrack-room windows. As we came down the principal
street of the camp, we heard the strains of "Waiting for the Robert E.
Lee," to a gramophone accompaniment, issuing from the _chambre des
Americains_.
"See them shuffle along,
Oh, ma honey babe,
Hear that music and song."
It gave us the home feeling at once. Frenchmen and Americans were
singing together, the Frenchmen in very quaint English, but hitting
off the syncopated time as though they had been born and brought up to
it as we Americans have.
Over in one corner, a very informal class in French-English
pronunciation was at work. Apparently, this was tongue-twisters'
night. "_Heureux_" was the challenge from the French side, and
"_Hooroo_" the nearest approach to a pronunciation on the part of the
Americans, with many more or less remote variations on this theme. An
American, realizing how difficult it is for a Frenchman to get his
tongue between his teeth, counter-challenged with "Father, you are
withered with age." The result, as might have been expected, was a
series of hissing sounds of _z_, whereupon there was an answering howl
of derision from all the Americans. Up and down the length of the room
there were little groups of two and three, chatting together in
combinations of Franco-American which must have caused all deceased
professors of modern languages to spin like midges in their graves.
And throughout all this before-supper merriment, one could catch the
feeling of good-comradeship which, so far as my experience goes, is
always prevalent whenever Frenchmen and Americans are gathered
together.
At the _ordinaire_, at supper-time, we saw all of the _eleve-pilotes_
of the school, with the exception of the non-commissioned officers,
who have their own mess. To Drew and me, but newly come from remote
America, it was a most interesting gathering. There were about one
hundred and twenty-five in all, including eighteen Americans. The
large majority of the Frenchmen had already been at the front in other
branches of army service. There were artillerymen, infantrymen,
marines,--in training for the naval air-service,--cavalrymen, all
wearing the uniforms of the arm to which they originally belonged. No
one was dressed in a uniform which distinguished him as an aviator
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The Nether World
by
George Gissing
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I A THRALL OF THRALLS
II A FRIEND IN REQUEST
III A SUPERFLUOUS FAMILY
IV CLARA AND JANE
V JANE IS VISITED
VI GLIMPSES OF THE PAST
VII MRS. BYASS'S LODGINGS
VIII PENNYLOAF CANDY
IX PATHOLOGICAL
X THE LAST COMBAT
XI A DISAPPOINTMENT
XII 'IO SATURNALIA!'
XIII THE BRINGER OF ILL NEWS
XIV A WELCOME GUEST
XV SUNLIGHT IN DREARY PLACES
XVI DIALOGUE AND COMMENT
XVII CLEM MAKES A DISCLOSURE
XVIII THE JOKE IS COMPLETED
XIX A RETREAT
XX A VISION OF NOBLE THINGS
XXI DEATH THE RECONCILER
XXII WATCHING FROM AMBUSH
XXIII ON THE EVE OF TRIUMPH
XXIV THE FAMILY HISTORY PROGRESSES
XXV A DOUBLE CONSECRATION
XXVI SIDNEY'S STRUGGLE
XXVII CLARA'S RETURN
XXVIII THE SOUP-KITCHEN
XXIX PHANTOMS
XXX ON A BARREN SHORE
XXXI WOMAN AND ACTRESS
XXXII A HAVEN
XXXIII A FALL FROM THE IDEAL
XXXIV THE DEBT REPAID
XXXV THE TREASURY UNLOCKED
XXXVI THE HEIR
XXXVII MAD JACK'S DREAM
XXXVIII JOSEPH TRANSACTS MUCH BUSINESS
XXXIX SIDNEY
XL JANE
CHAPTER I
A THRALL OF THRALLS
In the troubled twilight of a March evening ten years ago, an old man,
whose equipment and bearing suggested that he was fresh from travel,
walked slowly across Clerkenwell Green, and by the graveyard of St.
James's Church stood for a moment looking about him. His age could not
be far from seventy, but, despite the stoop of his shoulders, he gave
little sign of failing under the burden of years; his sober step
indicated gravity of character rather than bodily feebleness, and his
grasp of a stout stick was not such as bespeaks need of support. His
attire was neither that of a man of leisure, nor of the kind usually
worn by English mechanics. Instead of coat and waistcoat, he wore a
garment something like a fisherman's guernsey, and over this a coarse
short cloak, picturesque in appearance as it was buffeted by the wind.
His trousers were of moleskin; his boots reached almost to his knees;
for head-covering he had the cheapest kind of undyed felt, its form
exactly that of the old petasus. To say that his aspect was Venerable
would serve to present him in a measure, yet would not be wholly
accurate, for there was too much of past struggle and present anxiety
in his countenance to permit full expression of the natural dignity of
the features. It was a fine face and might have been distinctly noble,
but circumstances had marred the purpose of Nature; you perceived that
his cares had too often been of the kind which are created by ignoble
necessities, such as leave to most men of his standing a bare humanity
of visage. He had long thin white hair; his beard was short and merely
grizzled. In his left hand he carried a bundle, which probably
contained clothing.
The burial-ground by which he had paused was as little restful to the
eye as are most of those discoverable in the byways of London. The
small trees that grew about it shivered in their leaflessness; the rank
grass was wan under the failing day; most of the stones leaned this way
or that, emblems of neglect (they were very white at the top, and
darkened downwards till the damp soil made them black), and certain
cats and dogs were prowling or sporting among the graves. At this
corner the east wind blew with malice such as it never puts forth save
where there are poorly clad people to be pierced; it swept before it
thin clouds of unsavoury dust, mingled with the light refuse of the
streets. Above the shapeless houses night was signalling a murky
approach; the sky--if sky it could be called--gave threatening of
sleet, perchance of snow. And on every side was the rumble of traffic,
the voiceful evidence of toil and of poverty; hawkers were crying their
goods; the inevitable organ was clanging before a public-house hard by;
the crumpet-man was hastening along, with monotonous ringing of his
bell and hoarse rhythmic wail.
The old man had fixed his eyes half absently on the inscription of a
gravestone near him; a lean cat springing out between the iron railings
seemed to recall his attention, and with a slight sigh he
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UNIFORM WITH
JOHN DOUGH AND THE CHERUB
THE LAND OF OZ
BY L. FRANK BAUM
_Elaborately illustrated--in colors_
_and black-and-white by_
_JOHN R. NEILL_
John Dough and the Cherub
_by_
L. Frank Baum
AUTHOR OF
THE WIZARD OF OZ
THE LAND OF OZ
THE WOGGLE-BUG BOOK
FATHER GOOSE
QUEEN ZIXI OF IX
THE ENCHANTED ISLAND OF YEW, ETC.
[Illustration]
ILLUSTRATED BY
John R. Neill
CHICAGO
THE REILLY & BRITTON COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
[Illustration]
COPYRIGHT, 1906, BY
L. FRANK BAUM
All Rights
Reserved
[Illustration]
To my young friend
John Randolph Reilly
this book is
affectionately dedicated
L.F.B
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
LIST OF CHAPTERS
THE GREAT ELIXIR 9
THE TWO FLASKS 11
THE GINGERBREAD MAN 27
JOHN DOUGH BEGINS HIS ADVENTURES 41
CHICK, THE CHERUB 59
THE FREAKS OF PHREEX 104
THE LADY EXECUTIONER 121
THE PALACE OF ROMANCE 140
THE SILVER PIG 159
PITTYPAT AND THE MIFKETS 166
THE ISLAND PRINCESS 185
PARA BRUIN, THE RUBBER BEAR 206
BLACK OOBOO 220
UNDER LAND AND WATER 238
THE FAIRY BEAVERS 252
THE FLIGHT OF THE FLAMINGOES 273
SPORT OF PIRATE ISLAND 284
HILAND AND LOLAND 294
KING DOUGH AND HIS COURT 308
[Illustration: BOY OR GIRL?]
The Great Elixir
Over the door appeared a weather-worn sign that read: "JULES GROGRANDE,
BAKER." In one of the windows, painted upon a sheet of cardboard, was
another sign: "Home-made Bread by the Best Modern Machinery." There was
a third sign in the window beyond the doorway, and this was marked upon
a bit of wrapping-paper, and said: "Fresh Gingerbread Every Day."
When you opened the door, the top of it struck a brass bell suspended
from the ceiling and made it tinkle merrily. Hearing the sound, Madame
Leontine Grogrande would come from her little room back of the shop and
stand behind the counter and ask you what you would like to purchase.
Madame Leontine--or Madame Tina, as the children called her--was quite
short and quite fat; and she had a round, pleasant face that was good
to look upon. She moved somewhat slowly, for the rheumatism troubled
her more or less; but no one minded if Madame was a bit slow in tying
up her parcels. For surely no cakes or buns in all the town were so
delicious or fresh as those she sold, and she had a way of giving the
biggest cakes to the smallest girls and boys who came into her shop,
that proved she was fond of children and had a generous heart.
People loved to come to the Grogrande Bakery. When one opened the
door an exquisite fragrance of newly baked bread and cakes greeted
the nostrils; and, if you were not hungry when you entered, you were
sure to become so when you examined and smelled the delicious pies
and doughnuts and gingerbread and buns with which the shelves and
show-cases were stocked. There were trays of French candies, too; and
because all the goods were fresh and wholesome the bakery was well
patronized and did a thriving business.
The reason no one saw Monsieur Jules in the shop was because his time
was always occupied in the bakery in the rear--a long, low room filled
with ovens and tables covered with pots and pans and dishes (which the
skillful baker used for mixing and stirring) and long shelves bearing
sugars and spices and baking-powders and sweet-smelling extracts that
made his wares taste so sweet and agreeable.
[Illustration: AN ARAB
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E-text prepared by KD Weeks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
(http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/relicofrevolutio00herb
Transcriber’s note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
A RELIC
OF THE
REVOLUTION,
CONTAINING A FULL AND PARTICULAR ACCOUNT OF
THE SUFFERINGS AND PRIVATIONS OF ALL THE
AMERICAN PRISONERS
CAPTURED ON THE HIGH SEAS, AND CARRIED INTO
PLYMOUTH, ENGLAND, DURING THE
REVOLUTION OF 1776;
With the Names of the Vessels taken—the Names and Residence of
the several Crews, and time of their Commitment—the Names
of such as died in Prison, and such as made their Escape,
or entered on board English Men-of-War;
until the exchange of prisoners,
March 15, 1779.
ALSO,
AN ACCOUNT OF THE SEVERAL CRUISES OF THE
SQUADRON UNDER THE COMMAND OF
COMMODORE JOHN PAUL JONES,
PRIZES TAKEN, ETC., ETC.
-------
BY CHARLES HERBERT, OF NEWBURYPORT, MASS.
Who was taken prisoner in the Brigantine Dolton, Dec., 1776,
and served in the U.S. Frigate Alliance, 1779-80.
-------
BOSTON:
PUBLISHED FOR THE PROPRIETOR, BY
_CHARLES H. PEIRCE._
1847.
---------------------------------------------------------
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1847,
BY RICHARD LIVSEY,
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of Massachusetts.
---------------------------------------------------------
Stereotyped and Printed
By George C. Rand and Company,
No. 3 Cornhill, Boston.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
The Dolton sailed—Was taken—Breach of Honor—Disagreeable
Lodgings—Advantage of being Small—A Report—English
Women—Royal Salute—Removed—A Prize brought in—Daily
Allowance on board His Majesty’s Ships—The Charming
Sally—Orders. 17
CHAPTER II.
Disease and Vermin—Reports—Pressed Men—Removal to the
Tarbay—Cold Berth—Sickness prevails—General Lee—A
Friend—An Act of Parliament—Removal for better—Better
Quarters—Special Favors—Liberal Distribution—Great
Contrast—A good Friend—Sickness increases. 22
CHAPTER III.
Death of E. Hunt—Gets the privilege to Work—Good Pay—Act of
Parliament—Poetry—A Captain’s Compliments—Wish granted—A
Report—Paper—A Prize—Prayers on board—A
Privilege—Reckoning—Critical
Situation—Small-Pox—Visitors—Report from America—Small-Pox
prevails—Captain Rowe—Ship Nancy taken—Terrible
Punishment—Carried to the Hospital—Treatment for Itch. 27
CHAPTER IV.
Royal Hospital Buildings—An Adventure—Taken down with
Small-Pox—Three Prisoners Escape—Re-taken—Severe
Sickness—Second Death—Joseph Hatch—Recovery—Kind attention
of the Nurses—Samuel Shriggins, the third of the company,
died—Attempt to Escape. 34
CHAPTER V.
Fourth Death—Captain Brown’s Escape—His Men sent to
Prison—Discharge from the Hospital—Yellow Fever—Fifth
Death—Cruelty to the Dead—Examination—Commitment to
Prison—Prison Allowance—Hunger—Prison Employments—Charity
Box—Hard Fare—Guard Alarmed—Friendly Visitors—A Mean
Trick. 40
CHAPTER VI.
More Prisoners—A Present—Visit from American
Gentlemen—Black-Hole—Fleet of Transports for
America—Prisoners Escape—Death—Prospect of War with
France—First Breach in the Prison Wall—Fox Frigate taken
by the Hancock—A Newspaper—Number of Prisoners—Escape of
thirty-two Prisoners—Bounty—Punishment—Cruelty to the
Old—Captain Lee taken in the Fancy—Hears from Home—Bad
News—False Reports—Daniel Cottle died. 48
CHAPTER VII.
Attempt to Escape discovered—Awful description of
Suffering—Dreadful Starvation—Gloomy Prospects—Death of
Gideon Warren—Detection—Close Examination—Commissioner—A
Newspaper—Relief Prohibited—Attempt to
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available by Cornell University Digital Collections.)
The American Missionary
JUNE, 1898.
VOL. LII.
No. 2.
* * * * *
CONTENTS
EDITORIAL.
FINANCIAL STATEMENT--SUCCESS IS COSTLY, 57
WAR AND ITS RESULTS, 58
PEOPLES OF CUBA--MISSIONARIES MURDERED 59
NEWSPAPERS, 60
THE SOUTH.
SAMPLES AND EXAMPLES (ILLUSTRATED), SECRETARY A. F. BEARD, 61
STRAIGHT UNIVERSITY, NEW ORLEANS, LA., 70
TOUGALOO UNIVERSITY, TOUGALOO, MISS., 72
DORCHESTER ACADEMY, MCINTOSH, GA., 73
TEACHERS IN THE SOUTH (ILLUSTRATED), 75
NOTES, 77
SKETCH OF STRAIGHT UNIVERSITY GRADUATE, 78
ITEMS, 81
THE INDIANS.
NEW TYPE OF INDIAN UPRISING, 82
THE CHINESE.
THE CALIFORNIA CHINESE MISSION (ILLUSTRATED), 85
OBITUARY.
REV. C. L. WOODWORTH, D.D., 87
RECEIPTS, 88
BUREAU OF WOMAN'S WORK, 102
WOMAN'S STATE ORGANIZATIONS, 103
* * * * *
NEW YORK:
PUBLISHED QUARTERLY BY THE AMERICAN MISSIONARY ASSOCIATION,
THE CONGREGATIONAL ROOMS,
FOURTH AVENUE AND TWENTY-SECOND STREET, NEW YORK.
* * * * *
Price, 50 Cents a Year in advance.
Entered at the Post Office at New York, N. Y., as Second-Class mail
matter.
* * * * *
American Missionary Association.
CONGREGATIONAL ROOMS,
Fourth Avenue and Twenty-second Street,--New York City.
PRESIDENT, MERRILL E. GATES, LL.D., MASS.
_Vice-Presidents._
Rev. F. A. NOBLE, D.D., Ill.
Rev. ALEX. McKENZIE, D.D., Mass.
Rev. HENRY HOPKINS, D.D., Mo.
Rev. HENRY A. STIMSON, D.D., N.Y.
Rev. WASHINGTON GLADDEN, D.D., Ohio.
_Honorary Secretary._
Rev. M. E. STRIEBY, D.D.
_Corresponding Secretaries._
Rev. A. F. BEARD, D.D.
Rev. F. P. WOODBURY, D.D.
Rev. C. J. RYDER, D.D.
_Recording Secretary._
Rev. M. E. STRIEBY, D.D.
_Treasurer._
H. W. HUBBARD, Esq.
_Auditors._
D. C. TIEBOUT.
CHARLES NEWTON SCHENCK.
_Executive Committee._
CHARLES L. MEAD, Chairman.
CHARLES A. HULL, Secretary.
_For Three Years._
WILLIAM HAYES WARD,
JAMES W. COOPER,
LUCIEN C. WARNER,
CHARLES P. PEIRCE,
LEWELLYN PRATT,
_For Two Years._
CHARLES A. HULL,
ALBERT J. LYMAN,
NEHEMIAH BOYNTON,
A. J. F. BEHRENDS,
EDWARD S. TEAD,
_For One Year._
SAMUEL S. MARPLES,
CHARLES L. MEAD,
ELIJAH HORR,
FRANK M. BROOKS,
CHARLES S. OLCOTT.
_District Secretaries._
Rev. GEO. H. GUTTERSON, _21 Cong'l House, Boston, Mass._
Rev. JOS. E. ROY, D.D., _153 La Salle Street, Chicago, Ill._
_Secretary of Woman's Bureau._
MISS D. E. EMERSON, _New York Office_.
COMMUNICATIONS
Relating to the work of the Association may be addressed to the
Corresponding Secretaries; letters for "THE AMERICAN MISSIONARY," to
the Editor, at the New York Office; letters relating to the finances,
to the Treasurer; letters relating to woman's work, to the Secretary
of the Woman's Bureau.
DONATIONS AND SUBSCRIPTIONS
In drafts, checks, registered letters, or post-office orders
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(This file was produced from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
THE ROYAL MAIL
[Illustration: MAIL-COACH ACCIDENT NEAR ELVANFOOT, LANARKSHIRE.]
THE ROYAL MAIL
ITS CURIOSITIES AND ROMANCE
BY
JAMES WILSON HYDE
SUPERINTENDENT IN THE GENERAL POST-OFFICE,
EDINBURGH
THIRD EDITION
LONDON
SIMPKIN, MARSHALL AND CO.
MDCCCLXXXIX.
_All Rights reserved._
NOTE.--It is of melancholy interest that Mr Fawcett's death occurred
within a month from the date on which he accepted the following
Dedication, and before the issue of the Work.
TO
THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
HENRY FAWCETT, M. P.
HER MAJESTY'S POSTMASTER-GENERAL,
THE FOLLOWING PAGES ARE, BY PERMISSION,
RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED.
PREFACE TO THIRD EDITION.
The second edition of 'The Royal Mail' having been sold out some
eighteen months ago, and being still in demand, the Author has arranged
for the publication of a further edition. Some additional particulars of
an interesting kind have been incorporated in the work; and these,
together with a number of fresh illustrations, should render 'The Royal
Mail' still more attractive than hitherto.
The modern statistics have not been brought down to date; and it will be
understood that these, and other matters (such as the circulation of
letters), which are subject to change, remain in the work as set forth
in the first edition.
EDINBURGH, _February 1889_.
PREFACE TO SECOND EDITION.
The favour with which 'The Royal Mail' has been received by the public,
as evinced by the rapid sale of the first issue, has induced the Author
to arrange for the publication of a second edition. This edition has
been revised and slightly enlarged; the new matter consisting of two
additional illustrations, contributions to the chapters on "Mail
Packets," "How Letters are Lost," and "Singular Coincidences," and a
fresh chapter on the subject of Postmasters.
The Author ventures to hope that the generous appreciation which has
been accorded to the first edition may be extended to the work in its
revised form.
EDINBURGH, _June 1885_.
INTRODUCTION.
Of all institutions of modern times, there is, perhaps, none so
pre-eminently a people's institution as is the Post-office. Not only
does it carry letters and newspapers everywhere, both within and without
the kingdom, but it is the transmitter of messages by telegraph, a vast
banker for the savings of the working classes, an insurer of lives, a
carrier of parcels, and a distributor of various kinds of Government
licences. Its services are claimed exclusively or mainly by no one
class; the rich, the poor, the educated, and the illiterate, and indeed,
the young as well as the old,--all have dealings with the Post-office.
Yet it may seem strange that an institution which is familiar by its
operations to all classes alike, should be so little known by its
internal management and organisation. A few persons, no doubt, have been
privileged to see the interior working of some important Post-office,
but it is the bare truth to say that _the people_ know nothing of what
goes on within the doors of that ubiquitous establishment. When it is
remembered that the metropolitan offices of London, Edinburgh, and
Dublin have to maintain touch with every petty office and every one of
their servants scattered throughout England, Scotland, and Ireland; that
discipline has to be exercised everywhere; that a system of accounting
must necessarily be maintained, reaching to the remotest corners; and
that the whole threads have to be gathered up and made answerable to the
great head, which is London,--some vague idea may be formed of what must
come within the view of whoever pretends to a knowledge of Post-office
work. But intimately connected with that which was the original work of
the Post-office, and is still the main work--the conveyance of
letters--there is the subject of circulation, the simple yet complex
scheme under which letters flow from each individual centre to every
other part of the country. Circulation as a system is the outcome of
planning, devising, and scheming by many heads during a long series of
years--its object, of course, being to bring letters to their
destinations in the shortest possible time. So intricate and delicate is
the fabric, that by interference an unskilled hand could not fail to
produce an effect upon the structure analogous to that which would
certainly follow any rude treatment applied to a house built of cards.
These various subjects, especially when they have become settled into
the routine state, might be considered as affording a poor soil for the
growth of anything of interest--that is, of curious interest--apart from
that which duty calls upon a man to find in his proper work. Yet the
Post-office is not without its veins of humour, though the metal to be
extracted may perhaps be scanty as compared with the vast extent of the
mine from which it has to be taken.
The compiler of the following pages has held an appointment in the
Post-office for a period of twenty-five years--the best, perhaps, of his
life; and during that term it has been his practice to note and collect
facts connected with the Department whenever they appeared of a curious,
interesting, or amusing character. While making use of such notes in
connection with this work, he has had recourse to the Post-office
Annual Reports, to old official documents, to books on various subjects,
and to newspapers, all of which have been laid under contribution
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[Illustration: Book Cover]
THE BISHOP'S SECRET
by
FERGUS HUME,
Author of "The Mystery of a Hansom Cab," "For the Defense," "The
Harlequin Opal," "The Girl from Malta," Etc.
Chicago and New York:
Rand, McNally & Company,
Publishers.
Copyright, 1900, by Rand, McNally & Co.
Copyright, 1906, by Rand, McNally & Co.
PREFACE.
In his earlier works, notably in "The Mystery of a Hansom Cab" and "The
Silent House in Pimlico," Mr. Hume won a reputation second to none for
plot of the stirring, ingenious, misleading, and finally surprising
kind, and for working out his plot in vigorous and picturesque English.
In "The Bishop's Secret," while there is no falling off in plot and
style, there is a welcome and marvelous broadening out as to the cast of
characters, representing an unusually wide range of typical men and
women. These are not laboriously described by the author, but are made
to reveal themselves in action and speech in a way that has, for the
reader, all the charm of personal intercourse with living people.
Mr. Hume's treatment of the peculiar and exclusive ecclesiastical
society of a small English cathedral city is quite worthy of Anthony
Trollope, and his leading character, Bishop Pendle, is equal to
Trollope's best bishop. The Reverend Mr. Cargrim, the Bishop's poor and
most unworthy protege, is a meaner Uriah Heep. Mrs. Pansey is the
embodiment of all shrewishness, and yields unlimited amusement. The
Gypsies are genuine--such as George Borrow, himself, would have pictured
them--not the ignorant caricatures so frequently drawn by writers too
lazy to study their subject.
Besides these types, there are several which seem to have had no exact
prototypes in preceding fiction. Such are Doctor Graham, "The Man with a
Scar," the Mosk family--father, mother, and daughter--Gabriel Pendle,
Miss Winchello, and, last but not least, Mr. Baltic--a detective so
unique in character and methods as to make Conan Doyle turn green with
envy.
All in all, this story is so rich in the essential elements of worthy
fiction--in characterization, exciting adventure, suggestions of the
marvelous, wit, humor, pathos, and just enough of tragedy--that it is
offered to the American public in all confidence that it will be
generally and heartily welcomed.
THE PUBLISHERS.
CHAPTER I
'ENTER MRS PANSEY AS CHORUS'
Of late years an anonymous mathematician has declared that in the
British Isles the female population is seven times greater than the
male; therefore, in these days is fulfilled the scriptural prophecy that
seven women shall lay hold of one man and entreat to be called by his
name. Miss Daisy Norsham, a veteran Belgravian spinster, decided, after
some disappointing seasons, that this text was particularly applicable
to London. Doubtful, therefore, of securing a husband at the rate of one
chance in seven, or dissatisfied at the prospect of a seventh share in a
man, she resolved upon trying her matrimonial fortunes in the country.
She was plain, this lady, as she was poor; nor could she rightly be said
to be in the first flush of maidenhood. In all matters other than that
of man-catching she was shallow past belief. Still, she did hope, by
dint of some brisk campaigning in the diocese of Beorminster, to capture
a whole man unto herself.
Her first step was to wheedle an invitation out of Mrs Pansey, an
archdeacon's widow--then on a philanthropic visit to town--and she
arrived, towards the end of July, in the pleasant cathedral city of
Beorminster, in time to attend a reception at the bishop's palace. Thus
the autumn manoeuvres of Miss Norsham opened most auspiciously.
Mrs Pansey, with whom this elderly worshipper of Hymen had elected to
stay during her visit, was a gruff woman, with a scowl, who 'looked all
nose and eyebrows.' Few ecclesiastical matrons were so well known in
the diocese of Beorminster as was Mrs Pansey; not many, it must be
confessed, were so ardently hated, for there were few pies indeed in
which this dear lady had not a finger; few keyholes through which her
eye did not peer. Her memory and her tongue, severally and combined, had
ruined half the reputations in the county. In short, she was a renowned
social bully, and like most bullies she gained her ends by scaring the
lives out of meeker and better-bred people than herself. These latter
feared her'scenes' as she rejoiced in them, and as she knew the pasts
of her friends from their cradle upwards, she usually contrived, by a
pitiless use of her famous memory, to put to rout anyone so ill-advised
as to attempt a stand against her domineering authority. When her tall,
gaunt figure--in
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[Illustration: Book Cover]
THE BISHOP'S SECRET
by
FERGUS HUME,
Author of "The Mystery of a Hansom Cab," "For the Defense," "The
Harlequin Opal," "The Girl from Malta," Etc.
Chicago and New York:
Rand, McNally & Company,
Publishers.
Copyright, 1900, by Rand, McNally & Co.
Copyright, 1906, by Rand, McNally & Co.
PREFACE.
In his earlier works, notably in "The Mystery of a Hansom Cab" and "The
Silent House in Pimlico," Mr. Hume won a reputation second to none for
plot of the stirring, ingenious, misleading, and finally surprising
kind, and for working out his plot in vigorous and picturesque English.
In "The Bishop's Secret," while there is no falling off in plot and
style, there is a welcome and marvelous broadening out as to the cast of
characters, representing an unusually wide range of typical men and
women. These are not laboriously described by the author, but are made
to reveal themselves in action and speech in a way that has, for the
reader, all the charm of personal intercourse with living people.
Mr. Hume's treatment of the peculiar and exclusive ecclesiastical
society of a small English cathedral city is quite worthy of Anthony
Trollope, and his leading character, Bishop Pendle, is equal to
Trollope's best bishop. The Reverend Mr. Cargrim, the Bishop's poor and
most unworthy protege, is a meaner Uriah Heep. Mrs. Pansey is the
embodiment of all shrewishness, and yields unlimited amusement. The
Gypsies are genuine--such as George Borrow, himself, would have pictured
them--not the ignorant caricatures so frequently drawn by writers too
lazy to study their subject.
Besides these types, there are several which seem to have had no exact
prototypes in preceding fiction. Such are Doctor Graham, "The Man with a
Scar," the Mosk family--father, mother, and daughter--Gabriel Pendle,
Miss Winchello, and, last but not least, Mr. Baltic--a detective so
unique in character and methods as to make Conan Doyle turn green with
envy.
All in all, this story is so rich in the essential elements of worthy
fiction--in characterization, exciting adventure, suggestions of the
marvelous, wit, humor, pathos, and just enough of tragedy--that it is
offered to the American public in all confidence that it will be
generally and heartily welcomed.
THE PUBLISHERS.
CHAPTER I
'ENTER MRS PANSEY AS CHORUS'
Of late years an anonymous mathematician has declared that in the
British Isles the female population is seven times greater than the
male; therefore, in these days is fulfilled the scriptural prophecy that
seven women shall lay hold of one man and entreat to be called by his
name. Miss Daisy Norsham, a veteran Belgravian spinster, decided, after
some disappointing seasons, that this text was particularly applicable
to London. Doubtful, therefore, of securing a husband at the rate of one
chance in seven, or dissatisfied at the prospect of a seventh share in a
man, she resolved upon trying her matrimonial fortunes in the country.
She was plain, this lady, as she was poor; nor could she rightly be said
to be in the first flush of maidenhood. In all matters other than that
of man-catching she was shallow past belief. Still, she did hope, by
dint of some brisk campaigning in the diocese of Beorminster, to capture
a whole man unto herself.
Her first step was to wheedle an invitation out of Mrs Pansey, an
archdeacon's widow--then on a philanthropic visit to town--and she
arrived, towards the end of July, in the pleasant cathedral city of
Beorminster, in time to attend a reception at the bishop's palace. Thus
the autumn manoeuvres of Miss Norsham opened most auspiciously.
Mrs Pansey, with whom this elderly worshipper of Hymen had elected to
stay during her visit, was a gruff woman, with a scowl, who 'looked all
nose and eyebrows.' Few ecclesiastical matrons were so well known in
the diocese of Beorminster as was Mrs Pansey; not many, it must be
confessed, were so ardently hated, for there were few pies indeed in
which this dear lady had not a finger; few keyholes through which her
eye did not peer. Her memory and her tongue, severally and combined, had
ruined half the reputations in the county. In short, she was a renowned
social bully, and like most bullies she gained her ends by scaring the
lives out of meeker and better-bred people than herself. These latter
feared her'scenes' as she rejoiced in them, and as she knew the pasts
of her friends from their cradle upwards, she usually contrived, by a
pitiless use of her famous memory, to put to rout anyone so ill-advised
as to attempt a stand against her domineering authority. When her tall,
gaunt figure--invariably arrayed in the blackest of black silks--was
sighted in a room, those present either scuttled out of the way or
judiciously held their peace, for everyone knew Mrs Pansey's talent for
twisting the simplest observation into some evil shape calculated to get
its author into trouble. She excelled in this particular method of
making mischief. Possessed of ample means and ample leisure, both of
these helped her materially to build up her reputation of a
philanthropic bully. She literally swooped down upon the poor, taking
one and all in charge to be fed, physicked, worked and guided according
to her own ideas. In return for benefits conferred, she demanded an
unconditional surrender of free will. Nobody was to have an opinion but
Mrs Pansey; nobody knew what was good for them unless their ideas
coincided with those of their patroness--which they never did. Mrs
Pansey had never been a mother, yet, in her own opinion, there was
nothing about children she did not know. She had not studied medicine,
therefore she dubbed the doctors a pack of fools, saying she could cure
where they failed. Be they tinkers, tailors, soldiers, sailors, Mrs
Pansey invariably knew more about their vocations than they themselves
did or were ever likely to do. In short, this celebrated lady--for her
reputation was more than local--was what the American so succinctly
terms a'she-boss'; and in a less enlightened age she would indubitably
have been ducked in the Beorflete river as a meddlesome, scolding,
clattering jade. Indeed, had anyone been so brave as to ignore the
flight of time and thus suppress her, the righteousness of the act would
most assuredly have remained unquestioned.
Now, as Miss Norsham wanted, for her own purposes, to 'know the ropes,'
she was fortunate to come within the gloom of Mrs Pansey's silken robes.
For Mrs Pansey certainly knew everyone, if she did not know everything,
and whomsoever she chaperoned had to be received by Beorminster society,
whether Beorminster society liked it or not. All _protegees_ of Mrs
Pansey sheltered under the aegis of her terrible reputation, and woe to
the daring person who did not accept them as the most charming, the
cleverest, and in every way the most desirable of their sex. But in the
memory of man, no one had ever sustained battle against Mrs Pansey, and
so this feminine Selkirk remained monarch of all she surveyed, and ruled
over a community consisting mainly of canons, vicars and curates, with
their respective wives and offsprings. There were times when her
subjects made use of language not precisely ecclesiastic, and not
infrequently Mrs Pansey's name was mentally included in the Commination
Service.
Thus it chanced that Daisy, the spinster, found herself in Mrs Pansey's
carriage on her way to the episcopalian reception, extremely well
pleased with herself, her dress, her position, and her social guardian
angel. The elder lady was impressively gloomy in her usual black silk,
fashioned after the early Victorian mode, when elegance invariably gave
place to utility. Her headgear dated back to the later Georgian epoch.
It consisted mainly of a gauze turban twinkling with jet ornaments. Her
bosom was defended by a cuirass of cold-looking steel beads, finished
off at the throat by a gigantic brooch, containing the portrait and hair
of the late archdeacon. Her skirts were lengthy and voluminous, so that
they swept the floor with a creepy rustle like the frou-frou of a
brocaded spectre. She wore black silk mittens, and on either bony wrist
a band of black velvet clasped with a large cameo set hideously in pale
gold. Thus attired--a veritable caricature by Leech--this survival of a
prehistoric age sat rigidly upright and mangled the reputations of all
and sundry.
Miss Norsham, in all but age, was very modern indeed. Her neck was lean;
her arms were thin. She made up for lack of quality by display of
quantity. In her _decollete_ costume she appeared as if composed of
bones and diamonds. The diamonds represented the bulk of Miss Norsham's
wealth, and she used them not only for the adornment of her uncomely
person, but for the deception of any possible suitor into the belief
that she was well dowered. She affected gauzy fabrics and fluttering
baby ribbons, so that her dress was as the fleecy flakes of snow
clinging to a well-preserved ruin.
For the rest she had really beautiful eyes, a somewhat elastic mouth,
and a straight nose well powdered to gloss over its chronic redness. Her
teeth were genuine and she cultivated what society novelists term
silvery peals of laughter. In every way she accentuated or obliterated
nature in her efforts to render herself attractive.
Ichabod was writ large on her powdered brow, and it needed no great
foresight to foresee the speedy approach of acidulated spinsterhood.
But, to do her justice, this regrettable state of single blessedness was
far from being her own fault. If her good fortune had but equalled her
courage and energy she should have relinquished celibacy years ago.
'Oh, dear--dear Mrs Pansey,' said the younger lady, strong in adjectives
and interjections and reduplication of both, 'is the bishop very, very
sweet?'
'He's sweet enough as bishops go,' growled Mrs Pansey, in her deep-toned
voice. 'He might be better, and he might be worse. There is too much
Popish superstition and worship of idols about him for my taste. If the
departed can smell,' added the lady, with an illustrative sniff, 'the
late archdeacon must turn in his grave when those priests of Baal and
Dagon burn incense at the morning service. Still, Bishop Pendle has his
good points, although he _is_ a time-server and a sycophant.'
'Is he one of the Lancashire Pendles, dear Mrs Pansey?'
'A twenty-fifth cousin or thereabouts. He says he is a nearer relation,
but I know much more about it than he does. If you want an ornamental
bishop with good legs for gaiters, and a portly figure for an apron, Dr
Pendle's the man. But as a God-fearing priest' (with a groan), 'a
simple worshipper' (groan) 'and a lowly, repentant sinner' (groan), 'he
leaves much--much to be desired.'
'Oh, Mrs Pansey, the dear bishop a sinner?'
'Why not?' cried Mrs Pansey, ferociously; 'aren't we all miserable
sinners? Dr Pendle's a human worm, just as you are--as I am. You may
dress him in lawn sleeves and a mitre, and make pagan genuflections
before his throne, but he is only a worm for all that.'
'What about his wife?' asked Daisy, to avert further expansion of this
text.
'A poor thing, my dear, with a dilated heart and not as much blood in
her body as would fill a thimble. She ought to be in a hospital, and
would be, too, if I had my way. Lolling all day long on a sofa, and
taking glasses of champagne between doses of iron and extract of beef;
then giving receptions and wearing herself out. How he ever came to
marry the white-faced doll I can't imagine. She was a Mrs Creagth when
she caught him.'
'Oh, really! a widow?'
'Of course, of course. You don't suppose she's a bigamist even though
he's a fool, do you?' and the eyebrows went up and down in the most
alarming manner. 'The bishop--he was a London curate then--married her
some eight-and-twenty years ago, and I daresay he has repented of it
ever since. They have three children--George' (with a whisk of her fan
at the mention of each name), 'who is a good-looking idiot in a line
regiment; Gabriel, a curate as white-faced as his mother, and no doubt
afflicted as she is with heart trouble. He was in Whitechapel, but his
father put him in a curacy here--it was sheer nepotism. Then there is
Lucy; she is the best of the bunch, which is not saying much. They've
engaged her to young Sir Harry Brace, and now they are giving this
reception to celebrate having inveigled him into the match.'
'Engaged?' sighed the fair Daisy, enviously. 'Oh, do tell me if this
girl is really, really pretty.'
'Humph,' said the eyebrows, 'a pale, washed-out rag of a creature--but
what can you expect from such a mother? No brains, no style, no
conversation; always a simpering, weak-eyed rag baby. Oh, my dear, what
fools men are!'
'Ah, you may well say that, dear Mrs Pansey,' assented the spinster,
thinking wrathfully of this unknown girl who had succeeded where she had
failed. 'Is it a very, very good match?'
'Ten thousand a year and a fine estate, my dear. Sir Harry is a nice
young fellow, but a fool. An absentee landlord, too,' grumbled Mrs
Pansey, resentfully. 'Always running over the world poking his nose into
what doesn't concern him, like the Wandering Jew or the _Flying
Dutchman_. Ah, my dear, husbands are not what they used to be. The late
archdeacon never left his fireside while I was there. I knew better than
to let him go to Paris or Pekin, or some of those sinks of iniquity.
Cook and Gaze indeed!' snorted Mrs Pansey, indignantly; 'I would abolish
them by Act of Parliament. They turn men into so many Satans walking to
and fro upon the earth. Oh, the immorality of these latter days! No
wonder the end of all things is predicted.'
Miss Norsham paid little attention to the latter portion of this
diatribe. As Sir Harry Brace was out of the matrimonial market it
conveyed no information likely to be of use to her in the coming
campaign. She wished to be informed as to the number and the names of
eligible men, and forewarned with regard to possible rivals.
'And who is really and truly the most beautiful girl in Beorminster?'
she asked abruptly.
'Mab Arden,' replied Mrs Pansey, promptly. 'There, now,' with an
emphatic blow of her fan,'she is pretty, if you like, though I daresay
there is more art than nature about her.'
'Who is Mab Arden, dear Mrs Pansey?'
'She is Miss Whichello's niece, that's who she is.'
'Whichello? Oh, good gracious me! what a very, very funny name. Is Miss
Whichello a foreigner?'
'Foreigner? Bah!' cried Mrs Pansey, like a stentorian ram,'she belongs
to a good old English family, and, in my opinion, she disgraces them
thoroughly. A meddlesome old maid, who wants to foist her niece on to
George Pendle; and she's likely to succeed, too,' added the lady,
rubbing her nose with a vexed air, 'for the young ass is in love with
Mab, although she is three years older than he is. Mr Cargrim also likes
the girl, though I daresay it is money with him.'
'Really! Mr Cargrim?'
'Yes, he is the bishop's chaplain; a Jesuit in disguise I call him, with
his moping and mowing and sneaky ways. Butter wouldn't melt in his
mouth; oh, dear no! I gave my opinion about him pretty plainly to Dr
Graham, I can tell you, and Graham's the only man with brains in this
city of fools.'
'Is Dr Graham young?' asked Miss Norsham, in the faint hope that Mrs
Pansey's list of inhabitants might include a wealthy bachelor.
'Young? He's sixty, if you call that young, and in his second childhood.
An Atheist, too. Tom Payn, Colonel Ingersoll, Viscount Amberly--those
are his gods, the pagan! I'd burn him on a tar-barrel if I had my way.
It's a pity we don't stick to some customs of our ancestors.'
'Oh, dear me, are there no young men at all?'
'Plenty, and all idiots. Brainless officers, whose wives would have to
ride on a baggage-waggon; silly young squires, whose ideal of womanhood
is a brazen barmaid; and simpering curates, put into the Church as the
fools of their respective families. I don't know what men are coming
to,' groaned Mrs Pansey.
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Internet Archive)
CHILDREN OF WILD AUSTRALIA
[Illustration: BOY SPEARING FISH]
CHILDREN OF WILD AUSTRALIA
BY
HERBERT PITTS
AUTHOR OF
"THE AUSTRALIAN ABORIGINAL AND THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH"
[Illustration: Decoration]
WITH EIGHT COLOURED ILLUSTRATIONS
EDINBURGH AND LONDON
OLIPHANT, ANDERSON & FERRIER
PRINTED BY
TURNBULL AND SPEARS,
EDINBURGH
TO
DEAR LITTLE MARY
THIS LITTLE BOOK
ABOUT
THE LITTLE BLACK BOYS AND GIRLS
OF A FAR-OFF LAND
IS DEDICATED BY
HER FATHER
MY DEAR BOYS AND GIRLS,
All the time I have been writing this little book I have been wishing I
could gather you all around me and take you with me to some of the
places in faraway Australia where I myself have seen the little black
children at their play. You would understand so much better all I have
tried to say.
It is a bright sunny land where those children live, but in many ways a
far less pleasant land to live in than our own. The country often grows
very parched and bare, the grass dies, the rivers begin to dry up, and
the poor little children of the wilderness have great difficulty in
getting food. Then perhaps a great storm comes and a great quantity of
rain falls. The rivers fill up and the grass begins to grow again, but
myriads of flies follow and they get into the children's eyes and
perhaps blind some of them, and the mosquitoes come and bite them and
give them fevers sometimes.
Yet though much of the land is wilderness--bare, sandy plains--beautiful
flowers bloom there after the rains. Lovely hibiscus, the giant scarlet
pea, and thousands of delicate white and yellow everlastings are there
for the eyes to feast upon, but the loveliest flowers of all are
frequently the love and tenderness and unselfishness which bloom in the
children's hearts.
I have left Australia now and settled down again in the old homeland,
but the memories of the eight years I spent among the dear little
children out there are still very delightful ones, and they, more than
anything I have read, have helped me to write this little book for you.
Your Sincere friend,
HERBERT PITTS
DOUGLAS, I.O.M., 1914
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
INTRODUCTORY LETTER 7
I. INTRODUCTORY 11
II. PICCANINNIES 17
III. "GREAT-GREAT-GREATEST-GRANDFATHER" 23
IV. BLACKFELLOWS' "HOMES" 26
V. EDUCATION 31
VI. WEAPONS, ETC., WHICH CHILDREN LEARN TO
MAKE AND USE 35
VII. HOW FOOD IS CAUGHT AND COOKED 40
VIII. CORROBBOREES, OR NATIVE DANCES 44
IX. MAGIC AND SORCERY 47
X. SOME STRANGE WAYS OF DISPOSING OF THE DEAD 56
XI. SOME STORIES WHICH ARE TOLD TO CHILDREN 60
XII. MORE STORIES TOLD TO CHILDREN 65
XIII. RELIGION 68
XIV. YARRABAH 72
XV. TRUBANAMAN CREEK 79
XVI. SOME ABORIGINAL SAINTS AND HEROES 85
XVII. THE CHOCOLATE BOX 89
ILLUSTRATIONS
BOY SPEARING FISH _Frontispiece_
PAGE
HUNTING PARROTS AND COCKATOOS 12
ABORIGINAL CHILDREN AND NATIVE HUT 28
LEARNING TO USE THE BOOMERANG 42
YOUTH IN WAR PAINT 52
GIRLS' CLASS AT YARRABAH SCHOOL 73
BATHING OFF JETTY AT YARRABAH 78
THE FIRST SCHOOL AT MITCHELL RIVER 84
CHILDREN OF WILD AUSTRALIA
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTORY
This little book is all about the children of wild Australia--where they
came from, how they live, the weapons they fight with, their strange
ideas and peculiar customs. But first of all you ought to know something
of the country in which they live, whence and how they first came to it,
and what we mean by "wild Australia" to-day, for it is not all
"wild"--very, very far from that.
Australia is a very big country, nearly as large again as India, and no
less than sixty times the size of England without Wales. Nearly half of
it lies within the tropics so that in summer it is extremely hot. There
are fewer white people than there are in London, in fact less than five
millions in all and more than a third of these live in the five big
cities which you will find around the coast, and about a third more in
smaller towns not so very far from the sea. The further you travel from
the coast the more scattered does the white population become, till some
hundred miles inland or more you reach the sheep and cattle country
where the homes of the white men are twenty or even more miles apart.
Further back still lies a vast, and, as far as whites are concerned,
almost unpeopled region into which, however, the squatter is constantly
pushing in search of new pastures for his flocks and herds, and into
which the prospector goes further and further on the look-out for gold.
This country we call in
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THE POETICAL WORKS
OF
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES
[Volume 3 of the 1893 three volume set]
BEFORE THE CURFEW
AT MY FIRESIDE
AT THE SATURDAY CLUB
OUR DEAD SINGER. H. W. L.
TWO POEMS TO HARRIET BEECHER STOWE ON HER SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY.
I. AT THE SUMMIT
II. THE WORLD'S HOMAGE
A WELCOME TO DR. BENJAMIN APTHORP GOULD
TO FREDERICK HENRY HEDGE ON HIS EIGHTIETH BIRTHDAY
TO JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL
TO JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER ON HIS EIGHTIETH BIRTHDAY
PRELUDE TO A VOLUME PRINTED IN RAISED LETTERS
FOR THE BLIND
BOSTON TO FLORENCE
AT THE UNITARIAN FESTIVAL, MARCH 8, 1882
POEM FOR THE TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTIETH ANNIVERSARY OF THE FOUNDING OF
HARVARD COLLEGE
POST-PRANDIAL: PHI BETA KAPPA, 1881
THE FLANEUR: DURING THE TRANSIT OF VENUS, 1882
AVE
KING'S CHAPEL READ AT THE TWO HUNDREDTH ANNIVERSARY
HYMN FOR THE SAME OCCASION
HYMN.--THE WORD OF PROMISE
HYMN READ AT THE DEDICATION OF THE OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES H
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Produced by Audrey Longhurst, Emanuela Piasentini and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+------------------------------------------------------------+
|Transcriber's note. |
| |
|The original punctuation, language and spelling have been |
|retained, except where noted at the end of the text. |
|Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note.|
| |
|The [oe] ligature has been rendered as oe. |
| |
|Alternative spellings: |
|chateau: chateau |
|camerara: camarera |
|Fenelon: Fenelon |
|Ferte-Senneterre: Ferte-Senneterre |
|Hotel: Hotel |
|Leganez: Leganez |
|Orleans: Orleans |
|Querouialle: Querouialle |
|Saint-Megrin: Saint-Megrin |
|Sevigne: Sevigne, Sevigne |
|Tremouille: Tremouille |
|Tarent: Tarente |
+------------------------------------------------------------+
POLITICAL WOMEN.
BY
SUTHERLAND MENZIES,
AUTHOR OF "ROYAL FAVOURITES," ETC.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
HENRY S. KING & CO.,
65, CORNHILL, AND 12, PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON.
1873.
[_All rights reserved._]
CONTENTS OF VOLUME II.
BOOK V.--_continued._
PAGE
CHAP. III.--The struggle between Conde and Turenne--Noble
conduct of Mademoiselle de Montpensier--Fall of
the Fronde 3
IV.--The Duke de Nemours slain in a duel by his
brother-in-law Beaufort 12
V.--Triumph of Mazarin 16
BOOK VI.
CHAP. I.--Closing scenes--Madame de Longueville 35
II.--Madame de Chevreuse 49
III.--The Princess Palatine 54
IV.--Madame de Montbazon 61
V.--Mademoiselle de Montpensier 69
VI.--The Wife of the Great Conde 80
PART II.
The Duchess of Portsmouth 93
PART III.
BOOK I.
PRINCESS DES URSINS.
CHAP. I.--Two ladies of the Bedchamber during _the war of
the Spanish Succession_--Lady Churchill and the
Princess des Ursins--Political motives for their
elevation in England and Spain 127
II.--The Princess des Ursins--The married life of
Anne de la Tremouille--She becomes the centre of
contemporary politics in Rome 131
III.--Madame des Ursins aspires to govern Spain--Her
manoeuvres to secure the post of Camerara-Mayor 141
IV.--The Princess assumes the functions of
Camerara-Mayor to the young Queen of Spain--An
unpropitious royal wedding 148
V.--Onerous and incongruous duties of the
Camerara-Mayor--She renders Marie Louise popular
with the Spaniards--The policy adopted by the
Princess for the regeneration of Spain--Character
of Philip and Marie Louise--Two political systems
combated by Madame des Ursins--She effects the
ruin of her political rivals and reigns
absolutely in the Councils of the Crown 161
VI.--The Princess makes a false step in her
Statecraft--A blunder and an imbroglio 175
VII.--The Princess quits Madrid by command of Louis
XIV.--After a short exile, she receives
permission to visit Versailles 184
VIII.--The Princess triumphs at Versailles 192
BOOK II.
CHAP. I.--Sarah Jennings and John Churchill 207
II.--State of parties in action on the accession of
Queen Anne--Harley and Bolingbroke aim at
overthrowing the sway of the female
"Viceroy"--Abigail Hill becomes the instrument
of the Duchess's downfall--Squabbles between
the Queen and her Mistress of the Robes 215
III.--Success of the Cabal--The Queen emancipates
herself from all obligations
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E-text prepared by Larry B. Harrison, David Edwards, and the Online
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Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/cu31924027805864
EVENING TALES
Done into English from the French of
FRÉDÉRIC ORTOLI
by
Joel Chandler Harris
Author of "Uncle Remus"
Authorized Edition
New York
Charles Scribner's Sons
1919
Copyright, 1893, by
Charles Scribner's Sons
CONTENTS
I PAGE
A FRENCH TAR-BABY, 1
II
TEENCHY DUCK, 13
III
MR. SNAIL AND BROTHER
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Produced by Roger Burch with scans from the Internet Archive.
{Transcriber's Note: Quotation marks have been standardized to modern
usage. Footnotes have been placed to immediately follow the paragraphs
referencing them. Transcriber's notes are in curly braces; square brackets
and parentheses indicate original content.}
{Illustration: Cover}
INDIAN BIOGRAPHY:
OR,
AN HISTORICAL ACCOUNT
OF THOSE
INDIVIDUALS WHO HAVE BEEN DISTINGUISHED AMONG
THE NORTH AMERICAN NATIVES
AS
ORATORS, WARRIORS, STATESMEN,
AND
OTHER REMARKABLE CHARACTERS.
* * * * *
BY
B. B. THATCHER, ESQ.
* * * * *
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
* * * * *
NEW-YORK:
PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS,
No. 82 CLIFF-STREET
* * * * *
1836.
[Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1834, by
Harper & Brothers in the Clerk's Office of the Southern District
of New-York.]
PREFACE.
The Author does not propose an elaborate explanation, nor an apology of
any kind, for the benefit of the following work. If it absolutely requires
either, he must even be content to have written it in vain, as no
statement or argument can give it any degree of vitality or popularity in
the one case or in the other.
He has regarded it, historically, as an act of mere Justice to the fame
and the memories of many wise, brilliant, brave and generous
men,--patriots, orators, warriors and statesmen,--who ruled over barbarian
communities, and were indeed themselves barbarians, but whose influence,
eloquence and success of every description were _therefore_ but the nobler
objects of admiration and the worthier subjects for record. Nor can
Philosophy look upon them without predilection. Comparatively
unopinionated and unaffected as they were,--governed by impulse and guided
by native sense,--owing little to circumstances, and struggling much
amidst and against them,--their situation was the best possible for
developing both genius and principle, and their education at the sane time
the best for disclosing them. Their Lives, then, should illustrate the
true constitution of man. They should have, above all other history, the
praise and the interest of "philosophy teaching, by example."
The strictly moral inducements which have operated on the Author's mind,
must be too obvious to require dissertation. We owe, and our Fathers owed,
too much to the Indians,--too much from man to man,--too much from race to
race,--to deny them the poor restitution of historical justice at least,
however the issue may have been or may be with themselves. Nor need it be
suggested, that selfishness alone might dictate the policy of a collection
such as the Author has endeavored to make this, were it only for the
collateral light which it constantly throws on the history and biography of
our own nation.
Nothing of the same character is before the public. What may be called an
Indian Biographical Dictionary has indeed recently appeared, and to that
the Author has gladly referred in the course of his researches; but the
extreme difficulty of doing justice to any individuals of the race, and at
the same time to _all,_ may be inferred from the fact that the writer
alluded to has noticed such men as Uncas in some six or eight lines, while
he has wholly omitted characters so important as Buckongahelas, White-eyes,
Pipe, and Occonoetota. On these, and on all their more eminent countrymen,
the Author has intended to bestow the notice they deserve, by passing over
the vast multitude distinguished only by detached anecdote, or described
only in general terms.
In fine, conscious of many imperfections, but also conscious of a strenuous
exertion to render them as few and small as might be, the Author submits
the Biography to the public, and especially to the candor of those whose
own labors, if not the results of them, have shown them the essential
fallibility of every composition like this. He will have reason to be
satisfied if it do good, as he will assuredly be gratified if it give
pleasure.
Boston, Sept. 10, 1832.
CONTENTS
CHAP. I.--The Indian tribes of Virginia at the date of the Jamestown
settlement; their names, numbers and power--The Powhatan
confederacy--The Indian Village of that name--Powhatan--The
circumstances of the first interview between him and the
English--Opechancanough, his brother--Opitchipan--Reception of Captain
Smith by Powhatan--Interposition of Pocahontas in his favor
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Transcriber's Note: Minor typographical errors have been corrected
without note. Dialect spellings, contractions and discrepancies have
been retained.
THE HISTORY
OF
SIR RICHARD CALMADY
A Romance
By
Lucas Malet
NEW YORK
Dodd, Mead & Company
1901
_Copyright_, 1901
BY DODD, MEAD & COMPANY
THE CAXTON PRESS
NEW YORK.
CONTENTS
BOOK I
THE CLOWN
CHAP. PAGE
I. Acquainting the Reader with a Fair Domain
and the Maker Thereof 1
II. Giving the Very Earliest Information
Obtainable of the Hero of this Book 7
III. Touching Matters Clerical and Controversial 19
IV. Raising Problems which it is the Purpose
of this History to Resolve 25
V. In which Julius March Beholds the Vision
of the New Life 34
VI. Accident or Destiny, According to Your Humour 44
VII. Mrs. William Ormiston Sacrifices a Wine-glass
to Fate 57
VIII. Enter a Child of Promise 69
IX. In which Katherine Calmady Looks on Her Son 76
X. The Birds of the Air Take Their Breakfast 84
BOOK II
THE BREAKING OF DREAMS
I. Recording some Aspects of a Small Pilgrim's Progress 93
II. In which Our Hero Improves His Acquaintance
with Many
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THE BLIND BROTHER.
SUNSHINE LIBRARY.
=Aunt Hannah and Seth.= By James Otis.
=Blind Brother (The).= By Homer Greene.
=Captain's Dog (The).= By Louis Enault.
=Cat and the Candle (The).= By Mary F. Leonard.
=Christmas at Deacon Hackett's.= By James Otis.
=Christmas-Tree Scholar.= By Frances Bent Dillingham.
=Dear Little Marchioness.= The Story of a Child's Faith and Love.
=Dick in the Desert.= By James Otis.
=Divided Skates.= By Evelyn Raymond.
=Gold Thread (The).= By Norman MacLeod, D.D.
=Half a Dozen Thinking Caps.= By Mary Leonard.
=How Tommy Saved the Barn.= By James Otis.
=Ingleside.= By Barbara Yechton.
=J. Cole.= By Emma Gellibrand.
=Jessica's First Prayer.= By Hesba Stretton.
=Laddie.= By the author of "Miss Toosey's Mission."
=Little Crusaders.= By Eva Madden.
=Little Sunshine's Holiday.= By Miss Mulock.
=Little Peter.= By Lucas Malet.
=Master Sunshine.= By Mrs. C. F. Fraser.
=Miss Toosey's Mission.= By the author of "Laddie."
=Musical Journey of Dorothy and Delia.= By Bradley Gilman.
=Our Uncle, the Major.= A Story of 1765. By James Otis.
=Pair of Them (A).= By Evelyn Raymond.
=Playground Toni.= By Anna Chapin Ray.
=Play Lady (The).= By Ella Farman Pratt.
=Prince Prigio.= By Andrew Lang.
=Short Cruise (A).= By James Otis.
=Smoky Days.= By Edward W. Thomson.
=Strawberry Hill.= By Mrs. C. F. Fraser.
=Sunbeams and Moonbeams.= By Louise R. Baker.
=Two and One.= By Charlotte M. Vaile.
=Wreck of the Circus (The).= By James Otis.
=Young Boss (The).= By Edward W. Thomson.
THOMAS Y. CROWELL & COMPANY,
NEW YORK.
[Illustration]
THE
BLIND BROTHER:
A Story of
THE PENNSYLVANIA COAL MINES
BY
HOMER GREENE
_The author received for this story the First Prize, Fifteen Hundred
Dollars, offered by the_ YOUTH'S COMPANION _in 1886,
for the Best Serial Story_
FOURTEENTH THOUSAND
NEW YORK
THOMAS Y. CROWELL & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1887,
By THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO.
TO
MY MOTHER,
WHOSE TENDER CARE AND UNSELFISH DEVOTION
MADE HAPPY THE DAYS OF MY
OWN BOYHOOD,
This Book for Boys
IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED,
BY THE AUTHOR.
Honesdale, Penn., April 6, 1887.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. LOST IN THE MINE 11
II. THE BURNED BREAKER 30
III. THE UNQUIET CONSCIENCE 50
IV. THE TRIAL 69
V. THE VERDICT 89
VI. THE FALL 109
VII. THE SHADOW OF DEATH 128
VIII. OUT OF DARKNESS 148
THE BLIND BROTHER.
CHAPTER I.
LOST IN THE MINE.
The Dryden Mine, in the Susquehanna coal-fields of Pennsylvania, was
worked out and abandoned long ago. To-day its headings and airways and
chambers echo only to the occasional fall of loosened slate, or to the
drip of water from the roof. Its pillars, robbed by retreating workmen,
are crumbling and rusty, and those of its props which are still
standing have become mouldy and rotten. The rats that once scampered
through its galleries deserted it along with human kind, and its very
name, from long disuse, has acquired an unaccustomed sound.
But twenty years ago there was no busier mine than the Dryden from
Carbondale to Nanticoke. Two hundred and thirty men and boys went by
the <DW72> into it every morning, and came out from it every night. They
were simple and unlearned, these men and boys, rugged and rude, rough
and reckless at times, but manly, heroic, and kindhearted.
Up in the Lackawanna region a strike had been in progress for nearly
two weeks. Efforts had been made by the strikers to persuade
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THE GUNS OF SHILOH
A STORY OF THE GREAT WESTERN CAMPAIGN
By Joseph A. Altsheler
FOREWORD
"The Guns of Shiloh," a complete story in itself, is the complement of
"The Guns of Bull Run." In "The Guns of Bull Run" the Civil War and
its beginnings are seen through the eyes of Harry Kenton, who is on the
Southern side. In "The Guns of Shiloh" the mighty struggle takes its
color from the view of Dick Mason, who fights for the North and who is
with Grant in his first great campaign.
THE CIVIL WAR SERIES
VOLUMES IN THE CIVIL WAR SERIES
THE GUNS OF BULL RUN.
THE GUNS OF SHILOH.
THE SCOUTS OF STONEWALL.
THE SWORD OF ANTIETAM.
THE STAR OF GETTYSBURG.
THE ROCK OF CHICKAMAUGA.
THE SHADES OF THE WILDERNESS.
THE TREE OF APPOMATTOX.
PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS IN THE CIVIL WAR SERIES
HARRY KENTON, A Lad Who Fights on the Southern Side.
DICK MASON, Cousin of Harry Kenton, Who Fights on the Northern Side.
COLONEL GEORGE KENTON, Father of Harry Kenton.
MRS. MASON, Mother of Dick Mason.
JULIANA, Mrs. Mason's Devoted <DW52> Servant.
COLONEL ARTHUR WINCHESTER, Dick Mason's Regimental Commander.
COLONEL LEONIDAS TALBOT, Commander of the Invincibles,
a Southern Regiment.
LIEUTENANT COLONEL HECTOR ST. HILAIRE, Second in Command of the
Invincibles.
ALAN HERTFORD, A Northern Cavalry Leader.
PHILIP SHERBURNE, A Southern Cavalry Leader.
WILLIAM J. SHEPARD, A Northern Spy.
DANIEL WHITLEY, A Northern Sergeant and Veteran of the Plains.
GEORGE WARNER, A Vermont Youth Who Loves Mathematics.
FRANK PENNINGTON, A Nebraska Youth, Friend of Dick Mason.
ARTHUR ST. CLAIR, A Native of Charleston, Friend of Harry Kenton.
TOM LANGDON, Friend of Harry Kenton.
GEORGE DALTON, Friend of Harry Kenton.
BILL SKELLY, Mountaineer and Guerrilla.
TOM SLADE, A Guerrilla Chief.
SAM JARVIS, The Singing Mountaineer.
IKE SIMMONS, Jarvis' Nephew.
AUNT "SUSE," A Centenarian and Prophetess.
BILL PETTY, A Mountaineer and Guide.
JULIEN DE LANGEAIS, A Musician and Soldier from Louisiana.
JOHN CARRINGTON, Famous Northern Artillery Officer.
DR. RUSSELL, Principal of the Pendleton School.
ARTHUR TRAVERS, A Lawyer.
JAMES BERTRAND, A Messenger from the South.
JOHN NEWCOMB, A Pennsylvania Colonel.
JOHN MARKHAM, A Northern Officer.
JOHN WATSON, A Northern Contractor.
WILLIAM CURTIS, A Southern Merchant and Blockade Runner.
MRS. CURTIS, Wife of William Curtis.
HENRIETTA CARDEN, A Seamstress in Richmond.
DICK JONES, A North Carolina Mountaineer.
VICTOR WOODVILLE, A Young Mississippi Officer.
JOHN WOODVILLE, Father of Victor Woodville.
CHARLES WOODVILLE, Uncle of Victor Woodville.
COLONEL BEDFORD, A Northern Officer.
CHARLES GORDON, A Southern Staff Officer.
JOHN LANHAM, An Editor.
JUDGE KENDRICK, A Lawyer.
MR. CULVER, A State Senator.
MR. BRACKEN, A Tobacco Grower.
ARTHUR WHITRIDGE, A State Senator.
HISTORICAL CHARACTERS
ABRAHAM LINCOLN, President of the United States.
JEFFERSON DAVIS, President of the Southern Confederacy.
JUDAH P. BENJAMIN, Member of the Confederate Cabinet.
U. S. GRANT, Northern Commander.
ROBERT E. LEE, Southern Commander.
STONEWALL JACKSON, Southern General.
PHILIP H. SHERIDAN, Northern General.
GEORGE H. THOMAS, "The Rock of Chickamauga."
ALBERT SIDNEY JOHNSTON, Southern General.
A. P. HILL, Southern General.
W. S. HANCOCK, Northern General.
GEORGE B. McCLELLAN, Northern General.
AMBROSE E. BURNSIDE, Northern General.
TURNER ASHBY, Southern Cavalry Leader.
J. E. B. STUART, Southern Cavalry Leader.
JOSEPH HOOKER, Northern General.
RICHARD S. EWELL, Southern General.
JUBAL EARLY, Southern General.
WILLIAM S. ROSECRANS, Northern General.
SIMON BOLIVAR BUCKNER, Southern General.
LEONIDAS POLK, Southern General and Bishop.
BRAXTON BRAGG, Southern General.
NATHAN BEDFORD FORREST, Southern Cavalry Leader.
JOHN MORGAN, Southern Cavalry Leader.
GEORGE J. MEADE, Northern General.
DON CARLOS BUELL, Northern General.
W. T. SHERMAN, Northern General.
JAMES LONGSTREET, Southern General.
P. G. T. BEAUREGARD, Southern General.
WILLIAM L. YANCEY, Alabama Orator.
JAMES A. GARFIELD, Northern General, afterwards President of
the United States.
And many others
IMPORTANT BATTLES DESCRIBED IN THE CIVIL WAR SERIES
BULL RUN
KERNSTOWN
CROSS KEYS
WINCHESTER
PORT REPUBLIC
THE SEVEN DAYS
MILL SPRING
FORT DONELSON
SHILOH
PERRYVILLE
STONE RIVER
THE SECOND MANASSAS
ANTIETAM
FREDERICKSBURG
CHANCELLORSVILLE
GETTYSBURG
CHAMPION HILL
VICKSBURG
CHICKAMAUGA
MISSIONARY RIDGE
THE WILDERNESS
SPOTTSYLVANIA
COLD HARBOR
FISHER'S HILL
CEDAR CREEK
APPOMATTOX
CONTENTS
I. IN FLIGHT
II. THE MOUNTAIN LIGHTS
III. THE TELEGRAPH STATION
IV. THE FIGHT IN THE PASS
V. THE SINGER OF THE HILLS
VI. MILL SPRING
VII. THE MESSENGER
VIII. A MEETING AT NIGHT
IX. TAKING A FORT
X. BEFORE DONELSON
XI. THE SOUTHERN ATTACK
XII. GRANT'S GREAT VICTORY
XIII. IN THE FOREST
XIV. THE DARK EVE OF SHILOH
XV. THE RED DAWN OF SHILOH
XVI. THE FIERCE FINISH OF SHILOH
THE GUNS OF SHILOH
CHAPTER I. IN FLIGHT
Dick Mason, caught in the press of a beaten army, fell back slowly with
his comrades toward a ford of Bull Run. The first great battle of the
Civil War had been fought and lost. Lost, after it had been won! Young
as he was Dick knew that fortune had been with the North until the very
closing hour. He did not yet know how it had been done. He did not know
how the Northern charges had broken in vain on the ranks of Stonewall
Jackson's men. He did not know how the fresh Southern troops from the
Valley of Virginia had hurled themselves so fiercely on the Union flank.
But he did know that his army had been defeated and was retreating on
the capital.
Cannon still thundered to right and left, and now and then showers of
bursting shell sprayed over the heads of the tired and gloomy soldiers.
Dick, thoughtful and scholarly, was in the depths of a bitterness and
despair reached by few of those around him. The Union, the Republic, had
appealed to him as the most glorious of experiments. He could not bear
to see it broken up for any cause whatever. It had been founded with
too much blood and suffering and labor to be dissolved in a day on a
Virginia battlefield.
But the army that had almost grasped victory was retreating, and the
camp followers, the spectators who had come out to see an easy triumph,
and some of the raw recruits were running. A youth near Dick cried that
the rebels fifty thousand strong with a hundred guns were hot upon their
heels. A short, powerful man, with a voice like the roar of thunder,
bade him hush or he would feel a rifle barrel across his back. Dick
had noticed this man, a sergeant named Whitley, who had shown singular
courage and coolness throughout the battle, and he crowded closer to him
for companionship. The man observed the action and looked at him with
blue eyes that twinkled out of a face almost black with the sun.
"Don't take it so hard, my boy," he said. "This battle's lost, but there
are others that won't be. Most of the men were raw, but they did some
mighty good fightin', while the regulars an' the cavalry are coverin'
the retreat. Beauregard's army is not goin' to sweep us off the face of
the earth."
His words brought cheer to Dick, but it lasted only a moment. He was to
see many dark days, but this perhaps was the darkest of his life. His
heart beat painfully and his face was a brown mask of mingled dust,
sweat, and burned gunpowder. The thunder of the Southern cannon behind
them filled him with humiliation. Every bone in him ached after such
fierce exertion, and his eyes were dim with the flare of cannon and
rifles and the rolling clouds of dust. He was scarcely conscious that
the thick and powerful sergeant had moved up by his side and had put a
helping hand under his arm.
"Here we are at the ford!" cried Whitley. "Into it, my lad! Ah, how good
the water feels!"
Dick, despite those warning guns behind him, would have remained a while
in Bull Run, luxuriating in the stream, but the crowd of his comrades
was pressing hard upon him, and he only had time to thrust his face into
the water and to pour it over his neck, arms, and shoulders. But he was
refreshed greatly. Some of the heat went out of his body, and his eyes
and head ached less.
The retreat continued across the rolling hills. Dick saw everywhere arms
and supplies thrown away by the fringe of a beaten army, the men in the
rear who saw and who spread the reports of panic and terror. But the
regiments were forming again into a cohesive force, and behind them
the regulars and cavalry in firm array still challenged pursuit. Heavy
firing was heard again under the horizon and word came that the Southern
cavalry had captured guns and wagons, but the main division maintained
its slow retreat toward Washington.
Now the cool shadows were coming. The sun, which had shown as red as
blood over the field that day, was sinking behind the hills. Its fiery
rays ceased to burn the faces of the men. A soft healing breeze stirred
the leaves and grass. The river of Bull Run and the field of Manassas
were gone from sight, and the echo of the last cannon shot died solemnly
on the Southern horizon. An hour later the brigade stopped in the wood,
and the exhausted men threw themselves upon the ground. They were so
tired that their bodies were in pain as if pricked with needles. The
chagrin and disgrace of defeat were forgotten for the time in the
overpowering desire for rest.
Dick had enlisted as a common soldier. There was no burden of
maintaining order upon him, and he threw himself upon the ground by the
side of his new friend, Sergeant Whitley. His breath came at first in
gasps, but presently he felt better and sat up.
It was now full night, thrice blessed to them all, with the heat and
dust gone and no enemy near. The young recruits had recovered their
courage. The terrible scenes of the battle were hid from their eyes, and
the cannon no longer menaced on the horizon. The sweet, soothing wind
blew gently over the hills among which they lay, and the leaves rustled
peacefully.
Fires were lighted, wagons with supplies arrived, and the men began
to cook food, while the surgeons moved here and there, binding up the
wounds of the hurt. The pleasant odors of coffee and frying meat arose.
Sergeant Whitley stood up and by the moonlight and the fires scanned the
country about them with discerning eye. Dick looked at him with renewed
interest. He was a man of middle years, but with all the strength and
elasticity of youth. Despite his thick coat of tan he was naturally
fair, and Dick noticed that his hands were the largest that he had ever
seen on any human being. They seemed to the boy to have in them the
power to strangle a bear. But the man was singularly mild and gentle in
his manner.
"We're about half way to Washington, I judge," he said, "an' I expect a
lot of our camp followers and grass-green men are all the way there
by now, tellin' Abe Lincoln an' everybody else that a hundred thousand
rebels fell hard upon us on the plain of Manassas."
He laughed deep down in his throat and Dick again drew courage and
cheerfulness from one who had such a great store of both.
"How did it happen? Our defeat, I mean," asked Dick. "I thought almost
to the very last moment that we had the victory won."
"Their reserves came an' ours didn't. But the boys did well. Lots worse
than this will happen to us, an' we'll live to overcome it. I've been
through a heap of hardships in my life, Dick, but I always remember that
somebody else has been through worse. Let's go down the hill. The boys
have found a branch an' are washin' up."
By "branch" he meant a brook, and Dick went with him gladly. They
found a fine, clear stream, several feet broad and a foot deep, flowing
swiftly between the <DW72>s, and probably emptying miles further on into
Bull Run. Already it was lined by hundreds of soldiers, mostly boys,
who were bathing freely in its cool waters. Dick and the sergeant joined
them and with the sparkle of the current fresh life and vigor flowed
into their veins.
An officer took command, and when they had bathed their faces, necks,
and arms abundantly they were allowed to take off their shoes and socks
and put their bruised and aching feet in the stream.
"It seems to me, sergeant, that this is pretty near to Heaven," said
Dick as he sat on the bank and let the water swish around his ankles.
"It's mighty good. There's no denyin' it, but we'll move still a step
nearer to Heaven, when we get our share of that beef an' coffee, which
I now smell most appetizin'. Hard work gives a fellow a ragin' appetite,
an' I reckon fightin' is the hardest of all work. When I was a lumberman
in Wisconsin I thought nothin' could beat that, but I admit now that a
big battle is more exhaustin'."
"You've worked in the timber then?"
"From the time I was twelve years old 'til three or four years ago. If
I do say it myself, there wasn't a man in all Wisconsin, or Michigan
either, who could swing an axe harder or longer than I could. I guess
you've noticed these hands of mine."
He held them up, and they impressed Dick more than ever. They were great
masses of bone and muscle fit for a giant.
"Paws, the boys used to call 'em," resumed Whitley with a pleased laugh.
"I inherited big hands. Father had em an' mother had 'em, too. So mine
were wonders when I was a boy, an' when you add to that years an' years
with the axe, an' with liftin' an' rollin' big logs I've got what I
reckon is the strongest pair of hands in the United States. I can pull a
horseshoe apart any time. Mighty useful they are, too, as I'm likely to
show you often."
The chance came very soon. A frightened horse, probably with the memory
of the battle still lodged somewhere in his animal brain, broke his
tether and came charging among the troops. Whitley made one leap, seized
him by the bit in his mighty grasp and hurled him back on his haunches,
where he held him until fear was gone from him.
"It was partly strength and partly sleight of hand, a trick that I
learned in the cavalry," he said to Dick as they put on their shoes.
"I got tired of lumberin' an' I wandered out west, where I served three
years on horseback in the regular army, fightin' the Indians. Good
fighters they are, too. Mighty hard to put your hand on 'em. Now they're
there an' now they ain't. Now you see 'em before you, an' then they're
behind you aimin' a tomahawk at your head. They taught us a big lot
that I guess we can use in this war. Come on, Dick, I guess them banquet
halls are spread, an' I know we're ready."
Not much order was preserved in the beaten brigade, which had become
separated from the rest of the retreating army, but the spirits of all
were rising and that, so Sergeant Whitley told Dick, was better just now
than technical discipline. The Northern army had gone to Bull Run with
ample supplies, and now they lacked for nothing. They ate long and well,
and drank great quantities of coffee. Then they put
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WHAT GERMANY THINKS
OR THE WAR AS GERMANS SEE IT
By Thomas F.A. Smith, Ph.D.
Late English Lecturer in the University of Erlangen
Author of "The Soul of Germany: A Twelve Years' Study of the People from
Within, 1902-1914"
1915
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I--THE CAUSES OF THE WAR
II--ON THE LEASH
III--THE DOGS LET LOOSE
IV--MOBILIZATION
V--WARS AND RUMOURS OF WARS
VI--THE DEBACLE OF THE SOCIAL DEMOCRATS
VII--"NECESSITY KNOWS NO LAW"
VIII--ATROCITIES
IX--THE NEUTRALITY OF BELGIUM AND
GERMANY'S ANNEXATION PROPAGANDA
X--SAIGNER A BLANC
XI--THE INTELLECTUALS AND THE WAR
XII--THE LITERATURE OF HATE
XIII--"MAN TO MAN AND STEEL TO STEEL"
INDEX
WHAT GERMANY THINKS
CHAPTER I
THE CAUSES OF THE WAR
In many quarters of the world, especially in certain sections of the
British public, people believed that the German nation was led blindly
into the World War by an unscrupulous military clique. Now, however,
there is ample evidence to prove that the entire nation was thoroughly
well informed of the course which events were taking, and also warned as
to the catastrophe to which the national course was certainly leading.
Even to-day, after more than twelve months of devastating warfare, there
is no unity of opinion in Germany as to who caused the war. Some writers
accuse France, others England, while many lay the guilt at Russia's
door. They are only unanimous in charging one or other, or all the
powers, of the Triple Entente
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file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
POPULAR STORY
OF
BLUE BEARD.
FRONTISPIECE.
[Illustration caption: While Fatima is kneeling to Blue Beard, and
supplicating for mercy, he seizes her by the hair, and raises his
scymetar to cut off her head.]
THE
POPULAR STORY
OF
BLUE BEARD.
Embellished with neat Engravings.
[Illustration]
COOPERSTOWN:
Printed and sold by H. and E. Phinney.
1828
_The Alphabet._
A B C D E F G H I J K
L M N O P Q R S T
U V W X Y Z
a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o
p q r s t u v w x y z
_A B C D E F G H I J K
L M N O P Q R S T
U V W X Y Z_
_a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o
p q r s t u v w x y z_
fi fl ff ffi ffl--_fi fl ff ffi ffl_
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SCOTT ***
Produced by Al Haines.
*EDINBURGH*
UNDER SIR WALTER SCOTT
BY
W. T. FYFE
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY
R. S. RAIT
LONDON
ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE
AND COMPANY, LTD.
1906
Edinburgh: T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to His Majesty
*INTRODUCTION*
In the end of the eighteenth century and the beginning of the
nineteenth--from, approximately, the death of Samuel Johnson in 1784 to
that of Walter Scott in 1832--Edinburgh, rather than London, was the
intellectual centre of the kingdom. It would, of course, be easy to
show that London has never lacked illustrious men of letters among her
citizens, and, in this very period, the names of Sheridan, Bentham,
Blake, Lamb, and Keats at once occur to memory as evidence against our
thesis. It must also be admitted that Edinburgh shares some of her great
names with London, and that many of the writers of the time are
associated with neither capital. The name of William Cowper recalls the
village of Olney; the English Lakes claim their great poets; and Byron
and Shelley call to mind Greece and Italy, as, in the earlier part of
our period, Gibbon is identified with Lausanne. But the Edinburgh
society which Scott remembered in his youth or met in his prime included
a long series of remarkable men. Some of them, like Robertson the
historian; Hugh Blair; John Home, the author of _Douglas_; Henry
Mackenzie, 'The Man of Feeling'; John Leyden; Dugald Stewart; and John
Wilson, 'Christopher North,' were more or less permanent residents.
Others, like Adam Smith, Thomas Campbell,
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Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
WALT WHITMAN
_Yesterday & Today_
BY
HENRY EDUARD LEGLER
CHICAGO
BROTHERS OF THE BOOK
1916
COPYRIGHT 1916
BY THE
BROTHERS OF THE BOOK
The edition of this book consists of six hundred copies on this
Fabriano hand-made paper, and the type distributed.
This copy is Number 2
TO DR. MAX HENIUS
CONSISTENT HATER OF SHAMS
ARDENT LOVER OF ALL OUTDOORS
AND GENEROUS GIVER OF SELF
IN GENUINE FELLOWSHIP
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED
_Walt Whitman: Yesterday & Today_
I
On a day about mid-year in 1855, the conventional literary world was
startled into indecorous behavior by the unannounced appearance of a
thin quarto sheaf of poems, in form and in tone unlike anything of
precedent issue. It was called Leaves of Grass, and there were but
twelve poems in the volume. No author's name appeared upon the title
page, the separate poems bore no captions, there was no imprint of
publisher. A steel engraving of a man presumably between thirty and
forty years of age, coatless, shirt flaringly open at the neck, and a
copyright notice identifying Walter Whitman with the publication,
furnished the only clues. Uncouth in size, atrociously printed, and
shockingly frank in the language employed, the volume evoked such a
tirade of rancorous condemnation as perhaps bears no parallel in the
history of letters. From contemporary criticisms might be compiled an
Anthology of Anathema comparable to Wagner's Schimpf-Lexicon, or the
Dictionary of Abuse suggested by William Archer for Henrik Ibsen. Some
of the striking adjectives and phrases employed in print would include
the following, as applied either to the verses or their author:
The slop-bucket of Walt Whitman.
A belief in the preciousness of filth.
Entirely bestial.
Nastiness and animal insensibility to shame.
Noxious weeds.
Impious and obscene.
Disgusting burlesque.
Broken out of Bedlam.
Libidinousness and swell of self-applause.
Defilement.
Crazy outbreak of conceit and vulgarity.
Ithyphallic audacity.
Gross indecency.
Sunken sensualist.
Rotten garbage of licentious thoughts.
Roots like a pig.
Rowdy Knight Errant.
A poet whose indecencies stink in the nostrils.
Its liberty is the wildest license; its love the essence of
the lowest lust!
Priapus--worshipping obscenity.
Rant and rubbish.
Linguistic silliness.
Inhumanly insolent.
Apotheosis of Sweat.
Mouthings of a mountebank.
Venomously malignant.
Pretentious twaddle.
Degraded helot of literature.
His work, like a maniac's robe, bedizened with fluttering
tags of a thousand colors.
Roaming, like a drunken satyr, with inflamed blood, through
every field of lascivious thought.
Muck of abomination.
A few quotations from the press of this period will serve to indicate
the general tenor of comment:
"The book might pass for merely hectoring and ludicrous, if it were
not something a great deal more offensive," observed the Christian
Examiner (Boston, 1856). "It openly deifies the bodily organs, senses,
and appetites in terms that admit of no double sense. The author is
'one of the roughs, a Kosmos, disorderly, fleshly, sensual, divine
inside and out. The scent of these armpits an aroma finer than
prayer.' He leaves 'washes and razors for foofoos,' thinks the talk
about virtue and vice only 'blurt,' he being above and indifferent to
both of them. These quotations are made with cautious delicacy. We
pick our way as cleanly as we can between other passages which are
more detestable."
In columns of bantering comment, after parodying his style of
all-inclusiveness, the United States Review (1855) characterizes Walt
Whitman thus: "No skulker or tea-drinking poet is Walt Whitman. He
will bring poems to fill the days and nights--fit for men and women
with the attributes of throbbing blood and flesh. The body, he
teaches, is beautiful. Sex is also beautiful. Are you to be put down,
he seems to ask, to that shallow level of literature and conversation
that stops a man's recognizing the delicious pleasure of his sex, or a
woman hers? Nature he proclaims inherently clean. Sex will not be put
aside; it is the great ordination of the universe. He works the muscle
of the male and the teeming fibre of the female throughout his
writings, as wholesome realities, impure only by deliberate intention
and effort. To men and women, he says, you can have healthy and
powerful breeds of children on no less terms than these of mine.
Follow me, and there shall be taller and richer crops of humanity on
the earth."
From Studies among the Leaves, printed in the Crayon (New York, 1856),
this extract may be taken: "With a wonderful vigor of thought and
intensity of perception, a power, indeed, not often found, Leaves of
Grass has no identity, no concentration, no purpose--it is barbarous,
undisciplined, like the poetry of a half-civilized people, and as a
whole useless, save to those miners of thought who prefer the metal in
its unworked state."
The New York Daily Times (1856) asks: "What Centaur have we here, half
man, half beast, neighing defiance to all the world? What conglomerate
of thought is this before us, with insolence, philosophy, tenderness,
blasphemy, beauty, and gross indecency tumbling in drunken confusion
through the pages? Who is this arrogant young man who proclaims
himself the Poet of the time, and who roots like a pig among a rotten
garbage of licentious thoughts?"
"Other poets," notes a writer in the Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1856),
"other poets celebrate great events, personages, romances, wars,
loves, passions, the victories and power of their country, or some
real or imagined incident--and polish their work, and come to
conclusions, and satisfy the reader. This poet celebrates natural
propensities in himself; and that is the way he celebrates all. He
comes to no conclusions, and does not satisfy the reader. He certainly
leaves him what the serpent left the woman and the man, the taste of
the Paradise tree of the knowledge of good and evil, never to be
erased again."
"He stalks among the dapper gentlemen of this generation like a
drunken Hercules amid the dainty dancers," suggested the Christian
Spiritualist (1856). "The book abounds in passages that cannot be
quoted in drawing rooms, and expressions that fall upon ears polite
with a terrible dissonance."
Nor was savage criticism in the years 1855 and 1856 limited to this
side of the Atlantic. The London Critic, in a caustic review, found
this the mildest comment that Whitman's verse warranted: "Walt
Whitman gives us slang in the place of melody, and rowdyism in the
place of regularity. * * * Walt Whitman libels the highest type of
humanity, and calls his free speech the true utterance of a man; we
who may have been misdirected by civilization, call it the expression
of a beast."
Noisy as was this babel of discordant voices, one friendly greeting
rang clear. Leaves of Grass had but just come from the press, when
Ralph Waldo Emerson, from his home in Concord, under date of July 21,
1855, wrote to the author in genuine fellowship:
"I give you joy of your free and brave thought. I have great joy in
it. I find incomparable things said incomparably well, as they must
be. I find the courage of treatment which so delights us, and which
large perception only can inspire.
"I greet you at the beginning of a great career, which yet must have
had a long foreground somewhere, for such a start. I rubbed my eyes a
little to see if this sunbeam were no illusion; but the solid sense of
the book is a sober certainty. It has the best merits, namely, of
fortifying and encouraging."
Tracing the popular estimates of Walt Whitman through the next five
years, expressions of unmeasured disapproval similar to those quoted
may be found in periodicals and in the daily press, with here and
there grudging admission that despite unseemly tendencies, there is
evident originality and even genius in the pages of this unusual book.
In a comparatively temperate review, August 4, 1860, the Cosmopolite,
of Boston, while deploring that nature is treated here without
fig-leaves, declares the style wonderfully idiomatic and graphic,
adding: "In his frenzy, in the fire of his inspiration, are fused and
poured out together elements hitherto considered antagonistic in
poetry--passion, arrogance, animality, philosophy, brag, humility,
rowdyism, spirituality, laughter, tears, together with the most ardent
and tender love, the most comprehensive human sympathy which ever
radiated its divine glow through the pages of poems."
A contemporary of this date, the Boston Post, found nothing to
commend. "Grass," said the writer, making the title of the book his
text, "grass is the gift of God for the healthy sustenance of his
creatures, and its name ought not to be desecrated by being so
improperly bestowed upon these foul and rank leaves of the
poison-plants of egotism, irreverance, and of lust, run rampant and
holding high revel in its shame."
And the London Lancet, July 7, 1860, comments in this wise: "Of all
the writers we have ever perused, Walt Whitman is the most silly, the
most blasphemous, and the most disgusting. If we can think of any
stronger epithets, we will print them in a second edition."
II
What were these poems which excited such vitriolic epithets? Taking
both the editions of 1855 and of the year following, and indeed
including all of the four hundred poems bearing Whitman's authorship
in the three-quarters of a half-century during which his final volume
was in the making, scarcely half a dozen poems can be found which
could give offense to the most prudish persons. Nearly all of these
have been grouped, with some others, under the general sub-title
Children of Adam. There are poems which excite the risibles of some
readers, there are poems which read like the lists of a mail-order
house, and others which appear in spots to have been copied bodily
from a gazetteer. These, however, are more likely to provoke
good-natured banter than violent denunciatory passion. Even Ralph
Waldo Emerson, whose generous greeting and meed of praise in the
birth-year of Leaves of Grass will be recalled, in sending a copy of
it to Carlyle in 1860, and commending it to his interest, added: "And
after you have looked into it, if you think, as you may, that it is
only an auctioneer's inventory of a warehouse, you can light your pipe
with it."
Had Whitman omitted the few poems whose titles are given here,
doubtless a few readers would have found his formless verses either
curious or ludicrous, or merely stupid, and others would have passed
them by as unmeriting even casual attention. The poems which are
chiefly responsible for a controversy which raged for half a century,
are these:
I sing the body electric.
A woman waits for me.
To a common prostitute.
The dalliance of the eagles.
Wholly dissociated from the picturesque personality from which the
book emanated, Leaves of Grass bears a unique story margined on its
pages. The sprawling types whose muddy imprint on the ill-proportioned
pages made up the uncouth first edition of the book, were put together
by the author's hands, and the sorry press work was his handiwork as
well. The unusual preface and the twelve poems that followed he wrote
in the open, while lounging on the wharves, while crossing on
ferry-boats, while loitering in the fields, while sitting on the tops
of omnibuses. His physical materials were the stubs of pencils, the
backs of used envelopes, scraps of paper that easily came to hand. The
same open-air workshops and like crude tools of writing he utilized
for nearly forty years. During the thirty-seven years that intervened
between the first printing of his Leaves and his death in 1892, he
followed as his chief purpose in life the task he had set himself at
the beginning of his serious authorship--the cumulative expression of
personality in the larger sense which is manifest in the successive
and expanding editions of his Leaves of Grass. That book becomes
therefore, a life history. Incompletely as he may have performed this
self-imposed task, his own explanation of his purpose may well be
accepted as made in good faith. That explanation appears in the
preface to the 1876 edition, and amid the multitude of paper scraps
that came into the possession of his executors, following his passing
away, may be found similar clues:
"It was originally my intention, after chanting in Leaves of Grass the
songs of the body and of existence, to then compose a further,
equally-needed volume, based on those convictions of perpetuity and
conservation which, enveloping all precedents, make the unseen soul
govern absolutely at last. I meant, while in a sort continuing the
theme of my first chants, to shift the slides and exhibit the problem
and paradox of the same ardent and fully appointed personality
entering the sphere of the resistless gravitation of spiritual law,
and with cheerful face estimating death, not at all as the cessation,
but as somehow what I feel it must be, the entrance upon by far the
greater part of existence, and something that life is at least as much
for, as it is for itself."
Too long for repetition here, but important in the same connection for
a full understanding of Walt Whitman's motives, is that Backward
Glance O'er Travel'd Roads, wherein he summed up his work in fourteen
pages of prose, and with frank egotism appended this anecdote in a
footnote on the first page thereof: "When Champollion, on his death
bed, handed to the printer the revised proof of his Egyptian Grammar,
he said gayly, 'Be careful of this--it is my _carte de visite_ to
posterity.'"
Undaunted when ridicule poured over him, evenly tranquil when abuse
assailed him, unemotional when praise was lavished upon him,
unfalteringly and undeviatingly he pursued his way. The group headings
which were added in successive editions of his book, indicate the
milestones of his journey from the time when the Song of Myself noted
the beginning, till Whispers of Heavenly Death presaged the ending.
Familiarity with the main incidents and experiences of his life give
to the several annexes, as he was fond of calling the additions that
he made to each succeeding issue of his Leaves, the clues of chapter
headings: Children of Adam; Calamus; Birds of Passage; Sea-Drift; By
the Roadside; Drum-Taps; Autumn Rivulets; Whispers of Heavenly Death;
Songs of Parting.
A check list of his principal editions of Leaves of Grass, with
characteristics noted, would serve almost as a chronology of Whitman's
life story.
1855--FIRST EDITION. Twelve poems were included in this edition. They
are without distinctive titles, though in later issues they appeared
with varying titles, those given in the definitive edition being the
following:
Song of myself.
Song for occupations.
To think of time.
The sleepers.
I sing the body electric.
Faces.
Song of the answerer.
Europe.
A Boston ballad.
There was a child went forth.
My lesson complete.
Great are the myths.
1856--SECOND EDITION. In this edition, the second, there are
thirty-two poems. The poems are given titles, but not the same ones
that were finally included.
1860--THIRD EDITION. The number of poems is one hundred and
fifty-seven.
1867--FOURTH EDITION. The poems have grown in number to two hundred
and thirty-six. The inclusion here of the war cluster Drum-Taps, and a
rearrangement of other clusters, marks this edition as a notable one.
Drum-Taps had appeared as a separate volume two years earlier.
1871--FIFTH EDITION. A total of two hundred and seventy-three poems
are here classified under general titles, including for the first
time, Passage to India, and After All Not to Create Only, groups which
prior to this date were issued separately.
1876--SIXTH EDITION. This issue was intended as a Centennial edition,
and it includes Two Rivulets; there are two hundred and ninety-eight
poems.
1881--SEVENTH EDITION. Intended as the completion of a design
extending over a period of twenty-six years, Whitman had undertaken an
extensive revision of what he termed his bible of democracy. There are
three hundred and eighteen poems. This is the edition abandoned by the
publishers because threatened with prosecution by the district
attorney.
1889--EIGHTH EDITION. In celebration of the author's seventieth
birthday, a special autograph edition of three hundred copies was
issued.
1892--NINTH EDITION. Whitman supervised the make-up of this issue
during his last illness.
1897--TENTH EDITION. Here appeared for the first time, Old Age Echoes,
numbering thirteen poems.
1902--ELEVENTH AND DEFINITIVE EDITION. Issued by the literary
executors of Walt Whitman
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The Sea-girt Fortress
BY PERCY F. WESTERMAN
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LONDON: BLACKIE & SON, LTD., 50 OLD BAILEY, E.C.
[Illustration: "HAND OVER HAND HE CLIMBED TILL HE REACHED A METALLIC
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The
Sea-girt Fortress
A Story of Heligoland
BY
PERCY F. WESTERMAN
Author of "
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[Illustration: Let's Go!!]
ROOKIE RHYMES
BY THE MEN OF THE 1st. and 2nd. PROVISIONAL TRAINING REGIMENTS
PLATTSBURG, NEW YORK
MAY 15--AUGUST 15 1917
[Illustration]
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
ROOKIE RHYMES
Copyright, 1917, by Harper & Brothers
Printed in the United States of America
Published September, 1917
CONTENTS
_Page_
PUBLICATION COMMITTEE 13
FOREWORD 15
Robert Tapley, Co. 5, 1st P. T. R.
PART I--POEMS
STANDING IN LINE 19
Morris Bishop, Co. 8, 1st P. T. R.
THE FIRST TIME 21
ONWARD CHRISTIAN SCIENCE 22
D. E. Currier, 2d Battery, 1st P. T. R.
THEY BELIEVE IN US BACK HOME 24
Anch Kline, Co. 1, 1st P. T. R.
ODE TO A LADY IN WHITE STOCKINGS 29
Robert Cutler, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.
"AVOIRDUPOIS" 31
D. E. Currier, 2d Battery, 1st P.T.R.
GO! 35
J. S. O'Neale, Jr., Co. 4, 2d P. T. R.
THE PLATTSBURG CODE 36
R. L. Hill, Co. 5, 2d P. T. R.
A CONFERENCE 38
Donald E. Currier, 2d Battery, 1st P. T. R.
SUNDAY IN BARRACKS 41
Anch Kline, Co. 1, 1st P. T. R.
THE BALLAD OF MONTMORENCY GRAY 43
Pendleton King, Co. 6, 2d P. T. R.
GIRLS 51
Robert M. Benjamin, Co. 3, 1st P. T. R.
A LAMENT 52
H. Chapin, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.
THE MANUAL 53
George S. Clarkson, Co. 4, 1st P. T. R.
THOSE "PATRIOTIC" SONGS 55
Frank J. Felbel, Co. 2, 2d P. T. R.
SATURDAY P.M. 58
Harold Amory, Co. 5, 1st P. T. R.
HOW THINGS HAVE CHANGED 62
C. K. Stodder, Co. 9, 1st P. T. R.
ARMA FEMINAMQUE 63
W. R. Witherell, Co. 7, 2d P. T. R.
OUT O' LUCK 65
W. K. Rainsford, Co. 7, 2d P. T. R.
SHERMAN WAS RIGHT 69
Joe F. Trounstine, Co. 4, 2d P. T. R.
TROOPSHIP CHANTY 70
Harold Speakman, Co. 4, 2d P. T. R.
THOSE RUMORS 71
F. L. Bird, 2d Battery, 1st P. T. R.
WAR'S HORRORS 72
Kenneth McIntosh, 2d Lieut. O. R. C., Co. 4,
1st P. T. R.
THE CALL 73
Allen Bean MacMurphy, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.
BEANS 74
Charles H. Ramsey, Co. 8, 1st P. T. R.
FORWARD "?" 77
John W. Wilber, Co. 5, 1st P. T. R.
CHANT OF A DERELICT 78
Ed. Burrows, Co. 3, 1st P. T. R.
PREOCCUPATION 80
Charles H. Ramsey, Co. 8, 1st P. T. R.
INOCULATION DAY 83
Morris Bishop, Co. 8, 1st P. T. R.
DON'T WEAKEN 85
R. T. Fry, Co. 5, 1st P. T. R.
THE THREE 87
Harold Speakman, Co. 4, 2d P. T. R.
TO THE LITTLE BLACK DOG 89
A. N. Phillips, Jr., 3d Battery, 1st P. T. R.
WHEN EAST IS WEST 90
W. R. Witherell, Co. 7, 2d P. T. R.
TO MY SWEETHEART 92
Every Rookie in Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.
PLAY THE GAME 93
E. F. D., Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.
THE STADIUM, PLATTSBURG 95
Harold Speakman, Co. 4, 1st P. T. R.
RUBAIYAT OF A PLATTSBURG CANDIDATE 96
W. Kerr Rainsford, Co. 7, 1st P. T. R.
D
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ICE CREAMS, WATER ICES, FROZEN PUDDINGS
TOGETHER WITH REFRESHMENTS FOR ALL SOCIAL AFFAIRS
By Mrs. S. T. Rorer
Author of Mrs. Rorer's New Cook Book, Philadelphia Cook Book, Canning and
Preserving, and other Valuable Works on Cookery
CONTENTS
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[Illustration: MICHAEL FARADAY.]
MICHAEL FARADAY:
Man of Science.
by
WALTER JERROLD.
"Whose work was wrought for love, and not for gain."
"One rule his life was fashioned to fulfil;
That he who tends Truth's shrine and does the hest
Of Science, with a humble, faithful will,
The God of Truth and Knowledge serveth best."
Fleming H. Revell Company,
New York Chicago Toronto
Publishers of Evangelical Literature.
[Illustration]
PREFACE.
"Tyndall, I must remain plain Michael Faraday to the last." In these
words, with which he replied to Professor Tyndall's urgent appeal to
him to accept the Presidency of the Royal Society, we have a key-note
to the character of the illustrious yet modest scientist, the good and
great man, whose life-story I have attempted to tell in the following
pages.
A life-story such as that of Michael Faraday is both easy and difficult
to tell--it is easy in that he passed a simple and unadventurous life;
it is difficult, partly, perhaps, for the same reason, and partly
because the story of his life-work is a story of the wonderful advance
made in natural science during the first half of the present century.
Any detailed account of that scientific work would be out of place in a
biography such as the present, which aims at showing by the testimony
of those who knew him and by an account of his relations with his
fellow-men, how nobly unselfish, how simple, yet how grand and useful,
was the long life of Michael Faraday.
Besides this, we are shown--how many an illustrious name in the
bede-roll of our great men brings it to mind--that with an enthusiastic
love for a particular study, and unflagging perseverance in pursuance
of it, the most adverse circumstance of birth and fortune may be
overcome, and he who has striven take rank among the great and good
whose names adorn the annals of their country. Such lives are useful,
not alone for the work which is done, but for the example which
they afford us, that we also--to use Longfellow's well-known, yet
beautifully true lines--
"May make our lives sublime,
And departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time."
"The true scientist," says Mr. Robert Buchanan in a recent work,
"should be patient like Darwin and reverent like Faraday." The latter,
indeed, seems to me to have been a truly typical scientist. Never
have we seen an instance of a less selfish devotion to a man's chosen
work. Born the son of a journeyman blacksmith, brought up amidst the
most unpromising surroundings, with but the scantiest schooling, we
find Michael Faraday educating himself during his spare time, and
gradually acquiring, by indomitable perseverance, that scientific
knowledge for which he thirsted. We find him seeking employment, even
in the humblest capacity, in a place that must have appeared to his
youthful mind as the very home of science. Once there, we find him
advancing with marvellous rapidity not only in the acquirement of
knowledge which had been gained by others, but, yet prouder position,
we find him ever adding to that store of knowledge the discovery of
new facts. The patience of the true scientist was assuredly his. We
find him acknowledged by his great contemporaries not only as an equal
but as a leader among them. We find him with wealth and high social
position within his reach. All this do we find--and not this alone;
for we find him at the same time unspoiled in the slightest degree
by his success; caring not in the least for the wealth that might be
his, and declining honours which most men would have considered as
but the fair reward of work which they had done. We find him also the
object of love and admiration, not of his family and intimate friends
alone, but of all persons with whom he came into contact. We find him
exploring all the hidden workings of nature--making known discovery
after discovery in the same modest and enthusiastic manner; and despite
all these inquiries into the secrets of nature, we find him retaining
unshaken that firm faith with which he had started--that beautiful and
unquestioning trust in
"A far off divine event
To which the whole creation moves."
Much of Faraday's kindliness and good nature, his considerateness and
his simple earnest faith could be revealed only by his letters and by
the records of those who had known him personally--on this account I
have found it necessary somewhat freely to make use of illustrative
quotations. After studying his life, however, the kindliness, nay more,
the true brotherhood of the man with all men is the feeling which most
firmly clings to us; we do not alone remember the great electrician,
experimentalist, and lecturer, but we have an ever-present idea of the
sterling goodness of the man.
"A purer, less selfish, more stainless existence, has rarely been
witnessed. At last came the voice which the dying alone can hear, and
the hand which the living may not see, beckoned him away; and then that
noble intellect, awakening from its lethargy, like some sleeper roused
from a heavy dream, rose up and passed through the gates of light into
the better land, where, doubtless, it is now immersed in the study of
grander mysteries than it ever attempted to explore on earth."
In closing this preface I have much pleasure in recording my deep
indebtedness to Miss Jane Barnard, a niece of the great Professor, and
for some two and twenty years a member of his household, for several
reminiscences of her uncle; and also for her kindness in allowing me to
look through the many interesting manuscripts of Faraday's which are in
her possession.
WALTER JERROLD.
[Illustration: LIBRARY, ROYAL INSTITUTION]
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. PAGE
AS CHILD--NEWSBOY AND BOOKBINDER 11
CHAPTER II.
THE TURNING POINT
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[Illustration: The Figure Springs into the Air--See page 129.]
[Illustration: THE BOYS OWN BOOKSHELF]
OUR HOME IN THE SILVER WEST
A Story of Struggle and Adventure
BY
GORDON STABLES, C.M., M.D., R.N.
AUTHOR OF 'THE CRUISE OF THE SNOWBIRD,' 'WILD ADVENTURES ROUND THE POLE,'
ETC., ETC.
THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY
56, Paternoster Row; 65, St. Paul's Churchyard and 164 Piccadilly
Richard Clay and Sons, Limited,
London and Bungay.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. The Highland Feud. 11
II. Our Boyhood's Life. 23
III. A Terrible Ride. 30
IV. The Ring and the Book. 44
V. A New Home in the West. 54
VI. The Promised Land at Last. 64
VII. On Shore at Rio. 77
VIII. Moncrieff Relates His Experiences. 86
IX. Shopping and Shooting. 96
X. A Journey That Seems Like a Dream. 106
XI. The Tragedy at the Fonda. 115
XII. Attack by Pampa Indians. 125
XIII. The Flight and the Chase. 134
XIV. Life on an Argentine Estancia. 146
XV. We Build our House and Lay Out Gardens. 155
XVI. Summer in the Silver West. 165
XVII. The Earthquake. 175
XVIII. Our Hunting Expedition. 185
XIX. In the Wilderness. 197
XX. The Mountain Crusoe. 209
XXI. Wild Adventures on Prairie and Pampas. 221
XXII. Adventure With a Tiger. 231
XXIII. A Ride for Life. 244
XXIV. The Attack on the Estancia. 255
XXV. The Last Assault. 266
XXV Farewell to the Silver West. 279
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
The Figure Springs into the Air Frontispiece
Orla thrusts his Muzzle into my Hand 10
Ray lay Stark and Stiff 18
'Look! He is Over!' 33
He pointed his Gun at me 41
'I'll teach ye!' 74
Fairly Noosed 99
'Ye can Claw the Pat' 138
Comical in the Extreme 195
Tries to steady himself to catch the Lasso 203
Interview with the Orang-outang 214
On the same Limb of the Tree 236
The Indians advanced with a Wild Shout 268
[Illustration: Orla thrusts his Muzzle into my Hand]
OUR HOME IN THE SILVER WEST
CHAPTER I.
THE HIGHLAND FEUD.
Why should I, Murdoch M'Crimman of Coila, be condemned for a period of
indefinite length to the drudgery of the desk's dull wood? That is the
question I have just been asking myself. Am I emulous of the honour and
glory that, they say, float halo-like round the brow of the author? Have I
the desire to awake and find myself famous? The fame, alas! that authors
chase is but too often an _ignis fatuus_. No; honour like theirs I crave
not, such toil is not incumbent on me. Genius in a garret! To some the
words may sound romantic enough, but--ah me!--the position seems a sad
one. Genius munching bread and cheese in a lonely attic, with nothing
betwixt the said genius and the sky and the cats but rafters and tiles! I
shudder to think of it. If my will were omnipotent, Genius should never
shiver beneath the tiles, never languish in an attic. Genius should be
clothed in purple and fine linen, Genius should---- 'Yes, aunt, come in;
I'm not very busy yet.'
My aunt sails into my beautiful room in the eastern tower of Castle
Coila.
'I was afraid,' she says, almost solemnly, 'I might be disturbing your
meditations. Do I find you really at work?'
'I've hardly arrived at that point yet, dear aunt. Indeed, if the truth
will not displease you, I greatly fear serious concentration is not very
much in my line. But as you desire me to write our strange story, and as
mother also thinks the duty devolves on me, behold me seated at my table
in this charming turret chamber, which owes its all of comfort to your
most excellent taste, auntie mine.'
As I speak I look around me. The evening sunshine is streaming into my
room, which occupies the whole of one story of the tower. Glance where I
please, nothing is here that fails to delight the eye. The carpet beneath
my feet is soft as moss, the tall mullioned windows are bedraped with the
richest curtains. Pictures and mirrors hang here and there, and seem part
and parcel of the place. So does that dark lofty oak bookcase, the great
harp in the west corner, the violin that leans against it, the
_jardiniere_, the works of art, the arms from every land--the shields, the
claymores, the spears and helmets, everything is in keeping. This is my
garret. If I want to meditate, I have but to draw aside a curtain in
yonder nook, and lo! a little baize-covered door slides aside and admits
me to one of the tower-turrets, a tiny room in which fairies might live,
with a window on each side giving glimpses of landscape--and landscape
unsurpassed for beauty in all broad Scotland.
But it was by the main doorway of my chamber that auntie entered, drawing
aside the curtains and pausing a moment till she should receive my
cheering invitation. And this door leads on to the roof, and this roof
itself is a sight to see. Loftily domed over with glass, it is at once a
conservatory, a vinery, and tropical aviary. Room here for trees even, for
miniature palms, while birds of the rarest plumage flit silently from
bough to bough among the oranges, or lisp out the sweet lilts that have
descended to them from sires that sang in foreign lands. Yonder a
fountain plays and casts its spray over the most lovely feathery ferns.
The roof is very spacious, and the conservatory occupies the greater part
of it, leaving room outside, however, for a delightful promenade. After
sunset lamps are often lit here, and the place then looks even
more lovely than before. All this, I need hardly say, was my aunt's
doing.
I wave my hand, and the lady sinks half languidly into a fauteuil.
'And so,' I say, laughingly, 'you have come to visit Genius in his
garret.'
My aunt smiles too, but I can see it is only out of politeness.
I throw down my pen; I leave my chair and seat myself on the bearskin
beside the ample fireplace and begin toying with Orla, my deerhound.
'Aunt, play and sing a little; it will inspire me.'
She needs no second bidding. She bends over the great harp and lightly
touches a few chords.
'What shall I play or sing?'
'Play and sing as you feel, aunt.'
'I feel thus,' my aunt says, and her fingers fly over the strings,
bringing forth music so inspiriting and wild that as I listen, entranced,
some words of Ossian come rushing into my memory:
'The moon rose in the East. Fingal returned in the gleam of his arms. The
joy of his youth was great, their souls settled as a sea from a storm.
Ullin raised the song of gladness. The hills of Inistore rejoiced. The
flame of the oak arose, and the tales of heroes were told.'
Aunt is not young, but she looks very noble now--looks the very
incarnation of the music that fills the room. In it I can hear the
battle-cry of heroes, the wild slogan of clan after clan rushing to the
fight, the clang of claymore on shield, the shout of victory, the wail for
the dead. There are tears in my eyes as the music ceases, and my aunt
turns once more towards me.
'Aunt, your music has made me ashamed of myself. Before you came I
recoiled from the task you had set before me; I longed to be out and away,
marching over the moors gun in hand and dogs ahead. Now I--I--yes, aunt,
this music inspires me.'
Aunt rises as I speak, and together we leave the turret chamber, and,
passing through the great conservatory, we reach the promenade. We lean on
the battlement, long since dismantled, and gaze beneath us. Close to the
castle walls below is a well-kept lawn trending downwards with slight
incline to meet the loch which laps over its borders. This loch, or lake,
stretches for miles and miles on every side, bounded here and there by
bare, black, beetling cliffs, and in other places
'O'erhung by wild woods thickening green,
a very cloudland of foliage. The easternmost horizon of this lake is a
chain of rugged mountains, one glance at which would tell you the season
was autumn, for they are crimsoned over with blooming heather. The season
is autumn, and the time is sunset; the shadow of the great tower falls
darkling far over the loch, and already crimson streaks of cloud are
ranged along the hill-tops. So silent and still is it that we can hear the
bleating of sheep a good mile off, and the throb of the oars of a boat far
away on the water, although the boat itself is but a little dark speck.
There is another dark speck, high, high above the crimson clouds. It comes
nearer and nearer; it gets bigger and bigger; and presently a huge eagle
floats over the castle, making homeward to his eyrie in the cliffs of Ben
Coila.
The air gets cooler as the shadows fall; I draw the shawl closer round my
aunt's shoulders. She lifts a hand as if to deprecate the attention.
'Listen, Murdoch,' she says. 'Listen, Murdoch M'Crimman.'
She seldom calls me by my name complete.
'I may leave you now, may I not?'
'I know what you mean, aunt,' I reply. 'Yes; to the best of my ability I
will write our strange story.'
'Who else would but you, Murdoch M'Crimman, chief of the house of Crimman,
chief of the clan?'
I bow my head in silent sorrow.
'Yes, aunt; I know. Poor father is gone, and I _am_ chief.'
She touches my hand lightly--it is her way of taking farewell. Next moment
I am alone. Orla thrusts his great muzzle into my hand; I pat his head,
then go back with him to my turret chamber, and once more take up my pen.
* * * * *
A blood feud! Has the reader ever heard of such a thing? Happily it is
unknown in our day. A blood feud--a quarrel 'twixt kith and kin, a feud
oftentimes bequeathed from bleeding sire to son, handed down from
generation to generation, getting more bitter in each; a feud that not
even death itself seems enough to obliterate; an enmity never to be
forgotten while hills raise high their heads to meet the clouds.
Such a feud is surely cruel. It is more, it is sinful--it is madness. Yet
just such a feud had existed for far more than a hundred years between our
family of M'Crimman and the Raes of Strathtoul.
There is but little pleasure in referring back to such a family quarrel,
but to do so is necessary. Vast indeed is the fire that a small spark may
sometimes kindle. Two small dead branches rubbing together as the wind
blows may fire a forest, and cause a conflagration that shall sweep from
end to end of a continent.
It was a hundred years ago, and forty years to that; the head of the house
of Stuart--Prince Charles Edward, whom his enemies called the
Pretender--had not yet set foot on Scottish shore, though there were
rumours almost daily that he had indeed come at last. The Raes were
cousins of the M'Crimmans; the Raes were head of the clan M'Rae, and their
country lay to the south of our estates. It was an ill-fated day for both
clans when one morning a stalwart Highlander, flying from glen to glen
with the fiery cross waving aloft, brought a missive to the chief of
Coila. The Raes had been summoned to meet their prince; the M'Crimman had
been _solicited_. In two hours' time the straths were all astir with
preparations for the march. No boy or man who could carry arms, 'twixt the
ages of sixteen and sixty, but buckled his claymore to his side and made
ready to leave. Listen to the wild shout of the men, the shrill notes of
bagpipes, the wailing of weeping women and children! Oh, it was a stirring
time; my Scotch blood leaps in all my veins as I think of it even now.
Right on our side; might on our side! We meant to do or die!
'Rise! rise! lowland and highland men!
Bald sire to beardless son, each come and early.
Rise! rise! mainland and island men,
Belt on your claymores and fight for Prince Charlie.
Down from the mountain steep--
Up from the valley deep--
Out from the clachan, the bothy and shieling;
Bugle and battle-drum,
Bid chief and vassal come,
Loudly our bagpipes the pibroch are pealing.'
M'Crimman of Coila that evening met the Raes hastening towards the lake.
'Ah, kinsman,' cried M'Crimman, 'this is indeed a glorious day! I have
been summoned by letter from the royal hands of our bold young prince
himself.'
'And I, chief of the Raes, have been summoned by cross. A letter was none
too good for Coila. Strathtoul must be content to follow the pibroch and
drum.'
'It was an oversight. My brother must neither fret nor fume. If our prince
but asked me, I'd fight in the ranks for him, and carry musket or pike or
pistol.'
[Illustration: Ray lay Stark and Stiff]
'It's good being you, with your letter and all that. Kinsman though you
be, I'd have you know, and I'd have our prince understand, that the Raes
and Crimmans are one and the same family, and equal where they stand or
fall.'
'Of that,' said the proud Coila, drawing himself up and lowering his
brows, 'our prince is the best judge.'
'These are pretty airs to give yourself, M'Crimman! One would think your
claymore drank blood every morning!'
'Brother,' said M'Crimman, 'do not let us quarrel. I have orders to see
your people on the march. They are to come with us. I must do my duty.'
'Never!' shouted Rae. 'Never shall my clan obey your commands!'
'You refuse to fight for Charlie?'
'Under your banner--yes!'
'Then draw, dog! Were you ten times more closely related to me, you should
eat your words or drown them in your blood!'
Half an hour afterwards the M'Crimmans were on the march southwards, their
bold young chief at their head, banners streaming and pibroch ringing!
but, alas! their kinsman Rae lay stark and stiff on the bare hillside.
There and then was established the feud that lasted so long and so
bitterly. Surrounded by her vassals and retainers, loud in their wailing
for their departed chief, the widowed wife had thrown herself on the body
of her husband in a paroxysm of wild, uncontrollable grief.
But nought could restore life and animation to that lowly form. The dead
chief lay on his back, with face up-turned to the sky's blue, which his
eyes seemed to pierce. His bonnet had fallen off, his long yellow hair
floated on the grass, his hand yet grasped the great claymore, but his
tartans were dyed with blood.
Then a brother of the Rae approached and led the weeping woman gently
away. Almost immediately the warriors gathered and knelt around the
corpse and swore the terrible feud--swore eternal enmity to the house of
Coila--'to fight the clan wherever found, to wrestle, to rackle and rive
with them, and never to make peace
'While there's leaf on the forest
Or foam on the river.'
We all know the story of Prince Charlie's expedition, and how, after
victories innumerable, all was lost to his cause through disunions in his
own camps; how his sun went down on the red field of Culloden Moor; how
true and steadfast, even after defeat, the peasant Highlanders were to
their chief; and how the glens and straths were devastated by fire and
sword; and how the streams ran red with the innocent blood of old men and
children, spilled by the brutal soldiery of the ruthless duke.
The M'Crimmans lost their estates. The Raes had never fought for Charlie.
Their glen was spared, but the hopes of M'Rae--the young chief--were
blighted, for after years of exile the M'Crimman was pardoned, and fires
were once more lit in the halls of Castle Coila.
Long years went by, many of the Raes went abroad to fight in foreign lands
wherever good swords were needed and lusty arms to wield them withal; but
those who remained in or near Strathtoul still kept up the feud with as
great fierceness as though it had been sworn but yesterday.
Towards the beginning of the present century, however, a strange thing
happened. A young officer of French dragoons came to reside for a time in
Glen Coila. His name was Le Roi. Though of Scotch extraction, he had never
been before to our country. Now hospitality is part and parcel of the
religion of Scotland; it is not surprising, therefore, that this young son
of the sword should have been received with open arms at Coila, nor that,
dashing, handsome, and brave himself, he should have fallen in love with
the winsome daughter of the then chief of the M'Crimmans. When he sought
to make her his bride explanations were necessary. It was no uncommon
thing in those days for good Scotch families to permit themselves to be
allied with France; but there must be rank on both sides. Had a
thunderbolt burst in Castle Coila then it could have caused no greater
commotion than did the fact when it came to light that Le Roi was a direct
descendant of the chief of the Raes. Alas! for the young lovers now. Le
Roi in silence and sorrow ate his last meal at Castle Coila. Hospitality
had never been shown more liberally than it was that night, but ere the
break of day Le Roi had gone--never to return to the glen _in propria
persona_. Whether or not an aged harper who visited the castle a month
thereafter was Le Roi in disguise may never be known; but this, at least,
is fact--that same night the chief's daughter was spirited away and seen
no more in Coila.
There was talk, however, of a marriage having been solemnized by
torchlight, in the little Catholic chapel at the foot of the glen, but of
this we will hear more anon, for thereby hangs a tale.
In course of time Coila presented the sad spectacle of a house without a
head. Who should now be heir? The Scottish will of former chiefs notified
that in event of such an occurrence the estates should pass 'to the
nearest heirs whatever.'
But was there no heir of direct descent? For a time it seemed there would
be or really was. To wit, a son of Le Roi, the officer who had wedded into
the house of M'Crimman.
Now our family was brother-family to the M'Crimmans. M'Crimmans we were
ourselves, and Celtic to the last drop of blood in our veins.
Our claim to the estate was but feebly disputed by the French Rae's son.
His father and mother had years ago crossed the bourne from which no
traveller ever returns, and he himself was not young. The little church or
chapel in which the marriage had been celebrated was a ruin--it had been
burned to the ground, whether as part price of the terrible feud or not,
no one could say; the priest was dead, or gone none knew whither; and old
Mawsie, a beldame, lived in the cottage that had once been the Catholic
manse.
Those were wild and strange times altogether in this part of the Scottish
Highlands, and law was oftentimes the property of might rather than
right.
At the time, then, our story really opens, my father had lived in the
castle and ruled in the glens for many a long year. I was the first-born,
next came Donald, then Dugald, and last of all our one sister Flora.
What a happy life was ours in Glen Coila, till the cloud arose on our
horizon, which, gathering force amain, burst in storm at last over our
devoted heads!
CHAPTER II.
OUR BOYHOOD'S LIFE.
On our boyhood's life--that, I mean, of my brothers and myself--I must
dwell no longer than the interest of our strange story demands, for our
chapters must soon be filled with the relation of events and adventures
far more stirring than anything that happened at home in our day.
And yet no truer words were ever spoken than these--'the boy is father of
the man.' The glorious battle of Waterloo--Wellington himself told us--was
won in the cricket field at home. And in like manner our greatest pioneers
of civilisation, our most successful emigrants, men who have often
literally to lash the rifle to the plough stilts, as they cultivate and
reclaim the land of the savage, have been made and manufactured, so to
speak, in the green valleys of old England, and on the hills and moors of
bonnie Scotland.
Probably the new M'Crimman of Coila, as my father was called on the lake
side and in the glens, had mingled more, far more, in life than any chief
who had ever reigned before him. He would not have been averse to drawing
the sword in his country's cause, had it been necessary, but my brothers
and I were born in peaceful times, shortly after the close of the war with
Russia. No, my father could have drawn the claymore, but he could also use
the ploughshare--and did.
There were at first grumblers in the clans, who lamented the advent of
anything that they were pleased to call new-fangled. Men there were who
wished to live as their forefathers had done in the 'good old
times'--cultivate only the tops of the 'rigs,' pasture the sheep and
cattle on the upland moors, and live on milk and meal, and the fish from
the lake, with an occasional hare, rabbit, or bird when Heaven thought fit
to send it.
They were not prepared for my father's sweeping innovations. They stared
in astonishment to see the bare hillsides planted with sheltering spruce
and pine trees; to see moss and morass turned inside out, drained and made
to yield crops of waving grain, where all was moving bog before; to see
comfortable cottages spring up here and there, with real stone walls and
smiling gardens front and rear, in place of the turf and tree shielings of
bygone days; and to see a new school-house, where English--real
English--was spoken and taught, pour forth a hundred happy children almost
every weekday all the year round.
This was 'tempting Providence, and no good could come of it;' so spoke the
grumblers, and they wondered indeed that the old warlike chiefs of
M'Crimman did not turn in their graves. But even the grumblers got fewer
and further between, and at last long peace and plenty reigned contentedly
hand in hand from end to end of Glen Coila, and all around the loch that
was at once the beauty and pride of our estate.
Improvements were not confined to the crofters' holdings; they extended to
the castle farm and to the castle itself. Nothing that was old about the
latter was swept away, but much that was new sprang up, and rooms long
untenanted were now restored.
A very ancient and beautiful castle was that of Coila, with its one huge
massive tower, and its dark frowning embattled walls. It could be seen
from far and near, for even the loch itself was high above the level of
the sea. I speak of it, be it observed, in the past tense, solely because
I am writing of the past--of happy days for ever fled. The castle is still
as beautiful--nay, even more so, for my aunt's good taste has completed
the improvements my father began.
I do not think any one could have come in contact with father, as I
remember him during our early days at Coila, without loving and respecting
him. He was our hero--my brothers' and mine--so tall, so noble-looking, so
handsome, whether ranging over the heather in autumn with his gun on his
shoulder, or labouring with a hoe or rake in hand in garden or meadow.
Does it surprise any one to know that even a Highland chieftain, descended
from a long line of warriors, could handle a hoe as deftly as a claymore?
I grant he may have been the first who ever did so from choice, but was he
demeaned thereby? Assuredly not; and work in the fields never went half so
cheerfully on as when father and we boys were in the midst of the
servants. Our tutor was a young clergyman, and he, too, used to throw off
his black coat and join us.
At such times it would have done the heart of a cynic good to have been
there; song and joke and hearty laugh followed in such quick succession
that it seemed more like working for fun than anything else.
And our triumph of triumphs was invariably consummated at the end of
harvest, for then a supper was given to the tenants and servants. This
supper took place in the great hall of the castle--the hall that in
ancient days had witnessed many a warlike meeting and Bacchanalian feast.
Before a single invitation was made out for this event of the season every
sheaf and stook had to be stored and the stubble raked, every rick in the
home barn-yards had to be thatched and tidied; 'whorls' of turnips had to
be got up and put in pits for the cattle, and even a considerable portion
of the ploughing done.
'Boys,' my father would say then, pointing with pride to his lordly stacks
of grain and hay, 'Boys,
'"Peace hath her victories,
No less renowned than war."
And now,' he would add, 'go and help your tutor to write out the
invitations.'
So kindly-hearted was father that he would even have extended the right
hand of peace and fellowship to the Raes of Strathtoul. The head of this
house, however, was too proud; yet his pride was of a different kind from
father's. It was of the stand-aloof kind. It was even rumoured that Le
Roi, or Rae, had said at a dinner-party that my good, dear father brought
disgrace on the warlike name of M'Crimman because he mingled with his
servants in the field, and took a very personal interest in the welfare of
his crofter tenantry.
But my father had different views of life from this semi-French Rae of
Strathtoul. He appreciated the benefits and upheld the dignity, and even
sanctity, of honest labour. Had he lived in the days of Ancient Greece, he
might have built a shrine to Labour, and elevated it to the rank of
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CATO;
A Tragedy,
IN FIVE ACTS,
BY JOSEPH ADDISON, ESQ.
AS PERFORMED AT THE
THEATRE ROYAL,
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FAIRIES AFIELD
BY MRS. MOLESWORTH
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
GERTRUDE DEMAIN HAMMOND
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
ST. MARTIN'S STREET, LONDON
1911
[Illustration]
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
LONDON BOMBAY CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK BOSTON CHICAGO
ATLANTA SAN FRANCISCO
THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.
TORONTO
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| 992 | 396 |
Produced by David Widger
TWICE TOLD TALES
SIGHTS FROM A STEEPLE
By Nathaniel Hawthorne
O! I have climbed high, and my reward is small. Here I stand, with
wearied knees, earth, indeed, at a dizzy depth below, but heaven far,
far beyond me still. O that I could soar up into the very zenith, where
man never breathed, nor eagle ever flew, and where the ethereal azure
melts away from the eye, and appears only a deepened shade of
nothingness! And yet I shiver at that cold and solitary thought. What
clouds are gathering in the golden west, with direful intent against the
brightness and the warmth of this dimmer afternoon! They are ponderous
air-ships, black as death, and freighted with the tempest; and at
intervals their thunder, the signal-guns of that unearthly squadron,
rolls distant along the deep of heaven. These nearer heaps of fleecy
vapor--methinks I could roll and toss upon them the whole day long!--seem
scattered here and there, for the repose of tired pilgrims through
the sky. Perhaps--for who can tell?--beautiful spirits are disporting
themselves there, and will bless my mortal eye with the brief appearance
of their curly locks of golden light, and laughing faces, fair and faint
as the people of a rosy dream. Or, where the floating mass so
imperfectly obstructs the color of the firmament, a slender foot and
fairy limb, resting too heavily upon the frail support, may be thrust
through, and suddenly withdrawn, while longing fancy follows them in
vain. Yonder again is an airy archipelago, where the sunbeams love to
linger in their journeyings through space. Every one of those little
clouds has been dipped and steeped in radiance, which the slightest
pressure might disengage in silvery profusion, like water wrung from a
sea-maid's hair. Bright they are as a young man's visions, and, like
them, would be realized in chillness, obscurity, and tears. I will look
on them no more.
In three parts of the visible circle, whose centre is this spire, I
discern cultivated fields, villages, white country-seats, the waving
lines of rivulets, little placid lakes, and here and there a rising
ground, that would fain be termed a hill. On the fourth side is the sea,
stretching away towards a viewless boundary, blue and calm, except where
the passing anger of a shadow flits across its surface, and is gone.
Hitherward, a broad inlet penetrates far into the land; on the verge of
the harbor, formed by its extremity, is a town; and over it am I, a
watchman, all-heeding and unheeded. O that the multitude of chimneys
could speak, like those of Madrid, and betray, in smoky whispers, the
secrets of all who, since their first foundation, have assembled at the
hearths within! O that the Limping Devil of Le Sage would perch beside
me here, extend his wand over this contiguity of roofs, uncover every
chamber, and make me familiar with their inhabitants! The most desirable
mode of existence might be that of a spiritualized Paul Pry hovering
invisible round man and woman, witnessing their deeds, searching into
their hearts, borrowing brightness from their felicity, and shade from
their sorrow, and retaining no emotion peculiar to himself. But none of
these things are possible; and if I would know interior of brick walls,
or the mystery of human bosoms, I can but guess.
Yonder is a fair street, extending north and south. The stately mansions
are placed each on its carpet of verdant grass, and a long flight of
steps descends from every door to the pavement. Ornamental trees--the
broad-leafed horse-chestnut, the elm so lofty and bending, the graceful
but infrequent willow, and others whereof I know not the names--grow
thrivingly among brick and stone. The oblique rays of the sun are
intercepted by these green citizens, and by the houses, so that one side
of the street is a shaded and pleasant walk. On its whole extent there
is now but a single passenger, advancing
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THE GREAT MOGUL
by
LOUIS TRACY
Author of "The Wings of the Morning" and
"The Pillar of Light"
Illustrations by J. C. Chase
New York
Edward J. Clode
156 Fifth Avenue
1905
Copyright, 1905
By Edward J. Clode
The Plimpton Press Norwood Mass.
[Illustration: As it entered the gate the bar crashed across its knees.]
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
As it entered the gate the bar crashed
across its knees _Frontispiece_
In a minute or less they were free 83
And that is the manner in which Nur Mahal,
on her wedding night, came back to the
Garden of Heart's Delight 135
"If we go to Burdwan, are you content to
remain there?" 207
"Out of my path, swine!" 284
Instantly the man was put to the test 294
_The Great Mogul_
CHAPTER I
"And is there care in Heaven?"
_Spenser's Faerie Queene._
"Allah remembers us not. It is the divine decree. We can but die with
His praises on our lips; perchance He may greet us at the gates of
Paradise!"
Overwhelmed with misery, the man drooped his head. The stout staff he
held fell to his feet. He lifted his hands to hide the anguish of eye
and lip, and the grief that mastered him caused long pent-up tears to
well forth.
His resigned words, uttered in the poetic tongue of Khorassan, might
have been a polished verse of Sa'adi were they not the outpouring of
a despairing heart. The woman raised her burning eyes from the infant
clinging to her exhausted breast.
"Father of my loved ones," she said, "let you and the two boys travel
on with the cow. If you reach succor, return for me and my daughter.
If not, it is the will of God, and who can gainsay it?"
The man stooped to pick up his staff. But his great powers of
endurance, suddenly enfeebled by the ordeal thrust upon him, yielded
utterly, and he sank helpless by the side of his wife.
"Nay, Mihr-ul-nisa, sun among women, I shall not leave thee," he cried
passionately. "We are fated to die; then be it so. I swear by the
Prophet naught save death shall part us, and that not for many hours."
So, to the mother, uselessly nursing her latest born, was left the woful
task of pronouncing the doom of those she held dear. For a little while
there was silence. The pitiless sun, rising over distant hills of purple
and amber, gave promise that this day of late July would witness no
relief of tortured earth by the long-deferred monsoon. All nature was
still. The air had the hush of the grave. The greenery of trees and
shrubs was blighted. The bare plain, the rocks, the boulder-strewed bed
of the parched river, each alike wore the dust-white shroud of death.
Far-off mountains shimmered in glorious tints which promised fertile
glades and sparkling rivulets. But the promise was a lie, the lie of the
mirage, of unfulfilled hope.
These two, with their offspring, had journeyed from the glistening
<DW72>s on the northwest, now smiling with the colors of the rainbow
under the first kiss of the sun. They knew that the arid ravines and
bleak passes behind were even less hospitable than the lowlands in
front. Knowledge of what was past had murdered hope for the future. They
had almost ceased to struggle. True children of the East, they were
yielding to Kismet. Already a watchful vulture, skilled ghoul of desert
obsequies, was describing great circles in the molten sky.
The evils of the way were typical of their by-gone lives. Beginning in
pleasant places, they were driven into the wilderness. The Persian and
his wife, Usbeg Tartars of Teheran, nobly born and nurtured, were now
poverty-stricken and persecuted because one of the warring divisions
of Islam had risen to power in Ispahan. "It shall come to pass," said
Mahomet, "that my people shall be divided into three-and-seventy sects,
all of which, save only one, shall have their portion in the fire!"
Clearly, these wanderers found solace in the beliefs held by some of
the condemned seventy-two.
Striving to escape from a land of narrow-minded bigots to the realm of
the Great Mogul, the King of Kings, the renowned Emperor of India--whom
his contemporaries, fascinated by his gifts and dazzled by his
magnificence, had styled Akbar "the Great"--the forlorn couple, young in
years, endowed with remarkable physical charms and high intelligence,
blessed with two fine boys and the shapely infant now hugged by the
frantic mother, had been betrayed not alone by man but by nature
herself.
At this season, the great plain between Herat and Kandahar should be
all-sufficing to the needs of travelers. Watered by a noble river, the
Helmund, and traversed by innumerable streams, it was reputed the Garden
of Afghanistan. Pent in the bosom of earth, all manner of herbs and
fruits and wholesome seeds were ready to burst forth with utmost
prodigality when the rain-clouds gathered on the hills and discharged
their gracious showers over a soil athirst. But Allah, in His exceeding
wisdom, had seen fit to withhold the fertilizing monsoon, and the few
resources of the exiles had yielded to the strain. First their small
flock of goats, then their camel, had fallen or been slain. There was
left the cow, whose daily store of milk dwindled under the lack of food.
The patient animal, lean as the kine of the seven years of famine in
Joseph's dream, was yet fit to walk and carry the two boys, whose sturdy
limbs had shrunk and weakened until they could no longer be trusted to
toddle alone even on the level ground. She stood now, regarding her
companions in suffering with her big violet eyes and almost contentedly
chewing some wizened herbage gathered by the man overnight. Strange to
say, it was on the capabilities of the cow that rested the final issue
of life and death for one if not all. The cow had carried and sustained
the woman before and after the birth of the child. Last and most valued
of their possessions, she had become the arbiter of their fate.
The Persian, Mirza Ali Beg was his name, was assured that if they could
march a few more days they would reach the cultivated region dominated
by the city of Kandahar. There, even in this period of want, the
boundless charity of the East would save them from death by starvation.
But the infant was exhausting her mother. She demanded the whole meager
supply of the life-giving milk of the cow, and in Mirza Ali Beg's
tortured soul the husband wrought with the father.
That four might have a chance of living one should die! Such was the
dreadful edict he put forth tremblingly at last. And now, when the woman
saw the strong man in a palsy at her feet, her love for him vanquished
even the all-powerful instinct of maternity. She fiercely thrust the
child into his arms and murmured:--
"I yield, my husband. Take her, in God's name, and do with her as
seemeth best. Not for myself, but for thee and for our sons, do I
consent."
Thinking himself stronger and sterner than he was, Mirza Ali Beg rose to
his feet. But his heart was as lead and his hands shook as he fondled
the warm and almost plump body of the infant. Here was a man indeed
distraught. Between husband and wife, who shall say which had the more
grievous burden?
With a frenzied prayer to the Almighty for help, he wrapped a linen
cloth over the infant's face, placed the struggling little form among
the roots of a tall tree, and left it there. Bidding the two boys,
dark-eyed youngsters aged three and five, to cling tightly to the
pillion on the cow's back, he took the halter and the staff in his right
hand, passed his left arm around the emaciated frame of his wife, and,
in this wise, the small cavalcade resumed its journey.
Ever and anon the plaint of the abandoned infant reached their ears. The
two children, without special reason, began to cry. The mother, always
turning her head, wept with increasing violence. Even the poor cow,
wanting food and water, lowed her distress.
The man, striving to compress his tremulous lips, strode forward,
staring into vacancy. He dared not look behind. He knew that the feeble
cries of the baby girl would ring in his ears until they were closed to
all mortal sounds. He took no note of the rough caravan track they
followed, marked as it was by the ashes of camp fires and the whitened
bones of pack animals. With all the force of a masterful nature he tried
to stagger on, and on, until the tragedy was irrevocable.
But the woman, when they reached a point where the road curved round a
huge rock, realized that the next onward step would shut out forever
from her eyes the sight of that tiny bundle lying in the roots of the
tree. So she choked back her sobs, swept away her tears, gave one last
look at her infant, gasped a word of fond endearment, and fell fainting
in the dust.
Amidst the many troubles and anxieties of that four months' pilgrimage
she had never fainted before. Though she was a Persian lady of utmost
refinement and great accomplishments, she came of a hardy race, and her
final collapse imbued her husband with a stoicism hitherto lacking in
his despair.
"This, then, is the end," said he. "Be it so. I can strive against
destiny no further."
Tenderly he lifted his wife to a place where sand offered a softer couch
than the rocks on which she lay.
"I must bring the infant," he muttered aloud. "The touch of its hands
will revive her. Then I shall kill poor Deri (the cow), and we can feast
on her in the hope that some may pass this way. Walk, with three to
carry, we cannot."
This was indeed the counsel of desperation. The cow, living, provided
their sole link with the outer world. Dead, she maintained them a little
while. Soon the scanty meat she would yield would become uneatable and
they were lost beyond saving. Nevertheless, once the resolve was taken a
load was lifted from the man's breast. Bidding the elder boy hold Deri's
halter, he strode back towards the infant with eager haste.
As he drew near he thought he saw something black and glistening amidst
the soiled linen which enwrapped the little one. After another stride he
stood still. A fresh tribulation awaited him. Many times girdling the
child's limbs and body was a hideous snake, a monster whose powerful
coils could break the tiny bones as if they were straws.
The flat and ugly head was raised to look at him. The beady black eyes
seemed to emit sparks of venemous fire, and the forked tongue was
darting in and out of the fanged mouth as though the reptile was
anticipating the feast in store.
Mirza Ali Beg was no coward, but this new frenzy almost overcame him.
There was a chance, a slight one, that the serpent had not yet crushed
the life out of its prey. Using words which were no prayer, the father
uplifted the tough staff which he still carried. He rushed forward. The
snake elevated its head to take stock of this unexpected enemy, but the
stick dealt it a furious blow on the tail.
Instantly uncoiling itself, either to fight or escape, as seemed most
expedient, it received another blow which hurled it, with dislocated
vertebrae, far into the dust.
The man, with a great cry of joy, saw that the child was stretching
her limbs, now that the tight clutch of its terrible assailant was
withdrawn. He caught her up into his arms and, weak as he was, ran
back to his wife.
"Here is one who will restore the blood to thy cheeks, Mihr-ul-nisa,"
he cried. And truly the mother stirred again with the first satisfied
chuckle of the infant as it sought her breast.
The husband, heedless what befell for the hour, obtained from the cow
such slight store of milk as she possessed. He gave some to the two
boys, the greater portion to the baby, and was refuting his wife's
remonstrance that he had taken none himself as he pressed the remainder
on her, when the noise of a commotion at a distance caused them to look
in wonderment along the road they had recently traversed in such sorrow.
There, gathered around some object, were a number of men, some mounted
on Arab horses or riding camels, others on foot; behind this nearer
group they could distinguish a long _kafila_ of loaded beasts with armed
attendants.
"God be praised!" cried Mihr-ul-nisa, "we are saved!"
This was the caravan of a rich merchant, faring from Persia or Bokhara
to the court of the Great Mogul. The undulating plain, no less than
their own anguish of mind, had prevented the Persian and his wife from
noting the glittering spear points of the warrior merchant's retainers
as they rode forward in the morning sun. Surely such a host would spare
a little food and water for the starving family, and forage for Deri,
the cow!
"But what are they looking at?" cried the woman, of whom hope had made a
fresh being.
"They have found the snake."
"What snake?"
"It is matterless. As I returned for the child, when you fell in a
swoon, I met a snake and killed it."
A startled look came into her eyes.
"_Khodah hai_!"[A] she murmured; "it would have attacked my baby!"
[Footnote A: "There is indeed a God!"]
Two men, mounted on Turkoman horses, were now spurring towards them.
Mirza Ali Beg advanced a few paces to meet them.
One, an elderly man of grave appearance and richly attired, reined in
his horse at a little distance and cried to his companion:--
"By the tomb of Mahomet, Sher Khan, 'tis he of my dream!"
The other, a handsome and soldierly youth, came nearer and questioned
Ali Beg, mostly concerning the disabled and dying snake, found and
beaten into pulp by the foremost men of the caravan.
The Mirza told his tale with dignified eloquence; he ended with a
pathetic request for help for his exhausted wife and family.
This was forthcoming quickly, and, while he himself was refreshed with
good milk, and dates, and cakes of pounded wheat, Malik Masud, the elder
of the two horsemen and leader of the train, told how he dreamt the
previous night that during a wayside halt under a big tree he was
attacked by a poisonous snake, which was vanquishing him until a
stranger came to his aid.
The snake lying in the path of the _kafila_ was the exact counterpart of
that seen in his disturbing vision, but his amazement was complete when
he recognized in Ali Beg the stranger who had saved him.
So, in due course, Mihr-ul-nisa, with her baby girl, was mounted on a
camel, and her husband and two sons on another, and Deri, the cow,
before joining the train, was regaled with a copious draught of water
and an ample measure of grain.
Thus it came to pass that Mirza Ali Beg and his family were convoyed
through Kandahar and Kabul in comfort and safety. They rode through the
gaunt jaws of the Khaibar Pass, and emerged, after many days, into the
great plain of the Punjab, verdant with an abundant though deferred
harvest.
And no one imagined, least of all the baby girl herself, that the infant
crowing happily in the arms of Mihr-ul-nisa was destined to become a
beautiful, gracious and world-renowned princess, whose name and
love-story should endure through many a century.
* * * * *
In that same month of July, 1588, on the nineteenth day of the month, to
be exact, the blazoned sails of the Spanish Armada were sighted off the
Lizard. Sixty-five great war galleons, eight fleet galleasses, fifty-six
armed merchantmen and twenty pinnaces swept along the Channel in gallant
show. Spread out in a gigantic crescent, the Spanish ships were likened
by anxious watchers to a great bird of prey with outstretched wings. But
Lord Howard of Effingham led out of Plymouth a band of adventurers who
had hunted that bird many a time. Drake, Hawkins, Frobisher and the
rest--they feared no Spaniard who sailed the seas.
Their little vessels, well handled, could sail two miles to the
Spaniards' one, and fire twice as many shots gun for gun. "One by one,"
said they, "we plucked the Don's feathers." Ship after ship was sunk,
captured, or driven on shore. A whole week the cannon roared from
Plymouth Sound to Calais, and there the last great fight took place in
which the Duke of Medina Sidonia yielded himself to agonized foreboding,
and Drake rightly believed that the Spanish grandee "would ere long wish
himself at St. Mary Port among his orange trees."
During one of the many fierce duels between the ponderous galleons and
the hawk-like British ships, the _Resolution_, hastily manned
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Eminent Women Series
Edited by John H. Ingram
EMILY BRONTE
All Rights Reserved.
EMILY BRONTE
by
A. MARY F. ROBINSON
Second Edition.
London:
W. H. Allen and Co.
13, Waterloo Place
1883.
[All Rights Reserved]
London:
Printed by W. H. Allen and Co., 13 Waterloo Place. S.W.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
Introduction 1
CHAPTER I.
Parentage 8
CHAPTER II.
Babyhood 18
CHAPTER III.
Cowan's Bridge 28
CHAPTER IV.
Childhood 40
CHAPTER V.
Going to School 53
CHAPTER VI.
Girlhood at Haworth 61
CHAPTER VII.
In the Rue d'Isabelle 77
CHAPTER VIII.
A Retrospect 92
CHAPTER IX.
The Recall 103
CHAPTER X.
The Prospectuses 111
CHAPTER XI.
Branwell's Fall 116
CHAPTER XII.
Writing Poetry 128
CHAPTER XIII.
Troubles 144
CHAPTER XIV.
Wuthering Heights: its Origin 154
CHAPTER XV.
Wuthering Heights: the Story 168
CHAPTER XVI.
'Shirley' 209
CHAPTER XVII.
Branwell's End 217
CHAPTER XVIII.
Emily's Death 223
FINIS! 233
* * * * *
LIST OF AUTHORITIES.
1846
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THE EXPOSITOR'S BIBLE
EDITED BY THE REV.
W. ROBERTSON NICOLL, M.A., LL.D.
_Editor of "The Expositor"_
THE PSALMS
BY
ALEXANDER MACLAREN, D.D.
_VOLUME III._
PSALM XC.-CL.
NEW YORK
A. C. ARMSTRONG AND SON
51 EAST TENTH STREET
1894
THE EXPOSITOR'S BIBLE.
_Crown_ 8_vo, cloth, price_ $1.50 _each vol._
FIRST SERIES, 1887-8.
Colossians.
By A. MACLAREN, D.D.
St. Mark.
By Very Rev. the Dean of Armagh.
Genesis.
By Prof. MARCUS DODS, D.D.
1 Samuel.
By Prof. W. G. BLAIKIE, D.D.
2 Samuel.
By the same Author.
Hebrews.
By Principal T. C. EDWARDS, D.D.
SECOND SERIES, 1888-9.
Galatians.
By Prof. G. G. FINDLAY, B.A.
The Pastoral Epistles.
By Rev. A. PLUMMER, D.D.
Isaiah I.-XXXIX.
By Prof. G. A. SMITH, D.D. Vol. I.
The Book of Revelation.
By Prof. W. MILLIGAN, D.D.
1 Corinthians.
By Prof. MARCUS DODS, D.D.
The Epistles of St. John.
By Rt. Rev. W. ALEXANDER, D.D.
THIRD SERIES, 1889-90.
Judges and Ruth.
By R. A. WATSON, M.A., D.D.
Jeremiah.
By Rev. C. J. BALL, M.A.
Isaiah XL.-LXVI.
By Prof. G. A. SMITH, D.D. Vol. II.
St. Matthew.
By Rev. J. MONRO GIBSON, D.D.
Exodus.
By Very Rev. the Dean of Armagh.
St. Luke.
By Rev. H. BURTON, M.A.
FOURTH SERIES, 1890-1.
Ecclesiastes.
By Rev. SAMUEL COX, D.D.
St. James and St. Jude.
By Rev. A. PLUMMER, D.D.
Proverbs.
By Rev. R. F. HORTON, D.D.
Leviticus.
By Rev. S. H. KELLOGG, D.D.
The Gospel of St. John.
By Prof. M. DODS, D.D. Vol. I.
The Acts of the Apostles.
By Prof. STOKES, D.D. Vol. I.
FIFTH SERIES, 1891-2.
The Psalms.
By A. MACLAREN, D.D. Vol. I.
1 and 2 Thessalonians.
By JAMES DENNEY, D.D.
The Book of Job.
By R. A. WATSON, M.A., D.D.
Ephesians.
By Prof. G. G. FINDLAY, B.A.
The Gospel of St. John.
By Prof. M. DODS, D.D. Vol. II.
The Acts of the Apostles.
By Prof. STOKES, D.D. Vol. II.
SIXTH SERIES, 1892-3.
1 Kings.
By Ven. Archdeacon FARRAR.
Philippians.
By Principal RAINY, D.D.
Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther.
By Prof. W. F. ADENEY, M.A.
Joshua.
By Prof. W. G. BLAIKIE, D.D.
The Psalms.
By A. MACLAREN, D.D. Vol. II.
The Epistles of St. Peter.
By Prof. RAWSON LUMBY, D.D.
SEVENTH SERIES, 1893-4.
2 Kings.
By Ven. Archdeacon FARRAR.
Romans.
By H. C. G. MOULE, M.A.
The Books of Chronicles.
By Prof. W. H. BENNETT, M.A.
2 Corinthians.
By JAMES DENNEY, D.D.
Numbers.
By R. A. WATSON, M.A., D.D.
The Psalms.
By A. MACLAREN, D.D. Vol. III.
EIGHTH SERIES, 1895-6.
Daniel.
By the Ven. Archdeacon F. W. FARRAR.
The Book of Jeremiah.
By Prof. W. H. BENNETT, M.A.
Deuteronomy.
By Prof. ANDREW HARPER, B.D.
The Song of Solomon and Lamentations.
By Prof. W. F. ADENEY, M.A.
Ezekiel.
By Prof. JOHN SKINNER, M.A.
The Minor Prophets.
By Prof. G. A. SMITH, D.D. Two Vols.
THE PSALMS
BY
ALEXANDER MACLAREN, D.D.
_VOLUME III_
PSALMS XC.-CL.
NEW YORK
A. C. ARMSTRONG AND SON
51 EAST TENTH STREET
1894
CONTENTS
PAGE
PSALM XC. 3
" XCI. 14
" XCII. 26
" XCIII. 33
" XCIV. 38
" XCV. 48
" XCVI. 55
" XCVII. 60
" XCVIII. 68
" XCIX. 71
" C. 78
" CI. 81
" CII. 87
" CIII. 101
" CIV. 111
" CV. 124
" CVI. 137
" CVII. 155
" CVIII. 169
" CIX. 172
" CX. 183
" CXI. 193
" CXII. 198
" CXIII. 205
" CXIV. 210
" CXV. 214
" CXVI. 221
" CXVII. 229
" CXVIII. 231
" CXIX. 244
" CXX. 292
" CXXI. 297
" CXXII. 303
" CXXIII. 307
" CXXIV. 310
" CXXV. 313
" CXXVI. 318
" CXXVII. 323
" CXXVIII. 327
" CXXIX. 331
" CXXX. 335
" CXXXI. 341
" CXXXII. 344
" CXXXIII. 355
" CXXXIV. 359
" CXXXV. 361
" CXXXVI. 366
" CXXXVII. 370
" CXXXVIII. 376
" CXXXIX. 382
" CXL. 393
" CXLI. 398
" CXLII. 405
" CXLIII. 410
" CXLIV. 418
" CXLV. 424
" CXLVI. 434
" CXLVII. 440
" CXLVIII. 448
" CXLIX. 454
" CL. 458
BOOK IV.
_PSALMS XC.-CVI._
PSALM XC.
1 Lord, a dwelling-place hast Thou been for us
In generation after generation.
2 Before the mountains were born,
Or Thou gavest birth to the earth and the world,
Even from everlasting, Thou art God.
3 Thou turnest frail man back to dust,
And sayest, "Return, ye sons of man."
4 For a thousand years in Thine eyes are as yesterday when it was
passing,
And a watch in the night.
5 Thou dost flood them away, a sleep do they become,
In the morning they are like grass [which] springs afresh.
6 In the morning it blooms and springs afresh,
By evening it is cut down and withers.
7 For we are wasted away in Thine anger,
And by Thy wrath have we been panic-struck.
8 Thou hast set our iniquities before Thee,
Our secret [sins] in the radiance of Thy face.
9 For all our days have vanished in Thy wrath,
We have spent our years as a murmur.
10 The days of our years--in them are seventy years,
Or if [we are] in strength, eighty years,
And their pride is [but] trouble and vanity,
For it is passed swiftly, and we fly away.
11 Who knows the power of Thine anger,
And of Thy wrath according to the [due] fear of Thee?
12 To number our days--thus teach us,
That we may win ourselves a heart of wisdom.
13 Return, Jehovah; how long?
And have compassion upon Thy servants.
14 Satisfy us in the morning [with] Thy loving-kindness,
And we shall ring out joyful cries and be glad all our days.
15 Gladden us according to the days [when] Thou hast afflicted us,
The years [when] we have seen adversity.
16 To Thy servants let Thy working be manifested,
And Thy majesty upon their children.
17 And let the graciousness of the Lord our God be upon us,
And the work of our hands establish upon us,
Yea, the work of our hands establish it.
The sad and stately music of this great psalm befits the dirge of a
world. How artificial and poor, beside its restrained emotion and
majestic simplicity, do even the most deeply felt strains of other
poets on the same themes sound! It preaches man's mortality in immortal
words. In its awestruck yet trustful gaze on God's eternal being, in
its lofty
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CRIMES OF CHARITY
[Illustration]
THE NEWEST BORZOI BOOKS
ASPHALT
_By Orrick Johns_
BACKWATER
_By Dorothy Richardson_
CENTRAL EUROPE
_By Friedrich Naumann_
RUSSIA'S MESSAGE
_By William English Walling_
THE BOOK OF SELF
_By James Oppenheim_
THE BOOK OF CAMPING
_By A. Hyatt Verrill_
THE ECHO OF VOICES
_By Richard Curle_
MODERN RUSSIAN HISTORY
_By Alexander Kornilov_
THE RUSSIAN SCHOOL OF PAINTING
_By Alexandre Benois_
THE JOURNAL OF LEO TOLSTOI (1895-1899)
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A SUPER-TRAMP
_By William H. Davies_
_Preface by Bernard Shaw_
CRIMES _of_ CHARITY
BY
KONRAD BERCOVICI
WITH AN INTRODUCTION
BY JOHN REED
[Illustration: Decoration]
NEW YORK ALFRED A. KNOPF MCMXVII
COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY
ALFRED A. KNOPF
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
_To my Naomi_
INTRODUCTION
There is a literary power which might be called Russian--a style of bald
narration which carries absolute conviction of human character, in
simple words packed with atmosphere. Only the best writers have it; this
book is full of it. I read the manuscript more than a year ago, and I
remember it chiefly as a series of vivid pictures--a sort of epic of our
City of Dreadful Day. Here we see and smell and hear the East Side; its
crowded, gasping filth, the sour stench of its grinding poverty, the
cries and groans and lamentations in many alien tongues of the hopeful
peoples whose hope is broken in the Promised Land. Pale, undersized,
violent children at play in the iron street; the brown, steamy warmth of
Jewish coffee-houses on Grand Street; sick tenement rooms quivering and
breathless in summer heat--starkly hungry with the December wind cutting
through broken windows; poets, musicians, men and women with the blood
of heroes and martyrs, babies who might grow up to be the world's
great--stunted, weakened, murdered by the unfair struggle for bread.
What human stories are in this book! What tremendous dramas of the soul!
It is as if we were under water, looking at the hidden hull of this
civilization. Evil growths cling to it--houses of prostitution,
sweat-shops which employ the poor in their bitter need at less than
living wages, stores that sell them rotten food and shabby clothing at
exorbitant prices, horrible rents, and all the tragi-comic
manifestations of Organised Charity.
Every person of intelligence and humanity who has seen the workings of
Organised Charity, knows what a deadening and life-sapping thing it is,
how unnecessarily cruel, how uncomprehending. Yet it must not be
criticised, investigated or attacked. Like patriotism, charity is
respectable, an institution of the rich and great--like the high tariff,
the open shop, Wall street, and Trinity Church. White slavery recruits
itself from charity, industry grows bloated with it, landlords live off
it; and it supports an army of officers, investigators, clerks and
collectors, whom it systematically debauches. Its giving is made the
excuse for lowering the recipients' standard of living, of depriving
them of privacy and independence, or subjecting them to the cruelest
mental and physical torture, of making them liars, cringers, thieves.
The law, the police, the church are the accomplices of charity. And how
could it be otherwise, considering those who give, how they give, and
the terrible doctrine of "the deserving poor"? There is nothing of
Christ the compassionate in the immense business of Organised Charity;
its object is to get efficient results--and that means, in practise, to
just keep alive vast numbers of servile, broken-spirited people.
I know of publishers who refused this book, not because it was untrue,
or badly written; but because they themselves "believed in Organised
Charity." One of them wrote that "there must be a bright side." I have
never heard the "bright side." To those of us who know, even the Charity
organisation reports--when they do not refuse to publish them--are
unspeakably terrible. To them, Poverty is a crime, to be punished; to
us, Organised Charity is a worse one
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TWO ARROWS
HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE'S SERIES
NEW LARGE-TYPE EDITION
TOBY TYLER James Otis
MR. STUBBS'S BROTHER James Otis
TIM AND TIP James Otis
RAISING THE "PEARL" James Otis
ADVENTURES OF BUFFALO BILL W. F. Cody
DIDDIE, DUMPS AND TOT Mrs. L. C. Pyrnelle
MUSIC AND MUSICIANS Lucy C. Lillie
THE CRUISE OF THE CANOE CLUB W. L. Alden
THE CRUISE OF THE "GHOST" W. L. Alden
MORAL PIRATES W. L. Alden
A NEW ROBINSON CRUSOE W. L. Alden
PRINCE LAZYBONES Mrs. W. J. Hays
THE FLAMINGO FEATHER Kirk Munroe
DERRICK STERLING Kirk Munroe
CHRYSTAL, JACK & CO. Kirk Munroe
WAKULLA Kirk Munroe
THE ICE QUEEN Ernest Ingersoll
THE RED MUSTANG W. O. Stoddard
THE TALKING LEAVES W. O. Stoddard
TWO ARROWS W. O. Stoddard
HARPER & BROTHERS
PUBLISHERS
[Illustration: TWO ARROWS EXPLORES THE RUINS]
TWO ARROWS
A STORY OF RED
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[Illustration: THE GIRL’S OWN PAPER
VOL. XX.—NO. 1002.] MARCH 11, 1899. [PRICE ONE PENNY.]
[Illustration: A YOUTHFUL PIANIST.]
_All rights reserved._]
“OUR HERO.”
A TALE OF THE FRANCO-ENGLISH WAR NINETY YEARS AGO.
BY AGNES GIBERNE, Author of “Sun, Moon and Stars,” “The Girl at the
Dower House,” etc.
CHAPTER XXIV.
A BARRED WINDOW.
How the next fortnight passed, Roy never afterwards could recall. He
was sick and dazed with the shock he had had, grieving for Will Peirce,
and all but hopeless. He had ceased to care for food, and, though he
slept much, passing hours at a time in heavy doze, it was not the kind
of sleep to rest him. Life at this time seemed awfully hard to live.
Sometimes he envied little Will.
The Colonel, who had spoken to him that day, spoke to him again often
when they met in the yard; and Roy was grateful, but he could not rouse
himself. He had lost all interest in what went on around him. He hated
the yard, and he always kept as far as possible from the spot where
that terrible exposure had taken place.
His one longing was to know how the other poor boys in the hospital
were; but accounts in that direction were uncertain and not to be
relied upon.
About a fortnight later, one cold afternoon, he was leaning against the
wall at the further end, hardly thinking, only drearily enduring. He
became aware of a man coming across the yard, carrying a large basket,
or _hotte_, piled up with loose wood—not a gendarme, but evidently one
employed in the fortress on manual work.
Something about the fellow arrested Roy’s attention, though why it
should be so Roy had no idea. He was of medium height, broad-shouldered
and long-limbed, and he walked in a slouching manner. As he drew near
the basket tilted over, raining the whole mass of wood at Roy’s feet.
“Hallo!” exclaimed Roy.
The man muttered something, and went slowly down upon his knees to pick
up the wood. No one else was near. A body of prisoners had been that
morning removed elsewhere, and the yard was not so full as usual. Roy,
after a moment’s hesitation, good-naturedly bent to help; and as he did
so, their faces came close together.
“Hist!” was whispered cautiously.
Roy started.
“Hist!”—again. “Does monsieur know me? But not a word—hist!”
Roy drew one quick breath. Then he picked up more pieces of wood,
tossing them into the _hotte_. He cast another glance at the man,
his whole being on the alert. In an instant he saw again the small
French town, the crowd in front of the _hôtel de ville_, the released
conscript, the old mother clinging to Denham’s hands, and Denham’s
compassionate face. All was clear.
“Jean Paulet,” he breathed.
“Hist!”—softly.
“But—you are he?”
“Oui, M’sieu.”
Jean piled some of the wood together, with unnecessary fuss and noise.
“Will M’sieu not betray that he has seen me before? It is important.”
“Oui.”
Roy tossed two more bits of wood into the _hotte_. Then he stood up,
yawned, and stared listlessly in another direction. After which he hung
lazily over the _hotte_, as if to play with the wood, and under cover
of it a touch of cold steel came against his left hand.
“Hist!”—at the same instant.
Roy grasped and slipped the something securely out of reach and out of
sight, without a moment’s hesitation. His right hand still turned over
the wood.
“Bon!” Jean murmured, making a considerable clatter. Then, low and
clearly—“Listen! If M’sieu will file away the bar of his window—ready
to be removed—I will be there outside, to-morrow night after dark. When
M’sieu hears a whistle—hist! But truly this weight is considerable—oui,
M’sieu—and a poor man like me may not complain.”
Jean hitched up the big _hotte_, now full, and passed on, grumbling
audibly, while Roy strolled back to his former position. His heart was
beating like a hammer, and he dreaded lest he might betray his change
of mood in his face. To return to his former dejected attitude was not
easy when new life was stirring in every vein; but he managed to shirk
observation, and when two o’clock came it was a relief to be alone in
his cell. He could safely there fling his arms aloft in a frenzy of
delight.
If only little Will might have escaped with him! That thought lay as a
weight of sorrow in his joy.
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[Illustration: Cover]
LITTLE MISS PEGGY:
ONLY A NURSERY STORY
"Would I could paint the serious brow,
The eyes that look the world in face,
Half-questioning, doubting, wondering how
This happens thus, or that finds place."
_My Opposite Neighbour._
[Illustration: "'What is the matter, little girls?' said the lady." P.
181]
LITTLE MISS PEGGY:
ONLY A NURSERY SToRY
BY
MRS. MoLESWoRTH
WITH PICTURES
BY
WALTER CRANE
LoNDoN:
MACMILLAN & Co.
AND NEW YORK
1887
To the Memory of
E. L.
THE DEAR YOUNG FRIEND
WHO SUGGESTED ITS NAME TO THIS LITTLE STORY,
AND FROM WHOSE LATE HOME,
SO INTIMATELY ASSOCIATED WITH HER,
THIS DEDICATION IS MADE.
BINDON, _August_ 1887.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I PAGE
A BREAKFAST PARTY 1
CHAPTER II
THE WHITE SPOT ON THE HILL 18
CHAPTER III
"THE CHILDREN AT THE BACK" 33
CHAPTER IV
"REAL" FANCIES 48
CHAPTER V
THE LITTLE RED SHOES 65
CHAPTER VI
FELLOW-FEELINGS AND SLIPPERS 81
CHAPTER VII
A BUN TO THE GOOD 98
CHAPTER VIII
UNDER THE BIG UMBRELLA 114
CHAPTER IX
THE OPPOSITE HOUSE 131
CHAPTER X
"SOAP-BUBBLING" 145
CHAPTER XI
UP FERNLEY ROAD 162
CHAPTER XII
THE SHOES-LADY AGAIN 178
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
"WHAT IS THE MATTER, LITTLE GIRLS?" SAID THE LADY. _Frontispiece_
PAGE
HE HAD TO DRUM WITH A SPOON, FIRST IN ONE FAT HAND AND
THEN IN THE OTHER 2
THEY WERE SETTLED ON THE HEARTH-RUG--BABY ON PEGGY'S LAP 17
"SEE HAL," SHE SAID, "OVER THERE, FAR, FAR AWAY, NEELY IN
THE SKY, DOES YOU SEE THAT BLUEY HILL?" 27
SHE WAS RATHER A TERRIBLE-LOOKING OLD WOMAN; SHE ALWAYS
WORE A SHORT BED-GOWN... AND SHE WAS GENERALLY TO
BE SEEN WITH A PIPE IN HER MOUTH 35
"TELL ME WHAT THE LITTLE WHITE HOUSE IS REELY LIKE" 52
PEGGY STOOD STILL, HER EYES FIXED ON THE BABY SHOES 68
"HERE'S THE OTHER SHOE, I'VE JUST FOUNDED IT" 92
SUDDENLY A WINDOW ABOVE OPENED, AND MOTHER WHELAN'S
BEFRILLED FACE WAS THRUST OUT 109
AN UMBRELLA ROLLING ITSELF ABOUT ON THE PAVEMENT 127
"TO BE SURE," SHE SAID, IN HER MOST GRACIOUS TONE.
"'TIS THE BEAUTIFUL PIPES I HAVE" 138
THE BOYS, BOY-LIKE, THOUGHT LITTLE BUT OF WHO COULD
BLOW THE BIGGEST BUBBLES 149
HUSHED LIGHT SMILEY TO SLEEP, HER ARM CLASPED ROUND
PEGGY 177
CHAPTER I
A BREAKFAST PARTY
"Henry was every morning fed
With a full mess of milk and bread."
MARY LAMB.
"NO," said Peggy to herself, with a little sigh, "the naughty clouds has
covered it up to-day. I can't see it."
"Miss Peggy," came nurse's voice from the other side of the room, "your
breakfast's waiting. Come to the table, my dear, and stand quiet while
Master Thor says the grace."
[Illustration: "--Baby, who required a great deal of room to himself at
table, baby though he was. He had so many things to do during a meal,
you see, which grown-up children think quite unnecessary. He had to drum
with a spoon, first in one fat hand and then in the other; he had to dip
his crust first in nurse's cup of tea and next in Hal's jug of milk to
see which tasted best, and there would have been no fun in doing either
if he hadn't had to stretch a long way across; and besides all this he
felt really obliged now and then to put his feet upon the table for a
change, one at a time, of course."]
Nurse spoke kindly, but she meant what she said. Peggy turned slowly
from the window and took her place among her brothers. She, and Thorold
and Terence, the two oldest boys, sat opposite nurse, and beside nurse
was Baby, who required a great deal of room to himself at table, baby
though he was. He had so many things to do during a meal, you see,
which grown-up children think quite unnecessary. He had to drum with a
spoon, first in one fat hand and then in the other; he had to dip his
crust first in nurse's cup of tea and next in Hal's jug of milk to see
which tasted best, and there would have been no fun in doing either if
he hadn't had to stretch a long way across; and besides all this he felt
really obliged now and then to put his feet upon the table for a change,
one at a time, of course. For even he, clever as he was, could not have
got both together out of the bars of his chair without toppling over.
Nurse had for some time past been speaking about beginning "to break
Master Baby in," but so far it had not got beyond speaking, and she
contented herself with seating him beside her and giving him a good
quarter of the table to himself, the only objection to which was that it
gave things in general a rather lopsided appearance.
At the two ends sat Baldwin and Hal. Hal's real name, of course, was
Henry, though he was never called by it. Baldwin, on the contrary, had
no short name, partly perhaps because mamma thought "Baldie" sounded so
ugly, and partly because there was something about Baldwin himself
which made one not inclined to shorten his name. It suited him so well,
for he was broad and comfortable and slow. He was never in a hurry, and
he gave you the feeling that you needn't be in a hurry either. There was
plenty of time for everything, for saying the whole of his name as well
as for everything else.
That made a lot of brothers, didn't it? Five, counting baby, and to
match them, or rather not to match them--for five and one are not a
match at all--only one little girl! She wondered about it a good deal,
when she had nothing else more interesting to wonder about. It seemed so
very badly managed that
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======================================================================
The Wisdom of the East Series
EDITED BY
L. CRANMER-BYNG
Dr. S. A. KAPADIA
ARABIAN WISDOM
======================================================================
WISDOM OF THE EAST
ARABIAN WISDOM
SELECTIONS AND TRANSLATIONS FROM THE ARABIC
BY JOHN WORTABET, M.D.
THIRD IMPRESSION
LONDON
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET
1916
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
TO
MY CHILDREN
"What doth the Lord require of thee, but to
do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly
with thy God!"--MICAH vi. 8.
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
THE FIRST CHAPTER OF THE KORAN
REPENTANCE
A SINNER'S CRY UNTO GOD
FORGIVING OTHERS
FORBEARANCE
HUMILITY
TRUE NOBILITY
SELF-RESPECT
CHARACTER
BENEVOLENCE
GENEROSITY
GRATITUDE
RECOMPENSE
FLAUNTING KINDNESS
KNOWLEDGE
SPECULATIVE STUDIES
THOUGHTS, DOUBTS
WISDOM
IGNORANCE, FOLLY
CONSULTATION
SPEAKING, WRITING, BOOKS
SILENCE
TRUTHFULNESS
TRUTHFULNESS TO PROMISES
TRUTHFULNESS TO SECRETS
DECEIT
EXERTION
OPPORTUNITIES
ECONOMY
VICISSITUDES OF FORTUNE
PATIENCE
CONTENTMENT
CHEERFULNESS
WAR
ANGER
HATRED, MALICE
MURDER
ENVY
RASHNESS
LAZINESS
AVAR
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interested parties worldwide free of charge for
non-commercial use available.)
GAZETTEER
OF THE
BOMBAY PRESIDENCY
VOLUME I. PART I.
HISTORY OF GUJARÁT.
UNDER GOVERNMENT ORDERS.
BOMBAY:
PRINTED AT THE GOVERNMENT CENTRAL PRESS.
1896.
Bombay Castle, 14th February 1902.
In further recognition of the distinguished labours of Sir James
McNabb Campbell, K.C.I.E., and of the services rendered by those
who have assisted him in his work, His Excellency the Governor in
Council is pleased to order that the following extract from Government
Resolution No. 2885, dated the 11th August 1884, be republished and
printed immediately after the title page of Volume I, Part I, of the
Gazetteer, and published in every issue:
"His Excellency the Governor in Council has from time to time
expressed his entire approval of the Volumes of the Gazetteer
already published, and now learns with much satisfaction that
the remaining Statistical Accounts have been completed in
the same elaborate manner. The task now brought to a close by
Mr. Campbell has been very arduous. It has been the subject of
his untiring industry for more than ten years, in the earlier
part of which period, however, he was occasionally employed on
additional duties, including the preparation of a large number
of articles for the Imperial Gazetteer. When the work was begun,
it was not anticipated that so much time would be required for
its completion, because it was not contemplated that it would
be carried out on so extensive a scale. Its magnitude may be
estimated by the fact that the Statistical Accounts, exclusive of
the general chapters yet to be reprinted, embrace twenty-seven
Volumes containing on an average 500 pages each. Mr. Campbell
could not have sustained the unflagging zeal displayed by him
for so long a period without an intense interest in the subjects
dealt with. The result is well worthy of the labour expended,
and is a proof of the rare fitness of Mr. Campbell on the ground
both of literary ability and of power of steady application
for the important duty assigned to him. The work is a record of
historical and statistical facts and of information regarding the
country and the people as complete perhaps as ever was produced
on behalf of any Government, and cannot fail to be of the utmost
utility in the future administration of the Presidency.
"2. The thanks of Government have already been conveyed to the
various contributors, and it is only necessary now to add that
they share, according to the importance of their contributions, in
the credit which attaches to the general excellence of the work."
The whole series of Volumes is now complete, and His Excellency in
Council congratulates Sir James Campbell and all associated with him
in this successful and memorable achievement.
H. O. QUIN,
Secretary to Government,
General Department.
The earliest record of an attempt to arrange for the preparation
of Statistical Accounts of the different districts of the Bombay
Presidency is in 1843. In 1843 Government called on the Revenue
Commissioner to obtain from all the Collectors as part of their next
Annual Report the fullest available information regarding their
districts. [1] The information was specially to include their own
and their Assistants' observations on the state of the cross and
other roads not under the superintendence of a separate department,
on the passes and ferries throughout the country, on the streets in
the principal towns, and on the extension and improvement of internal
communications. As from Collectors alone could any knowledge of the
state of the district be obtained, the Collectors were desired to
include in their Annual Reports observations on every point from which
a knowledge of the actual condition of the country could be gathered
with the exception of matters purely judicial which were to be supplied
by the Judicial Branch of the Administration. Government remarked that,
as Collectors and their Assistants during a large portion of the year
moved about the district in constant and intimate communication with
all classes they possessed advantages which no other public officers
enjoyed of acquiring a full knowledge of the condition of the country,
the causes of progress or retrogradation, the good measures which
require to be fostered and extended, the evil measures which call for
abandonment, the defects in existing institutions which require to
be remedied, and the nature of the remedies to be applied. Collectors
also, it was observed, have an opportunity of judging of the effect of
British rule on the condition and character of the people
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Transcribed from the 1897 John Lane edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
THE COLOUR OF LIFE
Contents:
The Colour of Life
A Point Of Biography
Cloud
Winds of the World
The Honours of Mortality
At Monastery Gates
Rushes and Reeds
Eleonora Duse
Donkey Races
Grass
A Woman in Grey
Symmetry and Incident
The Illusion of Historic Time
Eyes
THE COLOUR OF LIFE
Red has been praised for its nobility as the colour of life. But the
true colour of life is not red. Red is the colour of violence, or of
life broken open, edited, and published. Or if red is indeed the colour
of life, it is so only on condition that it is not seen. Once fully
visible, red is the colour of life violated, and in the act of betrayal
and of waste. Red is the secret of life, and not the manifestation
thereof. It is one of the things the value of which is secrecy, one of
the talents that are to be hidden in a napkin. The true colour of life
is the colour of the body, the colour of the covered red, the implicit
and not explicit red of the living heart and the pulses. It is the
modest colour of the unpublished blood.
So bright, so light, so soft, so mingled, the gentle colour of life is
outdone by all the colours of the world. Its very beauty is that it is
white, but less white than milk; brown, but less brown than earth; red,
but less red than sunset or dawn. It is lucid, but
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THE
FILM OF FEAR
BY
ARNOLD FREDERICKS
AUTHOR OF
THE IVORY SNUFF BOX, ETC.
WITH FRONTISPIECE BY
WILL FOSTER
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY
W. J. WATT & COMPANY
THE FILM OF FEAR
PART I
CHAPTER I
Ruth Morton finished her cup of coffee, brushed a microscopic crumb from
her embroidered silk kimono, pushed back her loosely arranged brown
hair, and resumed the task of opening her mail.
It was in truth a task, and one that consumed an inordinate amount of
her valuable time. And her time was extremely valuable. Computed upon
the basis of her weekly salary of one thousand dollars, it figured out
just $142.85 per day, or very nearly $6 per hour, or 10 cents per
minute, for each minute and hour of the twenty-four. As a motion picture
star, she had the satisfaction of knowing that she was paid a slightly
larger salary than had been, until recently, received by the President
of the United States.
The opening of the huge batch of letters that greeted her daily across
her dainty breakfast table was very much of a duty. It was not that she
felt any keen interest in the numberless notes from admirers, both male
and female, from Portland, Me., to Los Angeles, Cal., to say nothing of
South Bend, Opeloosa and Kicking Horse between. These might readily have
been consigned to the depths of the wastebasket unopened, unread. But
there was always the chance that, intermingled with this mass of
adulation, there might be a real letter, from a real friend, or a
business communication of importance from some picture company possibly,
prepared to offer her two thousand dollars per week, instead of one
thousand, at the expiration of her present contract. So the mail had to
be carefully opened, at least, even if the bulk of it was tossed aside
unread.
Her mother usually assisted her in this daily task, but to-day Mrs.
Morton, oppressed by a slight attack of indigestion, slept late, and
Ruth proceeded with the operation alone.
She was a singularly attractive girl, combining a wholesome and quite
unassumed innocence with a certain measure of sophistication, gained by
daily contact with the free and easy life of the studios. Her brown eyes
were large and wondering, as though she still found it difficult to
realize that within four years she had stepped from comparative poverty
to the possession of an income which a duke or a prince might readily
have envied. Her features, pleasing, regular, somewhat large, gave to
her that particular type of beauty which lends itself best to the
eccentricities of the camera. Her figure, graceful, well modeled, with
the soft roundness of youth, enabled her to wear with becoming grace
almost any costume, from the simple frock of the school girl to the
costly gowns of the woman of fashion. Add to this a keen intelligence
and a delightful vivacity of manner, and the reason for Ruth Morton's
popularity among motion picture "fans" from coast to coast was at once
apparent.
She sat in the handsomely appointed dining-room of the apartment on
Fifty-seventh Street which she and her mother had occupied for the past
two years. The room, paneled in dull ivory, provided a perfect setting
for the girl's unusual beauty. In her kimono of Nile green and gold, she
presented a figure of such compelling charm that Nora, her maid, as she
removed the empty coffee-cup, sighed to herself, if not with envy, at
least with regret, that the good God had not made _her_ along lines that
would insure an income of over fifty thousand dollars a year.
Ruth sliced open half a dozen more letters with her ivory paper knife
and prepared to drop them into the waste basket. One was from a
manufacturer of cold cream, soliciting a testimonial. Two others were
from ungrammatical school girls, asking her how they should proceed, in
order to become motion picture stars. Another was an advertisement of a
new automobile. The fifth requested an autographed picture of herself.
She swept the five over the edge of the table with a sigh of relief. How
stupid of all these people, she thought, to take up their time, and her
own, so uselessly.
The sixth letter, from its external appearance, might readily have been
of no greater interest than the other five, and yet, something
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LONDON
IN MODERN TIMES;
Or, Sketches of
THE ENGLISH METROPOLIS
DURING THE
SEVENTEENTH AND EIGHTEENTH CENTURIES.
New York
PUBLISHED BY CARLTON & PORTER,
SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION, 200 MULBERRY-STREET.
1851
CONTENTS.
Chap.
INTRODUCTION
I.--LONDON UNDER THE FIRST TWO MONARCHS OF THE STUART DYNASTY
II.--LONDON DURING THE CIVIL WARS
III.--THE PLAGUE YEAR IN LONDON
IV.--THE FIRE OF LONDON
V.--FROM THE RESTORATION OF THE CITY TO THE CLOSE OF THE CENTURY
VI.--LONDON DURING THE FIRST HALF OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY
VII.--LONDON DURING THE LATTER HALF OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY
LONDON
IN MODERN TIMES.
INTRODUCTION.
This history of an old city opens many views into the realms of the
past, crowded with the picturesque, the romantic, and the
religious--with what is beautiful in intellect, sublime in feeling,
noble in character--and with much, too, the reverse of all this.
Buildings dingy and dilapidated, or tastelessly modernized, in which
great geniuses were born, or lived, or died, become, in connection with
the event, transformed into poetic bowers; and narrow dirty streets,
where they are known often to have walked, change into green alleys,
resounding with richer notes than ever trilled from bird on brake.
Tales of valor and suffering, of heroism and patience, of virtue and
piety, of the patriot's life and the martyr's death, crowd thickly on
the memory. Nor do opposite reminiscences, revealing the footprints of
vice and crime, of evil passions and false principles, fail to arise,
fraught with salutary warnings and cautions. The broad thoroughfare is
a channel, within whose banks there has been rolling for centuries a
river of human life, now tranquil as the sky, now troubled as the
clouds, gliding on in peace, or lashed into storms.
These dwelling-places of man are proofs and expressions of his
ingenuity, skill, and toil, of his social instincts and habits. Their
varied architecture and style, the different circumstances under which
they were built, the various motives and diversified purposes which led
to their erection, are symbols and illustrations of the innumerable
forms, the many hues, the strange gradations of men's
condition, character, habits, tastes, and feelings. Each house has its
own history--a history which in some cases has been running on since an
era when civilization wore a different aspect from what it does now.
What changeful scenes has many a dwelling witnessed!--families have
come and gone, people have been born and have died, obedient to the
great law--"the fashion of this world passeth away." Those rooms have
witnessed the birth and departure of many, the death of the guilty
sinner or pardoned believer, the gay wedding and the gloomy funeral,
the welcome meeting of Christmas groups around the bright fireside, and
the sad parting of loved ones called to separate into widely divergent
paths. Striking contrasts abound between the outward material aspect
and the inward moral scenery of those habitations. In this house,
perhaps, which catches the passenger's eye by its splendor, through
whose windows there flashes the gorgeous light of patrician luxury, at
whose door lines of proud equipages drive up, on whose steps are
marshaled obsequious footmen in gilded liveries, there are hearts
pining away with ambition, envy, jealousy, fear, remorse, and agony.
In that humble cottage-like abode, on the other hand, contentment,
which with godliness is great gain, and piety, better than gold or
rubies, have taken up their home, and transformed it into a terrestrial
heaven.
All this applies to London, and gives interest to our survey of it as
we pass through its numerous streets; it clothes it with a poetic
character in the eyes of all gifted with creative fancy. The poetry of
the city has its own charms as well as the poetry of the country. The
history of London supplies abundant materials of the character now
described; indeed, they are so numerous and diversified that it is
difficult to deal with them. The memorials of the mother city are so
intimately connected with the records of the empire, that to do justice
to the former would be to sketch the outline, and to exhibit most of
the stirring scenes and incidents of the latter. London, too, is
associated closely with many of the distinguished individuals that
England has produced, with the progress of arts, of commerce and
literature, politics and law, religion and civilization; so that, as we
walk about it, we tread on classic ground, rich in a thousand
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Book 1, Chapter I.
IN THE OLD FEN-LAND.
"Oh, how sweet the pines smell, Marion! I declare it's quite bliss to
get down here in these wilds, with the free wind blowing the London
smoke out of your back hair, and no one to criticise and make remarks.
I won't go to the sea-side any more: pier and band, and esplanade and
promenade; in pink to-day and in blue to-morrow, and the next day in
green; and then a bow here and a `de-do' there; and `how's mamma?' and
`nice day;' and all the same sickening stuff over again. There! I
won't hear fault found with the Fen-land ever any more. I don't wonder
at that dear old Hereward the Wake loving it. Why, it's beautiful! and
I feel free--as free as the air itself; and could set off and run and
jump and shout like a child?"
"Dangerous work, running and jumping here," said a tall, pale girl, the
speaker's companion, as she picked her way from tuft to tuft of heath
and rushes, now plucking a spray of white or creamy-pink moss, now some
silky rush, and at last bending long over a cluster of forget-me-nots,
peering up from the bright green water plants, like turquoise set in
enamelled gold.
"What lovely forget-me-nots!" cried her blonde companion, hurrying to
her side, the oozy ground bending beneath her weight, as she pressed
forward. "True blue--true blue! I must have a bunch as
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Quiet Talks about Jesus
by
S. D. Gordon
Author of "Quiet Talks on Power," and "Quiet Talks on Prayer"
Contents
A Bit Ahead
I. The Purpose of Jesus.
1. The Purpose in Jesus' Coming
2. The Plan for Jesus' Coming
3. The Tragic Break in the Plan
4. Some Surprising Results of the Tragic Break
II. The Person of Jesus.
1. The Human Jesus
2. The Divine Jesus
3. The Winsome Jesus
III. The Great Experiences or Jesus' Life.
1. The Jordan: The Decisive Start
2. The Wilderness: Temptation
3. The Transfiguration: An Emergency Measure
4. Gethsemane: The Strange, Lone Struggle
5. Calvary: Victory
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PRICE 15 Cts.
ARCHERY RULES
[Illustration: C. F. A. HINRICHS. N.Y.]
C. F. A. HINRICHS,
_No. 29 to 33 Park Place_,
NEW YORK.
Archery.
It is scarcely needful to say anything in praise of Archery. It holds
its place as the first of English sports, and is rapidly becoming
popular in America. It trains the eye, imparts a good and graceful
carriage, expands the chest, and gives plenty of walking exercise
without fatigue; moreover, it is equally adapted for both sexes.
THE EQUIPMENT OF THE ARCHER.
The first thing we have to consider is what constitutes the necessary
outfit for an archer--how it should be chosen, and how taken care of.
Before choosing his outfit, the archer should find a good maker, and
obtain from him a list of prices; having done so, he will be able to
determine what expense he is willing to go to, and then to apply the
following hints in choosing his apparatus. Let us, however, entreat
him not to sacrifice all his hopes of future success to a desire to
get cheap things; let him rely upon it that things obtained at a fair
cost from a good maker are twice as cheap as those whose only
recommendation is their low price.
The following list will show _about_ what is a fair price, and may be
a guide to our readers in future selections.
EQUIPMENTS FOR LADIES.
Fine Backed Bows, 4-1/2 to 5-1/2 ft., $4.50 to 6.00 each.
Lemon Wood Bows, 4-1/2 to 5-1/2 ft., $4.00 to $5.00 each.
Lance Wood Bows, 4-1/2 to 5-1/2 ft.
(to weight), $2.75 to $4.00 each.
Lance Wood Bows 4-1/2 to 5-1/2 ft.
(ordinary), 75c. to $2.25 each.
Practising Arrows, 25 inch, $1.50 to $3.50 per doz.
Finest French Arrows, 25 inch, (we can
highly recommend this kind), $3.50 to $5.00 per doz.
Old Deal Arrows, 25 inch, $5.50 to $7.00 per doz.
Best Footed Arrows, 25 inch, $8.50 to $11.00 per doz.
Best Flemish Bow-Strings, 25c. to 50c. each.
Quivers, $1.50 to $2.75 each.
Arm Guards, $1.25 to $2.00 each.
Shooting Glove, 63c. to $1.50 each.
Tips for Bows, 50c. per pair.
Tassel 50c. to 75c. each.
Targets, $1.00 to $7.00 each.
Target Stands, $2.50 to $5.00 each.
Bow Covers (green baize), 75c. each.
Scoring Cards and Tablets, Ivory and
Ebony Prickers, &c., 25c. to $2.00 each.
EQUIPMENTS FOR GENTLEMEN.
Fine Backed Bows, 6 ft., $9.00 to 12.00 each.
Lemon Wood Bows, 6 ft., $5.00 to $6.00 each.
Lance Wood Bows, 6 ft. (to weight), $4.00 to $5.00 each.
Lance Wood Bows, 6 ft. (ordinary), $1.50 to $2.50 each.
Practising Arrows, 28 inch, $2.00 to $4.00 per doz.
Finest French Arrows, 28 inch, (we can
highly recommend this kind), $5.00 to $6.00 per doz.
Old Deal Arrows, 28 inch, $6.00 to $7.50 per doz.
Best Footed Arrows, 28 inch, $9.00 to $12.00 per doz.
Best Flemish Bow-Strings, 25c. to 50c. each.
Quivers, $2.50 to $3.50 each.
Arm Guards, $1.00 to $2.00 each.
Shooting Glove, 75c. to $2.00 each.
Tips for Bows, 75c. per pair.
Tassel, 50c. to 75c. each.
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COMPANY "A,"
CORPS OF ENGINEERS, U. S. A.,
1846-'48,
IN THE
MEXICAN WAR.
BY
GUSTAVUS W. SMITH,
FORMERLY LIEUTENANT OF ENGINEERS, AND BVT. CAPTAIN,
U. S. ARMY.
THE BATTALION PRESS,
1896.
PREFACE.
Executive Document, No. 1, United States Senate, December 7, 1847,
contains a Communication from the Secretary of War, transmitting to
Congress the official reports of commanding generals and their
subordinates in the Mexican War.
The Secretary says: "The company of engineer soldiers, authorized by the
act of May 15, 1846, has been more than a year on active duty in Mexico,
and has rendered efficient service. I again submit, with approval, the
proposition of the Chief Engineer for an increase of this description of
force." (Senate-Ex. Doc. No. 1, 1847, p. 67.)
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
Page
PREFACE. 3
CHAP. I.--Enlistment--Instruction--Detention on
the Rio Grande--March to Victoria and
Tampico--Landing at Vera Cruz--Death
of Captain Swift. 7
CHAP. II.--Engaged in Operations against Vera Cruz. 21
CHAP. III.--After the Surrender of Vera Cruz to the
Occupation of Puebla. 28
CHAP. IV.--From Puebla to Churubusco. 34
CHAP. V.--Capture of the City of Mexico. 48
CHAP. VI.--In the City of Mexico; Return to West Point. 57
APPENDIX A.--Brief Extracts, from Wilcox's History of the
Mexican War, 1892. 66
APPENDIX B.--Promotions of Enlisted Men of the Company. 69
CHAPTER I.
ENLISTMENT--INSTRUCTION--DETENTION ON THE RIO GRANDE--MARCH TO VICTORIA
AND TAMPICO--LANDING AT VERA CRUZ--DEATH OF CAPTAIN SWIFT.
Previous to the war with Mexico there existed among the people of the
United States a strong prejudice against maintaining even a small
regular army in time of peace. Active opposition to a permanent, regular
military establishment extended to the West Point Academy, in which
cadets were trained and qualified to become commissioned officers of the
army. That Academy was then a component part of the Military Engineer
Corps. For years the chief of the Corps had, in vain, urged upon
Congress, the necessity for having, at least one company of enlisted
engineer soldiers as a part of the regular army.
In the meantime he had, however, succeeded in persuading the Government
at Washington to send--by permission of the Government of France--a
selected Captain of the U. S. Engineer Corps to the French School of
engineer officers at Metz; for the purpose of having in the U. S. Army,
an officer qualified to instruct and command a company of engineer
soldiers in case Congress could be induced to authorize the enlistment
of such a company.
Captain Alexander J. Swift was the officer selected to be sent to Metz.
On his return to the United States, he was assigned to temporary duty at
West Point awaiting the long delayed passage of an act authorizing the
enlistment of a company of U. S. Engineer soldiers.
That act was passed soon after the commencement of hostilities with
Mexico. It provided for the enlistment of an engineer company of 100
men, in the regular army. The company to be composed of 10 sergeants, 10
corporals, 39 artificers, 39 second class privates, and 2 musicians; all
with higher pay than that of enlisted men in the line of the army.
Captain Swift was assigned to the command; and, at his request, I was
ordered to report to him as next officer in rank to himself. At my
suggestion, Brevet Second Lieutenant George B. McClellan, who had just
been graduated from the Military Academy, was assigned as junior officer
of the company.
At that time I had been an officer of engineers for four years; my rank
was that of second lieutenant. All the first lieutenants, and some of
the second lieutenants, of that corps, were then in sole charge of the
construction of separate fortifications, or were engaged in other
important duties. Captain Swift was not disposed to apply for the
assignment of any of those officers to be subalterns under him in a
company of soldiers.
I had taught McClellan during his last year in the Academy, and felt
assured that he would be in full harmony with me in the duties we would
be called upon to perform under Captain Swift. It is safe to say that no
three officers of a company of soldiers ever worked together with less
friction. The understanding between them was complete. There were no
jars--no doubts or cross purposes--and no conflict of opinion or of
action.
In the beginning I was charged with the instruction of the company as an
infantry command, whilst the Captain took control of the recruiting, the
collection of engineer implements--including an India Rubber Ponton
Bridge--and he privately instructed McClellan and myself, at his own
house, in the rudiments of practical military engineering which he had
acquired at Metz. In the meantime we taught him, at the same place, the
manual of arms and Infantry tactics which had been introduced into the
army after he was graduated at the Military Academy. In practical
engineer drills the Captain was always in control.
After the men were passably well drilled in the "Infantry School of the
Company"; the time had come for him to take executive command on the
infantry drill ground. He did this on the first occasion, like a veteran
Captain of Infantry until "at rest" was ordered.
Whilst the men were "at rest", McClellan and myself quietly, but
earnestly, congratulated him upon his successful _debut_ as drill
officer of an Infantry Company. He kindly attributed to our instruction
in his house, whatever proficiency he had acquired in the new tactics
which had then been recently introduced.
But, after the company was again called to "Attention" and the drill was
progressing, whilst marching with full company front across the plain,
the men all well in line, to my surprise the Captain ordered "faster",
and added "the step is much too slow". Of course we went "faster". In a
short time the Captain ordered "faster still, the step is very much too
slow". This order was several times repeated, and before the drill ended
we were virtually "at a run".
After the drill was over and the Company dismissed from the parade
ground, I asked the Captain why he had not given the commands "quick
time" and "double quick", instead of saying "faster" and "still faster".
He said he did not intend the step should be "quick time"--much less
"double quick". He only wanted the rate to be in "common time--90 steps
a minute"; and added:
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MAKING A
POULTRY HOUSE
_THE
HOUSE & GARDEN
~MAKING~
BOOKS_
It is the intention of the publishers to make this series of little
volumes, of which _Making a Poultry House_ is one, a complete library
of authoritative and well illustrated handbooks dealing with the
activities of the home-maker and amateur gardener. Text, pictures
and diagrams will, in each respective book, aim to make perfectly
clear the possibility of having, and the means of having, some of the
more important features of a modern country or suburban home. Among
the titles already issued or planned for early publication are the
following: _Making a Rose Garden_; _Making a Lawn_; _Making a Tennis
Court_; _Making a Fireplace_; _Making Paths and Driveways_; _Making
a Rock Garden_; _Making a Garden with Hotbed and Coldframe_; _Making
Built-in Bookcases, Shelves and Seats_; _Making a Garden to Bloom
This Year_; _Making a Water Garden_; _Making a Garden of Perennials_;
_Making the Grounds Attractive with Shrubbery_; _Making a Naturalized
Bulb Garden_; with others to be announced later.
[Illustration: It is not a difficult matter to care for a small flock,
but the old unsanitary methods of housing will have to be abandoned]
MAKING A
POULTRY HOUSE
_By_ M. ROBERTS CONOVER
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
McBRIDE, NAST & COMPANY
1912
COPYRIGHT, 1912, BY
McBRIDE, NAST & CO.
Published May, 1912
CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTION 1
SPECIFIC SUGGESTIONS FOR HOUSES 7
FLOORS AND FOUNDATIONS 23
THE ROOF 28
WALLS, WINDOWS AND VENTILATION 33
THE DOOR OF THE POULTRY HOUSE 40
NESTS AND ROOSTS 43
THE RUN 50
SOME HINTS ON UPKEEP 52
THE ILLUSTRATIONS
UNSANITARY HOUSING MUST GIVE WAY
TO MODERN METHODS _Frontispiece_
FACING
PAGE
A COLONY HOUSE RECOMMENDED BY
THE OREGON EXPERIMENT STATION 12
TWO PORTABLE COLONY HOUSES
ADAPTABLE FOR THE HOME FLOCK 16
BROOD HOUSES FOR THE YOUNG BIRDS 20
FLOORS OF EARTH AND OF WOOD 26
THE SINGLE-PITCH ROOF IN A SERIES
OF CONNECTED HOUSES 30
A COMBINED POULTRY HOUSE AND
PIGEON LOFT 38
ALFALFA UNDER NETTING IN THE RUN 46
A SIMPLE FORM OF TRAP NEST 46
Making a Poultry House
INTRODUCTION
To close one's eyes and dream of a home in the country with its lawns,
its gardens, its flowers, its songs of birds and drone of bees, proves
the sentimental in man, but he is not practical who cannot call into
fancy's realm the cackle of the hen.
Having conceded her a legitimate place in the scheme of the country
home, good housing is of the utmost importance, and it is in regard to
this that one easily blunders. Few would idealize a rickety hovel as a
home for the flock, but many of us, while we would not put our highly
prized birds into an airtight box, so over-house them that they weaken
instead of profiting by our care.
That the poultry house is yet in an evolutionary stage, all must admit,
but no one can deny that great strides have been made since the once
neglected barnyard fowl has come to be known as a very understandable
and responsive creature, to be dealt with on common-sense grounds.
Only that poultry house is a good shelter which in winter conserves
as much warmth as possible, and yet permits an abundance of fresh
air; that admits sunlight, and yet in summer is cool. Such a building
must offer no hospitality to other than poultry life, and it must
be constructed in line with the economic value of its residents. In
short, the structure must be so contrived as to guard against drafts,
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This eBook was produced by Tapio Riikonen
and David Widger
BOOK III.
IN WHICH THE HISTORY PASSES FROM THE KING'S COURT TO THE STUDENT'S
CELL, AND RELATES THE PERILS THAT BEFELL A PHILOSOPHER FOR MEDDLING
WITH THE AFFAIRS OF THE WORLD.
CHAPTER I.
THE SOLITARY SAGE AND THE SOLITARY MAID.
While such the entrance of Marmaduke Nevile into a court, that if far
less intellectual and refined than those of later days, was yet more
calculated to dazzle the fancy, to sharpen the wit, and to charm the
senses,--for round the throne of Edward IV. chivalry was magnificent,
intrigue restless, and pleasure ever on the wing,--Sibyll had ample
leisure in her solitary home to muse over the incidents that had
preceded the departure of the young guest. Though she had rejected
Marmaduke's proffered love, his tone, so suddenly altered, his abrupt,
broken words and confusion, his farewell, so soon succeeding his
passionate declaration, could not fail to wound that pride of woman
which never sleeps till modesty is gone. But this made the least
cause of the profound humiliation which bowed down her spirit. The
meaning taunt conveyed in the rhyme of the tymbesteres pierced her to
the quick; the calm, indifferent smile of the stranger, as he regarded
her, the beauty of the dame he attended, woke mingled and contrary
feelings, but those of jealousy were perhaps the keenest: and in the
midst of all she started to ask herself if indeed she had suffered her
vain thoughts to dwell too tenderly upon one from whom the vast
inequalities of human life must divide her evermore. What to her was
his indifference? Nothing,--yet had she given worlds to banish that
careless smile from her remembrance.
Shrinking at last from the tyranny of thoughts till of late unknown,
her eye rested upon the gipsire which Alwyn had sent her by the old
servant. The sight restored to her the holy recollection of her
father, the sweet joy of having ministered to his wants. She put up
the little treasure, intending to devote it all to Warner; and after
bathing her heavy eyes, that no sorrow of hers might afflict the
student, she passed with a listless step into her father's chamber.
There is, to the quick and mercurial spirits of the young, something
of marvellous and preternatural in that life within life, which the
strong passion of science and genius forms and feeds,--that passion so
much stronger than love, and so much more self-dependent; which asks
no sympathy, leans on no kindred heart; which lives alone in its works
and fancies, like a god amidst his creations.
The philosopher, too, had experienced a great affliction since they
met last. In the pride of his heart he had designed to show Marmaduke
the mystic operations of his model, which had seemed that morning to
open into life; and when the young man was gone, and he made the
experiment alone, alas! he found that new progress but involved him in
new difficulties. He had gained the first steps in the gigantic
creation of modern days, and he was met by the obstacle that baffled
so long the great modern sage. There was the cylinder, there the
boiler; yet, work as he would, the steam failed to keep the cylinder
at work. And now, patiently as the spider re-weaves the broken web,
his untiring ardour was bent upon constructing a new cylinder of other
materials. "Strange," he said to himself, "that the heat of the mover
aids not the movement;" and so, blundering near the truth, he laboured
on.
Sibyll, meanwhile, seated herself abstractedly on a heap of fagots
piled in the corner, and seemed busy in framing characters on the
dusty floor with the point of her tiny slipper. So fresh and fair and
young she seemed, in that murky atmosphere, that strange scene, and
beside that worn man, that it might have seemed to a poet as if the
youngest of the Graces were come to visit Mulciber at his forge.
The man pursued his work, the girl renewed her dreams, the dark
evening hour gradually stealing over both. The silence was unbroken,
for the forge and the model were now
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(http://digital.library.villanova.edu/))
[Illustration: AS HERC TURNED, HE WAS CERTAIN THAT HE HAD SEEN A FACE
VANISH QUICKLY FROM THE CASEMENT.
--Page 62.
]
THE
DREADNOUGHT BOYS
ON AERO SERVICE
BY
CAPTAIN WILBUR LAWTON
AUTHOR OF "THE DREADNOUGHT BOYS ON BATTLE PRACTICE," "THE
DREADNOUGHT BOYS ABOARD A DESTROYER," "THE DREADNOUGHT
BOYS ON A SUBMARINE," ETC.
NEW YORK
HURST & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1912,
BY
HURST & COMPANY
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. SOMETHING NEW IN NAVAL LIFE 5
II. "IF HE'S A MAN, HE'LL STAND UP" 17
III. FOR THE TROPHY OF THE FLEET 30
IV. THE AERO SQUAD 39
V. UNCLE SAM'S MEN-BIRDS 50
VI. NED INVENTS SOMETHING 59
VII. A RESCUE BY AEROPLANE 73
VIII. HERC GETS A "TALKING TO" 84
IX. A CONSPIRACY IS RIPENING 93
X. A DREADNOUGHT
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Produced by Don Kostuch
[Transcriber's Notes: This production was derived from
https://archive.org/stream/catholicworld09pauluoft/
catholicworld09pauluoft_djvu.txt
Page images are also available at
https://quod.lib.umich.edu/m/moajrnl/browse.journals/cath.html
To view the tables in several places use a fixed pitch font.]
{i}
The Catholic World.
Monthly Magazine
Of General Literature And Science.
----------
Vol. IX.
April, 1869, To September, 1869.
----------
New York:
The Catholic Publication House,
126 Nassau Street.
1869.
{ii}
S. W. Green, Printer,
16 and 18 Jacob St., N. Y.
{iii}
Contents.
Aubrey de Vere in America, 264.
A Chinese Husband's Lament for his Wife, 279.
Angela, 634, 756.
Antiquities of New York, 652.
All for the Faith, 684.
Bishops of Rome, 86.
Beethoven, 523, 607, 783.
Catholic and Protestant Countries, Morality of, 52.
Catholicity and Pantheism, 255, 554.
Chinese Husband's Lament for his Wife, 279.
Council of the Vatican, The Approaching, 356.
Columbus at Salamanca, 433.
Council of Baltimore, The Second Plenary, 497.
Church, Our Established, 577.
Charms of Nativity, 660.
Conversion of Rome, The, 790.
Daybreak, 37, 157, 303, 442, 588, 721.
Duration of Life, Influence of Locality on, 73.
De Vere, Aubrey, in America, 264.
Dongan, Hon. Thomas, 767.
Emily Linder, 98, 221.
Educational Question, The, 121.
Filial Affection, as Practised by the Chinese, 416.
Foreign Literary Notes, 429, 711.
Faith, All for the, 684.
General Council, The Approaching, 14.
Good Old Saxon, 318.
Heremore Brandon, 63, 188.
Ireland, Modern Street Ballads of, 32.
Irish Church Act of 1869, The, 238.
Immigration, The Philosophy of, 399.
Ireland, A Glimpse of, 738.
Jewish Church, Letter and Spirit in the, 690.
Linder, Emily, 98, 221.
Lecky on Morals, 529.
Letter and Spirit in the Jewish Church, 690.
Leo X. and his Age, 699.
Little Flowers of Spain, 706.
Morality of Catholic and Protestant Countries, 52.
My Mother's Only Son, 249.
Man, Primeval, 746.
Moral Aspects of Romanism, 845.
Matanzas, How it came to be called Matanzas, 852.
New-York, Antiquities of, 652.
Nativity, The Charms of, 660.
Omnibus, The, Two Hundred Years Ago, 135.
Our Established Church, 577.
Pope Joan, Fable of, 1.
Problems of the Age and its Critics, 175.
Pope or People, 212.
Physical Basis of Life, The, 467.
Primeval Man, 746.
Paganina, 803.
Rome, The Bishops of, 86.
Ravignan, Xavier de, 112.
Ruined Life, A, 385.
Roses, The Geography of, 406.
Religion Emblemed in Flowers, 541.
Rome, Conversion of, 790.
Recent Scientific Discoveries, 814.
Spain, Two Months in, 199, 343, 477, 675.
Spiritism and Spirits, 289.
Supernatural, The, 325.
St. Mary's, 366.
St. Peter, First Bishop of Rome, 374.
Spanish Life and Character, 413.
Sauntering, 459, 612.
Sister Aloyse's Bequest, 489.
St. Thomas, The Legend of, 512.
Spiritualism and Materialism,
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[Illustration: Decoration]
THE CONQUEST OF ROME
_By_
MATILDE SERAO
AUTHOR OF
"THE LAND OF COCKAYNE"
"THE BALLET DANCER" ETC.
[Illustration: Logo]
HARPER & BROTHERS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
PUBLISHERS.. 1902
[Illustration: Decoration]
Published October, 1902
PART I
CHAPTER I
The train stopped.
'Capua! Capua!' three or four voices cried monotonously into the night.
A clanking of swords dragged on the ground was heard, and some lively
muttering that passed between a Lombard and a Piedmontese. It came from
a group of subaltern officers, who were ending their evening's amusement
in coming to see the night train from Naples to Rome pass through. While
the conductor chatted respectfully with the station-master, who gave him
a commission for Caianello, and while the postman handed up a mail-sack
full of letters to the clerk in the postal van, the officers, talking to
each other and making their spurs ring (from habit), looked to see if
anyone got in or out of the train, peeping through the doors which were
open for the sight of a fair feminine face or that of a friend. But many
of the doors were closed. Blue blinds were stretched over the panes,
through which glimmered a faint lamplight, as if coming from a place
where lay travellers overpowered by sleep. Bodies curled up in a dark
tangle of coats, shawls, and sundry coverings, were dimly discernible.
'They are all asleep,' said one of the officers; 'let us go to bed.'
'This is probably a newly-married couple,' suggested another, reading
over a door the word 'Reserved.' And since the blind was not drawn, the
officer, aflame with youthful curiosity, jumped on the step and
flattened his face against the window. But he came down at once,
disappointed and shrugging his shoulders.
'It is a man, alone,' he said--'a deputy, no doubt; he is asleep, too.'
But the solitary man was not asleep. He was stretched out at full length
on the seat, an arm under his neck, and one hand in his hair; the other
hand was lost in the bosom of his coat. His eyes were closed, but his
face bore not the soft expression of repose, not the deep peace of human
lineaments in sleep. Instead, the effort of thought was to be read in
those contracted features.
When the train had passed the bridge over the Volturno, and ran into the
dark, deserted, open country, the man reopened his eyes, and tried
another position more favourable to repose. But the monotonous,
everlasting _grind, grind_ of the train racked his head. Now and then a
farmhouse, a little villa, a rural cottage, stood out darkly from a dark
background; a thin streak of light would ooze out through a crack; a
lantern would throw a glimmering, dancing circle in the path of the
speeding train. The cold prevented him from sleeping. Accustomed to the
mild Southern nights, and not in the habit of travelling, he had set out
with a simple light overcoat and neither rug nor shawl; he had a small
handbag, and other luggage was following him on the train. Of
importance to him were neither clothes, nor maps, nor books, nor
linen--nothing but that little gold medal, that precious amulet
suspended from his watch-chain. From the day it was his--it had been
obtained for him by special request through the quaestor of the
Chamber--his fingers were perpetually running over it with light touch,
as if in a mechanical caress. At such times as he was alone he crushed
it into the palm of his hand so hard that a red mark would remain on the
skin. In order to have the compartment reserved, he had shown this to
the station-master, lowering his eyes and compressing his lips to fight
down a look of triumph and a smile of complacency. And since the
beginning of the journey he held it in his hand, as though afraid to
lose it, so infusing it with the warmth of the epiderm it was scorching.
And so acute was the sensation of pleasure derived from the contact of
that possession that he faintly felt every protuberance and every hollow
in the face of the metal--_felt_ under his fingers the number and the
words:
'_XIV. Legislature._'
On the reverse were a Christian name and a surname, indicative of the
ownership:
'FRANCESCO SANGIORGIO.'
His hands were hot, yet he shook with the cold. He rose and went to the
door. The train was now running through open country, but its noise was
subdued. It seemed as though the wheels were anointed with oil as they
rolled noiselessly along the rails, accompanying the travellers' sleep
without disturbing it. The luminous windows stamped themselves as they
fled by on a high, black embankment. Not a shadow behind the panes. The
great house of slumbers coursed through the night, driven, as it were,
by an iron, fervent will, whirling away with it those wills inert in
repose.
'Let us try to sleep,' thought the Honourable Sangiorgio.
Stretching out once more, he attempted to do so. But the name of
Sparanise, called out softly two or three times at a stoppage, reminded
him of a small and obscure place in the Basilicata, whence he hailed,
and which, together with twenty other wretched villages, had given all
their votes to make him a deputy. The little spot, three or four hours
distant from an unknown station on the Eboli-Reggio line, seemed very
far oft to the Honourable Sangiorgio--far off in a swampy vale, among
the noxious mists which in autumn emanate from the streams, whose
dried-up beds are stony, arid, and yellow in summertime. On the way to
the railway-station from that little lonely place in the dreary tracts
of the Basilicata he had passed close to the cemetery--a large, square
piece of ground, with black crosses standing up, and two tall, graceful
pines. There lay, under the ground, under a single block of marble, his
erstwhile opponent, the old deputy who had always been re-elected
because of patriotic tradition, and whom he had always fought with the
enthusiasm of an ambitious young man ignoring the existence of
obstacles. Not once had he defeated him, had this presumptuous young
fellow, who was born too late, as the other said, to do anything for his
country. But Death, as a considerate ally, had secured him a sweeping
and easy victory. His triumph was an act of homage to the old, departed
patriot. But as he had passed the burial-ground he had felt in his
heart neither reverence nor envy in respect to the tired old soldier who
had gone down to the great, serene indolence of the tomb. All of this
recurred to his mind, as well as the long, odious ten years of his life
as a provincial advocate, with the mean, daily task common in the
courts, and rare appearance at assizes. Perhaps a land litigation over
an inheritance of three hundred lire, a mere spadeful of ground; a whole
miniature world of sordid, paltry affairs, of peasants' rascalities, of
complicated lies for a low object, in which the client would suspect his
lawyer and try to cheat him, while the lawyer would look upon the client
as an unarmed enemy. Amid such surroundings the young advocate had felt
every instinct of ardour die in his soul; speech, too, had died in his
throat. And since the cause he must defend was barren and trivial, and
the men he must address listened with indifference, he at last took
refuge in hastening through the defence in a few dry words; therefore
his reputation as an advocate was not great. Now he was entirely bereft
of the capacity to regret leaving his home and his old parents, who at
seeing him go had wept like all old persons of advanced years when
someone departs through that great selfishness which is a trait of old
age. Many secret, furious tempests, smothered eruptions that could find
no vent, had exhausted the well-springs of tenderness in his heart. Now,
during this journey, he remembered it all quite clearly, but without
emotion, like an impartial observer. He shut his eyes and attempted to
sleep, but could not.
In the train, however, everyone else appeared to be wrapped in deep
slumber. Through the noise and the increased rocking the Honourable
Sangiorgio seemed to hear a long, even respiration; he seemed almost to
see a gigantic chest slowly rising and falling in the happy, mechanical
process of breathing.
At Cassino, where there was a stop of five minutes at one in the
morning, no one got out. The waiter in the cafe was asleep under the
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THE HOUSE IN THE WATER
A BOOK OF ANIMAL STORIES
THE HOUSE IN THE WATER
A BOOK OF ANIMAL STORIES
BY CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS
Author of "The Kindred of the Wild," "Red Fox," "The Heart of the Ancient
Wood," "The Forge in the Forest," "The Heart That Knows," etc.
Illustrated and decorated by
CHARLES LIVINGSTON BULL and FRANK VINING SMITH
THE PAGE COMPANY
PUBLISHERS BOSTON
Copyright, 1907, by Curtis Publishing Company
Copyright, 1908, by Funk & Wagnalls Company
Copyright, 1908, by The Circle Publishing Company
Copyright, 1908, by Associated Sunday Magazines, Incorporated
Copyright, 1908, by L. C. Page & Company (Incorporated)
All rights reserved
First Impression, May, 1908
Third Impression, May, 1916
THE COLONIAL PRESS
C. H. SIMONDS CO., BOSTON, U. S. A.
CONTENTS OF THE BOOK
PAGE
The House in the Water 1
The White-slashed Bull 125
When the Blueberries Are Ripe 152
The Glutton of the Great Snow 163
When the Truce of the Wild is Done 192
The Window in the Shack 204
The Return of the Moose 225
From the Teeth of the Tide 235
The Fight at the Wallow 252
Sonny and the Kid 271
A LIST OF THE FULL-PAGE DRAWINGS IN THE BOOK
PAGE
"Began to climb out upon the
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A ROUND DOZEN.
[Illustration: TOINETTE AND THE ELVES.
Down on the ground beside her, a tiny figure became visible, so small
that Toinette had to kneel and stoop her head to see it.--PAGE 234.]
A ROUND DOZEN.
BY
SUSAN COOLIDGE,
AUTHOR OF "THE NEW YEAR'S BARGAIN," "WHAT KATY DID," "WHAT KATY
DID AT SCHOOL," "MISCHIEF'S THANKSGIVING," "NINE LITTLE
GOSLINGS," "EYEBRIGHT," "CROSS-PATCH,"
"A GUERNSEY LILY."
[Illustration: QUI LEGIT REQIT]
BOSTON:
ROBERTS BROTHERS.
1892.
_Copyright, 1883_,
BY ROBERTS BROTHERS.
UNIVERSITY PRESS:
JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE.
TO
V V V V V
_Five little buds grouped round the parent stem,
Growing in sweet airs, beneath gracious skies,
Watched tenderly from sunrise to sunrise,
Lest blight, or chill, or evil menace them._
_Five small and folded buds, just here and there
Giving a hint of what the bloom may be,
When to reward the long close ministry
The buds shall blossom into roses fair._
_Soft dews fall on you, dears, soft breezes blow,
The noons be tempered and the snows be kind,
And gentle angels watch each stormy wind,
And turn it
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THE LETTERS OF CASSIODORUS
_HODGKIN_
Oxford
PRINTED BY HORACE HART, PRINTER TO THE UNIVERSITY
THE
LETTERS OF CASSIODORUS
BEING
A CONDENSED TRANSLATION OF THE VARIAE EPISTOLAE
OF MAGNUS AURELIUS CASSIODORUS SENATOR
With an Introduction
BY
THOMAS HODGKIN
FELLOW OF UNIVERSITY COLLEGE, LONDON; HON. D.C.L. OF DURHAM UNIVERSITY
AUTHOR OF 'ITALY AND HER INVADERS'
LONDON: HENRY FROWDE
AMEN CORNER, PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C.
1886.
[_All rights reserved_]
PREFACE.
The abstract of the 'Variae' of Cassiodorus which I now offer to the
notice of historical students, belongs to that class of work which
Professor Max Mueller happily characterised when he entitled two of his
volumes 'Chips from a German Workshop.' In the course of my
preparatory reading, before beginning the composition of the third and
fourth volumes of my book on 'Italy and Her Invaders,' I found it
necessary to study very attentively the 'Various Letters' of
Cassiodorus, our best and often our only source of information, for
the character and the policy of the great Theodoric. The notes which
in this process were accumulated upon my hands might, I hoped, be
woven into one long chapter on the Ostrogothic government of Italy.
When the materials were collected, however, they were so manifold, so
perplexing, so full of curious and unexpected detail, that I quite
despaired of ever succeeding in the attempt to group them into one
harmonious and artistic picture. Frankly, therefore, renouncing a task
which is beyond my powers, I offer my notes for the perusal of the few
readers who may care to study the mutual reactions of the Roman and
the Teutonic mind upon one another in the Sixth Century, and I ask
these to accept the artist's assurance, 'The curtain is the picture.'
It will be seen that I only profess to give an abstract, not a full
translation of the letters. There is so much repetition and such a
lavish expenditure of words in the writings of Cassiodorus, that they
lend themselves very readily to the work of the abbreviator. Of course
the longer letters generally admit of greater relative reduction in
quantity than the shorter ones, but I think it may be said that on an
average the letters have lost at least half their bulk in my hands. On
any important point the real student will of course refuse to accept
my condensed rendering, and will go straight to the fountain-head. I
hope, however, that even students may occasionally derive the same
kind of assistance from my labours which an astronomer derives from
the humble instrument called the 'finder' in a great observatory.
A few important letters have been translated, to the best of my
ability, verbatim. In the not infrequent instances where I have been
unable to extract any intelligible meaning, on grammatical principles,
from the words of my author, I have put in the text the nearest
approximation that I could discover to his meaning, and placed the
unintelligible words in a note, hoping that my readers may be more
fortunate in their interpretation than I have been.
With the usual ill-fortune of authors, just as my last sheet was
passing through the press I received from Italy a number of the 'Atti
e Memorie della R. Deputazione di Storia Patria per le Provincie di
Romagna' (to which I am a subscriber), containing an elaborate and
scholarlike article by S. Augusto Gaudenzi, entitled 'L'Opera di
Cassiodorio a Ravenna.' It is a satisfaction to me to see that in
several instances S. Gaudenzi and I have reached practically the same
conclusions; but I cannot but regret that his paper reached me too
late to prevent my benefiting from it more fully. A few of the more
important points in which I think S. Gaudenzi throws useful light on
our common subject are noticed in the 'Additions and Corrections,' to
which I beg to draw my readers' attention.
I may perhaps be allowed to add that the Index, the preparation of
which has cost me no small amount of labour, ought (if I have not
altogether failed in my endeavour) to be of considerable assistance to
the historical enquirer. For instance, if he will refer to the heading
_Sajo_, and consult the passages there referred to, he will find, I
believe, all that Cassiodorus has to tell us concerning these
interesting personages, the Sajones, who were almost the only
representatives of the intrusive Gothic element in the fabric of Roman
administration.
From textual criticism and the discussion of the authority of
different MSS. I have felt myself entirely relieved by the
announcement of the forthcoming critical edition of the 'Variae,'
under the superintendence of Professor Meyer. The task to which an
eminent German scholar has devoted the labour of several years, it
would be quite useless for me, without appliances and without special
training, to approach as an amateur; and I therefore simply help
myself to the best reading that I can get from the printed texts,
leaving to Professor Meyer to say which reading possesses the highest
diplomatic authority. Simply as a a matter of curiosity I have spent
some days in examining the MSS. of Cassiodorus in the British Museum.
If they are at all fair representatives (which probably they are not)
of the MSS. which Professor Meyer has consulted, I should say that
though the titles of the letters have often got into great confusion
through careless and unintelligent copying, the main text is not
likely to show any very important variations from the editions of
Nivellius and Garet.
I now commend this volume with all its imperfections to the indulgent
criticism of the small class of historical students who alone will
care to peruse it. The man of affairs and the practical politician
will of course not condescend to turn over its pages; yet the anxious
and for a time successful efforts of Theodoric and his Minister to
preserve to Italy the blessings of _Civilitas_ might perhaps teach
useful lessons even to a modern statesman.
THOS. HODGKIN.
NOTE.
The following Note as to the MSS. at the British Museum may save a
future enquirer a little trouble.
(1) 10 B. XV. is a MS. about 11 inches by 8, written in a fine bold
hand, and fills 157 folios, of which 134 belong to the 'Variae' and 23
to the 'Institutiones Divinarum Litterarum.' There are also two folios
at the end which I have not deciphered. The MS. is assigned to the
Thirteenth Century. The title of the First Book is interesting,
because it contains the description of Cassiodorus' official rank, 'Ex
Magistri Officii,' which Mommsen seems to have looked for in the MSS.
in vain. The MS. contains the first Three Books complete, but only 39
letters of the Fourth. Letters 40-51 of the Fourth Book, and the whole
of the Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh Books, are missing. It then goes on
to the Eighth Book (which it calls the Fifth), but omits the first
five letters. The remaining 28 appear to be copied satisfactorily. The
Ninth, Tenth, Eleventh, and Twelfth Books, which the transcriber calls
the Sixth, Seventh, Eighth, and Ninth, seem to be on the whole
correctly copied.
There seems to be a certain degree of correspondence between the
readings of this MS. and those of the Leyden MS. of the Twelfth
Century (formerly at Fulda) which are described by Ludwig Tross in his
'Symbolae Criticae' (Hammone, 1853).
(2) 8 B. XIX. is a MS. also of the Thirteenth Century, in a smaller
hand than the foregoing. The margins are very large, but the Codex
measures only 6-3/4 inches by 4-1/4. The rubricated titles are of
somewhat later date than the body of the text. The initial letters are
elaborately illuminated. This MS. contains, in a mutilated state and
in a peculiar order, the books from the Eighth to the Twelfth. The
following is the order in which the books are placed:
IX. 8-25, folios 1-14.
X. " 14-33.
XI. " 33-63.
XII. " 63-83.
VIII. " 83-126.
IX. 1-7, " 126-134.
The amanuensis, who has evidently been a thoroughly dishonest worker,
constantly omits whole letters, from which however he sometimes
extracts a sentence or two, which he tacks on to the end of some
preceding letter without regard to the sense. This process makes it
exceedingly difficult to collate the MS. with the printed text. Owing
to the Eighth Book being inserted after the Twelfth, it is erroneously
labelled on the back, 'Cassiodori Senatoris Epistolae, Lib. X-XIII.'
(3) 10 B. IV. (also of the Thirteenth Century, and measuring 11 inches
by 8) contains, in a tolerably complete state, the first Three Books
of the 'Variae,' Book IV. 5-39, Book VIII. 1-12, and Books X-XII. The
order, however, is transposed, Books IV. and VIII. coming after Book
XII. These excerpts from Cassiodorus, which occupy folios 66 to 134 of
the MS., are preceded by some collections relative to the Civil and
Canon Law. The letters which are copied seem to be carefully and
conscientiously done.
These three MSS. are all in the King's Library.
Besides these MSS. I have also glanced at No. 1,919 in the Bodleian
Library at Oxford. Like those previously described it is, I believe,
of the Thirteenth Century, and professes to contain the whole of the
'Variae;' but the letters are in an exceedingly mutilated form. On an
average it seems to me that not more than one-third of each letter is
copied. In this manner the 'Variae' are compressed into the otherwise
impossible number of 33 folios (149-182).
All these MSS., even the best of them, give me the impression of being
copied by very unintelligent scribes, who had but little idea of the
meaning of the words which they were transcribing. In all, the
superscription V.S. is expanded (wrongly, as I believe) into 'Viro
Senatori;' for 'Praefecto Praetorio' we have the meaningless
'Praeposito;' and the Agapitus who is addressed in the 6th, 32nd, and
33rd letters of the First Book is turned, in defiance of chronology,
into a Pope.
CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTION.
CHAPTER I.
LIFE OF CASSIODORUS.
PAGE
Historical position of Cassiodorus 1
His ancestry 3-4
His name 5-6
His birthplace 6-9
Date of his birth 9-12
His education 12
Consiliarius to his father 12
Quaestor 14-16
Composition of the 'Variae' 16
Their style 17-19
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The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
by
L. Frank Baum
Contents
Introduction
1. The Cyclone
2. The Council with the Munchkins
3. How Dorothy Saved the Scarecrow
4. The Road Through the Forest
5. The Rescue of the Tin Woodman
6. The Cowardly Lion
7. The Journey to the Great Oz
8. The Deadly Poppy Field
9. The Queen of the Field Mice
10. The Guardian of the Gates
11. The Emerald City of Oz
12. The Search for the Wicked Witch
13. The Rescue
14. The Winged Monkeys
15. The Discovery of Oz the Terrible
16. The Magic Art of the Great Humbug
17. How the Balloon Was Launched
18. Away to the South
19. Attacked by the Fighting Trees
20. The Dainty China Country
21. The Lion Becomes the King of Beasts
22. The Country of the Quadlings
23. Glinda The Good Witch Grants Dorothy's Wish
24. Home Again
Introduction
Folklore, legends, myths and fairy tales have followed childhood
through the ages, for every healthy youngster has a wholesome and
instinctive love for stories fantastic, marvelous and manifestly
unreal. The winged fairies of Grimm and Andersen have brought more
happiness to childish hearts than all other human creations.
Yet the old time fairy tale, having served for generations, may now be
classed as "historical" in the children's library; for the time has
come for a series of newer "wonder tales" in which the stereotyped
genie, dwarf and fairy are eliminated, together with all the horrible
and blood-curdling incidents devised by their authors to point a
fearsome moral to each tale. Modern education includes morality;
therefore the modern child seeks only entertainment in its wonder tales
and gladly dispenses with all disagreeable incident.
Having this thought in mind, the story of "The Wonderful Wizard of Oz"
was written solely to please children of today. It aspires to being a
modernized fairy tale, in which the wonderment and joy are retained and
the heartaches and nightmares are left out.
L. Frank Baum
Chicago, April, 1900.
THE WONDERFUL WIZARD OF OZ
1. The Cyclone
Dorothy lived in the midst of the great Kansas prairies, with Uncle
Henry, who was a farmer, and Aunt Em, who was the farmer's wife. Their
house was small, for the lumber to build it had to be carried by wagon
many miles. There were four walls, a floor and a roof, which made one
room; and this room contained a rusty looking cookstove, a cupboard for
the dishes, a table, three or four chairs, and the beds. Uncle Henry
and Aunt Em had a big bed in one corner, and Dorothy a
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See the transcriber's note at the end of the book.
* * * * *
BY PROF. CHARLES FOSTER KENT
THE SHORTER BIBLE--THE NEW TESTAMENT.
THE SHORTER BIBLE--THE OLD TESTAMENT.
THE SOCIAL TEACHINGS OF THE PROPHETS
AND JESUS.
BIBLICAL GEOGRAPHY AND HISTORY.
THE ORIGIN AND PERMANENT VALUE
OF THE OLD TESTAMENT.
HISTORY OF THE HEBREW PEOPLE.
From the Settlement in Canaan to the Fall
of Jerusalem in 586 B.C. 2 vols.
HISTORY OF THE JEWISH PEOPLE. The
Babylonian, Persian and Greek Periods.
THE HISTORICAL BIBLE. With Maps.
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Transcriber's Notes:
Text between underscores represents _italics_, small capitals have been
transcribed as ALL CAPITALS.
Curly brackets indicate {subscripts}; letters between square brackets
(such as [T] and [U]) represent the shape rahter than the letter itself.
More Transcriber's Notes may be found at the end of this text.
THE
ANATOMY OF BRIDGEWORK
THE
ANATOMY OF BRIDGEWORK
BY
WILLIAM HENRY THORPE
ASSOC. M. INST. C. E.
WITH 103 ILLUSTRATIONS
[Illustration]
London
E. & F. N. SPON, LIMITED, 57 HAYMARKET
New York
SPON & CHAMBERLAIN, 123 LIBERTY STREET
1906
PREFACE
In offering this little book to the reader interested in Bridgework, the
author desires to express his acknowledgments to the proprietors of
"Engineering," in which journal the papers first appeared, for their
courtesy in facilitating the production in book form.
It may possibly happen that the scanning of these pages will induce
others to observe and collect information extending our knowledge of
this subject--information which, while familiar to maintenance engineers
of experience, has not been so readily available as is desirable.
No theory which fails to stand the test of practical working can
maintain its claims to regard; the study of the behaviour of old work
has, therefore, a high educational value, and tends to the occasional
correction of views which might otherwise be complacently retained.
60 WINSHAM STREET,
CLAPHAM COMMON, LONDON, S.W.
_October_, 1906.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCTION--GIRDER BEARINGS.
PAGE
Pressure distribution--Square and skew bearings--Fixed bearings--
Knuckles--Rollers--Yield of supports 1
CHAPTER II.
MAIN GIRDERS.
_Plate webs_: Improper loading of flanges--Twisting of girders--
Remedial measures--Cracks in webs--Stiffening of webs--[T]
stiffeners 9
_Open webs_: Common faults--Top booms--Buckling of bottom booms--
Counterbracing--Flat members 17
CHAPTER III.
BRIDGE FLOORS.
Liability to defects--Impact--Ends of cross and longitudinal
girders--Awkward riveting--Fixed ends to cross girders--Plated
floor--Liberal depths desirable--Type connections--Effect of "skew"
on floor--Water-tightness--Drainage--Timber floors--Jack arches--
Corrugated sheeting--Ballast--Rail joints--Effect of main girders
on floors 20
CHAPTER IV.
BRACING.
Effect of bracing on girders--Influence of skew on bracing--Flat
bars--Overhead girders--Main girders stiffened from floor--
Stiffening of light girders--Incomplete bracing--Tall piers--Sea
piers 34
CHAPTER V.
RIVETED CONNECTIONS.
Latitude in practice--Laboratory experiments--Care in considering
practical instances--Main girder web rivets--Lattice girders
investigated--Rivets in small girders--Faulty bridge floor--
Stresses in rivets--Cross girder connections--Tension in rivets--
Defective rivets--Loose rivets--Table of actual rivet stresses--
Bearing pressure--Permissible stresses--Proposed table--Immunity of
road bridges from loose rivets--Rivet spacing 45
CHAPTER VI.
HIGH STRESS.
Elastic limit--Care in calculation--Impact--Examples of high stress
--Early examples of high stress in steel girders--Tabulated
examples--General remarks 61
CHAPTER VII.
DEFORMATIONS.
Various kinds--Flexing of girder flanges--Examples--Settlement
deformations--Creeping--Temperature changes--Local distortions--
Imperfect workmanship--Deformation of cast-iron arches 73
CHAPTER VIII.
DEFLECTIONS.
Differences as between new work and old--Influence of booms and web
structure on deflection--Yield of rivets and stiffness of
connections--Working formulae--Set--Effect of floor system--
Deflection diagrams--Loads quickly applied--"Drop" loads--Flexible
girders--Measuring deflections--New method of observing deflections
--Effect of running load 85
CHAPTER IX.
DECAY AND PAINTING.
Examples of rusting of wrought-iron girders--Girder over sea-water
--Rate of rusting--Steelwork--Precautions--Red-lead--Repainting--
Scraping--Girders built into masonry--Cast iron--Effect of sea-
water on cast iron--Examples--Tabulated observations--Percentage of
submersion--Quality of metal 96
CHAPTER
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Produced by Marius Masi, Don Kretz and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's notes:
(1) Numbers following letters (without space) like C2 were originally
printed in subscript. Letter subscripts are preceded by an
underscore, like C_n.
(2) Characters following a carat (^) were printed in superscript.
(3) Side-notes were relocated to function as titles of their respective
paragraphs.
(4) Macrons and breves above letters and dots below letters were not
inserted.
(5) [root] stands for the root symbol; [alpha], [beta], etc. for greek
letters.
(6) The following typographical errors have been corrected:
ARTICLE GABEL, KRISTOFFER: "See Carl Frederik Bricka, Dansk.
Biograf. Lex. art "Gabel" (Copenhagen, 1887, &c.); Danmarks Riges
Historie (Copenhagen, 1897-1905), vol. v." '1905' amended from
'1005'.
ARTICLE GALLS: "The same authority (loc. cit. p. 550) mentions a
willow-gall which provides no less than sixteen insects with food
and protection; these are preyed upon by about eight others, so
that altogether some twenty-four insects,..." 'altogether' amended
from 'alltogether'.
ARTICLE GANNET: "... and orderly takes its place in the rear of the
string, to repeat its headlong plunge so soon as it again finds
itself above its prey." 'its' amended from 'is'.
ARTICLE GARDNER, PERCY: "... an account of excavations in Greece
and Asia Minor; Manual of Greek Antiquities (with F.B. Jevons, 2nd
ed. 1898);..." 'Asia' amended from 'Aisa'.
ARTICLE GARNET, HENRY: "... by the Jesuit L'Heureux, under the
pseudonym Eudaemon-Joannes, and Dr Robert Abbot's reply, Antilogia
versus Apologiam Eudaemon-Joannes,..." 'Eudaemon' amended from
'Endaemon'.
ARTICLE GARTH, SIR SAMUEL: "He wrote little besides his best-known
work The Dispensary and Claremont, a moral epistle in verse."
'epistle' amended from 'espistle'.
ARTICLE GAS ENGINE: "The Westinghouse Co. of Pittsburgh have also
built large engines, several of which are in operation at the
various works of the Carnegie Steel Co." 'Pittsburgh' amended from
'Pittsburg'.
ENCYCLOPAEDIA BRITANNICA
A DICTIONARY OF ARTS, SCIENCES, LITERATURE
AND GENERAL INFORMATION
ELEVENTH EDITION
VOLUME XI, SLICE IV
G to Gaskell, Elizabeth
ARTICLES IN THIS SLICE:
G GALLUPPI, PASQUALE
GABBRO GALLUS, CORNELIUS
GABEL, KRISTOFFER GALLUS, GAIUS AELIUS
GABELENTZ, HANS CONON VON DER GALLUS, GAIUS CESTIUS
GABELLE GALLUS, GAIUS SULPICIUS
GABERDINE GALOIS, EVARISTE
GABES GALSTON
GABII GALT, SIR ALEXANDER TILLOCH
GABINIUS, AULUS GALT, JOHN
GABION GALT
GABLE GALTON, SIR FRANCIS
GABLER, GEORG ANDREAS GALUPPI, BALDASSARE
GABLER, JOHANN PHILIPP GALVANI, LUIGI
GABLETS GALVANIZED IRON
GABLONZ GALVANOMETER
GABORIAU, EMILE GALVESTON
GABRIEL GALWAY (county of Ireland)
GABRIEL HOUNDS GALWAY (town of Ireland)
GABRIELI, GIOVANNI GAMA, VASCO DA
GABUN GAMALIEL
GACE BRULE GAMBETTA, LEON
GACHARD, LOUIS PROSPER GAMBIA (river of West Africa)
GAD GAMBIA (country of West Africa)
GADAG GAMBIER, JAMES GAMBIER,
GADARA GAMBIER
GADDI GAMBOGE
GADE, NIELS WILHELM GAMBRINUS
GADOLINIUM GAME
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Produced by David Garcia, Carla Foust and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Kentuckiana Digital Library)
Transcriber's note
Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved. Minor punctuation
errors have been corrected without notice. A few obvious typographical
errors have been corrected, and they are listed at the end of this book.
Transylvania University Studies in English
II
A Syllabus of Kentucky Folk-Songs
By
HUBERT G. SHEARIN, A. M. Ph. D.
Professor of English Philology in Transylvania University
and
JOSIAH H. COMBS, A. B.
Editor of The Transylvanian
Transylvania Printing Company
Lexington, Kentucky
1911
TO
R. M. S.
INTRODUCTION
This syllabus, or finding-list, is offered to lovers of folk-literature
in the hope that it may not be without interest and value to them for
purposes of comparison and identification. It includes 333 items,
exclusive of 114 variants, and embraces all popular songs that have so
far come to hand as having been "learned by ear instead of by eye," as
existing through oral transmission--song-ballads, love-songs,
number-songs, dance-songs, play-songs, child-songs, counting-out rimes,
lullabies, jigs, nonsense rimes, ditties, etc.
There is every reason to believe that many more such await the
collector; in fact, their number is constantly being increased even
today by the creation of new ones, by adaptation of the old, and even by
the absorption and consequent metamorphosis, of literary,
quasi-literary, or pseudo-literary types into the current of oral
tradition.
This collection, then, is by no means complete: means have not been
available for a systematic and scientific search for these folk-songs,
which have been gathered very casually during the past five years
through occasional travel, acquaintanceship, and correspondence in only
the twenty-one following counties: Fayette, Madison, Rowan, Elliott,
Carter, Boyd, Lawrence, Morgan, Johnson, Pike, Knott, Breathitt, Clay,
Laurel, Rockcastle, Garrard, Boyle, Anderson, Shelby, Henry, and
Owen--all lying in Central and Eastern Kentucky.
All of the material listed has thus been collected in this State, though
a variant of The Jew's Daughter, page 8, has come by chance from
Michigan, and another of The Pretty Mohee, page 12, was sent from
Georgia. The Cumberland Mountain region, in the eastern part of the
State, has naturally furnished the larger half of the material, because
of local conditions favorable to the propagation of folk-song. However,
sections of Kentucky lying farther to the westward are almost equally
prolific. The wide extension of the same ballad throughout the State
argues convincingly for the unity of the Kentucky stock--a fact which
may be confirmed in more ways than one.
The arrangement is as follows: The material in hand is loosely grouped
in eighteen sections, according to origin, chronology, content, or form.
Though logically at fault, because of the cross-division thus inevitably
entailed, this plan has seemed to be the best. No real confusion will
result to the user in consequence. In fact, no matter what system be
adopted, certain songs will belong equally well to two or more different
categories.
Under each of these eighteen main divisions the treatment of the
individual song-ballad is in general as follows: First, stands the
title, with variant titles in parentheses. Should this be unknown, a
caption coined by the editors is placed in brackets. Secondly, a Roman
numeral immediately follows the above to denote the number of versions,
if variants have been found. Thirdly, the prosodical character of the
song is roughly indicated by a combination of letters and numerals. Each
letter indicates a line; the variation in the letters indicates, in the
usual fashion, the rime-scheme of the stanza. Each numeral indicates the
number of stresses in the line (or lines) denoted by the letter (or
letters) immediately succeeding it. When a chorus, burden, or refrain is
present, the metrical scheme of this stands immediately after an "and,"
as, for example, in The Blue and the Gray, page 14. In the case of the
refrain, the letters used are independent of those immediately preceding
the "and," and denoting the rime-scheme of the stanza proper. Fourthly,
an Arabic numeral follows to indicate the number of stanzas in the song,
exclusive of the refrain, should one be present. If the number of
stanzas in a ballad is indeterminable, because its form is fragmentary,
or because its variant versions differ in length, this fact is indicated
by an appended ca (_circa_). Sixth, and last, is a synopsis, or other
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and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
THE BOY SCOUTS
FOR
CITY IMPROVEMENT
BY
SCOUT MASTER ROBERT SHALER
AUTHOR OF "BOY SCOUTS OF THE SIGNAL CORPS," "BOY SCOUTS
OF PIONEER CAMP," "BOY SCOUTS OF THE GEOLOGICAL SURVEY,"
"BOY SCOUTS OF THE LIFE SAVING CREW," "BOY
SCOUTS ON PICKET DUTY," "BOY SCOUTS OF THE FLYING
SQUADRON," "BOY SCOUTS AND THE PRIZE
PENNANT," "BOY SCOUTS OF THE NAVAL
RESERVE," "BOY SCOUTS IN THE
SADDLE," ETC., ETC.
NEW YORK
HURST & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1914,
BY
HURST & COMPANY
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER. PAGE.
I. Under the Spreading Oak 5
II. A Friend in Need 17
III. The Fire Call 30
IV. Willing Workers 43
V. Repairing Damages 56
VI. On Duty 69
VII. The Alarm 82
VIII. Mocking the Mayor 95
IX. What Scouts Know 108
X. The Accusation 121
XI. The Turning Point 133
XII. Thanks to the Scouts 151
The Boy Scouts for City Improvement.
CHAPTER I.
UNDER THE SPREADING OAK.
"I guess old summer must have forgotten something and has come back to
find it again, eh, Billy?"
"It feels more like the August dog-days than the tail end of September,
that's a fact, Hugh."
"But right here, Billy, sitting on the stone curbing in the shade of the
big General Putnam oak, we can cool off. Let's rest up a bit and talk,
while we watch the people go by."
"That suits me all right, Hugh. I love to sit and watch others work on a
hot afternoon. Suppose we chin a little about skating, tobogganing and
all those nice pleasant things? They help to cool you off and make you
feel that life is worth living, after all."
The two lads were dressed in khaki uniforms, sufficient evidence that
they were members of the local Boy Scout troop, of which their home town
was rather proud. In fact, the young fellow who had been called Hugh and
whose last name was Hardin, had lately succeeded in attaining the
position of Assistant Scout Master, when the former incumbent resigned,
owing to removal from the place.
His chum, Billy Worth, also a member of the Wolf Patrol, was a
first-class scout, as his badge denoted. He was inclined to be rather
stout in build, and his face expressed genial good nature. Billy and
Hugh had been doing some shopping on the main street of their town and
were sauntering along, when the heat of the September day caused them to
make a halt under the grateful shade of the tremendous oak, which for
some reason or other had been called after that staunch New England
patriot of Revolutionary days, Israel Putnam.
While these two energetic lads will be readily recognized by any reader
who has perused former books in this series, for the benefit of those
who may be meeting them for the first time it might be advisable to say
something concerning them and the local organization.
The troop now consisted of four full patrols of eight members each, and
another was forming. These were, first of all, the Wolf, to which both
boys belonged, Hugh being the leader; the Hawks, with Walter Osborne at
their head; the Otters, once again having Alec Sands, Hugh's old-time
rival, as their leader; and last of all, the Fox Patrol, in which Don
Miller occupied the place of honor.
For several seasons now these scouts had been having the time of their
lives under the charge of a retired army officer named Lieutenant
Denmead, who, having more or less spare time on his hands and being
deeply interested in the upbuilding of boy character, had long ago
accepted the office of Scout Master to the troop.
They had camped many times, usually up at Pioneer Lake among the rugged
hills close to old Stormberg Mountain. Besides this experience, they had
had chances to see considerable of life in other places, as will be
found detailed in previous volumes of this series.
On one occasion they had been given an opportunity to
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Produced by John Bickers
AGESILAUS
By Xenophon
Translation by H. G. Dakyns
Dedicated To
Rev. B. Jowett, M.A.
Master of Balliol College
Regius Professor of Greek in the University of Oxford
Xenophon the Athenian was born 431 B.C. He was a
pupil of Socrates. He marched with the Spartans,
and was exiled from Athens. Sparta gave him land
and property in Scillus, where he lived for many
years before having to move once more, to settle
in Corinth. He died in 354 B.C.
The Agesilaus summarises the life of his Spartan
friend and king, whom he met after the events of
the Anabasis.
PREPARER'S NOTE
This was typed from Dakyns' series, "The Works of Xenophon," a
four-volume set. The complete list of Xenophon's works (though
there is doubt about some of these) is:
Work Number of books
The Anabasis 7
The Hellenica 7
The Cyropaedia 8
The Memorabilia 4
The Symposium 1
The Economist 1
On Horsemanship 1
The Sportsman 1
The Cavalry General 1
The Apology 1
On Revenues 1
The Hiero 1
The Agesilaus 1
The Polity of the Athenians and the Lacedaemonians 2
Text in brackets "{}" is my transliteration of Greek text into
English using an Oxford English Dictionary alphabet table. The
diacritical marks have been lost.
AGESILAUS
An Encomium
The date of Agesilaus's death is uncertain--360 B.C. (Grote,
"H. G." ix. 336); 358 B.C. (Curt. iv. 196, Eng. tr.)
I
To write the praises of Agesilaus in language equalling his virtue and
renown is, I know, no easy task; yet must it be essayed; since it were
but an ill requital of pre-eminence, that, on the ground of his
perfection, a good man should forfeit the tribute even of imperfect
praise.
As touching, therefore, the excellency of his birth, what weightier,
what nobler testimony can be adduced than this one fact? To the
commemorative list of famous ancestry is added to-day the name (1)
Agesilaus as holding this or that numerical descent from Heracles, and
these ancestors no private persons, but kings sprung from the loins of
kings. Nor is it open to the gainsayer to contend that they were kings
indeed but of some chance city. Not so, but even as their family holds
highest honour in their fatherland, so too is their city the most
glorious in Hellas, whereby they hold, not primacy over the second
best, but among leaders they have leadership.
(1) Or, "even to-day, in the proud bead-roll of his ancestry he stands
commemorated, in numerical descent from Heracles."
And herein it is open to us to praise both his fatherland and his
family. It is notable that never throughout these ages has Lacedaemon,
out of envy of the privilege accorded to her kings, tried to dissolve
their rule; nor ever yet throughout these ages have her kings strained
after greater powers than those which limited their heritage of
kingship from the first. Wherefore, while all other forms of
government, democracies and oligarchies, tyrannies and monarchies,
alike have failed to maintain their continuity unbroken, here, as the
sole exception, endures indissolubly their kingship. (2)
(2) See "Cyrop." I. i. 1.
And next in token of an aptitude for kingship seen in Agesilaus,
before even he entered upon office, I note these signs. On the death
of Agis, king of Lacedaemon, there were rival claimants to the throne.
Leotychides claimed the succession as being the son of Agis, and
Agesilaus as the son of Archidamus. But the verdict of Lacedaemon
favoured Agesilaus as being in point of family and virtue
unimpeachable, (3) and so they set him on the throne. And yet, in this
princeliest of cities so to be selected by the noblest citizens as
worthy of highest privilege, argues, methinks conclusively, an
excellence forerunning exercise of rule. (4)
(3) For this matter see "Hell." III. iii. 1-6; V. iv. 13; Plut.
"Ages." iii. 3 (Cloigh, iv. 3 foll.); Paus. iii. 3.
(4) See Aristides ("Rhet." 776), who quotes the passage for its
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SOUTHERN LIGHTS AND SHADOWS
Harper's Novelettes
By Various
Edited By William Dean Howells And Henry Mills Alden
1907
Table of Contents
Grace MacGowan Cooke
THE CAPTURE OF ANDY PROUDFOOT
Abby Meguire Roach
THE LEVEL OF FORTUNE
Alice MacGowan
PAP OVERHOLT
Mrs. B.F. Mayhew
IN THE PINY WOODS
William L. Sheppard
MY FIFTH IN MAMMY
Sarah Barnwell Elliott
AN INCIDENT
M.E.M. Davis
A SNIPE HUNT
J.J. Eakins
THE COURTSHIP OF COLONEL BILL
Maurice Thompson
THE BALANCE OF POWER
INTRODUCTION
The most noticeable characteristic of the extraordinary literary
development of the South since the Civil War is that it is almost entirely
in the direction of realism. A people who, up to that time, had been so
romantic that they wished to naturalize among themselves the ideals and
usages of the Walter Scott ages of chivalry, suddenly dropped all that, and
in their search for literary material could apparently find nothing so good
as the facts of their native life. The more "commonplace" these facts the
better they seemed to like them. Evidently they believed that there was a
poetry under the rude outside of their mountaineers, their slattern country
wives, their shy rustic men and maids, their grotesque humorists, their
wild religionists, even their black freedmen, which was worth more than the
poetastery of the romantic fiction of their fathers. In this strong faith,
which need not have been a conscious creed, the writers of the New South
have given the world sketches and studies and portraits of the persons and
conditions of their peculiar civilization which the Russians themselves
have not excelled in honesty, and hardly in simplicity. To be sure, this
development was on the lines of those early humorists who antedated the
romantic fictionists, and who were often in their humor so rank, so wild,
so savage, so cruel, but the modern realism has refined both upon their
matter and their manner. Some of the most artistic work in the American
short-story, that is to say the best short-story in the world, has been
done in the South, so that one may be reasonably sure of an artistic
pleasure in taking up a Southern story. One finds in the Southern stories
careful and conscientious character, rich local color, and effective
grouping, and at the same time one finds genuine pathos, true humor, noble
feeling, generous sympathy. The range of this work is so great as to
include even pictures of the more conventional life, but mainly the writers
keep to the life which is not conventional, the life of the fields, the
woods, the cabin, the village, the little country town. It would be easier
to undervalue than to overvalue them, as we believe the reader of the
admirable pieces here collected will agree.
W.D.H.
The Capture of Andy Proudfoot
By GRACE MACGOWAN COOKE
A dry branch snapped under Kerry's foot with the report of a toy pistol. He
swore perfunctorily, and gazed greedily at the cave-opening just ahead. He
was a bungling woodsman at best; and now, stalking that greatest of all big
game, man, the blood drummed in his ears and his heart seemed to slip a cog
or two
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E-text prepared by Jana Srna and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
(http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
Internet Archive/American Libraries (http://archive.org/details/americana)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
http://archive.org/details/heroineb00barr
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
THE HEROINE
by
EATON STANNARD BARRETT
With an Introduction by Walter Raleigh
London
Henry Frowde
1909
Oxford: Horace Hart
Printer to the University
INTRODUCTION
'In Glamorganshire, of a rapid decline, occasioned by the bursting of a
blood-vessel,
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STORY***
E-text prepared by Linda Cantoni, Bryan Ness, Emmy, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images
generously made available by Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries
(http://www.archive.org/details/toronto)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 37510-h.htm or 37510-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/37510/37510-h/37510-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/37510/37510-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries. See
http://www.archive.org/details/bytrenchtrailins00mackuoft
[Illustration]
BY TRENCH AND TRAIL IN SONG AND STORY
by
ANGUS MACKAY (Oscar Dhu)
Author of
"Donald Morrison--The Canadian Outlaw"
"A Tale of the Pioneers"
"Poems of a Politician"
"Pioneer Sketches"
Etc., Etc.
Illustrated
Mackay Printing & Publishing Co.
Seattle and Vancouver
1918
Copyright 1918 by
Angus MacKay
INTRODUCTION.
A number of the songs in this collection have been heard by campfire and
trail from the camps of British Columbia to the lumber camps of Maine.
Several of the songs have been fired at the Huns "somewhere in France,"
no doubt with deadly effect. And also at the Turks on the long long hike
to Bagdad and beyond.
And it is not impossible that some of my countrymen are now warbling
snatches of my humble verse to the accompaniment of bagpipes on the
streets of the New Jerusalem! Many of the verses have appeared from time
to time in leading publications from
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E-text prepared by Carl D. DuBois
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustration.
See 28025-h.htm or 28025-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/8/0/2/28025/28025-h/28025-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/8/0/2/28025/28025-h.zip)
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
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LOST POND
By
HENRY ABBOTT
NEW YORK
1915
Copyright 1915
by
HENRY ABBOTT
LOST POND
"Lost Pond" was a tradition, a myth. It had never been seen by any
living person. Two dead men, it was alleged, had visited it on
several occasions while they were yet living.
Wonderful tales were told about that pond for which many persons had
hunted, but which no one of the present generation had ever been able
to find.
Every guide in Long Lake township talked about Lost Pond and repeated
the legends, which through the passing years had probably lost none
of their original enticements. Many of these guides had even got the
stories at first hand from Captain Parker and Mitchel Sabattis.
Captain Parker, a famous hunter and trapper, had died about ten years
ago at the good old age of ninety-four years. Mitchel Sabattis, an
Indian, who had married a white woman and had brought up a family of
husky half-breeds, was the first settler in the Long Lake country. He
was a highly respected citizen, and a mountain and a United States
post office had been named after him. Sabattis lived to be a very old
man. Many believed him to be past a hundred years when he died, but
the family Bible was not available to prove the date of his birth.
Now, all of the natives knew that Lost Pond was somewhere on Seward
Mountain, and they apparently believed that the best fishing place in
the State was right in that pond. "By Mighty! that pond was just
alive with speckled trout--big ones. You could catch all you wanted
there in a few minutes. The water fairly boiled with the jumping
fish. Now, if we could only find it," etc
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HOMES AND CAREERS
IN CANADA
* * * * *
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
_After the sheets of this book were printed off, it was found that the
title chosen_, Making Good in Canada, _had been used for
another book that just secured priority of publication. It was necessary
to change the title, but the original title had to remain at the heads
of the pages._
[Illustration: PARLIAMENT BUILDINGS AT OTTAWA.]
HOMES AND CAREERS
IN CANADA
BY
H. JEFFS
_WITH SIXTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS_
LONDON
JAMES CLARKE & CO., 13 & 14 FLEET STREET
1914
THE AUTHOR’S THANKS
TO
THE HON. DR. W. J. ROCHE
DOMINION MINISTER OF THE INTERIOR
FOR KINDNESS SHOWN
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
FOREWORD vii
I. WHY PEOPLE GO TO CANADA 9
II. THE HOME OF A NATION 25
III. THE MAKING OF MODERN CANADA 31
IV. THE ROMANCE OF RAILWAY CONSTRUCTION 50
V. SETTLING ON THE LAND 70
VI. CANADIAN INDUSTRIAL DEVELOPMENT 104
VII. “REAL ESTATE” 146
VIII. THE HOMES OF CANADA 164
IX. LEAVING THE OLD COUNTRY 183
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
PARLIAMENT BUILDINGS AT OTTAWA _Frontispiece_
THE “EMPRESS OF BRITAIN” WITH EMIGRANTS AT RIMOUSKI 18
SIX MONTHS OUT FROM HOME 24
QUEBEC FROM THE RIVER 34
COUNTRY SCENE IN OTTAWA 44
THE POWER PLOUGH IN SASKATCHEWAN 62
EVANGELINE’S WELL, ANNAPOLIS VALLEY, NOVA SCOTIA 70
STEAM PLOUGH IN ALBERTA 84
TORONTO, YONGE STREET 104
GALA DAY AT WINNIPEG 116
REGINA 126
CALGARY 137
PLOUGHING AND HARVESTING 164
STRATHCONA MONUMENT AT MONTREAL 171
A SASKATOON SCHOOL 182
EMIGRANTS LANDED AT QUEBEC 188
FOREWORD
This book is the fruits of a visit to Canada in which the author crossed
the country from Montreal to Vancouver, and returned from Halifax, Nova
Scotia. As a journalist and National President of the Brotherhood
Movement, which advises Brotherhood emigrants going out, and arranges
for their welcome by Canadian Brotherhood men, he found all doors open
to him. He had countless talks with men of all classes, native Canadians
and British settlers who had been in the country from two or three to
forty years. Ministers of the Dominion and Provincial Governments freely
answered his numerous questions as to the wisest course to be adopted by
various classes of emigrants, and Dominion and Provincial State
officials gave him all possible information in frank talk and by placing
at his disposal valuable State publications. Ministers of religion,
prominent business and professional men, journalists, “real estate” men,
hosts and hostesses in whose homes he was graciously received, heads of
Emigration Departments, leading officials of the great transcontinental
railways, all contributed to his accumulating stock of information; and,
needless to say, he lost no opportunity of seeing things for himself and
forming his own judgments. In his railway journeys, amounting to 10,000
miles, he fraternised with the commercial travellers on the trains, and
from them, and their discussions and comparison of notes among
themselves, he picked up a vast amount of invaluable information as to
the development, the trading methods, and the prospects of the country.
It has been a long business digesting and reducing the material to
order, but the author hopes that the book will prove helpful to those
seeking a career in a land of illimitable possibilities, and to the
increasing number of people at home who are tempted to invest money in
Canadian undertakings. He is specially concerned to help those who
decide on making Canada their homeland.
MAKING GOOD IN
CANADA
CHAPTER I
WHY PEOPLE GO TO CANADA
Between 350,000 and 400,000 people every year enter Canada with the
intention of making Canada their home: 60,000 of these cross the border
from the United States. Probably 50,000 to 70,000 are emigrants from the
various non-British countries. The remainder are from the British Isles,
and chiefly from England, Scotland, and Wales. The Irish prefer to go to
the United States, where some twelve millions of people of Irish blood
are already settled, and nearly every Irish family in the homeland has
some representative in the States who will lend a helping hand. During
the emigration season—from March to the middle of November—from 10,000
to 15,000 a week leave Glasgow, Liverpool, Bristol, and Southampton by
the various lines for Canada. The steerage of an emigrant ship, viewed
from one standpoint, is a melancholy spectacle. There would be from 700
to 1,500 people, men and women mostly under the age of twenty-five, and
even whole families, leaving the Old Country behind them in order to
make themselves citizens of a new country 3,000 miles across the
Atlantic. In Parliament, and out of Parliament, there is dismal talk
about “draining the country of its best blood,” and of “sending the
cream of the working manhood and womanhood of our nation to become rival
producers with our British farmers and workers in factories that will
compete with ourselves.” Such talk is natural enough, but who can blame
these people for leaving a land where they have seemed to be hopelessly
pressed down by force of circumstances, with no prospect of ever rising,
to a land that offers all sorts of opportunities to the man or woman
with capacity, good character and grit? The way to quench the desire for
emigration is to open wider the doors of opportunity at home, but that
opening of the doors seems to baffle the wisest and most progressive and
the most humanitarian of our statesmen. We live in a state of society
that is the resultant of fifteen hundred years of social evolution, and
evolution that has not always proceeded on right lines. We are a small
country with a very great population, and the land for the most part is
held up by a handful of owners, few of whom have had the vision to see
that the real wealth of Great Britain lies not in its property but in
its people. We have given rights to property and denied rights to
people. Horses, cattle, sheep, pigs, deer, and pheasants must be taken
great care of, for they have a saleable value, or they provide pleasure
for the rich in their happy hunting grounds; but in our villages,
country towns, and great cities hundreds of thousands of men and women
with capable hands and willing hearts are either denied the right to
earn a living wage or are compelled to work under such conditions as rob
life of its joy and buoyancy. What wonder if the townsman whose wages
are at starvation level, and whose employment is most precarious, who
may be thrown out of work at any moment, who is dependent for his daily
bread on the power or the will of an employer to provide him with a few
miserable shillings a week in return for his labour, gets tired of it,
and when he hears that in Canada there is work for all, and well-paid
work, with opportunities to rise out of the ruck of the wage-earners
into the proud position of landownership, should decide to try his luck
and should find himself soon afterwards in the steerage of one of the
great Atlantic liners with hundreds of like-minded companions? If we
would stop emigration from the towns we must tackle the employment
question, we must make employment secure, we must raise wages to a level
that will make it worth a man’s while to stay in the homeland amid
familiar surroundings. We must tackle the slums question. We create
slums by our conditions of industry and employment. The unemployed
rapidly degenerate physically, mentally and morally, and drift into the
slums, consorting there with other hopeless and helpless ones who have
been cast on to the social scrap-heap. London is the great
wealth-producing, wealth-distributing and wealth-exchanging centre of
the world. The Chancellor of the Exchequer recently said in the City of
London that values to the extent of seventeen thousand millions passed
through the Bank Clearing House of London in 1912, and yet there are
districts in North, East and South London where in street after street
whole families are herded in single rooms, sarcastically called “homes,”
in house after house, living under conditions of misery which would be
unendurable were it not that the misery is so continuous that the sense
of pain has been dulled almost out of existence.
In our villages, which, it is complained, are being depopulated by the
increasing emigration of the labourers to Canada, what has been done to
induce the young countryman to remain at home? There are few
characteristic agricultural villages in which the worker on the land
receives as much as 15_s._ a week, and he is taught to regard himself as
a very happy man if anybody is good enough to employ him at all. The
housing and the sanitary conditions in many of these villages are still
of the most repulsive character. The land often belongs to one or two
owners who decline either to part with plots of it for building cottages
or to build themselves. Young men wishing to marry are prevented from
realising the desire because there is no cottage vacant in which they
can start housekeeping. I was told that from one village of little more
than a thousand population half-a-dozen young men migrated in little
more than a year because they wanted to get married and would have to
wait until somebody died and vacated a cottage. The land question will
have to be settled in a revolutionary way, a way that will make it
possible for a labourer to become a small-holder in his own country, and
to occupy a decent house which shall either be his own freehold or shall
be let to him at a reasonable rent, if the emigration from the villages
to Canada and the increasing emigration to Australia is to be checked.
Why should a young fellow who has been educated at the expense of the
State, who reads his halfpenny paper and perhaps frequents the village
reading-room and has learned to think for himself, remain in the
village, submitting to the humiliating conditions which would be imposed
upon him, and to the closing of the door of hope to his legitimate
aspiration to better himself? Young fellows of the middle class and the
upper class naturally look to the prospect of bettering themselves. They
are educated with that object in view, and in every possible way are
encouraged to make the most of their natural capacity and their
education; but to the village labourer, as to the average wage-earner in
the city, education in the vast majority of cases only sharpens the
sting of misery and deepens the sense of humiliation. We must take human
nature as it is. We must accept the logic of our social system. If we
are not prepared at whatever cost to make Great Britain worth remaining
in to the more intelligent and aspiring of our young men and young women
we have no right to complain if they leave Great Britain, and if, by
leaving the homeland, the country is drained of its best blood.
But, after all, ought we to take so tragic a view of the situation? We
are coming to understand that the world to-day is not divided into so
many water-tight compartments. The old idea of a country and a nation as
an isolated entity, enjoying its own advantages and regarding other
countries as rivals, whose gains were its loss, has gone by the board.
The world has been wonderfully opened up in these later years. The seas
are ploughed by countless ships, carrying from country to country the
products of their agriculture and their manufacturing industries. Wealth
is made all round by the mutual exchange of those products. If France
prospers, or Germany, or Russia, England gains, for those countries have
the more to spend on the things that England manufactures. Still more is
this the case with the British dominions beyond the seas. South Africa,
Australia, New Zealand, and Canada are countries of our kinsmen. Blood
is thicker than water. Those people look naturally to the home country
as the country that offers them the most valuable market and as the
country from which they shall obtain what they themselves desire to buy
and use. Take Canada, for instance. Year by year it is increasing not
only its selling but its buying power; it is becoming a most valuable
customer to the homeland. Those who go out from us become our customers.
The more they prosper the more they purchase from the Old Country. The
farm labourer earning his 15_s._ a week goes to Manitoba, Saskatchewan,
Alberta, or British Columbia and takes a pre-empted homestead of 160
acres. He has served, probably, a year or two on a farm, learning the
methods, studying the situation, developing his manhood. If “the magic
of property turns sand into gold,” what can it not do for 160 acres of
fertile prairie? The labourer “breaks the prairie,” plants his corn,
reaps his harvest, sends it to the elevator, fills his pocket with the
price, and is so satisfied with himself that he wants to increase his
holding. He does increase it. He spends money on stock, machinery, all
the necessaries and some of the luxuries of life, and much of the money
that he spends comes to the Old Country to stimulate our manufactures
and our commerce. A young fellow who has left a Warwickshire or
Berkshire or Leicestershire village returns to his village five years
afterwards on a winter holiday after he has disposed of his crops. He
spends his money freely. He is as independent as the biggest farmer in
the district. The other young fellows of the village talk with him and
hear his story. “Why don’t you fellows go out?” he says to them. “Why do
you stop here? You will never be any better off here. Do as I did—go to
Canada. There are farmers there almost fighting each other for every
good man going out who can do anything on the land. You will find a job
at once with good wages, and there is no reason why in four or five
years you should not be doing as well as I am.” The village lads listen
with both ears and with eyes and mouths open. Their latent discontent
with the conditions under which they work and live is roused to
activity. Whenever two labourers meet together in the field or on the
road, in the barber’s shop, in the public-house, the talk is of “how
well Tom Jenkins or Sam Brown has done” in Saskatchewan or Alberta. He
is besieged with inquirers who bombard him with questions about the
country, the climate, the prospects, and what steps they should take to
get out and what they ought to do when they arrive. There are old
schoolmates whom he encourages and tells them that if they will only
come out to his district he will see to it that they get a job
immediately on their arrival—very likely he will be able to give them a
job himself. One such labourer’s return—and there are few villages in
the country in which you do not hear of such returns—sets up a stream
of emigration to Canada from that village, and the stream, unless a
thorough-going scheme of land reform is carried out, and carried out
soon, is bound to deepen and broaden.
[Illustration: “THE EMPRESS OF BRITAIN,” WITH EMIGRANTS, AT RIMOUSKI,
MOUTH OF THE ST. LAWRENCE.]
Then there are the tenant farmers and their sons. In the Old Country
good land is highly rented and the conditions of tenure often such as to
make farming one of the riskiest of occupations. A man wants security of
tenure if he is to get the best out of his land. The old rough-and-ready
methods of agriculture are little good in these days. Intensive culture
is the means of making money to-day. Brains and capital must be put into
the land if the land is to yield a profit. The farmers who are making
most money in our country are those in districts where it is possible to
secure the freehold of the farms they cultivate. Quite recently I was in
Leicestershire in a district where almost all the farming land is
freehold property. There I found a farming family who were making large
profits out of the intensive culture of open land and out of the growing
of tomatoes, cucumbers, and grapes under glass. A member of the family
told me that this could not or would not have been done on rented land,
for a man will not be fool enough to invest capital in the land, and
people will not lend him the money to invest, unless he can look forward
for several years to getting the return. It is little wonder, therefore,
that the farmer, still young, heavily rented, with one or two
experiences of a bad season, with the fluctuation of prices inevitable
in a country like our own, and always at the mercy of a landlord, should
look longingly across the seas to Canada, when he has heard of the ease
with which there a man may become owner of his farm and may make money
in all sorts of ways if he has the farming instinct properly developed,
is a good business man, is able to adapt himself to the circumstances of
the district in which he settles, and is prepared to put brains and
“elbow grease” into the land.
The Governments of all the Provinces of Canada just now are offering
large inducements to such men to settle in the territories of the
Dominion. Within the last year or
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London. Edward Moxon & Co. Dover Street.
_MOXON'S MINIATURE POETS._
A SELECTION FROM THE WORKS OF FREDERICK LOCKER.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY RICHARD DOYLE.
LONDON:
EDWARD MOXON & CO., DOVER STREET.
1865.
PRINTED BY BRADBURY AND EVANS, WHITEFRIARS.
THE ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. E. MILLAIS, R.A., AND RICHARD DOYLE
THE COVER FROM A DESIGN BY JOHN LEIGHTON, F.S.A.
THE SERIES PROJECTED AND SUPERINTENDED BY
Some of these pieces appeared in a volume called "London Lyrics," of
which there have been two editions, the first in 1857, and the second
in 1862; a few of the pieces have been restored to the reading of the
First Edition.
TO C. C. L.
I pause upon the threshold, Charlotte dear,
To write thy name; so may my book acquire
One golden leaf. For Some yet sojourn here
Who come and go in homeliest attire,
Unknown, or only by the few who see
The cross they bear, the good that they have wrought:
Of such art thou, and I have found in thee
The love and truth that HE, the MASTER, taught;
Thou likest thy humble poet, canst thou say
With truth, dear Charlotte?--"And I like
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See 28267-h.htm or 28267-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/8/2/6/28267/28267-h/28267-h.htm)
or
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VENUS IN BOSTON;
A Romance of City Life.
"Ah, Vice! how soft are thy voluptuous ways!
While boyish blood is mantling, who can'scape
The fascination of thy magic gaze?
A Cherub-hydra round us dost thou gape,
And mould to every taste, thy dear, delusive shape."
BYRON'S CHILDE HAROLD
{First published 1849}
CONTENTS
VENUS IN BOSTON;
A Romance of City Life
INTRODUCTION 3
CHAPTER I. _The blind Basket-maker and his family._ 3
CHAPTER II. _Innocence in the Grip of Lust._ 7
CHAPTER III. _The Rescue._ 17
CHAPTER IV. _A night in Ann street._ 20
CHAPTER V. _The Chevalier and the Duchess._ 52
CHAPTER VI. _The Stolen Package._ 75
CHAPTER VII. _Showing the operations of Jew Mike._ 90
CHAPTER VIII. _The Chambers of Love._ 98
[Illustration: Frontispiece to _Venus in Boston_, 1850 edition. By
courtesy of the Trustees of the Boston Public Library.]
INTRODUCTION
I conceive it to be a prominent fault of most of the tales of fiction
that are written and published at the present day, that they are not
sufficiently _natural_--their style is too much exaggerated--and in
aiming to produce startling effects, they depart too widely from the
range of probability to engage the undivided interest of the enlightened
and judicious reader. Believing as I do that the romance of reality--the
details of common, everyday life--the secret history of things hidden
from the public gaze, but of the existence of which there can be no
manner of doubt--are endowed with a more powerful and absorbing interest
than any extravagant flight of imagination can be, it shall be my aim in
the following pages to adhere as closely as possible to truth and
reality; and to depict scenes and adventures which have actually
occurred, and which have come to my knowledge in the course of an
experience no means limited--an experience replete with facilities for
acquiring a perfect insight into human nature, and a knowledge of the
many secret springs of human action.
The most favorable reception which my former humble productions have met
with, at the hands of a kind and indulgent public, will, I trust,
justify the hope that the present Tale may meet with similar
encouragement. It certainly shall not prove inferior to any of its
predecessors in the variety of its incidents or the interest of its
details; and as a _romance of city life_, it will amply repay the
perusal of all country readers, as well as those who reside in cities.
With these remarks, preliminary and explanatory, I proceed at once to
draw the curtain, and unfold the opening scene of my drama.
CHAPTER I
_The blind Basket-maker and his family._
It was a winter's day, and piercing cold; very few pedestrians were to
be seen in Boston, and those few were carefully enveloped in warm cloak
and great coats, for the weather was of that intense kind that chills
the blood and penetrates to the very bone. Even Washington street--that
great avenue of wealth and promenade of fashion, usually thronged with
the pleasure-seeking denizens of the metropolis--was comparatively
deserted, save by a few shivering mortals, who hurried on their way with
rapid footsteps, anxious to escape from the relentless and iron grasp
of hoary winter. And yet on that day, and in that street, there stood
upon the pavement directly opposite the "Old South Church," a young girl
of about the age of fourteen years, holding in her hand a small basket
of fruit, which she offered to every passer-by. Now there was nothing
very extraordinary in this, neither was there anything very unusual in
the meek and pleading look of the little fruit girl, as she timidly
raised her large blue eyes to the face of every one who passed her--for
such humble callings, and such mute but eloquent appeals, are the common
inheritance of many, very many of God's poor in large cities, and do not
generally attract any great degree of notice from the careless (and too
often unfeeling) children of prosperity;--but there was something in the
appearance of the pale, sad girl, as, in her scant attire she shivered
in the biting wind, not often
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DEBORAH
By James M. Ludlow
_Along the Friendly Way._ Reminiscences and impressions. Illustrated,
$2.00.
_Avanti!_ _Garibaldi's Battle Cry._ A Tale of the Resurrection of
Sicily--1860. 12mo, cloth, net $1.25.
Sicily, the picturesque in the time of Garibaldi, is the scene of this
stirring romance.
_Sir Raoul._ A Story of the Theft of an Empire. Illustrated. 12mo,
cloth, net $1.50.
"Adventure succeeds adventure with breathless rapidity."--_New York
Sun._
_Deborah._ A Tale of the Times of Judas Maccabæus. Illustrated, net
$1.50.
"Nothing in the class of fiction to which 'Deborah' belongs, exceeds
it in vividness and rapidity of action."--_The Outlook._
_Judge West's Opinion._ Cloth, net $1.00.
_Jesse ben David._ A Shepherd of Bethlehem. Illustrated, cloth, boxed,
net $1.00.
_Incentives for Life._ _Personal and Public._ Cloth, $1.25.
_The Baritone's Parish._ Illustrated,.35.
_The Discovery of Self._ Paper-board, net.50.
[Illustration]
DEBORAH
A TALE OF THE TIMES
_of_
JUDAS MACCABAEUS
_by_
JAMES M. LUDLOW
_AUTHOR OF
THE CAPTAIN OF THE JANIZARIES_
_ETC_
[Illustration]
NEW YORK CHICAGO TORONTO
FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY
Copyright, 1901, by
FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY
New York: 158 Fifth Avenue
Chicago: 17 North Wabash Ave.
London: 21 Paternoster Square
Edinburgh: 75 Princes Street
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I.--THE CITY OF PRIDE, 11
II.--THE CITY OF DESOLATION, 22
III.--THE LITTLE BLIND SEER, 32
IV.--THE DISCUS THROW, 39
V.--A FLOWER IN A TORRENT, 46
VI.--A JEWISH CUPID, 54
VII.--IN THE TOILS OF APOLLONIUS, 63
VIII.--DEBORAH DISCOVERS HERSELF, 71
IX.--THE NASI'S TRIUMPH, 79
X.--JUDAS MACCABÆUS, 91
XI.--THE PRIEST'S KNIFE, 106
XII.--THE FORT OF THE ROCKS, 111
XIII.--THE DAUGHTER OF THE VOICE, 120
XIV.--THE SPY, 130
XV.--THE BATTLE OF THE WADY, 140
XVI.--THE BATTLEFIELD OF A HEART, 146
XVII.--A FAIR WASHERWOMAN, 160
XVIII.--HIGH PRIEST! HIGH DEVIL! 171
XIX.--THE RENEGADE, 179
XX.--A FEMALE SYMPOSIUM, 185
XXI.--BATTLE OF BETHHORON, 193
XXII.--A PRELUDE WITHOUT THE PLAY, 200
XXIII.--THE GREED OF GLAUCON, 205
XXIV.--LESSONS IN DIPLOMACY, 209
XXV.--A JEWESS TAKES NO ORDERS FROM THE ENEMY, 215
XXVI.--TO UNMASK THE PRINCESS, 221
XXVII.--THE QUEEN OF THE GROVE, 227
XXVIII.--A PRISONER, 234
XXIX.--A RAID, 243
XXX.--FOILED, 250
XXXI.--THE SHEIKHS, 258
XXXII.--THE CASTLE OF MASADA, 266
XXXIII.--WITH BEN AARON, 276
XXXIV.--QUICK LOVE: QUICK HATE! 282
XXXV.--WORSHIP BEFORE BATTLE, 289
XXXVI.--THE TEMPTRESS, 298
XXXVII.--"IF I WERE A JEW," 304
XXXVIII.--THE POISONER, 309
XXXIX.--BATTLE OF EMMAUS, 313
XL.--"A LITTLE CHILD SHALL LEAD THEM," 321
XLI.--A STRANGE VISITOR, 327
XLII.--A CLOSE CALL FOR DION, 332
XLIII.--BATTLE OF BETHZUR, 339
XLIV.--A WIFE? 346
XLV.--THE TRIAL, 354
XLVI.--DISENTANGLED THREADS, 363
XLVII.--A QUEEN OF ISRAEL? 367
XLVIII.--A BROKEN SENTENCE FINISHED, 377
XLIX.--THE HIDDEN HAND, 386
L.--THE VENGEANCE OF JUDAS, 392
LI.--A KING, INDEED, 401
AUTHOR'S NOTE, 407
DEBORAH
I
THE CITY OF PRIDE
King Antiochus, self-styled Epiphanes, the Glorious, was in a humor
that ill-suited that title. He cursed his scribe
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E-text prepared by David Edwards, Ritu Aggarwal, and the Project Gutenberg
Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page
images generously made available by Internet Archive/American Libraries
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Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
http://www.archive.org/details/lovelucy00hewliala
LOVE AND LUCY
by
MAURICE HEWLETT
Author of "The Forest Lovers," "The Life and
Death of Richard Yea and Nay," etc.
New York
Dodd, Mead and Company
1916
Copyright, 1916
by Dodd, Mead and Company, Inc.
_BEATI POSSIDENTES_
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I ONSLOW SQUARE 1
II A DINNER PARTY 16
III IN THE DRAWING-ROOM 31
IV AFTER-TALK 41
V EROS STEPS IN 53
VI A LEAP OUTWARDS 74
VII PATIENCE AND PSYCHE 84
VIII AGAIN 102
IX SUNDRY ROMANTIC EPISODES 112
X AT A WORLD'S EDGE 121
XI ANTEROS 134
XII MARTLEY THICKET (1) 148
XIII MARTLEY THICKET (2) 162
XIV THE GREAT SCHEME 175
XV JAMES 188
XVI _Amari Aliquid_ 196
XVII THE SHIVERING FIT 209
XVIII THE HARDANGER 227
XIX THE MOON-SPELL 235
XX FAIR WARNING 247
XXI THE DEPARTURE 256
XXII CATASTROPHE 268
XXIII JAMES AND JIMMY 280
XXIV URQUHART'S APOLOGY 292
EPILOGUE: _Quid Plura_? 306
LOVE AND LUCY
CHAPTER I
ONSLOW SQUARE
This is a romantic tale. So romantic is it that I shall be forced to
pry into the coy recesses of the mind in order to exhibit a connected,
reasonable affair, not only of a man and his wife prosperously seated
in the mean of things, _nel mezzo del cammin_ in space as well as
time--for the Macartneys belonged to the middle class, and were well
on to the middle of life themselves--, but of stript, quivering and
winged souls tiptoe within them, tiptoe for flight into diviner spaces
than any seemly bodies can afford them. As you peruse you may find it
difficult to believe that Macartney himself--James Adolphus, that
remarkable solicitor--could have possessed a quivering, winged soul
fit to be stript, and have hidden it so deep. But he did though, and
the inference is that everybody does. As for the lady, that is not so
hard of belief. It very seldom is--with women. They sit so much at
windows, that pretty soon their eyes become windows themselves--out of
which the soul looks darkling, but preening; out of which it sometimes
launches itself into the deep, wooed thereto or not by _aubade_ or
_serena_. But a man, with his vanity haunting him, pulls the blinds
down or shuts the shutters, to have it decently to himself, and his
looking-glass; and you are not to know what storm is enacting deeply
within. Finally, I wish once for all to protest against the fallacy
that piracy, brigandage, pearl-fishery and marooning are confined to
the wilder parts of the habitable globe. Never was a greater, if more
amiable, delusion fostered (to serve his simplicity) by Lord Byron and
others. Because a man wears trousers, shall there be no more cakes and
ale? Because a woman subscribes to the London Institution, desires the
suffrage, or presides at a Committee, does the _bocca baciata perde
ventura_? Believe me, no. There are at least two persons in each of
us, one at least of which
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[Illustration: The above is a reproduction of a photograph of an electric
spark, showing the Negative and Positive. The white represents the
negative, the lines show the positive, the view on the top showing the
strongest positive effect.]
The Secret
of Life, Death
and Immortality
A Startling Proposition, With
a Chapter Devoted to Mental
Therapeutics and Instructions
for Self Healing
_By_
HENRY FLEETWOOD
_Author of_
“MUSIC AS A CURE”
Published by Henry Fleetwood
Los Angeles
1909
Copyrighted by
HENRY FLEETWOOD
Dec. 3, 1908
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
Life
Cosmic Evolution; Life Germs—how produced; “The Word”—evolution
of; Universal Vibration—the only Immortality; Continuous
Evolution—the condition of creation.
CHAPTER II
Electricity and Life
Proof that Electricity is Life; recent discoveries in the
wireless telegraph and telephone, telepathy, etc.,—how they
affect the human race; other possibilities of Electricity.
CHAPTER III
Love and Music
Their relation to Life; their effect on creation; the power of
love; the power of music; all emotion subject to these powers.
CHAPTER IV
Immortality
There cannot be conscious immortality; what is immortality?;
why we hope for consciousness in a future life; how the
ancients regarded a future life.
CHAPTER V
The Sun
Its relation to life; what is radiant energy?; why the ancients
worshipped the sun; the Parsees the present sun worshippers.
CHAPTER VI
Fear
The great curse of the Universe—the only devil—its insidious
claims—its effect on life.
CHAPTER VII
Death
Its relation to Life; the only Immortal; its loving purpose;
its relation to evolution.
CHAPTER VIII
Healing
Mental Therapeutics, or healing suggestions; Christian Science;
Faith healing, etc.
CHAPTER IX
Resume and Conclusion.
PREFACE
The writer of these pages a few years ago invented, patented and
successfully demonstrated in the city of Los Angeles, California, a
mechanical device by which he transformed musical vibrations into
“electrical” waves. These when conveyed to the human organism were
found to be harmonizing, vitalizing, and curative, in many nervous and
functional disorders. Further study and research along these lines
convinced him that all vibration, or motion, or activity is electrical.
That all phenomena are electrical phenomena. In fact, that there is but
one substance in the universe, and that is—Electricity.
Without any attempt to enter the realm of metaphysics, the writer desires
to state that he uses the term Life in its absolute or universal sense,
and not in the conditioned or limited sense in which it is ordinarily
and loosely used. He distinguishes between Life—with its eternal,
inherent unceasing impulse and energy—and the resultant of that impulse
and energy; whether that resultant be a molecule of hydrogen or what
is called consciousness, intelligence, manifesting through an organism
called man.
This Life is not mind, nor its product matter. It is Substance—and
that substance the writer calls electricity. It is eternal. It is the
totality of what is, or Be-ing. It has a dual impulse or tendency, viz.
(the positive and negative)—attraction and repulsion of its infinite
integral constituent particles or ELECTRONS. This attraction and
repulsion, this breaking and closing of the circuit, this vibration
or motion—always in a straight line or a circle—this infinite eternal
polarity, being continuous creation or evolution, and destruction or
devolution.
It has not been possible in the limited space devoted to this book to
attempt a discussion and proof of the statements made herein. While the
statements made are scientific and rational the writer could not do more
than point out through them the direction in which the truth is to be
sought and found.
The reader will find many thoughts suggested along the line of the
wireless telegraph and telephone, musical vibrations, thought vibrations,
telepathy, clairvoyance, “Spiritualistic phenomena,” death, post-mortem
consciousness or “Conscious immortality,” etc.
We are living in an age of scientific investigation and inquiry. The
human mind is awakening to the necessity of doing its own thinking
instead of being bound by the many
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Price, email [email protected]
BUNYAN CHARACTERS: FIRST SERIES
BEING LECTURES DELIVERED IN ST. GEORGE'S FREE CHURCH EDINBURGH
BY ALEXANDER WHYTE, D.D.
INTRODUCTORY
'The express image' [Gr. 'the character'].--Heb. 1. 3.
The word 'character' occurs only once in the New Testament, and that is
in the passage in the prologue of the Epistle to the Hebrews, where the
original word is translated 'express image' in our version. Our Lord is
the Express Image of the Invisible Father. No man hath seen God at any
time. The only-begotten Son, who is in the bosom of the Father, He hath
declared Him. The Father hath sealed His divine image upon His Son, so
that he that hath seen the Son hath seen the Father. The Son is thus the
Father's character stamped upon and set forth in human nature. The Word
was made flesh. This is the highest and best use to which our so
expressive word 'character' has ever been put, and the use to which it is
put when we speak of Bunyan's Characters partakes of the same high sense
and usage. For it is of the outstanding good or evil in a man that we
think when we speak of his character. It is really either of his
likeness or unlikeness to Jesus Christ we speak, and then, through Him,
his likeness or unlikeness to God Himself. And thus it is that the
adjective'moral' usually accompanies our word 'character'--moral or
immoral. A man's character does not have its seat or source in his body;
character is not a physical thing: not even in his mind; it is not an
intellectual thing. Character comes up out of the will and out of the
heart. There are more good minds, as we say, in the world than there are
good hearts. There are more clever people than good people;
character,--high, spotless, saintly character,--is a far rarer thing in
this world than talent or even genius. Character is an infinitely better
thing than either of these, and it is of corresponding rarity. And yet
so true is it that the world loves its own, that all men worship talent,
and even bodily strength and bodily beauty, while only one here and one
there either understands or values or pursues moral character, though it
is the strength and the beauty and the sweetness of the soul.
We naturally turn to Bishop Butler when we think of moral character.
Butler is an author who has drawn no characters of his own. Butler's
genius was not creative like Shakespeare's or Bunyan's. Butler had not
that splendid imagination which those two masters in character-painting
possessed, but he had very great gifts of his own, and he has done us
very great service by means of his gifts. Bishop Butler has helped many
men in the intelligent formation of their character, and what higher
praise could be given to any author? Butler will lie on our table all
winter beside Bunyan; the bishop beside the tinker, the philosopher
beside the poet, the moralist beside the evangelical minister.
In seeking a solid bottom for our subject, then, we naturally turn to
Butler. Bunyan will people the house for us once it is built, but Butler
lays bare for us the naked rock on which men like Bunyan build and
beautify and people the dwelling-place of God and man. What exactly is
this thing, character, we hear so much about? we ask the sagacious
bishop. And how shall we understand our own character so as to form it
well till it stands firm and endures? 'Character,' answers Butler, in
his bald, dry, deep way, 'by character is meant that temper, taste,
disposition, whole frame of mind from whence we act in one way rather
than another... those principles from which a man acts, when they
become fixed and habitual in him we call his character... And
consequently there is a far greater variety in men's characters than
there is in the features of their faces.' Open Bunyan now, with Butler's
keywords in your mind, and see the various tempers, tastes, dispositions,
frames of mind from which his various characters act, and which, at
bottom, really make them the characters, good or bad, which they are. See
the principles which Bunyan has with such inimitable felicity embodied
and exhibited in their names, the principles within them from which they
have acted till they have become a habit and then a character, that
character which they themselves are and will remain. See the variety of
John Bunyan's characters, a richer and a more endless variety than are
the features of their faces. Christian and Christiana, Obstinate and
Pliable, Mr. Fearing and Mr. Feeblemind, Temporary and Talkative, Mr. By-
ends and Mr. Facing-both-ways, Simple, Sloth, Presumption, that brisk lad
Ignorance, and the genuine Mr. Brisk himself. And then Captain Boasting,
Mr. High-mind, Mr. Wet-Eyes, and so on, through a less known (but equally
well worth knowing) company of municipal and military characters in the
_Holy War_.
We shall see, as we proceed, how this and that character in Bunyan was
formed and deformed. But let us ask in this introductory lecture if we
can find out any law or principle upon which all our own characters, good
or bad, are formed. Do our characters come to be what they are by
chance, or have we anything to do in the formation of our own characters,
and if so, in what way? And here, again, Butler steps forward at our
call with his key to our own and to all Bunyan's characters in his hand,
and in three familiar and fruitful words he answers our question and
gives us food for thought and solemn reflection for a lifetime. There
are but three steps, says Butler, from earth to heaven, or, if you will,
from earth to hell--acts, habits, character. All Butler's prophetic
burden is bound up in these three great words--acts, habits, character.
Remember and ponder these three words, and you will in due time become a
moral philosopher. Ponder and practise them, and you will become what is
infinitely better--a moral man. For acts, often repeated, gradually
become habits, and habits, long enough continued, settle and harden and
solidify into character. And thus it is that the severe and laconic
bishop has so often made us shudder as he demonstrated it to us that we
are all with our own hands shaping our character not only for this world,
but much more for the world to come, by every act we perform, by every
word we speak, almost by every breath we draw. Butler is one of the most
terrible authors in the world. He stands on our nearest shelf with Dante
on one side of him and Pascal on the other. He is indeed terrible, but
it is with a terror that purifies the heart and keeps the life in the
hour of temptation. Paul sometimes arms himself with the same terror;
only he composes in another style than that of Butler, and, with all his
vivid intensity, he calls it the terror of the Lord. Paul and Bunyan are
of the same school of moralists and stylists; Butler went to school to
the Stoics, to Aristotle, and to Plato.
Our Lord Himself came to be the express image He was and is by living and
acting under this same universal law of human life--acts, habits,
character. He was made perfect on this same principle. He learned
obedience both by the things that He did, and the things that He
suffered. Butler says in one deep place, that benevolence and justice
and veracity are the basis of all good character in God and in man, and
thus also in the God-man. And those three foundation stones of our
Lord's character settled deeper and grew stronger to bear and to suffer
as He went on practising acts and speaking words of justice, goodness,
and truth. And so of all the other elements of His moral character. Our
Lord left Gethsemane a much more submissive and a much more surrendered
man than He entered it. His forgiveness of injuries, and thus His
splendid benevolence, had not yet come to its climax and crown till He
said on the cross, 'Father, forgive them'. And, as He was, so are we in
this world. This world's evil and ill-desert made it but the better
arena and theatre for the development and the display of His moral
character; and the same instruments that fashioned Him into the perfect
and express image He was and is, are still, happily, in full operation.
Take that divinest and noblest of all instruments for the carving out and
refining of moral character, the will of God. How our Lord made His own
unselfish and unsinful will to bow to silence and to praise before the
holy will of His Father, till that gave the finishing touch to His always
sanctified will and heart! And, happily, that awful and blessed
instrument for the formation of moral character is still active and
available to those whose ambition rises to moral character, and who are
aiming at heaven in all they do and all they suffer upon the earth.
Gethsemane has gone out till it has covered all the earth. Its cup, if
not in all the depth and strength of its first mixture, still in quite
sufficient bitterness, is put many times in life into every man's hand.
There is not a day, there is not an hour of the day, that the disciple of
the submissive and all-surrendered Son has not the opportunity to say
with his Master, If it be possible, let this cup pass: nevertheless, not
as I will, but as Thou wilt.
It is not in the great tragedies of life only that character is tested
and strengthened and consolidated. No man who is not himself under God's
moral and spiritual instruments could believe how often in the quietest,
clearest, and least tempestuous day he has the chance and the call to
say, Yea, Lord, Thy will be done. And, then, when the confessedly tragic
days and nights come, when all men admit that this is Gethsemane indeed,
the practised soul is able, with a calmness and a peace that confound and
offend the bystanders, to say, to act so that he does not need to say,
Not my will, but Thine. And so of all the other forms and features of
moral character; so of humility and meekness, so of purity and
temperance, so of magnanimity and munificence, so of all self-suppression
and self-extinction, and all corresponding exalting and magnifying and
benefiting of other men. Whatever other passing uses this present world,
so full of trial and temptation and suffering, may have, this surely is
the supreme and final use of it--to be a furnace, a graving-house, a
refining place for human character. Literally all things in this life
and in this world--I challenge you to point out a single exception--work
together for this supreme and only good, the purification, the refining,
the testing,
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THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL.
NUMBER 30. SATURDAY, JANUARY 23, 1841. VOLUME I.
[Illustration: THE CASTLE OF MONEA, COUNTY OF FERMANAGH.]
The Castle of Monea or Castletown-Monea--properly _Magh an fhiaidh_, i.e.
the plain of the deer--is situated in the parish of Devinish, county
of Fermanagh, and about five miles north-west of Enniskillen. Like the
Castle of Tully, in the same county, of which we gave a view in a recent
number, this castle affords a good example of the class of castellated
residences erected on the great plantation of Ulster by the British and
Scottish undertakers, in obedience to the fourth article concerning the
English and Scottish undertakers, who “are to plant their portions with
English and inland-Scottish tenants,” which was imposed upon them by
“the orders and conditions to be observed by the undertakers upon the
distribution and plantation of the escheated lands in Ulster,” in 1608.
By this article it was provided that “every undertaker of the _greatest
proportion_ of two thousand acres shall, within two years after the date
of his letters patent, build thereupon a castle, with a strong court or
bawn about it; and every undertaker of the second or _middle proportion_
of fifteen hundred acres shall within the same time build a stone or
brick house thereupon, with a strong court or bawn about it. And every
undertaker of the _least proportion_ of one thousand acres shall within
the same time make thereupon a strong court or bawn at least; and all the
said undertakers shall cause their tenants to build houses for themselves
and their families, near the principal castle, house, or bawn, for their
mutual defence or strength,” &c.
Such was the origin of most of the castles and villages now existing in
the six escheated counties of Ulster--historical memorials of a vast
political movement--and among the rest this of Monea, which was the
castle of the _middle proportion_ of Dirrinefogher, of which Sir Robert
Hamilton was the first patentee.
From Pynnar’s Survey of Ulster, made in 1618-19, it appears that this
proportion had at that time passed into the possession of Malcolm
Hamilton (who was afterwards archbishop of Cashel), by whom the castle
was erected, though the bawn, as prescribed by the conditions, was not
added till some years later. He says,
“Upon this proportion there is a strong castle of lime and
stone, being fifty-four feet long and twenty feet broad, but
hath no bawn unto it, nor any other defence for the succouring
or relieving of his tenants.”
From an inquisition taken at Monea in 1630, we find, however, that this
want was soon after supplied, and that the castle, which was fifty feet
in height, was surrounded by a wall nine feet in height and three hundred
in circuit.
The Malcolm Hamilton noticed by Pynnar as possessor of “the middle
proportion of Dirrinefogher,” subsequently held the rectory of Devenish,
which he retained _in commendam_ with his archbishopric till his death
in 1629. The proportion of Dirrinefogher, however, with its castle,
was escheated to the crown in 1630; and shortly after, the old chapel
of Monea was converted into a parish church, the original church being
inconveniently situated on an island of Lough Erne.
Monea Castle served as a chief place of refuge to the English and
Scottish settlers of the vicinity during the rebellion of 1641, and,
like the Castle of Tully, it has its tales of horror recorded in story;
but we shall not uselessly drag them to light. The village of Monea is
an inconsiderable one, but there are several gentlemen’s seats in its
neighbourhood, and the scenery around it is of great richness and beauty.
P.
ON THE SUBJUGATION OF ANIMALS BY MEANS OF CHARMS, INCANTATIONS, OR DRUGS.
FIRST ARTICLE.
ON SERPENT-CHARMING, AS PRACTISED BY THE JUGGLERS OF ASIA.
Many of my readers will doubtless recollect that in a paper on “Animal
Taming,” which appeared some weeks back in the pages of this Journal, I
alluded slightly to the _charming_ of animals, or _taming_ them by spells
or drugs. It is now my purpose to enter more fully upon this subject,
and present my readers with a brief notice of what I have been able to
glean respecting it, as well from the published accounts of remarkable
travellers, as from oral descriptions received from personal friends
of my own, who had opportunities of being eye witnesses to many of the
practices to which I refer.
The most remarkable, and also the most ancient description of
animal-charming with which we are acquainted, is that which consists in
calling the venomous serpents from their holes, quelling their fury, and
allaying their irritation, by means of certain charms, amongst which
music stands forth in the most prominent position, though, whether it
really is worthy of the first place as an actual agent, or is only thus
put forward to cover that on which the true secret depends, is by no
means perfectly clear.
Even in scripture we find the practice of serpent-charming noticed,
and by no means as a novelty; in the 58th Psalm we are told that the
wicked are like the “deaf adder that stoppeth her ear, which hearkeneth
not unto
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[Illustration: _From stereograph copyright--1904, by Underwood &
Underwood, N. Y._
AT THE GATE
With tickets fastened to coats and dresses, the immigrants pass out
through the gate to enter into their new inheritance, and become our
fellow citizens.]
ON THE TRAIL
OF
THE IMMIGRANT
EDWARD A. STEINER'S
Studies of Immigration
_From Alien to Citizen_
The Story of My Life in America
Illustrated net $1.50
In this interesting autobiography we see Professor Steiner
pressing ever forward and upward to a position of international
opportunity and influence.
_The wonderful varied Life-story of the author of
"On the Trail of the Immigrant."_
_The Broken Wall_
Stories of the Mingling Folk.
Illustrated net $1.00
"A big heart and a sense of humor go a long way toward making
a good book. Dr. Edward A. Steiner has both these qualifications
and a knowledge of immigrants' traits and character."
--_Outlook._
_Against the Current_
Simple Chapters from a Complex Life.
12mo, cloth net $1.25
"As frank a bit of autobiography as has been published for
many a year. The author has for a long time made a close
study of the problems of immigration, and makes a strong
appeal to the reader."--_The Living Age._
_The Immigrant Tide--Its Ebb and Flow_
Illustrated, 8vo, cloth net $1.50
"May justly be called an epic of present day immigration,
and is a revelation that should set our country thinking."
--_Los Angeles Times._
_On the Trail of The Immigrant_
Illustrated, 12mo, cloth net $1.50
"Deals with the character, temperaments, racial traits, aspirations
and capabilities of the immigrant himself. Cannot fail to afford
excellent material for the use of students of immigrant
problems."--_Outlook._
_The Mediator_
A Tale of the Old World and the New.
Illustrated, 12mo, cloth net $1.25
"A graphic story, splendidly told."--ROBERT WATCHORN,
_Former Commissioner of Immigration_.
_Tolstoy, the Man and His Message_
A Biographical Interpretation.
_Revised and enlarged._ Illustrated, 12mo, cloth net $1.50
ON THE TRAIL
OF
THE IMMIGRANT
EDWARD A. STEINER
_Professor in Iowa College, Grinnell, Iowa_
_ILLUSTRATED_
[Illustration]
NEW YORK CHICAGO TORONTO
Fleming H. Revell Company
LONDON AND EDINBURGH
Copyright, 1906, by
FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY
New York: 158 Fifth Avenue
Chicago: 125 No. Wabash Ave.
Toronto: 25 Richmond Street, W.
London: 21 Paternoster Square
Edinburgh: 100 Princes Street
_This book is affectionately dedicated to
"The Man at the Gate"
ROBERT WATCHORN,
United States Commissioner of Immigration
at the
Port of New York:
Who, in the exercise of his office has been loyal to the interests
of his country, and has dealt humanely, justly and without
prejudice, with men of "Every kindred and tongue and people and
nation."_
_ACKNOWLEDGMENT_
_Cordial recognition is tendered to the editors of The Outlook for
their courtesy in permitting the use of certain portions of this
book which have already appeared in that journal._
CONTENTS
I. BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION 9
II. THE BEGINNING OF THE TRAIL 16
III. THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE STEERAGE 30
IV. LAND, HO! 48
V. AT THE GATEWAY 64
VI. "THE MAN AT THE GATE" 78
VII. THE GERMAN IN AMERICA 94
VIII. THE SCANDINAVIAN IMMIGRANT 112
IX. THE JEW IN HIS OLD WORLD HOME 126
X. THE NEW EXODUS 143
XI. IN THE GHETTOS OF NEW YORK 154
XII. THE SLAVS AT HOME 179
XIII. THE SLAVIC INVASION 198
XIV. DRIFTING WITH THE "HUNKIES" 213
XV. THE BOHEMIAN IMMIGRANT 225
XVI. LITTLE HUNGARY 238
XVII. THE ITALIAN AT HOME 252
XVIII. THE ITALIAN IN AMERICA 262
XIX. WHERE GREEK MEETS GREEK 282
XX. THE NEW AMERICAN AND THE NEW PROBLEM 292
XXI. THE NEW AMERICAN AND OLD PROBLEMS 309
XXII. RELIGION AND POLITICS 321
XXIII. BIRDS OF PASSAGE 334
XXIV. IN THE SECOND CABIN 347
XXV. AU REVOIR 359
APPENDIX 365
INDEX 371
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
_Facing page_
AT THE GATE _Title_
AS SEEN BY MY LADY OF THE FIRST CABIN 10
THE BEGINNING OF THE TRAIL 26
WILL THEY LET ME IN? 50
THE SHEEP AND THE GOATS 66
BACK TO THE FATHERLAND 92
FAREWELL TO HOME AND FRIENDS 114
ISRAELITES INDEED 140
THE GHETTO OF THE NEW WORLD 156
FROM THE BLACK MOUNTAIN 180
WITHOUT THE PALE 208
HO FOR THE PRAIRIE! 246
THE BOSS 270
IN AN EVENING SCHOOL, NEW YORK 294
A SLAV OF THE BALKANS 302
ON THE DAY OF ATONEMENT 330
ON THE TRAIL OF THE IMMIGRANT
I
BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION
_My Dear Lady of the First Cabin_:
On the fourth morning out from Hamburg, after your maid had disentangled
you from your soft wrappings of steamer rugs, and leaning upon her arm,
you paced the deck for the first time, the sun smiled softly upon the
smooth sea, and its broken reflections came back hot upon your pale
cheeks. Then your gentle eyes wandered from the illimitable sea back to
the steamer which carried you. You saw the four funnels out of which
came pouring clouds of smoke trailing behind the ship in picturesque
tracery; you watched the encircling gulls which had been your fellow
travellers ever since we left the white cliffs of Albion; and then your
eyes rested upon those mighty Teutons who stood on the bridge, and whose
blue eyes searched the sea for danger, or rested upon the compass for
direction.
From below came the sweet notes of music, gentle and wooing, one of the
many ways in which the steamship company tried to make life pleasant
for you, to bring back your "Bon appetit" to its tempting tables. Then
suddenly, you stood transfixed, looking below you upon the deck from
which came rather pronounced odours and confused noises. The notes of a
jerky harmonica harshly struck your ears attuned to symphonies; and the
song which accompanied it was gutteral and unmusical.
The deck which you saw, was crowded by human beings; men, women and
children lay there, many of them motionless, and the children, numerous
as the sands of the sea,--unkempt and unwashed, were everywhere in
evidence.
You felt great pity for the little ones, and you threw chocolate cakes
among them, smiling as you saw them in their tangled struggle to get
your sweet bounty.
You pitied them all; the frowsy headed, ill clothed women, the men who
looked so hungry and so greedy, and above all you pitied, you said
so,--do you remember?--you said you pitied your own country for having
to receive such a conglomerate of human beings, so near to the level of
the beasts. I well recall it; for that day they did look like animals.
It was the day after the storm and they had all been seasick; they had
neither the spirit nor the appliances necessary for cleanliness. The
toilet rooms were small and hard to reach, and sea water as you well
know is not a good cleanser. They were wrapped in gray blankets which
they had brought from their bunks, and you were right; they did look
like animals, but not half so clean as the cattle which one sees so
often on an outward journey; certainly not half so comfortable.
[Illustration: _From stereograph copyright--1905, by Underwood &
Underwood, N. Y._
AS SEEN BY MY LADY OF THE FIRST CABIN.
The fellowship of the steerage makes good comrades, where no barriers
exist and introductions are neither possible nor necessary.]
You were taken aback when I spoke to you. I took offense at your
suspecting us to be beasts, for I was one of them; although all that
separated you and me was a little iron bar, about fifteen or twenty
rungs of an iron ladder, and perhaps as many dollars in the price of our
tickets.
You were amazed at my temerity, and did not answer at once; then you
begged my pardon, and I grudgingly forgave you. One likes to have a
grudge against the first cabin when one is travelling steerage.
The next time you came to us, it was without your maid. You had quite
recovered and so had we. The steerage deck was more crowded than ever,
but we were happy, comparatively speaking; happy in spite of the fact
that the bread was so doughy that we voluntarily fed the fishes with it,
and the meat was suspiciously flavoured.
Again you threw your sweetmeats among us, and asked me to carry a basket
of fruit to the women and children. I did so; I think to your
satisfaction. When I returned the empty basket, you wished to know all
about us, and I proceeded to tell you many things--who the Slavs are,
and I brought you fine specimens of Poles, Bohemians, Servians and
Slovaks,--men, women and children: and they began to look to you like
men, women and children, and not like beasts. I introduced to you,
German, Austrian and Hungarian Jews, and you began to understand the
difference. Do you remember the group of Italians, to whom you said
good-morning in their own tongue, and how they smiled back upon you all
the joy of their native land? And you learned to know the difference
between a Sicilian and a Neapolitan, between a Piedmontese and a
Calabrian. You met Lithuanians, Greeks, Magyars and Finns; you came in
touch with twenty nationalities in an hour, and your sympathetic smile
grew sweeter, and your loving bounty increased day by day.
You wondered how I happened to know these people so well; and I told you
jokingly, that it was my Social nose which over and over again, had led
me steerage way across the sea, back to the villages from which the
immigrants come and onward with them into the new life in America.
You suspected that it was not a Social nose but a Social heart; that I
was led by my sympathies and not by my scientific sense, and I did not
dispute you. You urged me to write what I knew and what I felt, and now
you see, I have written. I have tried to tell it in this book as I told
it to you on board of ship. I told you much about the Jews and the
Slavs because they are less known and come in larger numbers. When I had
finished telling you just who these strangers are, and something of
their life at home and among us, in the strange land, you grew very
sympathetic, without being less conscious how great is the problem which
these strangers bring with them.
If I succeed in accomplishing this for my larger audience, the public, I
shall be content.
You were loth to listen to figures; for you said that statistics were
not to your liking and apt to be misleading; so I leave them from these
pages and crowd them somewhere into the back of the book, where the
curious may find them if they delight in them.
My telling deals only with life; all I attempt to do is to tell what I
have lived among the immigrants, and not much of what I have counted.
Here and there I have dropped a story which you said might be worth
re-telling; and I tell it as I told it to you--not to earn the smile
which may follow, but simply that it may win a little more sympathy for
the immigrant.
If here and there I stop to moralize, it is largely from force of habit;
and not because I am eager to play either preacher or prophet. If I
point out some great problems, I do it because I love America with a
love passing your own; because you are home-born and know not the lot
of the stranger.
You may be incredulous if I tell you that I do not realize that I was
not born and educated here; that I am not thrilled by the sight of my
cradle home, nor moved by my country's flag.
I know no Fatherland but America; for after all, it matters less where
one was born, than where one's ideals had their birth; and to me,
America is not the land of mighty dollars, but the land of great ideals.
I am not yet convinced that the peril to these ideals lies in those who
come to you, crude and unfinished; if I were, I would be the first one
to call out: "Shut the gates," and not the last one to exile myself for
your country's good.
I think that the peril lies more in the first cabin than in the
steerage; more in the American colonies in Monte Carlo and Nice than in
the Italian colonies in New York and Chicago. Not the least of the peril
lies in the fact that there is too great a gulf between you and the
steerage passenger, whose virtues you will discover as soon as you learn
to know him.
I send out this book in the hope that it will mediate between the first
cabin and the steerage; between the hilltop and lower town; between the
fashionable West side and the Ghetto.
Do you remember my Lady of the First Cabin, what those Slovaks said to
you as you walked down the gangplank in Hoboken? What they said to you,
I now say to my book: "Z'Boghem," "The Lord be with thee."
II
THE BEGINNING OF THE TRAIL
Some twenty years ago, while travelling from Vienna on the Northern
Railway, I was locked into my compartment with three Slavic women, who
entered at a way station, and who for the first time in their lives had
ventured from their native home by way of the railroad. In fear and awe
they looked out the window upon the moving landscape, while with each
recurring jolt they held tightly to the wooden benches.
One of them volunteered the information that they were journeying a
great distance, nearly twenty-five miles from their native village. I
ventured to say that I was going much further than twenty-five miles,
upon which I was asked my destination. I replied: "America," expecting
much astonishment at the announcement; but all they said was: "Merica?
where is that? is it really further than twenty-five miles?"
Until about the time mentioned, the people of Eastern and Southeastern
Europe had remained stationary; just where they had been left by the
slow and glacial like movement of the races and tribes to which they
belonged. Scarcely any traces of their former migrations survive,
except where some warlike tribe has exploited its history in song,
describing its escape from the enemy, into some mountain fastness, which
was of course deserted as soon as the fury of war had spent itself.
From the great movements which changed the destinies of other European
nations, these people were separated by political and religious
barriers; so that the discovery of America was as little felt as the
discovery of the new religious and political world laid bare by the
Reformation. Each tribe and even each smaller group developed according
to its own native strength, or according to how closely it leaned
towards Western Europe, which was passing through great evolutionary and
revolutionary changes.
On the whole, it may be said that in many ways they remained stationary,
certainly immobile. Old customs survived and became laws; slight
differentiations in dress occurred and became the unalterable costume of
certain regions; idioms grew into dialects and where the native genius
manifested itself in literature, the dialect became a language. These
artificial boundaries became impassable, especially where differences in
religion occurred. Each group was locked in, often hating its nearest
neighbours and closest kinsmen, and also having an aversion to anything
which came from without. Social and economic causes played no little
part, both in the isolation of these tribes and groups and in the
necessity for migration. When the latter was necessary, they moved
together to where there was less tyranny and more virgin soil. They went
out peacefully most of the time, but could be bitter, relentless and
brave when they encountered opposition.
But they did not go out with the conqueror's courage nor with the
adventurer's lust for fame; they were no iconoclasts of a new
civilization, nor the bearers of new tidings. They went where no one
remained; where the Romans had thinned the ranks of the Germans, where
Hun, Avar and Turk had left valleys soaked in blood and made ready for
the Slav's crude plow; where Roman colonies were decaying and Roman
cities were sinking into the dunes made by ocean's sands. They destroyed
nothing nor did they build anything; they accepted little or nothing
which they found on conquered soil, but lived the old life in the new
home, whether it was under the shadow of the Turkish cres
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[Illustration: _The Man who could talk with the Birds_]
DROLLS
FROM SHADOWLAND
BY
J. H. PEARCE
_Author of "Esther Pentreath," "Inconsequent Lives," "Jaco Treloar,"
&c._
NEW YORK
MACMILLAN AND CO.
1893.
_All rights reserved._
CONTENTS.
PAGE
THE MAN WHO COINED HIS BLOOD INTO GOLD 1
AN UNEXPECTED JOURNEY 15
THE MAN WHO COULD TALK WITH THE BIRDS 27
THE PURSUIT 39
A PLEASANT ENTERTAINMENT 49
THE MAN WHO DESIRED TO BE A TREE 61
THE MAN WHO HAD SEEN 73
THE UNCHRISTENED CHILD 85
THE MAN WHO MET HATE 95
THE HAUNTED HOUSE 109
GIFTS AND AWARDS 119
FRIEND OR FOE? 133
THE FIELDS OF AMARANTH 145
THE COMEDY OF A SOUL 155
THE MAN WHO COINED HIS BLOOD INTO GOLD.
THE yoke of Poverty galled him exceedingly, and he hated his
taskmistress with a most rancorous hatred.
As he climbed up or down the dripping ladders, descending from sollar to
sollar towards the level where he worked, he would set his teeth grimly
that he might not curse aloud--an oath underground being an invitation
to the Evil One--but in his heart the muffled curses were audible
enough. And when he was at work in the dreary level, with the darkness
lying on his shoulder like a hand, and the candles shining unsteadily
through the gloom, like little evil winking eyes, he brooded so moodily
over his bondage to Poverty, that he desired to break from it at any
cost.
"I'd risk a lem for its weight in gowld: darned ef I wedn'!" he muttered
savagely, as he dug at the stubborn rock with his pick.
He could hear the sounds of blasting in other levels--the explosions
travelling to him in a muffled boom--and above him, for he was working
beneath the bed of the ocean, he could faintly distinguish the grinding
of the sea as the huge waves wallowed and roared across the beach.
"I'm sick to death o' this here life," he grumbled; "I'd give a haand or
a' eye for a pot o' suvrins. Iss, I'd risk more than that," he added
darkly: letting the words ooze out as if under his breath.
At that moment his pick detached a piece of rock which came crashing
down on the floor of the level, splintering into great jagged fragments
as it fell.
He started back with an exclamation of uncontrollable surprise. The
falling rock had disclosed the interior of a cavern whose outlines were
lost in impenetrable gloom, but which here and there in a vague fashion,
as it caught the light of the candle flickering in his hat, seemed to
sparkle as if its walls were crusted with silver.
"Lor' Jimmeny, this es bra' an' queer!" he gasped.
As he leaned on his pick, peering into the cavern with covetous eyes,
but with a wildly-leaping heart, he was aware of an odd movement among
the shadows which were elusively outlined by the light of his dip.
It was almost as though some of them had an independent individuality,
and could have detached themselves from their roots if they wished.
It was certain a squat, hump-backed blotch, that was sprawling blackly
beside a misshapen block, was either wriggling on the floor as if trying
to stand upright... or else there was something wrong with his eyes.
He stared at the wavering gloom in the cavern, with its quaint, angular
splashes of glister, where heads of quartz and patches of mundic caught
the light from the unsteady flame of the candle, and presently he was
_certain_ that the shadows were alive.
Most of all he was sure that the little hump-backed oddity had risen to
its feet and was a veritable creature: an actual uncouth, shambling
grotesque, instead of a mere flat blotch of shadow.
Up waddled the little hump-back to the hole in the wall where Joel stood
staring, leaning on his pick.
"What can I do for'ee, friend?" he asked huskily: his voice sounding
faint, hoarse, and muffled, as if it were coming from an immense
distance, or as if the squat little frame had merely borrowed it for the
nonce.
Joel stared at the speaker, with his lower jaw dropping.
"What can I do for'ee, friend?" asked the hump-back; peering at the
grimy, half-naked miner, with his little ferrety eyes glowing
luminously.
Joel moistened his lips with his tongue before he answered. "Nawthin',
plaise, sir," he gasped out, quakingly.
"Nonsense, my man!" said the hump-back pleasantly, rubbing his hands
cheerfully together as he spoke. And Joel noticed that the fingers,
though long and skinny--almost wrinkled and lean enough, in fact, to
pass for claws--were adorned with several sparkling rings. "Nonsense, my
man! I'm your friend--if you'll let me be. O never mind my hump, if it's
that that's frightening you, I got that through a fall a long while
ago," and the lean brown face puckered into a smile. "Come! In what way
can I oblige'ee, friend? I can grant you any wish you like. Say the
word--and it's done! Just think what you could do if you had heaps of
money, now--piles of suvrins in that owld chest in your bedroom,
instead o' they paltry two-an'-twenty suvrins which you now got heeded
away in the skibbet."
Joel stared at the speaker with distended eyes: the great beads of
perspiration gathering on his forehead.
"How ded'ee come to knaw they was there?" he asked.
"I knaw more than that," said the hump-back, laughing. "I could tell'ee
a thing or two, b'leeve, if I wanted to. I knaw tin,[A] cumraade, as
well as the next." And with that he began to chuckle to himself.
"Wedn'ee like they two-an'-twenty suvrins in the skibbet made a
hunderd-an'-twenty?" asked the hump-back insinuatingly.
"Iss, by Gosh, I should!" said Joel.
"Then gi'me your haand on it, cumraade; an' you shall have 'em!"
"Here goes, then!" said Joel, thrusting out his hand.
The hump-back seized the proffered hand in an instant, covering the
grimy fingers with his own lean claws.
"Oh, le'go! _le'go!_" shouted Joel.
The hump-back grinned; his black eyes glittering.
"I waan't be niggardly to'ee, cumraade," said he. "Every drop o' blood
you choose to shed for the purpose shall turn into a golden suvrin
for'ee--there!"
"Darn'ee! thee ben an' run thy nails in me--see!"
And Joel shewed a drop of blood oozing from his wrist.
"Try the charm, man! Wish! Hold un out, an' say, _Wan_!"
Joel held out his punctured wrist mechanically.
"Wan!"
There was a sudden gleam--and down dropped a sovereign: a bright gold
coin that rang sharply as it fell.
"Try agen!" said the hump-back, grinning delightedly.
Joel stooped first to pick up the coin, and bit it eagerly.
"Ay, good Gosh! 'tes gowld, sure 'nuff!"
"Try agen!" said the hump-back "Make up a pile!"
Joel held out his wrist and repeated the formula.
"Wan!"
And another coin clinked at his feet.
"I needn' wait no longer, s'pose?" said the hump-back.
"Wan!" cried Joel. And a third coin dropped.
He leaned on his pick and kept coining his blood eagerly, till presently
there was quite a little pile at his feet.
The hump-back watched him intently for a time: but Joel appeared to be
oblivious of his presence; and the squat little figure stealthily
disappeared.
The falling coins kept chiming melodiously, till presently the great
stalwart miner had to lean against the wall of the level to support
himself. So tired as he was, he had never felt before. But give over his
task he either could not, or would not. The chink of the gold-pieces he
must hear if he died for it. He looked down at them greedily. "Wan!...
Wan!... Wan!..."
Presently he tottered, and fell over on his heap.
At that same moment the halting little hump-back stole out from the
shadows immediately behind him, and leaned over Joel, rubbing his hands
gleefully.
"I must catch his soul," said the little black man.
And with that he turned Joel's head round sharply, and held his hand to
the dying man's mouth.
Just then there fluttered up to Joel's lips a tiny yellow flame, which,
for some reason or other, seemed as agitated as if it had a human
consciousness. One might almost have imagined it perceived the little
hump-back, and knew full well who and what he was.
But there on Joel's lips the flame hung quivering. And now a deeper
shadow fell upon his face.
Surely the tiny thing shuddered with horror as the hump-back's black
paws closed upon it!
But, in any case, it now was safely prisoned. And the little black man
laughed long and loudly.
"Not so bad a bargain after all!" chuckled he.
FOOTNOTE:
[A] To "_knaw tin_" is among the miners of Cornwall a sign of, and a
colloquial euphemism for, _cleverness_.
AN UNEXPECTED JOURNEY.
THE performance was over: the curtain had descended and the spectators
had dispersed.
There had been a slight crush at the doors of the theatre, and what with
the abrupt change from the pleasant warmth and light of the interior to
the sharp chill of the night outside, Preston shivered, and a sudden
weakness smote him at the joints.
The crowd on the pavement in front of the theatre melted away with
unexampled rapidity, in fact, seemed almost to waver and disappear as
if the _mise en scene_ had changed in some inexplicable way.
A hansom drove up, and Preston stepped into it heavily, glancing
drowsily askance at the driver as he did so.
Seated up there, barely visible in the gloom, the driver had an almost
grisly aspect, humped with waterproof capes, and with such a lean, white
face. Preston, as he glanced at him, shivered again.
The trap-door above him opened softly, and the colourless face peered
down at him curiously.
"Where to, sir?" asked the hollow voice.
Preston leaned back wearily. "Home," he replied.
It did not strike him as anything strange or unusual, that the driver
asked no questions but drove off without a word. He was very weary, and
he wanted to rest.
The sleepless hum of the city was abidingly in his ears, and the lamps
that dotted the misty pavements stared at him blinkingly all along the
route. The tall black buildings rose up grimly into the night; the faces
that flitted to and fro along the pavements, kept ever sliding past him
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STORY***
E-text prepared by Linda Cantoni, Bryan Ness, Emmy, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images
generously made available by Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries
(http://www.archive.org/details/toronto)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 37510-h.htm or 37510-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/37510/37510-h/37510-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/37510/37510-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries. See
http://www.archive.org/details/bytrenchtrailins00mackuoft
[Illustration]
BY TRENCH AND TRAIL IN SONG AND STORY
by
ANGUS MACKAY (Oscar Dhu)
Author of
"Donald Morrison--The Canadian Outlaw"
"A Tale of the Pioneers"
"Poems of a Politician"
"Pioneer Sketches"
Etc., Etc.
Illustrated
Mackay Printing & Publishing Co.
Seattle and Vancouver
1918
Copyright 1918 by
Angus MacKay
INTRODUCTION.
A number of the songs in this collection have been heard by campfire and
trail from the camps of British Columbia to the lumber camps of Maine.
Several of the songs have been fired at the Huns "somewhere in France,"
no doubt with deadly effect. And also at the Turks on the long long hike
to Bagdad and beyond.
And it is not impossible that some of my countrymen are now warbling
snatches of my humble verse to the accompaniment of bagpipes on the
streets of the New Jerusalem! Many of the verses have appeared from time
to time in leading publications from Vancouver, B. C., to the New
England States and Eastern Canada; while others appear in print here for
the first time.
From all parts of the land I have received letters at various times
asking for extra copies of some particular song in my humble collection,
which I was not in a position to supply at the time.
I therefore decided to publish some of the songs for which a demand had
been expressed, and in so doing offer to the reading public in
extenuation of my offense the plea that in a manner this humble volume
is being published by request.
I offer no apology for my "dialect" songs as they have already received
the approval of music lovers whose judgment is beyond criticism.
For the errors which must inevitably creep into the work of a
non-college-bred lumberjack, I crave the indulgence of all highbrows who
may resent my inability to comb the classics for copy to please them.
All the merit I can claim is the ability to rhyme a limerick or sing a
"come-all-ye" in a manner perhaps not unpleasing to my friends.
The lumberjacks will understand me, I am sure, and will appreciate my
humble efforts to entertain them.
As for the genial highbrow, should he deem me an interloper in the realm
of letters and imagine that my wild, uncultured notes are destroying the
harmony of his supersensitive soul, I shall "lope" back to the tall
timber again and seek sympathy and appreciation among the lumberjacks of
the forest primeval, where, amid the wild surroundings and the crooning
of the trees, there is health for mind and body borne on every passing
breeze. Yes, there's something strangely healing in the magic of the
myrrh, in the odor of the cedar and the fragrance of the fir.
There the hardy lumberjack is the undisputed lord of the lowlands and
chief of the highlands, and at the present time no soldier in the
trenches or sailor on the rolling deep has a more arduous task to
perform or a more important duty to discharge than he.
Toil on, ye Titans of the tall timbers; steadfast soldiers of the saw,
and able allies of the axe. Carry on till the stately trees which
constitute the glory of the West are converted into ships and planes in
countless thousands, to win the great war for freedom and to make the
world safe for democracy--and lumberjacks!
THE AUTHOR.
ILLUSTRATIONS
Frontispiece
"Where the tall, majestic pine tree branches wave" 124
"Christmas in Quebec" 14
"Gagne's Cavalry" 52
"Sergeant-Major Larry" 76
"I am now one lumberjack" 110
"Another Findlay like your own" 141
_Illustrations by
Lieutenant William R. McKay
with 161st U.S.A. in France_
CONTENTS
DESTINY 11
There's a grand, grand view unfolding.
THE SONS OF OUR MOTHERS 12
In the Ramah's of our day.
CHRISTMAS IN QUEBEC 15
I got notice sometam lately.
THE CLEVELAND MESSAGE 22
It is such a fad at present.
THE SULTAN AT POTSDAM 27
Mohammed, Dammed gift of God,
JOHN LABONNE'S DREAM 41
All las' night I was me dreaming,
THE DERELICT 44
I will write a short sketch of a
free-hearted wretch.
GAGNE'S CAVALRY 49
Ma Rosie write to me somet'ing,
THE GRIPPE 54
To see us now deceivers.
TRUDEL'S TRAVELS 58
Said Joe, I mus' go w'ere de snow
she don' blow,
THE END OF THE TRAIL 71
I was summoned in the gloaming,
HOMESICK 75
I am tire' now for roam Rosemarie,
THE GALLANT 58TH 77
O come all ye loyal volunteers,
THE FENIAN RAID 82
From de country of de Eagle,
A LEAP YEAR PARTY 87
The night before last Hallowe'en,
THE HOLLERNZOLLERN'S PRAYER 91
Dear Gott, der weight of "right divine,"
ALASKA BOUNDARY LINE 95
Now that little Venezuela,
THE GUARD OF LAFAYETTE 99
Ma Rosie say to me today,
THE LUMBERJACK 103
We have songs on many topics,
THE BOOK AGENT 107
The sun rose in beauty,
JEAN LABONNE 111
I am now one lumberjack,
CANADIANS, GUARD YOUR OWN 113
"On feet of clay," false prophets say,
GUARD THE GAELIC 116
Is it not our bounden right?
THE AMERICAN EAGLE 120
Lofty is thy habitation,
DONALD McLEOD 123
The sun hath set and leaves the day,
OVER THE TOP 127
A lusty lad from Lewis,
THE ALKALI LAND 130
I left my old home and my friends in
the East,
A CHRISTMAS DREAM 135
One Christmas night I sallied forth,
DESTINY
There's a grand, grand view unfolding
And it pictures our future goal:
There's a strong, strong army moulding
Our land into one great whole;
There's a world-wide movement holding
Firm the lines of our destiny:
And 'twill never cease
Till the earth
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PRISONS***
E-text prepared by Graeme Mackreth 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 illustration.
See 57440-h.htm or 57440-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/57440/57440-h/57440-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/57440/57440-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/soldiersexperien00prut
[Illustration: C. M. PRUTSMAN.]
A SOLDIER'S EXPERIENCE IN SOUTHERN PRISONS
by
C. M. PRUTSMAN
Lieut. in Seventh Regiment, Wisconsin Volunteers
A Graphic
Description of the Author's Experiences
in Various Southern Prisons
[Illustration]
New York
Andrew H. Kellogg
1901
Copyright, 1901,
By C. M. Prutsman,
Lexington, Neb.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
Events preceding my capture--The last day of freedom--A
major's folly--My picket line captured--Warrenton--I
lose a valuable pair of boots--Culpepper--Farewell
to the boots--A disappointing test of good faith 5
CHAPTER II.
Libby--Now I lose my money--"Fresh fish"--Quarters and
rations--Boxes from home--Two majors escape--A general
conspiracy--Bad news and new prisoners--General
Butler saves two Union officers by threatening to hang
Captains Fitzhugh Lee and Winder--Two female prisoners
discovered in male attire in Belle Isle--We secure
their release 13
CHAPTER III.
Sick in the smallpox ward--A new plan of escape--Over a
powder mine--The plan fails--Filling the roll, one hundred
and nine men "short"--Shot at through windows--"Bread!
bread!"--Hopes of exchange--May 1st--Boxes
which had passed in the night--Brutes--More boxes--Danville,
May 8th--Two weeks later, Macon 20
CHAPTER IV.
A tunnel spoiled by the rain--Captain Tabb's cruelties--Corn
pone bakers--July 4th squelched--Beyond the "dead
line"--Caught--Sherman sixty miles away--Charleston--<DW64>
regimental prisoners--In the gallows' shadow--Whipping-post--Paroles
--Money exchange drafts--The Anderson men 29
CHAPTER V.
Sherman devastates Northern Georgia--Columbia "Camp
Sorghum"--A "dug-out"--I get away--Free--An unexpected
plunge--Trouble ahead--Recaptured--A meal--The
"debtor's cell" at Abbeville--Back to "Sorghum" 41
CHAPTER VI.
An "underground railway"--More paroles--Bloodhounds--Bribing
the guard--Bloodhound steaks--Two hundred
and fifty prisoners "short"--Back to Columbia--Building
barracks--A good tunnel started 50
CHAPTER VII.
Five of us have a narrow escape from the train--Friendly
<DW64>s--A good old "shakedown" 57
CHAPTER VIII.
Surrounded by rebel forces--Undiscovered--Skirmishing for
food--<DW71>--<DW71>'s schemes--<DW71> brings succor--At
headquarters--<DW71>'s reward 65
CHAPTER IX.
General Logan--General Sherman--Clean at last--General
Hobart's hospitality--Luxurious ease--A ghastly reminder
of horrors escaped--Washington "short"--Ordered
back to my regiment--An honorable discharge 74
A SOLDIER'S EXPERIENCE IN SOUTHERN PRISONS.
CHAPTER I.
Events preceding my capture--The last day of freedom--A major's
folly--My picket line captured--Warrenton--I lose a valuable pair of
boots--Culpepper--Farewell to the boots--A disappointing test of good
faith.
My enlistment in the service of the United States as a soldier to
aid in putting down the rebellion of 1861-5 bears the date, August
2, 1861. I was mustered into the service as a second sergeant of Co.
I, 7th Regiment, Wisconsin Infantry, August 28, 1861, which regiment
afterwards formed a part of the famous "Iron Brigade." I was afterwards
promoted to the rank of orderly sergeant, serving as such until April
15, 1863, when I was commissioned second lieutenant, and finally on May
4, 1863, received my commission
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Kentuckiana Digital Library)
_CHARLES DI TOCCA_
_A Tragedy_
_By_
_Cale Young Rice_
_McClure, Phillips & Co._
_New York_
1903
COPYRIGHT, 1903, BY
CALE YOUNG RICE
Published, March, 1903, R
_To My Wife_
_CHARLES DI TOCCA_
CHARLES DI TOCCA
_A Tragedy_
CHARLES DI TOCCA _Duke of Leucadia, Tyrant of Arta, etc._
ANTONIO DI TOCCA _His son._
HAEMON _A Greek noble._
BARDAS _His friend._
CARDINAL JULIAN _The Pope's Legate._
AGABUS _A mad monk._
CECCO _Seneschal of the Castle._
FULVIA COLONNA _Under the duke's protection._
HELENA _Sister to Haemon._
GIULIA _Serving Fulvia._
PAULA _Serving Helena._
LYGIA }
PHAON } _Revellers._
ZOE }
BASIL }
NARDO, a boy, and DIOGENES, a philosopher.
A Captain of the Guard, Soldiers, Guests, Attendants, etc.
_Time_: _Fifteenth Century._
ACT ONE
_Scene._--_The Island Leucadia. A ruined temple of Apollo near the town
of Pharo. Broken columns and stones are strewn, or stand desolately
about. It is night--the moon rising. ANTONIO, who has been waiting
impatiently, seats himself on a stone. By a road near the ruins FULVIA
enters, cloaked._
ANTONIO (_turning_): Helen----!
FULVIA: A comely name, my lord.
ANTONIO: Ah, you?
My father's unforgetting Fulvia?
FULVIA: At least not Helena, whoe'er she be.
ANTONIO: And did I call you so?
FULVIA: Unless it is
These stones have tongue and passion.
ANTONIO: Then the night
Recalling dreams of dim antiquity's
Heroic bloom worked on me.--But whence are
Your steps, so late, alone?
FULVIA: From the Cardinal,
Who has but come.
ANTONIO: What comfort there?
FULVIA: With doom
The moody bolt of Rome broods over us.
ANTONIO: My father will not bind his heresy?
FULVIA: You with him walked to-day. What said he?
ANTONIO: I?
With him to-day? Ah, true. What may be done?
FULVIA: He has been strange of late and silent, laughs,
Seeing the Cross, but softly and almost
As it were some sweet thing he loved.
ANTONIO (_absently_): As if
'Twere some sweet thing--he laughs--is strange--you say?
FULVIA: Stranger than is Antonio his son,
Who but for some expectancy is vacant.
(_She makes to go._)
ANTONIO: Stay, Fulvia, though I am not in poise.
Last night I dreamed of you: in vain you hovered
To reach me from the coil of swift Charybdis.
(_A low cry, ANTONIO starts._)
Fulvia: A woman's voice!
(_Looking down the road._)
And hasting here!
ANTONIO: Alone?
FULVIA: No, with another!
ANTONIO: Go, then, Fulvia.
'Tis one would speak with me.
FULVIA: Ah? (_She goes._)
_Enter HELENA frightedly with PAULA._
HELENA: Antonio!
ANTONIO: My Helena, what is it? You are wan
And tremble as a blossom quick with fear
Of shattering. What is it? Speak.
HELENA: Not true!
O, 'tis not true!
ANTONIO: What have you chanced upon?
HELENA: Say no to me, say no, and no again!
ANTONIO: Say no, and no?
HELENA: Yes; I am reeling, wrung,
With one glance o'er the precipice of ill!
Say his incanted prophecies spring from
No power that's more than frenzied fantasy!
ANTONIO: Who prophesies? Who now upon this isle
More than visible and present day
Can gather to his eye? Tell me.
HELENA: The monk--
Ah, chide me not!--mad Agabus, who can
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ROUGHING IT
by Mark Twain
1880
Part 2.
CHAPTER XI.
And sure enough, two or three years afterward, we did hear him again.
News came to the Pacific coast that the Vigilance Committee in Montana
(whither Slade had removed from Rocky Ridge) had hanged him. I find an
account of the affair in the thrilling little book I quoted a paragraph
from in the last chapter--"The Vigilantes of Montana; being a Reliable
Account of the Capture, Trial and Execution of Henry Plummer's Notorious
Road Agent Band: By Prof. Thos. J. Dimsdale, Virginia City, M.T."
Mr. Dimsdale's chapter is well worth reading, as a specimen of how the
people of the frontier deal with criminals when the courts of law prove
inefficient. Mr. Dimsdale makes two remarks about Slade, both of which
are accurately descriptive, and one of which is exceedingly picturesque:
"Those who saw him in his natural state only, would pronounce him to be a
kind husband, a most hospitable host and a courteous gentleman; on the
contrary, those who met him when maddened with liquor and surrounded by a
gang of armed roughs, would pronounce him a fiend incarnate." And this:
"From Fort Kearney, west, he was feared a great deal more than the
almighty." For compactness, simplicity and vigor of expression, I will
"back" that sentence against anything in literature. Mr. Dimsdale's
narrative is as follows. In all places where italics occur, they are
mine:
After the execution of the five men on the 14th of January, the
Vigilantes considered that their work was nearly ended. They had
freed the country of highwaymen and murderers to a great extent, and
they determined that in the absence of the regular civil authority
they would establish a People's Court where all offenders should be
tried by judge and jury. This was the nearest approach to social
order that the circumstances permitted, and, though strict legal
authority was wanting, yet the people were firmly determined to
maintain its efficiency, and to enforce its decrees. It may here be
mentioned that the overt act which was the last round on the fatal
ladder leading to the scaffold on which Slade perished, was the
tearing in pieces and stamping upon a writ of this court, followed
by his arrest of the Judge Alex. Davis, by authority of a presented
Derringer, and with his own hands.
J. A. Slade was himself, we have been informed, a Vigilante; he
openly boasted of it, and said he knew all that they knew. He was
never accused, or even suspected, of either murder or robbery,
committed in this Territory (the latter crime was never laid to his
charge, in any place); but that he had killed several men in other
localities was notorious, and his bad reputation in this respect was
a most powerful argument in determining his fate, when he was
finally arrested for the offence above mentioned. On returning from
Milk River he became more and more addicted to drinking, until at
last it was a common feat for him and his friends to "take the
town." He and a couple of his dependents might often be seen on one
horse, galloping through the streets, shouting and yelling, firing
revolvers, etc. On many occasions he would ride his horse into
stores, break up bars, toss the scales out of doors and use most
insulting language to parties present. Just previous to the day of
his arrest, he had given a fearful beating to one of his followers;
but such was his influence over them that the man wept bitterly at
the gallows, and begged for his life with all his power. It had
become quite common, when Slade was on a spree, for the shop-keepers
and citizens to close the stores and put out all the lights; being
fearful of some outrage at his hands. For his wanton destruction of
goods and furniture, he was always ready to pay, when sober, if he
had money; but there were not a few who regarded payment as small
satisfaction for the outrage, and these men were his personal
enemies.
From time to time Slade received warnings from men that he well knew
would not deceive him, of the certain end of his conduct. There was
not a moment, for weeks previous to his arrest, in which the public
did not expect to hear of some bloody outrage. The dread of
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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 of a little time
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PRINCES AND POISONERS
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR AND TRANSLATOR_
LEGENDS OF THE BASTILLE. BY FRANTZ FUNCK-BRENTANO. With an Introduction
by VICTORIEN SARDOU. Translated by GEORGE MAIDMENT. 1899. Crown 8vo.
Cloth, 6_s._
CONTENTS.--I. The Archives; II. History of the Bastille; III. Life in
the Bastille; IV. The Man in the Iron Mask; V. Men of Letters in the
Bastille; VI. Latude; VII. The Fourteenth of July.
LONDON: DOWNEY AND CO., LIMITED.
[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF GABRIEL NICOLAS DE LA REYNIE
LIEUTENANT-GENERAL OF POLICE
(_Engraved by Van Schuppen, after the painting by Mignard_)]
Princes and Poisoners
STUDIES OF THE COURT OF LOUIS XIV
BY
FRANTZ FUNCK-BRENTANO
TRANSLATED BY
GEORGE MAIDMENT
[Illustration: colphon]
LONDON
_DUCKWORTH and CO._
3 HENRIETTA STREET, W.C.
1901
_Second Impression, May 1901_
_All rights reserved._
PREFATORY NOTE
Twelve months ago I had the honour of introducing M. Frantz
Funck-Brentano to the English public by my translation of his _Legendes
et Archives de la Bastille_, and in my preface to that book I
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VOLUMES 1-3) ***
Produced by Al Haines.
*THE ROMANCE OF WAR:*
OR,
THE HIGHLANDERS
IN FRANCE AND BELGIUM.
A SEQUEL TO
THE HIGHLANDERS IN SPAIN.
BY
JAMES GRANT, ESQ.
_Late 62nd Regiment._
"In the garb of old Gaul, with the fire of old Rome,
From the heath-covered mountains of Scotia we come;
Our loud-sounding pipe breathes the true martial strain,
And our hearts still the old Scottish valour retain."
_Lt.-Gen. Erskine._
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER,
GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
1847.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY MAURICE AND CO., HOWFORD BUILDINGS,
FENCHURCH STREET.
*CONTENTS*
Chapter
I. Toulouse
II. Adventures
III. The Lady of Elizondo
IV. Cifuentes
V. Home
VI. The Torre de Los Frayles
VII. Spanish Law
VIII. An Acquaintance, and "Old England on the Lee"
IX. Flanders
X. Cameron of Fassifern
XI. The 17th June, 1815
XII. The 18th of June
XIII. The Sister of Charity
XIV. France
XV. The Chateau de Marielle
XVI. Paris, De Mesmai, and the Hotel de Clugny
XVII. A Catastrophe
XVIII. The Homeward March
XIX. Edinburgh
XX. Lochisla
XXI. Alice
XXII. News from Afar
XXIII. Conclusion
*PREFACE.*
Numerous inquiries having been made for the conclusion of "The Romance
of War," it is now presented to the Public, whom the Author has to thank
for the favourable reception given to the first three volumes of his
Work.
In following out the adventures of the Highlanders, he has been obliged
to lead them through the often-described field of Waterloo. But the
reader will perceive that he has touched on the subject briefly; and,
avoiding all general history, has confined himself, as much as possible,
to the movements of Sir Dennis Pack's brigade.
Notwithstanding that so many able military narratives have of late years
issued from the press, the Author believes that the present work is _the
first_ which has been almost exclusively dedicated to the adventures of
a Highland regiment during the last war; the survivors of which he has
to congratulate on their prospect of obtaining the long-withheld, but
well-deserved, _medal_.
Few--few indeed of the old corps are now alive; yet these all remember,
with equal pride and sorrow,
"How, upon bloody Quatre Bras,
Brave CAMERON heard the wild hurra
Of conquest as he fell;"
and, lest any reader may suppose that in these volumes the national
enthusiasm of the Highlanders has been over-drawn, I shall state one
striking incident which occurred at Waterloo.
On the advance of a heavy column of French infantry to attack La Haye
Sainte, a number of the Highlanders sang the stirring verses of "Bruce's
Address to his Army," which, at such a time, had a most powerful effect
on their comrades; and long may such sentiments animate their
representatives, as they are the best incentives to heroism, and to
honest emulation!
EDINBURGH,
_June_ 1847.
*THE ROMANCE OF WAR*
*CHAPTER I.*
*TOULOUSE.*
"One crowded hour of glorious life,
Is worth an age without a name!"
The long and bloody war of the Peninsula had now been brought to a final
close, and the troops looked forward with impatience to the day of
embarkation for their homes. The presence of the allied army was no
longer necessary in France; but the British forces yet lingered about
the Garonne, expecting the long-wished and long-looked for route for
Britain. The Gordon Highlanders were quartered at Muret, a small town
on the banks of the Garonne, and a few miles from Toulouse. One evening,
while the mess were discussing, over their wine, the everlasting theme
of the probable chances of the corps being ordered to Scotland, the
sound of galloping hoofs and the clank of accoutrements were heard in
the street of the village. A serjeant of the First Dragoons, with the
foam-bells hanging on his horse's bridle, reined up at the door of the
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THE DAY'S WORK
By Rudyard Kipling
CONTENTS
THE BRIDGE-BUILDERS
A WALKING DELEGATE
THE SHIP THAT FOUND HERSELF
THE TOMB OF HIS ANCESTORS
THE DEVIL AND THE DEEP SEA
WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR
.007
THE MALTESE CAT
BREAD UPON THE WATERS
AN ERROR IN THE FOURTH DIMENSION
MY SUNDAY AT HOME
THE BRUSHWOOD BOY
THE BRIDGE-BUILDERS
The least that Findlayson, of the Public Works Department, expected was
a C. I. E.; he dreamed of a C. S. I.: indeed, his friends told him
that he deserved more. For three years he had endured heat and cold,
disappointment, discomfort, danger, and disease, with responsibility
almost too heavy for one pair of shoulders; and day by day, through that
time, the great Kashi Bridge over the Ganges had grown under his charge.
Now, in less than three months, if all went well, his Excellency the
Viceroy would open the bridge in state, an archbishop would bless it,
and the first trainload of soldiers would come over it, and there would
be speeches.
Findlayson, C. E., sat in his trolley on a construction line that ran
along one of the main revetments--the huge stone-faced banks that flared
away north and south for three miles on either side of the river--and
permitted himself to think of the end. With its approaches, his work was
one mile and three-quarters fin length; a lattice-girder bridge, trussed
with the Findlayson tr
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_NAPOLEON’S_
APPEAL
TO THE
BRITISH NATION,
ON
_HIS TREATMENT_
AT
SAINT HELENA.
THE OFFICIAL MEMOIR, DICTATED BY HIM,
AND DELIVERED TO
SIR HUDSON LOWE.
[Illustration]
London:
_Printed by Macdonald and Son, Cloth Fair_,
FOR WILLIAM HONE, 55, FLEET STREET,
AND 67, OLD BAILEY,
THREE DOORS FROM LUDGATE HILL.
1817.
_Price Two-Pence._
APPEAL, &c.
M. Santini, Huissier du Cabinet de l’Empereur NAPOLEON, arrived at
Portsmouth from St. Helena on the 25th February 1817. He affirms,
that Napoleon, on his arrival at St. Helena, was treated by Sir
George COCKBURN with respect and delicacy. He was afterwards
transferred to Longwood, once a farm belonging to the East India
Company. In this wretched asylum he still remains. His sleeping
chamber is scarcely large enough to contain a bed and a few chairs.
The roof of this hovel consists of paper, coated with pitch, which is
beginning to rot, and through which the rain-water and dew penetrate.
In addition to all these inconveniences, the house is infested by
rats, who devour every thing that they can reach. All the Emperor’s
linen, even that which was lately sent from England, has been gnawed
and completely destroyed by them. For want of closets, the linen is
necessarily exposed upon the floor. When the Emperor is at dinner, the
rats run about the apartment, and even creep between his feet. The
report of a house having been sent from England is false. The _new_
Governor has introduced into the house of the Emperor _absolute want_.
The provisions he furnished were always in too small a quantity, and
also very often of bad quality, and in the latter case, when sent
back, were never replaced by others more fit for use. Often being
without butcher’s meat for the Emperor’s table, the steward has sent to
purchase a sheep for _four guineas_, and sometimes could only procure
_pork_ for making soup. Captain Poppleton, of the 53d regiment, has
often lent candles, as well as bread, butter, poultry, and even salt.
M. Santini was, even from necessity, in the habit of repairing secretly
to the English camp to purchase butter, eggs, and bread, of the
soldiers’ wives, otherwise the Emperor would often have been without
breakfast, and even without dinner. The Governor sent seven servants to
Longwood, but the Emperor was obliged to dismiss four of them, _from
inability to supply them with food! The Emperor is limited to a bottle
of wine per day!_ Marshal and Madame Bertrand, General Montholon and
his Lady, General Gourgand, and Count de Las Cassas, have also each
their bottle. Marshal Bertrand has three children; M. de Montholon two;
and M. de Las Cassas one, about fifteen or sixteen years of age; and
for all these mouths the Governor allows no rations.
In this state of things the Emperor has been compelled to sell all his
plate to procure the first necessaries of life. M. Santini broke it in
pieces before it was sent to the market. The produce was deposited,
by order of the Governor, in the hands of Mr. Balcombe. When the
house-steward, wishing to supply the deficiency of the provisions
furnished by the Governor, makes purchases himself (which happens every
day), he can only pay them by orders upon Mr. Balcombe. When M. Santini
did not succeed in shooting a few pigeons in the neighbourhood of their
dwelling, the Emperor frequently had nothing for breakfast. Provisions
did not reach Longwood until two or three o’clock in the afternoon.
There is no water fit for cooking at Longwood. Very good water may,
however, be procured at a distance of 1200 yards, which might be
conveyed to the Emperor’s barracks at an expence of from 12 to 1500
francs. The house is only supplied by the water which is brought from
this fountain; it is open only once during the day, at all other times
it is locked. It is guarded by an English officer, who is scarcely ever
present when water is wanted. There is a
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[Illustration: cover]
TO THE FORE WITH THE TANKS!
THE GREAT
ADVENTURE
SERIES
PERCY F. WESTERMAN:
THE AIRSHIP "GOLDEN HIND"
TO THE FORE WITH THE TANKS
THE SECRET BATTLEPLANE
WILMSHURST OF THE FRONTIER FORCE
ROWLAND WALKER:
DEVILLE MCKEENE
THE EXPLOITS OF THE MYSTERY
AIRMAN
BLAKE OF THE MERCHANT SERVICE
BUCKLE OF SUBMARINE V2
OSCAR DANBY, V.C.
DASTRAL OF THE FLYING CORPS
THE PHANTOM AIRMAN
S. W. PARTRIDGE & CO.
4, 5, & 6 SOHO SQUARE
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A
SUMMER IN THE WILDERNESS;
EMBRACING
A CANOE VOYAGE
UP THE MISSISSIPPI AND AROUND LAKE SUPERIOR.
BY
CHARLES LANMAN,
AUTHOR OF “ESSAYS FOR SUMMER HOURS,” ETC.
And I was in the wilderness alone.
Bryant.
NEW-YORK:
D. APPLETON & COMPANY, 200 BROADWAY.
PHILADELPHIA:
GEO. S. APPLETON, 148 CHESNUT-ST.
MDCCCXLVII.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1847,
By D. APPLETON & COMPANY,
in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the Southern District of
New-York.
TO
JAMES F. MELINE, ESQ.,
OF
CINCINNATI, OHIO,
THIS VOLUME
IS,
WITH FEELINGS OF THE HIGHEST RESPECT,
AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED,
BY HIS FRIEND,
THE AUTHOR.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
Saint Louis—a Western Artist—Twilight in a Cathedral, 13
CHAPTER II.
The Lower Mississippi—Entrance to the Upper Mississippi—The Lower
Rapids—Scenery—Rock Island, 20
CHAPTER III.
Starved Rock on the Illinois—Legend of the Illinois Indians, 26
CHAPTER IV.
Nauvoo—Temple of Nauvoo—A Mormon, and his story—Superb Panorama, 30
CHAPTER V.
The Upper Rapids—Scenery—Prairie Du Chien—Battle of Bad Axe—The
Winnebagoe Indians—Winneshic, Chief of the Winnebagoes—A
Visit to his Wigwam, 34
CHAPTER VI.
The Lead Region—Anecdote of a noted Western Character, 41
CHAPTER VII.
The Alpine Region of the Mississippi—Lake Pepin—Wabashaw, Chief of
the Sioux—An Old Woman, and her story—Legend of Winona, 45
CHAPTER VIII.
Red-Wing Village—Lake Saint Croix—Little Crow, a Sioux
Chief—Scenery, 51
CHAPTER IX.
Mouth of the Saint Peter’s—Dog Feast—Playing Ball—The Sioux
Indians—The Soldier Artist—A Naturalist—Carver’s
Cave—Beautiful Waterfall—Falls of St. Anthony—Legend
connected with them, 56
CHAPTER X.
A Ride on Horseback—Grouse Shooting—A Wilderness Supper—A Race
with a Pack of Wolves, 64
CHAPTER XI.
Crow-Wing—Famous Battle fought here—Legend of the White
Panther—Hole-in-the-Day, Chief of the Chippeway
Indians—The Scalpless Indian—Indian Swimmers—Begging
Dance—Torchlight Fishing, 68
CHAPTER XII.
The Indian Trader—The Fur Trade, 75
CHAPTER XIII.
Spirit Lake—Legends of the Mysterious Spirit—Story of
White-Fisher—Story of Elder-Brother—Outside Feather—Legend
of the Mole, 80
CHAPTER XIV.
The Mississippi—Lake Winnepeg—Bear Hunt—Bear Feast—A Dream, and
its Fulfillment—Manner of Treating the Dead—A Wilderness
Grave-Yard, 85
CHAPTER XV.
Red Cedar Lake—The Chippeway Indians—Their Country—Their Idea of
Creation—Their Religion—Their Heaven and Hell—Their Manner
of Winning the Title of Brave—Their Manner of Life—Their
Idea of Marriage, and Mode of Courtship—Their Hospitality, 91
CHAPTER XVI.
Elk Lake and Surrounding Region—Legend of the Mammoth Elk—Four
Wilderness Pictures, 98
CHAPTER XVII.
Leech Lake—The Pillagers—The Medicine Dance—The Medicine
Society—Virgin Dance—Red River Trappers—Legend of the Two
Women—Legend of Pelican Island—Legend of a Battle between
the Gods of the White and Red Men—Original Indian
Corn—Game of this Region, 104
CHAPTER XVIII.
Fish of the Mississippi—A Catfish Adventure—Spearing Muskalounge—A
Trouting Adventure, 110
CHAPTER XIX.
Sandy Lake—A queer way of making a Portage, 117
CHAPTER XX.
The Saint Louis River—The Chippeway Falls—Fon du Lac—Scenery of
the Lower Saint Louis, and Passage to Lake Superior, 121
CHAPTER XXI.
General Description of Lake Superior, 128
CHAPTER XXII.
American Shore of Lake Superior—Picturesque Cliffs—Isle
Royal—Apostle Islands—La Point—Indian Payment—Streams
Emptying into the Lake, 132
CHAPTER XXIII.
Canadian Shore of Lake Superior—Thunder Cape—Cariboo Point—The
Island Wonder, with its Watch-Tower and Beautiful
Lake—Menaboujou—His Death and Monument, 136
CHAPTER XXIV.
The Voyager—My Voyaging Companions—Our Mode of Travelling, with
its Pleasures and Miseries—Making Portages—Passing
Rapids—Narrow Escape—The Voyager’s Cheerfulness—Canadian
Songs—Voyaging on Superior—A Midnight Prospect, 141
CHAPTER XXV.
The Copper Region—Rich Discoveries—Copper Companies—Point
Keweenaw—Its Towns and People—Upstart Geologists—A
Conglomerate Paragraph, 152
CHAPTER XXVI.
Sault Saint Marie—Fish of Lake Superior—The Lake Trout—The Common
Trout—The White Fish—A Run down the Sault, 157
CHAPTER XXVII.
Mackinaw—Arched Rock—Robinson’s Folly—The Cave of Skulls—The
Needle—An Idler’s Confession—Mackinaw in the Summer and in
the Winter—Its Destiny, 162
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Recollections of Michigan, 167
SUMMER IN THE WILDERNESS.
CHAPTER I.
Saint Louis, June, 1846.
The River Queen, as Saint Louis is sometimes called, is looked upon as
the threshold leading to the wild and romantic region of the Upper
Mississippi. It was founded in the year seventeen hundred and
sixty-four, by two Frenchmen, named Laclade and Chouteau, who were
accompanied by about thirty Creoles. The first steamer which landed here
came from New Orleans in the year eighteen hundred and nineteen; but the
number now belonging here is rated at three hundred, many of which are
unsurpassed in speed and splendor of accommodations. The population of
this city amounts to forty thousand souls. It is elevated some eighty
feet above the low-water mark of the Mississippi, and from the river
presents a handsome appearance. The old part of the town is inhabited by
a French population, and is in a dilapidated condition; but the more
modern portion is distinguished for its handsome streets, and tastefully
built mansions and public buildings. Fronting the levee or landing are
several blocks of stone stores, which give one an idea of the extensive
business transacted here. On one occasion I saw this wharfing ground so
completely crowded with merchandise of every possible variety, that
travellers were actually compelled to walk from the steamboats to the
hotels. This city is the home market for all the natural productions of
a wilderness country extending in different directions for thousands of
miles, and watered by several of the largest rivers in the world. Its
growth, however, has been somewhat retarded by the peculiar character of
its original inhabitants. The acknowledged wealth of many of its leading
men can only be equalled by their illiberality and want of enterprise.
But time is committing sad ravages among these ancient citizens, for
they are, from age and infirmities, almost daily dropping into the place
of graves. Under the benign influence of true American enterprise, this
city is rapidly becoming distinguished for its New England character, in
spite of the retarding cause alluded to above, and the baneful
institution of Slavery. In fine, it possesses, to an uncommon degree,
all the worthy qualities which should belong to an enlightened and
eminently prosperous city.
There is one unique feature connected with the River Queen, which gives
it, at times, a most romantic appearance. It is the point whence must
start all distant expeditions to the North and West, and where the
treasures of the wilderness are prepared for re-shipment to the more
distant markets of our own and foreign countries. Here, during the
spring and summer months may often be seen caravans about to depart for
California, Santa Fe, the Rocky Mountains, and Oregon, while the
sprightly step and sparkling eye will speak to you of the hopes and
anticipations which animate the various adventurers. At one time,
perhaps, may be seen a company of toil-worn trappers entering the city,
after an absence of months, far away on the head waters of the
Mississippi and Missouri rivers, where they have hunted the beaver, the
buffalo, the otter, the bear, and the deer; and as they steal away to
their several homes, from the door of the Fur Company, where they have
just rendered their account, it does the heart good to ponder on the
joys which will be brought into existence by the happy return. And the
Indians, from different nations, who often visit this place, also add
greatly to the picturesque appearance of its streets. Summoned by
curiosity, they congregate here in large numbers, and while their gaudy
trappings and painted faces remind us of the strange wild life they
lead, their prowling propensities and downcast eyes inform us of the
melancholy fact, that they are the victims of a most heartless, though
lawful oppression. This remark, by the way, reminds me of a living
picture which I lately witnessed, and will briefly describe. It was the
sunset hour, and I was returning from a ride on the eastern bank of the
great river. The western sky was flooded with a saffron glow, in the
midst of which floated unnumbered cloud-islands, tinged with deepest
gold. Underneath lay the beautiful city, with its church-spires
up-pointing to the Christian’s home; then passed the rushing tide of the
Mississippi ploughed by many a proud keel; and in the foreground was a
woody bluff, on the brow of which sat a solitary Indian, humming a
strangely solemn song, as his white locks and eagle plumes waved in the
evening breeze. I asked no question of the sorrowing dreamer, but
pursued my way, pondering on the cruel destiny which has power to make
man a stranger and an exile, on the very soil from which he sprang, and
where repose the ashes of his forgotten kindred.
Lover as I am of genuine art, it will not do for me to leave this city,
the sturdy child of a new and great empire, without alluding to its
treasures in this particular. The bright particular star, who uses the
pencil here, is Charles Deas. He is a young man who left New-York about
eight years ago, for the purpose of studying his art in the wilds west
of the Mississippi. He makes this city his head-quarters, but annually
spends a few months among the Indian tribes, familiarizing himself with
their manners and customs, and he is honorably identifying himself with
the history and scenery of a most interesting portion of the continent.
The great charm of his productions is found in the strongly marked
national character which they bear. His collection of sketches is
already very valuable. The following are a few of the pictures which I
saw in his studio, and which pleased me exceedingly. One, called the
Indian Guide, represents an aged Indian riding in the evening twilight
on a piebald horse, apparently musing upon the times of old. The
sentiment of such a painting is not to be described, and can only be
felt by the beholder who has a passion for the wilderness. Another, Long
Jake, is the literal portrait of a celebrated character of the Rocky
Mountains. He looks like an untamed hawk, figures in a flaming red
shirt, and is mounted on a black stallion. He is supposed to be on the
ridge of a hill, and as the sky is blue, the figure stands out in the
boldest relief. Artistically speaking, this is a most daring effort of
the pencil, but the artist has decidedly triumphed. In a picture called
Setting out for the Mountains, Mr. Deas has represented a species of
American Cockney, who has made up his mind to visit the Rocky Mountains.
He is mounted on a bob-tailed, saucy-looking pony, and completely loaded
down with clothing, pistols, guns, and ammunition. He is accompanied by
a few covered wagons, a jolly servant to be his right-hand man, and two
dogs, which are frolicking on the prairie ahead, and while the man
directs the attention of his master to some game, the latter shrugs his
feeble shoulders, seems to think this mode of travelling exceedingly
fatiguing, and personifies the latter end of a misspent life. You
imagine that a few months have elapsed, and, turning to another picture,
you behold our hero Returning from the Mountains. Exposure and hardships
have transformed him into a superb looking fellow, and he is now full of
life and buoyancy, and riding with the most perfect elegance and ease a
famous steed of the prairies. The wagons, servant and dogs, are now in
the rear of our adventurer, who, comically dressed with nothing but a
cap, a calico shirt, and pair of buckskin pantaloons, is dashing ahead,
fearless of every danger that may happen to cross his path. These
pictures completely epitomize a personal revolution which is constantly
taking place on the frontiers. One of our artist’s more ambitious
productions, represents the daring feat of Captain Walker, during a
recent memorable battle in Mexico. The story is that the Captain, who
happened to be alone on a plain, had his horse killed from under him,
and was himself wounded in the leg. Supposing, as was the case, that the
Mexican savage would approach to take his scalp, he feigned himself
dead, as he lay upon his horse, and as his enemy was about to butcher
him, he fired and killed the rascal on the spot, and seizing the reins
of his enemy’s horse, he mounted him and rode into his own camp. In the
picture Walker is in the act of firing. But the picture upon which Mr.
Deas’s fame will probably rest, contains a large number of figures, and
represents the heroism of Captain James Clarke, who, when about to be
murdered by a council of Indians at North-Bend, threw the war-belt in
the midst of the savages, with a defying shout, and actually overwhelmed
them with astonishment, thereby saving his own life and those of his
companions. This picture is true to history in every particular, and
full of expression.
But enough about these productions of art. I am bound to the fountain
head of the Mississippi, and feel impatient to be with nature in the
wilderness. Before concluding this chapter, however, I will describe a
characteristic incident which I met with in Saint Louis.
I had been taking a lonely walk along the banks of the Mississippi, and,
in fancy, revelling amid the charms of this great western world, as it
existed centuries ago. My mind was in a dreamy mood, and as I re-entered
the city the hum of business fell like discord on my ear. It was the
hour of twilight and the last day of the week, and the citizens whom I
saw seemed anxious to bring their labors to a close that they might be
ready for the Sabbath.
While sauntering leisurely through a retired street, I was startled from
a waking dream, by the sound of a deep-toned bell, and, on lifting my
eyes, I found that I stood before the Catholic cathedral. I noticed a
dim light through one of the windows, and as the gates were open, I
remembered that it was the vesper hour, and entered the church. The
inner door noiselessly swung to, and I found myself alone, the spectator
of a most impressive scene. A single lamp, hanging before the altar,
threw out a feeble light, and so feeble was it, that a solemn gloom
brooded throughout the temple. While a dark shadow filled the aisles and
remote corners, the capitals of the massive pillars on either side were
lost in a still deeper shade. From the ceiling hung many a gorgeous
chandelier, which were now content to be eclipsed by the humble solitary
lamp. Scriptural paintings and pieces of statuary were on every side,
but I could discern that Christ was the centre of attraction in all.
Over, and around the altar too, were many works of art, together with a
multitudinous array of sacred symbols. Just in front of these, and in
the centre of the mystic throne, hung the lonely lamp, which seemed to
be endowed with a thinking principle, as its feeble rays shot out into
the surrounding darkness. That part of the cathedral where towered the
stupendous organ, was in deep shadow, but I knew it to be there by the
faint glistening of its golden pipes: as to the silence of the place, it
was perfectly death-like and holy. I chanced to heave a sigh, and that
very sigh was not without an echo. The distant hum of life, alone
convinced me that I was in a living world.
But softly! A footstep now breaks upon the silence! A priest in a
ghost-like robe, is passing from one chancel door to another. Another
footstep! and lo! a woman
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
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by The Kentuckiana Digital Library)
TO MY CHILDREN
EWART, LA VERNE, AND LOIS
WHO HAVE EVER BEEN MY
INSPIRING AUDIENCE
[Illustration: KENTUCKY
FROM ITS SETTLEMENT TO THE CIVIL WAR]
STORIES OF
OLD KENTUCKY
BY
MARTHA GRASSHAM PURCELL
AUTHOR OF "SETTLEMENTS AND CESSIONS OF LOUISIANA"
MEMBER OF THE BOARD OF EDUCATION
PADUCAH, KENTUCKY
[Illustration]
AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY
NEW YORK CINCINNATI CHICAGO
COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY
MARTHA GRASSHAM PURCELL.
COPYRIGHT, 1915, IN GREAT BRITAIN.
STORIES OF OLD KENTUCKY.
E.P.
PREFACE
To be easily assimilated, our mental food, like our physical food,
should be carefully chosen and attractively served.
The history of the "Dark and Bloody Ground" teems with adventure and
patriotism. Its pages are filled with the great achievements, the heroic
deeds, and the inspiring examples of the explorers, the settlers, and
the founders of our state. In the belief that a knowledge of their
struggles and conquests is food that is both instructive and inspiring,
and with a knowledge that a text on history does not always attract, the
author sets before the youth of Kentucky these stories of some of her
great men.
This book is intended as both a supplementary reader and a text, for,
though in story form, the chapters are arranged chronologically, and
every fact recorded has been verified.
Thanks are due to the many friends who have granted access to papers of
historical value, to many others who have assisted in making this book a
reality, and especially to my husband, Dr. Clyde Edison Purcell, for his
valuable suggestions, careful criticisms, and untiring cooeperation.
MARTHA GRASSHAM PURCELL.
CONTENTS
PAGE
WHEN THE OCEAN COVERED KENTUCKY 9
THE ABORIGINES OF KENTUCKY 10
SOME PREHISTORIC REMAINS 16
THE DISCOVERY OF KENTUCKY 18
INDIAN CLAIMS IN KENTUCKY 22
SCOUWA 23
THE GRAVEYARD OF THE MAMMOTHS 27
THE DRUID OF KENTUCKY 28
A PIONEER NOBLEMAN 33
EARLY KENTUCKY CUSTOMS 37
BOONE'S ILLUSTRIOUS PEER 41
BOONE'S TRACE 49
BOONE IN CAPTIVITY 52
BOONESBOROUGH'S BRAVE DEFENSE 56
THE LOST BABY 61
THE FIRST ROMANCE IN KENTUCKY 64
A WEDDING IN THE WILDERNESS 67
PIONEER CHILDREN 70
HOW THE PIONEERS MADE CHANGE 72
A WOMAN'S WILL 73
WHEN THE WOMEN BROUGHT THE WATER 76
THE RESULT OF ONE RASH ACT 83
TWO KENTUCKY HEROES 86
THE BATTLE OF THE BOARDS 89
THE FAITHFUL SLAVE AND HIS REWARD 91
THE DOUBLE SHOT 94
A MAN OF STRATEGY AND SAGACITY 96
THE KIND-HEARTED INDIAN 100
SAVED BY THE HUG OF A BEAR 101
A KENTUCKIAN DEFEATED THE BRITISH 105
A FAMOUS MARCH 110
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS PARTY 113
FORT JEFFERSON 115
"THE HARD WINTER" 118
WILDCAT MCKINNEY 119
HOW KENTUCKY WAS FORMED 122
KENTUCKY IN THE REVOLUTION 123
KENTUCKY'S PIONEER HISTORIAN 125
SPANISH CONSPIRACY 128
A KENTUCKY INVENTOR 135
OTHER KENTUCKY INVENTIONS 138
THE MAN WHO KNEW ABOUT BIRDS 140
A HERO OF HONOR 143
THE "PRIDE OF THE PENNYRILE" 150
LUCY JEFFERSON LE
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A SUMMER IN
LESLIE GOLDTHWAITE'S LIFE
By
Mrs. A. D. T. WHITNEY
1866, 1894
To
THE MEMORY OF MY DEAR FRIEND
MARIA S. CUMMINS
AND OF DAYS AMONG THE MOUNTAINS MADE
BEAUTIFUL BY HER COMPANIONSHIP
I DEDICATE THIS LITTLE STORY
PREFACE TO REAL FOLKS SERIES.
"Leslie Goldthwaite" was the first of a series of four, which grew from
this beginning, and was written in 1866 and the years nearly following;
the first two stories--this and "We Girls"--having been furnished, by
request, for the magazine "Our Young Folks," published at that time with
such success by Messrs. Fields, Osgood & Co., and edited by Mr. Howard
M. Ticknor and Miss Lucy Larcom. The last two volumes--"Real Folks" and
"The Other Girls"--were asked for to complete the set, and were not
delayed by serial publication, but issued at once, in their order of
completion, in book form.
There is a sequence of purpose, character, and incident in the four
stories, of which it is well to remind new readers, upon their
reappearance in fresh editions. They all deal especially with girl-life
and home-life; endeavoring, even in the narration of experiences outside
the home and seeming to preclude its life, to keep for girlhood and
womanhood the true motive and tendency, through whatever temporary
interruption and necessity, of and toward the best spirit and shaping of
womanly work and surrounding; making the home-life the ideal one, and
home itself the centre and goal of effort and hope.
The writing of "The Other Girls" was interrupted by the Great Fire of
1872, and the work upon the Women's Relief Committee, which brought
close contact and personal knowledge to reinforce mere sympathy and
theory,--and so, I hope, into this last of the series, a touch of
something that may deepen the influence of them all to stronger help.
* * * * *
I wish, without withdrawing or superseding the special dedication of
"Leslie Goldthwaite" to the memory of the dear friend with whom the
weeks were spent in which I gathered material for Leslie's "Summer," to
remember, in this new presentation of the whole series, that other
friend, with whom all the after work in it was associated and made the
first links of a long regard and fellowship, now lifted up and reaching
onward into the hopes and certainties of the "Land o' the Leal."
I wish to join to my own name in this, the name of Lucy Larcom, which
stands representative of most brave and earnest work, in most gentle,
womanly living.
ADELINE D. T. WHITNEY.
Milton, 1893.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
I. THE GREEN OF THE LEAF
II. WAYSIDE GLIMPSES
III. EYESTONES
IV. MARMADUKE WHARNE
V. HUMMOCKS
VI. DAKIE THAYNE
VII. DOWN AT OUTLEDGE
VIII. SIXTEEN AND SIXTY
IX. "I DON'T SEE WHY"
X. GEODES
XI. IN THE PINES
XII. CROWDED OUT
XIII. A HOWL
XIV. "FRIENDS OF MAMMON"
XV. QUICKSILVER AND GOLD
XVI. "WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL US?"
XVII. LEAF-GLORY
A SUMMER IN LESLIE GOLDTHWAITE'S LIFE.
CHAPTER I.
THE GREEN OF THE LEAF.
"Nothing but leaves--leaves--leaves! The green things don't know enough
to do anything better!"
Leslie Goldthwaite said this, standing in the bay-window among her
plants, which had been green and flourishing, but persistently
blossomless, all winter, and now the spring days were come.
Cousin Delight looked up; and her white ruffling, that she was daintily
hemstitching, fell to her lap, as she looked, still with a certain wide
intentness in her eyes, upon the pleasant window, and the bright, fresh
things it framed. Not the least bright and fresh among them was the
human creature in her early girlhood, tender and pleasant in its
beautiful leafage, but waiting, like any other young and growing life,
to prove what sort of flower should come of it.
"Now you've got one of your 'thoughts,' Cousin Delight! I see it
'biggening,' as Elspie says." Leslie turned round, with her little green
watering-pot suspended in her hand, waiting for the thought.
To have a thought, and to give it, were nearly simultaneous things with
Cousin Delight; so true, so pure, so unselfish, so made to give,--like
perfume or music, which cannot be, and be withheld,--were thoughts with
her.
I must say a word, before I go further, of Delight Goldthwaite. I think
of her as of quite a young person; you, youthful readers, would
doubtless have declared that she was old,--very old, at least for a
young lady. She was twenty-eight, at this time of which I write; Leslie,
her young cousin, was just "past the half, and catching up," as she said
herself,--being fifteen. Leslie's mother called Miss Goldthwaite,
playfully, "Ladies' Delight;" and, taking up the idea, half her women
friends knew her by this significant and epigrammatic title. There was
something doubly pertinent in it. She made you think at once of nothing
so much as heart's-ease,--a garden heart's-ease, that flower of many
names; not of the frail, scentless, wild wood-violet,--she had been
cultured to something larger. The violet nature was there, and
shaped more richly, and gifted with rare fragrance--for those whose
delicate sense could perceive it. The very face was a <DW29> face; with
its deep, large, purple-blue eyes, and golden brows and lashes, the
color of her hair,--pale gold, so pale that careless people who had
perception only for such beauty as can flash upon you from a crowd, or
across a drawing-room, said hastily that she had _no_ brows or lashes,
and that this spoiled her. She was not a beauty, therefore; nor was she,
in any sort, a belle. She never drew around her the common attention
that is paid eagerly to very pretty, outwardly bewitching girls; and she
never seemed to care for this. At a party, she was as apt as not to sit
in a corner; but the quiet people,--the mothers, looking on, or the
girls, waiting for partners,--getting into that same corner also, found
the best pleasure of their evening there. There was something about her
dress, too, that women appreciated most fully; the delicate textures,
the finishings--and only those--of rare, exquisite lace, the perfect
harmony of the whole unobtrusive toilet,--women looked at these in
wonder at the unerring instinct of her taste; in wonder, also, that they
only with each other raved about her. Nobody had ever been supposed to
be devoted to her; she had never been reported as "engaged;" there had
never been any of this sort of gossip about her; gentlemen found her,
they said, hard to get acquainted with; she had not much of the small
talk which must usually begin an acquaintance; a few--her relatives, or
her elders, or the husbands of her intimate married friends--understood
and valued her; but it was her girl friends and women friends who knew
her best, and declared that there was nobody like her; and so came her
sobriquet, and the double pertinence of it.
Especially she was Leslie Goldthwaite's delight. Leslie had no sisters,
and her aunts were old,--far older than her mother; on her father's
side, a broken and scattered family had left few ties for her; next to
her mother, and even closer, in some young sympathies, she clung to
Cousin Delight.
With this diversion, we will go back now to her, and to her thought.
"I was thinking," she said, with that intent look in her eyes, "I often
think, of how something else was found, once, having nothing but leaves;
and of what came to it."
"I know," answered Leslie, with an evasive quickness, and turned round
with her watering-pot to her plants again.
There was sometimes a bit of waywardness about Leslie Goldthwaite; there
was a fitfulness of frankness and reserve. She was eager for truth; yet
now and then she would thrust it aside. She said that "nobody liked a
nicely pointed moral better than she did; only she would just as lief
it shouldn't be pointed at her." The fact was, she was in that sensitive
state in which many a young girl finds herself, when she begins to ask
and to weigh with herself the great questions of life, and shrinks shyly
from the open mention of the very thing she longs more fully to
apprehend.
Cousin Delight took no notice; it is perhaps likely that she understood
sufficiently well for that. She turned toward the table by which she
sat, and pulled toward her a heavy Atlas that lay open at the map of
Connecticut. Beside it was Lippincott's Gazetteer,--open, also.
"Traveling, Leslie?"
"Yes. I've been a charming journey this morning, before you came. I
wonder if I ever _shall_ travel, in reality. I've done a monstrous deal
of it with maps and gazetteers."
"This hasn't been one of the stereotyped tours, it seems."
"Oh, no! What's the use of doing Niagara
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