TIMESTAMP
stringlengths 27
27
| ContextTokens
int64 2
14.1k
| GeneratedTokens
int64 7
1k
| text
stringlengths 4
63.2k
| time_delta
float64 0
3.5k
| idx
int64 0
19.4k
|
|---|---|---|---|---|---|
2023-11-16 18:28:44.5080410
| 999 | 396 |
Produced by Shirley McAleer, Shaun Pinder and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
THE LAUGHTER OF PETERKIN
[Illustration: The king saw a fountain of exceeding beauty.
_Frontis._]
]
THE LAUGHTER OF PETERKIN.
“A RETELLING OF OLD TALES OF
THE CELTIC WONDERWORLD.” by
⋅ FIONA MACLEOD ⋅
[Illustration]
⋅DRAWINGS⋯BY⋯SUNDERLAND⋯ROLLINSON⋅§⋅
⋅LONDON⋅
⋅ARCHIBALD⋅CONSTABLE⋅&⋅CO⋅
⋅1897⋅
TO
ISLA,
EILIDH,
FIONA,
AND
IVOR
[Illustration]
CONTENTS
PAGE
_PROLOGUE._ THE LAUGHTER OF PETERKIN 9
THE FOUR WHITE SWANS 33
THE FATE OF THE SONS OF TURENN 117
DARTHOOL AND THE SONS OF USNA 177
_NOTES_ 281
ILLUSTRATIONS
BY SUNDERLAND ROLLINSON
THE KING SAW A FOUNTAIN OF EXCEEDING
BEAUTY _Frontispiece_
AS SHE TOUCHED FIONULA, LIR’S FAIR YOUNG
DAUGHTER BECAME A BEAUTIFUL SNOW-WHITE
SWAN _To face page_ 33
TURENN INTERCEDING FOR HIS SONS " 117
A GREAT RAVEN, GLOSSY BLACK, AND BURNISHED
IN THE SUN RAYS _To face page_ 177
[Illustration]
The Laughter of Peterkin
[Illustration]
The Laughter of Peterkin
At the rising of the moon, Peterkin awoke, and laughed. He was in his
little white bed near the open window, so that when a moonbeam wavered
from amid the branches of the great poplar, falling suddenly upon his
tangled curls and yellowing them with a ripple of pale gold, it was as
though a living thing stole in out of the June night.
He had not awaked at first. The moonbeam seemed caught in a tangle:
then it glanced along a crescent tress on the pillow: sprang back like
a startled bird: flickered hither and thither above the little sleeping
face: and at last played idly on the closed eyelids with their long
dark eyelashes. It was then that Peterkin awoke.
When he opened his eyes he sat up, and so the moonbeam fell into the
two white cups of his tiny hands. He held it, but like a yellow eel it
wriggled away, and danced mockingly upon the counterpane.
With a sleepy smile he turned and looked out of the window. How dark
it was out there! That white moth which wavered to and fro made the
twilight like a shadowy wall. Then upon this wall Peterkin saw a
great fantastic shape. It grew and grew, and spread out huge arms and
innumerable little hands: and in its shadow-face it had seven shining
eyes. Peterkin stared, awe-struck. Then there was a dance of moonshine,
a cascade of trickling, rippling yellow, and he saw that the shape
in the night was the familiar poplar, and that its arms were the
big boughs and branches where the spotted mavis and the black merle
sang each morning, and that the innumerable little hands were the
ever-tremulous, ever-dancing, round little leaves, and that the seven
glittering eyes were only seven stars that had caught among the topmost
twigs.
II
Peterkin was very sleepy, but before his head sank back to the pillow
he saw something which caused him to hold his breath, and made his
eyes grow so round and large that they were like the little pools one
sees on the hill-side.
Every here and there he saw tiny yellow and green lives slipping and
sliding along and in and out of the branches of the poplar. Sometimes
they were all pale yellow, like gold; sometimes of a shimmering green
| 777.827451 | 3,800 |
2023-11-16 18:28:44.5382020
| 1,069 | 450 |
Transcribed from the 1896 Longmans, Green and Co. edition by David Price,
email [email protected]
POEMS BY THE WAYS
WRITTEN BY WILLIAM
MORRIS
SECOND EDITION
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
LONDON, NEW YORK, AND BOMBAY
MDCCCXCI
_This Edition first printed December_ 1891
_Reprinted April_ 1892, _and the publication_
_transferred to Longmans_, _Green and Co_.
_in June_ 1896
Contents.
From the Upland to the Sea
Of the Wooing of Hallbiorn the Strong
Echoes of Love's House
The Burghers' Battle
Hope Deith: Love Liveth
Error and Loss
The Hall and the Wood
The Day of Days
To the Muse of the North
Of the Three Seekers
Love's Gleaning-Tide
The Message of the March Wind
A Death Song
Iceland First Seen
The Raven and the King's Daughter
Spring's Bedfellow
Meeting in Winter
The Two Sides of the River
Love Fulfilled
The King of Denmark's Sons
On the Edge of the Wilderness
A Garden by the Sea
Mother and Son
Thunder in the Garden
The God of the Poor
Love's Reward
The Folk-Mote by the River
The Voice of Toil
Gunnar's Howe above the House at Lithend
The Day is Coming
Earth the Healer, Earth the Keeper
All for the Cause
Pain and Time Strive Not
Drawing near the Light
Verses for Pictures
For the Briar-Rose
Another for the Briar-Rose
The Woodpecker
The Lion
The Forest
Pomona
Flora
The Orchard
Tapestry Trees
The Flowering Orchard
The End of May
The Half of Life Gone
Mine and Thine
The Lay of Christine
Hildebrand and Hellelil
The Son's Sorrow
Agnes and the Hill-Man
Knight Aagen and Maiden Else
Hafbur and Signy
Goldilocks and Goldilocks
HERE BEGIN POEMS BY THE WAY.
WRITTEN BY WILLIAM MORRIS.
AND FIRST IS THE POEM CALLED
FROM THE UPLAND TO THE SEA.
Shall we wake one morn of spring,
Glad at heart of everything,
Yet pensive with the thought of eve?
Then the white house shall we leave,
Pass the wind-flowers and the bays,
Through the garth, and go our ways,
Wandering down among the meads
Till our very joyance needs
Rest at last; till we shall come
To that Sun-god's lonely home,
Lonely on the hill-side grey,
Whence the sheep have gone away;
Lonely till the feast-time is,
When with prayer and praise of bliss,
Thither comes the country side.
There awhile shall we abide,
Sitting low down in the porch
By that image with the torch:
Thy one white hand laid upon
The black pillar that was won
From the far-off Indian mine;
And my hand nigh touching thine,
But not touching; and thy gown
Fair with spring-flowers cast adown
From thy bosom and thy brow.
There the south-west wind shall blow
Through thine hair to reach my cheek,
As thou sittest, nor mayst speak,
Nor mayst move the hand I kiss
For the very depth of bliss;
Nay, nor turn thine eyes to me.
Then desire of the great sea
Nigh enow, but all unheard,
In the hearts of us is stirred,
And we rise, we twain at last,
And the daffodils downcast,
Feel thy feet and we are gone
From the lonely Sun-Crowned one.
Then the meads fade at our back,
And the spring day 'gins to lack
That fresh hope that once it had;
But we twain grow yet more glad,
And apart no more may go
When the grassy <DW72> and low
Dieth in the shingly sand:
Then we wander hand in hand
By the edges of the sea,
And I weary more for thee
Than if far apart we were,
With a space of desert drear
'Twixt thy lips and mine, O love!
Ah, my joy, my joy thereof!
OF THE WOOING OF HALLBIORN THE
STRONG. A STORY FROM THE LAND-
SETTLING BOOK OF ICELAND, CHAPTER XXX.
At Deildar-Tongue in the autumn-tide,
_So many times over comes summer again_,
Stood Odd of Tongue his door beside.
_What healing in summer if winter be vain_?
Dim and dusk the day was grown,
As he heard his folded wethers moan.
Then through the garth a man drew near,
With painted shield and gold-wrought spear.
Good was his horse and grand his gear,
And his girths were
| 777.857612 | 3,801 |
2023-11-16 18:28:45.0715130
| 1,040 | 403 |
Produced by Chuck Greif, deaurider and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: CALLE DEL PISTOR]
LITERARY LANDMARKS
OF
VENICE
BY
LAURENCE HUTTON
AUTHOR OF “LITERARY LANDMARKS OF LONDON”
“LITERARY LANDMARKS OF EDINBURGH”
“LITERARY LANDMARKS OF JERUSALEM”
ILLUSTRATED
[Illustration: colophon]
NEW YORK
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
1896
Copyright, 1896, by HARPER & BROTHERS.
_All rights reserved._
TO
WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS
WHOSE VENETIAN LIFE
MADE HAPPY
MY LIFE IN VENICE
ILLUSTRATIONS
CALLE DEL PISTOR _Frontispiece_
ORNAMENTAL HALF-TITLE _Facing page_ xii
THE COUNCIL CHAMBER OF THE DOGES.
IN OTHELLO’S TIME “ “ 6
THE OTHELLO HOUSE “ “ 10
PETRARCH AND LAURA _Page_ 16
THE HOUSE OF PETRARCH _Facing page_ 20
A CHARACTERISTIC CANAL “ “ 26
BYRON’S PALACE “ “ 30
THE RIALTO BRIDGE. AS SHYLOCK KNEW IT “ “ 32
ENTRANCE TO THE MERCERIA “ “ 34
CASA FALIER, WHERE MR. HOWELLS LIVED “ “ 40
GOLDONI’S STAIRCASE “ “ 42
GOLDONI’S STATUE “ “ 44
BYRON’S STUDY IN THE ARMENIAN MONASTERY “ “ 48
THE “NOAH CORNER” OF THE DOGE’S PALACE “ “ 56
THE HOUSE IN WHICH BROWNING DIED “ “ 60
INTRODUCTION
In a chapter upon “Literary Residences,” among _The Curiosities of
Literature_, Isaac D’Israeli said: “No foreigners, men of letters,
lovers of the arts, or even princes, would pass through Antwerp without
visiting the House of Rubens, to witness the animated residence of
genius, and the great man who conceived the idea.” This volume is
intended to be a record of the Animated Residences of Genius which are
still existing in Venice; and it is written for the foreigners, for the
Men of Letters, for the lovers of art, and even for the princes who pass
through the town, and who care to make such houses a visit.
It is the result of many weeks of patient but pleasant study of Venice
itself. Everything here set down has been verified by personal
observation, and is based upon the reading of scores of works of travel
and biography. It is the Venice I know in the real life of the present
and in the literature of the past; and to me it is Venice from its best
and most interesting side.
The Queen of the Adriatic is peculiarly poor in local guide-books and in
local maps. In the former are to be found but slight reference to that
part of Venice which is most dear to the lovers of bookmen and to the
lovers of books; and the latter contain the names of none but the larger
of the squares, streets, and canals, leaving, in many instances, the
searcher after the smaller thoroughfares entirely afloat in the
Adriatic, with no compass by which to steer.
The stranger in Venice, accustomed to the nomenclature of the streets
and the avenues, the alleys and the courts, of the cities and towns with
which he is familiar in other parts of the world, may be interested to
learn that here a large canal is called a _Rio_, or a _Canale_; that a
_Calle_ is a street open at both ends; that a _Rio Terrà_ is a street
which was once a canal; that a _Ramo_ is a small, narrow street,
branching out of a larger one; that a _Salizzada_ is a wide, paved
street; that a _Ruga_ is just a street; that a _Rughetta_, or a
_Piscina_, is a little street; that a _Riva_ is a narrow footway along
the bank of a canal; that a _Fondamenta_ is a longer and a broader
passage-way, a quay, or an embankment;
| 778.390923 | 3,802 |
2023-11-16 18:28:45.4329390
| 961 | 429 |
Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: Cover]
THE DAFFODIL FIELDS
BY
JOHN MASEFIELD
AUTHOR OF "THE EVERLASTING MERCY," "THE WIDOW IN
THE BYE STREET," "THE STORY OF A
ROUND-HOUSE," ETC.
New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1915
_All rights reserved_
COPYRIGHT, 1918,
BY JOHN MASEFIELD.
Set up and electrotyped. Published March, 1913.
Reprinted July, December, 1913; August, 1915.
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing Co. -- Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
THE DAFFODIL FIELDS
I
Between the barren pasture and the wood
There is a patch of poultry-stricken grass,
Where, in old time, Ryemeadows' Farmhouse stood,
And human fate brought tragic things to pass.
A spring comes bubbling up there, cold as glass,
It bubbles down, crusting the leaves with lime,
Babbling the self-same song that it has sung through time.
Ducks gobble at the selvage of the brook,
But still it slips away, the cold hill-spring,
Past the Ryemeadows' lonely woodland nook
Where many a stubble gray-goose preens her wing,
On, by the woodland side. You hear it sing
Past the lone copse where poachers set their wires,
Past the green hill once grim with sacrificial fires.
Another water joins it; then it turns,
Runs through the Ponton Wood, still turning west,
Past foxgloves, Canterbury bells, and ferns,
And many a blackbird's, many a thrush's nest;
The cattle tread it there; then, with a zest
It sparkles out, babbling its pretty chatter
Through Foxholes Farm, where it gives white-faced cattle water.
Under the road it runs, and now it slips
Past the great ploughland, babbling, drop and linn,
To the moss'd stumps of elm trees which it lips,
And blackberry-bramble-trails where eddies spin.
Then, on its left, some short-grassed fields begin,
Red-clayed and pleasant, which the young spring fills
With the never-quiet joy of dancing daffodils.
There are three fields where daffodils are found;
The grass is dotted blue-gray with their leaves;
Their nodding beauty shakes along the ground
Up to a fir-clump shutting out the eaves
Of an old farm where always the wind grieves
High in the fir boughs, moaning; people call
This farm The Roughs, but some call it the Poor Maid's Hall.
There, when the first green shoots of tender corn
Show on the plough; when the first drift of white
Stars the black branches of the spiky thorn,
And afternoons are warm and evenings light,
The shivering daffodils do take delight,
Shaking beside the brook, and grass comes green,
And blue dog-violets come and glistening celandine.
And there the pickers come, picking for town
Those dancing daffodils; all day they pick;
Hard-featured women, weather-beaten brown,
Or swarthy-red, the colour of old brick.
At noon they break their meats under the rick.
The smoke of all three farms lifts blue in air
As though man's passionate mind had never suffered there.
And sometimes as they rest an old man comes,
Shepherd or carter, to the hedgerow-side,
And looks upon their gangrel tribe, and hums,
And thinks all gone to wreck since master died;
And sighs over a passionate harvest-tide
Which Death's red sickle reaped under those hills,
There, in the quiet fields among the daffodils.
When this most tragic fate had time and place,
And human hearts and minds to show it by,
Ryemeadows' Farmhouse was in evil case:
Its master, Nicholas Gray, was like to die.
He lay in bed, watching the windy sky,
Where all the rooks were homing on slow wings,
Cawing, or blackly circling in enormous rings.
With a sick brain he watched them; then he took
Paper and pen, and wrote in straggling hand
(Like spider's legs, so
| 778.752349 | 3,803 |
2023-11-16 18:28:45.8299390
| 988 | 401 |
Produced by Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net.
To H. T. Swedenberg, Junior
_founder_, _protector_, _friend_
_He that delights to_ Plant _and_ Set,
_Makes_ After-Ages _in his_ Debt.
Where could they find another formed so fit,
To poise, with solid sense, a sprightly wit?
Were these both wanting, as they both abound,
Where could so firm integrity be found?
The verse and emblem are from George Wither, _A Collection of Emblems,
Ancient and Modern_ (London, 1635), illustration xxxv, page 35.
The lines of poetry (123-126) are from "To My Honoured Kinsman John
Driden," in John Dryden, _The Works of John Dryden_, ed. Sir Walter
Scott, rev. and corr. George Saintsbury (Edinburgh: William Patterson,
1885), xi, 78.
THE AUGUSTAN REPRINT SOCIETY
COLLEY CIBBER
A LETTER FROM Mr. _CIBBER_ TO Mr. _POPE_
(1742)
_Introduction by_
HELENE KOON
PUBLICATION NUMBER 158
WILLIAM ANDREWS CLARK MEMORIAL LIBRARY
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, LOS ANGELES
1973
GENERAL EDITORS
William E. Conway, William Andrews Clark Memorial Library
George Robert Guffey, University of California, Los Angeles
Maximillian E. Novak, University of California, Los Angeles
David S. Rodes, University of California, Los Angeles
ADVISORY EDITORS
Richard C. Boys, University of Michigan
James L. Clifford, Columbia University
Ralph Cohen, University of Virginia
Vinton A. Dearing, University of California, Los Angeles
Arthur Friedman, University of Chicago
Louis A. Landa, Princeton University
Earl Miner, Princeton University
Samuel H. Monk, University of Minnesota
Everett T. Moore, University of California, Los Angeles
Lawrence Clark Powell, William Andrews Clark Memorial Library
James Sutherland, University College, London
H. T. Swedenberg, Jr., University of California, Los Angeles
Robert Vosper, William Andrews Clark Memorial Library
Curt A. Zimansky, State University of Iowa
CORRESPONDING SECRETARY
Edna C. Davis, William Andrews Clark Memorial Library
EDITORIAL ASSISTANT
Jean T. Shebanek, William Andrews Clark Memorial Library
Typography by Wm. M. Cheney
INTRODUCTION
In the twentieth century, Colley Cibber's name has become synonymous
with "fool." Pope's _Dunciad_, the culmination of their long quarrel,
has done its work well, and Cibber, now too often regarded merely as a
pretentious dunce, has been relegated to an undeserved obscurity.
The history of this feud is replete with inconsistencies.[1] The image
Cibber presents of himself as a charming, good-natured, thick-skinned
featherbrain is as true as Pope's of himself as a patient, humorous,
objective moralist. Each picture is somewhat manipulated by its creator.
The reasons behind the manipulation are less matters of outright untruth
than of complex personalities disclosing only what they regard as
pertinent. Cibber, the actor, always tries to charm his audience; Pope,
the satirist, proffers those aspects best suited to his moral purpose.
Although the fact of their differences is evident in Pope's writings
after 1730, explanations of the cause, continuation and climax tend to
be muddled. The cause generally cited is Cibber's story in the Letter
concerning _Three Hours after Marriage_ and _The Rehearsal_. This is not
only a one-sided version, it is not even strongly substantiated. As
Norman Ault pointed out, it was not reported in any of the periodicals
at a time when such incidents were seized upon by journalists hungry for
gossip.[2] The only confirmation aside from Cibber is Montagu Bacon's
letter to his cousin James Montagu, which gives a slightly less
vivacious account:
'I don't know whether you heard, before you went out of town, that
_The Rehearsal_ was revived... and Cibber interlarded it with
several things in ridicule of the
| 779.149349 | 3,804 |
2023-11-16 18:28:46.0082450
| 1,039 | 430 |
Produced by Susan Skinner and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: CHAMBERS’S JOURNAL
OF
POPULAR
LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART.
Fourth Series
CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS.
NO. 734. SATURDAY, JANUARY 19, 1878. PRICE 1½_d._]
THE STORY OF THIERS.
In a densely populated street of the quaint sea-port of Marseilles
there dwelt a poor locksmith and his family, who were so hard pressed
by the dearness of provisions and the general hardness of the times,
that the rent and taxes for the wretched tenement which they called
a home had been allowed to fall many weeks into arrear. But the good
people struggled on against their poverty; and the locksmith (who
was the son of a ruined cloth-merchant), though fallen to the humble
position of a dock-porter, still managed to wade through life as if
he had been born to opulence. This poor labourer’s name was Thiers,
and his wife was a descendant of the poet Chenier; the two being
destined to become the parents of Louis Adolphe Thiers, one of the most
remarkable men that ever lived.
The hero of our story was at his birth mentally consigned to oblivion
by his parents, while the neighbours laughed at the ungainly child,
and prognosticated for him all kinds of evil in the future. And it is
more than probable that these evil auguries would have been fulfilled
had it not been for the extraordinary care bestowed upon him by his
grandmother. But for her, perhaps our story had never been written.
Under her fostering care the child survived all those diseases which
were, according to the gossips, to prove fatal to him; but while his
limbs remained almost stationary, his head and chest grew larger, until
he became a veritable dwarf. By his mother’s influence with the family
of André Chenier, the lad was enabled to enter the Marseilles Lyceum
at the age of nine; and here the remarkable head and chest kept the
promise they made in his infancy, and soon fulfilled Madame Thiers’
predictions.
Louis Adolphe Thiers was a brilliant though somewhat erratic pupil. He
was noted for his practical jokes, his restlessness, and the ready and
ingenious manner in which he always extricated himself from any scrapes
into which his bold and restless disposition had led him. Thus the
child in this case would appear to have been ‘father to the man,’ by
the manner in which he afterwards released his beloved country from one
of the greatest ‘scrapes’ she ever experienced.
On leaving school Thiers studied for the law, and was eventually called
to the bar, though he never practised as a lawyer. He became instead
a local politician; and so well did the rôle suit him, that he soon
evinced a strong desire to try his fortune in Paris itself. He swayed
his auditory, when speaking, in spite of his diminutive stature,
Punch-like physiognomy, and shrill piping speech; and shout and yell
as his adversaries might, they could not drown his voice, for it arose
clear and distinct above all the hubbub around him. While the studious
youth was thus making himself a name in his native town, he was ever on
the watch for an opportunity to transfer his fortunes to the capital.
His almost penniless condition, however, precluded him from carrying
out his design without extraneous assistance of some kind or other;
but when such a stupendous ambition as that of governing one of the
greatest nations of the earth filled the breast of the Marseilles
student, it was not likely that the opportunity he was seeking would be
long in coming.
The Academy of Aix offered a prize of a few hundred francs for a
eulogium on _Vauvenargues_, and here was the opportunity which Louis
Adolphe Thiers required. He determined to compete for the prize,
and wrote out two copies of his essay, one of which he sent to the
Academy’s Secretary, and the other he submitted to the judgment of
his friends. This latter indiscretion, however, would appear to have
been the cause of his name being mentioned to the Academicians as a
competitor; and as they had a spite against him, and disapproved of his
opinions, they decided to reject any essay which he might submit to
them.
On the day of the competition they were as good as their word, and
Thiers received back his essay with only an ‘honourable mention’
attached to it. The votes, however, had been equally divided, and the
principal prize could not be adjudged until
| 779.327655 | 3,805 |
2023-11-16 18:28:46.0157280
| 1,040 | 393 |
Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Stephanie Eason,
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net.
TYPOGRAPHIC TECHNICAL SERIES FOR APPRENTICES--PART VI, NO. 36
COMPOUND WORDS
A STUDY OF THE PRINCIPLES
OF COMPOUNDING, THE COMPONENTS
OF COMPOUNDS, AND THE
USE OF THE HYPHEN
BY
FREDERICK W. HAMILTON, LL. D.
EDUCATIONAL DIRECTOR
UNITED TYPOTHETAE OF AMERICA.
PUBLISHED BY THE COMMITTEE ON EDUCATION
UNITED TYPOTHETAE OF AMERICA
1918
COPYRIGHT, 1918
UNITED TYPOTHETAE OF AMERICA
CHICAGO, ILL.
PREFACE
The subject of compounds is one of the most difficult of the matters
relating to correct literary composition. The difficulty arises from the
fact that usage, especially in the matter of the presence or absence of
the hyphen, is not clearly settled. Progressive tendencies are at work
and there is great difference of usage, even among authorities of the
first rank, with regard to many compounds in common use.
An attempt is made to show first the general character of the problems
involved. Then follows a discussion of the general principles of
compounding. The general rules for the formation of compounds are stated
and briefly discussed. The various components of compounds are fully
analyzed and tabulated. The best modern usage in the matter of the
employment of the hyphen is set forth in a series of rules. The whole is
concluded by practical advice to the compositor as to the use of the
rules in the actual work of the office.
CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTION 1
GENERAL PRINCIPLES 4
ACCENT IN COMPOUNDING 5
THE FORMATION OF COMPOUNDS 6
COMPONENTS OF COMPOUNDS 7
RULES FOR THE USE OF THE HYPHEN 9
SUPPLEMENTARY READING 16
REVIEW QUESTIONS 17
COMPOUND WORDS
INTRODUCTION
The English language contains a great many words and phrases which are
made up of two or more words combined or related in such a way as to
form a new verbal phrase having a distinct meaning of its own and
differing in meaning from the sum of the component words taken singly.
_Income_ and _outgo_, for example, have quite definite meanings related,
it is true, to _come_ and _go_ and to _in_ and _out_, but sharply
differentiated from those words in their ordinary and general
signification. We use these compound words and phrases so commonly that
we never stop to think how numerous they are, or how frequently new ones
are coined. Any living language is constantly growing and developing new
forms. New objects have to be named, new sensations expressed, new
experiences described.
Sometimes these words are mere aggregations like _automobile_,
_monotype_, _sidewalk_, _policeman_ and the like. Sometimes, indeed very
often, they are short cuts. A _hatbox_ is a box for carrying a hat, a
_red-haired_ man is a man with red hair. A _bookcase_ is a case to
contain books, etc.
Sometimes the phrase consists of two or more separate words, such as
_well known_ or _nicely kept_. Sometimes it consists of words joined by
a hyphen, such as _boarding-house_, _sleeping-car_. Sometimes it
consists of a single word formed by amalgamating or running together the
components, such as _penholder_, _nevertheless_.
In which of these forms shall we write the phrase we speak so easily?
How shall we shape the new word we have just coined? Which of these
three forms shall we use, and why? Ordinarily we look for the answer to
such questions from three sources, historical development, the past of
the language; some logical principle of general application; or some
recognized standard of authority. Unfortunately we get little help from
either of these sources in this special difficulty.
The history of the language is a history of constant change. The
Anglo-Saxon tongue was full of compounds, but the hyphen was an unknown
device to those who spoke it. The English of Chaucer, the period when
our new-born English tongue was differentiated from those which
contributed to its composition, is full of compounds, and the compounds
were generally written with a hyphen. Shakespeare used many compound
words and phrases some of which sound strange, if not uncouth, to modern
ears, but used the hyphen much less than Chauc
| 779.335138 | 3,806 |
2023-11-16 18:28:46.1481450
| 1,508 | 49 |
Produced by Chris Curnow, John Campbell and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
Bold text is denoted by =equal signs=.
Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been
corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within
the text and consultation of external sources.
Footnotes have been moved to the end of the book text, and before
the publisher's Book Catalog. Some Footnotes are very long.
The 3-star asterism symbol in the Catalog is denoted by ***.
More detail can be found at the end of the book.
HOGARTH'S WORKS:
WITH
_LIFE AND ANECDOTAL DESCRIPTIONS OF HIS PICTURES_.
FIRST SERIES.
[Illustration: WILLIAM HOGARTH & HIS DOG TRUMP.]
HOGARTH'S WORKS:
WITH
_LIFE AND ANECDOTAL DESCRIPTIONS OF
HIS PICTURES_.
BY
JOHN IRELAND AND JOHN NICHOLS, F.S.A.
[Illustration: (publisher's colophon)]
_THE WHOLE OF THE PLATES REDUCED IN EXACT
FAC-SIMILE OF THE ORIGINALS._
First Series.
London
CHATTO AND WINDUS, PUBLISHERS.
(_SUCCESSORS TO JOHN CAMDEN HOTTEN._)
LIST OF PLATES
DESCRIBED IN THE FIRST SERIES.
PAGE
PORTRAIT OF WILLIAM HOGARTH, WITH HIS DOG
TRUMP, _Frontispiece_
FULL-LENGTH PORTRAIT OF WILLIAM HOGARTH, BY HIMSELF,
ENGAGED IN PAINTING THE COMIC MUSE, 18
THE BATTLE OF THE PICTURES, 44
ANALYSIS OF BEAUTY--
PLATE I., 60
PLATE II., 64
SIGISMUNDA, 76
TIME SMOKING A PICTURE, 80
THE HARLOT'S PROGRESS--
PLATE I. At the Bell Inn, in Wood Street--Mary Hackabout
and the Procuress, 102
PLATE II. The Jew's Mistress quarrelling with her Keeper, 106
PLATE III. The Lodging in Drury Lane--Visit of the
Constables, 110
PLATE IV. Mary Hackabout beating Hemp in Bridewell, 112
PLATE V. The Harlot's Death--Quacks Disputing, 114
PLATE VI. The Funeral, 118
THE RAKE'S PROGRESS--
PLATE I. Tom Rakewell taking possession of the rich
Miser's effects, 124
PLATE II. The young Squire's Levee, 128
PLATE III. The Night House, 132
PLATE IV. The Spendthrift arrested for Debt--Released
by his forsaken Sweetheart, 136
PLATE V. Marylebone Church--Rakewell married to a Shrew, 140
PLATE VI. The Fire at the Gambling Hell, 144
PLATE VII. The Fleet Prison, 148
PLATE VIII. The Madhouse--The Faithful Friend, 154
SOUTHWARK FAIR, 162
A MIDNIGHT MODERN CONVERSATION, 184
THE SLEEPING CONGREGATION, 192
THE DISTRESSED POET, 200
THE ENRAGED MUSICIAN, 206
THE FOUR TIMES OF THE DAY--
MORNING. Miss Bridget Alworthy on her way to Church, 216
NOON. A Motley Congregation leaving Service, 222
EVENING. The Shrew and her Husband going home--By
the New River at Islington, 226
NIGHT. The Drunken Freemason taken care of by the
Waiter at the Rummer Tavern, 230
STROLLING ACTRESSES DRESSING IN A BARN, 240
MR. GARRICK IN THE CHARACTER OF RICHARD THE THIRD, 255
INDUSTRY AND IDLENESS--
PLATE I. The Fellow-apprentices,
Thomas Goodchild and Thomas Idle, at their Looms, 270
PLATE II. The Industrious Apprentice performing the duty
of a Christian, 272
PLATE III. The Idle Apprentice at play in the Churchyard
during Divine Service, 274
PLATE IV. The Industrious Apprentice a favourite, and
trusted by his Master, 276
PLATE V. The Idle Apprentice turned away and sent to
sea, 278
PLATE VI. The Industrious Apprentice out of his time,
and married to his Master's Daughter, 280
PLATE VII. The Idle Apprentice returned from sea,
and in a Garret with a Common Prostitute, 282
PLATE VIII. The Industrious Apprentice grown rich, and
Sheriff of London, 284
PLATE IX. The Idle Apprentice betrayed by a Prostitute,
and taken in a Night-cellar with his Accomplice, 286
PLATE X. The Industrious Apprentice Alderman of London--The
Idle one brought before him and impeached
by his Accomplice, 288
PLATE XI. The Idle Apprentice Executed at Tyburn, 290
PLATE XII. The Industrious Apprentice Lord Mayor of
London, 292
ROAST BEEF AT THE GATE OF CALAIS, 298
THE COUNTRY INN YARD--PREPARING TO START THE COACH, 306
PREFACE TO THE NEW EDITION.
It is a singular fact, that, notwithstanding the enormous popularity
enjoyed by Hogarth in the minds of English people, no perfectly
popular edition has been hitherto brought before the public. Were
a foreigner to ask an ordinary Briton who was the most thoroughly
national painter in the roll of English artists, the answer would be
undoubtedly William Hogarth; but the chances are that our countryman
would not have at command a tangible proof that his statement was
correct. Such editions as have hitherto appeared have been either
expensive or unsatisfactory,--even the handsome and costly volume by
Nichols is far from complete. To supply the want, the present issue
has been projected. The illustrative text of Ireland--undoubtedly the
best in
| 779.467555 | 3,807 |
2023-11-16 18:28:46.1910090
| 317 | 18 |
VOL. 150, JUNE 7, 1916***
E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram, David King, and the Project Gutenberg
Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 23064-h.htm or 23064-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/3/0/6/23064/23064-h/23064-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/3/0/6/23064/23064-h.zip)
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI
VOL. 150
JUNE 7, 1916
CHARIVARIA.
A correspondent writes to tell us of a painful experience which he has
had in consequence of his efforts to practise war-time economy in the
matter of dress. The other evening, after going to bed at dusk in order
to save artificial light, he was rung up by the police at 1 A.M. and
charged with showing a light. It appears that he had gone to bed with
his blind up, after throwing his well-worn trousers over the back of a
chair, and that the rays of a street lamp had caught the glossy sheen of
this garment and been reflected into the eagle eye of the constable.
***
According to a Reuter's message the Greeks are "much
| 779.510419 | 3,808 |
2023-11-16 18:28:46.2605430
| 393 | 116 |
Produced by Melissa McDaniel and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
Transcriber's Note:
Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have
been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold text by =equal
signs=.
[Illustration: Map to illustrate the Story of Martha of California]
MARTHA OF CALIFORNIA
A STORY OF THE CALIFORNIA TRAIL
BY
JAMES OTIS
[Illustration]
NEW YORK -:- CINCINNATI -:- CHICAGO
AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY
JAMES OTIS'S PIONEER SERIES
=ANTOINE OF OREGON=: A STORY OF THE OREGON TRAIL.
=BENJAMIN OF OHIO=: A STORY OF THE SETTLEMENT OF MARIETTA.
=HANNAH OF KENTUCKY=: A STORY OF THE WILDERNESS ROAD.
=MARTHA OF CALIFORNIA=: A STORY OF THE CALIFORNIA TRAIL.
=PHILIP OF TEXAS=: A STORY OF SHEEP RAISING IN TEXAS.
=SETH OF COLORADO=: A STORY OF THE SETTLEMENT OF DENVER.
COPYRIGHT, 1913, BY
MRS. A. L. KALER.
COPYRIGHT, 1913, IN GREAT BRITAIN.
MARTHA OF CALIFORNIA.
FOREWORD
The author of this series of stories for children has endeavored simply
to show why and how the descendants of the early colonists fought
their way through the wilderness in search of new homes. The several
| 779.579953 | 3,809 |
2023-11-16 18:28:46.2675950
| 371 | 63 |
Produced by Brian Coe, John Campbell and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
book was produced from images made available by the
HathiTrust Digital Library.)
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
Some minor changes are noted at the end of the book.
HISTORICAL RECORDS
OF
THE BRITISH ARMY.
GENERAL ORDERS.
_HORSE-GUARDS_,
_1st January, 1836_.
His Majesty has been pleased to command, that, with a view of doing
the fullest justice to Regiments, as well as to Individuals who
have distinguished themselves by their Bravery in Action with the
Enemy, an Account of the Services of every Regiment in the British
Army shall be published under the superintendence and direction
of the Adjutant-General; and that this Account shall contain the
following particulars, viz.,
---- The Period and Circumstances of the Original Formation of
the Regiment; The Stations at which it has been from time to time
employed; The Battles, Sieges, and other Military Operations,
in which it has been engaged, particularly specifying any
Achievement it may have performed, and the Colours, Trophies,
&c., it may have captured from the Enemy.
---- The Names of the Officers and the number of Non-Commissioned
Officers and Privates, Killed or Wounded by the Enemy, specifying
the Place and Date of the Action.
---- The Names of those Officers, who, in consideration of their
Gallant Services and Meritorious Conduct in Engagements with the
Enemy,
| 779.587005 | 3,810 |
2023-11-16 18:28:46.3343100
| 920 | 104 |
Produced by Martin Ward
Weymouth New Testament in Modern Speech, 1 John
Third Edition 1913
R. F. Weymouth
Book 62 1 John
001:001 That which was from the beginning, which we have listened to,
which we have seen with our own eyes, and our own hands
have handled concerning the Word of Life--
001:002 the Life was manifested, and we have seen and bear witness,
and we declare unto you the Life of the Ages which was with
the Father and was manifested to us--
001:003 that which we have seen and listened to we now announce to you also,
in order that you also may have fellowship in it with us,
and this fellowship with us is fellowship with the Father
and with His Son Jesus Christ.
001:004 And we write these things in order that our joy may
be made complete.
001:005 This is the Message which we have heard from the Lord Jesus
and now deliver to you--God is Light, and in Him there
is no darkness.
001:006 If, while we are living in darkness, we profess to have
fellowship with Him, we speak falsely and are not adhering
to the truth.
001:007 But if we live in the light as He is in the light, we have
fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus, His Son,
cleanses us from all sin.
001:008 If we claim to be already free from sin, we lead ourselves
astray and the truth has no place in our hearts.
001:009 If we confess our sins, He is so faithful and just that He
forgives us our sins and cleanses us from all unrighteousness.
001:010 If we deny that we have sinned, we make Him a liar,
and His Message has no place in our hearts.
002:001 Dear children, I write thus to you in order that you may not sin.
If any one sins, we have an Advocate with the Father--Jesus Christ
the righteous;
002:002 and He is an atoning sacrifice for our sins, and not for ours only,
but also for the sins of the whole world.
002:003 And by this we may know that we know Him--if we obey His commands.
002:004 He who professes to know Him, and yet does not obey His commands,
is a liar, and the truth has no place in his heart.
002:005 But whoever obeys His Message, in him love for God has in
very deed reached perfection. By this we can know that we
are in Him.
002:006 The man who professes to be continuing in Him is himself
also bound to live as He lived.
002:007 My dearly-loved friends, it is no new command that I am
now giving you, but an old command which you have had from
the very beginning. By the old command I mean the teaching
which you have already received.
002:008 And yet I *am* giving you a new command, for such it
really is, so far as both He and you are concerned:
because the darkness is now passing away and the light,
the true light, is already beginning to shine.
002:009 Any one who professes to be in the light and yet hates his
brother man is still in darkness.
002:010 He who loves his brother man continues in the light, and his
life puts no stumbling-block in the way of others.
002:011 But he who hates his brother man is in darkness and is
walking in darkness; and he does not know where he is going--
because the darkness has blinded his eyes.
002:012 I am writing to you, dear children, because for His sake
your sins are forgiven you.
002:013 I am writing to you, fathers, because you know Him who has
existed from the very beginning. I am writing to you,
young men, because you have overcome the Evil one.
I have written to you, children, because you know the Father.
002:014 I have written to you, fathers, because you know Him who has
existed from the very beginning. I have written to you,
young men, because you are
| 779.65372 | 3,811 |
2023-11-16 18:28:46.4219280
| 1,118 | 141 |
Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: "THE DAM IS GONE!" CRIED THE GIRL. "FLY FOR YOUR LIVES!"
_Page 7._]
The
Blue Grass Seminary Girls'
Vacation Adventures
OR
Shirley Willing to the Rescue
By Carolyn Judson Burnett
AUTHOR OF
"The Blue Grass Seminary Girls' Christmas Holidays,"
"The Blue Grass Seminary Girls in the Mountains,"
"The Blue Grass Seminary
Girls on the Water."
A. L. BURT COMPANY
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
Copyright, 1916
By A. L. Burt Company
THE BLUE GRASS SEMINARY GIRLS' VACATION ADVENTURES
THE BLUE GRASS SEMINARY GIRLS' VACATION ADVENTURES
CHAPTER I.--THE BROKEN DAM.
"The dam! The dam! The dam has broken!"
Shirley Willing, with flaming eyes and tightly-clenched hands, jumped
quickly forward, and with her right hand seized the bridle of a horse
that was bearing a strange boy along the road, which ran near the river.
The horse reared back on its haunches, frightened at the sudden halting.
"The dam!" cried the young girl again. "Quick! The people must be
warned!"
The face of the rider turned white.
"What do you mean?" he shouted, fear stamped on every feature.
Shirley's excitement fell from her like a cloak. She became quiet.
"The Darret dam has been washed away," she answered, "and unless the
people in the valley are warned immediately they will perish. There is
one chance to save them. You are mounted. You can outrun the oncoming
wall of water and save them. Away with you, quick! There is not a second
to spare!"
"But," protested the boy, "the water may overtake me and I shall drown.
We can climb to higher ground here and be safe."
He tried to turn his horse's head to the east. But Shirley clung to the
rein.
"And leave those people to drown, without warning?" she cried. "You
coward! You are afraid!"
"I----" the boy began, but Shirley cut his protest short.
Releasing the bridle of the horse, she sprang quickly to the side of the
animal, seized the rider by the leg with both her strong, young hands
and pulled quickly and vigorously. Unprepared for such action, the boy
came tumbling to the ground in a sprawling heap.
Quick as a flash Shirley leaped to the saddle and turned the horse's
head toward the valley. As she dug her heels into the animal's ribs,
sending him forward with a jump, she called over her shoulder to the
boy, who sat still dazed at the sudden danger:
"Get to safety the best way you can, you coward!"
Under the firm touch of the girl's hand on the rein the horse sped on
down the valley.
It was a mad race with death and Shirley knew it. But she realized that
human lives were at stake and she did not hesitate.
To the left of the road down which she sped lay high ground and safety,
while coming down the valley, perhaps a mile in the rear, poured a dense
wall of water, coming as swift as the wind.
For days the Mississippi and its tributaries had been rising rapidly and
steadily. Along the lowlands in that part of the state of Illinois, just
south of Cairo, where Shirley Willing had been visiting friends, fears
that the Darret dam, three miles up one of these tributary streams,
would give way, had been entertained.
Some families, therefore, had moved their perishable belongings to
higher ground, where they would be beyond the sweep of the waters should
the dam break.
Then suddenly, without warning, the dam had gone.
The home where Shirley had been visiting was a farmhouse, and the cry of
danger had been received by telephone. Those in the house had been asked
to repeat the warning to families further down the valley. But the
fierce wind that was raging had, at almost that very moment, blown down
all wires.
Shirley, in spite of the fact that she, with the others, could easily
have reached the safety afforded by higher ground a short distance away,
had thought only of those whose lives would be snuffed out if they were
not warned.
She had decided that she would warn them herself. She ran from the house
to the stable, where one single horse had been left.
But the seriousness of the situation seemed to have been carried to the
animal, and when Shirley had attempted to slip a bridle over his head he
struck out violently with his fore feet. As the girl sprang back, he
dashed from the stable.
Shirley ran after him and followed him into the road. There she
encountered a rider; and the conversation with which this story begins
took place.
As the girl sped down the road, she could hear from far behind, the roar
of the waters as they came tumbling after her.
A farmhouse came into sight. A man, a woman
| 779.741338 | 3,812 |
2023-11-16 18:28:46.5605370
| 382 | 61 |
Produced by Delphine Lettau and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Canada Team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net
THE
INCONSTANT;
A COMEDY,
IN FIVE ACTS;
BY GEORGE FARQUHAR, ESQ.
AS PERFORMED AT THE
THEATRE ROYAL, DRURY LANE.
PRINTED UNDER THE AUTHORITY OF THE MANAGERS
FROM THE PROMPT BOOK.
WITH REMARKS
BY MRS. INCHBALD.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, AND ORME,
PATERNOSTER ROW.
WILLIAM SAVAGE, PRINTER,
LONDON.
REMARKS.
This comedy, by a favourite writer, had a reception, on the first night
of its appearance, far inferior to that of his other productions. It
was, with difficulty, saved from condemnation; and the author, in his
preface, has boldly charged some secret enemies with having attempted
its destruction.
Dramatic authors have fewer enemies at the present period, or they
have more humility, than formerly. For now, when their works are
hissed from the stage, they acknowledge they have had a fair trial,
and deserve their fate. Wherefore should an author seek for remote
causes, to account for his failures, when to himself alone, he is
certain ever to impute all his success?
Neither the wit, humour, nor the imitation of nature, in this play,
are of that forcible kind, with which the audience had been usually
delighted by Farquhar; and, that the moral gave a degree of superiority
to this drama, was, in those days, of little consequence:
| 779.879947 | 3,813 |
2023-11-16 18:28:46.6291080
| 410 | 129 |
Daemonologie
In Forme of a Dialogie
Diuided into three Bookes.
By James RX
Printed by Robert Walde-graue,
Printer to the Kings Majestie. An. 1597.
Cum Privilegio Regio.
CONTENTS
The Preface. To The Reader.
First Booke.
Chap. I.
Chap. II.
Chap. III.
Chap. IIII.
Chap. V.
Chap. VI.
Chap. VII.
Seconde Booke.
Chap. I.
Chap. II.
Chap. III.
Chap. IIII.
Chap. V.
Chap. VI.
Chap. VII.
Thirde Booke.
Chap. I.
Chap. II.
Chap. III.
Chap. IIII.
Chap. V.
Chap. VI.
Newes from Scotland.
To the Reader.
Discourse.
THE PREFACE. TO THE READER.
The fearefull aboundinge at this time in this countrie, of these
detestable slaues of the Deuill, the Witches or enchaunters, hath moved me
(beloued reader) to dispatch in post, this following treatise of mine, not
in any wise (as I protest) to serue for a shew of my learning & ingine,
but onely (mooued of conscience) to preasse thereby, so farre as I can, to
resolue the doubting harts of many; both that such assaultes of Sathan are
most certainly practized, & that the instrumentes thereof, merits most
severly to be punished: against the damnable opinions of two principally
in our age, wherof the one called SCOT an Englishman, is not ashamed in
publike print to deny, that ther can be such a thing
| 779.948518 | 3,814 |
2023-11-16 18:28:46.8009160
| 1,108 | 434 |
Produced by Suzanne Shell, Gary Toffelmire, Greg Dunham and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team.
The Powers and Maxine
_By C.N. and A.M. Williamson_
Author of
"The Princess Virginia," "My Friend the Chauffeur,"
"The Car of Destiny," "The Princess Passes,"
"Lady Betty Across the Water," Etc.
Copyright, 1907, by C.N. and A.M. Williamson.
_With Illustrations
By FRANK T. MERRILL_
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. LISA'S KNIGHT AND LISA'S SISTER
II. LISA LISTENS
III. LISA MAKES MISCHIEF
IV. IVOR TRAVELS TO PARIS
V. IVOR DOES WHAT HE CAN FOR MAXINE
VI. IVOR HEARS THE STORY
VII. IVOR IS LATE FOR AN APPOINTMENT
VIII. MAXINE ACTS ON THE STAGE AND OFF
IX. MAXINE GIVES BACK THE DIAMONDS
X. MAXINE DRIVES WITH THE ENEMY
XI. MAXINE OPENS THE GATE FOR A MAN
XII. IVOR GOES INTO THE DARK
XIII. IVOR FINDS SOMETHING IN THE DARK
XIV. DIANA TAKES A MIDNIGHT DRIVE
XV. DIANA HEARS NEWS
XVI. DIANA UNDERTAKES A STRANGE ERRAND
XVII. MAXINE MAKES A BARGAIN
XVIII. MAXINE MEETS DIANA
XIX. MAXINE PLAYS THE LAST HAND OF THE GAME
LISA DRUMMOND'S PART
The Powers and Maxine
CHAPTER I
LISA'S KNIGHT AND LISA'S SISTER
It had come at last, the moment I had been thinking about for days. I
was going to have him all to myself, the only person in the world I ever
loved.
He had asked me to sit out two dances, and that made me think he really
must want to be with me, not just because I'm the "pretty girl's
sister," but because I'm myself, Lisa Drummond.
Being what I am,--queer, and plain, I can't bear to think that men like
girls for their beauty; yet I can't help liking men better if they are
handsome.
I don't know if Ivor Dundas is the handsomest man I ever saw, but he
seems so to me. I don't know if he is very good, or really very
wonderful, although he's clever and ambitious enough; but he has a way
that makes women fond of him; and men admire him, too. He looks straight
into your eyes when he talks to you, as if he cared more for you than
anyone else in the world: and if I were an artist, painting a picture of
a dark young knight starting off for the crusades, I should ask Ivor
Dundas to stand as my model.
Perhaps his expression wouldn't be exactly right for the pious young
crusader, for it isn't at all saintly, really: still, I have seen just
that rapt sort of look on his face. It was generally when he was talking
to Di: but I wouldn't let myself believe that it meant anything in
particular. He has the reputation of having made lots of women fall in
love with him. This was one of the first things I heard when Di and I
came over from America to visit Lord and Lady Mountstuart. And of course
there was the story about him and Maxine de Renzie. Everyone was talking
of it when we first arrived in London.
My heart beat very fast as I guided him into the room which Lady
Mountstuart has given Di and me for our special den. It is separated by
another larger room from the ballroom; but both doors were open and we
could see people dancing.
I told him he might sit by me on the sofa under Di's book shelves,
because we could talk better there. Usually, I don't like being in front
of a mirror, because--well, because I'm only the "pretty girl's sister."
But to-night I didn't mind. My cheeks were red, and my eyes bright.
Sitting down, you might almost take me for a tall girl, and the way my
gown was made didn't show that one shoulder is a little higher than the
other. Di designed the dress.
I thought, if I wasn't pretty, I did look interesting, and original. I
looked as if I could _think_ of things; and as if I could feel.
And I was feeling. I was wondering why he had been so good to me lately,
unless he cared. Of course it might be for Di's sake; but I am not so
queer-looking that no man could ever be fascinated by me.
They say pity is akin to love. Perhaps he had begun by pitying me,
because Di has everything and I nothing; and then, afterwards,
| 780.120326 | 3,815 |
2023-11-16 18:28:47.0065670
| 325 | 18 |
Produced by Paul Haxo from page images generously made
available by the Internet Archive, the University of
California, the Hathi Trust Digital Library, and the
University of Illinois.
YOUNG EARNEST
THE ROMANCE OF A BAD START IN LIFE
BY
GILBERT CANNAN
Author of "Old Mole," "Round the Corner."
NEW YORK
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
1915
Now my question is: have you a scheme of life consonant with the
spirit of modern philosophy--with the views of intelligent, moral,
humane human beings of this period?
THE ADVENTURES OF HARRY RICHMOND.
COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
To
O. M.
Words skilled and woven do not make a book
Except some truth in beauty shine in it.
I bring you this because you overlook
My faults to follow out my probing wit.
And where it fails or falls short of its aim,
You see design and waste nor praise nor blame
On the achievement. Stirring to the will,
Your wit still urges mine to greater skill.
CONTENTS
BOOK ONE
LINDA BROCK
CHAPTER PAGE
I. LOVE IN EARNEST 3
II. 166 HOG LANE WEST 13
III. GEORGE MARRIED 29
IV. A RETURN 41
V. SETTLING DOWN 51
| 780.325977 | 3,816 |
2023-11-16 18:28:47.1298460
| 397 | 100 |
E-text prepared by Cathy Maxam and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 52300-h.htm or 52300-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52300/52300-h/52300-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52300/52300-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/gri_33125007593565
[Illustration: _London. Published as the Act directs March 8. 1823 by
Willm Blake N3 Fountain Court Strand_
_The Sons of God. Design from the Book of Job._]
WILLIAM BLAKE
Painter and Poet
by
RICHARD GARNETT, LL.D.
Keeper of the Printed Books in the British Museum
[Illustration]
London
Seeley and Co. Limited, Essex Street, Strand
New York, Macmillan and Co.
1895
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
_PLATES_
PAGE
The Sons of God. From the Book of Job _Frontispiece_
The Lamb, and Infant Joy. Songs of Innocence _to face_ 20
The Fly, and the Tiger. Songs of Experience ” ” 24
The Book of Thel, title-page. In facsimile by W. Griggs ” ” 33
” ” page vi. ” ” ” ” 36
America, page ” ” 42
” page ” ”
| 780.449256 | 3,817 |
2023-11-16 18:28:47.1520290
| 4,082 | 69 |
Produced by Ron Swanson
MISSIONARY ANNALS.
(A SERIES.)
LIFE OF HENRY MARTYN, MISSIONARY TO INDIA AND PERSIA, 1781 to 1812
ABRIDGED FROM THE MEMOIR.
BY
MRS. SARAH J. RHEA.
CHICAGO:
WOMAN'S PRESBYTERIAN BOARD OF FOREIGN MISSIONS OF THE NORTHWEST,
Room 48, McCormick Block.
COPYRIGHT, 1888,
BY WOMAN'S PRESBYTERIAN BOARD OF MISSIONS OF THE NORTHWEST.
CONTENTS.
PAGE.
EDUCATION AND PREPARATION,........... 5
LIFE IN INDIA,................. 13
LIFE IN PERSIA, AND DEATH,........... 29
I hold in my hand an album adorned with pictures of missionaries, my
brethren and sisters, the ambassadors of the King. On one of the first
pages is "the tomb of Henry Martyn," given me by Dr. Van Lennep, who
had just visited the sacred spot and described it vividly. When I turn
the pages of my album and come to this, I pause with reverence and the
overflowings of deep and tender emotion, and my mind adds other
pictures, both terrestrial and celestial, to the one upon the page. My
own missionary life as the companion of him whom Dr. Perkins called
"the later Henry Martyn," was spent in Henry Martyn's Persia. They
were alike I think in many things, these two Persian evangelists, and
also in their deaths. When they passed out of the Tabriz gate,
journeying homeward after a course of illness in the fated city, for
each it was a quick ascent, a painful translation, to the heavenly
city with abundant entrance and the Master's "well done"--in heaven;
and on earth, a foreign grave taking possession for Christ, as the
Nestorians reverently say, with "white stones still speaking out."
S. J. R.
EDUCATION AND PREPARATION.
Henry Martyn was born in England on the south-western coast of Truro,
February 18, 1781. His father, Mr. John Martyn, worked in the mines.
He was not educated but was very fond of learning. The miners were in
the habit of working and resting alternately every four hours. Mr.
John Martyn spent many of his rest intervals in study, and so by
diligence and education raised himself to a higher position, and
became a clerk in the office of a merchant in Truro. When Henry was
seven years old, he went to school to Dr. Cardew. From his earliest
years all who knew him considered him a very interesting and promising
child. Dr. Cardew says his proficiency in the classics exceeded that
of his schoolfellows; he was of a lively, cheerful temper and seemed
to learn without application, almost by intuition. But he was not
robust, and loving books better than sport, and having a peculiar
tenderness and inoffensiveness of spirit, he was often abused by rude
and coarse boys in the school. A friendship which he formed at this
time with a boy older than himself was the source of great comfort and
advantage to him, and was kept up throughout his whole life. This
friend often protected him from the bullies of the play-ground. At
this school, under excellent tuition, Henry remained until fourteen
years old, when he was induced to offer himself as a candidate for a
vacant scholarship at Corpus Christi College, Oxford. Young as he was,
he went there alone, and acquitted himself so well, though strongly
and ably opposed by competitors, that in the opinion of some of the
examiners he ought to have been elected. How often is the hand of God
seen in frustrating our fondest designs! Speaking of this
disappointment he afterwards wrote: "Had I remained and become a
member of the university at that time, as I should have done in case
of success, the profligate acquaintances I had there would have
introduced me to scenes of debauchery, in which I must in all
probability, from my extreme youth, have sunk forever."
He continued after this with Dr Cardew till 1797, and then joined his
school friend at Cambridge at St. John's College. Here he obtained a
place in the first class at the public examination in December, a
circumstance which, joined to the extreme desire he had to gratify his
father, encouraged and excited him to study with increased alacrity,
and as the fruit of this application, at the next public examination
in the summer he reached the second station in the first class, a
point of elevation which "flattered his pride not a little." At this
time he appeared in the eye of the world most amiable and commendable,
outwardly moral, unwearied in application, and exhibited marks of no
ordinary talent. One exception to this statement is to be found in an
irritability of temper arising perhaps from the treatment he had
received at school. On one occasion in sudden anger, he threw a knife
at the head of another boy, which providentially missed him and was
left trembling in the wall; but it was a narrow escape, and might have
proved fatal. Though not a Christian at this time, he was under two
strong influences for good, one from his religious friend in college,
the other from his sister in Cornwall, a Christian of a meek, heavenly
and affectionate spirit. He paid a visit to his home in the summer of
1799, carrying with him no small degree of academical honor. It may be
well supposed that to a sister such as we have described, her
brother's spiritual welfare would be a most serious and anxious
concern; and that she often conversed with him on the subject of
religion we know from his own declaration. The first result of her
tender exhortations and earnest endeavors was very discouraging; a
violent conflict took place in her brother's mind between his
conviction of the truth of what she urged, and his love of the world;
and for the present, the latter prevailed. Yet, sisters similarly
circumstanced may learn from this case, not merely their duty, but
also, from the final result, the success they may anticipate in the
faithful discharge of it.
"At the examination at Christmas, 1799," he writes: "I was first, and
the account of it pleased my father prodigiously, who, I was told, was
in great health and spirits. What, then, was my consternation when in
January I received an account of his death!" Most poignant were his
sufferings under this affliction, which led him to God for comfort in
prayer and Bible study. He says: "I began with the Acts, and found
myself insensibly led to inquire more attentively into the doctrines
of the Apostles." Writing to his sister, having announced shortly and
with much simplicity that his name stood first upon the list at the
college examination of the summer of 1800, he says: "What a blessing
it is for me that I have such a sister as you, my dear S., who have
been so instrumental in keeping me in the right way. After the death
of our father you know I was extremely low spirited, and like most
other people began to consider seriously without any particular
determination, that invisible world to which he was gone and to which
I must one day go. Soon I began to attend more diligently to the words
of our Savior in the New Testament, and to devour them with delight,
when the offers of mercy and forgiveness were made so freely; I
supplicated to be made partaker of the covenant of grace with
eagerness and hope, and thanks be to the ever-blessed Trinity for not
leaving me without comfort!" How cheering to his sister it must have
been to receive at a moment of deep sorrow such a communication as
this! How salutary to his own mind to have possessed so near a
relation to whom he could thus freely open the workings of his heart.
At this time he also received great benefit from attendance on the
faithful ministry of Rev. Charles Simeon, under whose pastoral
instructions he himself declares that he "gradually acquired more
knowledge in divine things." With this excellent man he had the most
friendly and unreserved intercourse. Mr. Martyn received his first
impressions of the transcendent excellence of the Christian ministry
of Mr. Simeon, from which it was but a short step to choose this
calling for his own, for until now he had intended to devote himself
to the law "chiefly," he confesses, "because he could not consent to
be poor for Christ's sake."
In January, 1801, the highest academical honor, that of "senior
wrangler," was awarded to him before the completion of his twentieth
year. His description of his feelings on this occasion is remarkable:
"I obtained my highest wishes, but was surprised to find that I had
grasped a shadow." So impossible it is for earthly distinction to fill
and satisfy the mind.
In March, 1802, after another rigid examination, Mr. Martyn was chosen
Fellow of St. Johns, a situation honorable to the society and
gratifying to himself. Soon after he obtained first prize for best
Latin prose composition over many competitors of classical celebrity,
and this was the more remarkable, as his studies had been almost
entirely in mathematics.
Henry Martyn's attention was called to the great cause of Foreign
Missions by some remarks of Rev. Mr. Simeon on the work of Carey in
India, but more particularly by reading the memoir of David Brainerd,
who preached with apostolic zeal and success to the North American
Indians, and who finished a course of self-denying labors for his
Redeemer with unspeakable joy at the early age of thirty-two. Henry
Martyn's soul was filled with holy emulation, and after deep
consideration and fervent prayer he was at length fixed in a
resolution to imitate his example. Nor let it be conceived that he
could adopt this resolution without the severest conflict in his mind,
for he was endued with the truest sensibility of heart, and was
susceptible of the warmest and tenderest attachments. No one could
exceed him in love for his country, or in affection for his friends,
and few could surpass him in an exquisite relish for the various and
refined enjoyments of a social and literary life. How then could it
fail of being a moment of extreme anguish when he came to the
deliberate resolution of leaving forever all he held dear upon earth?
But he was fully satisfied that the glory of that Savior who loved him
and gave Himself for him would be promoted by his going forth to
preach to the heathen. He considered their pitiable and perilous
condition; he thought on the value of their immortal souls; he
remembered the last solemn injunction of his Lord, "Go teach all
nations,"--an injunction never revoked, and commensurate with that
most encouraging promise, "Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end
of the world." Actuated by these motives, he offered himself as a
missionary to the society for Missions, and from that time stood
prepared with childlike simplicity and unshaken constancy to go to any
part of the world whither it might be deemed expedient to send him.
In the early part of 1804, Mr. Martyn's plans of becoming a missionary
were dampened by the loss of his slender patrimony, and as his sister
was also involved in the calamity, it appeared hardly justifiable for
him to go away. After some delay his friends obtained for him the
position of chaplain to the East India Company, and so the obstacles
which detained him were removed.
The time of the delay was spent in zealous service for his divine
Master. He was associated with Rev. Mr. Simeon as curate and preached
with great zeal and unction, often to very large audiences, and
sometimes with such unsparing denunciation of common sins as to awaken
opposition. He considered it his duty to rebuke iniquity, and on one
occasion severely reproved a student for shocking levity,--reading a
play with some young ladies while their father lay dying. He feared
the result of this might be estrangement from his friend, but prayed
earnestly that it might lead to his awakening. This prayer was
answered, and afterwards this very friend became his beloved associate
in missionary work in India.
In very early youth Mr. Martyn became fondly attached to a young lady
named Lydia Grenfell. She considered herself his superior in social
position. The memoirs all speak of her as estimable, and we infer from
the little that is said that she somewhat indifferently accepted Henry
Martyn's homage, but she did not wholeheartedly and generously
respond. What a contrast to the beloved and devoted Harriet Newell,
who was not afraid to risk all for Christ, and counted not her life
dear even unto the death! It was Miss Grenfell's greatest honor that
Henry Martyn would have made her his wife, but she declined the honor,
and yet gave him encouragement, for their correspondence only ended
with his life, and his very last writing was a letter to her. He
begged her with all the eloquence of a lonely and devoted heart to
come out to him after he had gone to India, arranging every detail for
her comfort with thoughtful tenderness, and urging and encouraging her
and lavishing upon her an affection that would have crowned and
enriched her life. We are left to infer from the history that she did
love him in her way, but if she had shared his consecration and gone
with him and taken care of him, and cheered and comforted him, and
made for him a happy restful home, as some missionary wives have done
in self-denying foreign fields, what a blessing she might have been,
and her life, how fruitful, and her memory, how fragrant! As it was,
she has this distinction, that she was Henry Martyn's disappointment
and trial and discipline. No one less tender and sensitive than Henry
Martyn can appreciate all he suffered on this account; but he made it,
like all the other great sorrows of his life, a cross on which to be
crucified with Christ.
He writes to his dear sister S.: "When I sometimes offer up
supplications with strong crying to God to bring down my spirit into
the dust I endeavor calmly to contemplate the infinite majesty of the
most high God and my own meanness and wickedness, or else I quietly
tell the Lord, who knows the heart, I would give Him all the glory of
everything if I could. But the most effectual way I have ever found is
to lead away my thoughts from myself and my own concerns by praying
for all my friends, for the church, the world, the nation, and
especially by beseeching that God would glorify His own great name by
converting all nations to the obedience of faith, also by praying that
he would put more abundant honor on those Christians whom he seems to
have honored especially, and whom we see to be manifestly our
superiors."
In spite of Henry Martyn's beautiful humility, honor after honor was
heaped upon him by his admiring and appreciative Alma Mater. Three
times he was chosen examiner, and discharged the duties of this office
with great care and faithfulness.
As the time approaches for his parting from all he holds dear,
especially the beloved L., our hearts go out to him in irrepressible
sympathy. He writes, "parted with L. forever in this life with a sort
of uncertain pain which I know will increase to greater violence."
And these forebodings were but too soon realized. For many succeeding
days his mental agony was extreme, yet he could speak to God as one
who knew the great conflict within him. Yet while the waves and
billows are going over him he writes from these depths, "I never had
so clear a conviction of my call as at the present. Never did I see so
much the exceeding excellency and glory and sweetness of the work, nor
had so much the favorable testimony of my own conscience, nor
perceived so plainly the smile of God. Blessed be God, I feel myself
to be His minister. This thought which I can hardly describe came in
the morning after reading Brainerd. I wish for no service but the
service of God, to labor for souls on earth and to do His will in
heaven."
LIFE IN INDIA.
On the 17th of July, 1805, the Union East Indiaman conveying Mr.
Martyn sailed from Portsmouth. Mr. Martyn says: "Though it was what I
had been anxiously looking forward to so long, yet the consideration
of being parted forever from my friends, almost overcame me. My
feelings were those of a man who should suddenly be told that every
friend he had in the world was dead."
Though suffering much in mind and body throughout the long and tedious
voyage of nine months, Mr. Martyn seeks no selfish ease. He preaches,
reads and labors assiduously with officers, passengers and crew, and
shuns not to declare the whole counsel of God, even the unpalatable
doctrine of the future punishment of the wicked. He says: "The threats
and opposition of these men made me willing to set before them the
truths they hated, yet I had no species of hesitation about doing it.
They said they would not come if so much hell was preached, but I took
for my text, 'The wicked shall be turned into hell and all the nations
that forget God.' The officers were all behind my back in order to
have an opportunity of retiring in case of dislike. H., as soon as he
heard the text, went back and said he would hear no more about hell;
so he employed himself in feeding the geese. However, God I trust
blessed the sermon to the good of many; some of the cadets and many of
the soldiers were in tears. I felt an ardor and vehemence in some
parts which are unusual with me. After service walked the deck with
Mrs. ----; she spoke with so much simplicity and amiable humility that
I was full of joy and admiration to God for a sheep brought home to
His fold. In the afternoon went below intending to read to them at the
hatchway, but there was not one of them, so I
| 780.471439 | 3,818 |
2023-11-16 18:28:47.1562330
| 4,085 | 63 |
Produced by Steven desJardins and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
THE STRANGE STORY OF RAB RABY
DR. MAURUS JOKAI'S
MORE FAMOUS WORKS
(Authorised Translations).
LIBRARY EDITION.
6/- each.
Black Diamonds.
The Green Book; or, Freedom Under the Snow.
Pretty Michal.
The Lion of Janina; or, The Last Days of the Janissaries.
An Hungarian Nabob.
Dr. Dumany's Wife.
The Nameless Castle.
The Poor Plutocrats.
Debts of Honour.
Halil the Pedlar.
The Day of Wrath.
Eyes Like the Sea.
'Midst the Wild Carpathians.
The Slaves of the Padishah.
Tales from Jokai.
NEW POPULAR EDITION.
2/6 Net each.
The Yellow Rose.
Black Diamonds.
The Green Book; or, Freedom Under the Snow.
Pretty Michal.
The Day of Wrath.
LONDON: JARROLD & SONS.
[Illustration: portrait of Mor Jokai]
THE STRANGE STORY OF RAB RABY
BY MAURUS JOKAI
[Illustration: SANS PEUR ET SANS REPROCHE.]
THIRD EDITION
LONDON
JARROLD & SONS, 10 & 11, WARWICK LANE, E.C.
[All Rights Reserved.]
PREFACE
TO JOKAI'S "RAB RABY," IN ENGLISH,
By Dr. Emil Reich.
In "Rab Raby," the famous Hungarian novelist gives us, in a manner quite
his own, a picture of the "old regime" in Hungary in the times of
Emperor Joseph II., 1780-1790. The novel, as to its plot and principal
persons, is based on facts, and the then manners and institutions of
Hungary are faithfully reflected in the various scenes from private,
judicial, and political life as it developed under the erroneous policy
of Joseph II.
Briefly speaking, "Rab Raby" is the story of one of those frightful
miscarriages of justice which at all times cropped up under the
influence of political motives. In our own time we have seen the Dreyfus
case, another instance of appalling injustice set in motion for
political reasons. "Rab Raby" is thus very likely to give the English
reader a wrong idea of the backward and savage character of Hungarian
civilisation towards the end of the eighteenth century, unless he
carefully considers the peculiar circumstances of the case. I think I
can do the novel no better service than setting it in its right
historic frame, which Jokai, writing as he did for Hungarians, did not
feel induced to dwell upon.
The Hungarians, alone of all Continental nations, have a political
Constitution of their own, the origin of which goes back to an age prior
to Magna Charta in England. Outside Hungary, it is generally believed
that Hungary is a mere annex of "Austria"; and the average Englishman in
particular is much surprised to hear that "Austria" is considerably
smaller than Hungary. In fact, "Austria" is merely a conventional
phrase. There is no Austria, in technical language. What is
conventionally called Austria has in reality a much longer name by which
alone it is technically recognised to exist. This name is, "The
countries represented in the _Reichsrath_." On the other hand, there is,
conventionally and technically, a Hungary, which has no "home-rule"
whatever from Austria, any more than Australia has "home-rule" from
England. In fact, Hungary is the equal partner of Austria; and no
Austrian official whatever can officially perform the slightest function
in Hungary. The person whom the people of "Austria" call "Emperor," the
Hungarians accept only as their King. There is not even a common
citizenship between Hungarians and Austrians; and a Hungarian to be
fully recognised in Austria as, say a lawyer, must first acquire the
Austrian rights of naturalisation, just as an Englishman would.
The preceding remarks will enable the reader to see clearly that Hungary
never accepted, nor can ever accept Austrian rule in any shape
whatever; and that the entire business of political, judicial, and
administrative government in Hungary must legally be done by Hungarian
citizens only. The King alone happens to be an official in Austria as
well as in Hungary; but according to Hungarian constitutional law he
cannot command, nor reform things in Hungary except with the formal
consent of the Hungarian authorities, in Parliament and County. In
Austria indeed, the "Emperor" was, previous to 1867, quite autocratic;
and even at present he has a very large share of autocratic power.
Now, Emperor Joseph II. desired to melt down Hungarian and Austrian
manners, laws, and institutions into one homogeneous mass of a
Germanised body-politic. With this view he commanded the Hungarians to
practically give up their own language, their ancient national
constitution, and old County institutions, thinking as he did, that such
an unification of the Austro-Hungarian peoples would make the Danubian
Monarchy much more powerful and prosperous than it had ever been before.
He sincerely believed that his scheme of unification would greatly
benefit his peoples; nor did he doubt that they would readily obey his
behests to that effect.
However, the Emperor was quite mistaken as to the effect of his imperial
policy upon the Hungarians. Far from acquiescing in his plans, the
Hungarians at once showed fight in every possible form of passive
resistance, rebellion, scorn, or threats. To them their Constitution
was, as it still is, dearer by far than all material prosperity.
The Emperor's ordinances were coolly shelved, not even read, and with a
few exceptions, all his commands proved abortive. Many Hungarians
admitted then, as others do now, that Joseph's reforms were in more than
one respect such as to benefit Hungary. Yet no Hungarian wanted to
purchase these reforms at the expense of the hoary and holy Constitution
of the country. Joseph, in commanding all those reforms, without so much
as asking for the consent of the Estates, violated the very fundamental
principle of the Hungarian Constitution. This the Hungarians were
determined to resist to the uttermost. In the end they vanquished the
ruler, who shortly before his death withdrew nearly all his ordinances,
and so confessed himself beaten.
It is in the midst of these historic and psychological circumstances
that Jokai laid his fascinating novel. A young Hungarian nobleman,
indignant at the illegality and injustice of public officials of his
native town, who shamefully exploit the poor of the district, approaches
the Emperor with a view to get his authorisation for measures destined
to put an end to the criminal encroachments of the said officials. The
Emperor gives him that authority. But far from strengthening young
Raby's case, the Emperor thereby exposes him to the unforgiving rancour
of both guilty and innocent officials who desperately resent the
Emperor's unconstitutional procedure.
The novel is the story of the conflict between the young noble and the
Emperor on the one hand, and the wretched, but in the nature of the
case, more patriotic officials, on the other. As in all such cases,
where virtue appears either at the wrong time, or in the wrong shape,
the ruin of the virtuous is almost inevitable, while no student of human
nature can wholly condemn his otherwise corrupt and despicable enemies.
In that conflict lies both the charm of the novel and its tragic
character.
As in all his stories, Jokai fills each page with a novel interest, and
his inexhaustible good humour and exuberant powers of description throw
even over the dark scenes of the story something of the soothing light
of mellow hilarity.
EMIL REICH.
_London, Nov. 1st, 1909._
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I. 1
CHAPTER II. 6
CHAPTER III. 11
CHAPTER IV. 16
CHAPTER V. 27
CHAPTER VI. 37
CHAPTER VII. 46
CHAPTER VIII. 50
CHAPTER IX. 58
CHAPTER X. 64
CHAPTER XI. 70
CHAPTER XII. 82
CHAPTER XIII. 86
CHAPTER XIV. 96
CHAPTER XV. 104
CHAPTER XVI. 112
CHAPTER XVII. 130
CHAPTER XVIII. 141
CHAPTER XIX. 150
CHAPTER XX. 159
CHAPTER XXI. 173
CHAPTER XXII. 178
CHAPTER XXIII. 188
CHAPTER XXIV. 197
CHAPTER XXV. 204
CHAPTER XXVI. 219
CHAPTER XXVII. 224
CHAPTER XXVIII. 234
CHAPTER XXIX. 237
CHAPTER XXX. 249
CHAPTER XXXI. 255
CHAPTER XXXII. 259
CHAPTER XXXIII. 268
CHAPTER XXXIV. 278
CHAPTER XXXV. 286
CHAPTER XXXVI. 289
CHAPTER XXXVII. 296
CHAPTER XXXVIII. 301
CHAPTER XXXIX. 308
CHAPTER XL. 317
CHAPTER XLI. 324
CHAPTER XLII. 328
CHAPTER XLIII. 335
CHAPTER XLIV. 339
CHAPTER XLV. 345
CHAPTER XLVI. 349
CHAPTER XLVII. 352
CHAPTER XLVIII. 357
CHAPTER XLIX. 360
CHAPTER L. 364
INTRODUCTION.
Now it is not because the double name of "Rab Raby" is merely a pretty
bit of alliteration that the author chose it for the title of his story,
but rather because the hero of it was, according to contemporary
witnesses of his doings, named Raby, and in consequence of these same
doings, earned the epithet "Rab" ("culprit"). How he deserved the
appellation will be duly shown in what follows.
A hundred years ago, there was no such thing as a lawyer, in the modern
sense, in the city of Buda-Pesth. Attorneys indeed there were, of all
sorts, but a lawyer who was at the public service was not to be found,
and when a country cousin came to town, to look for someone who should
"lie for money," he sought in vain.
Why this demand for lawyers could not be supplied in Buda-Pesth a
hundred years back may best be explained by briefly describing the two
cities at that epoch.
For two cities they really were, with their respective jurisdictions.
The Austrian magistrate persistently called Pesth "Old Buda," and the
Rascian city of Buda itself, "Pesth," but the Hungarians recognised
"Pestinum Antiqua" as Pesth, and for them, Buda was "the new city."
Pesth itself reaches from the Hatvan to the Waitz Gate. Where Hungary
Street now stretches was then to be seen the remains of the old city
wall, under which still nestled a few mud dwellings. The ancient Turkish
cemetery, to-day displaced by the National Theatre, was yet standing,
and further out still, lay kitchen gardens. On the other side, at the
end of what is now Franz-Deak Street, on the banks of the Danube, stood
the massive Rondell bastion, wherein, as a first sign of civilisation, a
theatrical company had pitched its abode, though, needless to say, it
was an Austrian one. At that epoch, it was prohibited by statute to
elect an Hungarian magistrate, and the law allowed no Hungarians but
tailors and boot-makers to be householders.
Of the Leopold City, there was at that time no trace, and the spot where
now the Bank stands, was then the haunt of wild-ducks. Where Franz-Deak
Street now stretches, ran a marshy <DW18>, which was surmounted by a
rampart of mud. In the Joseph quarter only was there any sign of
planning out the area of building-plots and streets; to be sure, the
rough outline of the Theresa city was just beginning to show itself in a
cluster of houses huddled closely together, and the narrow street which
they were then building was called "The Jewry." In this same street, and
in this only, was it permitted to the Jews, on one day every week, by an
order of the magistrate, to expose for sale those articles which
remained in their possession as forfeited pledges. Within the city they
were not allowed to have shops, and when outside the Jews' quarter, they
were obliged to don a red mantle, with a yellow lappet attached, and any
Jew who failed to wear this distinctive garb was fined four deniers.
There was little scope for trade. Merchants, shop-keepers and brokers
bought and sold for ready-money only; no one might incur debt save in
pawning; and if the customer failed to pay up, the pledge was forfeited.
Thus there was no call for legal aid. If the citizens had a quarrel,
they carried their difference to the magistrate to be adjusted, and both
parties had to be satisfied with his decision, no counsel being
necessary. Affairs of honour and criminal cases however were referred to
the exchequer, with a principal attorney and a vice-attorney for the
prosecution and for the defence.
At that time, there was in what is now Grenadier Street, a
single-storied house opposite the "hop-garden." This house was the
County Assembly House whence the provincial jurisdiction was exercised.
It had been the Austrian barracks, till finally, Maria Theresa promoted
it to the dignity of a law-court, and caused a huge double eagle with
the Hungarian escutcheon in the middle, to be painted thereon; from
which time, no soldier dare set foot in its precincts. Here it was only
permitted to the civilians and the prisoners confined there to enter.
Only the part of the building which faced east was then standing: this
wing comprised the officials' rooms and the subterranean dungeons.
The magnates carried on their petty local dissensions, aided by their
own legal wisdom alone, yet every Hungarian nobleman was an expert in
jurisprudence in his own fashion. There were even women who had proved
themselves quite adepts in arranging legal difficulties. The Hungarian
constitution allowed the right to the magnate who did not wish the law
to take its course, of forcibly staying its execution, and the same
prerogative was extended to a woman land-owner. The commonweal also
demanded that each one should strive to make as rapid an end as possible
to lawsuits. Long legal processes were adjusted so that there should be
time for the judge as well as the contending parties to look after
building and harvest operations, as well as the vintage and pig-killing.
On these occasions lawsuits would be laid aside so as not to interfere
with such important business.
But if the tax-paying peasant was at variance with his fellow-toiler,
the local magistrate, and the lord of the manor, were arbitrators. So
here likewise there was no room for a lawyer.
But when the peasant had ground of complaint against his betters, he had
none to take his part. There was, however, one man willing to fill the
breach, although he had been up to this time little noticed, and that
man was Rab Raby--or to give him his full title of honour, "Mathias Raby
of Raba and Mura."
He it was who was the first to realise the ambition of becoming on his
own account the people's lawyer in the city of Pesth--and this without
local suffrages or the active support of powerful patrons--but only at
the humble entreaty of those whose individual complaints are unheard,
but in unison, become as the noise of thunder.
The representative of this new profession did Raby aim at being. It was
for this men called him "Rab Raby," though he had, as we shall see, to
expiate his boldness most bitterly.
In what follows, the reader will find for the most part, a true history
of eighteenth century Pesth. It will be worth his while to read it, in
order to understand how the world wagged in the days when there was no
lawyer in Pesth and Buda. Moreover, it will perhaps reconcile him to the
fact that we have so many of them to-day!
CHAPTER I.
They sit, the worshipful government authorities of Pesth, at the
ink-bespattered green table in the council room of the Assembly House,
the president himself in the chair; close beside him, the prefect, whom
his neighbour, the "overseer of granaries," was doing his best to
confuse by his talking. On his left is an empty chair, beside which sits
the auditor, busy sketching hussars with a red pencil on the back of a
bill. Opposite is the official tax-collector whose neck is already quite
stiff with looking up at the clock to see how far it is from
dinner-time. The rest of the party are consequential officials who
divide their time between discussing fine distinctions in Latinity, and
cutting toothpicks for the approaching mid-day meal.
The eighth seat, which remains empty, is destined for the magistrate.
But empty it won't be for long.
And indeed it is not empty because its owner is too lazy to fill it, but
because he is on official affairs intent in the actual court room,
whereof the door stands ajar, so that although he cannot hear all that
is going forward, he can have a voice in the discussion when the vote is
taken.
From the court itself rises a malodorous steam from the damp sheepskin
cloaks, the reek of dirty boots and the pungent fumes of garlic--a
combined stench so thick that you could have cut it with a knife.
Peasants there are too there in plenty, Magyars, Rascians, and Swabians:
all of whom must get their "viginti solidos," otherwise their "twenty
strokes with the lash."
For to-day is the fourth session of the local court of criminal appeal.
On this day, the serious cases are taken first, and after the
death-sentences have been passed, come a succession of lesser peasant
offenders for judgment.
Some have broken open granaries, others have been guilty of assaults,
but there are three main groups. To one of these belong the settlers
from
| 780.475643 | 3,819 |
2023-11-16 18:28:47.1969540
| 398 | 92 |
E-text prepared by Suzanne Shell, Ernest Schaal, 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: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustration.
See 39631-h.htm or 39631-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/39631/39631-h/39631-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/39631/39631-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
http://archive.org/details/runawaysneworigi00gouliala
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Small capital letters were replaced with all capital letters.
There were places where a word was unreadable. In those places,
the most likely word was used, enclosed in brackets.
THE RUNAWAYS
All rights reserved
THE RUNAWAYS
A New and Original Story
by
NAT GOULD
[Illustration]
G. Heath Robinson
and J. Birch, Limited
London:
Printed by William Clowes and Sons, Limited.
Duke Street, Stamford Street, S.E. and Great Windmill Street, W.
NAT GOULD: AN APPRECIATION.
[Illustration]
Nat Gould's novels of the Turf are read and enjoyed by multitudes of men
and women all over the world. That in itself is a guarantee of literary
merit. Had he been a stylist, the sale of his hundred odd books would
never have run into a score of millions. He wrote to please and not to
puzzle, to give pleasure and not to educate,
| 780.516364 | 3,820 |
2023-11-16 18:28:47.5626530
| 1,125 | 399 |
Produced by Curtis A. Weyant, Charles Franks and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team.
TALES OF THE PUNJAB
FOLKLORE OF INDIA
BY
FLORA ANNIE STEEL
CONTENTS
Preface
To the Little Reader
Sir Buzz
The Rat's Wedding
The Faithful Prince
The Bear's Bad Bargain
Prince Lionheart and his Three Friends
The Lambkin
Bopoluchi
Princess Aubergine
Valiant Vicky, the Brave Weaver
The Son of Seven Mothers
The Sparrow and the Crow
The Tiger, the Brahman, and the Jackal
The King of the Crocodiles
Little Anklebone
The Close Alliance
The Two Brothers
The Jackal and the Iguana
The Death and Burial of Poor Hen-Sparrow
Princess Pepperina
Peasie and Beansir
The Jackal and the Partridge
The Snake-woman and King Ali Mardan
The Wonderful Ring
The Jackal and the Pea-hen
The Grain of Corn
The Farmer and the Money-lender
The Lord of Death
The Wrestlers
The Legend of Gwashbrari, the Glacier-Hearted Queen
The Barber's Clever Wife
The Jackal and the Crocodile
How Raja Rasalu Was Born
How Raja Rasalu Went Out Into the World
How Raja Rasalu's Friends Forsook Him
How Raja Rasalu Killed the Giants
How Raja Rasalu Became a Jogi
How Raja Rasalu Journeyed to the City of King Sarkap
How Raja Rasalu Swung the Seventy Fair Maidens, Daughters of the King
How Raja Rasalu Played Chaupur with King Sarkap
The King Who Was Fried
Prince Half-a-Son
The Mother and Daughter Who Worshipped the Sun
The Ruby Prince
Notes to the Tales
PREFACE
Many of the tales in this collection appeared either in the _Indian
Antiquary_, the _Calcutta Review_, or the _Legends of the
Punjab_. They were then in the form of literal translations, in
many cases uncouth or even unpresentable to ears polite, in all
scarcely intelligible to the untravelled English reader; for it must
be remembered that, with the exception of the Adventures of Raja
Rasalu, all these stories are strictly folk-tales passing current
among a people who can neither read nor write, and whose diction is
full of colloquialisms, and, if we choose to call them so,
vulgarisms. It would be manifestly unfair, for instance, to compare
the literary standard of such tales with that of the _Arabian
Nights_, the _Tales of a Parrot_, or similar works. The
manner in which these stories were collected is in itself sufficient
to show how misleading it would be, if, with the intention of giving
the conventional Eastern flavour to the text, it were to be
manipulated into a flowery dignity; and as a description of the
procedure will serve the double purpose of credential and excuse, the
authors give it,--premising that all the stories but three have been
collected by Mrs. F. A. Steel during winter tours through the various
districts of which her husband has been Chief Magistrate.
A carpet is spread under a tree in the vicinity of the spot which the
Magistrate has chosen for his _darbar_, but far enough away from
bureaucracy to let the village idlers approach it should they feel so
inclined. In a very few minutes, as a rule, some of them begin to
edge up to it, and as they are generally small boys, they commence
nudging each other, whispering, and sniggering. The fancied approach
of a _chuprasi_, the 'corrupt lictor' of India, who attends at
every _darbar_, will however cause a sudden stampede; but after a
time these become less and less frequent, the wild beasts, as it were,
becoming tamer. By and by a group of women stop to gaze, and then the
question 'What do you want?' invariably brings the answer 'To see your
honour' (_ap ke darshan ae_). Once the ice is broken, the only
difficulties are, first, to understand your visitors, and secondly, to
get them to go away. When the general conversation is fairly started,
inquiries are made by degrees as to how many witches there are in the
village, or what cures they know for fever and the evil eye,
_etc_. At first these are met by denials expressed in set terms,
but a little patient talk will generally lead to some remarks which
point the villagers' minds in the direction required, till at last,
after many persuasions, some child begins a story, others correct the
details, emulation conquers shyness, and finally the story-teller is
brought to the front with acclamations: for there is always a
story-teller _par excellence_ in every village--generally a boy.
Then comes the
| 780.882063 | 3,821 |
2023-11-16 18:28:47.9356060
| 1,168 | 427 |
Produced by Suzanne Shell, Diane Monico, and The Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: (cover)]
[Illustration: (frontispiece)]
"SOME SAY"
NEIGHBOURS IN CYRUS
BY
LAURA E. RICHARDS
Author of "Captain January," "Melody," "Queen Hildegarde,"
"Five-Minute Stories," "When I Was Your Age,"
"Narcissa," "Marie," "Nautilus," etc.
TWELFTH THOUSAND
[Illustration]
BOSTON
DANA ESTES & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
_Copyright, 1896_,
BY ESTES & LAURIAT
_All rights reserved_
Colonial Press:
C. H. Simonds & Co., Boston, Mass., U.S.A.
Electrotyped by Geo. C. Scott & Sons
"SOME SAY"
TO MY
Dear Sister,
FLORENCE HOWE HALL,
THIS VOLUME
IS AFFECTIONATELY
DEDICATED
* * * * *
"SOME SAY."
Part I.
"And some say, she expects to get him married to Rose Ellen before the
year's out!"
"I want to know if she does!"
"Her sister married a minister, and her father was a deacon, so mebbe
she thinks she's got a master-key to the Kingdom. But I don't feel so
sure of her gettin' this minister for Rose Ellen. Some say he's so
wropped up in his garden truck that he don't know a gal from a
gooseberry bush. He! he!"
The shrill cackle was answered by a slow, unctuous chuckle, as of a
fat and wheezy person; then a door was closed, and silence fell.
The minister looked up apprehensively; his fair face was flushed, and
his mild, blue eyes looked troubled. He gazed at the broad back of his
landlady, as she stood dusting, with minute care, the china ornaments
on the mantelpiece; but her back gave no sign. He coughed once or
twice; he said, "Mrs. Mellen!" tentatively, first low, then in his
ordinary voice, but there was no reply. Was Mrs. Mellen deaf? he had
not noticed it before. He pondered distressfully for a few moments;
then dropped his eyes, and the book swallowed him again. Yet the sting
remained, for when presently the figure at the mantelpiece turned
round, he looked up hastily, and flushed again as he met his hostess'
gaze, calm and untroubled as a summer pool.
"There, sir!" said Mrs. Mellen, cheerfully. "I guess that's done to
suit. Is there anything more I can do for you before I go?"
The minister's mind hovered between two perplexities; a glance at the
book before him decided their relative importance.
"Have you ever noticed, Mrs. Mellen, whether woodcocks are more apt to
fly on moonshiny nights, as White assures us?"
"Woodbox?" said Mrs. Mellen. "Why, yes, sir, it's handy by; and when
there's no moon, the lantern always hangs in the porch. But I'll see
that Si Jones keeps it full up, after this."
Decidedly, the good woman was deaf, and she had not heard. Could those
harpies be right? If any such idea as they suggested were actually in
his hostess' mind, he must go away, for his work must not be
interfered with, and he must not encourage hopes,--the minister
blushed again, and glanced around to see if any one could see him.
But he was so comfortable here, and Miss Mellen was so intelligent, so
helpful; and this seemed the ideal spot on which to compile his New
England "Selborne."
He sighed, and thought of the woodcock again. Why should the bird
prefer a moonshiny night? Was it likely that the creature had any
appreciation of the beauties of nature? Shakespeare uses the woodcock
as a simile of folly, to express a person without brains. Ha!
The door opened, and Rose Ellen came in, her eyes shining with
pleasure, her hands full of gold and green.
"I've found the 'Squarrosa,' Mr. Lindsay!" she announced. "See, this
is it, surely!"
The minister rose, and inspected the flowers delightedly. "This is it,
surely!" he repeated. "Stem stout, hairy above; leaves large, oblong,
or the lower spatulate-oval, and tapering into a marginal petiole,
serrate veiny; heads numerous; seeds obtuse or acute; disk-flowers, 16
x 24. This is, indeed, a treasure, for Gray calls it 'rare in New
England.' I congratulate you, Miss Mellen."
"Late, sir?" said Mrs. Mellen, calmly. "Oh, no, 'tisn't hardly five
o'clock yet. Still, 'tis time for me to be thinkin' of gettin'
supper."
"Don't you want I should make some biscuit for supper, mother?" asked
Rose Ellen, coming out of her rapt contemplation of the goldenrod
| 781.255016 | 3,822 |
2023-11-16 18:28:47.9477250
| 2,045 | 60 |
Produced by Roberta Staehlin, Pat McCoy and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
TRANSCRIBER NOTES:
Words enclosed in ='s are indicated as BOLD-FACED TYPE.
Words enclosed in _'s are indicated as ITALIC TYPE.
[Symbol: Right] indicates a small illustrated hand pointing
towards the right.
[Symbol: Left] indicates a small illustrated hand pointing towards
the left.
Additional notes may be found at the end of the text.
WIVES AND WIDOWS;
OR,
THE BROKEN LIFE.
BY
MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS.
AUTHOR OF "RUBY GRAY'S STRATEGY," "FASHION AND FAMINE," "THE CURSE OF
GOLD," "THE REJECTED WIFE," "THE OLD HOMESTEAD," "THE WIFE'S SECRET,"
"MABEL'S MISTAKE," "THE GOLD BRICK," "SILENT STRUGGLES," "MARY DERWENT,"
"DOUBLY FALSE," "THE HEIRESS," "THE SOLDIER'S ORPHANS," ETC., ETC.
When falsehood genders in a human soul,
Blossoms may hide the reptile in his creeping,
But every pulse will stir at his control,
Or feel the burden of his poisonous sleeping,
Until the tight'ning circle of his coils
Binds down the heart, which God alone assoils.
In honest hearts the gentle truth reposes;
As nightingales, with rapturous music filled,
Nestle down, softly, in the clust'ring roses,
While the sweet night and moonlit air is thrilled
With perfect harmonies,--truth will arise
And send its voice, upringing, to the skies.
PHILADELPHIA:
T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS;
306 CHESTNUT STREET.
TO
MISS ELIZA S. ORMSBEE,
OF
PROVIDENCE, RHODE ISLAND,
THIS BOOK IS
MOST AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.
ANN S. STEPHENS.
ST. CLOUD HOTEL, NEW YORK,
NOVEMBER, 1869.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. LEAVING MY HOME 25
II. MY NEW HOME 31
III. A NEW LIFE 35
IV. THREATENED WITH SEPARATION 40
V. AFTER THE WEDDING 48
VI. TELLING HOW LOTTIE INTRODUCED HERSELF 53
VII. OUT IN THE WORLD 59
VIII. OUR GUEST 63
IX. FANCIES AND PREMONITIONS 70
X. NEW VISITORS 76
XI. THE BASKET OF FRUIT 81
XII. BREAKFAST WITH OUR GUEST 86
XIII. JESSIE LEE AND HER MOTHER 88
XIV. INTRUSIVE KINDNESS 92
XV. THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT 97
XVI. AFTER DREAMING 101
XVII. LOTTIE EXPRESSES HER OPINION OF THE
WIDOW 106
XVIII. THE UNWELCOME PROPOSAL 109
XIX. OUT UPON THE RIDGE 112
XX. ADROIT CROSS-QUESTIONING 118
XXI. THE EVENING AFTER BOSWORTH'S PROPOSAL 121
XXII. SOWING SEED FOR ANOTHER DAY 125
XXIII. AN OUTBREAK OF JEALOUSY 130
XXIV. THE OLD PENNSYLVANIA MANSION 135
XXV. THE MOTHER AND GRANDMOTHER 139
XXVI. SICK-BED FANCIES 143
XXVII. THE FIRST SOUND SLEEP 147
XXVIII. THE INTERVIEW IN THE WOODS 150
XXIX. TROUBLES GATHER ABOUT OUR JESSIE 155
XXX. MRS. DENNISON GATHERS WILD FLOWERS 159
XXXI. LOTTIE'S ADVICE 165
XXXII. MRS. LEE DREAMS OF PASSION-FLOWERS 169
XXXIII. COMPANY FROM TOWN 173
XXXIV. OUR VISIT TO THE OLD MANSION 177
XXXV. YOUNG BOSWORTH'S SICK-ROOM 181
XXXVI. LOTTIE'S REPORT 184
XXXVII. MY FIRST QUARREL WITH MR. LEE 188
XXXVIII. MR. LAWRENCE MAKES A CALL 192
XXXIX. LOTTIE AS A LETTER-WRITER 197
XL. YOUNG BOSWORTH RECEIVES A LETTER 200
XLI. OUT IN THE STORM 206
XLII. JESSIE GETS TIRED OF HER GUEST 208
XLIII. A CONSULTATION WITH LOTTIE 211
XLIV. THE MIDNIGHT DISCOVERY 216
XLV. BAFFLED AND DEFEATED 221
XLVI. LOTTIE OWNS HERSELF BEATEN 225
XLVII. MR. LEE SENDS IN THE ACCOUNT OF HIS GUARDIANSHIP 227
XLVIII. COMING OUT OF A DANGEROUS ILLNESS 231
XLIX. LOTTIE SEEMS TREACHEROUS 237
L. CONFIDENTIAL CONVERSATION BETWEEN THE WIDOW AND
MRS. LEE 240
LI. THE FATHER AND DAUGHTER 247
LII. THE FATAL LETTER 252
LIII. DEATH IN THE TOWER-CHAMBER 257
LIV. MRS. LEE'S FUNERAL 261
LV. OLD MRS. BOSWORTH'S VISIT 265
LVI. LOTTIE'S REVELATIONS 268
LVII. MRS. DENNISON URGES LAWRENCE TO PROPOSE 272
LVIII. AFTER THE PROPOSAL 277
LIX. A HEART-STORM ABATING 282
LX. THE TWO LETTERS 286
LXI. THE DEPARTING GUEST 290
LXII. WHOLLY DESERTED 297
LXIII. OLD-FASHIONED POLITENESS 302
LXIV. NEWS FROM ABROAD 306
LXV. LOTTIE LEAVES A LETTER AND A BOOK 313
LXVI. MRS. DENNISON'S JOURNAL 316
LXVII. OUR FIRST VISITOR 323
LXVIII. THE WATERFALL 329
LXIX. THE THREATENED DEPARTURE 338
LXX. THE MIDNIGHT WALK 348
LXXI. AWAY FROM HOME 355
LXXII. OUT IN THE WORLD AGAIN 358
LXXIII. FIRST WIDOWHOOD 362
LXXIV. LOTTIE'S LETTER 385
LXXV. LOTTIE IN PARIS 392
LXXVI. THE CASKET OF DIAMONDS 395
LXXVII. ALL TOGETHER AGAIN 404
WIVES AND WIDOWS.
CHAPTER I.
LEAVING MY HOME.
At ten years of age I was the unconscious mistress of a heavy stone
farm-house and extensive lands in the interior of Pennsylvania, with
railroad-bonds and bank-stock enough to secure me a moderate
independence. I shall never, never forget the loneliness of that old
house the day my mother was carried out of it and laid down by her
husband in the churchyard behind the village. The most intense suffering
of life often comes in childhood. My mother was dead; I could almost
feel her last cold kisses on my lip as I sat down in that desolate
parlor, waiting for the guardian who was expected to take me from my
dear old home to his. The window opened into a field of white clover,
where some cows and lambs were pasturing drowsily, as I had seen them a
hundred times; but now their very tranquillity grieved me. It seemed
strange that they would stand there so content, with the white clover
dropping from their mouths, and I going away forever. My mother's
canary-bird, which hung in the window, began to sing joyously over my
head, as if no funeral had passed from that room, leaving its shadows
behind, and, more grievous still, as if it did not care that I might
never sit and listen to it again.
One of the neighbors had kindly volunteered to take charge of the gloomy
old
| 781.267135 | 3,823 |
2023-11-16 18:28:48.1226060
| 1,097 | 403 |
Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer and David Widger
THE JUNGLE BOOK
By Rudyard Kipling
Contents
Mowgli's Brothers
Hunting-Song of the Seeonee Pack
Kaa's Hunting
Road-Song of the Bandar-Log
"Tiger! Tiger!"
Mowgli's Song
The White Seal
Lukannon
"Rikki-Tikki-Tavi"
Darzee's Chant
Toomai of the Elephants
Shiv and the Grasshopper
Her Majesty's Servants
Parade Song of the Camp Animals
Mowgli's Brothers
Now Rann the Kite brings home the night
That Mang the Bat sets free--
The herds are shut in byre and hut
For loosed till dawn are we.
This is the hour of pride and power,
Talon and tush and claw.
Oh, hear the call!--Good hunting all
That keep the Jungle Law!
Night-Song in the Jungle
It was seven o'clock of a very warm evening in the Seeonee hills when
Father Wolf woke up from his day's rest, scratched himself, yawned, and
spread out his paws one after the other to get rid of the sleepy feeling
in their tips. Mother Wolf lay with her big gray nose dropped across her
four tumbling, squealing cubs, and the moon shone into the mouth of the
cave where they all lived. "Augrh!" said Father Wolf. "It is time to
hunt again." He was going to spring down hill when a little shadow with
a bushy tail crossed the threshold and whined: "Good luck go with you, O
Chief of the Wolves. And good luck and strong white teeth go with noble
children that they may never forget the hungry in this world."
It was the jackal--Tabaqui, the Dish-licker--and the wolves of India
despise Tabaqui because he runs about making mischief, and telling
tales, and eating rags and pieces of leather from the village
rubbish-heaps. But they are afraid of him too, because Tabaqui, more
than anyone else in the jungle, is apt to go mad, and then he forgets
that he was ever afraid of anyone, and runs through the forest biting
everything in his way. Even the tiger runs and hides when little Tabaqui
goes mad, for madness is the most disgraceful thing that can overtake
a wild creature. We call it hydrophobia, but they call it dewanee--the
madness--and run.
"Enter, then, and look," said Father Wolf stiffly, "but there is no food
here."
"For a wolf, no," said Tabaqui, "but for so mean a person as myself a
dry bone is a good feast. Who are we, the Gidur-log [the jackal people],
to pick and choose?" He scuttled to the back of the cave, where he
found the bone of a buck with some meat on it, and sat cracking the end
merrily.
"All thanks for this good meal," he said, licking his lips. "How
beautiful are the noble children! How large are their eyes! And so young
too! Indeed, indeed, I might have remembered that the children of kings
are men from the beginning."
Now, Tabaqui knew as well as anyone else that there is nothing so
unlucky as to compliment children to their faces. It pleased him to see
Mother and Father Wolf look uncomfortable.
Tabaqui sat still, rejoicing in the mischief that he had made, and then
he said spitefully:
"Shere Khan, the Big One, has shifted his hunting grounds. He will hunt
among these hills for the next moon, so he has told me."
Shere Khan was the tiger who lived near the Waingunga River, twenty
miles away.
"He has no right!" Father Wolf began angrily--"By the Law of the Jungle
he has no right to change his quarters without due warning. He will
frighten every head of game within ten miles, and I--I have to kill for
two, these days."
"His mother did not call him Lungri [the Lame One] for nothing," said
Mother Wolf quietly. "He has been lame in one foot from his birth. That
is why he has only killed cattle. Now the villagers of the Waingunga are
angry with him, and he has come here to make our villagers angry.
They will scour the jungle for him when he is far away, and we and our
children must run when the grass is set alight. Indeed, we are very
grateful to Shere Khan!"
"Shall I tell him of your gratitude?" said Tabaqui.
"Out!" snapped Father Wolf. "Out and hunt with thy master. Thou hast
done harm enough for one night."
"I go," said Tabaqui quietly. "Ye can hear Shere Khan below in the
thickets. I might have saved myself the message."
Father Wolf
| 781.442016 | 3,824 |
2023-11-16 18:28:48.1436720
| 2,878 | 48 |
Produced by Camille Bernard & Marc D'Hooghe at
http://www.freeliterature.org (From images at Hathi Trust.)
THE WHITE SCALPER.
A Story of the Texan War.
BY
GUSTAVE AIMARD,
AUTHOR OF "INDIAN SCOUT," "FREEBOOTERS," "BORDER RIFLES" ETC.
LONDON:
WARD AND LOCK,
168, FLEET STREET.
MDCCCLXI.
ADVERTISEMENT.
With the conclusion of the present series of GUSTAVE AIMARD'S tales, it
may be advisable to inform the readers in what succession the eleven
volumes already published should be read. It is as follows;--
First Series.
1. BORDER RIFLES.
2. FREEBOOTERS.
3. WHITE SCALPER.
Second Series.
1. TRAIL HUNTER.
2. PIRATES OF THE PRAIRIES.
3. TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER.
4. TIGER-SLAYER.
5. GOLD-SEEKERS.
6. INDIAN CHIEF.
Third Series.
1. PRAIRIE FLOWER.
2. INDIAN SCOUT.
These, three Series are now complete, and in the ensuing volumes the
Author intends to introduce an entirely fresh set of characters.
Encouraged by the unexpectedly favourable reception these volumes have
met with, the Publishers have determined on producing a Magnificent
Illustrated edition. Each volume will contain twelve page Engravings,
drawn and Engraved by the First Artists of the Day, and be published at
a price which will place the series within reach of all classes.
These engravings will necessarily enhance the pleasure of the reader; as
the most careful attention has been paid to correctness of costume and
scenery, and a perfect idea can be at once formed from them of the
peculiarities of the country in which the scene is laid. In all Indian
novels that have hitherto been published with illustrations, this
important point has been neglected; but the purchasers of the
Illustrated Edition of GUSTAVE AIMARD'S works may feel assured that
whatever is offered them in the way of elucidating the text is strictly
true to Nature. When it is stated, for instance, that the Indian dresses
have been obtained from CATLIN'S elaborate work, and the distinctive
costumes of each tribe faithfully adhered to, the Publishers trust this
will prove a sufficient guarantee that no idle boast is intended. At the
same time, artistic value has not been neglected. The engraving has been
intrusted to Mr. EDMUND EVANS, who has surpassed all his former efforts
in the elaboration of these, the most perfect specimens which have yet
issued from his studio.
The Publishers, therefore, confidently anticipate that this enterprise
will render GUSTAVE AIMARD'S works of Indian life the universal
favourites they deserve to be, for the volumes will be appropriate as
gift books at all seasons of the year. For it should not be left out of
sight that, although the Author has thought proper to write his tales in
different series, each volume can be read with equal interest
separately. As he only records the incidents of his own life under
assumed characters, it is but natural that the same Individuals should
appear on the scene in a succession of volumes. But in this GUSTAVE
AIMARD merely follows the example of his master, FENIMORE COOPER, and no
complaint was ever, to our knowledge, raised to his introduction of the
same hero through a lengthened series of volumes. On the contrary, the
readers were pleased at it; and the same kind indulgence is asked for
the present Author, who, if he may have erred in an artistic sense, has
a brilliant example to fall back on.
The first volume of the New Illustrated Edition will be published in
October next, and procurable of all Booksellers throughout the kingdom.
As the demand, however, is anticipated to be very large, intending
Subscribers are requested to send in their orders early, so that any
delay or disappointment may be avoided.
_August_, 1861.
CONTENTS.
I. A RECONNOISSANCE
II. A BARGAIN
III. THE RETREAT
IV. JOHN DAVIS
V. BEFORE THE BATTLE
VI. THE BATTLE OF CERRO PARDO
VII. TO THE ATEPETL
VIII. HOSPITALITY
IX. THE MARRIAGE
X. RETURN TO LIFE
XI. THE PIRATES OF THE PRAIRIES
XII. IN THE CAVERN
XIII. A CONVERSATION
XIV. TWO ENEMIES
XV. THE AMBUSCADE
XVI. THE SCALP DANCE
XVII. THE MEETING
XVIII. A REACTION
XIX. A PAGE OF HISTORY
XX. THE BIVOUAC
XXI. SANDOVAL
XXII. LOYAL HEART'S HISTORY
XXIII. THE EXPIATION
XXIV. IN THE DESERT
XXV. THE LAST HALT
XXVI. SAN JACINTO
THE WHITE SCALPER
CHAPTER I.
A RECONNOISSANCE.
Colonel Melendez, after leaving the Jaguar, galloped with his head
afire, and panting chest, along the Galveston road, exciting with his
spurs the ardour of his horse, which yet seemed to devour space, so
rapid was its speed. But it is a long journey from the Salto del Frayle
to the town. While galloping, the Colonel reflected; and the more he did
so, the more impossible did it appear to him that the Jaguar had told
him the truth. In fact, how could it be supposed that this partisan,
brave and rash though he was, would have dared to attack, at the head of
a handful of adventurers, a well-equipped corvette, manned by a numerous
crew, and commanded by one of the best officers in the Mexican navy? The
capture of the fort seemed even more improbable to the Colonel.
While reflecting thus, the Colonel had gradually slackened his horse's
speed; the animal, feeling that it was no longer watched, had insensibly
passed from a gallop into a canter, then a trot, and by a perfectly
natural transition, fell into a walk, with drooping head, and snapping
at the blades of grass within its reach.
Night had set in for some time past; a complete silence brooded over the
country, only broken by the hollow moan of the sea as it rolled over the
shingle. The Colonel was following a small track formed along the coast,
which greatly shortened the distance separating him from Galveston. This
path, much used by day, was at this early hour of night completely
deserted; the ranchos that stood here and there were shut up, and no
light gleamed through their narrow windows, for the fishermen, fatigued
by the rude toil of the day, had retired to bed at an early hour.
The young officer's horse, which had more and more slackened its pace,
emboldened by impunity, at length stopped near a scrubby bush, whose
leaves it began nibbling. This immobility aroused the Colonel from his
reverie, and he looked about him to see where he was. Although the
obscurity was very dense, it was easy for him to perceive that he was
still a long distance from his destination. About a musket-shot ahead
was a rancho, whose hermetically-closed windows allowed a thin pencil of
light to filter through the interstices of the shutters. The Colonel
struck his repeater and found it was midnight. To go on would be
madness; the more so, as it would be impossible for him to find a boat
in which to cross to the island. Greatly annoyed at this obstacle,
which, supposing the Jaguar's revelations to be true, might entail
serious consequences, the young officer, while cursing this involuntary
delay, resolved on pushing on to the rancho before him, and once there,
try to obtain means to cross the bay.
After drawing his cloak tightly round him, to protect him as far as
possible from the damp sea air, the Colonel caught up his reins again,
and giving his horse the spur, trotted sharply towards the rancho. The
traveller speedily reached it, but, when only a few paces from it,
instead of riding straight up to the door, he dismounted, fastened his
horse to a larch-tree, and, after placing his pistols in his belt, made
a rather long circuit, and stealthily crept up to the window of the
rancho.
In the present state of fermentation from which people were suffering in
Texas, the olden confidence had entirely disappeared to make way for the
greatest distrust. The times were past when the doors of houses remained
open day and night, in order to enable strangers to reach the fireside
with greater facility. Hospitality, which was traditional in these
parts, had, temporarily at any rate, changed into a suspicious reserve,
and it would have been an act of unjustifiable imprudence to ride up to
a strange house, without first discovering whether it was that of a
friend. The Colonel especially, being dressed in a Mexican uniform, was
bound to act with extreme reserve.
This rancho was rather large; it had not that appearance of poverty and
neglect which are found only too often in the houses of Spanish American
Campesinos. It was a square house, with a roof in the Italian fashion,
having in front an azotea-covered portillo. The white-washed walls were
an agreeable contrast to the virgin vines, and other plants which ran
over it. This rancho was not enclosed with walls: a thick hedge, broken
through at several places, alone defended the approaches. The
dependencies of the house were vast, and well kept up. All proved that
the owner of this mansion carried on a large trade on his account.
The Colonel, as we have said, had softly approached one of the windows.
The shutters were carefully closed, but not so carefully as not to let
it be seen that someone was up inside. In vain did the Colonel, though,
place his eye at the slit, for he could see nothing. If he could not
see, however, he could hear, and the first words that reached his ear
probably appeared to him very serious, for he redoubled his attention,
in order to lose no portion of the conversation. Employing once again
our privilege as romancers, we will enter the rancho, and allow the
reader to witness the singular scene going on there, the most
interesting part of which escaped the Colonel, greatly to his annoyance.
In a rather small room, dimly lighted by a smoky candle, four men, with
gloomy faces and ferocious glances, dressed in the garb of Campesinos,
were assembled. Three of them, seated on butacas and equipals, were
listening, with their guns between their legs, to the fourth, who, with
his arms behind his back, was walking rapidly up and down, while
talking.
The broad brims of the vicuna hats which the three first wore, and the
obscurity prevailing in the room, only allowed their faces to be dimly
seen, and their expression judged. The fourth, on the contrary, was
bare-headed; he was a man of about forty, tall, and well built; his
muscular limbs denoted a far from common strength, and a forest of black
and curly hair fell on his wide shoulders. He had a lofty forehead,
aquiline nose, and black and piercing eyes; while the lower part of his
face disappeared in a long and thick beard. There was in the appearance
of this man something bold and haughty, which inspired respect, and
almost fear.
At this moment, he seemed to be in a tremendous passion; his eyebrows
were contracted, his cheeks livid, and, at times, when he yielded to the
emotion he tried in vain to restrain, his eye flashed to fiercely, that
it forced his three hearers to bow their heads humbly, and they seemed
to be his inferiors. At the moment when we entered the room, the
stranger appeared to be continuing a discussion that had been going on
for some time.
"No," he said in a powerful voice, "things cannot go on thus any longer.
You dishonour the holy cause we are defending by revolting acts of
cruelty, which injure us in the opinion of the population, and authorise
all the calumnies our enemies spread with reference to us. It is not by
imitating our oppressors that we shall succeed in proving to the masses
that we really wish their welfare. However sweet it may be to avenge an
insult received, where men put themselves forward as defenders of a
principle so sacred as that for which we have been shedding our blood
the last ten years, every man must practise self-denial, and forget all
his private animosities to absorb them in the great national vengeance.
I tell you this frankly, plainly, and with no reserve. I
| 781.463082 | 3,825 |
2023-11-16 18:28:48.3482040
| 200 | 165 |
Produced by Judith Boss. HTML version by Al Haines.
The Beasts of Tarzan
By
Edgar Rice Burroughs
To Joan Burroughs
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
1 Kidnapped
2 Marooned
3 Beasts at Bay
4 Sheeta
5 Mugambi
6 A Hideous Crew
7 Betrayed
8 The Dance of Death
9 Chivalry or Villainy
10 The Swede
11 Tambudza
12 A Black Scoundrel
13 Escape
14 Alone in the Jungle
15 Down the Ugambi
16 In the Darkness of the Night
17 On the Deck of the "Kincaid"
18 Paulvitch Plots Revenge
19
| 781.667614 | 3,826 |
2023-11-16 18:28:49.0177540
| 997 | 418 |
Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
Shireen and her Friends
Pages from the Life of a Persian Cat
By Gordon Stables
Illustrations by Harrison Weir
Published by Jarrold and Sons, 10 and 11 Warwick Lane, London EC.
Shireen and her Friends, by Gordon Stables.
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
SHIREEN AND HER FRIENDS, BY GORDON STABLES.
PREFACE.
DEDICATED TO THE REVIEWER.
Yes, this little preface is written for the Reviewer and nobody else.
Indeed, the public seldom bother to read prefaces, and small blame to
them. Reading the preface to a book is just like being button-holed by
some loquacious fellow, as you are entering the theatre, who wants to
tell you all about the play you are just going to see. So sure am I of
this, that I had at first thought of writing my preface in ancient
Greek. Of course every reviewer is as well-versed in that beautiful
language as Professor Geddes, or John Stuart Blackie himself. I was
only restrained by remembering that my own Greek might have got just a
trifle mouldy.
Well, all I want to say in this page is, that there is a deal more truth
in the pages that follow than might at first be imagined.
Both Shireen and Tom Brandy were real characters, and the incidents and
adventures of their life on board ship were very much as I have told
them. The starling, and Cockie, the cockatoo, were also pets of my own;
and Chammy, the chameleon, is described from the life. She died this
year (1894).
The story Stamboul tells about his life as a show cat is a sad one, and
alas! it tells but half the truth. Cat shows have done good to the
breed of cats in this country, but it has raised up a swarm of dealers,
that treat poor pussy in a shameful way, and look upon her as simply so
much merchandise.
In conclusion, I am not going to deny, that while trying to write a
pleasant book as a companion to my last year's "Sable and White," I have
endeavoured now and then to get a little hint slipped in edgeways,
which, if taken by the intelligent reader, may aid in gaining a more
comfortable position in our homesteads for our mutual friend the cat.
If I be successful in this, I shall consider myself quite as good as
that other fellow, you know, who caused two blades of grass to grow
where only one grew before.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Gordon Stables.
_The Jungle, Twyford, Berks_.
PREFACE.
DEDICATED TO THE REVIEWER.
Yes, this little preface is written for the Reviewer and nobody else.
Indeed, the public seldom bother to read prefaces, and small blame to
them. Reading the preface to a book is just like being button-holed by
some loquacious fellow, as you are entering the theatre, who wants to
tell you all about the play you are just going to see. So sure am I of
this, that I had at first thought of writing my preface in ancient
Greek. Of course every reviewer is as well-versed in that beautiful
language as Professor Geddes, or John Stuart Blackie himself. I was
only restrained by remembering that my own Greek might have got just a
trifle mouldy.
Well, all I want to say in this page is, that there is a deal more truth
in the pages that follow than might at first be imagined.
Both Shireen and Tom Brandy were real characters, and the incidents and
adventures of their life on board ship were very much as I have told
them. The starling, and Cockie, the cockatoo, were also pets of my own;
and Chammy, the chameleon, is described from the life. She died this
year (1894).
The story Stamboul tells about his life as a show cat is a sad one, and
alas! it tells but half the truth. Cat shows have done good to the
breed of cats in this country, but it has raised up a swarm of dealers,
that treat poor pussy in a shameful way, and look upon her as simply so
much merchandise.
In conclusion, I am not going to deny, that while trying to write a
pleasant book as a companion to my last year's "Sable and White," I have
endeavoured now and then to get a little
| 782.337164 | 3,827 |
2023-11-16 18:28:49.1105500
| 4,076 | 49 |
Produced by Mike Lynch
THE STARK MUNRO LETTERS
By J. Stark Munro
BEING A SERIES OF TWELVE LETTERS
WRITTEN BY J. STARK MUNRO, M.B.,
TO HIS FRIEND AND FORMER FELLOW-STUDENT,
HERBERT SWANBOROUGH,
OF LOWELL, MASSACHUSETTS,
DURING THE YEARS 1881-1884
Edited And Arranged By A. Conan Doyle
The letters of my friend Mr. Stark Munro appear to me to form so
connected a whole, and to give so plain an account of some of the
troubles which a young man may be called upon to face right away at the
outset of his career, that I have handed them over to the gentleman who
is about to edit them. There are two of them, the fifth and the ninth,
from which some excisions are necessary; but in the main I hope that
they may be reproduced as they stand. I am sure that there is no
privilege which my friend would value more highly than the thought that
some other young man, harassed by the needs of this world and doubts
of the next, should have gotten strength by reading how a brother had
passed down the valley of shadow before him.
HERBERT SWANBOROUGH.
LOWELL, MASS.
THE STARK MUNRO LETTERS.
I. HOME. 30th March, 1881.
I have missed you very much since your return to America, my dear
Bertie, for you are the one man upon this earth to whom I have ever been
able to unreservedly open my whole mind. I don't know why it is; for,
now that I come to think of it, I have never enjoyed very much of your
confidence in return. But that may be my fault. Perhaps you don't find
me sympathetic, even though I have every wish to be. I can only say that
I find you intensely so, and perhaps I presume too much upon the fact.
But no, every instinct in my nature tells me that I don't bore you by my
confidences.
Can you remember Cullingworth at the University? You never were in the
athletic set, and so it is possible that you don't. Anyway, I'll take it
for granted that you don't, and explain it all from the beginning. I'm
sure that you would know his photograph, however, for the reason that he
was the ugliest and queerest-looking man of our year.
Physically he was a fine athlete--one of the fastest and most determined
Rugby forwards that I have ever known, though he played so savage a game
that he was never given his international cap. He was well-grown, five
foot nine perhaps, with square shoulders, an arching chest, and a quick
jerky way of walking. He had a round strong head, bristling with short
wiry black hair. His face was wonderfully ugly, but it was the ugliness
of character, which is as attractive as beauty. His jaw and eyebrows
were scraggy and rough-hewn, his nose aggressive and red-shot, his eyes
small and near set, light blue in colour, and capable of assuming a
very genial and also an exceedingly vindictive expression. A slight wiry
moustache covered his upper lip, and his teeth were yellow, strong, and
overlapping. Add to this that he seldom wore collar or necktie, that his
throat was the colour and texture of the bark of a Scotch fir, and that
he had a voice and especially a laugh like a bull's bellow. Then you
have some idea (if you can piece all these items in your mind) of the
outward James Cullingworth.
But the inner man, after all, was what was most worth noting. I don't
pretend to know what genius is. Carlyle's definition always seemed to me
to be a very crisp and clear statement of what it is NOT. Far from its
being an infinite capacity for taking pains, its leading characteristic,
as far as I have ever been able to observe it, has been that it allows
the possessor of it to attain results by a sort of instinct which other
men could only reach by hard work. In this sense Cullingworth was the
greatest genius that I have ever known. He never seemed to work, and yet
he took the anatomy prize over the heads of all the ten-hour-a-day
men. That might not count for much, for he was quite capable of idling
ostentatiously all day and then reading desperately all night; but
start a subject of your own for him, and then see his originality and
strength. Talk about torpedoes, and he would catch up a pencil, and on
the back of an old envelope from his pocket he would sketch out some
novel contrivance for piercing a ship's netting and getting at her side,
which might no doubt involve some technical impossibility, but which
would at least be quite plausible and new. Then as he drew, his
bristling eyebrows would contract, his small eyes would gleam with
excitement, his lips would be pressed together, and he would end by
banging on the paper with his open hand, and shouting in his exultation.
You would think that his one mission in life was to invent torpedoes.
But next instant, if you were to express surprise as to how it was that
the Egyptian workmen elevated the stones to the top of the pyramids, out
would come the pencil and envelope, and he would propound a scheme for
doing that with equal energy and conviction. This ingenuity was joined
to an extremely sanguine nature. As he paced up and down in his jerky
quick-stepping fashion after one of these flights of invention, he would
take out patents for it, receive you as his partner in the enterprise,
have it adopted in every civilised country, see all conceivable
applications of it, count up his probable royalties, sketch out the
novel methods in which he would invest his gains, and finally retire
with the most gigantic fortune that has ever been amassed. And you would
be swept along by his words, and would be carried every foot of the
way with him, so that it would come as quite a shock to you when you
suddenly fell back to earth again, and found yourself trudging the city
street a poor student, with Kirk's Physiology under your arm, and hardly
the price of your luncheon in your pocket.
I read over what I have written, but I can see that I give you no real
insight into the demoniac cleverness of Cullingworth. His views upon
medicine were most revolutionary, but I daresay that if things fulfil
their promise I may have a good deal to say about them in the sequel.
With his brilliant and unusual gifts, his fine athletic record, his
strange way of dressing (his hat on the back of his head and his throat
bare), his thundering voice, and his ugly, powerful face, he had quite
the most marked individuality of any man that I have ever known.
Now, you will think me rather prolix about this man; but, as it looks
as if his life might become entwined with mine, it is a subject of
immediate interest to me, and I am writing all this for the purpose
of reviving my own half-faded impressions, as well as in the hope of
amusing and interesting you. So I must just give you one or two other
points which may make his character more clear to you.
He had a dash of the heroic in him. On one occasion he was placed in
such a position that he must choose between compromising a lady, or
springing out of a third-floor window. Without a moment's hesitation he
hurled himself out of the window. As luck would have it, he fell through
a large laurel bush on to a garden plot, which was soft with rain, and
so escaped with a shaking and a bruising. If I have to say anything that
gives a bad impression of the man, put that upon the other side.
He was fond of rough horse-play; but it was better to avoid it with him,
for you could never tell what it might lead to. His temper was nothing
less than infernal. I have seen him in the dissecting-rooms begin to
skylark with a fellow, and then in an instant the fun would go out of
his face, his little eyes would gleam with fury, and the two would be
rolling, worrying each other like dogs, below the table. He would
be dragged off, panting and speechless with fury, with his wiry hair
bristling straight up like a fighting terrier's.
This pugnacious side of his character would be worthily used sometimes.
I remember that an address which was being given to us by an eminent
London specialist was much interrupted by a man in the front row, who
amused himself by interjecting remarks. The lecturer appealed to his
audience at last. "These interruptions are insufferable, gentlemen,"
said he; "will no one free me from this annoyance?" "Hold your
tongue--you, sir, on the front bench," cried Cullingworth, in his
bull's bellow. "Perhaps you'll make me," said the fellow, turning a
contemptuous face over his shoulder. Cullingworth closed his note-book,
and began to walk down on the tops of the desks to the delight of the
three hundred spectators. It was fine to see the deliberate way in which
he picked his way among the ink bottles. As he sprang down from the last
bench on to the floor, his opponent struck him a smashing blow full in
the face. Cullingworth got his bulldog grip on him, however, and rushed
him backwards out of the class-room. What he did with him I don't know,
but there was a noise like the delivery of a ton of coals; and the
champion of law and order returned, with the sedate air of a man who had
done his work. One of his eyes looked like an over-ripe damson, but we
gave him three cheers as he made his way back to his seat. Then we went
on with the dangers of Placenta Praevia.
He was not a man who drank hard, but a little drink would have a very
great effect upon him. Then it was that the ideas would surge from his
brain, each more fantastic and ingenious than the last. And if ever
he did get beyond the borderland he would do the most amazing things.
Sometimes it was the fighting instinct that would possess him,
sometimes the preaching, and sometimes the comic, or they might come
in succession, replacing each other so rapidly as to bewilder his
companions. Intoxication brought all kinds of queer little peculiarities
with it. One of them was that he could walk or run perfectly straight,
but that there always came a time when he unconsciously returned upon
his tracks and retraced his steps again. This had a strange effect
sometimes, as in the instance which I am about to tell you.
Very sober to outward seeming, but in a frenzy within, he went down to
the station one night, and, stooping to the pigeon-hole, he asked the
ticket-clerk, in the suavest voice, whether he could tell him how far
it was to London. The official put forward his face to reply when
Cullingworth drove his fist through the little hole with the force of a
piston. The clerk flew backwards off his stool, and his yell of pain and
indignation brought some police and railway men to his assistance.
They pursued Cullingworth; but he, as active and as fit as a greyhound,
outraced them all, and vanished into the darkness, down the long,
straight street. The pursuers had stopped, and were gathered in a knot
talking the matter over, when, looking up, they saw, to their amazement,
the man whom they were after, running at the top of his speed in their
direction. His little peculiarity had asserted itself, you see, and
he had unconsciously turned in his flight. They tripped him up, flung
themselves upon him, and after a long and desperate struggle dragged
him to the police station. He was charged before the magistrate next
morning, but made such a brilliant speech from the dock in his own
defence that he carried the Court with him, and escaped with a nominal
fine. At his invitation, the witnesses and the police trooped after
him to the nearest hotel, and the affair ended in universal
whisky-and-sodas.
Well, now, if, after all these illustrations, I have failed to give
you some notion of the man, able, magnetic, unscrupulous, interesting,
many-sided, I must despair of ever doing so. I'll suppose, however, that
I have not failed; and I will proceed to tell you, my most patient of
confidants, something of my personal relations with Cullingworth.
When I first made a casual acquaintance with him he was a bachelor. At
the end of a long vacation, however, he met me in the street, and told
me, in his loud-voiced volcanic shoulder-slapping way, that he had just
been married. At his invitation, I went up with him then and there to
see his wife; and as we walked he told me the history of his wedding,
which was as extraordinary as everything else he did. I won't tell it
to you here, my dear Bertie, for I feel that I have dived down too many
side streets already; but it was a most bustling business, in which the
locking of a governess into her room and the dyeing of Cullingworth's
hair played prominent parts. Apropos of the latter he was never quite
able to get rid of its traces; and from this time forward there was
added to his other peculiarities the fact that when the sunlight
struck upon his hair at certain angles, it turned it all iridescent and
shimmering.
Well, I went up to his lodgings with him, and was introduced to Mrs.
Cullingworth. She was a timid, little, sweet-faced, grey-eyed woman,
quiet-voiced and gentle-mannered. You had only to see the way in which
she looked at him to understand that she was absolutely under his
control, and that do what he might, or say what he might, it would
always be the best thing to her. She could be obstinate, too, in a
gentle, dove-like sort of way; but her obstinacy lay always in the
direction of backing up his sayings and doings. This, however, I was
only to find out afterwards; and at that, my first visit, she impressed
me as being one of the sweetest little women that I had ever known.
They were living in the most singular style, in a suite of four
small rooms, over a grocer's shop. There was a kitchen, a bedroom,
a sitting-room, and a fourth room, which Cullingworth insisted upon
regarding as a most unhealthy apartment and a focus of disease, though
I am convinced that it was nothing more than the smell of cheeses from
below which had given him the idea. At any rate, with his usual energy
he had not only locked the room up, but had gummed varnished paper over
all the cracks of the door, to prevent the imaginary contagion from
spreading. The furniture was the sparest possible. There were, I
remember, only two chairs in the sitting-room; so that when a guest came
(and I think I was the only one) Cullingworth used to squat upon a pile
of yearly volumes of the British Medical Journal in the corner. I can
see him now levering himself up from his lowly seat, and striding about
the room roaring and striking with his hands, while his little wife
sat mum in the corner, listening to him with love and admiration in her
eyes. What did we care, any one of the three of us, where we sat or how
we lived, when youth throbbed hot in our veins, and our souls were all
aflame with the possibilities of life? I still look upon those Bohemian
evenings, in the bare room amid the smell of the cheese, as being among
the happiest that I have known.
I was a frequent visitor to the Cullingworths, for the pleasure that I
got was made the sweeter by the pleasure which I hoped that I gave. They
knew no one, and desired to know no one; so that socially I seemed to be
the only link that bound them to the world. I even ventured to interfere
in the details of their little menage. Cullingworth had a fad at the
time, that all the diseases of civilisation were due to the abandonment
of the open-air life of our ancestors, and as a corollary he kept his
windows open day and night. As his wife was obviously fragile, and yet
would have died before she would have uttered a word of complaint, I
took it upon myself to point out to him that the cough from which she
suffered was hardly to be cured so long as she spent her life in a
draught. He scowled savagely at me for my interference; and I thought
we were on the verge of a quarrel, but it blew over, and he became more
considerate in the matter of ventilation.
Our evening occupations just about that time were of a most
extraordinary character. You are aware that there is a substance, called
waxy matter, which is deposited in the tissues of the body during the
course of certain diseases. What this may be and how it is formed has
been a cause for much bickering among pathologists. Cullingworth had
strong views upon the subject, holding that the waxy matter was really
the same thing as the glycogen which is normally secreted by the liver.
But it is one thing to have an idea, and another to be able to prove
it. Above all, we wanted some waxy matter with which to experiment. But
fortune favoured us in the most magical way. The Professor of Pathology
had come into possession of a magnificent specimen of the condition.
With pride he exhibited the organ to us in the class-room before
ordering his assistant to remove it to the ice-chest, preparatory to its
being used for microscopical work in the practical class. Cullingworth
saw his chance, and acted on the instant. Slipping out of the classroom,
he threw open the ice-chest, rolled his ulster round the dreadful
glistening mass, closed the chest again, and walked quietly away. I have
no doubt that to this day the disappearance of that waxy liver is one of
the
| 782.42996 | 3,828 |
2023-11-16 18:28:49.1382590
| 203 | 181 |
Produced by David Widger
MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, 1566-1574, Complete
THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC
By JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY
1855
VOLUME 2, Book 1., 1566
1566 [CHAPTER VIII.]
Secret policy of the government--Berghen and Montigny in Spain--
Debates at Segovia--Correspondence of the Duchess with Philip--
Procrastination and dissimulation of the King--Secret communication
to the Pope--Effect in the provinces of the King's letters to the
government--Secret instructions to the Duchess--Desponding
statements of Margaret--Her misrepresentations concerning Orange,
Egmont, and others--Wrath and duplicity of Philip--Egmont's
exertions in Flanders--Orange returns to Antwerp--His tolerant
spirit
| 782.457669 | 3,829 |
2023-11-16 18:28:49.1415110
| 374 | 40 |
Produced by sp1nd, Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
WORKHOUSE CHARACTERS
[Illustration: Logo]
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_
IN THE WORKHOUSE
A PLAY IN ONE ACT
The International Suffrage Shop, John St., Strand, W.C.2 (6d.)
Press Notices
"Dull talk none the less offensive because it may have been
life-like."--_Daily Mail._
"The piece though mere talk is strong talk."--_Morning Advertiser._
"The play is clean and cold and humorous. The main value of the piece is
that it is a superb genre picture. One or two of the flashes from this
strange, generally unknown world are positive sparks of
life."--_Sheffield Daily Telegraph._
"I found it interesting and convincing; but then I am prepared to
believe that our laws always will be rotten till lawyers are
disqualified from sitting in Parliament."--_Reynolds'._
"The masculine portion of the audience walked with heads abashed in the
_entr'acte_; such things had been said upon the stage that they were
suffused with blushes."--_Standard._
"Delicate matters were discussed with much knowledge and some
tact."--_Morning Post._
"'In the Workhouse' reminds us forcibly of certain works of M. Brieux,
which plead for reform by painting a terrible, and perhaps overcharged,
picture of things as they are.... The presence of the idiot girl helps
to point another moral in Mrs. Nevinson's arraignment, and is therefore
artistically justifiable; and the more terrible it appears the better
| 782.460921 | 3,830 |
2023-11-16 18:28:49.2322540
| 181 | 95 |
Produced by David Edwards, Charlie Howard, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber’s Note
This Table of Contents was added by the Transcriber and placed in the
Public Domain.
CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER I 1
CHAPTER II 10
CHAPTER III 25
CHAPTER IV 37
CHAPTER V 52
CHAPTER VI 59
CHAPTER VII 77
CHAPTER VIII 90
CHAPTER IX 101
CHAPTER X 109
CHAPTER XI 124
CHAPTER XII 132
CHAPTER XIII 143
CHAPTER XIV 155
CHAPTER XV 170
| 782.551664 | 3,831 |
2023-11-16 18:28:49.4594190
| 1,176 | 77 |
Produced by Greg Bergquist, Charlie Howard, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
TRAILS THROUGH
WESTERN WOODS
[Illustration: LAKE ANGUS McDONALD]
TRAILS THROUGH
WESTERN WOODS
By
HELEN FITZGERALD SANDERS
_Illustrations from Photographs
by the Author_
NEW YORK & SEATTLE
THE ALICE HARRIMAN COMPANY
1910
COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY
THE ALICE HARRIMAN COMPANY
_Published, July 1, 1910_
THE PREMIER PRESS
NEW YORK
_DEDICATION_
_To the West that is passing; to the days
that are no more and to the brave,
free life of the Wilderness that
lives only in the memory of
those who mourn its loss_
PREFACE
The writing of this book has been primarily a labour of love, undertaken
in the hope that through the harmonious mingling of Indian tradition and
descriptions of the region--too little known--where the lessening tribes
still dwell, there may be a fuller understanding both of the Indians and
of the poetical West.
A wealth of folk-lore will pass with the passing of the Flathead
Reservation, therefore it is well to stop and listen before the light
is quite vanished from the hill-tops, while still the streams sing the
songs of old and the trees murmur regretfully of things lost forever and
a time that will come no more. We of the workaday world are too prone
to believe that our own country is lacking in myth and tradition, in
hero-tale and romance; yet here in our midst is a legended region where
every landmark is a symbol in the great, natural record book of a folk
whose day is done and whose song is but an echo.
It would not be fitting to close these few introductory words without
grateful acknowledgment to those who have aided me toward the
accomplishment of my purpose. Indeed, every page brings a pleasant
recollection of a friendly spirit and a helping hand. Mr. Duncan
McDonald, son of Angus, and Mr. Henri Matt, my Indian friends, have
told me by word of mouth, many of the myths and chronicles set forth
in the following chapters. Mr. Edward Morgan, the faithful and just
agent at the Flathead Reservation, has given me priceless information
which I could never have obtained save through his kindly interest. He
secured for me the legend of the Flint, the last tale told by Charlot
and rendered into English by Michel Rivais, the blind interpreter who
has served in that capacity for thirty years. Chief Charlot died after
this book was finished and he lies in the land of his exile, out of the
home of his fathers where he had hoped to rest. From Mr. Morgan also I
received the account of Charlot's meeting with Joseph at the LoLo Pass,
the facts of which were given him by the little white boy since grown
to manhood, Mr. David Whaley, who rode with Charlot and his band to the
hostile camp.
The late Charles Aubrey, pioneer and plainsman, furnished me valuable
data concerning the buffalo.
Madame Leonie De Mers and her hospitable relatives, the De Mers of
Arlee, were instrumental in winning for me the confidence of the Selish
people.
Mrs. L. Mabel Hight, the artist, who has caught the spirit of the
mountains with her brush, has added to this book by making the peaks
live again in their colours.
In conclusion I would express my everlasting gratitude to Mr. Thomas
H. Scott, of Lake McDonald, soldier, mountain-lover and woodsman, who,
with unfailing courage and patience, has guided me safely over many and
difficult trails.
For the benefit of students I must add that the authorities I have
followed in my historical references are: Long's (James') "_Expedition
to the Rocky Mountains, 1819-20_," Maximilian's "_Travels in North
America_," Father De Smet's "_Oregon Missions_," Major Ronan's "_History
of the Flathead Indians_," Bradbury's "_Travels_," Father L. B.
Palladino's "_Indian and White in the Northwest_," and the _Reports_ of
the Bureau of Ethnology.
HELEN FITZGERALD SANDERS.
_Butte, Montana,
April 5, 1910._
CONTENTS
I. The Gentle Selish 15
II. Enchanted Waters 77
III. Lake Angus McDonald 89
IV. Some Indian Missions of the Northwest 97
V. The People of the Leaves 155
VI. The Passing Buffalo 169
VII. Lake McDonald and Its Trails 229
VIII. Above the Clouds 245
IX. The Little St. Mary's 271
X. The Track of the Avalanche 281
XI. Indian Summer 297
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Lake Angus McDonald _Frontispiece_
Facing Page
Joe La Mousse 50
| 782.778829 | 3,832 |
2023-11-16 18:28:49.9719070
| 1,046 | 396 |
Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images available at The Internet Archive)
THE MOTOR ROUTES
OF FRANCE
TO THE CHÂTEAUX OF TOURAINE, BIARRITZ, THE
PYRENEES, THE RIVIERA, AND THE
RHONE VALLEY
ALREADY PUBLISHED IN THE
SAME SERIES
MOTOR ROUTES
OF ENGLAND
SOUTHERN SECTION
(South of the Thames)
With 24 Illustrations in Colour
Cloth, =5s. net= (by post, 5s. 4d.)
Leather, =7s. 6d. net= (by post, 7s. 10d.)
“The touring motorist... will find Mr. Home exactly the sort of
companion who will add sensibly to the pleasures of the day’s run.
All along the main roads he gossips brightly of history,
architecture, and archæology, and manages to convey a large amount
of information without being unpleasantly didactic.”--_Pall Mall
Gazette._
TO BE PUBLISHED SHORTLY
MOTOR ROUTES
OF ENGLAND
WESTERN SECTION
A. AND C. BLACK, SOHO SQUARE, LONDON
AGENTS
AMERICA THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
64 & 66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK
AUSTRALASIA OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS
205 FLINDERS LANE, MELBOURNE
CANADA THE MACMILLAN COMPANY OF CANADA, LTD.
27 RICHMOND STREET WEST, TORONTO
INDIA MACMILLAN & COMPANY, LTD.
MACMILLAN BUILDING, BOMBAY
309 BOW BAZAAR STREET, CALCUTTA
[Illustration: CHARTRES.
The Cathedral towering above the old roofs of the city from near the
Porte Guillaume.]
THE
MOTOR ROUTES
OF FRANCE
TO THE CHÂTEAUX OF TOURAINE,
BIARRITZ, THE PYRENEES, THE
RIVIERA, & THE RHONE VALLEY
BY
GORDON HOME
WITH
16 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR, 16 IN
BLACK AND WHITE, AND 60 MAPS & PLANS
[Illustration]
ADAM AND CHARLES BLACK
SOHO SQUARE, LONDON · MCMX
‘O’er the Flaminian way he bade the axle glow--
For there, our young Antomedon first tried
His powers, there loved the rapid car to guide.’
JUVENAL.
PREFACE
The fascination of a motor tour through France can scarcely be
exaggerated. It is a country eminently suited to the new method of road
travel, for with the spaces between the towns traversed by wide national
ways going to their objectives as straight as the contours of the
country will permit, no one feels that the presence of a rapid car is
destroying the peace or beauty of the neighbourhood. And yet in the tour
described in this book there is a huge diversity of scenery, from the
wheat plains of the North to the mountains and sea of the South.
Great pains have been taken to embody in the small compass of a book
that will easily slip into an overcoat pocket all that is essential for
the motorist to know both before and during the tour. At the same time,
the large clear type of the first volume of this series has been
retained in order that there may be no difficulty in reading while the
car is in motion.
Dr. Kirk’s practical notes are the result of much experience, and they
need only be supplemented by a word as to hotel charges. In _every_ case
the wise tourist discusses prices with the manager or proprietor before
he takes his car into the courtyard or garage. By doing so he knows
exactly what his bill will amount to in the morning, and he is quite
sure of no overcharge. If no arrangement is made on arrival, one must be
prepared for any charge, _notwithstanding the prices given in guides or
the hotel books published by the Touring Club de France_.
For those who either do not possess cars or do not wish to take their
own abroad, the simplest method is to hire a car in England. The
author’s experience of hiring from the Daimler Company has been so
satisfactory that he is glad of this opportunity of recommending their
cars. To Mr. A. H. Hallam Murray the author is greatly indebted for
| 783.291317 | 3,833 |
2023-11-16 18:28:50.0570870
| 2,369 | 43 |
Produced by David Widger
DON QUIXOTE
Volume II.
Part 39.
by Miguel de Cervantes
Translated by John Ormsby
CHAPTER LXIII.
OF THE MISHAP THAT BEFELL SANCHO PANZA THROUGH THE VISIT TO THE GALLEYS,
AND THE STRANGE ADVENTURE OF THE FAIR MORISCO
Profound were Don Quixote's reflections on the reply of the enchanted
head, not one of them, however, hitting on the secret of the trick, but
all concentrated on the promise, which he regarded as a certainty, of
Dulcinea's disenchantment. This he turned over in his mind again and
again with great satisfaction, fully persuaded that he would shortly see
its fulfillment; and as for Sancho, though, as has been said, he hated
being a governor, still he had a longing to be giving orders and finding
himself obeyed once more; this is the misfortune that being in authority,
even in jest, brings with it.
To resume; that afternoon their host Don Antonio Moreno and his two
friends, with Don Quixote and Sancho, went to the galleys. The commandant
had been already made aware of his good fortune in seeing two such famous
persons as Don Quixote and Sancho, and the instant they came to the shore
all the galleys struck their awnings and the clarions rang out. A skiff
covered with rich carpets and cushions of crimson velvet was immediately
lowered into the water, and as Don Quixote stepped on board of it, the
leading galley fired her gangway gun, and the other galleys did the same;
and as he mounted the starboard ladder the whole crew saluted him (as is
the custom when a personage of distinction comes on board a galley) by
exclaiming "Hu, hu, hu," three times. The general, for so we shall call
him, a Valencian gentleman of rank, gave him his hand and embraced him,
saying, "I shall mark this day with a white stone as one of the happiest
I can expect to enjoy in my lifetime, since I have seen Senor Don Quixote
of La Mancha, pattern and image wherein we see contained and condensed
all that is worthy in knight-errantry."
Don Quixote delighted beyond measure with such a lordly reception,
replied to him in words no less courteous. All then proceeded to the
poop, which was very handsomely decorated, and seated themselves on the
bulwark benches; the boatswain passed along the gangway and piped all
hands to strip, which they did in an instant. Sancho, seeing such a
number of men stripped to the skin, was taken aback, and still more when
he saw them spread the awning so briskly that it seemed to him as if all
the devils were at work at it; but all this was cakes and fancy bread to
what I am going to tell now. Sancho was seated on the captain's stage,
close to the aftermost rower on the right-hand side. He, previously
instructed in what he was to do, laid hold of Sancho, hoisting him up in
his arms, and the whole crew, who were standing ready, beginning on the
right, proceeded to pass him on, whirling him along from hand to hand and
from bench to bench with such rapidity that it took the sight out of poor
Sancho's eyes, and he made quite sure that the devils themselves were
flying away with him; nor did they leave off with him until they had sent
him back along the left side and deposited him on the poop; and the poor
fellow was left bruised and breathless and all in a sweat, and unable to
comprehend what it was that had happened to him.
Don Quixote when he saw Sancho's flight without wings asked the general
if this was a usual ceremony with those who came on board the galleys for
the first time; for, if so, as he had no intention of adopting them as a
profession, he had no mind to perform such feats of agility, and if
anyone offered to lay hold of him to whirl him about, he vowed to God he
would kick his soul out; and as he said this he stood up and clapped his
hand upon his sword. At this instant they struck the awning and lowered
the yard with a prodigious rattle. Sancho thought heaven was coming off
its hinges and going to fall on his head, and full of terror he ducked it
and buried it between his knees; nor were Don Quixote's knees altogether
under control, for he too shook a little, squeezed his shoulders together
and lost colour. The crew then hoisted the yard with the same rapidity
and clatter as when they lowered it, all the while keeping silence as
though they had neither voice nor breath. The boatswain gave the signal
to weigh anchor, and leaping upon the middle of the gangway began to lay
on to the shoulders of the crew with his courbash or whip, and to haul
out gradually to sea.
When Sancho saw so many red feet (for such he took the oars to be) moving
all together, he said to himself, "It's these that are the real chanted
things, and not the ones my master talks of. What can those wretches have
done to be so whipped; and how does that one man who goes along there
whistling dare to whip so many? I declare this is hell, or at least
purgatory!"
Don Quixote, observing how attentively Sancho regarded what was going on,
said to him, "Ah, Sancho my friend, how quickly and cheaply might you
finish off the disenchantment of Dulcinea, if you would strip to the
waist and take your place among those gentlemen! Amid the pain and
sufferings of so many you would not feel your own much; and moreover
perhaps the sage Merlin would allow each of these lashes, being laid on
with a good hand, to count for ten of those which you must give yourself
at last."
The general was about to ask what these lashes were, and what was
Dulcinea's disenchantment, when a sailor exclaimed, "Monjui signals that
there is an oared vessel off the coast to the west."
On hearing this the general sprang upon the gangway crying, "Now then, my
sons, don't let her give us the slip! It must be some Algerine corsair
brigantine that the watchtower signals to us." The three others
immediately came alongside the chief galley to receive their orders. The
general ordered two to put out to sea while he with the other kept in
shore, so that in this way the vessel could not escape them. The crews
plied the oars driving the galleys so furiously that they seemed to fly.
The two that had put out to sea, after a couple of miles sighted a vessel
which, so far as they could make out, they judged to be one of fourteen
or fifteen banks, and so she proved. As soon as the vessel discovered the
galleys she went about with the object and in the hope of making her
escape by her speed; but the attempt failed, for the chief galley was one
of the fastest vessels afloat, and overhauled her so rapidly that they on
board the brigantine saw clearly there was no possibility of escaping,
and the rais therefore would have had them drop their oars and give
themselves up so as not to provoke the captain in command of our galleys
to anger. But chance, directing things otherwise, so ordered it that just
as the chief galley came close enough for those on board the vessel to
hear the shouts from her calling on them to surrender, two Toraquis, that
is to say two Turks, both drunken, that with a dozen more were on board
the brigantine, discharged their muskets, killing two of the soldiers
that lined the sides of our vessel. Seeing this the general swore he
would not leave one of those he found on board the vessel alive, but as
he bore down furiously upon her she slipped away from him underneath the
oars. The galley shot a good way ahead; those on board the vessel saw
their case was desperate, and while the galley was coming about they made
sail, and by sailing and rowing once more tried to sheer off; but their
activity did not do them as much good as their rashness did them harm,
for the galley coming up with them in a little more than half a mile
threw her oars over them and took the whole of them alive. The other two
galleys now joined company and all four returned with the prize to the
beach, where a vast multitude stood waiting for them, eager to see what
they brought back. The general anchored close in, and perceived that the
viceroy of the city was on the shore. He ordered the skiff to push off to
fetch him, and the yard to be lowered for the purpose of hanging
forthwith the rais and the rest of the men taken on board the vessel,
about six-and-thirty in number, all smart fellows and most of them
Turkish musketeers. He asked which was the rais of the brigantine, and
was answered in Spanish by one of the prisoners (who afterwards proved to
be a Spanish renegade), "This young man, senor that you see here is our
rais," and he pointed to one of the handsomest and most gallant-looking
youths that could be imagined. He did not seem to be twenty years of age.
"Tell me, dog," said the general, "what led thee to kill my soldiers,
when thou sawest it was impossible for thee to escape? Is that the way to
behave to chief galleys? Knowest thou not that rashness is not valour?
Faint prospects of success should make men bold, but not rash."
The rais was about to reply, but the general could not at that moment
listen to him, as he had to hasten to receive the viceroy, who was now
coming on board the galley, and with him certain of his attendants and
some of the people.
"You have had a good chase, senor general," said the viceroy.
"Your excellency shall soon see how good, by the game strung up to this
yard," replied the general.
"How so?" returned the viceroy.
"Because," said the general, "against all law, reason, and usages of war
they have killed on my hands two of the best soldiers on board these
galleys, and I have sworn to hang every man that I have taken, but above
all this youth who is the rais of the brigantine," and he pointed to him
as he stood with his hands already bound and the rope
| 783.376497 | 3,834 |
2023-11-16 18:28:50.1752560
| 181 | 284 |
LIGHT-HOUSE***
E-text prepared by Henry Flower 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 remarkable original illustrations.
See 48414-h.htm or 48414-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/48414/48414-h/48414-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/48414/48414-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/stevensonbell1824stev
Transcriber's note
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by tilde characters
| 783.494666 | 3,835 |
2023-11-16 18:28:50.5489370
| 373 | 81 |
Produced by Greg Bergquist and The Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
[Illustration: FORT SUMTER.]
REMINISCENCES
OF
FORTS SUMTER AND MOULTRIE
IN 1860-'61
BY ABNER DOUBLEDAY
BREVET MAJOR-GENERAL U.S.A.
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS
FRANKLIN SQUARE
1876
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, by
HARPER & BROTHERS,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
INTRODUCTION.
Now that the prejudices and bitter partisan feeling of the past are
subsiding, it seems a fitting time to record the facts and incidents
connected with the first conflict of the Rebellion. Of the eleven
officers who took part in the events herein narrated, but four now
survive. Before the hastening years shall have partially obliterated
many circumstances from my memory, and while there is still an
opportunity for conference and friendly criticism, I desire to make,
from letters, memoranda, and documents in my possession, a statement
which will embody my own recollections of the turbulent days of 1860 and
1861.
I am aware that later and more absorbing events have caused the earlier
struggles of the war to recede in the distance; but those who were in
active life at that time will not soon forget the thrill of emotion and
sympathy which followed the movements of
| 783.868347 | 3,836 |
2023-11-16 18:28:51.4338490
| 1,029 | 392 |
Produced by Anthony J. Adam.
A PSYCHOLOGICAL COUNTER-CURRENT IN RECENT FICTION.
by
William Dean Howells
It is consoling as often as dismaying to find in what seems a
cataclysmal tide of a certain direction a strong drift to the opposite
quarter. It is so divinable, if not so perceptible, that its presence
may usually be recognized as a beginning of the turn in every tide
which is sure, sooner or later, to come. In reform, it is the menace
of reaction; in reaction, it is the promise of reform; we may take
heart as we must lose heart from it. A few years ago, when a movement
which carried fiction to the highest place in literature was
apparently of such onward and upward sweep that there could be no
return or descent, there was a counter-current in it which stayed it
at last, and pulled it back to that lamentable level where fiction is
now sunk, and the word "novel" is again the synonym of all that is
morally false and mentally despicable. Yet that this, too, is partly
apparent, I think can be shown from some phases of actual fiction
which happen to be its very latest phases, and which are of a
significance as hopeful as it is interesting. Quite as surely as
romanticism lurked at the heart of realism, something that we may call
"psychologism" has been present in the romanticism of the last four or
five years, and has now begun to evolve itself in examples which it is
the pleasure as well as the duty of criticism to deal with.
I.
No one in his day has done more to popularize the romanticism, now
decadent, than Mr. Gilbert Parker; and he made way for it at its worst
just because he was so much better than it was at its worst, because he
was a poet of undeniable quality, and because he could bring to its
intellectual squalor the graces and the powers which charm, though they
could not avail to save it from final contempt. He saves himself in
his latest novel, because, though still so largely romanticistic, its
prevalent effect is psychologistic, which is the finer analogue of
realistic, and which gave realism whatever was vital in it, as now it
gives romanticism whatever will survive it. In "The Right of Way" Mr.
Parker is not in a world where mere determinism rules, where there is
nothing but the happening of things, and where this one or that one is
important or unimportant according as things are happening to him or
not, but has in himself no claim upon the reader's attention. Once
more the novel begins to rise to its higher function, and to teach that
men are somehow masters of their fate. His Charley Steele is, indeed,
as unpromising material for the experiment, in certain ways, as could
well be chosen. One of the few memorable things that Bulwer said, who
said so many quotable things, was that pure intellectuality is the
devil, and on his plane Charley Steele comes near being pure
intellectual. He apprehends all things from the mind, and does the
effects even of goodness from the pride of mental strength. Add to
these conditions of his personality that pathologically he is from time
to time a drunkard, with always the danger of remaining a drunkard, and
you have a figure of which so much may be despaired that it might
almost be called hopeless. I confess that in the beginning this
brilliant, pitiless lawyer, this consciencelessly powerful advocate, at
once mocker and poseur, all but failed to interest me. A little of him
and his monocle went such a great way with me that I thought I had
enough of him by the end of the trial, where he gets off a man charged
with murder, and then cruelly snubs the homicide in his gratitude; and
I do not quite know how I kept on to the point where Steele in his
drunkenness first dazzles and then insults the gang of drunken
lumbermen, and begins his second life in the river where they have
thrown him, and where his former client finds him. From that point I
could not forsake him to the end, though I found myself more than once
in the world where things happen of themselves and do not happen from
the temperaments of its inhabitants. In a better and wiser world, the
homicide would not perhaps be at hand so opportunely to save the life
of the advocate who had saved his; but one consents to this, as one
consents
| 784.753259 | 3,837 |
2023-11-16 18:28:51.7175980
| 1,006 | 411 |
E-text prepared by ellinora and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
(http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 57407-h.htm or 57407-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/57407/57407-h/57407-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/57407/57407-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/mymerryrockhurst00cast
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
“MY MERRY ROCKHURST”
* * * * * *
By Agnes & Egerton Castle
THE PRIDE OF JENNICO
“IF YOUTH BUT KNEW!”
THE SECRET ORCHARD
ROSE OF THE WORLD
THE STAR-DREAMER
THE HOUSE OF ROMANCE
THE BATH COMEDY
INCOMPARABLE BELLAIRS
THE HEART OF LADY ANNE
[Illustration]
By Egerton Castle
YOUNG APRIL
THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY
CONSEQUENCES
MARSHFIELD THE OBSERVER
LE ROMAN DU PRINCE OTHON
THE JERNINGHAM LETTERS
ENGLISH BOOK-PLATES
SCHOOLS AND MASTERS OF FENCE
ETC.
* * * * * *
[Illustration: Through the open window, out of the darkness, gathered a
heavy rumble of wheels; then again uprose the call of the bell, the cry
of the hoarse voice: “Bring out your dead!”
(_See p. 293._)]
“MY MERRY ROCKHURST”
Being
Some Episodes in the Life of Viscount
Rockhurst, a Friend of King Charles
the Second, and at One Time Constable
of His Majesty’S Tower
of London
Recounted by
AGNES & EGERTON CASTLE
Authors of
“The Pride of Jennico,” “‘If Youth But
Knew!’” “Rose of the World,” etc.
New York
The Macmillan Company
1907
All rights reserved
Copyright, 1907,
by the Macmillan Company.
Set up and electrotyped. Published October, 1907.
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing Co.—Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
TO
RANDOLPH HENRY STEWART
ELEVENTH EARL OF GALLOWAY
HEAD OF THE ANCIENT HOUSE OF STEWART
THIS STORY IS DEDICATED
WITH THE
AUTHORS’ AFFECTIONATE REGARD
SEPT. 1, 1907.
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE KING’S COMRADE 1
I. The State Crust 3
II. Cavalier and Capitan 21
FARRANT CHACE 43
I. Farrant Chace 45
II. The Lady in the Snow 58
III. The Ransom 64
IV. Under the Stars 78
THE ENIGMA OF THE LOCKET 87
I. Little Satan 89
II. Whitehall Stairs 106
III. The Linnet’s Song 124
THE PEACOCK WALK 145
I. June Roses 147
II. Fatherly Wisdom 168
III. The New French Pass 186
THE KING’S CUP 197
I. Little Satan 199
II. The Venetian Glass 225
III. The Phial of Acquetta 236
LADY CHILLINGBURGH’S LAST CARD-PARTY 251
I. Lincoln’s Inn Fields 253
II. Love’s Reproach 267
III. The Plague-Cart 281
BROKEN SANCTUARY 297
I. The Haven of Refuge 299
II. The Gold Whistle 308
III. Nemesis 323
THE RED DESOLATION 339
I. The Watchers
| 785.037008 | 3,838 |
2023-11-16 18:28:51.7902190
| 1,013 | 419 |
Produced by David Clarke, Stephen Blundell and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
UNCANNY TALES
LONDON
C. ARTHUR PEARSON, LIMITED
HENRIETTA STREET, W.C.
1916
Transcriber's Note:
Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note. Dialect
spellings have been retained. The oe ligature has been transcribed
as [oe].
CONTENTS
PAGE
I. THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 7
II. THE ARMLESS MAN 19
III. THE TOMTOM CLUE 33
IV. THE CASE OF SIR ALISTER MOERAN 43
V. THE KISS 63
VI. THE GOTH 73
VII. THE LAST ASCENT 88
VIII. THE TERROR BY NIGHT 97
IX. THE TRAGEDY AT THE "LOUP NOIR" 113
UNCANNY STORIES
I
THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY
Professor William James Maynard was in a singularly happy and contented
mood as he strolled down the High Street after a long and satisfactory
interview with the solicitor to his late cousin, whose sole heir he was.
It was exactly a month by the calendar since he had murdered this
cousin, and everything had gone most satisfactorily since. The fortune
was proving quite as large as he had expected, and not even an inquest
had been held upon the dead man. The coroner had decided that it was not
necessary, and the Professor had agreed with him.
At the funeral the Professor had been the principal mourner, and the
local paper had commented sympathetically on his evident emotion. This
had been quite genuine, for the Professor had been fond of his relative,
who had always been very good to him. But still, when an old man remains
obstinately healthy, when his doctor can say with confidence that he is
good for another twenty years at least, and when he stands between you
and a large fortune which you need, and of which you can make much
better use in the cause of science and the pursuit of knowledge, what
alternative is there? It becomes necessary to take steps. Therefore, the
Professor had taken steps.
Looking back to-day on that day a month ago, and the critical preceding
week, the Professor felt that the steps he had taken had been as
judicious as successful. He had set himself to solve a problem in higher
mathematics. He had found it easier to solve than many he was obliged to
grapple with in the course of his studies.
A policeman saluted as the Professor passed, and he acknowledged it with
the charming old world courtesy that made him so popular a figure in the
town. Across the way was the doctor who had certified the cause of
death. The Professor, passing benevolently on, was glad he had now
enough money to carry out his projects. He would be able to publish at
once his great work on "The Secondary Variation of the Differential
Calculus," that hitherto had languished in manuscript. It would make a
sensation, he thought; there was more than one generally accepted theory
he had challenged or contradicted in it. And he would put in hand at
once his great, his long projected work, "A History of the Higher
Mathematics." It would take twenty years to complete, it would cost
twenty thousand pounds or more, and it would breathe into mathematics
the new, vivid life that Bergson's works have breathed into
metaphysics.
The Professor thought very kindly of the dead cousin, whose money would
provide for this great work. He wished greatly the dead man could know
to what high use his fortune was designed.
Coming towards him he saw the wife of the vicar of his parish. The
Professor was a regular church-goer. The vicar's wife saw him, too, and
beamed. She and her husband were more than a little proud of having so
well known a man in their congregation. She held out her hand and the
Professor was about to take it when she drew it back with a startled
movement.
"Oh, I beg your pardon!" she exclaimed, distressed, as she saw him raise
his eyebrows. "There is blood on it."
Her eyes were fixed on his right hand, which he was still holding out.
In fact, on the palm a small drop of blood showed distinctly against the
firm, pink flesh. Surprised, the Professor took out his handkerchief and
wiped
| 785.109629 | 3,839 |
2023-11-16 18:28:52.7417790
| 1,089 | 417 |
Produced by Chris Curnow, Harry Lamé, Google Books for
some images. and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber’s Notes
Typographical transcription used: text between ~tildes~,
_underscores_, and =equal signs= represents text printed in the
original work in blackletter, italics and bold face, respectively.
Small capitals have been transcribed as ALL CAPITALS. Superscript text
has been transcribed as ^{text}.
More transcriber’s notes (including a list of corrections) may be
found at the end of this text.
[Illustration: PETRARCH’S INKSTAND.
IN THE POSSESSION OF MISS EDGEWORTH, PRESENTED TO HER BY A LADY.]
By beauty won from soft Italia’s land,
Here Cupid, Petrarch’s Cupid, takes his stand.
Arch suppliant, welcome to thy fav’rite isle,
Close thy spread wings, and rest thee here awhile;
Still the true heart with kindred strains inspire,
Breathe all a poet’s softness, all his fire;
But if the perjured knight approach this font,
Forbid the words to come as they were wont,
Forbid the ink to flow, the pen to write,
And send the false one baffled from thy sight.
_Miss Edgeworth._
THE
EVERY-DAY BOOK
AND
TABLE BOOK;
OR,
EVERLASTING CALENDAR OF POPULAR AMUSEMENTS,
SPORTS, PASTIMES, CEREMONIES, MANNERS,
CUSTOMS, AND EVENTS,
INCIDENT TO
~Each of the Three Hundred and Sixty-five Days,~
IN PAST AND PRESENT TIMES;
FORMING A
COMPLETE HISTORY OF THE YEAR, MONTHS, AND SEASONS,
AND A
PERPETUAL KEY TO THE ALMANAC;
INCLUDING
ACCOUNTS OF THE WEATHER, RULES FOR HEALTH AND CONDUCT, REMARKABLE AND
IMPORTANT ANECDOTES, FACTS, AND NOTICES, IN CHRONOLOGY, ANTIQUITIES,
TOPOGRAPHY, BIOGRAPHY, NATURAL HISTORY, ART, SCIENCE, AND GENERAL
LITERATURE; DERIVED FROM THE MOST AUTHENTIC SOURCES, AND VALUABLE
ORIGINAL COMMUNICATIONS, WITH POETICAL ELUCIDATIONS, FOR DAILY USE AND
DIVERSION.
BY WILLIAM HONE.
I tell of festivals, and fairs, and plays,
Of merriment, and mirth, and bonfire blaze;
I tell of Christmas-mummings, new year’s day,
Of twelfth-night king and queen, and children’s play;
I tell of valentines, and true-love’s-knots,
Of omens, cunning men, and drawing lots:
I tell of brooks, of blossoms, birds and bowers,
Of April, May, of June, and July-flowers;
I tell of May-poles, hock-carts, wassails, wakes,
Of bridegrooms, brides, and of their bridal cakes;
I tell of groves, of twilights, and I sing
The court of Mab, and of the fairy king.
HERRICK.
WITH FOUR HUNDRED AND THIRTY-SIX ENGRAVINGS.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. III.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR THOMAS TEGG,
73, CHEAPSIDE.
J. Haddon, Printer, Castle Street, Finsbury.
PREFACE.
On the close of the EVERY-DAY BOOK, which commenced on New Year’s Day,
1825, and ended in the last week of 1826, I began this work.
The only prospectus of the TABLE BOOK was the eight versified lines on
the title-page. They appeared on New Year’s Day, prefixed to the first
number; which, with the successive sheets, to the present date,
constitute the volume now in the reader’s hands, and the entire of my
endeavours during the half year.
So long as I am enabled, and the public continue to be pleased, the
TABLE BOOK will be continued. The kind reception of the weekly numbers,
and the monthly parts, encourages me to hope that like favour will be
extended to the half-yearly volume. Its multifarious contents and the
illustrative engravings, with the help of the copious index, realize my
wish, “to please the young, and help divert the wise.” Perhaps, if the
good old window-seats had not gone out of fashion, it might be called a
parlour-window book--a good name for a volume of agreeable reading
selected from the book-case, and left lying about, for the constant
recreation of the family, and the casual amusement of
| 786.061189 | 3,840 |
2023-11-16 18:28:52.7770960
| 2,289 | 92 |
Produced by D.R. Thompson
HISTORY OF FRIEDRICH II OF PRUSSIA, Volume 14
by Thomas Carlyle
BOOK XIV.--THE SURROUNDING EUROPEAN WAR DOES NOT END.--August,
1742-July, 1744.
Chapter I.--FRIEDRICH RESUMES HIS PEACEABLE PURSUITS.
Friedrich's own Peace being made on such terms, his wish and hope was,
that it might soon be followed by a general European one; that, the
live-coal, which had kindled this War, being quenched, the War itself
might go out. Silesia is his; farther interest in the Controversy,
except that it would end itself in some fair manner, he has none.
"Silesia being settled," think many, thinks Friedrich for one, "what
else of real and solid is there to settle?"
The European Public, or benevolent individuals of it everywhere,
indulged also in this hope. "How glorious is my King, the youngest
of the Kings and the grandest!" exclaims Voltaire (in his Letters
to Friedrich, at this time), and re-exclaims, till Friedrich has to
interfere, and politely stop it: "A King who carries in the one hand an
all-conquering sword, but in the other a blessed olive-branch, and
is the Arbiter of Europe for Peace or War!" "Friedrich the THIRD [so
Voltaire calls him, counting ill, or misled by ignorance of German
nomenclature], Friedrich the Third, I mean Friedrich the Great (FREDERIC
LE GRAND)," will do this, and do that;--probably the first emergence of
that epithet in human speech, as yet in a quite private hypothetic way.
[Letters of Voltaire, in _OEuvres de Frederic,_ xxii. 100, &c.: this
last Letter is of date "July, 1742"--almost contemporary with the "Jauer
Transparency" noticed above.] Opinions about Friedrich's conduct, about
his talents, his moralities, there were many (all wide of the mark): but
this seemed clear, That the weight of such a sword as his, thrown into
either scale, would be decisive; and that he evidently now wished peace.
An unquestionable fact, that latter! Wished it, yes, right heartily; and
also strove to hope,--though with less confidence than the benevolent
outside Public, as knowing the interior of the elements better.
These hopes, how fond they were, we now all know. True, my friends,
the live-coal which kindled this incendiary whirlpool (ONE of the
live-coals, first of them that spread actual flame in these European
parts, and first of them all except Jenkins's Ear) is out, fairly
withdrawn; but the fire, you perceive, rages not the less. The fire will
not quench itself, I doubt, till the bitumen, sulphur and other angry
fuel have run much lower! Austria has fighting men in abundance, England
behind it has guineas; Austria has got injuries, then successes:--there
is in Austria withal a dumb pride, quite equal in pretensions to the
vocal vanity of France, and far more stubborn of humor. The First Nation
of the Universe, rashly hurling its fine-throated hunting-pack, or
Army of the Oriflamme, into Austria,--see what a sort of badgers, and
gloomily indignant bears, it has awakened there! Friedrich had to take
arms again; and an unwelcome task it was to him, and a sore and costly.
We shall be obliged (what is our grand difficulty in this History) to
note, in their order, the series of European occurrences; and, tedious
as the matter now is, keep readers acquainted with the current of that
big War; in which, except Friedrich broad awake, and the Ear of Jenkins
in somnambulancy, there is now next to nothing to interest a human
creature.
It is an error still prevalent in England, though long since exploded
everywhere else, that Friedrich wanted new wars, "new successful
robberies," as our Gazetteers called them; and did wilfully plunge
into this War again, in the hope of again doing a stroke in that kind.
English readers, on consulting the facts a little, will not hesitate to
sweep that notion altogether away. Shadow of basis, except in their own
angry uninformed imaginations, they will find it never had; and that
precisely the reverse is manifest in Friedrich's History. A perfectly
clear-sighted Friedrich; able to discriminate shine from substance;
and gravitating always towards the solid, the actual. That of "GLOIRE,"
which he owns to at starting, we saw how soon it died out, choked in
the dire realities. That of Conquering Hero, in the Macedonia's-madman
style, was at all times far from him, if the reader knew it,--perhaps
never farther from any King who had such allurements to it, such
opportunities for it. This his First Expedition to Silesia--a rushing
out to seize your own stolen horse, while the occasion answered--was a
voluntary one; produced, we may say, by Friedrich's own thought and the
Invisible Powers. But the rest were all purely compulsory,--to defend
the horse he had seized. Clear necessities, and Powers very Visible,
were the origin of all his other Expeditions and Warlike Struggles,
which lasted to the end of his life.
That recent "Moravian Foray;" the joint-stock principle in War matters;
and the terrible pass a man might reduce himself to, at that
enormous gaming-table of the gods, if he lingered there: think what
considerations these had been for him! So that "his look became
FAROUCHE," in the sight of Valori; and the spectre of Ruin kept him
company, and such hell-dogs were in chase of him;--till Czaslau, when
the dice fell kind again! All this had been didactic on a young docile
man. He was but thirty gone. And if readers mark such docility at those
years, they will find considerable meaning in it. Here are prudence,
moderation, clear discernment; very unusual VERACITY of intellect, as we
define it,--which quality, indeed, is the summary and victorious outcome
of all manner of good qualities, and faithful performances, in a man.
"Given up to strong delusions," in the tragical way many are, Friedrich
was not; and, in practical matters, very seldom indeed "believed a lie."
Certain it is, he now resumes his old Reinsberg Program of Life;
probably with double relish, after such experiences the other way; and
prosecutes it with the old ardor; hoping much that his History will be
of halcyon pacific nature, after all. Would the mad War-whirlpool but
quench itself; dangerous for singeing a near neighbor, who is only just
got out of it! Fain would he be arbiter, and help to quench it; but it
will not quench. For a space of Two Years or more (till August, 1744,
Twenty-six Months in all), Friedrich, busy on his own affairs, with
carefully neutral aspect towards this War, yet with sword ready for
drawing in case of need, looks on with intense vigilance; using his
wisest interference, not too often either, in that sense and in that
only, "Be at Peace; oh, come to Peace!"--and finds that the benevolent
Public and he have been mistaken in their hopes. For the next Two Years,
we say:--for the first Year (or till about August, 1743), with hope
not much abated, and little actual interference needed; for the latter
Twelvemonth, with hope ever more abating; interference, warning, almost
threatening ever more needed, and yet of no avail, as if they had been
idle talking and gesticulation on his part:--till, in August, 1744, he
had to--But the reader shall gradually see it, if by any method we can
show it him, in something of its real sequence; and shall judge of it by
his own light.
Friedrich's Domestic History was not of noisy nature, during this
interval:--and indeed in the bewildered Records given of it, there is
nothing visible, at first, but one wide vortex of simmering inanities;
leading to the desperate conclusion that Friedrich had no domestic
history at all. Which latter is by no means the fact! Your poor Prussian
Dryasdust (without even an Index to help you) being at least authentic,
if you look a long time intensely and on many sides, features do at last
dawn out of those sad vortexes; and you find the old Reinsberg Program
risen to activity again; and all manner of peaceable projects going on.
Friedrich visits the Baths of Aachen (what we call Aix-la-Chapelle);
has the usual Inspections, business activities, recreations, visits
of friends. He opens his Opera-House, this first winter. He enters
on Law-reform, strikes decisively into that grand problem; hoping to
perfect it. What is still more significant, he in private begins writing
his MEMOIRS. And furthermore, gradually determines on having a little
Country House, place of escape from his big Potsdam Palace; and gets
plans drawn for it,--place which became very famous, by the name of
SANS-SOUCI, in times coming. His thoughts are wholly pacific; of Life to
Minerva and the Arts, not to Bellona and the Battles:--and yet he knows
well, this latter too is an inexorable element. About his Army, he is
quietly busy; augmenting, improving it; the staff of life to Prussia and
him.
Silesian Fortress-building, under ugly Walrave, goes on at a
steadily swift rate. Much Silesian settlement goes on; fixing of the
Prussian-Austrian Boundaries without; of the Catholic-Protestant limits
within: rapid, not too rough, remodelling of the Province from Austrian
into Prussian, in the Financial, Administrative and every other
respect:--in all which important operations the success was noiseless,
but is considered to have been perfect, or nearly so. Cannot we,
| 786.096506 | 3,841 |
2023-11-16 18:28:52.8552250
| 1,180 | 402 |
Produced by Ritu Aggarwal, Thanks to the National Library
of Australia and the Thomas Cooper Library (University of
South Carolina) for supplying pages for this work, and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
EIDOLON,
OR THE COURSE OF A SOUL;
AND OTHER POEMS,
BY WALTER R. CASSELS
LONDON
WILLIAM PICKERING
1850
TO
CHARLES PEEL,
THIS VOLUME IS INSCRIBED BY
HIS FRIEND,
W. R. CASSELS.
CONTENTS.
Page
Eidolon 1
Alceste 93
Pygmalion 136
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
Ode to Fancy 159
What is a sigh? 165
Ione 167
Reality 169
Retrospection 172
The Stormy Petrel 181
To ---- 183
The Mermaid 185
The Spirit of the Air 190
Why do I love thee? 195
Lady Annabel 196
To Jenny Lind 201
The Gold Seekers 204
To Woman 209
The Poet 212
Evening 224
Life 226
Sorrow 229
SONNETS.
I. Written at Ulleswater 233
II. "There is a spell by which the panting soul" 234
III. "We wander on through life as pilgrims do" 235
IV. "Sweet spirits of the Beautiful! where'er ye dwell," 236
V. "We are ambitious overmuch in life," 237
VI. "Mountains! and huge hills! wrap your mighty forms" 238
VII. To Ella 239
VIII. "I traverse oft in thought the battle-plain" 240
INTRODUCTION TO EIDOLON.
Hazlitt says, one cannot "make an allegory go on all fours," it must
to a certain degree be obscure and shadowy, like the images which the
traveller in the desert sees mirrored on the heavens, wherein he can
trace but a dreamy resemblance to the reality beneath. It therefore
seems to me advisable to give a solution of the "Eidolon," the symbol,
which follows, that the purpose of the poem may at once be evident.
In "Eidolon" I have attempted to symbol the course of a Poet's mind
from a state wherein thought is disordered, barren and uncultivated,
to that which is ordered and swayed by the true Spirit of Poetry, and
holds its perfect creed.
I have therefore laid the scene on a desert island, whence, as from
the isolation of his own mind, he reflects upon the concerns of life.
At first he is a poet only by birthright '_Poeta nascitur_.' He has
the poet's inherent love for the Beautiful, his keen susceptibility of
all that is lovely in outward nature, but these are only the blossoms
which have fallen upon him from the Tree of Life, the fruit is yet
untasted. He has looked at the evil of the world alone, and seeing how
much "the time is out of joint" has become misanthropic, and turns his
back alike on the evil and the good.
Then comes Night, the stillness of the soul, with starlight breaking
through the gloom. He gazes on other worlds, and pictures there the
perfection he sighs for, but cannot find in this. Thus by the
conception of a higher and nobler existence acquiring some impetus
towards its realization.
We then find him lying in the sunshine with the beauties of Nature
around him, whose silent teaching works upon him till the true SPIRIT
OF POETRY speaks _within his soul_, and combats the misanthropy and
weakness of the sensuous MAN, showing him that Action is the end of
Life, not mere indulgence in abstract and visionary rhapsodies.
In the next scene he makes further advances, for the spirit of Poetry
shows him that the beauty for which he has sought amongst the stars of
heaven lies really at his feet; that Earth, too, is a star capable of
equal brightness with those on which he gazes. He is thus brought from
the Ideal to the Real.
The fifth scene emblems the influence of Love on the soul. It is the
nurse of Poetry, and Sorrow is the pang which stimulates the divine
germ into active vitality. Had he been entirely happy, and the course
of his love run smooth, he would have been content to enjoy life in
ease and idleness.
Next we find him looking broadly on life, on its utmost ills as well
as its beauties, but not with the eye of the misanthrope, but of the
Physician who searches out disease that he may find the remedy, and
though the soul still sighs for the serenity and placid delight of
the ideal life, the world of Thought, the glorious principle of Poetry
prevails, and he sacrifices self-ease, feeling that he has a nobler
mission than to dream through life, and that here he must labour ere
he can earn the right to rest.
Thus in
| 786.174635 | 3,842 |
2023-11-16 18:28:53.0619740
| 389 | 87 |
Produced by Audrey Longhurst, Marcia Brooks and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
book was produced from scanned images of public domain
material from the Google Print project.)
THE ESCAPE OF MR. TRIMM
[Illustration: NOBODY PAID ANY ATTENTION TO MR. TRIMM.--_Frontispiece_
(_Page 18._)]
THE ESCAPE
OF MR. TRIMM
_HIS PLIGHT AND OTHER PLIGHTS_
BY
IRVIN S. COBB
AUTHOR OF
OLD JUDGE PRIEST,
BACK HOME, ETC.
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
COPYRIGHT, 1910, 1911, 1912 AND 1913
BY THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1913
BY THE FRANK A. MUNSEY COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1913
BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
[Transcriber's Note: A List of Illustrations has been added.]
TO MY WIFE
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE ESCAPE OF MR. TRIMM 3
II. THE BELLED BUZZARD 54
III. AN OCCURRENCE UP A SIDE STREET 79
IV. ANOTHER OF THOSE CUB REPORTER STORIES 96
V. SMOKE OF BATTLE 142
VI. THE EXIT OF ANNE DUGMORE 179
VII. TO THE EDITOR OF THE SUN 202
VIII. FISHHEAD 244
IX. GUILTY AS CHARGED 260
ILLU
| 786.381384 | 3,843 |
2023-11-16 18:28:53.0896260
| 422 | 95 |
Produced by Bryan Ness, Josephine Paolucci and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. (This
book was produced from scanned images of public domain
material from the Google Print project.)
VEGETABLE DIET:
AS SANCTIONED BY
MEDICAL MEN,
AND BY
EXPERIENCE IN ALL AGES.
INCLUDING A
SYSTEM OF VEGETABLE COOKERY.
BY DR. WM. A. ALCOTT,
AUTHOR OF THE YOUNG MAN'S GUIDE, YOUNG WOMAN'S GUIDE, YOUNG MOTHER,
YOUNG HOUSEKEEPER, AND LATE EDITOR OF THE LIBRARY OF HEALTH.
SECOND EDITION, REVISED AND ENLARGED.
NEW YORK:
FOWLER AND WELLS, PUBLISHERS,
No. 308 BROADWAY
1859.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1849,
BY FOWLERS & WELLS,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of
New York.
BANES & PALMER, STEREOTYPERS,
201 William st. corner Frankfort, N. Y.
PREFACE
The following volume embraces the testimony, direct or indirect, of more
than a HUNDRED individuals--besides that of societies and
communities--on the subject of vegetable diet. Most of this one hundred
persons are, or were, persons of considerable distinction in society;
and more than FIFTY of them were either medical men, or such as have
made physiology, hygiene, anatomy, pathology, medicine, or surgery a
leading or favorite study.
As I have written other works besides this--especially the "Young
House-Keeper"--which treat, more or less, of diet, it may possibly be
objected, that I sometimes repeat the same idea. But how is it to be
avoided? In writing for various classes of the community, and presenting
my views in various connections
| 786.409036 | 3,844 |
2023-11-16 18:28:53.2876070
| 1,002 | 413 |
Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, JoAnn Greenwood,
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
THE KNICKERBOCKER.
VOL. X. DECEMBER, 1837. NO. 6.
AMERICAN ANTIQUITIES.
NUMBER FOUR.
'KINGDOMS are shrunk to provinces, and chains
Clank over sceptred cities; nations melt
From power's high pinnacle, when they have felt
The sunshine for a while, and downward go.'
IN view of the reasons heretofore suggested, why it is improbable
that either the Egyptians, the Carthaginians, or the Romans, were the
first inhabitants of this continent, and why, from the present state
of our knowledge, no other distinct nation of people is entitled to
the exclusive reputation of having been the primitive discoverers
of America, the reader is very naturally led to inquire for the
evidences assigned by the advocates of particular theories for the
sources of their origin. These evidences, although important to the
antiquarian, cannot, from the brevity and popular mode proposed
by us in treating this subject, be critically stated. We have,
nevertheless, offered some reasons and inferences of our own, why
those evidences cannot be conclusive; and we would refer others to
our own or other means of information, should they feel disposed to
make farther investigations. However plausible the story of Votan
may have appeared, as testimony in point, the reader shall judge,
from a few facts which will be here noticed, whether even that has
much probability to support it. No one at least can deny the greater
safety of doubting, where there is no better proof, should he not,
with others, arrive at the ultimate conclusion, that the best
evidence of all may be in favor of the opinion that these people
originated where their relics are now found.
It has been said that the occasional resemblance observed among the
ruins of Tulteca to those of the Egyptians, Romans, etc, affords
no just grounds for attributing their origin to those nations, any
more than to others whose remaining arts they equally resemble.
Almost every ancient people might, in fact, from similar points of
resemblance, claim the same distinction. Beside the particulars
noticed in previous numbers, it might be mentioned, _en passant_,
that had the Tultecans been Egyptian, they would most certainly have
retained the language of Egypt, the signs, the worship, etc.; but
this was not the fact. Had they been Romans, they would likewise have
continued the language, the customs, and the religion of Romans;
yet this was not the case; and so it would have been, had they been
derived from any other nation. Above all, perhaps, would they have
borne a personal resemblance to their progenitors, a circumstance
far from truth. Religion, without doubt, is the last thing in which a
people becomes alienated; yet we see no coeincidence in this respect
between these people and their reputed originals. How then shall
we account for their origin, but by supposing them, _sui generis_,
Tultecans? Finally, it will be admitted, that unless the story of
Votan presents some clue by which to solve the problem--and we do not
see that it has even the claim of probability--we are not permitted,
by the facts in evidence, to attribute the first American population
to any other people of the earth.
The illustrious Fegjro, quoted as the best authority by the
very author of Votan's story, and himself as much interested in
propagating a theory favorable to popular Catholic opinions as any
one of his clerical brethren, says upon this subject: 'After long
study and attentive examination of so many and such various opinions,
I find no one having the necessary appearance of truth, to satisfy
a prudent judgment, and many that do not possess even the merit
of probability.' Again, Cabrera says: 'To the present period, no
_hypothesis_ has been advanced, that is sufficiently probable to
satisfy a mind sincerely and cautiously desirous of arriving at the
truth.' And yet this is the man who holds forth the story of Votan
as a true 'hypothesis.' It is plain, in all this writer says, by way
of comment, that he himself doubts the truth of the whole matter,
although he has pompously styled his treatise 'The Solution of the
Grand Historical Problem of the Population of America!' The bishop,
we will do him the justice to say, manifests much candor in speaking
| 786.607017 | 3,845 |
2023-11-16 18:28:53.3916440
| 991 | 399 |
E-text prepared by David T. Jones and the Project Gutenberg Online
Distributed Proofreading Canada (http://www.pgdpcanada.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 30367-h.htm or 30367-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30367/30367-h/30367-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30367/30367-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries. See
http://www.archive.org/details/oldquebecfortres00parkuoft
OLD QUEBEC
The Fortress of New France
by
GILBERT PARKER and CLAUDE G. BRYAN
With Illustrations
[Illustration: _Major General James Wolfe
from a scarce contemporary print engraved by R. Houston_]
New York
The Macmillan Company
London: Macmillan & Co., Ltd.
1903
All rights reserved
Copyright, 1903,
by The Macmillan Company.
Set up, electrotyped, and published September, 1903. Reprinted
November, 1903.
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
CONTENTS
PAGE
NOTE xvii
PRELUDE xix
CHAPTER I
EARLY VOYAGES 1
CHAPTER II
THE ERA OF CHAMPLAIN 19
CHAPTER III
THE HEROIC AGE OF NEW FRANCE 44
CHAPTER IV
"AD MAJOREM DEI GLORIAM" 66
CHAPTER V
ROYAL GOVERNMENT 85
CHAPTER VI
THE NOBLESSE AND THE PEOPLE 95
CHAPTER VII
FRONTENAC AND LA SALLE 110
CHAPTER VIII
FIRE, MASSACRE, AND SIEGE 134
CHAPTER IX
THE CLOSE OF THE CENTURY 159
CHAPTER X
BORDER WARFARE 175
CHAPTER XI
THE BEGINNING OF THE END 187
CHAPTER XII
LIFE UNDER THE _ANCIEN REGIME_ 218
CHAPTER XIII
DURING THE SEVEN YEARS' WAR 246
CHAPTER XIV
"HERE DIED WOLFE VICTORIOUS" 268
CHAPTER XV
MURRAY AND DE LEVIS 299
CHAPTER XVI
THE FIRST YEARS OF BRITISH RULE 325
CHAPTER XVII
THE FIFTH SIEGE 342
CHAPTER XVIII
SOCIAL AND POLITICAL PROGRESS 364
CHAPTER XIX
THE STORY OF THE GREAT TRADING COMPANIES 394
CHAPTER XX
THE NEW CENTURY 422
CHAPTER XXI
THE MODERN PERIOD 443
APPENDICES 473
INDEX 479
LIST OF PLATES
Major-General James Wolfe _Frontispiece_
FACE PAGE
Francois-Xavier de Laval 16
Cardinal de Richelieu 48
The Earl of Chatham 187
General the Marquis Montcalm 271
General Sir Jeffrey Amherst 282
Admiral Earl St. Vincent 294
General Gage 301
The Hon. Robert Monckton 307
[1]General Sir A. P. Irving 317
General Townshend 327
Sir James Henry Craig 342
Sir John Cope Sherbrooke 355
The Fourth Duke of Richmond 368
Admiral Viscount Nelson 374
Lord Dalhousie 376
General Lord Aylmer 395
The Earl of Durham 407
Sir John Colborne 417
Lord Sydenham 424
Sir Charles Bagot 434
General Earl Cathcart 443
The Earl of Elgin 452
Lord Lisgar 458
The Marquis of Dufferin and Ava 466
[Footnote 1: Inscription on plate for 2nd Governor of Canada
1766, _read_ Lieutenant-Governor of
| 786.711054 | 3,846 |
2023-11-16 18:28:53.6770860
| 1,000 | 428 |
Produced by Brian Coe, Chuck Greif and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
HOW RIFLEMAN BROWN
CAME TO VALHALLA
BY
GILBERT FRANKAU
NEW YORK
FEDERAL PRINTING COMPANY
1916
Copyright, 1916
Gilbert Frankau
_All rights reserved_
How Rifleman Brown Came to Valhalla
By GILBERT FRANKAU
To the lower Hall of Valhalla, to the heroes of no renown,
Relieved from his spell at the listening-post, came Rifleman Joseph Brown.
With never a rent in his khaki, nor smear of blood on his face,
He flung his pack from his shoulders and made for an empty place.
The Killer-men of Valhalla looked up from the banquet board
At the unfouled breech of his rifle, at the unfleshed point of his sword,
And the unsung dead of the trenches, the kings who have never a crown,
Demanded his pass to Valhalla from Rifleman Joseph Brown.
“_Who comes, unhit, to the party?_” A one-legged Corporal spoke,
And the gashed heads nodded approval through the rings of the Endless
Smoke.
“_Who comes for the beer and the Woodbines of the never-closed Canteen_
_With the barrack shine on his bayonet and a full-charged magazine?_”
Then Rifleman Brown looked round him at the nameless men of The Line,
At the wounds of the shell and the bullet, at the burns of the bomb
and the mine;
At the khaki, virgin of medals but crimson-clotted of blood;
At the ankle-boots and the puttees caked stiff with the Flanders mud;
At the myriad short Lee-Enfields that crowded the rifle rack,
Each with its blade to the sword-boss brown and its muzzle powder-black.
And Rifleman Brown said never a word, but he felt in the soul of his soul
His right to the beer of the lower Hall though he came to drink of
it whole;
His right to the fags of the free Canteen, to a seat at the banquet board,
Though he came to the men who had killed their man with an unfleshed point
to his sword.
“_Who speaks for the stranger riflemen, O boys of the free Canteen?_
_Who passes the chap with the unmaimed limbs and the kit that is far
too clean?_”
The gashed heads eyed him above their beers, the gashed lips sucked at
their smoke;
There were three at the board of his own platoon, but not a man of
them spoke.
His mouth was mad for the tankard froth and the biting whiff of a fag,
But he knew that he might not speak for himself to the dead men who do not
brag.
A gun butt crashed on the portals, a man came staggering in;
His head was cleft with a great red wound from the temple bone to
the chin,
His blade was dyed to the bayonet boss with the clots that were scarcely
dry,
And he cried to the men who had killed their man, “Who passes the
rifleman? I!
By the four I slew and the shell I stopped, if my feet be not too late,
I speak the word for Rifleman Brown that a chap may speak for his
mate!”
The dead of lower Valhalla, the heroes of dumb renown,
They pricked up their ears to a tale of the earth as they set their
tankards down.
“We were both on sentry this morning, when the General happened along.
He asked us our job in a gas attack. Joe told him, ‘Beat on the gong.’
‘What else?’
‘Nothing else, sir,’ Joe answered.
‘Good God, man,’ our General said,
‘By the time you’d beaten that bloodstained gong the chances are you’d be
dead.
You’d put on your gas helmet, blast you, and you’d damn well
put it on _first_!’
And Joe stood dumb to attention, and wondered why he’d been cursed.”
The gashed heads turned to the Rifleman, and now it seemed that they knew
Why the face that had
| 786.996496 | 3,847 |
2023-11-16 18:28:53.6922120
| 181 | 128 |
Produced by Suzanne Shell, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
MY LORD DUKE
BY E. W. HORNUNG
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1897
COPYRIGHT, 1897, BY
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith
Norwood Mass. U.S.A.
CONTENTS
I. THE HEAD OF THE FAMILY 1
II. "HAPPY JACK" 16
III. A CHANCE LOST 31
IV. NOT IN THE PROGRAMME
| 787.011622 | 3,848 |
2023-11-16 18:28:53.9788780
| 4,082 | 85 |
Produced by Greg Bergquist and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
THE SPIRIT OF AMERICA
[Illustration]
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK. BOSTON. CHICAGO
DALLAS. SAN FRANCISCO
MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED
LONDON. BOMBAY. CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE
THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.
TORONTO
THE SPIRIT OF AMERICA
BY
HENRY VAN <DW18>
Professor of English at Princeton University
Hyde Lecturer, University of Paris, 1908-9
Hon. LL.D., University of Geneva
Hon. F.R.S.L., London
New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1912
_All rights reserved_
COPYRIGHT, 1910,
BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
Set up and electrotyped. Published February, 1910.
Reprinted March, October, 1910; February, 1912.
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing Co.--Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
TO MADAME
ELISABETH SAINTE-MARIE PERRIN, _NEE_ BAZIN
To inscribe your name upon this volume, dear Madame, is to recall
delightful memories of my year in France. Your sympathy encouraged me in
the adventurous choice of a subject so large and simple for a course of
lectures at the Sorbonne. While they were in the making, you acted as an
audience of one, in the long music-room at Hostel and in the forest of
St. Gervais, and gave gentle counsels of wisdom in regard to the points
likely to interest and retain a larger audience of Parisians in the
_Amphitheatre Richelieu_. Then, the university adventure being ended
without mishap, your skill as a translator admirably clothed the
lectures in your own lucid language, and sent them out to help a little
in strengthening the ties of friendship between France and America.
Grateful for all the charming hospitality of your country, which made my
year happy and, I hope, not unfruitful, I dedicate to you this book on
the Spirit of America, because you have done so much to make me
understand, appreciate, and admire the true Spirit of France.
HENRY VAN <DW18>.
PREFACE
This book contains the first seven of a series of twenty-six
_conferences_, given in the winter of 1908-1909, on the Hyde Foundation,
at the University of Paris, and repeated in part at other universities
of France. They were delivered in English, and afterward translated into
French and published under the title of _Le Genie de l'Amerique_. In
making this American edition it has not seemed worth while to attempt to
disguise the fact that these chapters were prepared as lectures to be
given to a French audience, and that their purpose, in accordance with
the generous design of the founder of the chair, was to promote an
intelligent sympathy between France and the United States. If the book
finds readers among my countrymen, I beg them, as they read, to remember
its origin. Perhaps it may have an interest of its own, as a report,
made in Paris, of the things that seem vital, significant, and creative
in the life and character of the American people.
CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTION xi
THE SOUL OF A PEOPLE 3
SELF-RELIANCE AND THE REPUBLIC 31
FAIR PLAY AND DEMOCRACY 71
WILL-POWER, WORK, AND WEALTH 113
COMMON ORDER AND SOCIAL COOPERATION 151
PERSONAL DEVELOPMENT AND EDUCATION 195
SELF-EXPRESSION AND LITERATURE 239
INTRODUCTION
There is an ancient amity between France and America, which is recorded
in golden letters in the chronicles of human liberty. In one of the
crowded squares of New York there stands a statue of a young nobleman,
slender, elegant, and brave, springing forward to offer his sword to the
cause of freedom. The name under that figure is La Fayette. In one of
the broad avenues of Paris there stands a statue of a plain gentleman,
grave, powerful, earnest, sitting his horse like a victor and lifting
high his sword to salute the star of France. The name under that figure
is Washington.
It is well that in both lands such a friendship between two great
peoples should be
"Immortalized by art's immortal praise."
It is better still that it should be warmed and strengthened by present
efforts for the common good: that the world should see the two great
republics standing together for justice and fair play at Algeciras,
working together for the world's peace at the Congress of the Hague.
But in order that a friendship like this should really continue and
increase, there must be something more than a sentimental sympathy.
There must be a mutual comprehension, a real understanding, between the
two peoples. Romantic love, the little _Amor_ with the bow and arrows,
may be as blind as the painters and novelists represent him. But true
friendship, the strong god _Amicitia_, is open-eyed and clear-sighted.
So long as Frenchmen insist upon looking at America merely as the
country of the Sky-scraper and the Almighty Dollar, so long as Americans
insist upon regarding France merely as the home of the Yellow Novel and
the Everlasting Dance, so long will it be difficult for the ancient
amity between these two countries to expand and deepen into a true and
vital concord.
France and America must know each other better. They must learn to look
each into the other's mind, to read each the other's heart. They must
recognize each other less by their foibles and more by their faiths,
less by the factors of national weakness and more by the elements of
national strength. Then, indeed, I hope and believe they will be good
and faithful friends.
It is to promote this serious and noble purpose that an American
gentleman, Mr. James Hazen Hyde, has founded two chairs, one at the
University of Paris, and one at Harvard University, for an annual
interchange of professors, (and possibly of ideas,) between France and
America. Through this generous arrangement we have had the benefit of
hearing, in the United States, MM. Doumic, Rod, de Regnier, Gaston
Deschamps, Hugues Le Roux, Mabilleau, Anatole Leroy-Beaulieu, Millet, Le
Braz, Tardieu, and the Vicomte d'Avenel. On the same basis Messrs.
Barrett Wendell, Santayana, Coolidge, and Baker have spoken at the
Sorbonne and at the other French Universities. This year Harvard has
called me from the chair of English Literature at Princeton University,
and the authorities of the Sorbonne have graciously accorded me the
hospitality of this _Amphitheatre Richelieu_, to take my small part in
this international mission.
Do you ask for my credentials as an ambassador? Let me omit such
formalities as academic degrees, professorships, and doctorates, and
present my claims in more simple and humble form. A family residence of
two hundred and fifty years in America, whither my ancestors came from
Holland in 1652; a working life of thirty years which has taken me among
all sorts and conditions of men, in almost all the states of the Union
from Maine to Florida and from New York to California; a personal
acquaintance with all the Presidents except one since Lincoln; a
friendship with many woodsmen, hunters, and fishermen in the forests
where I spend the summers; an entire independence of any kind of
political, ecclesiastical, or academic partisanship; and some
familiarity with American literature, its origins, and its historical
relations,--these are all the claims that I can make to your attention.
They are small enough, to be sure, but such as they are you may find in
them a partial explanation of the course which these lectures are to
take.
You will understand that if I have chosen a subject which is not
strictly academic, it is because the best part of my life has been spent
out of doors among men. You will perceive that my failure to speak of
Boston as the centre of the United States may have some connection with
the accident that I am not a Bostonian. You will account for the absence
of a suggestion that any one political party is the only hope of the
Republic by the fact that I am not a politician. You will detect in my
attitude towards literature the naive conviction that it is not merely
an art existing for art's sake, but an expression of the inner life and
a factor in the moral character. Finally, you will conclude, with your
French logicality of mind, that I must be an obstinate idealist, because
I am going to venture to lecture to you on _The Spirit of America_. That
is as much as to say that I believe man is led by an inner light, and
that the ideals, moral convictions, and vital principles of a people are
the most important factors in their history.
All these things are true. They cannot be denied or concealed. I would
willingly confess them and a hundred more, if I might contribute but a
little towards the purpose of these lectures: to help some of the people
of France to understand more truly the real people of America,--a people
of idealists engaged in a great practical task.
I
THE SOUL OF A PEOPLE
THE SPIRIT OF AMERICA
I
THE SOUL OF A PEOPLE
There is a proverb which affirms that in order to know a man you have
only to travel with him for a week. Almost all of us have had
experiences, sometimes happy and sometimes the reverse, which seem to
confirm this saying.
A journey in common is a sort of involuntary confessional. There is a
certain excitement, a confusion and quickening of perceptions and
sensations, in the adventures, the sudden changes, the new and striking
scenes of travel. The bonds of habit are loosened. Impulses of pleasure
and of displeasure, suddenly felt, make themselves surprisingly visible.
Wishes and appetites and prejudices which are usually dressed in a
costume of words so conventional as to amount to a disguise now appear
unmasked, and often in very scanty costume, as if they had been suddenly
called from their beds by an alarm of fire on a steamboat, or, to use a
more agreeable figure, by the announcement in a hotel on the Righi of
approaching sunrise.
There is another thing which plays, perhaps, a part in this power of
travel to make swift disclosures. I mean the vague sense of release from
duties and restraints which comes to one who is away from home. Much of
the outward form of our daily conduct is regulated by the structure and
operation of the social machinery in which we quite inevitably find our
place. But when all this is left behind, when a man no longer feels the
pressure of the neighbouring wheels, the constraint of the driving-belt
which makes them all move together, nor the restraint of the common task
to which the collective force of all is applied, he is "outside of the
machine."
The ordinary sight-seeing, uncommercial traveller--the tourist, the
globe-trotter--is not usually a person who thinks much of his own
responsibilities, however conscious he may be of his own importance. His
favourite proverb is, "When you are in Rome, do as the Romans do." But
in the application of the proverb, he does not always inquire whether
the particular thing which he is invited to do is done by the particular
kind of Roman that he would like to be, if he lived in Rome, or by some
other kind of Roman quite different, even contrary. He is liberated. He
is unaccountable. He is a butterfly visiting a strange garden. He has
only to enjoy himself according to his caprice and to accept the
invitations of the flowers which please him most.
This feeling of irresponsibility in travel corresponds somewhat to the
effect of wine. The tongue is loosened. Unexpected qualities and
inclinations are unconsciously confessed. A new man, hitherto unknown,
appears upon the scene. And this new man often seems more natural, more
spontaneous, more vivid, than our old acquaintance. "At last," we say to
ourselves, "we know the true inwardness, the real reality of this
fellow. He is not acting a part now. He is coming to the surface. We see
what a bad fellow, or what a good fellow, he is. _In vino et in viatore
veritas!_"
But is it quite correct, after all, this first impression that travel is
the great revealer of character? Is it the essential truth, the
fundamental truth, _la vraie verite_, that we discover through this
glass? Or is it, rather, a novel aspect of facts which are real enough,
indeed, but not fundamental,--an aspect so novel that it presents itself
as more important than it really is? To put the question in brief, and
in a practical form, is a railway train the place to study character, or
is it only a place to observe characteristics?
There is, of course, a great deal of complicated and quarrelsome
psychology involved in this seeming simple question,--for example, the
point at issue between the determinists and libertarians, the
philosophers of the unconscious and the philosophers of the ideal,--all
of which I will prudently pass by, in order to make a very practical and
common-sense observation.
Ordinary travel usually obscures and confuses quite as much as it
reveals in the character of the traveller. His excitement, his moral
detachment, his intellectual dislocation, unless he is a person of
extraordinary firmness and poise, are apt to make him lose himself much
more than they help him to find himself. In these strange and transient
experiences his action lacks meaning and relation. He is carried away.
He is uprooted. He is swept along by the current of external novelty.
This may be good for him or bad for him. I do not ask this question. I
am not moralizing. I am observing. The point is that under these
conditions I do not see the real man more clearly, but less clearly. To
paraphrase a Greek saying, I wish not to study Philip when he is a
little exhilarated, but Philip when he is sober: not when he is at a
Persian banquet, but when he is with his Macedonians.
Moreover, if I mistake not, the native environment, the chosen or
accepted task, the definite place in the great world-work, is part of
the man himself. There are no human atoms. Relation is inseparable from
quality. Absolute isolation would be invisibility. Displacement is
deformity. You remember what Emerson says in his poem, _Each and All_:--
"The delicate shells lay on the shore:
The bubbles of the latest wave
Fresh pearls to their enamel gave,
And the bellowing of the savage sea
Greeted their safe escape to me.
I wiped away the weeds and foam,
I fetched my sea-born treasures home,
But the poor, unsightly, noisome things
Had left their beauty on the shore
With the sun and the sand and the wild uproar."
So I would see my man where he belongs, in the midst of the things which
have produced him and which he has helped to produce. I would understand
something of his relation to them. I would watch him at his work, the
daily labour which not only earns his living but also moulds and forms
his life. I would see how he takes hold of it, with reluctance or with
alacrity, and how he regards it, with honour or with contempt. I would
consider the way in which he uses its tangible results; to what purpose
he applies them; for what objects he spends the fruit of his toil; what
kind of bread he buys with the sweat of his brow or his brain. I would
trace in his environment the influence of those who have gone before
him. I would read the secrets of his heart in the uncompleted projects
which he forms for those who are to come after him. In short, I would
see the roots from which he springs, and the hopes in which his heart
flowers.
Thus, and thus only, the real man, the entire man, would become more
clear to me. He might appear more or less admirable. I might like him
more, or less. That would make no difference. The one thing that is sure
is that I should know him better. I should know the soul of the man.
If this is true, then, of the individual, how much more is it true of a
nation, a people? The inward life, the real life, the animating and
formative life of a people is infinitely difficult to discern and
understand.
There are a hundred concourses of travel in modern Europe where you may
watch "the passing show" of all nations with vast amusement,--on the
_Champs-Elysees_ in May or June, in the park of _Aix-les-Bains_ in
midsummer, at the Italian Lakes in autumn, in the colonnade of
Shepherd's Hotel at Cairo in January or February, on the Pincian Hill at
Rome in March or April. Take your seats, ladies and gentlemen, at this
continuous performance, this international _vaudeville_, and observe
British habits, French manners, German customs, American eccentricities,
whatever interests you in the varied entertainment. But do not imagine
that in this way you will learn to know the national personality of
England, or France, or Germany, or America. That is something which is
never exported.
Some drop of tincture or extract of it, indeed, may pass from one land
to another in a distinct and concentrated individuality, as when a
Lafayette comes to America, or a Franklin to France. Some partial
portrait and imperfect image of it, indeed, may be produced in
literature. And there the reader who is wise enough to separate the
head-dress from the head, and to discern the figure beneath the
| 787.298288 | 3,849 |
2023-11-16 18:28:54.1928890
| 390 | 94 |
Produced by K. Nordquist, Anne Storer and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
The True Story of
THE AMERICAN FLAG
JOHN H. FOW
[Illustration: Fig. 8
FLAG CARRIED BY THE FIRST CITY TROOP OF PHILADELPHIA IN ESCORTING
WASHINGTON ACROSS THE JERSEYS ON HIS WAY TO TAKE COMMAND AT CAMBRIDGE]
THE TRUE STORY
OF THE
AMERICAN FLAG
BY
JOHN H. FOW
PHILADELPHIA
WILLIAM J. CAMPBELL
1908
Copyright, 1908
BY
JOHN H. FOW
* * * * *
INTRODUCTION
I was induced to make this research by the late William H. Egle,
Librarian of the State Library at Harrisburg, whose knowledge of the
early history of Pennsylvania was of valuable assistance to me in
preparing the data for a history of the country along the Delaware river
prior to 1682 (yet unfinished). Mr. Egle agreed with me that the claim
of Mr. Canby that BETSY ROSS designed and made the first flag was
legendary and without that foundation which is so necessary to uphold
claims of this character. Statements of such a character, when allowed
to go unrefuted, do harm to the history of any people, inasmuch as they
encourage others to build "air castles" and purchase old portraits to be
palmed off on others as _our_ "grandfather" who "fit" in the Revolution,
or _our_ "grandmother" who carried supplies to the troops at Valley
Forge.
History is the
| 787.512299 | 3,850 |
2023-11-16 18:28:54.3632220
| 404 | 108 |
Produced by Joseph Myers and PG Distributed Proofreaders
AUTOBIOGRAPHY
OF
SIR GEORGE BIDDELL AIRY, K.C.B.,
M.A., LL.D., D.C.L., F.R.S., F.R.A.S.,
HONORARY FELLOW OF TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE,
ASTRONOMER ROYAL FROM 1836 TO 1881.
EDITED BY
WILFRID AIRY, B.A., M.Inst.C.E.
1896
PREFACE.
The life of Airy was essentially that of a hard-working, business man,
and differed from that of other hard-working people only in the
quality and variety of his work. It was not an exciting life, but it
was full of interest, and his work brought him into close relations
with many scientific men, and with many men high in the State. His
real business life commenced after he became Astronomer Royal, and
from that time forward, during the 46 years that he remained in
office, he was so entirely wrapped up in the duties of his post that
the history of the Observatory is the history of his life. For writing
his business life there is abundant material, for he preserved all his
correspondence, and the chief sources of information are as follows:
(1) His Autobiography.
(2) His Annual Reports to the Board of Visitors.
(3) His printed Papers entitled "Papers by G.B. Airy."
(4) His miscellaneous private correspondence.
(5) His letters to his wife.
(6) His business correspondence.
(1) His Autobiography, after the time that he became Astronomer Royal,
is, as might be expected, mainly a record of the scientific work
carried on at the Greenwich Observatory: but
| 787.682632 | 3,851 |
2023-11-16 18:28:54.4822090
| 1,508 | 84 |
Produced by Chris Curnow, Jennifer Linklater and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
INSECT ADVENTURES
Petty truths, I shall be told, those presented by the habits of a
spider or a grasshopper. There are no petty truths today; there is but
one truth, whose looking-glass to our uncertain eyes seems broken,
though its every fragment, whether reflecting the evolution of a planet
or the flight of a bee, contains the supreme law.
MAURICE MAETERLINCK
[Illustration: "What a day it was when I first became a herdsman of
ducks!"]
INSECT ADVENTURES
BY
J. HENRI FABRE
_Selections from Alexander Teixeira de Mattos'
Translation of Fabre's "Souvenirs Entomologiques"_
RETOLD FOR YOUNG PEOPLE
BY
LOUISE SEYMOUR HASBROUCK
ILLUSTRATED BY
ELIAS GOLDBERG
[Colophon]
NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
1917
COPYRIGHT, 1917,
By DODD, MEAD & COMPANY, Inc.
PREFACE
Jean Henri Fabre, author of the long series of "Souvenirs
Entomologiques" from which these studies are taken, was a French
school-teacher and scientist whose peculiar gift for the observation
and description of insect life won for him the title of the "insects'
Homer." A distinguished English critic says of him, "Fabre is the
wisest man, and the best read in the book of nature, of whom the
centuries have left us any record." The fact that he was mainly
self-taught, and that his life was an unending struggle with poverty
and disappointment, increases our admiration for his wonderful
achievements in natural science.
A very interesting account of his early years, given by himself, will
be found in Chapter XVII of this volume. The salaries of rural teachers
and professors were extremely small in France during the last century,
and Fabre, who married young, could barely support his large family.
Nature study was not in the school curriculum, and it was years before
he could devote more than scanty spare hours to the work. At the age
of thirty-two, however, he published the first volume of his insect
studies. It attracted the attention of scientists and brought him a
prize from the French Institute. Other volumes were published from time
to time, but some of Fabre's fellow scientists were displeased because
the books were too interesting! They feared, said Fabre, "lest a page
that is read without fatigue should not always be the expression of
the truth." He defended himself from this extraordinary complaint in a
characteristic way.
"Come here, one and all of you," he addressed his friends, the insects.
"You, the sting-bearers, and you, the wing-cased armor-clads--take up
my defense and bear witness in my favor. Tell of the intimate terms on
which I live with you, of the patience with which I observe you, of
the care with which I record your actions. Your evidence is unanimous;
yes, my pages, though they bristle not with hollow formulas or learned
smatterings, are the exact narrative of facts observed, neither more
nor less; and whoso cares to question you in his turn will obtain the
same replies.
"And then, my dear insects, if you cannot convince these good people,
because you do not carry the weight of tedium, I, in my turn, will say
to them:
"'You rip up the animal and I study it alive; you turn it into an
object of horror and pity, whereas I cause it to be loved; you labor in
a torture-chamber and dissecting-room, I make my observation under the
blue sky to the song of the cicadas; you subject cell and protoplasm to
chemical tests, I study instinct in its loftiest manifestations; you
pry into death, I pry into life.... I write above all for the young. I
want to make them love the natural history which you make them hate;
and that is why, while keeping strictly in the domain of truth, I avoid
your scientific prose, which too often, alas, seems borrowed from some
Iroquois idiom.'"
Fabre, though an inspiring teacher, had no talent for pushing himself,
and did not advance beyond an assistant professorship at a tiny salary.
The other professors at Avignon, where he taught for twenty years,
were jealous of him because his lectures on natural history attracted
much attention, and nicknamed him "the Fly." He was turned out of his
house at short notice because the owners, two maiden ladies, had been
influenced by his enemies, who considered his teachings in natural
history irreligious. Many years later, the invaluable textbooks he
had written were discontinued from use in the schools because they
contained too much religion! A process which he invented for the
extraction of dye from madder flowers, by which he hoped to make
himself independent, proved unprofitable on account of the appearance
on the market of the cheaper aniline dyes.
Though unknown during most of his lifetime to the world at large, Fabre
through his writings gained the friendship of several celebrated men.
Charles Darwin called him the "incomparable observer." The Minister of
Education in France invited him to Paris and had him made a Chevalier
of the Legion of Honor, and presented him to the Emperor, Napoleon III.
He was offered the post of tutor to the Prince Imperial, but preferred
his country life and original researches, even though they meant
continued poverty.
At last, after forty years of drudgery, Fabre secured from his
textbooks a small independent income, which released him from teaching
and enabled him to buy at Serignan a house and garden of his own, and
a small piece of waste ground, dedicated to thistles and insects--a
"cursed ground," he wrote, "which no one would have as a gift to sow
with a pinch of turnip seed," but "an earthly paradise for bees and
wasps"--and, on that account, for him also.
"It is a little late, O my pretty insects," he adds--he was at this time
over sixty; "I greatly fear the peach is offered to me only when I am
beginning to have no teeth wherewith to eat it." He lived, however, to
spend many years at his chosen studies.
During the last years of his life his fame spread, and in 1910, in
his eighty-eighth year, some of his admirers arranged a jubilee
celebration for him at Serignan. Many famous men attended, and letters
and telegrams poured in from all parts of the world. He
| 787.801619 | 3,852 |
2023-11-16 18:28:55.3815650
| 372 | 61 |
Produced by Giovanni Fini, Bryan Ness and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
—Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected.
—Underlined text has been rendered as *underlined text*.
The Cambridge Manuals of Science and Literature
THE FLEA
CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS
London: FETTER LANE, E.C.
C. F. CLAY, MANAGER
[Illustration: LOGO]
Edinburgh: 100, PRINCES STREET
London: H. K. LEWIS, 136, GOWER STREET, W.C.
WILLIAM WESLEY & SON, 28, ESSEX STREET, STRAND
Berlin: A. ASHER AND CO.
Leipzig: F. A. BROCKHAUS
New York: G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
Bombay and Calcutta: MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD.
_All rights reserved_
[Illustration:
_After a drawing by Dr Jordan_
Oriental rat-flea (_Xenopsylla cheopis_ Rothsch.). Male.]
[Illustration; DECORATED FRONT PAGE:
THE FLEA
BY
HAROLD RUSSELL,
B.A., F.Z.S., M.B.O.U.
With nine illustrations
Cambridge:
at the University Press
1913]
Cambridge
PRINTED BY JOHN CLAY, M.A.
AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS
_With the exception of the coat of arms at the foot, the design
| 788.700975 | 3,853 |
2023-11-16 18:28:55.3819130
| 1,093 | 397 |
Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Emmy and the PG Online Distributed
Proofreading Team.
ELSIE'S
WOMANHOOD
A sequel to
"ELSIE'S GIRLHOOD"
By
MARTHA FINLEY
Complete Authorized Edition
Published by arrangement with
Dodd, Mead and Company
_A Burt Book_
BLUE RIBBON BOOKS, Inc.
_New York_
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, by
DODD & MEAD
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
1903,
BY MARTHA FINLEY
1917,
BY CHARLES B. FINLEY
Preface.
The call for a sequel to "Elsie's Girlhood" having become too loud and
importunate to be resisted, the pleasant task of writing it was
undertaken.
Dates compelled the bringing in of the late war: and it has been the
earnest desire and effort of the author to so treat the subject as to
wound the feelings of none; to be as impartial as if writing history; and,
by drawing a true, though alas, but faint picture, of the great losses and
sufferings on both sides, to make the very thought of a renewal of the
awful strife _utterly abhorrent_ to every lover of humanity, and
especially of this, our own dear native land.
Are we not one people: speaking the same language; worshipping the one
true and living God; having a common history, a common ancestry; and
united by the tenderest ties of blood? And is not this great grand,
glorious old Union--known and respected all over the world--our common
country, our joy and pride? O! let us forget all bitterness, and live
henceforth in love, harmony, and mutual helpfulness.
For all I know of the Teche country I am indebted to Mr. Edward King's
"Old and New Louisiana"; for facts and dates in regard to the war, and in
large measure for Mr. Dinsmore's views as to its causes, etc.,
principally to Headley's "History of the Great Rebellion."
The description of Andersonville, and the life led by the prisoners there,
was supplied by one who shared it for six months. An effort was made to
obtain a sketch of a Northern prison also, but without success.
Yet what need to balance accounts in respect to these matters? The
unnatural strife is over, and we are again one united people.
M.F.
CHAPTER FIRST.
"Oh! there is one affection which no stain
Of earth can ever darken;--when two find,
The softer and the manlier, that a chain
Of kindred taste has fastened mind to mind."
--PERCIVAL'S POEMS.
In one of the cool green alleys at the Oaks, Rose and Adelaide Dinsmore
were pacing slowly to and fro, each with an arm about the other's waist,
in girlish fashion, while they conversed together in low, confidential
tones.
At a little distance to one side, the young son and heir had thrown
himself prone upon the grass in the shade of a magnificent oak, story-book
in hand. Much interested he seemed in his book, yet occasionally his eye
would wander from its fascinating pages to watch, with pride and delight,
the tiny Rosebud steady herself against a tree, then run with eager,
tottering steps and a crow of delight into her nurse's outstretched arms,
to be hugged, kissed, praised, and coaxed to try it over again.
As Rose and Adelaide turned at one end of the alley, Mr. Horace Dinsmore
entered it at the other. Hurriedly approaching the little toddler, he
stooped and held out his hands, saying, in tender, half-tremulous tones,
"Come, darling, come to papa."
She ran into his arms, crying, "Papa," in her sweet baby voice, and
catching her up, he covered her face with kisses; then, holding her
clasped fondly to his breast, walked on towards his wife and sister.
"What is it, Horace?" asked Rose anxiously, as they neared each other; for
she saw that his face was pale and troubled.
"I bring you strange tidings, my Rose," he answered low and sadly, as she
laid her hand upon his arm with an affectionate look up into his face.
Hers grew pale. "Bad news from home?" she almost gasped.
"No, no; I've had no word from our absent relatives or friends, and I'm
not sure I ought to call it bad news either; though I cannot yet think of
it with equanimity, it has come upon me so suddenly."
"What?" asked both ladies in a breath; "don't keep us in suspense."
"It has been going on for years--on his part--I can see it now--but, blind
fool that I was, I never suspected it till to-day, when it came upon me
like a thunderbolt."
"What? who?"
"Travilla;
| 788.701323 | 3,854 |
2023-11-16 18:28:55.5612710
| 1,006 | 396 |
Produced by Dagny; and John Bickers
STORIES BY ENGLISH AUTHORS
ORIENT
CONTENTS:
THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING, Rudyard Kipling
TAJIMA, Miss Mitford
A CHINESE GIRL GRADUATE, R. K. Douglas
THE REVENGE OF HER RACE, Mary Beaumont
KING BILLY OF BALLARAT, Morley Roberts
THY HEART'S DESIRE, Netta Syrett
THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING, By Rudyard Kipling
Brother to a Prince and fellow to a beggar if he be found
worthy
The Law, as quoted, lays down a fair conduct of life, and one not
easy to follow. I have been fellow to a beggar again and again under
circumstances which prevented either of us finding out whether the other
was worthy. I have still to be brother to a Prince, though I once came
near to kinship with what might have been a veritable King, and was
promised the reversion of a Kingdom--army, law-courts, revenue, and
policy all complete. But, to-day, I greatly fear that my King is dead,
and if I want a crown I must go hunt it for myself.
The beginning of everything was in a railway-train upon the road to Mhow
from Ajmir. There had been a Deficit in the Budget, which necessitated
travelling, not Second-class, which is only half as dear as First-Class,
but by Intermediate, which is very awful indeed. There are no cushions
in the Intermediate class, and the population are either Intermediate,
which is Eurasian, or native, which for a long night journey is nasty,
or Loafer, which is amusing though intoxicated. Intermediates do not buy
from refreshment-rooms. They carry their food in bundles and pots, and
buy sweets from the native sweetmeat-sellers, and drink the roadside
water. This is why in hot weather Intermediates are taken out of the
carriages dead, and in all weathers are most properly looked down upon.
My particular Intermediate happened to be empty till I reached
Nasirabad, when the big black-browed gentleman in shirt-sleeves entered,
and, following the custom of Intermediates, passed the time of day. He
was a wanderer and a vagabond like myself, but with an educated
taste for whisky. He told tales of things he had seen and done, of
out-of-the-way corners of the Empire into which he had penetrated, and
of adventures in which he risked his life for a few days' food.
"If India was filled with men like you and me, not knowing more than
the crows where they'd get their next day's rations, it isn't seventy
millions of revenue the land would be paying--it's seven hundred
millions," said he; and as I looked at his mouth and chin I was disposed
to agree with him.
We talked politics,--the politics of Loaferdom that sees things from
the under side where the lath and plaster is not smoothed off,--and we
talked postal arrangements because my friend wanted to send a telegram
back from the next station to Ajmir, the turning-off place from the
Bombay to the Mhow line as you travel westward. My friend had no money
beyond eight annas which he wanted for dinner, and I had no money at
all, owing to the hitch in the Budget before mentioned. Further, I was
going into a wilderness where, though I should resume touch with the
Treasury, there were no telegraph offices. I was, therefore, unable to
help him in any way.
"We might threaten a Station-master, and make him send a wire on tick,"
said my friend, "but that'd mean inquiries for you and for me, and
_I_'ve got my hands full these days. Did you say you were travelling
back along this line within any days?"
"Within ten," I said.
"Can't you make it eight?" said he. "Mine is rather urgent business."
"I can send your telegrams within ten days if that will serve you," I
said.
"I couldn't trust the wire to fetch him, now I think of it. It's this
way. He leaves Delhi on the 23rd for Bombay. That means he'll be running
through Ajmir about the night of the 23rd."
"But I'm going into the Indian Desert," I explained.
"Well _and_ good," said he. "You'll be changing at Marwar Junction to
get into Jodhp
| 788.880681 | 3,855 |
2023-11-16 18:28:55.7854030
| 982 | 399 |
Produced by Tapio Riikonen and David Widger
ATHENS: ITS RISE AND FALL
by Edward Bulwer Lytton
DEDICATION.
TO HENRY FYNES CLINTON, ESQ., etc., etc. AUTHOR OF "THE FASTI
HELLENICI."
My Dear Sir,
I am not more sensible of the distinction conferred upon me when you
allowed me to inscribe this history with your name, than pleased with
an occasion to express my gratitude for the assistance I have derived
throughout the progress of my labours from that memorable work, in
which you have upheld the celebrity of English learning, and afforded
so imperishable a contribution to our knowledge of the Ancient World.
To all who in history look for the true connexion between causes and
effects, chronology is not a dry and mechanical compilation of barren
dates, but the explanation of events and the philosophy of facts. And
the publication of the Fasti Hellenici has thrown upon those times, in
which an accurate chronological system can best repair what is
deficient, and best elucidate what is obscure in the scanty
authorities bequeathed to us, all the light of a profound and
disciplined intellect, applying the acutest comprehension to the
richest erudition, and arriving at its conclusions according to the
true spirit of inductive reasoning, which proportions the completeness
of the final discovery to the caution of the intermediate process. My
obligations to that learning and to those gifts which you have
exhibited to the world are shared by all who, in England or in Europe,
study the history or cultivate the literature of Greece. But, in the
patient kindness with which you have permitted me to consult you
during the tedious passage of these volumes through the press--in the
careful advice--in the generous encouragement--which have so often
smoothed the path and animated the progress--there are obligations
peculiar to myself; and in those obligations there is so much that
honours me, that, were I to enlarge upon them more, the world might
mistake an acknowledgment for a boast.
With the highest consideration and esteem,
Believe me, my dear sir,
Most sincerely and gratefully yours,
EDWARD LYTTON BULWER
London, March, 1837.
ADVERTISEMENT.
The work, a portion of which is now presented to the reader, has
occupied me many years--though often interrupted in its progress,
either by more active employment, or by literary undertakings of a
character more seductive. These volumes were not only written, but
actually in the hands of the publisher before the appearance, and
even, I believe, before the announcement of the first volume of Mr.
Thirlwall's History of Greece, or I might have declined going over any
portion of the ground cultivated by that distinguished scholar [1].
As it is, however, the plan I have pursued differs materially from
that of Mr. Thirlwall, and I trust that the soil is sufficiently
fertile to yield a harvest to either labourer.
Since it is the letters, yet more than the arms or the institutions of
Athens, which have rendered her illustrious, it is my object to
combine an elaborate view of her literature with a complete and
impartial account of her political transactions. The two volumes now
published bring the reader, in the one branch of my subject, to the
supreme administration of Pericles; in the other, to a critical
analysis of the tragedies of Sophocles. Two additional volumes will,
I trust, be sufficient to accomplish my task, and close the records of
Athens at that period when, with the accession of Augustus, the annals
of the world are merged into the chronicle of the Roman empire. In
these latter volumes it is my intention to complete the history of the
Athenian drama--to include a survey of the Athenian philosophy--to
describe the manners, habits, and social life of the people, and to
conclude the whole with such a review of the facts and events narrated
as may constitute, perhaps, an unprejudiced and intelligible
explanation of the causes of the rise and fall of Athens.
As the history of the Greek republics has been too often corruptly
pressed into the service of heated political partisans, may I be
pardoned the precaution of observing that, whatever my own political
code, as applied to England, I have nowhere sought knowingly to
pervert the lessons of a past nor analogous time to fugitive interests
and party purposes. Whether led sometimes
| 789.104813 | 3,856 |
2023-11-16 18:28:56.0894270
| 428 | 98 |
E-text prepared by Audrey Longhurst, Jeannie Howse, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net/) from
page images generously made available by the Home Economics Archive:
Research, Tradition and History, Albert R. Mann Library, Cornell
University (http://hearth.library.cornell.edu/)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through the
Home Economics Archive: Research, Tradition and History,
Albert R. Mann Library, Cornell University. See
http://hearth.library.cornell.edu/cgi/t/text/text-idx?c=hearth;idno=4765412
+------------------------------------------------------------+
| Transcriber's Notes: |
| |
| A number of obvious typographical errors have been |
| corrected in this text. For a complete list, please |
| see the end of this document. |
| |
| This document has inconsistent hyphenation. |
| |
| Greek has been transliterated and marked with + marks |
| |
+------------------------------------------------------------+
SEX IN EDUCATION;
Or, A Fair Chance for Girls.
by
EDWARD H. CLARKE, M.D.,
Member of the Massachusetts Medical Society;
Fellow of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences;
Late Professor of Materia Medica in Harvard College,
Etc., Etc.
Boston:
James R. Osgood and Company,
(Late Ticknor & Fields, and Fields, Osgood, & Co.)
1875.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by
Edward H. Clarke,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington
Boston:
Stereotyped and Printed by Rand, Avery, & Co.
"An American female constitution, which collapses just in the
middle third of life, and comes out vulcanized India-rubber,
if it happen to live through the period when health
| 789.408837 | 3,857 |
2023-11-16 18:28:56.1929940
| 1,055 | 411 |
***
Text file produced by Tokuya Matsumoto
HTML file produced by David Widger
A JOURNAL OF THE PLAGUE YEAR
By Daniel Defoe
being observations or memorials of the most remarkable occurrences, as
well public as private, which happened in London during the last great
visitation in 1665. Written by a Citizen who continued all the while in
London. Never made public before
It was about the beginning of September, 1664, that I, among the rest of
my neighbours, heard in ordinary discourse that the plague was returned
again in Holland; for it had been very violent there, and particularly
at Amsterdam and Rotterdam, in the year 1663, whither, they say, it was
brought, some said from Italy, others from the Levant, among some goods
which were brought home by their Turkey fleet; others said it was
brought from Candia; others from Cyprus. It mattered not from whence it
came; but all agreed it was come into Holland again.
We had no such thing as printed newspapers in those days to spread
rumours and reports of things, and to improve them by the invention of
men, as I have lived to see practised since. But such things as these
were gathered from the letters of merchants and others who corresponded
abroad, and from them was handed about by word of mouth only; so that
things did not spread instantly over the whole nation, as they do now.
But it seems that the Government had a true account of it, and several
councils were held about ways to prevent its coming over; but all was
kept very private. Hence it was that this rumour died off again, and
people began to forget it as a thing we were very little concerned in,
and that we hoped was not true; till the latter end of November or the
beginning of December 1664 when two men, said to be Frenchmen, died of
the plague in Long Acre, or rather at the upper end of Drury Lane. The
family they were in endeavoured to conceal it as much as possible, but
as it had gotten some vent in the discourse of the neighbourhood, the
Secretaries of State got knowledge of it; and concerning themselves to
inquire about it, in order to be certain of the truth, two physicians
and a surgeon were ordered to go to the house and make inspection. This
they did; and finding evident tokens of the sickness upon both the
bodies that were dead, they gave their opinions publicly that they died
of the plague. Whereupon it was given in to the parish clerk, and he
also returned them to the Hall; and it was printed in the weekly bill of
mortality in the usual manner, thus--
Plague, 2. Parishes infected, 1.
The people showed a great concern at this, and began to be alarmed all
over the town, and the more, because in the last week in December 1664
another man died in the same house, and of the same distemper. And then
we were easy again for about six weeks, when none having died with any
marks of infection, it was said the distemper was gone; but after that,
I think it was about the 12th of February, another died in another
house, but in the same parish and in the same manner.
This turned the people's eyes pretty much towards that end of the town,
and the weekly bills showing an increase of burials in St Giles's parish
more than usual, it began to be suspected that the plague was among the
people at that end of the town, and that many had died of it, though
they had taken care to keep it as much from the knowledge of the public
as possible. This possessed the heads of the people very much, and few
cared to go through Drury Lane, or the other streets suspected, unless
they had extraordinary business that obliged them to it
This increase of the bills stood thus: the usual number of burials in a
week, in the parishes of St Giles-in-the-Fields and St Andrew's,
Holborn, were from twelve to seventeen or nineteen each, few more or
less; but from the time that the plague first began in St Giles's
parish, it was observed that the ordinary burials increased in number
considerably. For example:--
From December 27 to January 3 { St Giles's 16
" { St Andrew's 17
" January 3 " " 10 { St Giles's 12
" { St Andrew's 25
" January 10 " " 17 { St Giles's 18
" { St Andrew's 28
" January 17 " " 24 { St Giles's 23
" { St Andrew's
| 789.512404 | 3,858 |
2023-11-16 18:28:56.2702300
| 402 | 105 |
Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive
JOURNAL OF A WEST INDIA PROPRIETOR,
Kept During A Residence In The Island Of Jamaica.
By Matthew Gregory Lewis
Author of “The Monk,” “The Castle Spectre,” “Tales Of Wonder,” &c.
London: John Murray, Albemarle Street.
MDCCCXXXIV
“I WOULD GIVE MANY A SUGAR CANE,
MAT. LEWIS WERE ALIVE AGAIN!”
BYRON.
[Illustration: 0001]
[Illustration: 0007]
ADVERTISEMENT.
The following Journals of two residences in Jamaica, in 1815-16, and in
1817, are now printed from the MS. of Mr. Lewis; who died at sea, on the
voyage homewards from the West Indies, in the year 1818.
JOURNAL OF A WEST INDIA PROPRIETOR
Expect our sailing in a few hours. But although the vessel left the
Docks on Saturday, she did not reach this place till three o’clock on
Thursday, the 9th. The captain now tells me, that we may expect to sail
certainly in the afternoon of to-morrow, the 10th. I expect the ship’s
cabin to gain greatly by my two days’ residence at the “--------------,”
which nothing can exceed for noise, dirt, and dulness. Eloisa would
never have established “black melancholy” at the Paraclete as its
favourite residence, if she had happened to pass three days at an inn
at Gravesend: nowhere else did I ever see the sky look so dingy, and the
river “_Nunc alio patriam quaero sub sole jacentem_.”--Virgil.
1815. NOVEMBER 8.
(WEDNESDAY)
I
| 789.58964 | 3,859 |
2023-11-16 18:28:56.2714900
| 1,045 | 397 |
Produced by Brownfox and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from
images generously made available by JSTOR www.jstor.org)
THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL.
NUMBER 27. SATURDAY, JANUARY 2, 1841. VOLUME I.
[Illustration: THE IRISH MIDWIFE.--PART II.
BY WILLIAM CARLETON.]
The village of Ballycomaisy was as pleasant a little place as one
might wish to see of a summer’s day. To be sure, like all other Irish
villages, it was remarkable for a superfluity of “pigs, praties, and
childre,” which being the stock in trade of an Irish cabin, it is to be
presumed that very few villages either in Ireland or elsewhere could go
on properly without them. It consisted principally of one long street,
which you entered from the north-west side by one of those old-fashioned
bridges, the arches of which were much more akin to the Gothic than the
Roman. Most of the houses were of mud, a few of stone, one or two of
which had the honour of being slated on the front side of the roof, and
rustically thatched on the back, where ostentation was not necessary.
There were two or three shops, a liberal sprinkling of public-houses, a
chapel a little out of the town, and an old dilapidated market-house
near the centre. A few little bye-streets projected in a lateral
direction from the main one, which was terminated on the side opposite to
the north-west by a pound, through which, as usual, ran a shallow stream,
that was gathered into a little gutter as it crossed the road. A crazy
antiquated mill, all covered and cobwebbed with grey mealy dust, stood
about a couple of hundred yards out of the town, to which two straggling
rows of houses, that looked like an abortive street, led you. This mill
was surrounded by a green common, which was again hemmed in by a fine
river, that ran round in a curving line from under the hunchbacked arch
of the bridge we mentioned at the beginning. Now, a little behind, or
rather above this mill, on the skirt of the aforesaid common, stood a
rather neat-looking whitish cabin, with about half a rood of garden
behind it. It was but small, and consisted merely of a sleeping-room
and kitchen. On one side of the door there was a window, opening on
hinges; and on the outside, to the right as you entered the house, there
was placed a large stone, about four feet high, backed by a sloping
mound of earth, so graduated as to allow a person to ascend the stone
without any difficulty. In this cabin lived Rose Moan, the Midwife; and
we need scarcely inform our readers that the stone in question was her
mounting-stone, by which she was enabled to place herself on pillion or
crupper, as the case happened, when called out upon her usual avocation.
Rose was what might be called a _flahoolagh_, or portly woman, with a
good-humoured set of Milesian features; that is to say, a pair of red,
broad checks, a well-set nose, allowing for the disposition to turn up,
and two black twinkling eyes, with a mellow expression that betokened
good nature, and a peculiar description of knowing _professional_ humour
that is never to be met with in any _but_ a Midwife. Rose was dressed
in a red flannel petticoat, a warm cotton sack or wrapper, which pinned
easily over a large bust, and a comfortable woollen shawl. She always
wore a long-bordered morning cap, over which, while travelling, she
pinned a second shawl of Scotch plaid; and to protect her from the cold
night air, she enfolded her precious person in a deep blue cloak of the
true indigo tint. On her head, over cloak and shawl and morning cap, was
fixed a black “splush hat,” with the leaf strapped down by her ears on
each side, so that in point of fact she cared little how it blew, and
never once dreamed that such a process as that of Raper or Mackintosh was
necessary to keep the liege subjects of these realms warm and waterproof,
nor that two systems should exist in Ireland so strongly antithetical to
each other as those of Raper and Father Mathew.
Having thus given a brief sketch of her local habitation and personal
appearance, we shall transfer our readers to the house of a young
new-married farmer named Keho, who lived in a distant part of the
| 789.5909 | 3,860 |
2023-11-16 18:28:56.3142890
| 2,221 | 174 |
Produced by Charlene Taylor, Delphine Lettau, Marc-Andre
Seekamp and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
Anmerkungen zur Transkription: Im Original gesperrt gedruckter Text
wurde mit ~ markiert. Im Original kursiv gedruckter Text wurde mit _
markiert. Im Original fett gedruckter Text wurde mit = markiert. Die
Zeilennummern des Dramas wurden mit | umgeben.
Materialien zur Kunde
des älteren Englischen Dramas
UNTER MITWIRKUNG DER HERREN
=F. S. Boas=--LONDON, =A. Brandl=--BERLIN, =R. Brotanek=--WIEN,
=F. I. Carpenter=--CHICAGO, =Ch. Crawford=--LONDON, =G. B.
Churchill=--AMHERST, =W. Creizenach=--KRAKAU, =E. Eckhardt=--FREIBURG
I. B., =A. Feuillerat=--RENNES, =R. Fischer=--INNSBRUCK, =W. W.
Greg=--LONDON, =F. Holthausen=--KIEL, =J. Hoops=--HEIDELBERG, =W.
Keller=--JENA, =R. B. Mc Kerrow=--LONDON, =G. L. Kittredge=--CAMBRIDGE,
MASS., = E. Koeppel=--STRASSBURG, =J. Le Gay Brereton=--SIDNEY, =H.
Logeman=--GENT, =J. M. Manly=--CHICAGO, =G. Sarrazin=--BRESLAU,
† =L. Proescholdt=--FRIEDRICHSDORF, =A. Schröer=--CÖLN, =G. C.
Moore Smith=--SHEFFIELD, =G. Gregory Smith=--BELFAST, =A. E.
H. Swaen=--GRONINGEN, =A. H. Thorndike=--EVANSTON, ILL., =A.
Wagner=--HALLE A. S.
BEGRUENDET UND HERAUSGEGEBEN
=VON=
=W. BANG=
o. ö. Professor der Englischen Philologie an der Universität Louvain
ZWANZIGSTER BAND
LOUVAIN
A. UYSTPRUYST
LEIPZIG
O. HARRASSOWITZ
LONDON
DAVID NUTT
1907
SATIRO-MASTIX
OR
THE VNTRUSSING OF THE HUMOROUS POET.
By _Thomas Dekker_.
HERAUSGEGEBEN NACH DEN DRUCKEN VON 1602
VON
Dr. Hans Scherer.
LOUVAIN
A. UYSTPRUYST
LEIPZIG
O. HARRASSOWITZ
LONDON
DAVID NUTT
1907
INHALT.
Einleitende Bemerkungen:
1) Dekker und der sog. Stage-Quarrel VI
2) Abfassungszeit des Satiromastix IX
3) Quellenuntersuchung X
4) Die Quartos und die bisherigen Ausgaben XIV
Satiromastix 1
Textnoten, Anmerkungen, Index 77
EINLEITENDE BEMERKUNGEN.
1. DEKKER UND DER SOG. STAGE-QUARREL.
Über den Bühnen-Streit ist schon so vieles und ausführliches, zuletzt
von ~Penniman~[1] und ~Small~[2], geschrieben worden, dass ich mich
über die allgemeinen Punkte kurz fassen kann.
Nach ~Small’s~ eingehender Prüfung des ganzen Materials und meiner
eigenen Überzeugung ist das einzig Positive, was bis jetzt hier
gesagt werden kann, dass die Fehde zwischen ~Jonson~ einerseits
und ~Marston~ mit ~Dekker~ als Bundesgenossen andererseits geführt
wurde. ~Monday~, und gar ~Drayton~ und ~Nash~, scheinen mir nach
~Small’s~ gründlichen Untersuchungen sehr an zweiter Stelle zu
stehen, und von ~Shakespeare’s~ Beteiligung konnte ich mich trotz der
weitausgreifenden Darlegungen des der Wissenschaft leider zu früh
entrissenen amerikanischen Forschers nicht völlig überzeugen; nicht zu
reden von den hypothetischen Teilnehmern ~Pennyman’s~ (wie ~Daniel~,
~Lodge~ und den vielen von ihm selbst als «doubtful» bezeichneten
Persönlichkeiten), die schon von ~Small~ grossenteils als unhaltbar
abgetan wurden.
Welches sind denn die literarischen Dokumente, auf welchen sich
der Streit aufbauen lässt? ~Small~ hat sie bereits (p. 3 ff.)
zusammengestellt:
1. Äusserungen ~Jonson’s~ über ~Marston~ in seinen _Conversations_ mit
~Drummond~,
2. der _Apologetical Dialogue_ am Ende des _Poetasters_,
3. _To the World_, Worte, welche dem _Satiromastix_ vorangeschickt sind,
4. die oft zitierte Stelle aus _II. Return from Parnassus_, IV, 5:...
_our fellow Shakespeare hath given him_ (~Ben Jonson~) _a purge that
made him beray his credit_.
Dazu kommen nun noch die zahlreichen Anspielungen, welche in den von
den beteiligten Autoren zwischen 1598-1601 oder 1602 geschriebenen
Stücken enthalten sind oder wenigstens enthalten sein sollen. Es
ging hier, wie so oft in der früheren literarhistorischen Forschung:
die Phantasie des Forschers suchte in das Dunkel des betreffenden
Gegenstandes dadurch Klarheit zu bringen, dass sie alles mögliche in
den jeweiligen Text hineingeheimniste und dadurch die Materie nur noch
komplizierter gestaltete. ~Small~ hat (p. 8 ff.) alle Arbeiten über den
«Stage-Quarrel» von ~Gilchrist~ bis auf ~Penniman~ einer kurzen Kritik
unterzogen und fast durchgängig die geringe Haltbarkeit ihrer Ansichten
nachgewiesen[3].
Hier soll nur das Verhältnis ~Dekker’s~ zu ~Ben Jonson~ des Näheren
behandelt werden; und auch dieses mehr im zusammenfassenden Sinn,
da bei den Anmerkungen zum Texte des _Satiromastix_ hinreichend
Gelegenheit sein wird, auf Einzelheiten weiter einzugehen.
~Dekker~ und ~Jonson~ arbeiteten bekanntlich eine Reihe von Jahren
zusammen; so noch Aug.-Sept. 1599 _Page of Plymouth_ und _Robert II._
Wofern ~Jonson’s~ Angabe im Apol. Dialogue richtig ist, dass seine
Gegner ihn bereits drei Jahre auf den Bühnen herumziehen, so trifft
sie für ~Dekker~ wohl nicht zu. Die Entzweiung unserer beiden Dichter
kann erst Ende 1599 eingetreten sein. Folglich kommen von ~Jonson’s~
Stücken hier in Betracht: _Every Man out of his Humour_, dessen
Aufführung nach ~Small’s~ sorgfältiger Untersuchung (p. 20 ff.) in die
Zeit von 15. Februar-24. März 1599/1600 anzusetzen ist, _Cynthia’s
Revels_[4] und der _Poetaster_; diese können Anspielungen auf Dekker
enthalten. Dass die beiden letzteren solche in grosser Zahl aufweisen,
steht wohl ausser jedem Zweifel fest, ob aber _Every Man out_ für die
Dekker-Jonson Kontroverse bereits zu verwenden ist, scheint mir mit
~Small~ sehr fraglich; denn die Charakterisierung des Carlo Buffone,
wie sie in den _Characters of the Persons_ und im Verlauf des Stückes
selbst gegeben wird, scheint nicht auf ~Dekker~ zu passen, der selbst
wohl den Demetrius des _Poetasters_ und den Anaides der _Cynthia’s
Revels_, niemals aber den Carlo Buffone auf sich bezog[5]. Und ~Dekker~
muss es doch selbst am besten gefühlt haben, was ihn anging und was
nicht. Es ist auch kaum glaublich, dass ~Jonson~ so kurz nach seinem
Zusammenarbeiten mit unserem Dichter, diesen schon in einem Stücke
sollte kräftig persifliert haben; und sollte er es ja getan haben, so
geschah es in einer Weise, dass der, dem es galt, es gar nicht als
auf sich gemünzt erkannte; um wie viel weniger können wir, die den
Verhältnissen zeitlich so weit entrückt sind, die Satire in _Ev. Man
out_ auf ~Dekker~ noch herausfühlen.
Ja, mir will sogar dünken, dass ~Dekker~ die Anspielungen auf sich, wie
sie in _Cynthia’s Revels_ und selbst im _Poetaster_ gefunden werden,
ursprünglich gar nicht so
| 789.633699 | 3,861 |
2023-11-16 18:28:56.5404160
| 16 | 177 |
Produced by Chris Curnow, Chuck Greif and the Online
| 789.859826 | 3,862 |
2023-11-16 18:28:56.6047330
| 203 | 162 |
Produced by Turgut Dincer and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
WOODSTOCK
AN HISTORICAL SKETCH
BY
CLARENCE WINTHROP BOWEN, PH.D.
READ AT ROSELAND PARK, WOODSTOCK, CONNECTICUT, AT THE BI-CENTENNIAL
CELEBRATION OF THE TOWN, ON TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 7, 1886
NEW YORK & LONDON
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
The Knickerbocker Press
1886
COPYRIGHT BY
CLARENCE WINTHROP BOWEN
1886
Press of
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
New York
As a full
| 789.924143 | 3,863 |
2023-11-16 18:28:56.8733250
| 1,058 | 400 |
Produced by Larry B. Harrison, Delphine Lettau, Suzanne
Shell and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: THEN HE GRIPPED HIS WEAPON BY THE MUZZLE, AND SPRANG
STRAIGHT FOR THE PACK.
_See page 175._
]
THE FIERY TOTEM
A TALE OF ADVENTURE IN THE
CANADIAN NORTH-WEST
BY
ARGYLL SAXBY, M.A., F.R.G.S.
AUTHOR OF
"BRAVES, WHITE AND RED" "COMRADES THREE!"
"TANGLED TRAILS" ETC. ETC.
_SECOND IMPRESSION_
LONDON
THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY
4 BOUVERIE STREET AND 65 ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A PERILOUS PASSAGE 5
II. DEER-STALKING 14
III. THE LONELY CAMP 22
IV. FRIENDS OR FOES? 33
V. LOST IN THE FOREST 41
VI. THE MEDICINE MAN 53
VII. THE FRIEND IN NEED 67
VIII. NIGHT IN THE WIGWAM 83
IX. THE TEMPTATION 96
X. A DEATH-TRAP 104
XI. TO THE RESCUE! 115
XII. CRAFTY TACTICS 130
XIII. THE PRICE OF A ROBE 142
XIV. THE BATTLE OF WITS 151
XV. OFF! 165
XVI. A NIGHT'S TERROR 172
XVII. THE FATE OF RED FOX 181
XVIII. HOT ON THE TRAIL 191
XIX. THUNDER-MAKER'S DOWNFALL 205
XX. THE FIERY TOTEM 217
THE FIERY TOTEM
CHAPTER I
A PERILOUS PASSAGE
"Well, good-bye, boys! You won't go far from camp before we return, will
you?" The speaker was one of two men seated in an Indian canoe. He
gripped the forward paddle, while his companion at the stern added
cheerfully--
"The backwoods is not the City of London. There are no policemen to
appeal to if you lose your way. Besides, we hope to find dinner waiting
for our return. Hunting lost sons is not the same sport as hunting
moose."
Both the boys laughed at the elder man's remark, and one--Bob Arnold by
name--answered--
"Don't worry about us, father. Alf and I can take care of ourselves for
half a day. Can't we, Alf?"
"Rather," the younger chum replied. "It's our respected parents who'll
need to take care of themselves in unknown waters in that cockleshell."
Then he called out merrily, imitating the tone of the first speaker--his
father: "Take care of yourselves, dads! Remember the Athabasca River is
not Regent Street!"
"Cheeky youngster!" returned the elder man banteringly, as he struck the
forward paddle into the water. "There's not much of the invalid left
about you after three months' camping."
Then with waving hands and pleasant chaffing, that showed what real good
chums the quartette were, the men struck out for the centre of the
river, leaving their sons watching from the strand before the camp that
was pitched beneath the shadow of the great pine trees.
It was a glorious morning--just the right sort for a hunting-expedition.
The air was just chilly enough to render paddling a welcome exercise,
and just warm enough to allow intervals of pleasant drifting in the
centre of the current when there were no shoals or driftwood to be
avoided.
"Yes," remarked Holden, the younger of the two men, as the rhythm of the
dripping paddles murmured pleasantly with Nature's music heard from
leafy bough and bush; "yes, Alf's a different boy now. Who would have
believed that these three short months would have changed a fever-wasted
body into such a sturdy frame?"
"It looks like a miracle," returned the other man. "It was a great idea,
that of a six months' trapping in the backwoods. When we get back to
England we'll all four look as healthy as savages. My Bob is the colour
of a redskin."
"It was a great blessing that you were able to bring him. It wouldn't
have been half as enjoyable for Alf, not having a chum."
The elder man laughed softly as he turned a look of good-comradeship
towards his companion.
"That's just as it ought to be, Holden," he
| 790.192735 | 3,864 |
2023-11-16 18:28:56.9290630
| 376 | 74 |
Produced by Iona Vaughan, woodie4, Mark Akrigg and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at
http://www.pgdpcanada.net (This file was produced from
images generously made available by The Internet
Archive/American Libraries.)
THE
TENANTS OF MALORY.
(Reprinted from the "Dublin University Magazine.")
THE
TENANTS OF MALORY.
A Novel.
BY
JOSEPH SHERIDAN LE FANU,
AUTHOR OF "UNCLE SILAS," "GUY DEVERELL," "THE HOUSE
BY THE CHURCHYARD," ETC. ETC.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
TINSLEY BROTHERS, 18, CATHERINE ST., STRAND.
1867.
[_The Right of Translation is reserved._]
LONDON:
BRADBURY, EVANS, AND CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.
CONTENTS.
CHAP. PAGE
I.--IN THE OAK PARLOUR--A MEETING AND PARTING 1
II.--JUDAEUS APELLA 12
III.--MR. LEVI VISITS MRS. MERVYN 21
IV.--MR. BENJAMIN LEVI RECOGNISES AN ACQUAINTANCE 32
V.--A COUNCIL OF THREE 44
VI.--MR. DINGWELL ARRIVES 56
VII.--MR. DINGWELL MAKES HIMSELF COMFORTABLE 68
VIII.--THE LODGER AND HIS LANDLADY 76
| 790.248473 | 3,865 |
2023-11-16 18:28:56.9408080
| 1,071 | 387 |
Produced by sp1nd, Richard J. Shiffer and the Distributed
Proofreading volunteers at http://www.pgdp.net for Project
Gutenberg. (This file was produced from images generously
made available by The Internet Archive.)
[Transcriber's Note: Every effort has been made to replicate this text
as faithfully as possible, including obsolete and variant spellings and
other inconsistencies. Text that has been changed to correct an obvious
error is noted at the end of this ebook.]
COLERIDGE
BY S. L. BENSUSAN
[Illustration]
LONDON: T. C. & E. C. JACK
67 LONG ACRE, W. C., AND EDINBURGH
NEW YORK: DODGE PUBLISHING CO.
[Illustration: Samuel Coleridge]
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
INTRODUCTION 7
I. EARLY YEARS 13
II. IN SEARCH OF THE IDEAL 25
III. IN THE LAKE COUNTRY AND AT MALTA 33
IV. TROUBLED YEARS 41
V. COLERIDGE AS AN OBSERVER OF NATURE 61
VI. COLERIDGE AS POET AND CRITIC 75
INDEX 93
COLERIDGE
INTRODUCTION
Among the great writers whose activity is associated with the closing
years of the eighteenth and the opening of the nineteenth centuries, are
several who claim more respect than popularity. If they were poets,
their works find a place in a thousand libraries, but the dust gathers
upon covers long unopened, and only the stray enthusiast removes it.
Southey, Cowper, and Coleridge, for example, are authors of well-nigh
universal acceptance, but who, outside the ranks of professed students
of poetry, could claim an intimate acquaintance with their work? In _An
Anthology of Longer Poems_ published at Oxford two years ago and
prepared by two Professors of English Literature, Southey, for all his
great gifts, is not represented at all, and William Cowper is
responsible for nothing more than the familiar lines to his mother's
picture.
Dryden and Alexander Pope, Goldsmith, Gray, Crabbe, and Thomson are
little more than names to the most of the generation that has just
entered upon its inheritance. Perhaps, if the truth be told, the
present-day reading public cannot keep pace with its ever-growing task,
and satisfies its conscience by paying to the worthy dead the sacrifice
of a small expenditure. In the old time it was hard to gather a modest
library, to-day the difficulty lies in selection. The best efforts of a
thousand years clamour for a place on our shelves, the material for
reading has been multiplied, the capacity for reading remains where it
was, if indeed the wonderful growth of claims upon our attention, the
quickening of the pace of life, has not reduced our leisure time at the
expense of books. Little wonder, then, that in the struggle for a
sustained reputation many sound writers fail to hold their own. It is
only when we choose one of the poets just named for a course of steady
reading and turn to his pages with some knowledge of the life and times
which gave them birth, that the dead man becomes a living force, and we
find how far his claim to recognition lies outside the scope of a mere
convention. Even then the inequalities of thought and style will be
painfully apparent. We shall read much that would not have been
preserved had the poet written in an age when self-criticism was as
strong a force as it is to-day, but there will be no waste of labour if
the full extent of his gifts as well as his limitations can be grasped.
It is not safe to accept the "selected works" of any man of mark; a
selection can never be quite fair to an author.
Of all the men whose work was completed between the middle of the
eighteenth and nineteenth centuries there are few, if any, whose life is
of more interest to the psychologist, the student of transcendentalism,
and the lover of fine thought, than that of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, the
subject of this brief study. He was compact of remarkable strength and
fatal weakness, of rare attainments and incomplete achievement, of
courage and cowardice, of energy and laziness, of reason and unreason,
of airy wit and solid wisdom. Look upon one side of his life and
accomplishment and you are lost in wonder and admiration, look upon the
other and there is food for little but pity and regret. Modern teaching
has revealed the narrowness of the boundary between genius and insanity,
and, in the light of this knowledge, we see that Coleridge was neither
wholly a genius nor wholly sane, though he approached either condition
very nearly at different periods of his troubled life. We would hesitate
to-day to condemn him with the
| 790.260218 | 3,866 |
2023-11-16 18:28:56.9715920
| 194 | 217 |
E-text prepared by Kevin Handy, John Hagerson, and the Project Gutenberg
Online Distributed Proofreading Team
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 13069-h.htm or 13069-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.net/1/3/0/6/13069/13069-h/13069-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.net/1/3/0/6/13069/13069-h.zip)
THE MINISTER AND THE BOY
A Handbook for Churchmen Engaged in Boys' Work
by
ALLAN HOBEN, PH.D.
Associate Professor of Practical Theology, The University of Chicago
Field Secretary of the Chicago Juvenile Protective Association
1912
PREFACE
The aim of this book is to call the attention of ministers to the
important place which boys
| 790.291002 | 3,867 |
2023-11-16 18:28:57.1845480
| 1,026 | 429 |
Produced by David Widger
FROMONT AND RISLER
By ALPHONSE DAUDET
With a Preface by LECONTE DE LISLE, of the French Academy
ALPHONSE DAUDET
Nominally Daudet, with the Goncourts and Zola, formed a trio
representing Naturalism in fiction. He adopted the watchwords of that
school, and by private friendship, no less than by a common profession
of faith, was one of them. But the students of the future, while
recognizing an obvious affinity between the other two, may be puzzled to
find Daudet's name conjoined with theirs.
Decidedly, Daudet belonged to the Realistic School. But, above all, he
was an impressionist. All that can be observed--the individual picture,
scene, character--Daudet will render with wonderful accuracy, and all
his novels, especially those written after 1870, show an increasing
firmness of touch, limpidity of style, and wise simplicity in the use of
the sources of pathetic emotion, such as befit the cautious Naturalist.
Daudet wrote stories, but he had to be listened to. Feverish as his
method of writing was--true to his Southern character he took endless
pains to write well, revising every manuscript three times over from
beginning to end. He wrote from the very midst of the human comedy; and
it is from this that he seems at times to have caught the bodily warmth
and the taste of the tears and the very ring of the laughter of men and
women. In the earlier novels, perhaps, the transitions from episode to
episode or from scene to scene are often abrupt, suggesting the manner
of the Goncourts. But to Zola he forms an instructive contrast, of the
same school, but not of the same family. Zola is methodical, Daudet
spontaneous. Zola works with documents, Daudet from the living fact.
Zola is objective, Daudet with equal scope and fearlessness shows more
personal feeling and hence more delicacy. And in style also Zola is
vast, architectural; Daudet slight, rapid, subtle, lively, suggestive.
And finally, in their philosophy of life, Zola may inspire a hate of
vice and wrong, but Daudet wins a love for what is good and true.
Alphonse Daudet was born in Nimes, Provence, May 13, 1840. His father
had been a well-to-do silk manufacturer, but, while Alphonse was still a
child, lost his property. Poverty compelled the son to seek the wretched
post of usher (pion) in a school at Alais. In November, 1857, he settled
in Paris and joined his almost equally penniless brother Ernest. The
autobiography, 'Le Petit Chose' (1868), gives graphic details about this
period. His first years of literary life were those of an industrious
Bohemian, with poetry for consolation and newspaper work for bread.
He had secured a secretaryship with the Duc de Morny, President of the
Corps Legislatif, and had won recognition for his short stories in the
'Figaro', when failing health compelled him to go to Algiers. Returning,
he married toward that period a lady (Julia Allard, born 1847), whose
literary talent comprehended, supplemented, and aided his own. After
the death of the Duc de Morny (1865) he consecrated himself entirely to
literature and published 'Lettres de mon Moulin' (1868), which also made
his name favorably known. He now turned from fiction to the drama,
and it was not until after 1870 that he became fully conscious of his
vocation as a novelist, perhaps through the trials of the siege of Paris
and the humiliation of his country, which deepened his nature without
souring it. Daudet's genial satire, 'Tartarin de Tarascon', appeared
in 1872; but with the Parisian romance 'Fromont jeune et Risler aine',
crowned by the Academy (1874), he suddenly advanced into the foremost
rank of French novelists; it was his first great success, or, as he puts
it, "the dawn of his popularity."
How numberless editions of this book were printed, and rights of
translations sought from other countries, Daudet has told us with
natural pride. The book must be read to be appreciated. "Risler, a
self-made, honest man, raises himself socially into a society against
the corruptness of which he has no defence and from which he escapes
only by suicide. Sidonie Chebe is
| 790.503958 | 3,868 |
2023-11-16 18:28:57.5255800
| 1,312 | 193 |
Produced by Meredith Bach, Tor Martin Kristiansen and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
THE DIVORCE OF CATHERINE OF ARAGON
THE DIVORCE
OF
CATHERINE OF ARAGON
THE STORY AS TOLD BY THE IMPERIAL AMBASSADORS
RESIDENT AT THE COURT OF
HENRY VIII.
_IN USUM LAICORUM_
BY
J. A. FROUDE
_BEING A SUPPLEMENTARY VOLUME TO THE
AUTHOR'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND_
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1891
[_All rights reserved_]
Copyright, 1891,
BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS.
_The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A._
Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Company.
CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTION 1
CHAPTER I.
Prospects of a disputed succession to the crown--Various
claimants--Catherine incapable of having further children--
Irregularity of her marriage with the King--Papal dispensations--
First mention of the divorce--Situation of the Papacy--Charles
V.--Policy of Wolsey--Anglo-French alliance--Imperial troops in
Italy--Appeal of the Pope--Mission of Inigo de Mendoza--The
Bishop of Tarbes--Legitimacy of the Princess Mary called in
question--Secret meeting of the Legates' court--Alarms of
Catherine--Sack of Rome by the Duke of Bourbon--Proposed reform
of the Papacy--The divorce promoted by Wolsey--Unpopular in
England---Attempts of the Emperor to gain Wolsey 21
CHAPTER II.
Mission of Wolsey to Paris--Visits Bishop Fisher on the way--
Anxieties of the Emperor--Letter of the Emperor to Henry VIII.--
Large offers to Wolsey--Address of the French Cardinals to the
Pope--Anne Boleyn chosen by Henry to succeed Catherine--Surprise
and displeasure of Wolsey--Fresh attempts of the Emperor to bribe
him--Wolsey forced to continue to advocate the divorce--Mission
of Dr. Knight to Rome--The Pope at Orvieto--The King applies for
a dispensation to make a second marriage--Language of the
dispensation demanded--Inferences drawn from it--Alleged intrigue
between the King and Mary Boleyn 41
CHAPTER III.
Anxiety of the Pope to satisfy the King--Fears of the Emperor--
Proposed alternatives--France and England declare war in the
Pope's defence--Campeggio to be sent to England--The King's
account of the Pope's conduct--The Pope's distress and alarm--The
secret decretal--Instructions to Campeggio 62
CHAPTER IV.
Anne Boleyn--Letters to her from the King--The Convent at
Wilton--The Divorce--The Pope's promises--Arrival of Campeggio
in England--Reception at the Bridewell Palace--Proposal to
Catherine to take the veil--Her refusal--Uncertainty of the
succession--A singular expedient--Alarms of Wolsey--The true
issue--Speech of the King in the City--Threats of the Emperor--
Defects in the Bull of Pope Julius--Alleged discovery of a brief
supplying them--Distress of Clement 70
CHAPTER V.
Demands of the Imperial Agent at Rome--The alleged Brief--Illness
of the Pope--Aspirations of Wolsey--The Pope recovers--Imperial
menaces--Clement between the anvil and the hammer--Appeal of
Henry to Francis--The trial of the cause to proceed--Instructions
to Campeggio--Opinion at Rome--Recall of Mendoza--Final interview
between Mendoza and the King 86
CHAPTER VI.
The Court at Blackfriars--The point at issue--The Pope's
competency as judge--Catherine appeals to Rome--Imperial pressure
upon Clement--The Emperor insists on the Pope's admission of the
appeal--Henry demands sentence--Interference of Bishop Fisher--
The Legates refuse to give judgment--The Court broken up--Peace
of Cambray 99
CHAPTER VII.
Call of Parliament--Wolsey to be called to account--Anxiety of
the Emperor to prevent a quarrel--Mission of Eustace Chapuys--
Long interview with the King--Alarm of Catherine--Growth of
Lutheranism--The English clergy--Lord Darcy's Articles against
Wolsey--Wolsey's fall--Departure of Campeggio--Letter of Henry to
the Pope--Action of Parliament--Intended reform of the Church--
Alienation of English feeling from the Papacy 110
CHAPTER VIII.
Hope of Wolsey to return to power--Anger of Anne Boleyn and the
Duke of Norfolk--Charles V. at Bologna--Issue of a prohibitory
brief--The Pope secretly on Henry's side--Collection of
opinions--Norfolk warns Chapuys--State of feeling in England--
Intrigues of Wolsey--His illness and death 131
CHAPTER IX.
Danger of challenging the Papal dispensing power--The Royal
family of Spain--Address of the English Peers to the Pope--
Compromise proposed by the Duke of Norfolk--The English Agents at
Rome--Arrival of a new Nuncio in England--His interview with the
King--Chapuys advises the King's excommunication--Position of the
English clergy--Statute of Provisors--The
| 790.84499 | 3,869 |
2023-11-16 18:28:57.5282230
| 380 | 82 |
Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Janet Blenkinship
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: "That gardening is best... which best ministers to man's
felicity with least disturbance of nature's freedom."
This is my study. The tree in the middle of the picture is Barrie's elm.
I once lifted it between my thumb and finger, but I was younger and the
tree was smaller. The dark tree in the foreground on the right is Felix
Adler's hemlock. [Page 82]]
THE AMATEUR GARDEN
BY
GEORGE W. CABLE
ILLUSTRATED
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
NEW YORK: MCMXIV
_Copyright, 1914, by_
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
_Published October, 1914_
CONTENTS
PAGE
MY OWN ACRE 1
THE AMERICAN GARDEN 41
WHERE TO PLANT WHAT 79
THE COTTAGE GARDENS OF NORTHAMPTON 107
THE PRIVATE GARDEN'S PUBLIC VALUE 129
THE MIDWINTER GARDENS OF NEW ORLEANS 163
ILLUSTRATIONS
"That gardening is best... which best ministers to man's
felicity with least disturbance of nature's freedom" _Frontis_
"... that suddenly falling wooded and broken ground where Mill
River loiters through Paradise" 6
"On this green of the dryads... lies My Own Acre" 8
"The beautiful mill-pond behind its high dam keeps the river full
back to the rap
| 790.847633 | 3,870 |
2023-11-16 18:28:57.6130310
| 1,098 | 393 |
Produced by Suzanne Shell, Walt Farrell and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
THE BANDBOX
BY LOUIS JOSEPH VANCE
The Bandbox
Cynthia-of-the-Minute
No Man's Land
The Fortune Hunter
The Pool of Flame
The Bronze Bell
The Black Bag
The Brass Bowl
The Private War
Terence O'Rourke
[Illustration: "Now, sir!" she exclaimed, turning
FRONTISPIECE. _See Page 83_]
The Bandbox
BY LOUIS JOSEPH VANCE
Author of "The Brass Bowl," "The Bronze Bell,"
"Cynthia-of-the-Minute," etc.
With Four Illustrations
By ARTHUR I. KELLER
A. L. BURT COMPANY
Publishers New York
_Copyright, 1911, 1912,_
By Louis Joseph Vance.
_All rights reserved, including those of translation into foreign
languages, including the Scandinavian_
Published, April, 1912
Reprinted, April, 1912 (three times)
TO
LEWIS BUDDY III
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I INTRODUCING MR. IFF 1
II THE BANDBOX 14
III TWINS 26
IV QUEENSTOWN 43
V ISMAY? 65
VI IFF? 87
VII STOLE AWAY! 109
VIII THE WRONG BOX 128
IX A LIKELY STORY 158
X DEAD O' NIGHT 177
XI THE COLD GREY DAWN 194
XII WON'T YOU WALK INTO MY PARLOUR? 216
XIII WRECK ISLAND 233
XIV THE STRONG-BOX 254
XV THE ENEMY'S HAND 275
XVI NINETY MINUTES 295
XVII HOLOCAUST 312
THE BANDBOX
I
INTRODUCING MR. IFF
At half-past two of a sunny, sultry afternoon late in the month of
August, Mr. Benjamin Staff sat at table in the dining-room of the
Authors' Club, moodily munching a morsel of cheese and a segment of
cast-iron biscuit and wondering what he must do to be saved from the
death-in-life of sheer ennui.
A long, lank gentleman, surprisingly thin, of a slightly saturnine cast:
he was not only unhappy, he looked it. He was alone and he was lonely;
he was an American and a man of sentiment (though he didn't look _that_)
and he wanted to go home; to sum up, he found himself in love and in
London at one and the same time, and felt precisely as ill at ease in
the one as in the other of these, to him, exotic circumstances.
Inconceivable as it may seem that any rational man should yearn for New
York in August, that and nothing less was what Staff wanted with all his
heart. He wanted to go home and swelter and be swindled by taxicab
drivers and snubbed by imported head-waiters; he wanted to patronise the
subway at peril of asphyxiation and to walk down Fifth Avenue at that
witching hour when electric globes begin to dot the dusk of
evening--pale moons of a world of steel and stone; he wanted to ride in
elevators instead of lifts, in trolley-cars instead of trams; he wanted
to go to a ball-game at the Polo Grounds, to dine dressed as he pleased,
to insult his intelligence with a roof-garden show if he felt so
disposed, and to see for himself just how much of Town had been torn
down in the two months of his exile and what they were going to put up
in its place. He wanted, in short, his own people; more specifically he
wanted just one of them, meaning to marry her if she'd have him.
Now to be homesick and lovesick all at once is a tremendously disturbing
state of affairs. So influenced, the strongest men are prone to folly.
Staff, for instance, had excellent reason to doubt the advisability of
leaving London just then, with an unfinished play on his hands; but he
was really no more than a mere, normal human being, and he did want very
badly to go home. If it was a sharp struggle, it was a short one that
prefaced his decision.
Of a sudden he rose, called for his bill and paid it, called for his hat
and stick, got them, and resolutely--yet with a furtive air, as one who
would throw a dogging conscience off the scent--fled the premises of his
club, shaping a course through Whitehall and Charing Cross to Cockspur
| 790.932441 | 3,871 |
2023-11-16 18:28:58.0278680
| 1,093 | 389 |
STORIES***
This ebook was transcribed by Les Bowler.
[Picture: Look what a fine morning it is... Insects, Birds, & Animals,
are all enjoying existence]
MARY
WOLLSTONECRAFT’S
ORIGINAL
STORIES
WITH FIVE ILLUSTRATIONS
BY
WILLIAM BLAKE
* * * * *
WITH AN INTRODUCTION
BY
E. V. LUCAS
* * * * *
LONDON
HENRY FROWDE
1906
* * * * *
OXFORD: HORACE HART
PRINTER TO THE UNIVERSITY
EDITOR’S INTRODUCTION
The germ of the _Original Stories_ was, I imagine, a suggestion (in the
manner of publishers) from Mary Wollstonecraft’s employer, Johnson of St.
Paul’s Churchyard, that something more or less in the manner of Mrs.
Trimmer’s _History of the Robins_, the great nursery success of 1786,
might be a profitable speculation. For I doubt if the production of a
book for children would ever have occurred spontaneously to an author so
much more interested in the status of women and other adult matters.
However, the idea being given her, she quickly wrote the book—in 1787 or
1788—carrying out in it to a far higher power, in Mrs. Mason, the
self-confidence and rectitude of Mrs. Trimmer’s leading lady, Mrs.
Benson, who in her turn had been preceded by that other flawless
instructor of youth, Mr. Barlow. None of these exemplars could do wrong;
but the Mrs. Mason whom we meet in the following pages far transcends the
others in conscious merit. Mrs. Benson in the _History of the Robins_
(with the author of which Mary Wollstonecraft was on friendly terms) was
sufficiently like the Protagonist of the Old Testament to be, when among
Mrs. Wilson’s bees, ‘excessively pleased with the ingenuity and industry
with which these insects collect their honey and wax, form their cells,
and deposit their store’; but Mrs. Mason, as we shall see, went still
farther.
It has to be remembered that the _Original Stories_ were written when the
author was twenty-nine, five years before she met Gilbert Imlay and six
years before her daughter Fanny Imlay was born. I mention this fact
because it seems to me to be very significant. I feel that had the book
been written after Fanny’s birth, or even after the Imlay infatuation, it
would have been somewhat different: not perhaps more entertaining,
because its author had none of that imaginative sympathy with the young
which would direct her pen in the direction of pure pleasure for them;
but more human, more kindly, better. One can have indeed little doubt as
to this after reading those curious first lessons for an infant which
came from Mary Wollstonecraft’s pen in or about 1795, (printed in volume
two of the _Posthumous Works_, 1798), and which give evidence of so much
more tenderness and reasonableness (and at the same time want of Reason,
which may have been Godwin’s God but will never stand in that relation
either to English men or English children) than the monitress of the
_Original Stories_, the impeccable Mrs. Mason, ever suggests. I know of
no early instance where a mother talks down to an infant more prettily:
continually descending herself to its level, yet never with any of Mrs.
Mason’s arrogance and superiority. Not indeed that this poor mother,
with her impulsive warm heart wounded, and most of her illusions gone,
and few kindly eyes resting upon her, could ever have compassed much of
Mrs. Mason’s prosperous self-satisfaction and authority had she wished
to; for in the seven years between the composition of the _Original
Stories_ and the lessons for the minute Fanny Imlay, she had lived an
emotional lifetime, and suffering much, pitied much.
In Lesson X, which I quote, although it says nothing of charity or
kindness, a vastly more human spirit is found than in any of Mrs. Mason’s
homilies on our duty to the afflicted:—
See how much taller you are than William. In four years you have
learned to eat, to walk, to talk. Why do you smile? You can do much
more, you think: you can wash your hands and face. Very well. I
should never kiss a dirty face. And you can comb your head with the
pretty comb you always put by in your own drawer. To be sure, you do
all this to be ready to take a walk with me. You would be obliged to
stay at home, if you could not comb your own hair. Betty is busy
getting the dinner ready, and only brushes William’s hair, because he
cannot do it
| 791.347278 | 3,872 |
2023-11-16 18:28:58.1193520
| 379 | 63 |
Produced by David Widger
RICHARD CARVEL
By Winston Churchill
CONTENTS OF THE COMPLETE BOOK
Volume 1.
I. Lionel Carvel, of Carvel Hall
II. Some Memories of Childhood
III. Caught by the Tide
IV. Grafton would heal an Old Breach
V. "If Ladies be but Young and Fair"
VI. I first suffer for the Cause
VII. Grafton has his Chance
Volume 2.
VIII. Over the Wall
IX. Under False Colours
X. The Red in the Carvel Blood
XI. A Festival and a Parting
XII. News from a Far Country
Volume 3.
XIII. Mr. Allen shows his Hand
XIV. The Volte Coupe
XV. Of which the Rector has the Worst
XVI. In which Some Things are made Clear
XVII. South River
XVIII. The Black Moll
Volume 4.
XIX. A Man of Destiny
XX. A Sad Home-coming
XXI. The Gardener's Cottage
XXII. On the Road
XXIII. London Town
XXIV. Castle Yard
XXV. The Rescue
Volume 5.
XXVI. The Part Horatio played
XXVII. In which I am sore tempted
XXVIII. Arlington Street
XXIX. I meet a very Great Young Man
XXX. A Conspiracy
XXXI. "Upstairs into the World"
XXXII. Lady Tankerville's Drum-major
XXXIII. Drury Lane
Volume 6.
XXXIV. His Grace makes Advances
XXXV. In
| 791.438762 | 3,873 |
2023-11-16 18:28:58.3333270
| 181 | 121 |
Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Stephen Hutchson, and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: Birds in Winter]
The
“LOOK ABOUT YOU”
Nature Study Books
BY
THOMAS W. HOARE
TEACHER OF NATURE STUDY
to the Falkirk School Board and Stirlingshire County Council
BOOK III.
[Illustration: Publisher’s Logo]
LONDON: T. C. & E. C. JACK
16 HENRIETTA STREET, W.C.
AND EDINBURGH
_Printed by M‘Farlane & Erskine, Edinburgh._
PREFACE.
This little book should be used as a simple guide to the practical study
of Nature rather than as a mere reader
| 791.652737 | 3,874 |
2023-11-16 18:28:58.4174770
| 1,089 | 398 |
Produced by Emmy, Juliet Sutherland and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net Music
transcribed by June Troyer.
THE
NURSERY
_A Monthly Magazine_
FOR YOUNGEST READERS.
VOLUME XXIX.--No. 2.
BOSTON:
THE NURSERY PUBLISHING COMPANY,
NO. 36 BROMFIELD STREET.
1881.
Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1881, by
THE NURSERY PUBLISHING COMPANY,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.
[Illustration: JOHN WILSON
& SON.
UNIVERSITY PRESS.]
[Illustration: Contents.]
IN PROSE.
PAGE
Almost ready for Launching 33
Louis's new Plant 36
"One-old-cat" 39
What is the Horse doing? 40
Why wouldn't the Kite fly? 45
Drawing-Lesson 49
Bertie at his Uncle's 50
Rich and Poor 56
Red Coral Beads 58
IN VERSE.
PAGE
The Would-be Travellers 37
A Queer Kitten 42
How Blue-Eyes watched for the New Year 43
The New-laid Egg 47
The Good Ship "Rosa Lee" 54
The Snow-Fairies 57
His Royal Highness 62
Nursery Song (_with music_) 64
[Illustration: ALMOST READY FOR LAUNCHING.
VOL. XXIX.--NO. 2.]
ALMOST READY FOR LAUNCHING.
HERE we have a picture of a ship on the stocks, with a gang of men hard
at work giving her the finishing touches. There are full twenty-six men
in sight.
What are they doing? Well, most of them, I think, are calkers. Do you
know what that means? I will tell you.
After the frame of a ship is set up, the timbers firmly bolted and
braced, and the planking put on and fastened, inside and out, the next
thing to be done is to make the seams water-tight.
For this purpose, slivers of oakum, rolled up in the hand, are driven
into the seams between the planks. When the seams are filled, they are
covered with melted pitch or rosin to preserve the oakum from decay.
This process is called calking.
Most of the men seen in the picture are doing this work, but not all of
them. Some are driving in the oakum with a tool called a calking-iron.
Some are putting on the pitch. I will leave it for you to find out what
the others are doing.
If we could look on deck and on the other side of the ship, we should
see men at work there too. Hark! Don't you hear the sound of their
hammers? All is bustle, but there is no confusion. Every man knows what
to do, and does his work with a will.
After the calking is done, the painters will take their turn. They will
put on two or three coats of paint; then the carvers and gilders will
make a handsome figure-head; every thing will look as neat as a new pin;
and then it will be time to be thinking of a name for the vessel, for,
if I am not mistaken, the ship will be ready for launching. Let us
fancy that we are present at the launch. I think I see her now gliding
into the deep water that awaits her.
She floats away from her cradle. She sits like a duck upon the water.
She is staunch and strong and tight. So far the work has been well done.
What comes next?
[Illustration]
The riggers will now take her in hand. Masts and yards and shrouds and
sails will soon be in their places. Soon we shall see her in the harbor
all ready for sea; and by and by, with sails all set and streamers all
afloat, she will move gracefully down the bay. May she always have fair
winds and prosperous voyages!
UNCLE CHARLES.
LOUIS'S NEW PLANT.
LOUIS moved to a new home last spring, and, to his delight, had the use
of a plot of ground for a garden. Beans, morning-glories, and other
common plants, edged the little space; but his mamma planned to have
some new thing in the centre.
So they planted three or four peanuts. Louis expected to raise peanuts
enough for the whole neighborhood; and one lady to whom he mentioned it
engaged a bushel on the spot.
In due time a little plant appeared, carrying one of the nuts on its
head; but, finding that too much of a load, it left the parent nut on
the surface of the ground, and sent bright green leaves up, and
| 791.736887 | 3,875 |
2023-11-16 18:28:58.4870980
| 1,132 | 398 |
History of Free Thought
in Reference to
The Christian Religion
Eight Lectures
Preached Before The
University of Oxford, in the year M.DCCC.LXII., on the Foundation of the
Late Rev. John Bampton, M.A., Canon of Salisbury.
By
Adam Storey Farrar, M.A.
Michel Fellow of Queen's College, Oxford.
New York:
D. Appleton And Company,
443 & 445 Broadway.
1863
CONTENTS
Will of Rev. John Bampton.
Preface.
Analysis of the lectures.
Lecture I. On The Subject, Method, And Purpose Of The Course Of Lectures.
Lecture II. The Literary Opposition of Heathens Against Christianity in
the Early Ages.
Lecture III. Free Thought During The Middle Ages, and At The Renaissance;
Together With Its Rise in Modern Times.
Lecture IV. Deism in England Previous to A.D. 1760.
Lecture V. Infidelity in France in the Eighteenth Century, and Unbelief in
England Subsequent to 1760.
Lecture VI. Free Thought In The Theology Of Germany From 1750-1835.
Lecture VII. Free Thought: In Germany Subsequently To 1835; And In France
During The Present Century.
Lecture VIII. Free Thought in England in the Present Century; Summary of
the Course of Lectures; Inferences in Reference to Present Dangers and
Duties.
Notes.
Lecture I.
Lecture II.
Lecture III.
Lecture IV.
Lecture V.
Lecture VI.
Lecture VII.
Lecture VIII.
Index.
Footnotes
WILL OF REV. JOHN BAMPTON.
Extract From The Last Will And Testament Of The Late Rev. John Bampton,
Canon Of Salisbury.
-------------------------------------
"----I give and bequeath my Lands and Estates to the Chancellor, Masters,
and Scholars of the University of Oxford for ever, to have and to hold all
and singular the said Lands or Estates upon trust, and to the intents and
purposes hereinafter mentioned; that is to say, I will and appoint that
the Vice-Chancellor of the University of Oxford for the time being shall
take and receive all the rents, issues, and profits thereof, and (after
all taxes, reparations, and necessary deductions made) that he pay all the
remainder to the endowment of eight Divinity Lecture Sermons, to be
established for ever in the said University, and to be performed in the
manner following:
-------------------------------------
"I direct and appoint, that, upon the first Tuesday in Easter Term, a
Lecturer be yearly chosen by the Heads of Colleges only, and by no others,
in the room adjoining to the Printing-House, between the hours of ten in
the morning and two in the afternoon, to preach eight Divinity Lecture
Sermons, the year following, at St. Mary's in Oxford, between the
commencement of the last month in Lent Term, and the end of the third week
in Act Term.
"Also I direct and appoint, that the eight Divinity Lecture Sermons shall
be preached upon either of the following Subjects--to confirm and establish
the Christian Faith, and to confute all heretics and schismatics--upon the
divine authority of the holy Scriptures--upon the authority of the writings
of the primitive Fathers, as to the faith and practice of the primitive
Church--upon the Divinity of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ--upon the
Divinity of the Holy Ghost--upon the Articles of the Christian Faith as
comprehended in the Apostles' and Nicene Creeds.
"Also I direct, that thirty copies of the eight Divinity Lecture Sermons
shall be always printed, within two months after they are preached; and
one copy shall be given to the Chancellor of the University, and one copy
to the Head of every College, and one copy to the Mayor of the city of
Oxford, and one copy to be put into the Bodleian Library; and the expense
of printing them shall be paid out of the revenue of the Land or Estates
given for establishing the Divinity Lecture Sermons; and the Preacher
shall not be paid nor be entitled to the revenue before they are printed.
"Also I direct and appoint, that no person shall be qualified to preach
the Divinity Lecture Sermons, unless he hath taken the degree of Master of
Arts at least, in one of the two Universities of Oxford or Cambridge; and
that the same person shall never preach the Divinity Lecture Sermons
twice."
PREFACE.
The object of this Preface is to explain the design of the following
Lectures, and to enumerate the sources on which they are founded.
What is the province and mode of inquiry intended in a "Critical History
of Free Thought"?(1) What are the causes which led the author into this
line of study?(2) What the object proposed by the work?(3) What the
sources from which it is drawn?(4)--these probably are the questions which
will at once suggest themselves to the reader. The answers to most of them
are so fully given in the work,(5) that it will only be necessary here to
touch upon them briefly.
The word "free thought" is
| 791.806508 | 3,876 |
2023-11-16 18:28:58.9004240
| 981 | 399 |
DISCONTENTS***
Transcribed from the 1886 Cassell & Company edition by David Price, email
[email protected] and proofing by David, Terry L. Jeffress, Edgar A.
Howard.
THOUGHTS
ON THE
PRESENT DISCONTENTS,
AND
SPEECHES
BY
EDMUND BURKE.
CASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED:
_LONDON_, _PARIS_, _NEW YORK & MELBOURNE_.
1886.
Contents
Introduction
Thoughts on the Present Discontents
Speech on the Middlesex Election.
Speech on the Powers of Juries in Prosecutions for Libels.
Speech on a Bill for Shortening the Duration of Parliaments
Speech on Reform of Representation in the House of Commons
INTRODUCTION
Edmund Burke was born at Dublin on the first of January, 1730. His
father was an attorney, who had fifteen children, of whom all but four
died in their youth. Edmund, the second son, being of delicate health in
his childhood, was taught at home and at his grandfather's house in the
country before he was sent with his two brothers Garrett and Richard to a
school at Ballitore, under Abraham Shackleton, a member of the Society of
Friends. For nearly forty years afterwards Burke paid an annual visit to
Ballitore.
In 1744, after leaving school, Burke entered Trinity College, Dublin. He
graduated B.A. in 1748; M.A., 1751. In 1750 he came to London, to the
Middle Temple. In 1756 Burke became known as a writer, by two pieces.
One was a pamphlet called "A Vindication of Natural Society." This was
an ironical piece, reducing to absurdity those theories of the excellence
of uncivilised humanity which were gathering strength in France, and had
been favoured in the philosophical works of Bolingbroke, then lately
published. Burke's other work published in 1756, was his "Essay on the
Sublime and Beautiful."
At this time Burke's health broke down. He was cared for in the house of
a kindly physician, Dr. Nugent, and the result was that in the spring of
1757 he married Dr. Nugent's daughter. In the following year Burke made
Samuel Johnson's acquaintance, and acquaintance ripened fast into close
friendship. In 1758, also, a son was born; and, as a way of adding to
his income, Burke suggested the plan of "The Annual Register."
In 1761 Burke became private secretary to William Gerard Hamilton, who
was then appointed Chief Secretary to Ireland. In April, 1763, Burke's
services were recognised by a pension of 300 pounds a year; but he threw
this up in April, 1765, when he found that his services were considered
to have been not only recognised, but also bought. On the 10th of July
in that year (1765) Lord Rockingham became Premier, and a week later
Burke, through the good offices of an admiring friend who had come to
know him in the newly-founded Turk's Head Club, became Rockingham's
private secretary. He was now the mainstay, if not the inspirer, of
Rockingham's policy of pacific compromise in the vexed questions between
England and the American colonies. Burke's elder brother, who had lately
succeeded to his father's property, died also in 1765, and Burke sold the
estate in Cork for 4,000 pounds.
Having become private secretary to Lord Rockingham, Burke entered
Parliament as member for Wendover, and promptly took his place among the
leading speakers in the House.
On the 30th of July, 1766, the Rockingham Ministry went out, and Burke
wrote a defence of its policy in "A Short Account of a late Short
Administration." In 1768 Burke bought for 23,000 pounds an estate called
Gregories or Butler's Court, about a mile from Beaconsfield. He called
it by the more territorial name of Beaconsfield, and made it his home.
Burke's endeavours to stay the policy that was driving the American
colonies to revolution, caused the State of New York, in 1771, to
nominate him as its agent. About May, 1769, Edmund Burke began the
pamphlet here given, _Thoughts on the Present Discontents_. It was
published in 177
| 792.219834 | 3,877 |
2023-11-16 18:29:00.3859460
| 390 | 48 |
Produced by Donald Cummings and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
_The_ SPIRIT OF THE SCHOOL
BY RALPH HENRY BARBOUR.
Each 12mo, Cloth.
The Spirit of the School.
Illustrated in Colors. $1.50.
Four Afloat.
Illustrated in Colors. $1.50.
Four Afoot.
Illustrated in Colors. $1.50.
Four in Camp.
Illustrated in Colors. $1.50.
On Your Mark.
Illustrated in Colors. $1.50.
The Arrival of Jimpson.
Illustrated. $1.50.
Weatherby’s Inning.
Illustrated in Colors. $1.50.
Behind the Line.
Illustrated. $1.50.
Captain of the Crew.
Illustrated. $1.50.
For the Honor of the School.
Illustrated. $1.50.
The Half-Back.
Illustrated. $1.50.
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK.
[Illustration: “A more harmless youth it would have been hard to find.”]
_The_
SPIRIT
OF THE SCHOOL
RALPH HENRY BARBOUR
Author of “The Half-Back,” “Weatherby’s Inning,”
“On Your Mark,” etc.
[Illustration]
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
NEW YORK
1907
Copyright, 1907, by
PERRY MASON COMPANY
Copyright, 1907, by
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
_Published, September, 1907_
TO
JOSEPH SHERMAN FORD
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I.--AN OLD AC
| 793.705356 | 3,878 |
2023-11-16 18:29:00.4558720
| 1,063 | 401 |
Produced by Charlene Taylor, Melissa McDaniel and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
Transcriber's Note:
Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have
been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold text by =equal
signs=.
Page 51: "_Aa_leck not El-eck" might have a diacritical mark over
the a.
Page 63: "I've 'earn tell" possibly should be "I've 'eard tell".
Page 261: The frontispiece cited was not included in this printing.
Page 318: "caller" possibly should be "calmer".
Page 326: "Frith" possibly should be "Firth".
AN
AMERICAN FOUR-IN-HAND
IN BRITAIN
BY
ANDREW CARNEGIE
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1899.
COPYRIGHT, 1883, 1886, BY
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS.
Press of J. J. Little & Co.
Astor Place, New York
I DEDICATE THESE PAGES
TO
MY FAVORITE HEROINE,
My Mother.
_PREFACE._
_The publication of this book renders necessary a few words of
explanation. It was originally printed for private circulation among a
few dear friends--those who were not as well as those who were of the
coaching party--to be treasured as a souvenir of happy days. The house
which has undertaken the responsibility of giving it a wider circulation
believed that its publication might give pleasure to some who would not
otherwise see it. It is not difficult to persuade one that his work
which has met with the approval of his immediate circle may be worthy of
a larger audience; and the author was the more easily induced to consent
to its reprint because, the first edition being exhausted, he was no
longer able to fill many requests for copies._
_The original intent of the book must be the excuse for the highly
personal nature of the narrative, which could scarcely be changed
without an entire remodelling, a task for which the writer had neither
time nor inclination; so, with the exception of a few suppressions and
some additions which seemed necessary under its new conditions, its
character has not been materially altered. Trusting that his readers may
derive from a perusal of its pages a tithe of the pleasure which the Gay
Charioteers experienced in performing the journey, and wishing that all
may live to see their "ships come home" and then enjoy a similar
excursion for themselves, he subscribes himself,_
_Very Sincerely,_
_THE AUTHOR_
_New York, May 1, 1883._
AN AMERICAN FOUR-IN-HAND
IN BRITAIN.
Long enough ago to permit us to sing, "For we are boys, merry, merry
boys, Merry, merry boys together," and the world lay all before us where
to choose, Dod, Vandy, Harry, and I walked through Southern England with
knapsacks on our backs. What pranks we played! Those were the happy days
when we heard the chimes at midnight and laughed Sir Prudence out of
countenance. "Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be
no more cakes and ale?" Nay, verily, Sir Gray Beard, and ginger shall be
hot i' the mouth too! Then indeed
"The sounding cataract
Haunted me like a passion; the tall rock,
The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,
Their colors and their forms, were then to me
An appetite; a feeling and a love
That had no need of a remoter charm,
By thought supplied, or any interest
Unborrowed from the eye."
It was during this pedestrian excursion that I announced that some day,
when my "ships came home," I should drive a party of my dearest friends
from Brighton to Inverness. Black's "Adventures of a Phaeton" came not
long after this to prove that another Scot had divined how idyllic the
journey could be made. It was something of an air-castle--of a
dream--those far-off days, but see how it has come to pass!
[Sidenote: _Air-Castles._]
The world, in my opinion, is all wrong on the subject of air-castles.
People are forever complaining that their chateaux en Espagne are never
realized. But the trouble is with them--they fail to recognize them when
they come. "To-day
| 793.775282 | 3,879 |
2023-11-16 18:29:00.4560010
| 905 | 115 |
Produced by Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe, Mary Meehan and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This file was made using scans of public domain works in
the International Children's Digital Library.)
THE STORY OF THE WHITE-ROCK COVE.
With Illustrations.
LONDON:
T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW;
EDINBURGH; AND NEW YORK.
1871.
[Illustration: WILLIE AND ALECK AT THE FOOT OF THE WHITE ROCK.]
CONTENTS
I. LONG AGO AT BRAYCOMBE
II. ALECK'S WELCOME
III. A WHOLE HOLIDAY
IV. THE RIDE TO STAVEMOOR
V. SHIP-BUILDING
VI. THE SCHOONER-YACHT
VII. THE MISSING SHIP
VIII. ANOTHER SEARCH
IX. SORROWFUL DAYS
X. SUNDAY EVENING
XI. THE WHITE-ROCK COVE AGAIN
THE STORY OF THE WHITE-ROCK COVE.
CHAPTER I.
LONG AGO AT BRAYCOMBE.
The Story of the White-Rock Cove--"_to be written down all from the very
beginning_"--is urgently required by certain youthful petitioners, whose
importunity is hard to resist; and the request is sealed by a rosy pair
of lips from the little face nestling at my side, in a manner that
admits of no denial.
* * * * *
"_From the beginning_;"--that very beginning carries me back to my own
old school-room, in the dear home at Braycombe, when, as a little boy
between nine and ten years old, I sat there doing my lessons.
It was on a Thursday morning, and, consequently, I was my mother's
pupil. For whereas my tutor, a certain Mr. Glengelly, from our nearest
town of Elmworth, used to come over on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays
for the carrying forward of my education; my studies were, on the other
days of the week, which I consequently liked much better, conducted
under the gentle superintendence of my mother.
On this particular morning I was working with energy at a rule-of-three
sum, being engaged in a sort of exciting race with the clock, of which
the result was still doubtful. When, however, the little click, which
meant, as I well knew, five minutes to twelve, sounded, I had attained
my quotient in plain figures; a few moments more, and the process of
_fours into, twelves into, twenties into_, had been accomplished;
and just as the clock struck twelve I was able to hand up my slate
triumphantly with my task completed.
"A drawn game, mamma!" I exclaimed, "between me and the clock;" and
then with eager eyes I followed hers, as she rapidly ran over the
figures which had cost me so much trouble, and from time to time
relieved my mind by a quiet commentary: "Quite right so far;--No
mistakes yet;--You have worked it out well."
Frisk, the intelligent, the affectionate, the well-beloved companion of
my sports, and the recipient of many of my confidences, woke up from his
nap, stretched himself, came and placed his fore-paws upon my knees,
and, looking up in my face, spoke as plainly as if endowed with the
capacity of expressing himself in human language, to this effect:--"I'm
very glad you have finished your lessons; and glad, too, that I was able
to sleep on a mat in the window, where the warm sunshine has made me
extremely comfortable. But now your lessons are done, I hope you'll lose
no time, but come out to play at once. I'm ready when you are."
And Frisk's tail wagged faster and faster when my mother's inspection of
my sum was concluded, so that I could not help thinking he must have
understood her when she said,--"There are no mistakes, Willie; you have
been a good, industrious little
| 793.775411 | 3,880 |
2023-11-16 18:29:00.4886600
| 3,042 | 99 |
Produced by Project Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders
The Project Gutenberg EBook of In the Valley, by Harold Frederic
Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the
copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing
this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook.
This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project
Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the
header without written permission.
Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the
eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is
important information about your specific rights and restrictions in
how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a
donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved.
In the Valley
By
Harold Frederic
Copyright 1890
Dedication.
_When, after years of preparation, the pleasant task of writing this tale
was begun, I had my chief delight in the hope that the completed book
would gratify a venerable friend, to whose inspiration my first idea of
the work was due, and that I might be allowed to place his honored name
upon this page. The ambition was at once lofty and intelligible. While he
was the foremost citizen of New York State, we of the Mohawk Valley
thought of him as peculiarly our own. Although born elsewhere, his whole
adult life was spent among us, and he led all others in his love for the
Valley, his pride in its noble history, and his broad aspirations for the
welfare and progress in wise and good ways of its people. His approval ef
this book would have been the highest honor it could possibly have won.
Long before it was finished, he had been laid in his last sleep upon the
bosom of the hills that watch over our beautiful river. With reverent
affection the volume is brought now to lay as a wreath upon his
grave--dedicated to the memory of Horatio Seymour._
London, _September 11_, 1890
Contents.
Chapter I. "The French Are in the Valley!"
Chapter II. Setting Forth How the Girl Child Was Brought to Us.
Chapter III. Master Philip Makes His Bow--And Behaves Badly
Chapter IV. In Which I Become the Son of the House.
Chapter V. How a Stately Name Was Shortened and Sweetened.
Chapter VI. Within Sound of the Shouting Waters.
Chapter VII. Through Happy Youth to Man's Estate.
Chapter VIII. Enter My Lady Berenicia Cross.
Chapter IX. I See My Sweet Sister Dressed in Strange Attire.
Chapter X. The Masquerade Brings Me Nothing but Pain.
Chapter XI. As I Make My Adieux Mr. Philip Comes In.
Chapter XII. Old-Time Politics Pondered under the Starlight.
Chapter XIII. To the Far Lake Country and Home Again.
Chapter XIV. How I Seem to Feel a Wanting Note in the Chorus of Welcome.
Chapter XV. The Rude Awakening from My Dream.
Chapter XVI. Tulp Gets a Broken Head to Match My Heart.
Chapter XVII. I Perforce Say Farewell to My Old Home.
Chapter XVIII. The Fair Beginning of a New Life in Ancient Albany.
Chapter XIX. I Go to a Famous Gathering at the Patroon's Manor House.
Chapter XX. A Foolish and Vexatious Quarrel Is Thrust upon Me.
Chapter XXI. Containing Other News Besides that from Bunker Hill.
Chapter XXII. The Master and Mistress of Cairncross.
Chapter XXIII. How Philip in Wrath, Daisy in Anguish, Fly Their Home.
Chapter XXIV. The Night Attack Upon Quebec--And My Share in It.
Chapter XXV. A Crestfallen Return to Albany.
Chapter XXVI. I See Daisy and the Old Home Once More.
Chapter XXVII. The Arrest of Poor Lady Johnson.
Chapter XXVIII. An Old Acquaintance Turns Up in Manacles.
Chapter XXIX. The Message Sent Ahead from the Invading Army.
Chapter XXX. From the Scythe and Reaper to the Musket.
Chapter XXXI. The Rendezvous of Fighting Men at Fort Dayton.
Chapter XXXII. "The Blood Be on Your Heads."
Chapter XXXIII. The Fearsome Death-Struggle in the Forest.
Chapter XXXIV. Alone at Last with My Enemy.
Chapter XXXV. The Strange Uses to Which Revenge May Be Put.
Chapter XXXVI. A Final Scene in the Gulf which My Eyes Are Mercifully
Spared.
Chapter XXXVII. The Peaceful Ending of It All.
In The Valley
Chapter I.
"The French Are in the Valley!"
It may easily be that, during the many years which have come and gone
since the eventful time of my childhood, Memory has played tricks upon me
to the prejudice of Truth. I am indeed admonished of this by study of my
son, for whose children in turn this tale is indited, and who is now able
to remember many incidents of his youth--chiefly beatings and like
parental cruelties--which I know very well never happened at all. He is
good enough to forgive me these mythical stripes and bufferings, but he
nurses their memory with ostentatious and increasingly succinct
recollection, whereas for my own part, and for his mother's, our enduring
fear was lest we had spoiled him through weak fondness. By good fortune
the reverse has been true. He is grown into a man of whom any parents
might be proud--tall, well-featured, strong, tolerably learned, honorable,
and of influence among his fellows. His affection for us, too, is very
great. Yet in the fashion of this new generation, which speaks without
waiting to be addressed, and does not scruple to instruct on all subjects
its elders, he will have it that he feared me when a lad--and with cause!
If fancy can so distort impressions within such short span, it does not
become me to be too set about events which come back slowly through the
mist and darkness of nearly threescore years.
Yet they return to me so full of color, and cut in such precision and
keenness of outline, that at no point can I bring myself to say, "Perhaps
I am in error concerning this," or to ask, "Has this perchance been
confused with other matters?" Moreover, there are few now remaining who of
their own memory could controvert or correct me. And if they essay to do
so, why should not my word be at least as weighty as theirs? And so to
the story:
* * * * *
I was in my eighth year, and there was snow on the ground.
The day is recorded in history as November 13, A.D. 1757, but I am afraid
that I did not know much about years then, and certainly the month seems
now to have been one of midwinter. The Mohawk, a larger stream then by far
than in these days, was not yet frozen over, but its frothy flood ran very
dark and chill between the white banks, and the muskrats and the beavers
were all snug in their winter holes. Although no big fragments of ice
floated on the current, there had already been a prodigious scattering of
the bateaux and canoes which through all the open season made a thriving
thoroughfare of the river. This meant that the trading was over, and that
the trappers and hunters, white and red, were either getting ready to go
or had gone northward into the wilderness, where might be had during the
winter the skins of dangerous animals--bears, wolves, catamounts, and
lynx--and where moose and deer could be chased and yarded over the crust,
not to refer to smaller furred beasts to be taken in traps.
I was not at all saddened by the departure of these rude, foul men, of
whom those of Caucasian race were not always the least savage, for they
did not fail to lay hands upon traps or nets left by the heedless within
their reach, and even were not beyond making off with our boats, cursing
and beating children who came unprotected in their path, and putting the
women in terror of their very lives. The cold weather was welcome not only
for clearing us of these pests, but for driving off the black flies,
mosquitoes, and gnats which at that time, with the great forests so close
behind us, often rendered existence a burden, particularly just
after rains.
Other changes were less grateful to the mind. It was true I would no
longer be held near the house by the task of keeping alight the smoking
kettles of dried fungus, designed to ward off the insects, but at the same
time had disappeared many of the enticements which in summer oft made this
duty irksome. The partridges were almost the sole birds remaining in the
bleak woods, and, much as their curious ways of hiding in the snow, and
the resounding thunder of their strange drumming, mystified and attracted
me, I was not alert enough to catch them. All my devices of horse-hair
and deer-hide snares were foolishness in their sharp eyes. The water-fowl,
too--the geese, ducks, cranes, pokes, fish-hawks, and others--had flown,
sometimes darkening the sky over our clearing by the density of their
flocks, and filling the air with clamor. The owls, indeed, remained, but I
hated them.
The very night before the day of which I speak, I was awakened by one of
these stupid, perverse birds, which must have been in the cedars on the
knoll close behind the house, and which disturbed my very soul by his
ceaseless and melancholy hooting. For some reason it affected me more than
commonly, and I lay for a long time nearly on the point of tears with
vexation--and, it is likely, some of that terror with which uncanny noises
inspire children in the darkness. I was warm enough under my fox-robe,
snuggled into the husks, but I was very wretched. I could hear, between
the intervals of the owl's sinister cries, the distant yelping of the
timber wolves, first from the Schoharie side of the river, and then from
our own woods. Once there rose, awfully near the log wall against which I
nestled, a panther's shrill scream, followed by a long silence, as if the
lesser wild things outside shared for the time my fright. I remember that
I held my breath.
It was during this hush, and while I lay striving, poor little fellow, to
dispel my alarm by fixing my thoughts resolutely on a rabbit-trap I had
set under some running hemlock out on the side hill, that there rose the
noise of a horse being ridden swiftly down the frosty highway outside. The
hoofbeats came pounding up close to our gate. A moment later there was a
great hammering on the oak door, as with a cudgel or pistol handle, and I
heard a voice call out in German (its echoes ring still in my old ears):
"The French are in the Valley!"
I drew my head down under the fox-skin as if it had been smitten sharply,
and quaked in solitude. I desired to hear no more.
Although so very young a boy, I knew quite well who the French were, and
what their visitations portended. Even at that age one has recollections.
I could recall my father, peaceful man of God though he was, taking down
his gun some years before at the rumor of a French approach, and my mother
clinging to his coat as he stood in the doorway, successfully pleading
with him not to go forth. I had more than once seen Mrs. Markell of
Minden, with her black knit cap worn to conceal the absence of her scalp,
which had been taken only the previous summer by the Indians, who sold it
to the French for ten livres, along with the scalps of her murdered
husband and babe. So it seemed that adults sometimes parted with this
portion of their heads without losing also their lives. I wondered if
small boys were ever equally fortunate. I felt softly of my hair and wept.
How the crowding thoughts of that dismal hour return to me! I recall
considering in my mind the idea of bequeathing my tame squirrel to
Hendrick Getman, and the works of an old clock, with their delightful
mystery of wooden cogs and turned wheels, which was my chief treasure, to
my <DW64> friend Tulp--and then reflecting that they too would share my
fate, and would thus be precluded from enjoying my legacies. The whimsical
aspect of the task of getting hold upon Tulp's close, woolly scalp was
momentarily apparent to me, but I did not laugh. Instead, the very
suggestion of humor converted my tears into vehement sobbings.
When at last I ventured to lift my head and listen again, it was to hear
another voice, an English-speaking voice which I knew very well, saying
gravely from within the door:
"It is well to warn, but not to terrify. There are many leagues between us
and danger, and many good fighting men. When you have told your tidings to
Sir William, add that I have heard it all and have gone back to bed."
Then the door was closed and barred, and the hoofbeats died away down the
Valley.
These few words had sufficed to shame me heartily of my cowardice. I ought
to have remembered that we were almost within hail of Fort Johnson and its
great owner the General; that there was a long Ulineof forts between us and
the usual point of invasion with many soldiers; and--most important of
all--that I was in the house of Mr. Stewart.
| 793.80807 | 3,881 |
2023-11-16 18:29:00.7538380
| 1,087 | 412 |
E-text prepared by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 36320-h.htm or 36320-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/36320/36320-h/36320-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/36320/36320-h.zip)
[Illustration: WHEN THE TRAIN STOPPED AT THE PALM BEACH STATION, THERE
WAS THE COMET WAITING FOR THEM.--Page 14.]
THE MOTOR MAIDS BY PALM AND PINE
by
KATHERINE STOKES
Author of "The Motor Maids' School Days," etc.
M. A. Donohue & Company
Chicago--New York
Copyright, 1911,
by
Hurst & Company
Made in U. S. A.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. To the Sunny South 5
II. Making New Acquaintances 19
III. Timothy's Drowning 37
IV. A Race and What Came of It 50
V. The Two Edwards 64
VI. The Gray Motor Car 79
VII. The Coward 94
VIII. Mr. Duffy Gives a Party 111
IX. The Bullfrog and the Pollywog 128
X. The Song of the Motor 138
XI. The Orange Grove 150
XII. An Unwished Wish 161
XIII. In the Deep Woods 173
XIV. The Mocking Bird 186
XV. Out of the Wilderness 196
XVI. Mrs. L'Estrange 208
XVII. A Morning Call 220
XVIII. It's an Ill Wind 234
XIX. A Passage at Arms 246
XX. The Hand of Destiny 258
XXI. Picnicking Under the Pines 270
XXII. The Last of the House of Troubles 280
XXIII. Explanations 291
XXIV. So Endeth the Second Lesson 298
THE MOTOR MAIDS BY PALM AND PINE
CHAPTER I.--TO THE SUNNY SOUTH.
The Atlantic Ocean and the breadth of Europe including half of Russia
lay between Mr. Duncan Campbell and his daughter, Wilhelmina. But that
did not prevent Mr. Campbell from thinking of numerous delightful
surprises for Billie and her three friends in West Haven.
Sometimes it was a mere scrawl of a note hastily written at some small
way station, saying: "Here's a check for my Billie-girl. Treat your
friends to ice-cream sodas and take 'em to the theater. Don't forget
your old Dad."
Sometimes the surprise took the form of queer foreign-looking packages
addressed to "the Misses Campbell, Butler, Brown and Price," containing
strange articles made by the peasants in the far-away land. He sent them
each a Cossack costume with high red boots and red sashes. But some
three weeks before the Easter holidays came the best surprise of all.
"I believe the Comet needs a change of air," wrote Mr. Campbell. "A fine
automobile must have as careful handling as a thoroughbred horse, or,
for that matter, a thoroughbred young lady. What does my Billie-girl say
to an Easter trip to Florida with Cousin Helen as guardian angel and Nan
and Nell and Moll for company and the Comet for just his own sweet
self?"
Mr. Campbell, who received long, intimate letters from his daughter once
a week, felt that he knew the girls almost as well as she did, and he
would call them by abbreviated, pet names in spite of Billie's
remonstrances.
"It so happens," the letter continued, "that my old friend, Ignatius
Donahue, who holds the small, unimportant, poorly-paid position of
vice-president of an insignificant railroad, not knowing that I was
digging trenches in Russia, has offered me the use of his private car,
including kitchen stove, chef and other necessities. I have answered
that I accept the invitation, not for self, but for daughter and friends
and Comet; which latter must have free transportation on first-class
fast-going freight, or he is no friend of mine. You will be hearing from
Ignatius now pretty soon. Your old dad will be answerable for all other
expenses, including hotel and-so-forth and if the and-so-forth is bigger
than the hotel bill, he'll never even chirp. Life is short and time is
fleeting and young girls must go South in the winter when they have a
chance."
So, that is how the Motor Maids happened to be the four busiest young
women in West Haven--what with those abominable High School examinations
| 794.073248 | 3,882 |
2023-11-16 18:29:00.7600510
| 995 | 83 |
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, [oo] for infinity, and [alpha],
[beta], etc. for greek letters.
(6) The following typographical errors have been corrected:
ARTICLE GYROSCOPE AND GYROSTAT: "... in such a manner that a point
on the pendulum at a distance..." ''pendulum'' amended from
''pedulum''.
ARTICLE GYROSCOPE AND GYROSTAT: "Interpreted geometrically on the
deformable hyperboloid, flattened in the plane of the focal ellipse
..." ''hyperboloid'' amended from ''hyperboloia''.
ARTICLE HAEMOSPORIDIA: "... this does not represent reserve
material, but is an excreted by-product derived from the
haemoglobin." ''by-product'' amended from ''bye-product''.
ARTICLE HALIFAX, GEORGE MONTAGU DUNK: "About this time he sought to
become a secretary of state, but in vain, although he was allowed
to enter the cabinet in 1757." ''become'' amended from ''became''.
ARTICLE HALLEFLINTA: "Rocks very similar to the typical Swedish
halleflintas occur in Tirol, in Galicia and eastern Bohemia."
''similar'' amended from ''similiar?''.
ENCYCLOPAEDIA BRITANNICA
A DICTIONARY OF ARTS, SCIENCES, LITERATURE
AND GENERAL INFORMATION
ELEVENTH EDITION
VOLUME XII, SLICE VII
Gyantse to Hallel
ARTICLES IN THIS SLICE:
GYANTSE HAHNEMANN, SAMUEL CHRISTIAN FRIEDRICH
GYGES HAHN-HAHN, IDA
GYLIPPUS HAI
GYLLEMBOURG-EHRENSVARD, CHRISTINE HAIBAK
GYLLENSTJERNA, JOHAN HAIDA
GYMKHANA HAIDINGER, WILHELM KARL
GYMNASTICS AND GYMNASIUM HAIDUK
GYMNOSOPHISTS HAIFA
GYMNOSPERMS HAIK
GYMNOSTOMACEAE HAIL
GYMPIE HAILES, DAVID DALRYMPLE
GYNAECEUM HAILSHAM
GYNAECOLOGY HAINAN
GYONGYOSI, ISTVAN HAINAU
GYOR HAINAUT
GYP HAINBURG
GYPSUM HAINICHEN
GYROSCOPE AND GYROSTAT HAI-PHONG
GYTHIUM HAIR
GYULA-FEHERVAR HAIR-TAIL
H HAITI
HAAG, CARL HAJIPUR
HAAKON HAJJ
HAARLEM HAJJI KHALIFA
HAARLEM LAKE HAKE, EDWARD
HAASE, FRIEDRICH HAKE, THOMAS GORDON
HAASE, FRIEDRICH GOTTLOB HAKE
HAAST, SIR JOHANN JULIUS VON HAKKAS
HABABS HAKLUYT, RICHARD
HABAKKUK HAKODATE
HABDALA HAL
HABEAS CORPUS HALA
HABERDASHER HALAESA
HABINGTON, WILLIAM HALAKHA
HABIT HALBERSTADT
HABITAT HALBERT
HABSBURG HALDANE, JAMES ALEXANDER
HACHETTE, JEAN
| 794.079461 | 3,883 |
2023-11-16 18:29:00.7828790
| 407 | 129 |
Produced by Margaret Willden, Mormon Texts Project Intern
(http://mormontextsproject.org/)
THE LIFE OF NEPHI,
THE SON OF LEHI,
Who Emigrated from Jerusalem, in Judea, to the Land which is now known
as South America, about Six Centuries Before the Coming of our Savior.
BY GEORGE Q. CANNON.
PUBLISHED BY THE CONTRIBUTOR COMPANY, SALT LAKE CITY, UTAH. 1888.
FROM THE PRESS OF THE JUVENILE INSTRUCTOR.
PREFACE.
Some years since the desire took possession of me to write the life of
Nephi, the son of Lehi, and, as time and opportunity should permit,
the lives of other prominent men of his race of whom we have an
account in the Book of Mormon, so as to form a series of biographies
for the perusal of the young. My aim was to make the children of our
Church familiar with the events described in the Book of Mormon, and
with some of the prominent men of that mighty people of which Nephi
was one of the greatest progenitors. Various causes--the principal one
of which has been the pressure of other and more exacting labors--have
prevented me from carrying my design into execution until the present
time. I have felt that, as I owed so much of my own success in life to
the important and interesting lessons contained in that precious
record, it was a duty incumbent upon me to do all in my power to have
it read and appreciated as widely as possible by every member of our
Church, but especially by the rising generation.
The age in which we live is one of doubt and unbelief. Skepticism is
spreading. All faith in divine things, as taught by the ancient
servants of God, is being unsettled. Man's reason is being extolled as
a higher
| 794.102289 | 3,884 |
2023-11-16 18:29:01.1655560
| 1,081 | 390 |
Produced by Charles Bowen from page images provided by the
Web Archive and Google Books.
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source:
http://archive.org/details/secretinheritanc01farj
(University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign)
A SECRET INHERITANCE
A
SECRET INHERITANCE
BY
B. L. FARJEON,
AUTHOR OF "GREAT PORTER SQUARE," "IN A SILVER SEA,"
"THE HOUSE OF WHITE SHADOWS," ETC.
_IN THREE VOLUMES_
VOL. I
LONDON
WARD AND DOWNEY
12, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN, W.C.
1887
Richard Clay and Sons,
LONDON AND BUNGAY.
A SECRET INHERITANCE.
* * * * * *
BOOK THE FIRST.
THE RECORD OF GABRIEL CAREW.
VOL. I.
CHAPTER I.
My earliest distinct remembrances are of a mean and common home in
London, in which I lived with my parents and a servant named Fortress.
She was a young woman, her age being twenty-four or five, but her
manners were as sedate as those of a matron who had a distaste for
frivolity and tittle-tattle. She performed her duties quietly and in
silence, and seldom spoke unless she were first addressed. She did not
take the trouble to render herself agreeable to me, or to win my
affection. This was entirely to my liking, as I was of a retired habit
of mind and disposition. It was not unusual for weeks to pass without
our exchanging a word.
We were surrounded by squalid thoroughfares, the residents in which
were persons occupying the lowest stations of life, human bees whose
hives were not over stocked with honey, being indeed, I have no doubt,
frequently bare of it. This was not the result of indolence, for they
toiled early and late. I saw, and observed. Sometimes I wondered,
sometimes I despised, and I always shrank from close contact with
these sordid conditions of existence. If I had possessed a store of
pocket-money it is not unlikely that a portion of it would have been
expended in charity, but I will not affirm that I should have been
impelled to liberality by motives of benevolence. We were, however,
very poor, and my father seldom gave me a penny. I did not complain; I
had no wants which money could gratify. I did not consort with other
children; I did not play or associate with them; when they made
advances towards me I declined to receive them, and I held myself
entirely aloof from their pleasures and occupations. In this respect I
instinctively followed the fashion of our home and the example of my
parents. They had no friends or intimate acquaintances. During the
years we lived thus poorly and meanly, not a man, woman, or child ever
entered our doors to partake of our hospitality, or to impart what
would possibly have been a healthy variety to our days.
Our dwelling consisted of two rooms at the top of a small house. They
were attics; in one my mother and Mrs. Fortress slept; in the other my
father and I. The bed he and I occupied was shut up during the day,
and made an impotent pretence of being a chest of drawers. This room
was our living room, and we took our meals in it.
In speaking of our servant as Mrs. Fortress I do not intend to convey
that she was a married woman. My impression was that she was single,
and I should have scouted the idea of her having a sweetheart; but my
parents always spoke of and to her as Mrs. Fortress.
From the window of our living-room I could see, at an angle, a bit of
the River Thames. The prospect was gloomy and miserable. There was no
touch of gaiety in the sluggish panorama of the life on the water. The
men on the barges, working with machine-like movement against the
tide, were begrimed and joyless; the people on the penny steamers
seemed bent on anything but pleasure; the boys who played about the
stranded boats when the tide was low were elfish and mischievous. The
land life was in keeping. The backs of other poor houses were scarcely
a handshake off. On a sill here and there were a few drooping flowers,
typical of the residents in the poverty-stricken neighbourhood.
Sometimes as I gazed upon these signs an odd impression stole upon me
that we had not always lived in this mean condition. I saw dimly the
outlines of a beautiful house, with gardens round it, of horses my
parents used to ride, of carriages in which we drove, of many servants
to wait upon us. But it was more like a dream than reality, and I made
no reference to it
| 794.484966 | 3,885 |
2023-11-16 18:29:01.1868650
| 4,089 | 57 |
Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by the Web Archive
A SECRET OF THE SEA.
Transcriber's Notes (Volume 3):
1. Page scan source: Web Archive
https://archive.org/details/secretofseanovel03spei
(University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign)
A SECRET OF THE SEA.
A Novel.
By T. W. SPEIGHT,
AUTHOR OF
"IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT," "UNDER LOCK AND KEY," ETC., ETC.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. III.
LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON.
1876.
(_All Rights Reserved_.)
CONTENTS OF VOL. III.
CHAPTER
I. ELEANOR'S RESOLVE.
II. POD'S STRATAGEM.
III. VAN DUREN'S DREAM.
IV. PRINGLE'S DISCOVERY.
V. A FOUND LETTER.
VI. VAN DUREN IN WALES.
VII. THE MESSAGE TO STAMMARS.
VIII. WINGED WORDS.
IX. VAN DUREN'S FLIGHT.
X. TOLD AT LAST.
XI. "AND YOU SHALL STILL BE LADY CLARE."
XII. THE STRONG-ROOM.
XIII. CONCLUSION.
A SECRET OF THE SEA.
CHAPTER I.
ELEANOR'S RESOLVE.
"I'm in no particular hurry, doctor, to get back to London," Sir
Thomas Dudgeon had quietly hinted to his medical man. "I daresay the
House can get on without me quite as well as with me, so you needn't
hurry yourself to say I'm fit for harness again till you feel quite
sure in your own mind that I am so."
Dr. Welstead was not slow to take the hint, and he kept on calling at
Stammars two or three times a week, and sending one innocuous draught
after another, which draughts Sir Thomas conscientiously poured into
the ash-pan when his wife was not looking, till the baronet's holiday
had extended itself to the beginning of May. But by this time Sir
Thomas looked so well and rosy, and was in possession of such a hearty
appetite, that a vague suspicion that she was being duped began to
haunt her ladyship's mind. She said nothing to her husband, but made
her preparations in silence. Then, one morning at the breakfast-table,
the shell exploded.
"To-day is Wednesday, dear," she said, "and I have made all
arrangements for our going up to town on Saturday morning. Dr.
Welstead seems quite at a loss how to treat you: indeed, country
practitioners, as a rule, are not competent to deal with anything
beyond a simple case of measles; so on Saturday afternoon I will
myself drive you to see Sir Knox Timpany, and wait for you while you
consult that eminent authority, who, I doubt not, will make you as
well as ever you were, in the course of a very few days."
Sir Thomas fumed and fretted, but her ladyship was inexorable. Go he
must; and when he saw there was no help for it, he made a merit of
necessity; but at the same time he registered a silent vow that not
all the wives in England should drag him to the door of Sir Knox
Timpany.
At the last moment, however, the baronet and Gerald started for London
alone. Late on Friday, Lady Dudgeon received a telegram. Her only
sister was very ill, and it was needful that she should hurry off
without an hour's delay. "Considering all that I have done for
Caroline, it is really very ungrateful of her to be ill at a time like
this," she grumbled to her husband. "She knew how anxious I was to get
back to town, and she might have doctored herself up for another month
or two. I hope to goodness she won't die till the season is over. I
can't bear myself in mourning."
"Your only sister, my dear," remarked Sir Thomas, soothingly. "I
wouldn't leave her, if I were you, while there's the least danger.
Your conscience might prick you afterwards, you know."
"Stuff!" was her ladyship's rejoinder. "Of course, I shall do what is
proper; but if I were to die to-morrow, Caroline's first thought would
be how soon after that event she might begin to wear flounces again."
Without wishing his sister-in-law any harm, Sir Thomas would not have
been sorry if her illness had kept his wife at her bedside for half a
year. The thought of having a few weeks, or even a few days, in
London, without being supervised by her ladyship, was to bring back
the feelings of his youth when school broke up for the summer
holidays. In fact, during the three weeks that elapsed before her
ladyship joined him in town, he was more like a schoolboy let loose
than the fancy sketch of him with which the _Pembridge Gazette_ one week
favoured its readers, wherein he was described as a senator, grave and
staid, whose trained and powerful intellect was perpetually engaged in
grappling with the most tremendous social and political problems of
the age.
After a little dinner, quiet and early, at which Gerald generally sat
down with him, Sir Thomas would post off to the House. But an hour or
an hour and a half there was quite enough for him. Whist and a prime
cigar at his club were far preferable to prosy speeches by people whom
he did not know, and on subjects about which he did not care twopence.
Since the day of his confession in the library, Gerald had seen very
little of Eleanor. If they met casually in passing from one room to
another, a bow and a faint smile was all the greeting that passed
between them. When they met at the dinner-table, no ordinary observer
would have noticed any difference in their demeanour towards each
other. Gerald talked as much as ever he had done: he knew that Sir
Thomas and his wife liked him to make talk for them: but fewer of his
observations were now addressed directly to Miss Lloyd than used to be
the case at one time. Sometimes he even turned over the music for
Eleanor when she played after dinner; but had Lady Dudgeon been the
most Argus-eyed of dowagers, instead of the most unsuspicious, she
could not possibly have found fault with his demeanour on such
occasions. He was Sir Thomas Dudgeon's secretary--and nothing more.
Eleanor had received his confession in a spirit somewhat different
from what he had expected. He had thought that her pride would be more
deeply wounded by the deception he had practised on her than it
appeared to be. That it was wounded, he knew full well; but when he
parted from her at the close of the interview, he did not fail to
notice the quiver of her lip, and the longing, wistful look in her
eyes. In his previous thoughts of her, it was evident he had not
calculated sufficiently on the effect which his frank confession and
prayer for forgiveness would have on a generous and loving disposition
like that of Eleanor. It seemed by no means unlikely, as Gerald said
to himself afterwards, when thinking over the interview, that she had
indeed so far forgiven him as to make his reinstatement in her regards
the question merely of a little time and perseverance; and under other
circumstances he would not have allowed a day to pass without
attempting a renewal of his suit. But fixed as he was just then, he
could not bring his mind to the adoption of such a course. That he had
fallen somewhat in Eleanor's esteem, that he had sunk to a lower level
in her thoughts, he could not doubt; and however much she might feel
inclined to forgive him, it was questionable whether--had the
circumstances of the case really been such as she believed them to
be--she could ever have looked upon him with quite the same eyes as
before. Such a change as this Gerald did not care to face. He
preferred that, for a little while, she should think all was over
between them; that he had given up all thoughts of winning her for his
wife. He knew that before very long she would have to be told
everything, and till that time should come he would speak no word of
love to her again. The more hardly she thought of him now, the greater
would be the re-bound towards him when, from other lips than his, she
should hear the whole strange story that must soon be told her.
About a fortnight after sending his first letter to Kelvin, Gerald
followed it up with another. But again came the same answer as before,
that Mr. Kelvin was still too ill to attend to business. Gerald was
debating in his own mind as to the advisability of going over to
Pembridge and seeking an interview with Kelvin, when the receipt of
certain news from Ambrose Murray decided him to wait a short time
longer. Murray told him the result of the inquiries in Wales, and how
he and Peter Byrne were going to start for Marhyddoc in the course of
a few days; and Gerald was entreated to follow them as quickly as
possible. Under these circumstances there seemed to Gerald no
necessity for troubling Kelvin any further at present. Should Ambrose
Murray find that which he was going to Wales to search for, then would
all necessity for concealment on his part be at an end. One of his
first acts would be to ask for the daughter who knew him not. Then
would come the time for Gerald to say who and what he was. His first
act after Eleanor knew that he was no longer John Pomeroy, the poor
secretary, but Gerald Warburton, the heir to Mr. Lloyd's wealth, would
be to tell her how truly he still loved her, and to ask her to become
his wife. Let her, for a week or two longer, think that he had yielded
her up without a struggle: in a very little while she should discover
that no power on earth could make him yield her up--nothing, save her
own deliberate dismissal of him, could do that.
Thus it was that Gerald left Stammars without saying a word of
farewell to Eleanor; and she, sitting half heart-broken by the window
of her own room, saw him drive off to the station, and cried after
him, "Oh, my darling, why have you left me? Perhaps I shall never see
you again."
Gerald had only done Eleanor simple justice when he said to himself
that she was ready to forgive and forget the past. "He has confessed
everything to me, and confession is atonement," she said to herself
"He need not have said a word to me, had he been so minded; but the
very fact of his telling me is proof sufficient that he is no longer
seeking to win me for my money, but for myself only."
Day by day she had been expecting to receive some word, some look
even, from him which would tell her that his feelings were still
unchanged; but day passed after day, and neither word nor look was
vouchsafed her. She was chilled and hurt by Gerald's persistent
silence and evident avoidance of her. Could it be, she asked herself,
that he thought he had sinned past forgiveness? To prove that such was
not the case, she would be more gracious and complaisant towards him
than she had ever been before. She would endeavour to let him see, as
far as a modest maiden might do so, that he had nothing to fear; that
the past was forgiven, and that the future rested with himself alone.
But Gerald might have been made of marble, so cold and impassive did
he seem to the tender-hearted girl, who had only discovered of late
how fondly she loved him.
Then her pride came to her aid, and she tried her best to emulate
Gerald's indifference. She laughed and talked, and seemed altogether
merrier than of old; but no one knew what she suffered in the solitude
of her own room.
Now it was that she determined to put into execution a project that
had been more or less in her thoughts for a longtime. She was tired of
the empty, frivolous life that she had been leading for some time
past. It had seemed very pleasant to her while the freshness lasted,
but that had now worn off, and she had made up her mind that she would
have no more of it--or only a taste of it now and then as a relief
from more serious duties. What she wanted was some plain, earnest work
to do--some work that would benefit others as well as herself For a
long time she had seemed like one groping in the dark; but at last she
thought she saw a clear line of duty marked out for her footsteps, the
following of which might not be altogether without avail.
And now her purpose grew firm within her. All was at an end between
her and Pomeroy. She had only herself to consult. In hard work she
might, perchance, find an anodyne for her wound. In any case, she
would try to do so.
"I suppose, my dear, that you won't object to give me a month this
autumn?" said Lady Dudgeon to her husband, as they sat together one
morning, about a couple of days before their projected return to
London.
"Oh, ho! it's come to that, has it?" answered the baronet. "Well, I
suppose you must have your own way in the matter, although you know
that I hate both the place and the class of people one meets there. I
suppose we can take Eleanor with us? It will be a treat to her, and
company for you."
"Eleanor's a little fool!"
"Possibly so; you know best, I dare say."
"She tells me that she is going to leave us."
"Eleanor going to leave us!"
Sir Thomas looked quite dumbfounded. At this moment Eleanor entered
the room.
"What is this I hear, little one?" he cried. "You are not going to
leave us, surely?"
"For a little while, dear Sir Thomas. Perhaps not for long," answered
Eleanor.
"I'm sorry for that--very sorry indeed. I had grown to like you almost
as much as if you were a daughter of my own."
Tears came into Eleanor's eyes. She crossed the room, and taking Sir
Thomas's hand in both hers, pressed it to her lips.
"My gratitude--my love, if you care for it--will always be yours! I
can never repay even a tithe of the kindness shown me by Lady Dudgeon
and yourself."
"Eleanor, I have no patience with you!" cried Lady Dudgeon, dipping
her pen viciously in the inkstand.
"But where is the girl going, and what is she going to do?" asked the
baronet.
"Let her answer for herself."
"You will think it very strange of me, I dare say," said Eleanor; "but
Miss Mulhouse, whose name is no doubt familiar to you, has offered to
find me a position in one of the Homes for Destitute Girls, which she
is trying to establish in different parts of London."
"Heaven bless us!" exclaimed Sir Thomas. "You don't mean to say that
you are going to leave a place like Stammars on purpose to spend your
days in a back slum in the east end of London?"
"I am going to try to find something to do," said Eleanor. "I am going
to try to make myself of some little use in the world."
"A madcap scheme, my dear--I can call it nothing else," said the old
gentleman, with a melancholy shake of the head "If you feel charitably
disposed, a twenty-pound note at Christmas, judiciously laid out, will
go a long way--a very long way, indeed."
"To give money alone does not seem to me enough. I want to work for
those poor helpless ones; to labour for them with head and hands; to
learn their histories and their wants; to win their sympathies, and to
make their lives a little less hard, if I can possibly do so."
"My dear," said Sir Thomas, turning to his wife, "what a pity it is
that you have not found a husband for Miss Lloyd!"
"Miss Lloyd has had three most eligible offers since she placed
herself under my care."
"And she refused them?"
"Every one."
"Then her case must be a hopeless one indeed."
"I have argued and reasoned with her, but all to no purpose," said her
ladyship. "She is determined to have her own headstrong way. But I
prophesy that before six months are over we shall have Miss Lloyd back
at Stammars, tired and disgusted with a task which may look very nice
in theory, but which must be excessively unpleasant when reduced to
practice."
"She will always be welcome at Stammars whenever she likes to come
back to us."
"You won't think me ungrateful for leaving you, will you, Sir Thomas?"
pleaded Eleanor.
"That I won't, my dear. I'll never think anything but what's good of
you."
Thus it was that Eleanor Lloyd, sitting in the window of her room,
watching Gerald Warburton drive away, cried to herself, "Perhaps I
shall never see him again!"
CHAPTER II.
PODS STRATAGEM.
Days and weeks passed away, but still Matthew Kelvin did not get
better. His condition fluctuated strangely. Sometimes for days
together there would be a slow but sure improvement. Appetite and
strength would alike increase, and his mother would grow glad at
heart, thinking that she should soon see him out and about again, and
as well as ever. But some morning, without the least warning, there
would come a terrible relapse, which, in the course of two or three
hours, would undo the improvement that it had taken days to effect,
flinging him helplessly back, as some strong wave flings back a
desperate swimmer the moment his foot touches the shore, leaving him,
buffeted and bruised, and with decreased strength, to struggle again
from the same point that he started from before. So it was with
Matthew Kelvin. There were times and seasons, after one of these
strange relapses, when to those about him he seemed on the very verge
of the grave--times and seasons when the patient himself prayed that
if there were to be no release from his sufferings but death, then
that death might come, and come quickly. Then would Dr. Druce be
summoned in hot haste by Mrs.
| 794.506275 | 3,886 |
2023-11-16 18:29:01.3085430
| 4,081 | 41 |
Produced by Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
The Riverside Biographical Series
NUMBER 12
PAUL JONES
BY
HUTCHINS HAPGOOD
* * * * *
The Riverside Biographical Series
1. ANDREW JACKSON, by W. G. BROWN.
2. JAMES B. EADS, by LOUIS HOW.
3. BENJAMIN FRANKLIN, by PAUL E. MORE.
4. PETER COOPER, by R. W. RAYMOND.
5. THOMAS JEFFERSON, by H. C. MERWIN.
6. WILLIAM PENN, by GEORGE HODGES.
7. GENERAL GRANT, by WALTER ALLEN.
8. LEWIS AND CLARK, by WILLIAM R. LIGHTON.
9. JOHN MARSHALL, by JAMES B. THAYER.
10. ALEXANDER HAMILTON, by CHAS. A. CONANT.
11. WASHINGTON IRVING, by H. W. BOYNTON.
12. PAUL JONES, by HUTCHINS HAPGOOD.
13. STEPHEN A. DOUGLAS, by W. G. BROWN.
14. SAMUEL DE CHAMPLAIN, by H. D. SEDGWICK, Jr.
15. CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS, by HORACE E. SCUDDER.
Each about 140 pages, 16mo, with photogravure
portrait, vols. 1-9, 75 cents; other subsequent
vols., each 65 cents, _net_; _School Edition_,
each, 50 cents, _net_.
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO.
BOSTON AND NEW YORK.
* * * * *
[Illustration: Paul Jones [signature]]
* * * * *
PAUL JONES
BY
HUTCHINS HAPGOOD
[Illustration: Publisher's logo]
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
The Riverside Press, Cambridge
1901
COPYRIGHT, 1901, BY HUTCHINS HAPGOOD
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
_Published November, 1901_
PREFACE
The amount of material bearing on Paul Jones is very large, and consists
mainly of his extensive correspondence, published and unpublished, his
journals, memoirs by his private secretary and several of his officers,
published and unpublished impressions by his contemporaries, and a
number of sketches and biographies, some of which contain rich
collections of his letters and extracts from his journals. The
biographies which I have found most useful are the "Life," by John Henry
Sherburne, published in 1825, which is mainly a collection of Jones's
correspondence; another volume, composed largely of extracts from his
letters and journals, called the "Janette-Taylor Collection," published
in 1830; the first and only extended narrative at once readable and
impartial, by Alexander Slidell MacKenzie, published in 1845; and the
recently published "Life" by Augustus C. Buell. To Mr. Buell's
exhaustive work I am indebted for considerable original material not
otherwise accessible to me. On the basis of the foregoing mass of
material I have attempted, in a short sketch, to give merely an unbiased
account of the man.
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. EARLY VOYAGES 1
II. CRUISES OF THE PROVIDENCE AND THE ALFRED 17
III. THE CRUISE OF THE RANGER 30
IV. EFFORTS IN FRANCE TO SECURE A COMMAND 44
V. THE FIGHT WITH THE SERAPIS 56
VI. DIPLOMACY AT THE TEXEL 70
VII. SOCIETY IN PARIS 80
VIII. PRIVATE AMBITION AND PUBLIC BUSINESS 91
IX. IN THE RUSSIAN SERVICE 108
X. LAST DAYS 118
_The portrait is from the original by C. W. Peale, in Independence Hall_
PAUL JONES
I
EARLY VOYAGES
John Paul, known as Paul Jones, who sought restlessly for distinction
all his life, was born the son of a peasant, in July, 1747, near the
ocean on which he was to spend a large portion of his time. His father
lived in Scotland, near the fishing hamlet of Arbigland, county of
Kirkcudbright, on the north shore of Solway Firth, and made a living for
the family of seven children by fishing and gardening. The mother,
Jeanne Macduff, was the daughter of a Highlander, and in Paul Jones's
blood the Scotch canniness and caution of his Lowland father was united
with the wild love of physical action native to his mother's race.
Little is known of the early life of the fifth and famous child of the
Scotch gardener. He went to the parish school, but not for long, for the
sea called him at an early age. When he was twelve years old he could
handle his fishing-boat like a veteran. His skill and daring were the
talk of the village. One day James Younger, a ship-owning merchant from
Whitehaven, then a principal seaport on the neighboring coast of
England, visited Arbigland, in search of seamen for one of his vessels.
It happened on that day that Paul Jones was out in his yawl when a
severe squall arose. Mr. Younger and the villagers watched the boy bring
his small sailing-boat straight against the northeaster into the harbor;
and Mr. Younger expressed his surprise to Paul's father, who remarked:
"That's my boy conning the boat, Mr. Younger. This isn't much of a
squall for him." The result was that Mr. Younger took Paul back with him
to Whitehaven, bound shipmaster's apprentice. A little while after that,
Paul Jones made his first of a series of merchant-ship voyages to the
colonies and the West Indies. He continued in Mr. Younger's employ for
four years; when he was seventeen he made a round voyage to America as
second mate, and was first mate a year later.
Paul left Mr. Younger's service in 1766 and acquired a sixth interest in
a ship called King George's Packet, in which he went, as first mate, to
the West Indies. The business instinct, always strong in him, received
some satisfaction during this voyage by the transportation of blacks
from Africa to Jamaica, where they were sold as slaves. The slave-trade
was not regarded at that time as dishonorable, but Jones's eagerness to
engage in "any private enterprise"--a phrase constantly used by him--was
not accompanied by any keen moral sensitiveness. He was always in
pursuit of private gain or immediate or posthumous honor, and his grand
sentiments, of which he had many, were largely histrionic in type. After
one more voyage he gave up the slave-trading business, probably because
he realized that no real advancement lay in that line.
On the John O'Gaunt, in which Jones shipped for England, after leaving
Jamaica, the captain, mate, and all but five of the crew died of yellow
fever, and the ship was taken by Paul into Whitehaven. For this he
received a share in the cargo, and in 1768, when he was twenty-one years
old, the owners of the John (a merchantman sailing from the same port)
gave him command, and in her he made several voyages to America. Life on
a merchantman is rough enough to-day, and was still rougher at that
time. To maintain discipline at sea requires a strong hand and a not too
gentle tongue, and Jones was fully equipped in these necessaries. During
the third voyage of the John, when fever had greatly reduced the crew,
Mungo Maxwell, a Jamaica mulatto, became mutinous, and Jones knocked him
down with a belaying pin. Jones satisfactorily cleared himself of the
resulting charge of murder, and gave, during the trial, one of the
earliest evidences of his power to express himself almost as clearly and
strongly in speech as in action.
Up to this time in Paul's career there are two facts which stand out
definitely: one, that his rough life, in association with common seamen
from the time that he was twelve years old, and his lack of previous
education, made difficult his becoming what he ardently desired to
be,--a cultivated gentleman. Stories told of his impulsive roughness in
later life, such as the quaint ones of how he used to kick his
lieutenants and then invite them to dinner, are probable enough. It is
even more clear, however, that in some way he had educated himself, not
only in seamanship and navigation, but also in naval history and in the
French and Spanish languages, to a considerable degree. On a voyage his
habit was to study late at night, and on shore, instead of carousing
with his associates, to hunt out the most distinguished person he could
find, or otherwise to improve his condition. His passion for acquisition
was enormous, but his early education was so deficient that his
handwriting always remained that of a schoolboy. He dictated many of his
innumerable letters, particularly those in French, which language he
spoke incorrectly but fluently.
It was during Paul's last voyage as captain of a merchantman that the
event took place which determined him to change his name and to live in
America. Several years previously his brother, who had been adopted by a
Virginia planter named Jones, had come at the death of the latter into
possession of the property, and Captain Paul was named as next in
succession. In 1773, when the captain reached the Rappahannock during
his final merchant voyage, he found his brother dying, and, in
accordance with the terms of old Jones's will, he took the name by which
he is famous and became the owner of the plantation. He consequently
gave up his sea life and settled down to "calm contemplation and poetic
ease," as he expressed it at a later period.
But Jones was very far from being contemplative, although he certainly
was rather fond of inflated poetry, and even as a planter, surrounded by
his acres and his slaves, there is no evidence that he led a lazy life.
He seems to have been partly occupied in continuing the important
acquaintances he had made at the intervals between his voyages and in
watching the progress of events leading to war with England. Jones was
given to gallantry, and while on the plantation he carried on the social
affairs which he afterwards continued, as recognized hero and chevalier
of France, on a magnificent scale. He resisted, as he did all through
his life, any benevolent efforts on the part of the colonial dames to
marry him off, and as the war grew nearer his activity in promoting it
grew greater. He made frequent visits to his patriot friends, met,
besides Joseph Hewes, whom he had already known, Thomas Jefferson,
Philip Livingston, Colonel Washington and the Lees, and was later, if
not at this time, in an intimate official relation with Robert and
Gouverneur Morris. In Jones's intercourse with these men he showed
himself one of the most fiery of Whigs. In a letter to Joseph Hewes
written in 1774, he tells how a British officer made a remark reflecting
on the virtue of colonial women. "I at once knocked Mr. Parker down,"
he adds, in a style that suggests the straightforward character of his
official reports.
Although dueling was at that time the conventional method of settling
affairs of that nature, no personal encounter resulted between Jones and
Mr. Parker. Jones, indeed, did not seem averse to such an issue, for he
sent a friend to propose pistols, with which he was a crack shot. It is
nevertheless a striking fact that Paul Jones, the desperate fighter, who
was certainly as brave as any one, and was often placed in favorable
situations for such settlements, never fought a duel. Add to this that
his temper was quick and passionate, and that he had to the full the
high-flown sentiments of honor of the time, and the fact seems all the
more remarkable. The truth is that Jones was as cautious as he was
brave. He acted sometimes impulsively, but reflection quickly came, and
he never manifested a dare-devil desire to put his life unnecessarily in
danger. When there was anything to be gained by exposing his person, he
did it with the utmost coolness, but he consistently refused to put
himself at a disadvantage. When, on at least one occasion, he was
challenged to fight with swords, with which he was only moderately
skillful, he demanded pistols. Fame was Jones's end, and he knew that
premature death was inconsistent with that consummation.
Although Jones was, at the time, in financial difficulties, he no doubt
welcomed the outbreak of the war. Service in the cause of the colonies
could not be remunerative, and Jones knew it. A privateering command
would have paid better than a regular commission, but Jones constantly
refused such an appointment; and yet he has been called buccaneer and
pirate by many who have written about him, including as recent writers
as Rudyard Kipling, John Morley, and Theodore Roosevelt. Nor is it
likely that a feeling of patriotism led Jones to serve the colonies
against his native land. The reason lay in his overpowering desire of
action. He saw in the service of the colonies an opportunity to employ
his energies on a larger and more glorious scale than in any other way.
Service in the British navy in an important capacity was impossible for
a man with no family or position. Jones accordingly went in for the
highest prize within his reach, and with the instinct of the true
sportsman served well the side he had for the time espoused.
Soon after the battle of Lexington Jones wrote a letter to Joseph Hewes,
sending copies to Jefferson, Robert Morris, and Livingston. "I cannot
conceive of submission to complete slavery. Therefore only war is in
sight.... I beg you to keep my name in your memory when the Congress
shall assemble again, and... to call upon me in any capacity which your
knowledge of my seafaring experience and your opinion of my
qualifications may dictate." Soon after Congress met, a Marine
Committee, Robert Morris, chairman, was appointed, and Jones was
requested to report on the "proper qualifications of naval officers and
the kind of armed vessels most desirable for the service of the United
States, keeping in view the limited resources of the Congress." He was
also asked to serve on a committee to report upon the availability of
the vessels at the disposal of Congress. Jones was practically the head
of this committee, and showed the utmost industry and efficiency in
selecting, arming, and preparing for sea the unimportant vessels within
the disposition of the government.
At the beginning of the war there was no American navy. Some of the
colonies had, indeed, fitted out merchant vessels with armaments, to
resist the aggressions of the British on their coasts, and in several
instances the cruisers of the enemy had been captured while in port by
armed citizens. The colonial government had empowered Washington, as
commander in chief, to commission some of these improvised war vessels
of the colonies to attack, in the service of the "continent," the
transports and small cruisers of the British, in order to secure powder
for the Continental army. It was not, however, until October of 1775
that the first official attempt towards the formation of a continental,
as opposed to a colonial, navy, was made. The large merchant marine put
at the disposal of the new government many excellent seamen and skippers
and a good number of ships, few of them, however, adapted for war. To
build regular warships on a large scale was impossible for a nation so
badly in need of funds. It was almost equally difficult to secure
officers trained in naval matters, for the marine captains, although as
a rule good seamen, were utterly lacking in naval knowledge and the
principles of organization.
In this state of affairs Paul Jones proved a very useful man. He was not
only a thorough seaman, but had studied the art of naval warfare, was in
some respects ahead of his time in his ideas of armament, and was
familiar with the organization and history of the British navy. In the
early development of our navy he played, therefore, an important part,
not only in equipping and arming ships for immediate service, and in
determining upon the most effective and practicable kind of vessels to
be built, but also in laying before the committee a statement of the
necessary requirements for naval officers.
To the request of Congress for reports, Jones answered with two
remarkable documents. One was a long, logical argument in favor of swift
frigates of a certain size, rather than ships of the line, and showed
thorough knowledge, not only of naval construction and cost of building,
but also of the general international situation, and the best method of
conducting the war on the sea. On the latter point he wrote: "Keeping
such a squadron in British waters, alarming their coasts, intercepting
their trade, and descending now and then upon their least protected
ports, is the only way that we, with our slender resources, can sensibly
affect our enemy by sea-warfare." This is an exact outline of the policy
which Jones and other United States captains actually carried out.
Jones also made the statement, wonderfully foreshadowing his own
exploits and their effect, that, "the capture... of one or two of
their crack frigates would raise us more in the estimation of Europe,
where we now most of all need countenance, than could the defeat or even
capture of one of their armies on the land here in America. And at the
same time it would fill all England with dismay. If we show to the world
that we can beat them afloat with an equal force, ship to ship, it will
be more than anyone else has been able to do in modern times, and it
will create a great and most desirable sentiment of respect and favor
towards us on the continent of Europe
| 794.627953 | 3,887 |
2023-11-16 18:29:01.8442880
| 1,081 | 471 |
Produced by Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper, Greg Bergquist
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: THIS BOOK BELONGS TO]
[Illustration: RINKITINK IN OZ]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
RINKITINK IN OZ
BY
L. FRANK BAUM
AUTHOR OF
The Road to Oz, Dorothy and the Wizard in Oz, The
Emerald City of Oz, The Land of Oz, Ozma of Oz,
The Patchwork Girl of Oz, Tik-Tok of
Oz, The Scarecrow of Oz
[Illustration]
ILLUSTRATED BY
JOHN R. NEILL
The Reilly & Britton Co.
Chicago
[Illustration]
Copyright 1916
By L. Frank Baum
ALL RIGHTS
RESERVED
To
My New Grandson--
Robert Alison Baum
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
INTRODUCING THIS STORY
[Illustration]
Here is a story with a boy hero, and a boy of whom you have never before
heard. There are girls in the story, too, including our old friend
Dorothy, and some of the characters wander a good way from the Land of
Oz before they all assemble in the Emerald City to take part in Ozma's
banquet. Indeed, I think you will find this story quite different from
the other histories of Oz, but I hope you will not like it the less on
that account.
If I am permitted to write another Oz book it will tell of some
thrilling adventures encountered by Dorothy, Betsy Bobbin, Trot and the
Patchwork Girl right in the Land of Oz, and how they discovered some
amazing creatures that never could have existed outside a fairyland. I
have an idea that about the time you are reading this story of Rinkitink
I shall be writing that story of Adventures in Oz.
Don't fail to write me often and give me your advice and suggestions,
which I always appreciate. I get a good many letters from my readers,
but every one is a joy to me and I answer them as soon as I can find
time to do so.
L. FRANK BAUM
Royal Historian of Oz
"OZCOT"
at HOLLYWOOD
in CALIFORNIA
1916.
LIST OF CHAPTERS
1 The Prince of Pingaree 17
2 The Coming of King Rinkitink 29
3 The Warriors from the North 44
4 The Deserted Island 56
5 The Three Pearls 71
6 The Magic Boat 92
7 The Twin Islands 109
8 Rinkitink Makes a Great Mistake 127
9 A Present for Zella 142
10 The Cunning of Queen Cor 153
11 Zella Goes to Coregos 167
12 The Excitement of Bilbil the Goat 175
13 Zella Saves the Prince 180
14 The Escape 192
15 The Flight of the Rulers 210
16 Nikobob Refuses a Crown 216
17 The Nome King 226
18 Inga Parts with his Pink Pearl 237
19 Rinkitink Chuckles 265
20 Dorothy to the Rescue 275
21 The Wizard Finds an Enchantment 281
22 Ozma's Banquet 291
23 The Pearl Kingdom 301
24 The Captive King 307
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
The Prince of Pingaree
[Illustration]
CHAPTER 1
If you have a map of the Land of Oz handy, you will find that the great
Nonestic Ocean washes the shores of the Kingdom of Rinkitink, between
which and the Land of Oz lies a strip of the country of the Nome King
and a Sandy Desert. The Kingdom of Rinkitink isn't very big and lies
close to the ocean, all the houses and the King's palace being built
near the shore. The people live much upon the water, boating and
fishing, and the wealth of Rinkitink is gained from trading along the
coast and with the islands nearest it.
Four days' journey by boat to the north of Rinkitink is the Island of
Pingaree, and as our story begins here I must tell you something about
this island. At the north end of Pingaree, where it is widest, the land
is a mile from shore to shore, but at the south end it is scarcely half
a mile broad; thus, although Pingaree is four miles long, from
| 795.163698 | 3,888 |
2023-11-16 18:29:01.9910040
| 4,086 | 34 |
Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Renald Levesque and the
Online Distributed Proofreaders Europe at
http://dp.rastko.net
CHRISTIANITY
AND
GREEK PHILOSOPHY;
OR, THE RELATION BETWEEN
SPONTANEOUS AND REFLECTIVE THOUGHT IN GREECE
AND THE POSITIVE TEACHING OF
CHRIST AND HIS APOSTLES.
BY B.F. COCKER, D.D.,
PROFESSOR OF MORAL AND MENTAL PHILOSOPHY IN THE UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN
"Plato made me know the true God, Jesus Christ showed me the way to
him."
ST. AUGUSTINE
NEW YORK: CARLTON & LANAHAN.
SAN FRANCISCO: E. THOMAS.
CINCINNATI: HITCHCOCK & WALDEN.
1870.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by HARPER &
BROTHERS, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United
States for the Southern District of New York.
TO
D.D. WHEDON, D.D.,
MY EARLIEST LITERARY FRIEND, WHOSE VIGOROUS WRITINGS HAVE
STIMULATED MY INQUIRIES, WHOSE COUNSELS HAVE GUIDED
MY STUDIES, AND WHOSE KIND AND GENEROUS WORDS
HAVE ENCOURAGED ME TO PERSEVERANCE
AMID NUMEROUS DIFFICULTIES,
I DEDICATE THIS VOLUME AS A TOKEN OF MY MORE THAN ORDINARY AFFECTION
_THE AUTHOR_.
PREFACE.
In preparing the present volume, the writer has been actuated by a
conscientious desire to deepen and vivify our faith in the Christian
system of truth, by showing that it does not rest _solely_ on a special
class of facts, but upon all the facts of nature and humanity; that its
authority does not repose _alone_ on the peculiar and supernatural
events which transpired in Palestine, but also on the still broader
foundations of the ideas and laws of the reason, and the common wants
and instinctive yearnings of the human heart. It is his conviction that
the course and constitution of nature, the whole current of history, and
the entire development of human thought in the ages anterior to the
advent of the Redeemer centre in, and can only be interpreted by, the
purpose of redemption.
The method hitherto most prevalent, of treating the history of human
thought as a series of isolated, disconnected, and lawless movements,
without unity and purpose; and the practice of denouncing the religions
and philosophies of the ancient world as inventions of satanic mischief,
or as the capricious and wicked efforts of humanity to relegate itself
from the bonds of allegiance to the One Supreme Lord and Lawgiver, have,
in his judgment, been prejudicial to the interests of all truth, and
especially injurious to the cause of Christianity. They betray an utter
insensibility to the grand unities of nature and of thought, and a
strange forgetfulness of that universal Providence which comprehends all
nature and all history, and is yet so minute in its regards that it
numbers the hairs on every human head, and takes note of every sparrow's
fall, A juster method will lead us to regard the entire history of human
thought as a development towards a specific end, and the providence of
God as an all-embracing plan, which sweeps over all ages and all
nations, and which, in its final consummation, will, through Christ,
"gather together all things in one, both things which are in heaven and
things which are on earth."
The central and unifying thought of this volume is _that the necessary
ideas and laws of the reason, and the native instincts of the human
heart, originally implanted by God, are the primal and germinal forces
of history; and that these have been developed under conditions which
were first ordained, and have been continually supervised by the
providence of God_. God is the Father of humanity, and he is also the
Guide and Educator of our race. As "the offspring of God," humanity is
not a bare, indeterminate potentiality, but a living energy, an active
reason, having definite qualities, and inheriting fundamental principles
and necessary ideas which constitute it "the image and likeness of God."
And though it has suffered a moral lapse, and, in the exercise of its
freedom, has become alienated from the life of God, yet God has never
abandoned the human race. He still "magnifies man, and sets his heart
upon him." "He visits him every morning, and tries him every moment."
"The inspiration of the Almighty still gives him understanding." The
illumination of the Divine Logos still "teacheth man knowledge." The
Spirit of God still comes near to and touches with strong emotion every
human heart. "God has never left himself without a witness" in any
nation, or in any age. The providence of God has always guided the
dispersions and migrations of the families of the earth, and presided
over and directed the education of the race. "He has foreordained the
times of each nation's existence, and fixed the geographical boundaries
of their habitations, _in order that they should seek the Lord_, and
feel after and find Him who is not far from any one of us." The
religions of the ancient world were the painful effort of the human
spirit to return to its true rest and centre--the struggle to "find Him"
who is so intimately near to every human heart, and who has never ceased
to be the want of the human race. The philosophies of the ancient world
were the earnest effort of human reason to reconcile the finite and the
infinite, the human and the Divine, the subject and God. An overruling
Providence, which makes even the wrath of man to praise Him, took up all
these sincere, though often mistaken, efforts into his own plan, and
made them sub-serve the purpose of redemption. They aided in developing
among the nations "the desire of salvation," and in preparing the world
for the advent of the Son of God. The entire course and history of
Divine providence, in every nation, and in every age, has been directed
towards the one grand purpose of "reconciling all things to Himself."
Christianity, as a comprehensive scheme of reconciliation, embracing
"all things," can not, therefore, be properly studied apart from the
ages of earnest thought, of profound inquiry, and of intense religious
feeling which preceded it. To despise the religions of the ancient
world, to sneer at the efforts and achievements of the old philosophers,
or even to cut them off in thought from all relation to the plans and
movements of that Providence which has cared for, and watched over, and
pitied, and guided all the nations of the earth, is to refuse to
comprehend Christianity itself.
The author is not indifferent to the possibility that his purpose may be
misconceived. The effort may be regarded by many conscientious and
esteemed theologians with suspicion and mistrust. They can not easily
emancipate themselves from the ancient prejudice against speculative
thought. Philosophy has always been regarded by them as antagonistic to
Christian faith. They are inspired by a commendable zeal for the honor
of dogmatic theology. Every essay towards a profounder conviction, a
broader faith in the unity of all truth, is branded with the opprobrious
name of "rationalism." Let us not be terrified by a harmless word.
Surely religion and right reason must be found in harmony. The author
believes, with Bacon, that "the foundation of all religion is right
reason." The abnegation of reason is not the evidence of faith, but the
confession of despair. Sustained by these convictions, he submits this
humble contribution to theological science to the thoughtful
consideration of all lovers of Truth, and of Christ, the fountain of
Truth. He can sincerely ask upon it the blessing of Him in whose fear it
has been written, and whose cause it is the purpose of his life to
serve.
The second series, on "Christianity and Modern Thought," is in an
advanced state of preparation for the press.
NOTE.--It has been the aim of the writer, as far as the
nature of the subject would permit, to adapt this work to
general readers. The references to classic authors are,
therefore, in all cases made to accessible English
translations (in Bohn's Classical Library); such changes,
however, have been made in the rendering as shall present
the doctrine of the writers in a clearer and more forcible
manner. For valuable services rendered in this department of
the work, by Martin L. D'Ooge, M. A., Acting Professor of
Greek Language and Literature in the University of Michigan,
the author would here express his grateful acknowledgment.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
ATHENS, AND THE MEN OF ATHENS.
CHAPTER II.
THE PHILOSOPHY OF RELIGION.
CHAPTER III.
THE RELIGION OF THE ATHENIANS.
CHAPTER IV.
THE RELIGION OF THE ATHENIANS: ITS MYTHOLOGICAL AND SYMBOLICAL
ASPECTS.
CHAPTER V.
THE UNKNOWN GOD.
CHAPTER VI.
THE UNKNOWN GOD (_continued_).
IS GOD COGNIZABLE BY REASON?
CHAPTER VII.
THE UNKNOWN GOD (_continued_).
IS GOD COGNIZABLE BY REASON? (_continued_).
CHAPTER VIII.
THE PHILOSOPHERS OF ATHENS.
PRE-SOCRATIC SCHOOL.
_Sensational_: THALES--ANAXIMENES--HERACLITUS--ANAXIMANDER
LEOCIPPUS--DEMOCRITUS.
CHAPTER IX.
THE PHILOSOPHERS OF ATHENS (_continued_).
PRE-SOCRATIC SCHOOL (_continued_)
_Idealist_: Pythagoras--Xenophanes--Parmenides--Zeno. _Natural
Realist_: Anaxagoras.
THE SOCRATIC SCHOOL.
Socrates.
CHAPTER X
THE PHILOSOPHERS OF ATHENS (_continued_).
THE SOCRATIC SCHOOL (_continued_).
Plato.
CHAPTER XI.
THE PHILOSOPHERS OF ATHENS (_continued_).
THE SOCRATIC SCHOOL (_continued_).
Plato.
CHAPTER XII.
THE PHILOSOPHERS OF ATHENS (_continued_).
THE SOCRATIC SCHOOL (_continued_).
Aristotle.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE PHILOSOPHERS OF ATHENS (_continued_).
POST-SOCRATIC SCHOOL.
Epicurus and Zeno.
CHAPTER XIV.
The Propaedeutic Office of Greek Philosophy.
CHAPTER XV.
The Propaedeutic Office of Greek Philosophy (_continued_).
"_Ye men of Athens_, all things which I behold bear witness to your
carefulness in religion; for, as I passed through your city and beheld
the objects of your worship, I found amongst them an altar with this
inscription, TO THE UNKNOWN GOD; whom, therefore, ye worship, though ye
know; Him not, Him declare I unto you. God who made the world and all
things therein, seeing He is Lord of heaven and earth, dwelleth not in
temples made with hands; neither is He served by the hands of men, as
though he needed any thing; for He giveth unto all life, and breath, and
all things. And He made of one blood all the nations of mankind to dwell
upon the face of the whole earth; and ordained to each the appointed
seasons of their existence, and the bounds of their habitation, that
they should seek God, if haply they might feel after Him and find Him,
though he be not far from every one of us: for in Him we live, and move,
and have our being; as certain of your own poets have said, _For we are
also His offspring_. Forasmuch, then, as we are the offspring of God, we
ought not to think that the Godhead is like unto gold, or silver, or
stone, graven by the art and device of man. Howbeit, those past times of
ignorance God hath overlooked; but now He commandeth all men everywhere
to repent, because He hath appointed a day wherein He will judge the
world in righteousness by that Man whom He hath ordained; whereof He
hath given assurance unto all, in that He hath raised Him from the
dead."--Acts xvii. 22-31.
CHRISTIANITY
AND
GREEK PHILOSOPHY
CHAPTER I.
ATHENS, AND THE MEN OF ATHENS.
"Is it not worth while, for the sake of the history of men and nations,
to study the surface of the globe in its relation to the inhabitants
thereof?"--Goethe.
There is no event recorded in the annals of the early church so replete
with interest to the Christian student, or which takes so deep a hold on
the imagination, and the sympathies of him who is at all familiar with
the history of Ancient Greece, as the one recited above. Here we see the
Apostle Paul standing on the Areopagus at Athens, surrounded by the
temples, statues, and altars, which Grecian art had consecrated to Pagan
worship, and proclaiming to the inquisitive Athenians, "the strangers"
who had come to Athens for business or for pleasure, and the
philosophers and students of the Lyceum, the Academy, the Stoa, and the
Garden, "_the unknown God_."
Whether we dwell in our imagination on the artistic grandeur and
imposing magnificence of the city in which Paul found himself a solitary
stranger, or recall the illustrious names which by their achievements in
arts and philosophy have shed around the city of Athens an immortal
glory,--or whether, fixing our attention on the lonely wanderer amid the
porticoes, and groves, and temples of this classic city, we attempt to
conceive the emotion which stirred his heart as he beheld it "wholly
given to idolatry;" or whether we contrast the sublime, majestic theism
proclaimed by Paul with the degrading polytheism and degenerate
philosophy which then prevailed in Athens, or consider the prudent and
sagacious manner in which the apostle conducts his argument in view of
the religious opinions and prejudices of his audience, we can not but
feel that this event is fraught with lessons of instruction to the
Church in every age.
That the objects which met the eye of Paul on every hand, and the
opinions he heard everywhere expressed in Athens, must have exerted a
powerful influence upon the current of his thoughts, as well as upon the
state of his emotions, is a legitimate and natural presumption. Not only
was "his spirit stirred within him"--his heart deeply moved and agitated
when he saw the city wholly given to idolatry--but his thoughtful,
philosophic mind would be engaged in pondering those deeply interesting
questions which underlie the whole system of Grecian polytheism. The
circumstances of the hour would, no doubt, in a large degree determine
the line of argument, the form of his discourse, and the peculiarities
of his phraseology. The more vividly, therefore, we can represent the
scenes and realize the surrounding incidents; the more thoroughly we can
enter into sympathy with the modes of thought and feeling peculiar to
the Athenians; the more perfectly we can comprehend the spirit and
tendency of the age; the more immediate our acquaintance with the
religious opinions and philosophical ideas then prevalent in Athens, the
more perfect will be our comprehension of the apostle's argument, the
deeper our interest in his theme. Some preliminary notices of Athens and
"the Men of Athens" will therefore be appropriate as introductory to a
series of discourses on Paul's sermon on Mars' Hill.
The peculiar connection that subsists between Geography and History,
between a people and the country they inhabit, will justify the
extension of our survey beyond the mere topography of Athens. The people
of the entire province of Attica were called Athenians (_Athenaioi_) in
their relation to the state, and Attics _(Attikoi_) in regard to their
manners, customs, and dialect.[1] The climate and the scenery, the forms
of contour and relief, the geographical position and relations of
Attica, and, indeed, of the whole peninsula of Greece, must be taken
into our account if we would form a comprehensive judgment of the
character of the Athenian people.
The soil on which a people dwell, the air they breathe, the mountains
and seas by which they are surrounded, the skies that overshadow
them,--all these exert a powerful influence on their pursuits, their
habits, their institutions, their sentiments, and their ideas. So that
could we clearly group, and fully grasp all the characteristics of a
region--its position, configuration, climate, scenery, and natural
products, we could, with tolerable accuracy, determine what are the
characteristics of the people who inhabit it. A comprehensive knowledge
of the physical geography of any country will therefore aid us
materially in elucidating the natural history, and, to some extent, the
moral history of its population. "History does not stand _outside_ of
nature, but in her very heart, so that the historian only grasps a
people's character with true precision when he keeps in full view its
geographical position, and the influences which its surroundings have
wrought upon it."[2]
[Footnote 1: Niebuhr's "Lectures on Ethnography and Geography," p. 91.]
[Footnote 2: Ritter's "Geographical Studies," p. 34.]
It is, however, of the utmost consequence the reader should understand
that there are two widely different methods of treating this deeply
interesting subject--methods which proceed on fundamentally opposite
views of man and of nature. One method is that pursued by Buckle in his
"History of Civilization in England." The tendency of his work is the
assertion of the supremacy of material conditions over the development
of human history, and indeed of every individual mind. Here man is
purely passive in the hands of nature. Exterior conditions are the
chief, if not the _only_ causes of man's intellectual and social
development. So that, such a climate and soil, such aspects of nature
and local circumstances being given, such a nation necessarily
follows.[3] The other method is that of Carl Ritter, Arnold Guyot, and
Cousin.[4] These take account of the freedom of the human will, and the
| 795.310414 | 3,889 |
2023-11-16 18:29:02.4581870
| 1,317 | 155 |
Produced by Martin Adamson
THE LADY FROM THE SEA
By Henrik Ibsen
Translated by Eleanor Marx-Aveling
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
Doctor Wangel.
Ellida Wangel, his second wife.
Bolette,
Hilde (not yet grown up), his daughters by his first wife.
Arnholm (second master at a college).
Lyngstrand.
Ballested.
A Stranger.
Young People of the Town.
Tourists.
Visitors.
(The action takes place in small fjord town, Northern Norway.)
THE LADY FROM THE SEA
ACT I
(SCENE.--DOCTOR WANGEL'S house, with a large verandah garden in front of
and around the house. Under the verandah a flagstaff. In the garden
an arbour, with table and chairs. Hedge, with small gate at the back.
Beyond, a road along the seashore. An avenue of trees along the road.
Between the trees are seen the fjord, high mountain ranges and peaks. A
warm and brilliantly clear summer morning.
BALLESTED, middle-aged, wearing an old velvet jacket, and a
broad-brimmed artist's hat, stands under the flagstaff, arranging the
ropes. The flag is lying on the ground. A little way from him is an
easel, with an outspread canvas. By the easel on a camp-stool, brushes,
a palette, and box of colours.
BOLETTE WANGEL comes from the room opening on the verandah. She carries
a large vase with flowers, which she puts down on the table.)
Bolette. Well, Ballested, does it work smoothly?
Ballested. Certainly, Miss Bolette, that's easy enough. May I ask--do
you expect any visitors today?
Bolette. Yes, we're expecting Mr. Arnholm this morning. He got to town
in the night.
Ballested. Arnholm? Wait a minute--wasn't Arnholm the man who was tutor
here several years ago?
Bolette. Yes, it is he.
Ballested. Oh, really! Is he coming into these parts again?
Bolette. That's why we want to have the flag up.
Ballested. Well, that's reasonable enough.
(BOLETTE goes into the room again. A little after LYNGSTRAND enters from
the road and stands still, interested by the easel and painting gear. He
is a slender youth, poorly but carefully dressed, and looks delicate.)
Lyngstrand (on the other side of the hedge). Good-morning.
Ballested (turning round). Hallo! Good-morning. (Hoists up flag). That's
it! Up goes the balloon. (Fastens the ropes, and then busies himself
about the easel.) Good-morning, my dear sir. I really don't think I've
the pleasure of--Lyngstrand. I'm sure you're a painter.
Ballested. Of course I am. Why shouldn't I be?
Lyngstrand. Yes, I can see you are. May I take the liberty of coming in
a moment?
Ballested. Would you like to come in and see?
Lyngstrand. I should like to immensely.
Ballested. Oh! there's nothing much to see yet. But come in. Come a
little closer.
Lyngstrand. Many thanks. (Comes in through the garden gate.)
Ballested (painting). It's the fjord there between the islands I'm
working at.
Lyngstrand. So I see.
Ballested. But the figure is still wanting. There's not a model to be
got in this town.
Lyngstrand. Is there to be a figure, too?
Ballested. Yes. Here by the rocks in the foreground a mermaid is to lie,
half-dead.
Lyngstrand. Why is she to be half-dead?
Ballested. She has wandered hither from the sea, and can't find her way
out again. And so, you see, she lies there dying in the brackish water.
Lyngstrand. Ah, I see.
Ballested. The mistress of this house put it into my head to do
something of the kind.
Lyngstrand. What shall you call the picture when it's finished?
Ballested. I think of calling it "The Mermaid's End."
Lyngstrand. That's capital! You're sure to make something fine of it.
Ballested (looking at him). In the profession too, perhaps?
Lyngstrand. Do you mean a painter?
Ballested. Yes.
Lyngstrand. No, I'm not that; but I'm going to be a sculptor. My name is
Hans Lyngstrand.
Ballested. So you're to be a sculptor? Yes, yes; the art of sculpture is
a nice, pretty art in its way. I fancy I've seen you in the street once
or twice. Have you been staying here long?
Lyngstrand. No; I've only been here a fortnight. But I shall try to stop
till the end of the summer.
Ballested. For the bathing?
Lyngstrand. Yes; I wanted to see if I could get a little stronger.
Ballested. Not delicate, surely?
Lyngstrand. Yes, perhaps I am a little delicate; but it's nothing
dangerous. Just a little tightness on the chest.
Ballested. Tush!--a bagatelle! You should consult a good doctor.
Lyngstrand. Yes, I thought of speaking to Doctor Wangel one of these
times.
Ballested. You should. (Looks out to the left.) There's another steamer,
crowded with passengers. It's really marvellous how travelling has
increased here of late years.
Lyngstrand. Yes, there's a good deal of traffic here, I think.
Ballested. And lots of summer visitors come here too. I often hear our
good town will lose its individuality with all these foreign goings on.
Lyngstrand. Were you born in the town
| 795.777597 | 3,890 |
2023-11-16 18:29:02.5952550
| 1,000 | 386 |
Produced by Emmanuel Ackerman and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
Transcriber Notes
Text emphasis is denoted as _Italics_.
THE
BIRD WATCHER IN THE SHETLANDS
WITH SOME NOTES ON SEALS--AND DIGRESSIONS
_All rights reserved_
[Illustration: _A Seal's Dormitory._]
THE
BIRD WATCHER
IN THE SHETLANDS
WITH SOME NOTES ON SEALS--AND
DIGRESSIONS
BY
EDMUND SELOUS
[Illustration: Shadows we are and
Like shadows depart]
WITH 10 ILLUSTRATIONS
BY
J. SMIT
LONDON: J. M. DENT & CO.
NEW YORK: E. P. DUTTON & CO.
1905
PREFACE
In the spring of 1900 I paid my first visit to the Shetlands, and most
of what I then saw is embodied in my work _Bird Watching_. Two years
afterwards I went there again, arriving somewhat later, and it is the
notes made by me during this second stay which fill the greater number
of these pages. They are my journal, written from day to day, amidst
the birds with whom I lived without another companion, nor did I look
upon them as more than the rough material out of which I might, some
day, make a book. When it came to making one, however, it struck me more
and more forcibly that I was taking elaborate pains to stereotype and
artificialise what was, at any rate, as it stood, an unforced utterance
and natural growth. I found, in fact, that I could make it worse, but not
better, so I resolved not to make it worse. Except for a few peckings,
therefore, and minor interpolations--mostly having to do with the working
out of ideas jotted down in the rough--I send it to press with this very
negative sort of recommendation, and with only the hope added that what
interested me so much will interest others also, even through the veil
of my writing. Besides birds, I was lucky enough this time to have
seals to watch, and I watched them hour after hour and day after day. I
believe I know them better now, than I do anybody, or than anybody does
me; but that is not to say much, for, as the true Russian proverb has it,
"Another man's soul is darkness." But I have them in my heart for ever,
and I would take them out of the Zoological Society's basins, and throw
them back into the sea, if I could.
I have no doubt that these pages contain some errors of observation or
inference which I am not yet aware of--but those who only glance at
them may sometimes be inclined to correct me, where, later, I correct
myself. It is best, I think, to let one's mistakes stand recorded
against one, for mistakes have their interest, and often emphasize some
truth. Honesty, too, would suffer in their suppression--and besides,
if one has got in some idea or reflection that pleases one, or a
piece of descriptive writing that does not seem amiss, how tiresome
to have to scratch it out, merely because it is founded on a wrong
apprehension!--the spire to come tumbling just for the want of a base!
For these reasons, therefore--especially the last, when it applies--I
have not suppressed my errors, even where I happen to know them. There
they stand, if only to encourage others who may be labouring in the same
field as myself--which makes one more high-minded motive.
For my digressions, etc.--for which I have been taken to task--I hope
this fresh crop of them will make it apparent that they are a part of
my method, or, rather, a part of myself. I have still a temperament I
find--and it gives me a good deal of trouble--but as soon as I have
become a nonentity, I will follow the advice given me, and write like
one. I would say more if I could, but I must not promise what it is not
in my power to perform.
EDMUND SELOUS
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. My Island Again! 1
II. Spoiler and Spoiled 9
III. From Darkness to Light 15
IV.
| 795.914665 | 3,891 |
2023-11-16 18:29:02.9184210
| 955 | 425 |
Produced by Afra Ullah and PG Distributed Proofreaders
THE POSITIVE SCHOOL OF CRIMINOLOGY
Three Lectures
Given at the University of Naples, Italy on April 22, 23 and 24, 1901
By Enrico Ferri
Translated by Ernest Untermann
Chicago
Charles H. Kerr & Company
1908
THE POSITIVE SCHOOL OF CRIMINOLOGY
I.
My Friends:
When, in the turmoil of my daily occupation, I received an invitation,
several months ago, from several hundred students of this famous
university, to give them a brief summary, in short special lectures, of
the principal and fundamental conclusions of criminal sociology, I
gladly accepted, because this invitation fell in with two ideals of
mine. These two ideals are stirring my heart and are the secret of my
life. In the first place, this invitation chimed with the ideal of my
personal life, namely, to diffuse and propagate among my brothers the
scientific ideas, which my brain has accumulated, not through any merit
of mine, but thanks to the lucky prize inherited from my mother in the
lottery of life. And the second ideal which this invitation called up
before my mind's vision was this: The ideal of young people of Italy,
united in morals and intellectual pursuits, feeling in their social
lives the glow of a great aim. It would matter little whether this aim
would agree with my own ideas or be opposed to them, so long as it
should be an ideal which would lift the aspirations of the young people
out of the fatal grasp of egoistic interests. Of course, we positivists
know very well, that the material requirements of life shape and
determine also the moral and intellectual aims of human consciousness.
But positive science declares the following to be the indispensable
requirement for the regeneration of human ideals: Without an ideal,
neither an individual nor a collectivity can live, without it humanity
is dead or dying. For it is the fire of an ideal which renders the life
of each one of us possible, useful and fertile. And only by its help can
each one of us, in the more or less short course of his or her
existence, leave behind traces for the benefit of fellow-beings. The
invitation extended to me proves that the students of Naples believe in
the inspiring existence of such an ideal of science, and are anxious to
learn more about ideas, with which the entire world of the present day
is occupied, and whose life-giving breath enters even through the
windows of the dry courtrooms, when their doors are closed against it.
* * * * *
Let us now speak of this new science, which has become known in Italy by
the name of the Positive School of Criminology. This science, the same
as every other phenomenon of scientific evolution, cannot be
shortsightedly or conceitedly attributed to the arbitrary initiative of
this or that thinker, this or that scientist. We must rather regard it
as a natural product, a necessary phenomenon, in the development of that
sad and somber department of science which deals with the disease of
crime. It is this plague of crime which forms such a gloomy and painful
contrast with the splendor of present-day civilization. The 19th century
has won a great victory over mortality and infectious diseases by means
of the masterful progress of physiology and natural science. But while
contagious diseases have gradually diminished, we see on the other hand
that moral diseases are growing more numerous in our so-called
civilization. While typhoid fever, smallpox, cholera and diphtheria
retreated before the remedies which enlightened science applied by means
of the experimental method, removing their concrete causes, we see on
the other hand that insanity, suicide and crime, that painful trinity,
are growing apace. And this makes it very evident that the science which
is principally, if not exclusively, engaged in studying these phenomena
of social disease, should feel the necessity of finding a more exact
diagnosis of these moral diseases of society, in order to arrive at some
effective and more humane remedy, which should more victoriously combat
this somber trinity of insanity, suicide and crime.
The science of positive criminology arose in the last quarter of the
19th century, as a result of this strange contrast, which would be
inexplicable, if we could not discover historical and scientific reasons
for its existence. And it is
| 796.237831 | 3,892 |
2023-11-16 18:29:02.9745160
| 986 | 604 |
Produced by David Newman, Daniel Emerson Griffith and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive)
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE.
The original print of this book uses Helmholtz pitch notation,
where middle-C is represented by a lowercase c with one over-line,
the C above with two over-lines, etc. For accessibility, I have
used the alternative convention of using numbers after the note
name, thus:
C1... C... c d e f g a b c1 d1 e1 f1 g1 a1 b1 c2... c3... c4
(C1 = 3 octaves below middle-C, c4 = 3 octaves above middle-C)
A few corrections have been made to spelling and punctuation.
A list of these amendments can be found at the end of the text.
THE VOICE IN SINGING
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF
EMMA SEILER
Member of the American Philosophical Society
A NEW EDITION
REVISED AND ENLARGED
PHILADELPHIA
J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO
1879
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by
J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO.,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.
Lippincott's Press,
Philadelphia.
CONTENTS
PAGE
Translator's Preface 7
Introduction 11
I Vocal Music 15
II Physiological 36
III Physical 85
IV AEsthetic 143
Appendix 185
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE
The translator of this book, desirous, in common with other
friends of its author, that her claims as a lady of rare
scientific attainments should be recognized in this country,
where she has recently taken up her abode, has obtained her
consent to the publication of the following testimonials to
her position in her own country from gentlemen of the highest
eminence in science:
[TRANSLATED]
Mad. Emma Seiler has dwelt for a long time here in Heidelberg,
and given instruction in singing. She has won the reputation
of a very careful, skilled and learned teacher, possessing
a fine ear and cultivated taste. While engaged on my book,
"Die Lehre von den Tonempfindungen, &c.," I had the honor of
becoming acquainted with Mad. Seiler, and of being assisted by
her in my essay upon the formation of the vowel tones and the
registers of the female voice. I have thus had an opportunity
of knowing the delicacy of her musical ear and her ability to
master the more difficult and abstract parts of the theory of
music.
I have pleasure in bearing this testimony to her worth, in the
hope of securing for her the confidence and the encouragement
of those who are interested in the scientific culture of music,
and who know how desirable it is that an instructress in the
art of singing should be possessed of scientific knowledge,
a fine ear, and a cultivated taste.
(Signed) Dr. H. Helmholtz,
Prof. of Physiology, Member of the Academies and
Royal Societies of London, Edinburgh, Amsterdam,
Stockholm, Berlin, Vienna, Munich, Goettingen.
Heidelberg, Aug. 5, 1866
[TRANSLATED]
Mad. E. Seiler has made for herself an honorable name in Germany,
not only as a practical teacher of singing, but also by her
valuable investigations in regard to the culture of the musical
voice. By her own anatomical studies she has acquired a thorough
knowledge of the vocal organs, and by means of the laryngoscope has
advanced, in the way first trodden by Garcia, to the establishment
of the conditions of the formation of the voice. We owe to her
a more exact knowledge of the position of the larynx, and of its
parts in the production of the several registers of the human
voice; and she appears especially to have brought to a final and
satisfactory decision the much-vexed question respecting the
formation of the so-called _fistel tones_ (head tones). She has
been associated with the best powers possessed by Germany in the
department of the
| 796.293926 | 3,893 |
2023-11-16 18:29:03.6229060
| 1,062 | 400 |
Produced by David Edwards, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
CUDJO'S CAVE.
BY J. T. TROWBRIDGE
AUTHOR OF "NEIGHBOR JACKWOOD," "THE DRUMMER BOY," ETC.
BOSTON:
J. E. TILTON AND COMPANY.
1864.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863, by
J. T. TROWBRIDGE,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District
of Massachusetts.
ELECTROTYPED AND PRINTED
BY THE BOSTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY,
4 SPRING LANE.
CONTENTS.
I. The Schoolmaster in Trouble
II. Penn and the Ruffians
III. The Secret Cellar
IV. The Search for the Missing
V. Carl and his Friends
VI. A Strange Coat for a Quaker
VII. The Two Guests
VIII. The Rover
IX. Toby's Patient has a Caller
X. The Widow's Green Chest
XI. Southern Hospitality
XII. Chivalrous Proceedings
XIII. The Old Clergyman's Nightgown has an Adventure
XIV. A Man's Story
XV. An Anti-Slavery Document on Black Parchment
XVI. In the Cave and on the Mountain
XVII. Penn's Foot Knocks Down a Musket
XVIII. Condemned to Death
XIX. The Escape
XX. Under the Bridge
XXI. The Return into Danger
XXII. Stackridge's Coat and Hat get Arrested
XXIII. The Flight of the Prisoners
XXIV. The Dead Rebel's Musket
XXV. Black and White
XXVI. Why Augustus did not Propose
XXVII. The Men with the Dark Lantern
XXVIII. Beauty and the Beast
XXIX. In the Burning Woods
XXX. Refuge
XXXI. Lysander Takes Possession
XXXII. Toby's Reward
XXXIII. Carl Makes an Engagement
XXXIV. Captain Lysander's Joke
XXXV. The Moonlight Expedition
XXXVI. Carl finds a Geological Specimen
XXXVII. Carl Keeps his Engagement
XXXVIII. Love in the Wilderness
XXXIX. A Council of War
XL. The Wonders of the Cave
XLI. Prometheus Bound
XLII. Prometheus Unbound
XLIII. The Combat
XLIV. How Augustus Finally Proposed
XLV. Master and Slave Change Places
XLVI. The Traitor
XLVII. Bread on the Waters
XLVIII. Conclusion
L'Envoy
CUDJO'S CAVE.
I.
_THE SCHOOLMASTER IN TROUBLE._
Carl crept stealthily up the bank, and, peering through the window, saw
the master writing at his desk.
In his neat Quaker garb, his slender form bent over his task, his calm
young face dimly seen in profile, there he sat. The room was growing
dark; the glow of a March sunset was fading fast from the paper on which
the swift pen traced these words:--
"Tennessee is getting too hot for me. My school is nearly broken up, and
my farther stay here is becoming not only useless, but dangerous. There
are many loyal men in the neighborhood, but they are overawed by the
reckless violence of the secessionists. Mobs sanctioned by self-styled
vigilance committees override all law and order. As I write, I can hear
the yells of a drunken rabble before my school-house door. I am an
especial object of hatred to them on account of my northern birth and
principles. They have warned me to leave the state, they have threatened
me with southern vengeance, but thus far I have escaped injury. How long
this reign of terror is to last, or what is to be the end----"
A rap on the window drew the writer's attention, and, looking up, he
saw, against the twilight sky, the broad German face of the boy Carl
darkening the pane. He stepped to raise the sash.
"What is it, Carl?"
The lad glanced quickly around, first over one shoulder, then the other,
and said, in a hoarse whisper,--
"Shpeak wery low!"
"Was it you that rapped before?"
"I have rapped tree times, not loud, pecause I vas afraid the men would
hear."
"What men are they?"
"The Wigilance Committee's men! They have some tar in a kettle. They
have made a fire unter it, and I hear some of 'em say, 'Run, boys, and
pring some fedders.'"
"Tar and feathers!" The young man grew pale. "They have threatened it,
but they will not dare!"
| 796.942316 | 3,894 |
2023-11-16 18:29:03.6905320
| 1,026 | 402 |
HOGAN, THE WICKEDEST MAN IN THE WORLD***
E-text prepared by the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
(http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 44282-h.htm or 44282-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/44282/44282-h/44282-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/44282/44282-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/lifeadventuresof00hoga
THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF BEN HOGAN
[Illustration: _BEN HOGAN._]
THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF BEN HOGAN, THE WICKEDEST MAN IN THE WORLD.
Containing a Full Account of His Thrilling and Remarkable
Experiences, Together with a Complete Report of His Triumphs in
the Prize Ring, and His Career in the Oil Regions, in The Far West,
and on the Sea.
Illustrated with over Twenty Engravings.
Written, Under Mr. Hogan's Immediate Supervision, by
GEORGE FRANCIS TRAINER.
Copyright, 1878, by Ben Hogan.
PREFACE.
The writer of these pages desires it understood that he has acted simply
in the capacity of an amanuensis for Mr. Ben Hogan. The statements,
opinions, incidents, revelations and views are all the latter gentleman's.
It should be further explained that Mr. Hogan, and no one else, is
responsible alike for the contents and publication of this volume.
This explicit statement is called forth by a sense of justice; for the
writer himself would be very loath to lay claim to any of the brilliancy,
wit, or delicacy in the choice of subjects which may be found in this
book. The honor of all these belongs exclusively to Mr. Hogan.
GEORGE FRANCIS TRAINER.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
Early Life--Arrival in America--How he Avenged the Robbery
of his Father--Mysterious Disappearance of the Old Jew--In
the House of Refuge--Seafaring Life--Beginning of his
Boxing Career 17
CHAPTER II.
A Remarkable Game of Poker, and What Came of it--Ben as a
Pirate--Fast Life in New York--How he gave a Combination
Show in Oswego 29
CHAPTER III.
A Southern Trip--Experiences in New Orleans and Mobile--
Three Men Put Under the Sod by Ben's Bullets 39
CHAPTER IV.
Ben as a Spy in both the Union and Confederate Armies--The
Buried Treasure--How he Fooled the Captain--At Port Royal
and Newbern--Bounty-Jumping 45
CHAPTER V.
Ben in Canada--He goes West again--Adventures in
Cincinnati, Nashville, and Louisville--How he Sold the
<DW52> Troops--Sets out for the Oil Regions 54
CHAPTER VI.
First Appearance in the Oil Country--Dance House in
Pitthole--French Kate--Babylon House--Fight with Bob
Donnelly--His Explanation in Court of the Character of his
House 62
CHAPTER VII.
Attempt to Rob Ben--How he became a Minister and Married a
Couple--A Jolly Wedding--French Kate Jealous 76
CHAPTER VIII.
Attempt to Murder Ben in Babylon--He Shoots a Man and is
Arrested--Frightens the Witnesses and Prevents Perjury--Is
Acquitted 82
CHAPTER IX.
Leaves Oil Country--In Saratoga--Arrested on False
Reports--Goes back to Tidioute--In Rochester--First
Meeting with Cummings 86
CHAPTER X.
The Gymnasium Business--Life in Rochester--First Meeting
of Hogan and Tom Allen--A Disgraceful Affair 94
CHAPTER XI.
How Ben Treated the Deputy Sheriff--Annie Gibbons, the
Pedestrian--Ben goes to Pittsburgh and Meets Mr. Green 102
CHAPTER XII.
Ben in St. Louis--First Entree into Parker's Landing--
Opens a Free-and-Easy--Trouble with the Authorities 113
CHAPTER XIII.
The "Floating Palace"--A Wonderful Institution--The Girls
and the Patrons--Scenes of Revelry--How Nights were
Passed--The Loss of the "Palace" 118
| 797.009942 | 3,895 |
2023-11-16 18:29:03.9418930
| 4,080 | 38 |
Produced by Camille Bernard & Marc D'Hooghe at
http://www.freeliterature.org (Images generously made
available by the Hathi Trust.)
THE TREASURE OF PEARLS
A Romance of Adventures in California
BY
GUSTAVE AIMARD
AUTHOR OF "RED TRACK," "ADVENTURERS," "PEARL OF THE ANDES"
"TRAIL HUNTER," "PIRATES OF THE PRAIRIE," &C, &C.
LONDON: J. and R. MAXWELL
MILTON HOUSE, 4, SHOE LANE E. C.
GEORGE VICKERS, ANGEL COURT, STRAND
AND ALL BOOKSELLERS
(From the Collected Works 1863-1885)
CONTENTS.
I. THE PIECES AND THE BOARD
II. ENVY NO MAN HIS GRAVE
III. THE PIRATE'S BEQUEST
IV. A DESERT MYSTERY
V. THE GODSEND
VI. ANY PORT IN A STORM
VII. A WAKING NIGHTMARE
VIII. "THE LITTLE JOKER"
IX. THE WAY LAYERS
X. THE PEARL DIVER'S PRICE
XI. THE TWO CAPTAINS OF THE "GOLETA"
XII. THE ROUT COMPLETE
XIII. INTERVENTION
XIV. THE HAUL OF MILLIONS
XV. THE PATHFINDER'S HONOUR
XVI. A HAVEN WORSE THAN THE STORM
XVII. THE PUREST OF PEARLS
XVIII. OUT AND AWAY
XIX. THE OLD, OLD FRIENDS
XX. THE ANGELITO
XXI. THE LANCERS' CHARGE
XXII. THE PACT OF BLOOD
XXIII. CANNON IS BROUGHT TO BEAR
XXIV. THE UNWILLING VOLUNTEER
XXV. THE LOYALTY OF THE APACHE
XXVI. THE HARVEST OF THE KNIFE
XXVII. THE TRUE CABALLERO
XXVIII. THE BEST BAIT TO CATCH APACHES
THE TREASURE OF PEARLS
CHAPTER I.
THE PIECES AND THE BOARD.
We stand on Mexican soil. We are on the seaward skirt of its
westernmost State of Sonora, in the wild lands almost washed by the
Californian Gulf, which will be the formidable last ditch of the
unconquerable red men flying before the Star of the Empire.
Before us, the immensity of land; behind us, that of the Pacific Ocean.
O immeasurable stretches of verdure which form the ever-unknown
territory, the poetically entitled Far West, grand and attractive,
sweet and terrible, the natural trellis of so rich, beautiful, mighty,
and unkempt flora, that India has none of more vigour of production!
To an aeronaut's glance, these green and yellow plains would offer only
a vast carpet embroidered with dazzling flowers and foliage, almost as
gay and multicoloured, irregularly blocked out like the pieces of glass
in ancient church windows with the lead, by rivers torrential in the
wet season, rugged hollows of glistening quicksands and neck-deep mud
in summer, all of which blend with an unexampled brilliant azure on the
clear horizon.
It is only gradually, after the view has become inured to the
fascinating landscape, that it can make out the details: hills not to
be scorned for altitude, steep banks of rivers, and a thousand other
unforeseen impediments for the wretch fleeing from hostile animals or
fellow beings, which agreeably spoil the somewhat saddening sameness,
and are hidden completely from the general glance by the rank grass,
rich canes, and gigantic flower stalks.
Oh, for the time--the reader would find the patience--to enumerate
the charming products of this primitive nature, which shoots up and
athwart, hangs, swings, juts out, crosses, interlaces, binds, twines,
catches, encircles, and strays at random to the end of the naturalist's
investigation, describing majestic parabolas, forming grandiose
arcades, and finally completes the most splendid, aye, and sublime
spectacle that is given to any man on the footstool to admire for
superabundant contrasts, and enthralling harmonies.
The man in the balloon whom we imagine to be hovering over this mighty
picture, even higher up than the eagle of the Sierra Madre itself, who
sails in long circles above the bald-headed vulture about to descend on
a prey, which the king of the air disdains--this lofty viewer, we say,
would spy, on the afternoon when we guide the reader to these wilds
apparently unpeopled, more than one human creature wriggling like worms
in the labyrinth.
At one point some twenty men, white and yet swarthy, unlike in dress
but similarly armed to the teeth, were separately "worming" their
tortuous way, we repeat, through the _chaparral_ proper, or plantations
of the low branching live oak, as well as the gigantic ferns, mesquite,
cactus, nopal, and fruit laden shrubs, the oblong-leaved mahogany, the
bread tree, the fan-leaved abanico, the pirijao languidly swinging its
enormous golden fruit in clusters, the royal palm, devoid of foliage
along the stem, but softly nodding its high, majestically plumed head;
the guava, the banana, the intoxicating chirimoya, the cork oak, the
Peruvian tree, the war palm letting its resinous gum slowly ooze forth
to capture the silly moths, and even young snakes and lizards which
squirmed on the hardening gum like a platter of Palissy ware abruptly
galvanised into life.
These adventurers insinuated themselves through this tangle unseen and,
perhaps, unsuspected by one another, all tending to the same point,
probably the same rendezvous. A marked devil-may-care spirit, which
tempered the caution of men brought up in the desert, betokened that
they were master of the woods hereabouts, or, at least, only recognised
the Indian rovers as their contesting fellow tenants.
Elsewhere, a blundering stranger, of a fairness which startled the
pronghorn antelopes as much as a superstitious man would be at seeing a
sheeted form at midnight, tramped desperately as one who felt lost, but
nervously feared to delay whilst there was daylight, over the immense
spreads of dahlias, flaunting flowers each full of as much honey as
Hercules would care to drain at a draught, whiter than Chimborazo's
snow, or ruddier than the tiger lily's blood splashes; through thick
creepers which withered with the pressing circulation of boiling sap
like vegetable serpents around the trees, from which gorged reptiles,
not unlike these growing cords themselves, dangled, and now and then
half curled up, startling with his inexpert foot (in a boot cut and
torn by the bramble and splinters of the ironwood and lignum vitae
shattered in the _tornado_--a "twister," indeed)--animals of all sizes
and species, which leaped, flew, floundered, and crept aloof in the
chaos not unpierceable to them: forms on two, four, countless feet,
with long, broad, ample, or tiny wings, singing, calling, yelling,
howling up and down a scale of incredible extent, now softly seducing
the astray to follow, now taunting him and screaming for him to
forbear. If he were not maddened, he must have had a heart of steel.
Elsewhere still, a man was riding on a horse whose harness and
trappings smelt so strongly of the stable, that is, of human slavery,
that it alarmed the stupid, mournful-eyed bisons, the alligator as he
basked in the caking mire, the hideous iguana slothfully ascending
a wind cast trunk, that maneless lion the cougar, the panthers and
jaguars too lazy or too glutted with the night's raid to follow the
prey, the honey bear warily sniffing the flower which harboured a bee,
the sullen grizzly who looked out of a hilly den amazed at so impudent
an invader. Upon this horse, whose Spanish descent and state of born
thraldom was resented by the angry neigh of his never-lassoed brethren,
proudly careering in unnumbered _manadas_ upon endless courses, this
man was resolutely progressing, ruthlessly severing vines and floral
clumps with a splendid old broadsword, cool as only a Mexican can
remain in a felt sombrero and a voluminous blanket cloak; charging and
crushing, unless they quickened their retreat, the venomous cotejo, the
green lizard, the basilisk and tiny, yet awful, coral snakes, and never
swerving, though the tongue could almost attain what was unmuffled
of his face, the monstrous anaconda and its long, spotted kinsfolk.
This mounted Mexican took a line, not so straight as the footmen
were pursuing, which would bring him to the spot whither they were
converging.
Imagining that the one of the wayfarers who evinced an ignorance of
prairie life which made his existence each moment a greater miracle,
and that the horseman who, on the contrary, rode on as sturdily as a
postboy in a well-worn road, formed two sides of a triangle of which
the evident destination of the rider and the other Mexicans was the
final end, in about the centre of this fancied space, other human
objects of interest were visible to our aerial observer.
Toilsomely marching, one or the other of two men supporting alternately
the young girl who, singularly enough, was their companion in this
wilderness, the new trio formed a group which fluttered the almost
never-so-startled feathered inhabitants of that grove; curassows,
tanagers, noisy loros, hummingbirds as small as flies, hunting flies
as large as themselves, toucans that seemed overburdened with their
ultraliberal beaks, wood pigeons, fiery flamingoes, in striking
contrast with the black swans that clattered in the cane brake.
Behind them, in calm, contented chase, easy and active as the pretty
gray squirrels, which alone took the alarm and sprang away when he
noiselessly appeared, a shining copper-skinned Indian, with robust
limbs and graceful gait, an eye to charm and to command, moved like
a king who scorned to set his guards to punish the intruder, on his
domains, but stalked savagely onward to chastise them himself. The
plentiful scalp locks that fringed his leggings showed that he had left
many a skeleton of the paleface to bleach in the torrid sun, and that
the sex, the youth and the beauty of the gentle companion of the two
whites on whose track he so placidly proceeded, would not spare her a
single pang, far less obtain her immunity. On his Apollo-like bosom
was tattooed, in sepia and vermilion, a rattlesnake, the emblem not
merely of a tribe, but the sect of a tribe, the ring within the circle;
he belonged to the select band of the Southern Apaches, the Poison
Hatchets, initiated in the compounding of deadly salves and potent
potions, to cure the victim of which the united faculties of Europe
would be baffled. No doubt those arrows, of which the feathers bristled
in a full quiver, and his other weapons, were anointed with that venom
which makes such Indians shunned by all the prairie rovers.
Such was the panorama, sublime, enthralling and fearsome, and the
puppets which are presented to our imaginary gazer.
Leaving him to dissolve into the air whence we evolved him, we descend
to terra firma near the last party to which we directed attention.
The sun was at its zenith, which fact rendered the animation of so many
persons the more remarkable, since few are afoot in the heat of the day
in those regions.
Suddenly, with a slight hiss as of a living snake, an arrow sped
unerringly through a tuft of liquid embers, and laid low, after
one brief spasm of death, a huge dog which seemed a mongrel of
Newfoundlander and a wild wolf.
Shortly afterwards the branches which masked the poor animal's
stiffening body (on which the greedy flies began already to settle,
and towards which the tumblebugs were scrambling in their amazing
instinct), were parted by a trembling hand, and a white man
of Spanish-American extraction, showed his face streaming with
perspiration and impressed with terror and despair, to which, at the
discovery, was immediately added a profound sorrow.
"Snakebit! That is what detained Fracasador (the Breaker into Bits).
Come, arouse thee, good dog!" he said in Spanish, but instantly
perceiving the tip of the arrow shaft buried almost wholly in the broad
chest, he uttered a sigh of deep consternation, and added--
"Again the dart of death! We are still pursued by that remorseless
fiend."
Fracasador was certainly dead.
"After our horses, the dog! After the dog, ourselves! Brave Benito!
Poor Dolores, my poor child!"
He started, as the bushes rustled, but it was not an enemy who
appeared. It was the young woman whom he had named, and a youth in his
two-and-twentieth year at the farthest.
Benito was tall, well and stoutly built; his form even stylish, his
features fine and regular; his complexion seemed rather pale for a
native, from his silky hair, which came down disorderly on his square
shoulders, being of a jet black. Intelligence and unconquerable daring
shone in his large black eyes. On his visage sat a seldom seen blending
of courage, fidelity and frankness. In short, one of those men who win
at first sight, and can be trusted to the last.
Though his costume, reduced by the dilapidation of the thorns,
consisted of linen trousers caught in at the waist by a red China
crape _faja_ or sash, and a coarse "hickory" shirt, he resembled a
disguised prince, so much ease and distinction abounded in his bearing.
But, for that matter, throughout Spanish-America, it is impossible to
distinguish a noble from a common man, for they all express themselves
with the same elegance, employ language quite as nicely chosen, and
have equally courteous manners.
The girl whom he supported, almost carried in fact, was sleeping
without being fully unconscious, as happens to soldiers on a forced
march. Dolores was not over sixteen. Her beauty was exceptional, and
her modesty made her low melodious voice falter when she spoke. She was
graceful and dainty as an Andalusian. The profile so strongly resembled
that of the man who was leaning over the slain dog that it did not
require the remembrance that he had spoken of her as his child, for one
to believe that he had father and daughter under his ken.
"Don't wake her!" said the elder man, with a quick wave of the hand
to quell the other's surprise. "Let her not see the poor faithful
hound, Benito. And keep yourself, as I do, before her as a shield. The
cowardly foe to whom we owe the loss of our horses, our arms, and now
our loyal comrade is lurking in the thicket, may even--Oh, Holy Mother,
that should protect us from the heathen!--be this instant taking aim at
our poor, dear Dolores, with another missile from his accursed quiver."
"The villain!" cried Benito, darting a furious glance around. "Luckily,
she sleeps, Don Jose."
Indeed the elder Mexican could take the girl without awakening her out
of the other's arms, and, after a long kiss on her pure forehead, bear
her away from the dog's proximity into a covert where he laid her upon
the grass with precaution.
"Thank heaven for this sleep," said he, "it will make her temporarily
oblivious of her hunger."
Benito had taken the other's zarape which he spread over the girl. That
blanket was their only appendage; beside the scanty covering which the
three wore, weapons, water bottle and food container, they had none.
A critical position this for the small party, weaponless and foodless
in the waste! A disarmed man is reckoned as dead in such a wild!
Struggling is impossible against the incalculable foes that either
crush a solitary adventurer by their mass, or deputize, so to say, some
such executioner as he whom we saw to have slain the dog, and we hear
to have rid the three Mexicans of their horses and equipments. The
story of how this deprivation came about is short and lamentable.
CHAPTER II.
ENVY NO MAN HIS GRAVE.
Don Benito Vazquez de Bustamente was the son of that General
Bustamente, twice president of the Mexican Republic. When his father,
cast down from power, was forced to flee with his family to take final
refuge at Guayaquil, the boy was only five or six years old. Suffering
with fever, which made the voyage dangerous for him, the child was
left at Guaymas in charge of a faithful adherent, who found no better
way of saving the son of the proscript from persecution than to take
him as one of his own little family up the San Jose Valley, where he
had a ranch. The boy remained there and grew up to the age when we
encountered him.
His rough but trusty guardian let the youth run wild, teaching him to
ride and shoot as the only needful accomplishments. Benito, falling
into the company of the remnant of purer-blooded Indians, supposed to
be the last of the original possessors of that region, relished their
vagabond life exceedingly. Not only did he spend weeks at a time in
hunts with them, with an occasional running fight with the Yaqui tribe,
and even the Apaches raiding Sonora; but, at the season for pearl
diving, accompanied them in their boats, not only in the Gulf, but
| 797.261303 | 3,896 |
2023-11-16 18:29:04.1010770
| 124 | 198 |
Produced by Louise Hope, David Starner, Suzanne Lybarger
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
[In the Ode, all dashes were printed as groups of 2-5 hyphens. This
format has been retained. Brackets are in the original unless otherwise
noted.
Joshua Reynolds was knighted in 1769, two years after this work was
published.]
The Augustan Reprint Society
THOMAS MORRISON
_A PINDARICK ODE ON PAINTING_
| 797.420487 | 3,897 |
2023-11-16 18:29:04.1298270
| 200 | 192 |
Produced by David Widger
ORIGINAL SHORT STORIES, VOLUME 11 (of 13)
By Guy De Maupassant
Translated by:
ALBERT M. C. McMASTER, B.A.
A. E. HENDERSON, B.A.
MME. QUESADA and Others
VOLUME XI.
THE UMBRELLA
BELHOMME'S BEAST
DISCOVERY
THE ACCURSED BREAD
THE DOWRY
THE DIARY OF A MAD MAN
THE MASK
THE PENGUINS ROCK
A FAMILY
SUICIDES
AN ARTIFICE
DREAMS
SIMON'S PAPA
THE UMBRELLA
Mme. Oreille was a very economical woman; she knew the value of a
centime, and possessed a whole storehouse of strict principles with
regard to the multiplication
| 797.449237 | 3,898 |
2023-11-16 18:29:04.2233420
| 2,480 | 108 |
Produced by David Widger
MARK TWAIN A BIOGRAPHY
THE PERSONAL AND LITERARY LIFE OF SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS
BY ALBERT BIGELOW PAINE
VOLUME I, Part 1: 1835-1866
TO
CLARA CLEMENS GABRILOWITSCH WHO STEADILY UPHELD THE
AUTHOR'S PURPOSE TO WRITE HISTORY RATHER THAN EULOGY AS
THE STORY OF HER FATHER'S LIFE
AN ACKNOWLEDGMENT
Dear William Dean Howells, Joseph Hopkins Twichell, Joseph T. Goodman,
and other old friends of Mark Twain:
I cannot let these volumes go to press without some grateful word to you
who have helped me during the six years and more that have gone to their
making.
First, I want to confess how I have envied you your association with Mark
Twain in those days when you and he "went gipsying, a long time ago."
Next, I want to express my wonder at your willingness to give me so
unstintedly from your precious letters and memories, when it is in the
nature of man to hoard such treasures, for himself and for those who
follow him. And, lastly, I want to tell you that I do not envy you so
much, any more, for in these chapters, one after another, through your
grace, I have gone gipsying with you all. Neither do I wonder now, for I
have come to know that out of your love for him grew that greater
unselfishness (or divine selfishness, as he himself might have termed
it), and that nothing short of the fullest you could do for his memory
would have contented your hearts.
My gratitude is measureless; and it is world-wide, for there is no land
so distant that it does not contain some one who has eagerly contributed
to the story. Only, I seem so poorly able to put my thanks into words.
Albert Bigelow Paine.
PREFATORY NOTE
Certain happenings as recorded in this work will be found to differ
materially from the same incidents and episodes as set down in the
writings of Mr. Clemens himself. Mark Twain's spirit was built of the
very fabric of truth, so far as moral intent was concerned, but in his
earlier autobiographical writings--and most of his earlier writings were
autobiographical--he made no real pretense to accuracy of time, place, or
circumstance--seeking, as he said, "only to tell a good story"--while in
later years an ever-vivid imagination and a capricious memory made
history difficult, even when, as in his so-called "Autobiography," his
effort was in the direction of fact.
"When I was younger I could remember anything, whether it happened or
not," he once said, quaintly, "but I am getting old, and soon I shall
remember only the latter."
The reader may be assured, where discrepancies occur, that the writer of
this memoir has obtained his data from direct and positive sources:
letters, diaries, account-books, or other immediate memoranda; also from
the concurring testimony of eye-witnesses, supported by a unity of
circumstance and conditions, and not from hearsay or vagrant printed
items.
MARK TWAIN
A BIOGRAPHY
I
ANCESTORS
On page 492 of the old volume of Suetonius, which Mark Twain read until
his very last day, there is a reference to one Flavius Clemens, a man of
wide repute "for his want of energy," and in a marginal note he has
written:
"I guess this is where our line starts."
It was like him to write that. It spoke in his whimsical fashion the
attitude of humility, the ready acknowledgment of shortcoming, which was
his chief characteristic and made him lovable--in his personality and in
his work.
Historically, we need not accept this identity of the Clemens ancestry.
The name itself has a kindly meaning, and was not an uncommon one in
Rome. There was an early pope by that name, and it appears now and again
in the annals of the Middle Ages. More lately there was a Gregory
Clemens, an English landowner who became a member of Parliament under
Cromwell and signed the death-warrant of Charles I. Afterward he was
tried as a regicide, his estates were confiscated, and his head was
exposed on a pole on the top of Westminster Hall.
Tradition says that the family of Gregory Clemens did not remain in
England, but emigrated to Virginia (or New Jersey), and from them, in
direct line, descended the Virginia Clemenses, including John Marshall
Clemens, the father of Mark Twain. Perhaps the line could be traced, and
its various steps identified, but, after all, an ancestor more or less
need not matter when it is the story of a descendant that is to be
written.
Of Mark Twain's immediate forebears, however, there is something to be
said. His paternal grandfather, whose name also was Samuel, was a man of
culture and literary taste. In 1797 he married a Virginia girl, Pamela
Goggin; and of their five children John Marshall Clemens, born August 11,
1798, was the eldest--becoming male head of the family at the age of
seven, when his father was accidentally killed at a house-raising. The
family was not a poor one, but the boy grew up with a taste for work. As
a youth he became a clerk in an iron manufactory, at Lynchburg, and
doubtless studied at night. At all events, he acquired an education, but
injured his health in the mean time, and somewhat later, with his mother
and the younger children, removed to Adair County, Kentucky, where the
widow presently married a sweetheart of her girlhood, one Simon Hancock,
a good man. In due course, John Clemens was sent to Columbia, the
countyseat, to study law. When the living heirs became of age he
administered his father's estate, receiving as his own share three <DW64>
slaves; also a mahogany sideboard, which remains among the Clemens
effects to this day.
This was in 1821. John Clemens was now a young man of twenty-three,
never very robust, but with a good profession, plenty of resolution, and
a heart full of hope and dreams. Sober, industrious, and unswervingly
upright, it seemed certain that he must make his mark. That he was
likely to be somewhat too optimistic, even visionary, was not then
regarded as a misfortune.
It was two years later that he met Jane Lampton; whose mother was a Casey
--a Montgomery-Casey whose father was of the Lamptons (Lambtons) of
Durham, England, and who on her own account was reputed to be the
handsomest girl and the wittiest, as well as the best dancer, in all
Kentucky. The Montgomeries and the Caseys of Kentucky had been Indian
fighters in the Daniel Boone period, and grandmother Casey, who had been
Jane Montgomery, had worn moccasins in her girlhood, and once saved her
life by jumping a fence and out-running a redskin pursuer. The
Montgomery and Casey annals were full of blood-curdling adventures, and
there is to-day a Casey County next to Adair, with a Montgomery County
somewhat farther east. As for the Lamptons, there is an earldom in the
English family, and there were claimants even then in the American
branch. All these things were worth while in Kentucky, but it was rare
Jane Lampton herself--gay, buoyant, celebrated for her beauty and her
grace; able to dance all night, and all day too, for that matter--that
won the heart of John Marshall Clemens, swept him off his feet almost at
the moment of their meeting. Many of the characteristics that made Mark
Twain famous were inherited from his mother. His sense of humor, his
prompt, quaintly spoken philosophy, these were distinctly her
contribution to his fame. Speaking of her in a later day, he once said:
"She had a sort of ability which is rare in man and hardly existent in
woman--the ability to say a humorous thing with the perfect air of not
knowing it to be humorous."
She bequeathed him this, without doubt; also her delicate complexion; her
wonderful wealth of hair; her small, shapely hands and feet, and the
pleasant drawling speech which gave her wit, and his, a serene and
perfect setting.
It was a one-sided love affair, the brief courtship of Jane Lampton and
John Marshall Clemens. All her life, Jane Clemens honored her husband,
and while he lived served him loyally; but the choice of her heart had
been a young physician of Lexington with whom she had quarreled, and her
prompt engagement with John Clemens was a matter of temper rather than
tenderness. She stipulated that the wedding take place at once, and on
May 6, 1823, they were married. She was then twenty; her husband
twenty-five. More than sixty years later, when John Clemens had long
been dead, she took a railway journey to a city where there was an Old
Settlers' Convention, because among the names of those attending she had
noticed the name of the lover of her youth. She meant to humble herself
to him and ask forgiveness after all the years. She arrived too late;
the convention was over, and he was gone. Mark Twain once spoke of this,
and added:
"It is as pathetic a romance as any that has crossed the field of my
personal experience in a long lifetime."
II
THE FORTUNES OF JOHN AND JANE CLEMENS
With all his ability and industry, and with the-best of intentions, John
Clemens would seem to have had an unerring faculty for making business
mistakes. It was his optimistic outlook, no doubt--his absolute
confidence in the prosperity that lay just ahead--which led him from one
unfortunate locality or enterprise to another, as long as he lived. About
a year after his marriage he settled with his young wife in Gainsborough,
Tennessee, a mountain town on the Cumberland River, and here, in 1825,
their first child, a boy, was born. They named him Orion--after the
constellation, perhaps--though they changed the accent to the first
syllable, calling it Orion. Gainsborough was a small place with few
enough law cases; but it could hardly have been as small, or furnished as
few cases; as the next one selected, which was Jamestown, Fentress
County, still farther toward the Eastward Mountains. Yet Jamestown had
the advantage of being brand new, and in the eye of his fancy John
Clemens doubtless saw it the future metropolis of east Tennessee, with
himself its foremost jurist and citizen. He took an immediate and active
interest in the development of the place, established the county-seat
there, built the first Court House, and was promptly elected as circuit
clerk of the court.
It was then that he decided to lay the foundation of a fortune for
himself and his children by acquiring
| 797.542752 | 3,899 |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.