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Produced by Mark C. Orton, 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)
[Illustration: Very truly yours
Robt Vaughn (handwritten dedication and signature)
]
THEN AND NOW;
OR,
Thirty-Six Years in the Rockies.
Personal Reminiscences of Some of the First Pioneers
of the State of Montana.
INDIANS AND INDIAN WARS.
The Past and Present of the Rocky Mountain Country.
1864-1900.
BY
ROBERT VAUGHN.
MINNEAPOLIS:
TRIBUNE PRINTING COMPANY.
1900.
COPYRIGHTED, 1900.
BY
ARVONIA ELIZABETH VAUGHN.
DEDICATION.
ARVONIA ELIZABETH VAUGHN,
Great Falls, Montana.
MY DEAR LITTLE DAUGHTER:
The following series of letters, which include a short history of
Montana’s early days, together with a brief sketch of your father’s
life and a copy of my letter to you, giving an obituary of your dear
mother, I dedicate to you, knowing that they will be appreciated, and
hoping that you will have the pleasure of reading them after I am gone.
Your affectionate father,
ROBERT VAUGHN.
Great Falls, Montana, May 15th, 1900.
PREFACE.
It may not be out of place to explain how this book came to find its
way into print. It was written for my little daughter, in the form of
letters at various times, and not intended for publication, but many
friends after reading them insisted that they should be published. One
said: “You must not wait until you are dead before these letters are
given to the world.”
As my desire is, by the grace of God, to live many years yet, I now
present these letters to the reader, supplemented by others from old
time friends who braved the perils and dangers of pioneer life; and as
they are intended to be a part of the history of this great state, care
has been taken to keep strictly to the truth.
It is hoped that a line here and there will be appreciated by those
who ride in palace cars as well as the old pioneers who came west in
prairie schooners.
ROBERT VAUGHN.
CONTENTS.
Page
From Home to the State of Illinois, 17
Crossing the Plains, 22
On a Stampede to the Yellowstone, 35
The Discovery of Alder Creek, the Richest Gold Gulch on the
Globe, 39
The James Stuart Prospecting Party, 46
From Alder Gulch to Last Chance, 57
From the Mines to the Farm, 64
A Letter to My Little Babe, 72
From the Farm to the City of Great Falls, 77
Montana Pioneers, 84
The Dark Side of the Life of the Pioneer, 89
The Indian Praying, 103
Indians Stealing my Horses, 106
The Great Sun River Stampede, 109
A Trip from Virginia City to the Head of Navigation on the
Missouri River in 1866, 113
My First Buffalo Hunt, 124
Tom Campbell Running the Gauntlet, 127
Edward A. Lewis’ Early Days in Montana, 130
A Brave Piegan War Chief, 141
Bloody Battles and Tragedies in the Sun River Valley, 147
Charles Choquette Coming to Montana in 1843, 163
A Trip to the Twenty-eight Mile Spring Station, 171
John Largent’s Early Days in Montana, 176
A Visit to Fort Benton, 188
John D. Brown, a Narrative of his Early Experiences in the
West, 201
A Pioneer Minister, 216
An old Letter, 223
Warren C. Gillette’s Early Experiences in Montana, 229
A Meal in an Indian Camp, 245
The First Settlement of What is now Montana, 247
Montana Then and Now, 266
A Sample of the Pioneers of Montana, 275
The Indian, 288
The Sioux War, 297
General Sherman’s Letters, 329
The Nez Perces War, 345
An English Tribute to the American Scout, 367
Returning of Sitting Bull from Canada, 370
The Indian Messiah and the Ghost Dance, 377
An Indian Legend, 395
The Roundup, 403
Traveling “Then” and Traveling “Now,” 410
Yellowstone National Park, 422
From the Prospector’s Hole to the Greatest Mining Camp on
Earth, 447
ILLUSTRATIONS.
Page
Robert Vaughn, 6
Leaving Home, 19
My First View of the Rockies, 28
An Indian Grave, 31
In the Rockies, 32
Nature’s Grand Masonry Work, 33
Indian War Dance, 42
A Prairie Schooner Crossing the Plains, 59
A Scene in the City of Helena, 61
Great Falls, Montana, 78
Copper Smelter at Great Falls, 80
Lewis and Clark Meeting the Mandan Indians, 81
A Group of Pioneers, in front of Old Court House, Helena, 85
Mrs. James Blood (a Piegan woman), 111
Freighting in the Early Days, 115
Indians Hunting Buffalo, 126
Wolf Voice (Gros Ventres), 139
The Piegans Laying their Plans to Steal Horses from the
Crows, 143
Going Home with the Stolen Horses, 145
Father De Smet, 149
Little Plume, (Piegan Chief), 153
Alone in the Rockies, 166
The Mule and Mountain Howitzer, 195
Indians with Travois, 197
“Then,” Buffaloes; “Now,” Cattle, 199
“Then,” Deer; “Now,” Sheep, 200
Rev. W. W. Van Orsdel, 217
A Mountaineer in his Buckskin Sunday Suit, 226
Indian Camp, 246
General George Crook, 299
General George A. Custer, 305
Colonel William F. Cody (Buffalo Bill), 309
Rain-in-the-face (Sioux War Chief), 323
A Crow Scout (winter costume), 325
General Sherman, 331
General Miles, 362
Chief Joseph (Nez Perces), 363
Robert S. S. Baden-Powell, 368
Sitting Bull (Sioux Chief), 373
Agency Indians having their pictures taken, 387
Cree Manuscript, 390
Mo-See-Ma-Ma-Mos (Young Boy), a Cree Indian, 391
Cree Alphabet, 392
Little Bear (Cree Chief), 393
Roping a Steer to Examine the Brand, 403
St. Ignatius Mission Stock Brand, 404
Pioneer Cattle Company’s Brand, 404
The Roundup--Turning Out in the Morning, 406
First Attempt at Roping, 408
Lake McDonald, 412
In the Rockies on the Great Northern Railway, 414
Gate of the Mountains, Montana Central Ry., 420
Old Faithful Geyser, Yellowstone Park, 428
Mammoth Hot Springs, Yellowstone Park, 432
Castle Geyser, Cone and Diana’s Pool, Yellowstone Park, 433
Norris Geyser Basin, Yellowstone Park, 435
Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone, 438
Quartz Mining at Niehart, Montana, 456
THEN AND NOW;
OR,
THIRTY-SIX YEARS IN THE ROCKIES.
FROM HOME TO THE STATE OF ILLINOIS.
I was born in Wales June 5, 1836, and was reared on a farm until I
was nineteen years old. My parents’ names were Edward and Elizabeth
Vaughan. There were six children--Jane, Hugh, Robert, Edward, John and
Mary. Edward lives in the old home at the present time. His address is:
“Dugoed Bach, Dinas Mowddwy, Mereoneth Sheir, G. B.”
My parents were of good family; by that I mean they and their ancestors
were good Christian people, father and mother were members of the
Episcopal Church. Father was a warden as long as I can remember. Mother
was my only teacher. She taught me to obey, to tell the truth, to be
kind, to respect others, and above all to fear God.
I left home when I was between nineteen and twenty. At this time I
could speak but the Welsh language. I had a great desire to learn to
acquire English; therefore I went to Liverpool, where sister Jane
lived. I secured employment from the Hon. Benjamin Haywood Jones
to work in a flower garden at his beautiful home on the West Derby
Road. He was a rich banker in the city. I remained there over a
year. Brother Hugh had gone to America a year before I left home,
locating near Rome, N. Y. In the fall of 1858, instead of going home
as I intended, I concluded that it would be a good idea for me to go
to America and see my brother; then return in four or five months.
So, without the knowledge of my parents, I took passage on board a
steamship named the “Vigo” bound for New York. I was on the ocean
twelve days and a half. As soon as I landed I wrote home and stated
what I had done, and that I would be back home in four or five months,
and at that time it was my honest intention to do so. From New York
City I went to my brother’s, and stayed with him about three months;
then I went to Palmyra, Ohio, to see Aunt Ann, my father’s sister.
I was right at home now, and my father was satisfied since I was in
the care of his sister. I was there over a year, going thence to
Youngstown, Ohio, where I worked for Joshua Davies on a farm, and in
the coal mines. From here I proceeded to McLean county, Illinois, where
my brother had been for two years. I farmed with him one summer, then I
went to Fairbury, Livingston county, and mined coal until 1864. During
all this time I wrote home regularly and received letters in return.
Instead of going home I was continually getting further from it.
Somehow I could not resist the desire of venturing into the unsettled
regions of the West. I kept drifting further and further until I found
myself in the heart of the Rocky mountains, six thousand miles from
home.
[Illustration: LEAVING HOME.]
In this way forty-one years elapsed since I left my childhood home,
but the picture remains in my memory as though it were but yesterday;
everything appears to me as it was the last time I saw it. The house
still seems the same; the ivy creeping up its walls; the sycamore,
alder, birch and spruce trees stand there like sentries guarding it.
The rose bushes and the evergreens in front, the hollies where the
sparrows huddled together at night, the orchard and the old stone barn;
and I imagine that--
“I see the quiet fields around,
I stroll about as one who dreams;
’Til each familiar place is found,
How strangely sweet to me it seems.
“The old and well known paths are there,
My youthful feet so often pressed;
Gone is the weight of manhood’s care,
And in its place a sense of rest.
“The broad expanse before me lies,
Checked here and there with squares of green;
Where, freshly growing crops arise,
And browner places intervene.”
I see the dancing rill flowing by the garden gate, and the great arch
of white thorn overspanning the passage way that led to the main road.
There my mother embraced and kissed me and bade me good-bye for the
last time. Here my “only teacher” gave me her last instruction, it was
this: “My dear son, be careful in selecting your companions to go out
with in the evenings. God be with you, good-bye.”
Oh, how sweetly her voice fell on my listening ear,
And now, I imagine those soft words I hear;
If I ever view her silent grave,
My tears will flow like tidal wave.
There she stood staring at her wandering boy leaving home. We watched
one another until a curve in the road took me out of sight; that was
the last time I saw my mother. Father came with me about a quarter of a
mile. We spoke but very little; we were both very sad. Suddenly father
turned to me and took me by the hand and said: “Well, my son, fare thee
well, be a good boy.” I was weeping bitterly and after I had gone a
little way I looked back and saw father leaning against a gate which
led to the meadow, with both hands on his face; this caused my tears to
flow faster than ever. I shall always believe that father was praying
for me then. And that was the last time I saw him. Father and mother
are now sleeping in the silent tomb. But in my memory they appear like
statues as I saw them last, and that was forty-one years ago. Mother
standing at the gate with tears in her eyes waving the kind and tender
hand that soothed and fondled me when I was a babe, and father leaning
on that rude gate with his face buried in his hands offering a prayer
in my behalf. Nothing can efface that vision from my memory. Mother
more than once said in her letters to me that she always remembered me
in her prayers. I often think that I might not have fared so well and
perhaps be a worse man than I am, were it not for the prayers of my
father and mother.
ROBERT VAUGHN.
Great Falls, Mont., March 20, 1898.
CROSSING THE PLAINS.
I left Fairbury, Livingston county, Illinois, March 4, 1864, in company
with James Gibb, John Jackson, James Martin, and Sam Dempster and wife,
destined for the new gold fields in Idaho, for the Territory of Montana
had not then been created.
Our mode of traveling was with a four-horse team and a farm wagon. A
great portion of Illinois and Iowa was then but sparsely settled; we
would travel for hours without seeing any signs of habitation. The
roads were very bad through those states; and it took us twenty-five
days to come to Council Bluffs, which was then but a small frontier
settlement. An old man, one of the inhabitants of the place, called my
attention to two small hills on the bluff above the village and said:
“It was there General Fremont, with his men, held a council before
crossing the river to traverse the plains to California, and from this
incident the town derives its name.” We crossed the Missouri on a
ferry boat. Omaha had scarcely twelve hundred people. Here we made up
a train of sixty-five wagons, some drawn by oxen. It was a mixed train
as far as the destination was concerned. Some were going to California,
Oregon, Washington, and Salt Lake, but mostly to the new gold diggings
in Idaho. We were to travel together as far as Utah.
Our trail was on the north side of the North Platte river as far as
Fort Laramie, following most of the way the surveying stakes on the
line of the Union Pacific Railway. For several hundred miles, while
we traveled in the Platte river valley, we passed over fine land for
agriculture. Here we met a great many Indians of the Pawnee tribe, but
all appeared to be friendly. I was approached by one of them, who came
and asked me to give him some coffee; he was over six feet tall, and
had a very large bow and arrows. I made a mark on a big cottonwood tree
and stepped off fifty paces and told him if he put an arrow in that
mark I would give him some coffee. At once he began sending his arrows,
every one piercing the tree about two inches in depth, and the fourth
one into the center of the mark. I gave him his coffee. On another
occasion I put my hat on a bunch of sage brush for two Indian boys to
shoot at for a piece of bread; the next thing I knew there was an arrow
through my hat. Several days, when traveling in this valley, not a
stick of timber of any kind could be had; the only fuel we could obtain
was buffalo chips which were abundant.
The mail carrier told us that after passing a place called “Pawnee
Swamp,” which was about fifty miles west of Fort Kearney, we would be
in the Cheyenne and Sioux country, and that those Indians were very
hostile to the whites. It was two days after we crossed this line
before we saw an Indian. The third morning at day break, when I was
on guard, I discovered one from a distance who was coming towards our
camp. I kept watching him; finally he came to me and spoke, at the
same time making signs; of course I did not understand either. While
going on with his gibberish and making those motions with his hands he
stepped up and patted me on the breast and on my vest pocket. I told
him in plain English that he was getting a little too familiar for a
stranger, and to keep away from me. Then he picked up a stem of some
dried weed about the size of a match and scratched it on a stone as a
person would when lighting a match. This convinced me that he wanted
some matches. I gave him half a dozen and he thanked me, or at least I
thought he did, for he gave a kind of grunt with a faint smile and went
back in the direction he came from.
In the afternoon of the same day we crossed a small creek; on its bank
there was a newly made grave in which a young woman twenty-two years of
age had been laid to rest. At the head of the grave, for a head-board,
a round stick, which had been used at one time for a picket pin, was
placed, and on this some unskilled hand had written with a pencil
“In memory of ----,” the name I could not decipher, but the words
“dear daughter” were plainly written, which indicated that there was
a parent present to kiss her marble brow before it was lowered into
the silent tomb. This instance made a deep impression on me then when
viewing that lonely grave in the heart of the wilderness and thinking
of its occupant, who possibly was once the center star in some lovable
family, but was left there alone in her earthen couch to sleep and rest
forever; and when, on the coming of spring, no one would be there to
even pluck wild flowers and lay them on the grave of the unfortunate
young traveler. What more sorrowful sight could there be than
witnessing those parents leaving that sacred spot before continuing
their westward journey, and, when on that ridge, taking the last look
at the little mound by the winding brook in the valley below? Here the
curtain drops on this pitiful scene; the emigrant train is out of sight
and all is over.
At Fort Laramie we met the noted frontiersman, John Bozeman, after whom
the city of Bozeman, Montana, was named. He sought to organize a train
to take a cut-off route east of the Big Horn mountains. There was also
a man by the name of McKnight, who was a trader at this place. He had
two wagons loaded with goods for Alder Gulch, each wagon being drawn by
four fine mules, and he was getting up a train to go west of the Big
Horn mountains and through the Wind River country. McKnight said to me
that he wanted about one hundred wagons and about five hundred good,
resolute, determined men and they would get through all right. I told
him that there were five of us, and that we would accompany him. There
were scores of wagons passing Laramie every day and most of them were
bound for the new gold diggings.
The first day we got twenty wagons to join the McKnight train, and
we pulled out about a quarter of a mile in the direction we were to
travel. This new camp was a kind of “refinery;” here one and all might
consider the perils, dangers and privations likely to be encountered.
The faint-hearted ones took the safer route by way of the South Pass.
However, in a few days we had four hundred and fifty men and over one
hundred wagons. We were aware that we were going to travel through
several hundred miles of an untrodden wilderness, where Red Cloud and
Sitting Bull reigned over twenty or twenty-five thousand savages, so
it was very necessary for us to be well armed | 0 |
2023-11-16 18:17:04.0319600 | 3,180 | 8 |
Produced by D Alexander, Juliet Sutherland and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
THE DAY OF HIS YOUTH
By
ALICE BROWN
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
The Riverside Press, Cambridge
M DCCC XCVII
COPYRIGHT, 1897
BY ALICE BROWN
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
THE RIVERSIDE PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, MASS., U.S.A.
ELECTROTYPED AND PRINTED BY
H. O. HOUGHTON AND CO.
THE DAY OF HIS YOUTH
The life of Francis Hume began in an old yet very real tragedy. His
mother, a lovely young woman, died at the birth of her child: an event
of every-day significance, if you judge by tables of mortality and the
probabilities of being. She was the wife of a man well-known among
honored American names, and her death made more than the usual ripple
of nearer pain and wider condolence. To the young husband it was an
afflicting calamity, entirely surprising even to those who were
themselves acquainted with grief. He was not merely rebellious and
wildly distraught, in the way of mourners. He sank into a cold
sedateness of change. His life forsook its accustomed channels. Vividly
alive to the one bright point still burning in the past, toward the
present world he seemed absolutely benumbed. Yet certain latent
conceptions of the real values of existence must have sprung up in him,
and protested against days to be thereafter dominated by artificial
restraints. He had lost his hold on life. He had even acquired a sudden
distaste for it; but his previous knowledge of beauty and perfection
would not suffer him to shut himself up in a cell of reserve, and
isolate himself thus from his kind. He could become a hermit, but only
under the larger conditions of being. He had the firmest conviction
that he could never grow any more; yet an imperative voice within bade
him seek the highest out-look in which growth is possible. He had
formed a habit of beautiful living, though in no sense a living for any
other save the dual soul now withdrawn; and he could not be satisfied
with lesser loves, the makeshifts of a barren life. So, turning from
the world, he fled into the woods; for at that time Nature seemed to
him the only great, and he resolved that Francis, the son, should be
nourished by her alone.
One spring day, when the boy was eight years old, his father had said
to him:--
"We are going into the country to sleep in a tent, catch our own fish,
cook it ourselves, and ask favors of no man."
"Camping!" cried the boy, in ecstasy.
"No; living."
The necessities of a simple life were got together, and supplemented by
other greater necessities,--books, pictures, the boy's violin,--and
they betook themselves to a spot where the summer visitor was yet
unknown, the shore of a lake stretching a silver finger toward the
north. There they lived all summer, shut off from human intercourse
save with old Pierre, who brought their milk and eggs and constituted
their messenger-in-ordinary to the village, ten miles away. When autumn
came, Ernest Hume looked into his son's brown eyes and asked,--
"Now shall we go back?"
"No! no! no!" cried the boy, with a child's passionate cumulation of
accent.
"Not when the snow comes?"
"No, father."
"And the lake is frozen over?"
"No, father."
"Then," said Hume, with a sigh of great content, "we must have a
log-cabin, lest our bones lie bleaching on the shore."
Next morning he went into the woods with Pierre and two men hastily
summoned from the village, and there they began to make axe-music, the
requiem of the trees. The boy sat by, dreaming as he sometimes did for
hours before starting up to throw himself into the active delights of
swimming, leaping, or rowing a boat. Next day, also, they kept on
cutting into the heart of the forest. One dryad after another was
despoiled of her shelter; one after another, the green tents of the
bird and the wind were folded to make that sacred tabernacle--a home.
Sometimes Francis chopped a little with his hatchet, not to be left out
of the play, and then sat by again, smoothing the bruised fern-forests,
or whistling back the squirrels who freely chattered out their opinions
on invasion. Then came other days just as mild winds were fanning the
forest into gold, when the logs went groaning through the woods, after
slow-stepping horses, to be piled into symmetry, tightened with
plaster, and capped by a roof. This, windowed, swept and garnished,
with a central fireplace wherein two fires could flame and roar, was
the log-cabin. This was home. The hired builders had protested against
its primitive form; they sighed for a snug frame house, French roof and
bay windows. "'Ware the cold!" was their daily croak.
"We'll live in fur and toughen ourselves," said Ernest Hume. And
turning to his boy that night, when they sat together by their own
fire, he asked,--
"Shall we fashion our muscles into steel, our skin into armor? Shall we
make our eyes strong enough to face the sun by day, and pure enough to
meet the chilly stars at night? Shall we have Nature for our only love?
Tell me, sir!"
And Francis, who hung upon his father's voice, even when the words were
beyond him, answered, "Yes, father, please!" and went on feeding birch
strips to the fire, where they turned from vellum to mysterious missals
blazoned by an unseen hand.
The idyl continued unbroken for twelve years. Yet it was not wholly
idyllic, for, even with money multiplying for them out in the world,
there were hard personal conditions against which they had to fight.
Ernest Hume delighted in the fierceness of the winter wind, the cold
resistance of the snow; cut off, as he honestly felt himself to be,
from spiritual growth, he had great joy in strengthening his physical
being until it waxed into insolent might. Francis, too, took so happily
to the stern yet lovely phases of their life that his father never
thought of possible wrong to him in so shaping his early years. As for
Ernest Hume, he had bound himself the more irrevocably to right living
by renouncing artificial bonds. He had removed his son from the world,
and he had thereby taken upon himself the necessity of becoming a
better world. Therefore he did not allow himself in any sense to rust
out. He did a colossal amount of mental burnishing; and, a gentleman by
nature, he adopted a daily purity of speech and courtesy of manner
which were less like civilized life than the efflorescence of chivalry
at its best. He had chosen for himself a part; by his will, a Round
Table sprang up in the woods, though two knights only were to hold
counsel there.
The conclusion of the story--so far as a story is ever concluded--must
be found in the words of Francis Hume. Before he was twenty, his
strength began stirring within him, and he awoke, not to any definite
discontent, but to that fever of unrest which has no name. Possibly a
lad of different temperament might not have kept housed so long; but he
was apparently dreamy, reflective, in love with simple pleasures, and,
though a splendid young animal, inspired and subdued by a thrilling
quality of soul. And he woke up. How he awoke may be learned only from
his letters.
These papers have, by one of the incredible chances of life, come into
my hands. I see no possible wrong in their publication, for now the
Humes are dead, father and son; nay, even the name adopted here was not
their own. They were two slight bubbles of being, destined to rise, to
float for a time, and to be again resolved into the unknown sea. Yet
while they lived, they were iridescent; the colors of a far-away sun
played upon them, and they sent him back his gleams. To lose them
wholly out of life were some pain to those of us who have been
privileged to love them through their own written confessions. So here
are they given back to the world which in no other way could adequately
know them.
[Sidenote: _Francis Hume to the Unknown Friend_[1]]
[1] This title is adopted by the editor that the narrative may be
at least approximately clear. The paragraphs headed thus were
scribblings on loose sheets: a sort of desultory journal.
I never had a friend! Did any human creature twenty years old ever
write that before, unless he did it in a spirit of bitterness because
he was out of humor with his world? Yet I can say it, knowing it to be
the truth. My father and I are one, the oak and its branch, the fern
and its fruitage; but for somebody to be the mirror of my own thoughts,
tantalizingly strange, intoxicatingly new, where shall I look? Ah, but
I know! I will create him from my own longings. He shall be born of the
blood and sinew of my brain and heart. Stand forth, beautiful one, made
in the image of my fancy, and I will tell thee all--all I am ashamed to
tell my father, and tired of imprisoning in my own soul. What shall I
call thee? Friend: that will be enough, all-comprehending and rich in
joy. To-day I have needed thee more than ever, though it is only to-day
that I learned to recognize the need. All the morning a sweet languor
held me, warm, like the sun, and touched with his fervor, so that I
felt within me darts of impelling fire. I sat in the woods by the
spring, my eyes on the dancing shadows at my feet, not thinking, not
willing, yet expectant. I felt as if something were coming, and that I
must be ready to meet it when the great moment should strike. Suddenly
my heart beat high in snatches of rhythm; my feet stirred, my ears woke
to the whir of wings, and my eyes to flickering shade. My whole self
was whelmed and suffocated in a wave of sweet delight. And then it was
that my heart cried out for another heart to beat beside it and make
harmony for the two; then it was that thou, dear one, wast born from my
thought. I am not disloyal in seeking companionship. My father is
myself. Let me say that over and over. When I tell him my fancies, he
smiles sadly, saying they are the buds of youth, born never to flower.
To him Nature is goddess and mother; he turns to her for sustenance by
day, and lies on her bosom at night. After death he will be content to
rest in her arms and become one flesh with her mould. But I--I! O, is
it because I am young; and will the days chill out this strange, sweet
fever, as they have in him? Two years ago--yes, a year--I had no higher
joy than to throw myself, body and soul, into motion: to row, fish,
swim, to listen, in a dream of happiness, while my father read old
Homer to me in the evening, or we masterfully swept through
duets--'cello and violin--that my sleep was too dreamless to repeat to
me. And now the very world is changed; help me to understand it, my
friend; or, if I am to blame, help me to conquer myself.
II
I have much to tell thee, my friend! and of a nature never before known
in these woods and by this water. Last night, at sunset, I stood on the
Point waiting for my father to come in from his round about the island,
when suddenly a boat shot out from Silver Stream and came on toward me,
rowed to the accompaniment of a song I never heard. I stood waiting,
for the voices were beautiful, one high and strong (and as I listened,
it flashed upon me that my father had said the 'cello is like a woman
singing), another, deep and rich. There were two men, as I saw when
they neared me, and two women; and all were young. The men--what were
they like? I hardly know, except that they made me feel ashamed of my
roughness. And the women! One was yellow-haired and pale; she had a
fairy build, I think, and her shoulders were like the birch-tree. Her
head was bare, and the sun--he had stayed to do it--had turned all the
threads to gold. She was so white! white as the tiarella in the spring.
When I saw her, I bent forward; they looked my way, and I drew back
behind the tree. I had been curious, and I was ashamed; it seemed to me
they might stop and say, "Who is this fellow who lives in the woods and
stares at people like an owl by night?" But the oars dipped, and the
boat and song went on. The song! if I but knew it! It called my feet to
dancing. It was like laughter and the play of the young squirrels. I
watched for them to go back, and in an hour they did, still singing in
jubilant chorus; and after that came my father. As soon as I saw him, I
knew something had happened. I have never seen him so sad, so weary. He
put his hand on my shoulder, after we had beached the boat and were
walking up to the cabin.
"Francis," he said, "our good days are over."
"Why?" I asked.
It appeared to me, for some reason, that they had just begun; perhaps
because the night was so fragrant and the stars so near. The world had
never seemed so homelike and so warm. I knew how a bird feels in its
own soft nest.
"Because some people have come to camp on the Bay Shore. I saw their
tents, and asked Pierre. He says they are here for the summer. Fool!
fool that I was, not to buy that land!"
"But perhaps | 0.052 |
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Produced by Pasteur Nicole, Suzanne Shell and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's note:
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see the end of this book for further notes.
FRIENDSHIP AND FOLLY
[Illustration: "THERE WAS A LITTLE BLACK SHAPE SITTING ON SOME
LUGGAGE."]
[Illustration: Title page]
FRIENDSHIP AND FOLLY
A | 0.098189 |
2023-11-16 18:17:04.1206440 | 7,433 | 14 |
Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive
1. Page scan source:
http://www.archive.org/details/judithtrachtenb00lewigoog
JUDITH TRACHTENBERG
A Novel
By KARL EMIL FRANZOS
AUTHOR OF "FOR THE RIGHT" ETC.
TRANSLATED BY
(Mrs.) L. P. and C. T. LEWIS
NEW YORK
HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE
1891
Copyright, 1891, by Harper & Brothers.
* * *
_All rights reserved_.
JUDITH TRACHTENBERG.
CHAPTER I.
About sixty years ago, during the reign of the Emperor Francis the
First, there lived in a small town in Eastern Galicia an excellent man,
who had been greatly favored by fortune. His name was Nathaniel
Trachtenberg; his occupation was that of a chandler. He had inherited
from his father a modest business, which he had increased by his energy
and perseverance, by adding to it the manufacture of wax candles, and
by the admirable quality of his goods. Possibly, also, by the wise
moderation he used in demanding payment, which had secured nearly all
the noble families of the country as his patrons.
His intellectual progress kept pace with his increase of riches. Richly
endowed by nature, he acquired, by his intercourse with those of
superior position and by the numerous journeys he made to the West for
business purposes, a higher degree of culture than was usual with his
co-religionists of that period. He spoke and wrote German fluently; he
read the Vienna papers regularly, and even occasionally a poet, such as
Schiller or Lessing.
But, no matter how widely his opinions might vary from those of his
less-cultivated co-religionists as to the aims and purposes of life, he
bound himself closely to them in matters of dress and style of living,
and not only conformed to every command of the Law, but carried out
every injunction of the rabbis with punctilious exactitude.
"You do not know the atmosphere we breathe," he was accustomed to say
to his progressive Jewish friends in Breslau and Vienna. "It does not
matter as to my opinion of the sinfulness of carrying a stick on the
Sabbath, but it is important to prove to them by the example of a man
they respect that one may read German books, talk with Christians in
correct German, and still be a pious Jew. Therefore it would be a sin
if my _talar_ were replaced by a German coat. Do you suppose, either,
it would bring me closer to the gentry? No, indeed. They would only
regard it as an impotent attempt to raise myself to their level. So we
better-educated Jews must remain as we are for the present, at least,
as regards externals." This was the result of serious conviction, he
always added; and how serious, he proved by the method of education
which he pursued with his two children, his wife having died while she
was still quite young.
There was a boy, Raphael, and a girl, Judith. The latter gave promise
of great beauty. Both received a careful education, in accordance with
the requirements of the age, from a tutor, one Herr Bergheimer, who had
been brought from Mayence by Trachtenberg. But their religious training
was cared for by the father himself. "I will not say," he once told the
tutor, "whether or not I consider it a misfortune to have been born a
Jew. I have my own ideas on the subject, which might shock your simple
faith. Whether good or ill, it is our fate, and must be borne with
equanimity. Therefore I wish my children educated with the most
profound reverence for Judaism. The humiliations which will come to
them because of their nation I can neither prevent nor modify, so I
wish they should have the comfort of feeling in their struggles in life
that they are suffering for something which is dear to them and is
worth the pain."
With this feeling he strove to stifle in their minds every germ of
hatred towards Christians, and at the same time he early accustomed
them to the idea that, sooner or later, they must run the gantlet
because of their creed, and even because of the cast of their features.
"They must learn to endure," he would say, with a sad smile. And so he
allowed Raphael and Judith to associate with Christian children
belonging to families who, for private reasons, were glad to pay some
attention to the wealthy Jewish fabricant.
Trachtenberg thought this intercourse of small consequence, never
dreaming it might exercise an influence over the character of his
children quite the opposite of that he would like. And it could not but
make an impression on the youthful minds growing up on a borderland
where the musty air of the Ghetto mingled with another air no whit
purer, compounded, as it was, of the incense of a fanatical creed and
the pestilential gases of decaying Polish aristocracy.
Separated from the Jewish children of the town by mode of life, manner
of speech, and learning, they were not less divided from their
Christian play-fellows by instinct and prejudices which made a really
hearty sympathy and intercourse impossible. Whoever looks into a
child's heart knows well it can surrender every other necessity than
that of loving and being loved. No matter how much the father might
attempt to prevent a feeling of isolation for his darlings, the time
came when, of necessity, he acknowledged to himself that he had not
properly appreciated the bitterness which this feeling aroused, and
when he was forced to stand by and look on helplessly as they sought
for companionship with others of the same age.
This happened when Raphael had reached his twenty-first and Judith her
nineteenth year. They had just completed a course of dancing lessons,
held in the house of Herr von Wroblewski, a magistrate, and one of
Trachtenberg's most expensive acquaintances.
Raphael, who was weary of bearing slights because of his curly hair and
round eyes, resolved, bitterly, that he would never again enter the
house of a Christian, but would find associates among those to whom he
belonged by race and common woe.
Judith's experience was just the contrary. She felt more and more at
home among her Christian friends; and went to her Hebrew lessons
with a frown. But their father's authority prevented any complete
change in their way of life, so they complied with his requirements
just as little as they could. The wise man recognized the fact
that his intentions were combated by the strongest of human
emotions--self-satisfaction on the one side, on the other injured
self-love.
Poor Raphael was doubly hateful to his partners in the dance because he
was a Jew, whereas the premature beauty of his sister entranced her
youthful admirers, because they could cherish hopes as regarded her on
account of her race which would not have entered their minds towards a
girl belonging to their own class.
At times it troubled Trachtenberg's mind lest this "childishness"
should have a permanent influence upon their lives. But accustomed, as
he had been for so many years, to keen calculation rather than to
doubtful presentiments, he felt his forebodings vanish when he
remembered his carefully laid plans for the future, which he thought
could not be interfered with by these inclinations, but, so he
sometimes sought to persuade himself, were even promoted by them.
He had intended his son for the law, not only because, like the rest of
his race, he considered a diploma of a doctor of laws the highest of
honors, but because he aspired to have him a model and a champion for
his co-religionists. As Raphael was to pass his life in Galicia, it was
well he should have this feeling for the oppressed awakened early,
since it would nerve him for his destined work; while Judith, whom her
father proposed to marry to some enlightened and educated German Jew,
could best acquire that knowledge of etiquette and refinement which she
would need in her future home in Christian society.
Influenced by these considerations, Trachtenberg allowed matters to
take their own course as long as he feared no break in their mutual
affection. But their relations were becoming more and more strained,
and it was difficult for the father to decide which was most to blame.
The alienation which had arisen did not spring from lack of love, or
from difference in mental constitution.
Moreover, Raphael and Judith bore not the slightest physical
resemblance to each other, he being an awkward, haggard youth with a
pale, sharply cut face, above which was a forest of crinkly-black hair;
while she was a sweet, delicate rosebud of a girl, her beautiful brow
crowned with masses of rich auburn hair; and although her cheerfulness
and love of gayety contrasted strongly with his morose and gloomy
manners, yet in vital matters they showed they were children of the
same mother.
Both were gifted, sensitive, and fastidious; both ambitious and proud;
both self-conscious to defiance, and each dearer to the other than
life. It was this very equality of mental capacity that divided and
embittered them. Each thought his own inclination the only right one,
sensible, and just; each felt sorely wounded at the other's reproof;
each worried about the other's future, and treasured up accidental or
slighting observations relating to the other. She remembered the
contemptuous sneer of the Polish ladies at the "gloomy follower of the
Talmud;" he, every poisonous jest of the Ghetto about the "renegade."
And so it came to pass that, though their love was really intact, yet
outwardly they were almost in open warfare, and, urged on by pride and
defiance, they went further than they themselves would have thought
possible. Because Judith despised Jewish acquaintances, Raphael swore
enmity towards all Christians; and because he became more and more
observant of the ritual, she neglected it altogether.
But their acquaintances were the chief cause of contention. She made
fun of his friends in the Ghetto, their modes of speech, thought, and
life; and indeed she had sufficient cause. Raphael never wearied of
speaking disdainfully of the magistrate and his social circle, and he
required no power of invention to find grounds for his criticisms.
Herr Ludwig von Wroblewski was in position, though not in public
estimation, the most important man in the town; for the people could
not pardon certain traits which, good in themselves, were not in him
because of his office. While many men in similar position, with
antiquated ideas, tried to supervise the entire parish, urging the
rate-payers to improve their roads and bridges, he was of the opinion
that full-grown men ought to be able to manage their own affairs best;
and while they hunted down criminals, he, so it appeared, thought the
consciousness of crime sufficient punishment for the evil-doer.
Squabbles about money and land were painful to him also, if plaintiff
and defendant happened to be poor people, in which case he found it
best to let the case slide. When, however, it was otherwise, he gave
his undivided attention; and while other judges contented themselves
with acting upon the written case, he allowed each party to present his
arguments _cum solo_. There were few judges who were so careful, under
such circumstances, to be just to each. For instance, if the plaintiff
brought a thousand proofs and the defendant but five hundred, he gave
himself no rest till he had produced another five hundred. This, of
course, delayed justice very much. If there was no other way, Herr von
Wroblewski left it to fate, and cut cards about it--the highest card
winning. One need not be astonished at that, for he was very much at
home with cards, since every busy man must have his recreation.
Indeed, Herr von Wroblewski not only recruited himself every evening
with this amusement, but mornings and afternoons as well, when he could
find a partner. He played everything, but as a liberal and an enemy of
bureaucracy, chiefly the forbidden games of hazard. Away from home his
luck often changed, but at his own table--he lived in the _bel etage_
of Trachtenberg's house--he always won. This curious circumstance was
frequently mentioned, and did not tend to increase the respect in which
he was held. Perhaps here, too, the proverb, "If good luck in play,
then bad luck in love," held good with Herr von Wroblewski, for, though
he had been dangerous to many ladies of the town, he could lay claim to
very little tenderness within his own four walls.
His wife, Lady Anna, a stout fair lady on the verge of forty, belonged
to an old Polish family, was an ardent adherent of the Metternich
_regime_, and leaned on the church and the army. It was rather
difficult for her to decide whether she would rather be supported by
the fat Dominican prior, Pater Hieronymus, or the supple Rittmeister,
Herr von Bariassy.
Her girlish years had been passed in the house of her aunt, the wife of
the highest official in Lemberg, and she had become so agreeable to the
childless pair that her grateful uncle had given her a dowry and a
husband, and was so good as to provide for her even after marriage. She
seemed to have preserved pleasant reminiscences of him, which possibly
accounted for the freak of nature which made her eldest daughter Wanda
so singularly like her dear uncle.
This influential man sustained Herr Ludwig in his office, despite the
incessant complaints raised against him; and so it got to be that the
worthies of the town considered themselves justified in being neither
stricter nor severer than the government.
The receptions at the magistrate's house were the most brilliant in the
neighborhood, no one absenting himself voluntarily. Judith used to
taunt her brother with this when he expressed his contempt for the man,
and even Trachtenberg would say: "You are young, and think to better
the world. But when you are older you will find there is but one way of
doing it, which is to better yourself. It is impossible for me to do
more in our times and circumstances. Certainly, Wroblewski is a
corruptible judge, a card-sharper, and a scoundrel. But would he change
if I ceased to hold intercourse with him? I have never used my
influence with him for evil; and when he has proposed I should be his
agent in a disreputable affair, I have always declined. He brings me
custom, and therefore he lives in this house rent-free. He decides in
my favor when I am obliged to sue, and for that receives twenty per
cent. If I declined to give that, he would recommend other
manufacturers, and I should lose my eighty per cent."
"Very good! But Judith?" said Raphael. "Does your business require she
should go to their receptions every Tuesday?"
"Why should I not allow her this pleasure?" was the reply. "The host is
contemptible, the wife not blameless, but the guests are different. The
daughters of the physician and the chemist come regularly--carefully
trained daughters of good parents. They run no danger; why should your
sister?"
"They not, but Judith!" How often had Raphael had these words on his
tongue and withheld them! What ground could he give for his fears? He
had no facts to offer, only observations which his father would have
condemned as the result of prejudice.
A year passed by with these unpleasant episodes. Raphael was to visit a
university, and the father decided upon Heidelberg. Bergheimer was to
accompany him and remain for some months.
Trachtenberg also gave the old master another commission. He was to
look out for a suitable husband for Judith. For, as she had developed
into a greater beauty than the tenderest of fathers could have
expected, and as he was not unmindful of his wealth, he thought no one
too good for her. So, too, since he had learned to appreciate the Jews
of West Germany during his journeyings there, an educated, cultivated
bridegroom from that quarter was the height of his ambition.
Judith surmised nothing, partly, perhaps, because she was so filled
with sorrow over the departure of her dearly loved brother. True, she
was doubly eager just then in her intercourse with Christians,
declining no invitation to dance or picnic; but she would have
relinquished a whole year of this pleasure if Raphael had, by a single
word, given her a chance to confess her penitence and love. Yet it was
impossible to make this avowal without some encouragement, especially
as Raphael became more and more gloomy and inaccessible, really because
he was burdened with the same misery.
The day before his departure finally arrived--a sunny September
day--and early that morning Judith made up her mind to pocket her pride
and have the longed-for interview. A chance prevented it.
This day, ill-omened for the house of Trachtenberg, was a festival day
for the other inhabitants of the town. The new lord of the manor, Count
Agenor Baranowski, was to take possession of his estates. Much depended
on winning his good-will, as, owing to his immense property, he was the
most influential man in the province. Therefore they had decorated the
houses, improved the roads, and even swept the streets.
The Jews had been most zealous in all this, and had used quantities of
garlands and much paper, not because they were particularly in
favor with him, but because he had the reputation of hating the Jews.
Raphael used his severest satire in criticising this "slavish
humility," but his father differed from him. His house was the most
handsomely decorated of any, and from the gables there actually flew
the light-blue and silver colors of the Baranowski. But he did not
interfere with Raphael, who wished to go for a walk till the comedy
should have been played out; though he himself went to the triumphal
arch, which had been erected near his house, so that he might welcome
the count as deputy for the Jews, while Judith went to the first
_etage_.
The magistrate's apartment did not make a very good impression by
daylight. The threadbare velvet of the furniture, with dust in every
nook and cranny, and the curious medley of grand and shabby furniture
were very apparent. It was quite in harmony for Lady Anna, her full
form squeezed into a red silk dress, and her head surmounted by a
pyramid of artificial flowers, to be bustling about with a duster in
her hand, giving orders to her servants and receiving her guests at the
same time.
For Herr von Wroblewski had made the count's acquaintance in Lemberg,
and had taken care to have the honor of receiving him in his house the
very first evening. Many guests had been invited from the neighborhood,
and part of them had arrived in the morning. The gentlemen were at the
triumphal arch, while the ladies were to view the procession from the
windows.
The handsome hostess was fuming inwardly, still she had a friendly word
for all, even for Judith.
"Why, child, how pretty you have made yourself today!" she exclaimed;
and in truth the girl, in a dress of blue print, looked charming. The
curls, clustering around her delicate forehead, shone like spun gold,
and her neck was circled by a white silk ribbon with long ends.
"And you are wearing the count's colors," she continued, playfully
shaking her finger. "How clever you are!"
"A mere coincidence," stammered Judith, blushing painfully; and she
spoke the truth.
Lady Anna laughed. "You need not fib about it. I only wish I had been
clever enough to think of it for Wanda. It is a pity you are not coming
this evening; but, as it is, there are over a hundred invited, and I
shiver when I think of the supper. At any rate, I have kept a good
place for you at the window," and she led her to the most distant
corner, where she had stowed away some poor relations, who had to
consider the invitation as an undeserved honor, and so could not
grumble at the company of the Jewess.
The spectators in the street below were squeezed in between the guards
of honor, composed of peasants of the vicinity, and made futile
attempts to reach the triumphal arch, where the worthies of the town
had taken their position--on the right the magistrate, the prior, the
burgomaster, and some others; on the left Nathaniel, the rabbi, and
some Jews who carried the Thora rolls under a red baldachino. Judith
could not see much of it, and Lady Anna's nieces used their elbows;
but, fortunately, they did not wait long.
The salvos of artillery boomed, the monastery bells began to peal, and
then the committee of peasants, chosen to escort their master,
appeared, followed by his carriage, from which he alighted quickly.
The burgomaster (he was the apothecary of the town) began his address.
He was a small, thin man, with a shrivelled-up face, who, when silent,
made one think of a sick chicken; but he had a lion's voice in his
throat, and was celebrated as the Demosthenes of the countryside. He
did not discredit his reputation on this occasion, as he plunged with
enthusiasm into the depths of the Middle Ages, raising the query as to
whether the family of the Baranowskis was more ancient than that of the
Jagellon, and thus embracing a comprehensive glance over Polish
history.
Count Agenor, a young, well-built man, with a sad, handsome face, which
was very pale by contrast with his jet-black beard, listened
attentively at first, and then began to look about him. His eyes swept
the windows of the Trachtenberg house, and Judith violently,
for she saw distinctly how his face kindled as they rested on her
window. Was this for her?
Her neighbors remarked it, too, and one hissed to the other, "The
colors have had effect!" She heard it distinctly, and was about to
withdraw, but the apothecary just at that moment ended his speech; the
crowd shouted "Huzza!" The count said a few words of thanks, and was
about to enter his carriage again, when Nathaniel stepped forward.
She saw how the young nobleman turned impatiently away and looked up at
her window, and again she blushed painfully.
Her father said but a few words; the count thanked him by an
inclination of his head, and, preceded by his escort, he drove on. As
he passed the window, he looked up and saluted, placing his hand on his
jewelled _konfederatka_.
"It is evident he has no liking for us," Trachtenberg remarked at
dinner, a few hours later; but when Raphael made another cutting
observation, he said, good-humoredly, "Do you think he would like us
better if, contrary to usage and good-breeding, we had taken no part in
his welcome?"
Raphael made no reply, but sat looking moodier than ever, until, dinner
ended, he quitted the room, going, as he said, to pack his trunks.
Judith then plucked up courage and offered her assistance, somewhat
flippantly, indeed, making a jest of his awkwardness.
She adopted this manner to keep up her courage and to prepare an
opening for escape in case of a snub; but Raphael heard only the
mockery, and answered, bitterly, that he would be able to do without
help, and left the room angrily. Still she kept to her good
resolutions, and was glad when another opportunity was thrown in her
way.
Late that afternoon, shortly after Von Wroblewski had returned from the
reception at the Baranowski castle, Wanda came running down-stairs to
beg Judith, in her mother's name, to go up that evening, as several
young ladies had declined just at the last moment. This had frequently
occurred, and, owing to their intimacy, Judith had taken it in good
part. But on this occasion she declined, since it was Raphael's last
evening at home. Wanda, however, would not allow this. "You must come!
Bring Raphael with you."
He had not gone on their stairs for more than a year, and that Lady
Anna should invite "that gloomy follower of the Talmud" to her most
brilliant party was surprising. It shot through her brain--"She is
inviting him because she knows he will not go." So she answered she
would accept the invitation with pleasure if she could induce Raphael
to do so too.
When Wanda grew excited, protesting she scarcely dared go up-stairs
with such a reply, as "mamma and papa laid such stress on her coming;
papa in particular," Judith was surprised, but answered all the more
obstinately, until, after repeated entreaties from Wanda, she at last
went to her brother.
Her heart throbbed as she opened the door. He sat at his empty
work-table, his head resting on his hand, gazing at the candles.
With difficulty she made her request.
"In what good taste!" he sneered. "Of course, I will not go, but I will
not prevent your going. It would be a sacrifice to you, and no pleasure
to me."
His tone roused her spirit of defiance. "If it is a matter of such
indifference to you, I have nothing more to say."
"But I have," he thundered, seizing her arm. "It is the last time, and
therefore I will speak more plainly than I have as yet. You are no
longer a child, Judith, and can you not see the role you play among
those people? You are a Jewess, and they think no more of you than I do
of our house-dog. Were you as beautiful as the Shunamite, as wise as
the Queen of Sheba, and as good as an angel of the Lord, still you are
a Jewess, and consequently not a being like themselves. Do you not feel
that? My God, girl, are you insensible to this shame?"
"You are talking wildly," she said, contemptuously. "You are blinded by
hurt pride. Of course, if one brings the air of the Ghetto into a
drawing-room, one ought not to complain," and she attempted to free her
arm.
But he held her. "Go on!" he said. "Say what you like, my tender
sister, but then listen to me. Do you understand why they invite you?
Just inquire of my father's ledger."
"The old story," she exclaimed, and tore her arm away.
"Well, then," he cried, in great excitement, "listen to something else,
which I have kept from you. You are not a child, but a full-grown,
beautiful girl, Judith--beautiful and a Jewess. Have you really never
noticed that these young cavaliers treat you differently from the
Christian ladies, that they allow themselves more liberties?"
She stood motionless, breathing hard. "You lie!" she ejaculated.
"I would to God I did!" he answered, clasping his hands in despair.
"Then I could travel to-morrow with an easier conscience. Be warned, my
sister! That gentleman up-stairs does not only invite you because he
owes father his rent, but also because the young gentlemen whose money
he wins like to have fun with the beautiful Jewess. Guard your soul, my
sister; guard your honor; you will not have been the first that--"
She had listened to him as if paralyzed with indignation. Now she
stepped up to him, her face so pale and distorted that he shrank back
involuntarily.
She wished to speak, but her voice failed her. "May God forgive you!"
she at last ejaculated, hoarsely, and staggeringly left the room.
Hurrying to her own room, she bolted the door and lay down upon the
bed. There she stayed in the darkness for at least two hours, fighting
with her emotions. Anger at her insulted pride and the unjust
accusations raged through her pulses; her fingers twisted together as
if she were throttling her insulter.
But it was Raphael, and that it was he, her most beloved creature on
earth, who had so stained her innocent pleasures and herself, caused
the tears to well to her eyes.
But were these tears as innocent as they seemed? Up to that hour Judith
had been one of the purest of Nature's children; her blood suggested no
evil desire, nor did her fancy paint alluring pictures. Her innocence
had draped her eyes like a veil. But now the veil, indeed, was not
rent, but it grew more and more transparent the more she pondered on
these things. Her cheeks burned more from shame than from tears, and
she was forced to surrender herself helplessly to these ugly thoughts.
But this accusation, painful as it was, roused her. Her anger
reasserted itself--her anger and defiance--and pushed everything else
into the background. She would think no more about it; she did not wish
to know if he were right; he was not right, of that she was sure. He
was blinded by his antipathy to Christians. She was blameless, and was
she to be buried alive to gratify him?
Just then she heard Wanda knocking at her door and begging her to
hasten. Answering "I will be there directly," she washed the tears from
her cheeks, called her maid, and dressed.
When she entered the drawing-room, a half-hour later, Lady Anna came
to meet her, supported by the church. "At last!" she exclaimed,
delightedly. "And this must be your lucky day. I have rarely seen you
look so pretty." In fact, her excitement had imparted an additional
charm to her lovely face.
The stout cleric grinned like a faun, and stroked chin. "Ha, ha! how
her cheeks glow! Does her little heart beat so wildly?" He seemed
inclined to prove the truth of his assertion.
Judith turned deathly pale, and stepped back.
"What do you mean?" Lady Anna whispered to her worthy admirer, who had
evidently just come from the buffet. She glanced around, and saw they
were forming a quadrille. Count Baranowski was fulfilling the
disagreeable duty of dancing with the voluminous wife of the thin
burgomaster.
"Who knows," said Lady Anna, smiling, "what honor would have been yours
if you had come earlier; now you must content yourself with young
Wolczinski. Wladko!"
The tall, clumsy fellow stumbled up hastily. "You will dance this
quadrille with Judith."
He hesitated. "I am--I have--" he stammered.
"What? already engaged?"
"No, but--"
"What then? too tired?" Lady Anna's eyes had not the pleasantest
expression in the world just then. "Well, will you? _Allons!_"
He shrugged his shoulders, and offered his arm to the girl. Judith
followed him with bowed head, as if crushed by the humiliation. "Have I
experienced these things before, and now for the first time notice
them?"
Wladko had, indeed, been rude to her often; both he and his sisters had
cut her dead. But she had not taken it to heart, for she knew the
reason. The head of the family, Herr Severin von Wolczinski, who had
gotten rid of all his property with the exception of one small estate
in close proximity to the town, had begged in vain for a loan from
Nathaniel. The manufacturer's answer had always been the same. He would
throw the account for goods received into the fire, but, on principle,
he refused to lend money.
The young gentleman did not speak; he even avoided looking at his
partner. At last he conceived a bright idea. "'Pon my honor," he
exclaimed, "now I recognize you. The candles burn badly. They are
miserable stuff. Supplied, no doubt, by some cheating Jew for more than
they are worth."
Judith drew a long breath. "My father supplied them. They are both good
and cheap, although he is often swindled of hard-earned money by some
knavish nobleman."
The bystanders became attentive, which annoyed "Wladko still more.
"A nobleman never swindles," he asserted.
"Oh, yes, at times they do. Ordering goods which one can never pay for
is swindling."
Some laughed. The prior, too, came staggering up, for he had just been
visiting the buffet again, and could scarcely stand. "Wladko," he
hiccoughed, "what are you quarrelling with the pretty Jewess about? You
should kiss and make up."
"Do you really think so?" The young fellow laughed nervously. The next
moment he had thrown his arms around her form and had kissed her on the
neck. The brave deed was rewarded by loud laughter and clapping of
hands.
Pale as death, and trembling from head to foot, Judith tore herself
free. "What a cowardly, knavish, trick!" she exclaimed, indignantly.
"You are right!" said a deep, sonorous voice, so loudly that it was
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Transcriber Notes
Text emphasis is displayed as _Italics_.
RUDIMENTS
OF
CONCHOLOGY;
WITH
EXPLANATORY PLATES.
[Illustration: Rudiments of Conchology.]
RUDIMENTS
OF
CONCHOLOGY:
INTENDED AS A
FAMILIAR INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE.
WITH
EXPLANATORY PLATES,
AND
REFERENCES TO THE COLLECTION OF SHELLS IN
THE BRITISH MUSEUM.
BY THE AUTHOR OF
"THE GEOGRAPHICAL PRESENT," &c.
[Illustration: A new and improved Edition.]
LONDON:
DARTON AND HARVEY,
GRACECHURCH STREET.
1837.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY JOSEPH RICKERBY,
SHERBOURN LANE.
ADVERTISEMENT.
The Compiler of the following pages has derived the greater part of the
information contained in them from "The Conchology of Lamarck," from
"Burrows's Elements of Conchology," and other introductory treatises.
In the present Edition of this little Work many alterations and
additions have been made, with the hope of rendering it more useful to
the young student.
ERRATA.
[Note: Corrections were applied.]
Page 3, _for_ Plate 1, _read_ Plate 2.
Page 16, line 8, _for_ squamosa, _read_, squamosus.
| 0.539187 |
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Produced by Don Kretz, Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks and the DP Team
[Illustration]
SCIENTIFIC AMERICAN SUPPLEMENT NO. 460
NEW YORK, OCTOBER 25, 1884
Scientific American Supplement. Vol. XVIII, No. 460.
Scientific American established 1845
Scientific American Supplement, $5 a year.
Scientific American and Supplement, $7 a year.
* * * * *
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
I. CHEMISTRY. ETC.--Wolpert's Method of Estimating the
Amount of Carbonic Acid in the Air.--7 Figures.
Japanese Camphor.--Its preparation, experiments, and analysis
of the camphor oil.--By H. OISHI.
II. ENGINEERING AND MECHANICS.--Links in the History of the
Locomotive.--With two engravings of the Rocket.
The Flow of Water through Turbines and Screw Propellers.--By
ARTHUR RIGG.--Experimental researches.--Impact on level
plate.--Impact and reaction in confined channels.--4 figures.
Improved Textile Machinery.--The Textile Exhibition at
Islington.--5 figures.
Endless Rope Haulage.--2 figures.
III. TECHNOLOGY.--A Reliable Water Filter.--With engraving.
Simple Devices for Distilling Water.--4 figures.
Improved Fire Damp Detecter.--With full description and engraving.
Camera Attachment for Paper Photo Negatives.--2 figures.
Instantaneous Photo Shutter.--1 figure.
Sulphurous Acid.--Easy method of preparation for photographic
purposes.
IV. PHYSICS. ELECTRICITY, ETC.--Steps toward a Kinetic
Theory of Matter.--Address by Sir Wm. THOMSON at the Montreal
meeting of the British Association.
Application of Electricity to Tramways.--By M. HOLROYD
SMITH.--7 figures.
The Sunshine Recorder.--1 figure.
V. ARCHITECTURE AND ART.--The National Monument at Rome.--With
full page engraving.
On the Evolution of Forms of Art.--From a paper by Prof.
JACOBSTHAL.--Plant Forms the archetypes of cashmere
patterns.--Ornamental representations of plants of two
kinds.--Architectural forms of different ages.--20 figures.
VI. NATURAL HISTORY.--The Latest Knowledge about Gapes.--How
to keep poultry free from them.
The Voyage of the Vettor Pisani.--Shark fishing In the Gulf
of Panama.--Capture of Rhinodon typicus, the largest fish in
existence.
VII. HORTICULTURE, ETC.--The Proper Time for Cutting Timber.
Raising Ferns from Spores.--1 figure.
The Life History of Vaucheria.--Growth of alga vaucheria
under the microscope.--4 figures.
VIII. MISCELLANEOUS.--Fires in London and New York.
The Greely Arctic Expedition.--With engraving.
The Nile Expedition.--1 figure.
* * * * *
LINKS IN THE HISTORY OF THE LOCOMOTIVE.
It is, perhaps, more difficult to write accurate history than anything
else, and this is true not only of nations, kings, politicians, or wars,
but of events and things witnessed or called into existence in every-day
life. In _The Engineer_ for September 17, 1880, we did our best to place a
true statement of the facts concerning the Rocket before our readers. In
many respects this was the most remarkable steam engine ever built, and
about it there ought to be no difficulty, one would imagine, in arriving at
the truth. It was for a considerable period the cynosure of all eyes.
Engineers all over the world were interested in its performance. Drawings
were made of it; accounts were written of it, descriptions of it abounded.
Little more than half a century has elapsed since it startled the world by
its performance at Rainhill, and yet it is not too much to say that the
truth--the whole truth, that is to say--can never now be written. We are,
however, able to put some facts before our readers now which have never
before been published, which are sufficiently startling, and while
supplying a missing link in the history of the locomotive, go far to show
that much that has hitherto been held to be true is not true at all.
When the Liverpool and Manchester Railway was opened on the 15th of
September, 1830, among those present was James Nasmyth, subsequently the
inventor of the steam hammer. Mr. Nasmyth was a good freehand draughtsman,
and he sketched the Rocket as it stood on the line. The sketch is still in
existence. Mr. Nasmyth has placed this sketch at our disposal, thus earning
the gratitude of our readers, and we have reproduced as nearly as possible,
but to a somewhat enlarged scale, this invaluable link in the history of
the locomotive. Mr. Nasmyth writes concerning it, July 26, 1884: "This
slight and hasty sketch of the Rocket was made the day before the opening
of the Manchester and Liverpool Railway, September 12, 1830. I availed
myself of the opportunity of a short pause in the experimental runs with
the Rocket, of three or four miles between Liverpool and Rainhill, George
Stephenson acting as engine driver and his son Robert as stoker. The
limited time I had for making my sketch prevented me from making a more
elaborate one, but such as it is, all the important and characteristic
details are given; but the pencil lines, after the lapse of fifty-four
years, have become somewhat indistinct." The pencil drawing, more than
fifty years old, has become so faint that its reproduction has become a
difficult task. Enough remains, however, to show very clearly what manner
of engine this Rocket was. For the sake of comparison we reproduce an
engraving of the Rocket of 1829. A glance will show that an astonishing
transformation had taken place in the eleven months which had elapsed
between the Rainhill trials and the opening of the Liverpool and Manchester
Railway. We may indicate a few of the alterations. In 1829 the cylinders
were set at a steep angle; in 1830 they were nearly horizontal. In 1829 the
driving wheels were of wood; in 1830 they were of cast iron. In 1829 there
was no smoke-box proper, and a towering chimney; in 1830 there was a
smoke-box and a comparatively short chimney. In 1829 a cask and a truck
constituted the tender; in 1830 there was a neatly designed tender, not
very different in style from that still in use on the Great Western broad
gauge. All these things may perhaps be termed concomitants, or changes in
detail. But there is a radical difference yet to be considered. In 1829 the
fire-box was a kind of separate chamber tacked on to the back of the barrel
of the boiler, and communicating with it by three tubes; one on each side
united the water spaces, and one at the top the steam spaces. In 1830 all
this had disappeared, and we find in Mr. Nasmyth's sketch a regular
fire-box, such as is used to this moment. In one word, the Rocket of 1829
is different from the Rocket of 1830 in almost every conceivable respect;
and we are driven perforce to the conclusion that the Rocket of 1829
_never worked at all on the Liverpool and Manchester Railway; the engine of
1830 was an entirely new engine_. We see no possible way of escaping from
this conclusion. The most that can be said against it is that the engine
underwent many alterations. The alterations must, however, have been so
numerous that they were tantamount to the construction of a new engine. It
is difficult, indeed, to see what part of the old engine could exist in the
new one; some plates of the boiler shell might, perhaps, have been
retained, but we doubt it. It may, perhaps, disturb some hitherto well
rooted beliefs to say so, but it seems to us indisputable that the Rocket
of 1829 and 1830 were totally different engines.
[Illustration: FIG. 1. THE ROCKET, 1829. THE ROCKET, 1830.]
Our engraving, Fig. 1, is copied from a drawing made by Mr. Phipps,
M.I.C.E., who was employed by Messrs. Stephenson to compile a drawing of
the Rocket from such drawings and documents as could be found. This
gentleman had made the original drawings of the Rocket of 1829, under
Messrs. G. & R. Stephenson's direction. Mr. Phipps is quite silent about
the history of the engine during the eleven months between the Rainhill
trials and the opening of the railway. In this respect he is like every one
else. This period is a perfect blank. It is assumed that from Rainhill the
engine went back to Messrs. Stephenson's works; but there is nothing on the
subject in print, so far as we are aware. Mr. G.R. Stephenson lent us in
1880 a working model of the Rocket. An engraving of this will be found in
_The Engineer_ for September 17, 1880. The difference between it and the
engraving below, prepared from Mr. Phipps' drawing, is, it will be seen,
very small--one of proportions more than anything else. Mr. Stephenson says
of his model: "I can say that it is a very fair representation of what the
engine was before she was altered." Hitherto it has always been taken for
granted that the alteration consisted mainly in reducing the angle at which
the cylinders were set. The Nasmyth drawing alters the whole aspect of the
question, and we are now left to speculate as to what became of the
original Rocket. We are told that after "it" left the railway it was
employed by Lord Dundonald to supply steam to a rotary engine; then it
propelled a steamboat; next it drove small machinery in a shop in
Manchester; then it was employed in a brickyard; eventually it was
purchased as a curiosity by Mr. Thomson, of Kirkhouse, near Carlisle, who
sent it to Messrs. Stephenson to take care of. With them it remained for
years. Then Messrs. Stephenson put it into something like its original
shape, and it went to South Kensington Museum, where "it" is now. The
question is, What engine is this? Was it the Rocket of 1829 or the Rocket
of 1830, or neither? It could not be the last, as will be understood from
Mr. Nasmyth's drawing; if we bear in mind that the so-called fire-box on
the South Kensington engine is only a sham made of thin sheet iron without
water space, while the fire-box shown in Mr. Nasmyth's engine is an
integral part of the whole, which could not have been cut off. That is to
say, Messrs. Stephenson, in getting the engine put in order for the Patent
Office Museum, certainly did not cut off the fire-box shown in Mr.
Nasmyth's sketch, and replace it with the sham box now on the boiler. If
our readers will turn to our impression for the 30th of June, 1876, they
will find a very accurate engraving of the South Kensington engine, which
they can compare with Mr. Nasmyth's sketch, and not fail to perceive that
the differences are radical.
In "Wood on Railroads," second edition, 1832, page 377, we are told that
"after those experiments"--the Rainhill trials--"were concluded, the
Novelty underwent considerable alterations;" and on page 399, "Mr.
Stephenson had also improved the working of the Rocket engine, and by
applying the steam more powerfully in the chimney to increase the draught,
was enabled to raise a much greater quantity of steam than before." Nothing
is said as to where the new experiments took place, nor their precise date.
But it seems that the Meteor and the Arrow--Stephenson engines--were tried
at the same time; and this is really the only hint Wood gives as to what
was done to the Rocket between the 6th of October, 1829, and the 15th of
September, 1830.
There are men still alive who no doubt could clear up the question at
issue, and it is much to be hoped that they will do so. As the matter now
stands, it will be seen that we do not so much question that the Rocket in
South Kensington Museum is, in part perhaps, the original Rocket of
Rainhill celebrity, as that it ever ran in regular service on the Liverpool
and Manchester Railway. Yet, if not, then we may ask, what became of the
Rocket of 1830? It is not at all improbable that the first Rocket was cast
on one side, until it was bought by Lord Dundonald, and that its history is
set out with fair accuracy above. But the Rocket of the Manchester and
Liverpool Railway is hardly less worthy of attention than its immediate
predecessor, and concerning it information is needed. Any scrap of
information, however apparently trifling, that can be thrown on this
subject by our readers will be highly valued, and given an appropriate
place in our pages.--_The Engineer_.
* * * * *
The largest grain elevator in the world, says the _Nashville American_, is
that just constructed at Newport News under the auspices of the Chesapeake
& Ohio Railway Co. It is 90 ft. wide, 386 ft. long, and about 164 ft. high,
with engine and boiler rooms 40 x 100 ft. and 40 ft. high. In its
construction there were used about 3,000 piles, 100,000 ft. of white-oak
timber, 82,000 cu. ft. of stone, 800,000 brick, 6,000,000 ft. of pine and
spruce lumber, 4,500 kegs of nails, 6 large boilers, 2 large engines, 200
tons of machinery, 20 large hopper-scales, and 17,200 ft. of rubber belts,
from 8 to 48 in. wide and 50 to 1,700 ft. long; in addition, there were
8,000 elevator buckets, and other material. The storage capacity is
1,600,000 bushels, with a receiving capacity of 30,000, and a shipping
capacity of 20,000 bushels per hour.
* * * * *
THE FLOW OF WATER THROUGH TURBINES AND SCREW PROPELLERS.
[Footnote: Paper read before the British Association at Montreal.]
By Mr. ARTHUR RIGG, C.E.
Literature relating to turbines probably stands unrivaled among all that
concerns questions of hydraulic engineering, not so much in its voluminous
character as in the extent to which purely theoretical writers have ignored
facts, or practical writers have relied upon empirical rules rather than
upon any sound theory. In relation to this view, it may suffice to note
that theoretical deductions have frequently been based upon a
generalization that "streams of water must enter the buckets of a turbine
without shock, and leave them without velocity." Both these assumed
conditions are misleading, and it is now well known that in every good
turbine both are carefully disobeyed. So-called practical writers, as a
rule, fail to give much useful information, and their task seems rather in
praise of one description of turbine above another. But generally, it is of
no consequence whatever how a stream of water may be led through the
buckets of any form of turbine, so long as its velocity gradually becomes
reduced to the smallest amount that will carry it freely clear of the
machine.
The character of theoretical information imparted by some _Chicago Journal
of Commerce_, dated 20th February, 1884. There we are informed that "the
height of the fall is one of the most important considerations, as the same
stream of water will furnish five times the horse power at ten ft. that it
will at five ft. fall." By general consent twice two are four, but it has
been reserved for this imaginative writer to make the useful discovery that
sometimes twice two are ten. Not until after the translation of Captain
Morris' work on turbines by Mr. E. Morris in 1844, was attention in America
directed to the advantages which these motors possessed over the gravity
wheels then in use. A duty of 75 per cent. was then obtained, and a further
study of the subject by a most acute and practical engineer, Mr. Boyden,
led to various improvements upon Mr. Fauneyron's model, by which his
experiments indicated the high duty of 88 per cent. The most conspicuous
addition made by Mr. Boyden was the diffuser. The ingenious contrivance had
the effect of transforming part of whatever velocity remained in the stream
after passing out of a turbine into an atmospheric pressure, by which the
corresponding lost head became effective, and added about 3 per cent. to
the duty obtained. It may be worth noticing that, by an accidental
application of these principles to some inward flow turbines, there is
obtained most, if not all, of whatever advantage they are supposed to
possess, but oddly enough this genuine advantage is never mentioned by any
of the writers who are interested in their introduction or sale. The
well-known experiments of Mr. James B. Francis in 1857, and his elaborate
report, gave to hydraulic engineers a vast store of useful data, and since
that period much progress has been made in the construction of turbines,
and literature on the subject has become very complete.
In the limits of a short paper it is impossible to do justice to more than
one aspect of the considerations relating to turbines, and it is now
proposed to bring before the Mechanical Section of the British Association
some conclusions drawn from the behavior of jets of water discharged under
pressure, more particularly in the hope that, as water power is extremely
abundant in Canada, any remarks relating to the subject may not fail to
prove interesting.
Between the action of turbines and that of screw propellers exists an exact
parallelism, although in one case water imparts motion to the buckets of a
turbine, while in the other case blades of a screw give spiral movement to
a column of water driven aft from the vessel it propels forward. Turbines
have been driven sometimes by impact alone, sometimes by reaction above,
though generally by a combination of impact and reaction, and it is by the
last named system that the best results are now known to be obtained.
The ordinary paddles of a steamer impel a mass of water horizontally
backward by impact alone, but screw propellers use reaction somewhat
disguised, and only to a limited extent. The full use and advantages of
reaction for screw propellers were not generally known until after the
publication of papers by the present writer in the "Proceedings" of the
Institution of Naval Architects for 1867 and 1868, and more fully in the
"Transactions" of the Society of Engineers for 1868. Since that time, by
the author of these investigations then described, by the English
Admiralty, and by private firms, further experiments have been carried out,
some on a considerable scale, and all corroborative of the results
published in 1868. But nothing further has been done in utilizing these
discoveries until the recent exigencies of modern naval warfare have led
foreign nations to place a high value upon speed. Some makers of torpedo
boats have thus been induced to slacken the trammels of an older theory and
to apply a somewhat incomplete form of the author's reaction propeller for
gaining some portion of the notable performance of these hornets of the
deep. Just as in turbines a combination of impact and reaction produces the
maximum practical result, so in screw propellers does a corresponding gain
accompany the same construction.
[Illustration: FIG. 1.]
[Illustration: FIG. 2.]
_Turbines_.--While studying those effects produced by jets of water
impinging upon plain or concave surfaces corresponding to buckets of
turbines, it simplifies matters to separate these results due to impact
from others due to reaction. And it will be well at the outset to draw a
distinction between the nature of these two pressures, and to remind
ourselves of the laws which lie at the root and govern the whole question
under present consideration. Water obeys the laws of gravity, exactly like
every other body; and the velocity with which any quantity may be falling
is an expression of the full amount of work it contains. By a sufficiently
accurate practical rule this velocity is eight times the square root of the
head or vertical column measured in feet. Velocity per second = 8 sqrt
(head in feet), therefore, for a head of 100 ft. as an example, V = 8 sqrt
(100) = 80 ft. per second. The graphic method of showing velocities or
pressures has many advantages, and is used in all the following diagrams.
Beginning with purely theoretical considerations, we must first recollect
that there is no such thing as absolute motion. All movements are relative
to something else, and what we have to do with a stream of water in a
turbine is to reduce its velocity relatively to the earth, quite a
different thing to its velocity in relation to the turbine; for while the
one may be zero, the other may be anything we please. ABCD in Fig. 1
represents a parallelogram of velocities, wherein AC gives the direction of
a jet of water starting at A, and arriving at C at the end of one second or
any other division of time. At a scale of 1/40 in. to 1 ft., AC represents
80 ft., the fall due to 100 ft. head, or at a scale of 1 in. to 1 ft., AC
gives 2 ft., or the distance traveled by the same stream in 1/40 of a
second. The velocity AC may be resolved into two others, namely, AB and AD,
or BC, which are found to be 69.28 ft. and 40 ft. respectively, when the
angle BAC--generally called _x_ in treatises on turbines--is 30 deg. If,
however, AC is taken at 2 ft., then A B will be found = 20.78 in., and BC =
12 in. for a time of 1/40 or 0.025 of a second. Supposing now a flat plate,
BC = 12 in. wide move from DA to CB during 0.025 second, it will be readily
seen that a drop of water starting from A will have arrived at C in 0.025
second, having been flowing along the surface BC from B to C without either
friction or loss of velocity. If now, instead of a straight plate, BC, we
substitute one having a concave surface, such as BK in Fig. 2, it will be
found necessary to move it from A to L in 0.025 second, in order to allow a
stream to arrive at C, that is K, without, in transit, friction or loss of
velocity. This concave surface may represent one bucket of a turbine.
Supposing now a resistance to be applied to that it can only move from A to
B instead of to L. Then, as we have already resolved the velocity A C into
AB and BC, so far as the former (AB) is concerned, no alteration occurs
whether BK be straight or curved. But the other portion, BC, pressing
vertically against the concave surface, BK, becomes gradually diminished in
its velocity in relation to the earth, and produces and effect known as
"reaction." A combined operation of impact and reaction occurs by further
diminishing the distance which the bucket is allowed to travel, as, for
examples, to EF. Here the jet is impelled against the lower edge of the
bucket, B, and gives a pressure by its impact; then following the curve BK,
with a diminishing velocity, it is finally discharged at K, retaining only
sufficient movement to carry the water clear out of the machine. Thus far
we have considered the movement of jets and buckets along AB as straight
lines, but this can only occur, so far as buckets are concerned, when their
radius in infinite. In practice these latter movements are always curves of
more or less complicated form, which effect a considerable modification in
the forms of buckets, etc., but not in the general principles, and it is
the duty of the designer of any form of turbine to give this consideration
its due importance. Having thus cleared away any ambiguity from the terms
"impact," and "reaction," and shown how they can act independently or
together, we shall be able to follow the course and behavior of streams in
a turbine, and by treating their effects as arising from two separate
causes, we shall be able to regard the problem without that inevitable
confusion which arises when they are considered as acting conjointly.
Turbines, though driven by vast volumes of water, are in reality impelled
by countless isolated jets, or streams, all acting together, and a clear
understanding of the behavior of any one of these facilitates and concludes
a solution of the whole problem.
_Experimental researches_.--All experiments referred to in this paper were
made by jets of water under an actual vertical head of 45 ft., but as the
supply came through a considerable length of 1/2 in. bore lead piping, and
many bends, a large and constant loss occurred through friction and bends,
so that the actual working head was only known by measuring the velocity of
discharge. This was easily done by allowing all the water to flow into a
tank of known capacity. The stop cock had a clear circular passage through
it, and two different jets were used. One oblong measured 0.5 in. by 0.15
in., giving an area of 0.075 square inch. The other jet was circular, and
just so much larger than 1/4 in. to be 0.05 of a square inch area, and the
stream flowed with a velocity of 40 ft. per second, corresponding to a head
of 25 ft. Either nozzle could be attached to the same universal joint, and
directed at any desired inclination upon the horizontal surface of a
special well-adjusted compound weighing machine, or into various bent tubes
and other attachments, so that all pressures, whether vertical or
horizontal, could be accurately ascertained and reduced to the unit, which
was the quarter of an ounce. The vertical component _p_ of any pressure P
may be ascertained by the formula--
_p_ = P sin alpha,
where alpha is the angle made by a jet against a surface; and in order to
test the accuracy of the simple machinery employed for these researches,
the oblong jet which gave 71 unit when impinging vertically upon a circular
plate, was directed at 60 deg. and 45 deg. thereon, with results shown in
Table I., and these, it will be observed, are sufficiently close to theory
to warrant reliance being placed on data obtained from the simple weighing
machinery used in the experiment.
_Table I.--Impact on Level Plate._
--------------+--------------------+----------+----------+----------
| Inclination of jet | | |
Distance. | to the horizonal. | 90 deg. | 60 deg. | 45 deg.
--------------+--------------------+----------+----------+----------
| | Pressure | Pressure | Pressure
| | | |
/ | Experiment \ | / | 61.00 | 49.00
11/2 in. < | > | 71.00 < | |
\ | Theory / | \ | 61.48 | 50.10
| | | |
| | | |
/ | Experiment \ | / | 55.00 | 45.00
1 in. < | > | 63.00 < | |
\ | Theory / | \ | 54.00 | 45.00
| | | |
--------------+--------------------+----------+----------+----------
In each case the unit of pressure is 1/4 oz.
In the first trial there was a distance of 11/2 in. between the jet and point
of its contact with the plate, while in the second trial this space was
diminished to 1/2 in. It will be noticed that as this distance increases we
have augmented pressures, and these are not due, as might be supposed, to
increase of head, which is practically nothing, but they are due to the
recoil of a portion of the stream, which occurs increasingly as it becomes
more and more broken up. These alterations in pressure can only be
eliminated when care is taken to measure that only due to impact, without
at the same time adding the effect of an imperfect reaction. Any stream
that can run off at all points from a smooth surface gives the minimum of
pressure thereon, for then the least resistance is offered to the
destruction of the vertical element of its velocity, but this freedom
becomes lost when a stream is diverted into a confined channel. As pressure
is an indication and measure of lost velocity, we may then reasonably look
for greater pressure on the scale when a stream is confined after impact
than when it discharges freely in every direction. Experimentally this is
shown to be the case, for when the same oblong jet, discharged under the
same conditions, impinged vertically upon a smooth plate, and gave a
pressure of 71 units, gave 87 units when discharged into a confined
right-angled channel. This result emphasizes the necessity for confining
streams of water whenever it is desired to receive the greatest pressure by
arresting their velocity. Such streams will always endeavor to escape in
the directions of least resistance, and, therefore, in a turbine means
should be provided to prevent any lateral deviation of the streams while
passing through their buckets. So with screw propellers the great mass of
surrounding water may be regarded as acting like a channel with elastic
sides, which permits the area enlarging as the velocity of a current
passing diminishes. The experiments thus far described have been made with
jets of an oblong shape, and they give results differing in some degree
from those obtained with circular jets. Yet as the general conclusions from
both are found the same, it will avoid unnecessary prolixity by using the
data from experiments made with a circular jet of 0.05 square inch area,
discharging a stream at the rate of 40 ft. per second. This amounts to 52
lb. of water per minute with an available head of 25 ft., or 1,300
foot-pounds per minute. The tubes which received and directed the course of
this jet were generally of lead, having a perfectly smooth internal
surface, for it was found that with a rougher surface the flow of water is
retarded, and changes occur in the data obtained. Any stream having its
course changed presses against the body causing such change, this pressure
increasing in proportion to the angle through which the change is made, and
also according to the radius of a curve around which it flows. This fact
has long been known to hydraulic engineers, and formulae exist by which such
pressures can be determined; nevertheless, it will be useful to study these
relations from a | 0.698571 |
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Produced by Ron Swanson
_Rulers of India_
EDITED BY
SIR WILLIAM WILSON HUNTER, K.C.S.I.: C.I.E.: M.A. (OXFORD): LL.D.
(CAMBRIDGE)
THE EARL OF MAYO
London
HENRY FROWDE
OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS WAREHOUSE
AMEN CORNER, E.C.
[_All rights reserved_]
[Illustration: MAP OF THE INDIAN EMPIRE]
[Frontispiece: Mayo. _Collotype. Oxford University Press._]
RULERS OF INDIA
THE EARL OF MAYO
BY SIR WILLIAM WILSON HUNTER, K.C.S.I.: C.I.E.: M.A.: LL.D.
Oxford
AT THE CLARENDON PRESS: 1891
Oxford
PRINTED AT THE CLARENDON PRESS
BY HORACE HART, PR | 1.299337 |
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Produced by Chris Curnow, Stephen Hutcheson, Joseph Cooper
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
BIRDS AND NATURE.
ILLUSTRATED BY COLOR PHOTOGRAPHY.
Vol. IX. MARCH, 1901. No. 3
CONTENTS.
SPRING. 97
ABOUT PARROTS. 98
How can our fancies help but go 107
POLLY. 108
Hark! ’tis the bluebird’s venturous strain 109
THE AMERICAN | 1.398922 |
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Produced by Shaun Pinder, Les Galloway and the Online
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file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
COLOUR IN THE
FLOWER GARDEN
[Illustration: _WHITE LILIES._]
_THE "COUNTRY LIFE"
LIBRARY_
COLOUR IN THE
FLOWER GARDEN
BY
GERTRUDE JEKYLL
[Illustration: A bunch of flowers.]
PUBLISHED BY
"COUNTRY LIFE," LTD. GEORGE NEWNES, LTD.
20, TAVISTOCK STREET 7-12, SOUTHAMPTON ST.
COVENT GARDEN, W.C. COVENT GARDEN, W.C.
1908
INTRODUCTION
To plant and maintain a flower-border, _with a good scheme for colour_,
is by no means the easy thing that is commonly supposed.
I believe that the only way in which it can be made successful is to
devote certain borders to certain times of year; each border or garden
region to be bright for from one to three months.
Nothing seems to me more unsatisfactory than the border that in spring
shows a few patches of flowering bulbs in ground otherwise looking
empty, or with tufts of herbaceous plants just coming through. Then
the bulbs die down, and their place is wanted for something that comes
later. Either the ground will then show bare patches, or the place of
the bulbs will be forgotten and they will be cruelly stabbed by fork or
trowel when it is wished to put something in the apparently empty space.
For many years I have been working at these problems in my own garden,
and having come to certain conclusions, can venture to put them forth
with some confidence. I may mention that from the nature of the ground,
in its original state partly wooded and partly bare field, and from
its having been brought into cultivation and some sort of shape before
it was known where the house now upon it would exactly stand, the
garden has less general unity of design than I should have wished. The
position and general form of its various portions were accepted mainly
according to their natural conditions, so that the garden ground,
though but of small extent, falls into different regions, with a
general, but not altogether definite, cohesion.
I am strongly of opinion that the possession of a quantity of plants,
however good the plants may be themselves and however ample their
number, does not make a garden; it only makes a _collection_. Having
got the plants, the great thing is to use them with careful selection
and definite intention. Merely having them, or having them planted
unassorted in garden spaces, is only like having a box of paints
from the best colourman, or, to go one step further, it is like
having portions of these paints set out upon a palette. This does not
constitute a picture; and it seems to me that the duty we owe to our
gardens and to our own bettering in our gardens is so to use the plants
that they shall form beautiful pictures; and that, while delighting
our eyes, they should be always training those eyes to a more exalted
criticism; to a state of mind and artistic conscience that will not
tolerate bad or careless combination or any sort of misuse of plants,
but in which it becomes a point of honour to be always striving for the
best.
It is just in the way it is done that lies the whole difference between
commonplace gardening and gardening that may rightly claim to rank as a
fine art. Given the same space of ground and the same material, they
may either be fashioned into a dream of beauty, a place of perfect
rest and refreshment of mind and body--a series of soul-satisfying
pictures--a treasure of well-set jewels; or they may be so misused that
everything is jarring and displeasing. To learn how to perceive the
difference and how to do right is to apprehend gardening as a fine art.
In practice it is to place every plant or group of plants with such
thoughtful care and definite intention that they shall form a part of a
harmonious whole, and that successive portions, or in some cases even
single details, shall show a series of pictures. It is so to regulate
the trees and undergrowth of the wood that their lines and masses come
into beautiful form and harmonious proportion; it is to be always
watching, noting and doing, and putting oneself meanwhile into closest
acquaintance and sympathy with the growing things.
In this spirit, the garden and woodland, such as they are, have been
formed. There have been many failures, but, every now and then, I am
encouraged and rewarded by a certain measure of success. Yet, as the
critical faculty becomes keener, so does the standard of aim rise
higher; and, year by year, the desired point seems always to elude
attainment.
But, as I may perhaps have taken more trouble in working out certain
problems, and given more thought to methods of arranging growing
flowers, especially in ways of colour-combination, than amateurs in
general, I have thought that it may be helpful to some of them to
describe as well as I can by word, and to show by plan and picture,
what I have tried to do, and to point out where I have succeeded and
where I have failed.
I must ask my kind readers not to take it amiss if I mention here that
I cannot undertake to show it them on the spot. I am a solitary worker;
I am growing old and tired, and suffer from very bad and painful sight.
My garden is my workshop, my private study and place of rest. For the
sake of health and reasonable enjoyment of life it is necessary to
keep it quite private, and to refuse the many applications of those
who offer it visits. My oldest friends can now only be admitted. So I
ask my readers to spare me the painful task of writing long letters
of excuse and explanation; a task that has come upon me almost daily
of late years in the summer months, that has sorely tried my weak and
painful eyes, and has added much to the difficulty of getting through
an already over-large correspondence.
CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTION v
CHAPTER I
A MARCH STUDY AND THE BORDER OF EARLY BULBS 1
CHAPTER II
THE WOOD 8
CHAPTER III
THE SPRING GARDEN 21
CHAPTER IV
BETWEEN SPRING AND SUMMER 32
CHAPTER V
THE JUNE GARDEN 39
CHAPTER VI
THE MAIN HARDY FLOWER BORDER 49
CHAPTER VII
THE FLOWER BORDER IN JULY 58
CHAPTER VIII
THE FLOWER BORDER IN AUGUST 65
CHAPTER IX
THE FLOWER BORDERS IN SEPTEMBER 78
CHAPTER X
WOOD AND SHRUBBERY EDGES 83
CHAPTER XI
GARDENS OF SPECIAL COLOURING 89
CHAPTER XII
CLIMBING PLANTS 106
CHAPTER XIII
GROUPING OF PLANTS IN POTS 112
CHAPTER XIV
SOME GARDEN PICTURES 121
CHAPTER XV
A BEAUTIFUL FRUIT GARDEN 127
CHAPTER XVI
PLANTING FOR WINTER COLOUR 133
CHAPTER XVII
FORM IN PLANTING 138
INDEX 143
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
WHITE LILIES _Frontispiece_
IRIS STYLOSA _To face page_ 4
MAGNOLIA CONSPICUA " " 5
MAGNOLIA STELLATA " " 6
FERNS IN THE BULB BORDER " " 7
THE BANK OF EARLY BULBS " " 7
DAFFODILS BY A WOODLAND PATH " " 10
WILD PRIMROSES IN THIN WOODLAND " " 11
THE WIDE WOOD PATH " " 12
CISTUS LAURIFOLIUS " " 13
A WOOD PATH AMONG CHESTNUTS " " 14
A WOOD PATH AMONG BIRCHES " " 15
CISTUS CYPRIUS " " 16
CISTUS BY THE WOOD PATH " " 17
GAULTHERIA SHALLON IN FLOWER " " 18
GAULTHERIA SHALLON IN FRUIT " " 19
WHITE IRISH HEATH " " 20
THE SPRING GARDEN FROM =D= ON PLAN " " 21
PLAN OF THE SPRING GARDEN " " 23
THE FERN-LIKE SWEET CICELY " " 24
THE SPRING GARDEN FROM =E= ON PLAN " " 25
"FURTHER ROCK" FROM =G= ON PLAN " " 28
"FURTHER ROCK" FROM =H= ON PLAN " " 29
"NEAR ROCK" FROM =F= ON PLAN " " 30
THE PRIMROSE GARDEN " " 31
STEPS TO THE HIDDEN GARDEN " " 32
PHLOX DIVARICATA AND ARENARIA MONTANA " " 33
MALE FERN IN THE HIDDEN GARDEN " " 34
EXOCHORDA GRANDIFLORA " " 35
PLAN OF THE HIDDEN GARDEN " " 35
EUPHORBIA WULFENII " " 36
IRISES AND LUPINES IN THE JUNE GARDEN " " 37
PART OF THE GARLAND ROSE AT THE ANGLE " " 39
ROSE BLUSH GALLICA ON DRY WALLING " " 42
SPANISH IRIS " " 43
PLAN OF THE JUNE GARDEN " " 44
PLAN OF IRIS AND LUPINE BORDERS " " 44
WHITE TREE LUPINE " " 46
CATMINT IN JUNE " " 47
SCOTCH BRIARS " " 48
GERANIUM IBERICUM PLATYPHYLLUM " " 49
THE FLOWER BORDER IN LATE SUMMER " " 50
THE CROSS WALK " " 51
THE EAST END OF THE FLOWER BORDER " " 52
PLAN OF THE MAIN FLOWER BORDER " " 53
GOOD STAKING--CAMPANULA PERSICIFOLIA " " 54
CAREFUL STAKING OF MICHAELMAS DAISIES " " 55
WHITE ROSE LA GUIRLANDE; GREY BORDERS
BEYOND " " 60
CLEMATIS RECTA " " 61
DELPHINIUM BELLADONNA " " 62
CANTERBURY BELLS " " 63
ROSE THE GARLAND IN A SILVER HOLLY " " 64
ERYNGIUM OLIVERIANUM " " 65
TALL CAMPANULAS IN A GREY BORDER " " 66
YUCCA FILAMENTOSA " " 70
THE GREY BORDERS: STACHYS, &C. " " 71
A LAVENDER HEDGE " " 74
ÆSCULUS AND OLEARIA " " 75
PLAN OF GARDEN OF CHINA ASTERS " " 77
SOME OF THE EARLY ASTERS " " 78
THE SEPTEMBER GARDEN " " 79
THE SEPTEMBER GARDEN " " 80
THE SEPTEMBER GARDEN " " 80
BEGONIAS WITH MEGASEA FOLIAGE " " 80
EARLY ASTERS AND PYRETHRUM ULIGINOSUM " " 81
PLAN OF SEPTEMBER BORDERS " " 81
GARLAND ROSE, WHERE GARDEN JOINS WOOD " " 84
POLYGONUM AND MEGASEA AT A WOOD EDGE " " 84
LILIES AND FUNKIAS AT A SHRUBBERY EDGE " " 84
OLEARIA GUNNI, FERN AND FUNKIA " " 85
FERNS AND LILIES AT A SHRUBBERY EDGE " " 86
GYPSOPHILA AND MEGASEA " " 87
LILIES AND FERNS AT THE WOOD EDGE " " 88
SMALL WIRE-STEMMED ASTER; SECOND YEAR " " 88
SMALL WIRE-STEMMED ASTER; THIRD YEAR " " 88
STOBÆA PURPUREA " " 89
THE GREY BORDERS: GYPSOPHILA,
ECHINOPS, &C. " " 92
OCTOBER BORDERS OF MICHAELMAS DAISIES " " 92
A SEPTEMBER GREY GARDEN " " 92
THE GREY BORDER: PINK HOLLYHOCK, &C. " " 93
PLANS OF SPECIAL COLOUR GARDENS " " 93
A DETAIL OF THE GREY SEPTEMBER GARDEN " " 100
YUCCAS AND GREY FOLIAGE " " 102
A FRONT EDGE OF GREY FOLIAGE " " 103
HARDY GRAPE VINE ON SOUTH SIDE OF HOUSE " " 106
HARDY GRAPE VINE ON HOUSE WALL " " 107
VINE AND FIG AT DOOR OF MUSHROOM HOUSE " " 108
CLEMATIS MONTANA AT ANGLE OF COURT " " 108
CLEMATIS MONTANA OVER WORKSHOP WINDOW " " 108
CLEMATIS MONTANA TRAINED AS GARLANDS " " 108
CLEMATIS FLAMMULA AND SPIRÆA LINDLEYANA " " 108
ABUTILON VITIFOLIUM " " 108
IPOMŒA "HEAVENLY BLUE" " " 108
SOLANUM JASMINOIDES " " 108
CLEMATIS FLAMMULA ON ANGLE OF COTTAGE " " 108
CLEMATIS FLAMMULA ON COTTAGE " " 109
CLEMATIS FLAMMULA ON A WOODEN FENCE " " 110
SWEET VERBENA " " 111
POT PLANTS JUST PLACED " " 112
PLANTS IN POTS IN THE SHADED COURT " " 112
MAIDEN'S WREATH (FRANCOA RAMOSA) " " 112
MAIDEN'S WREATH BY TANK " " 113
GERANIUMS, &C., IN A STONE-EDGED BED " " 116
MAIDEN'S WREATH IN POTS ABOVE TANK " " 116
FUNKIA, HYDRANGEA AND LILY IN THE SHADED
COURT " " 116
FUNKIA AND LILIUM SPECIOSUM " " 117
LILIUM AURATUM " " 120
A TUB HYDRANGEA " " 120
STEPS AND HYDRANGEAS " " 120
THE NARROW SOUTH LAWN " " 121
HYDRANGEA TUBS AND BIRCH-TREE SEAT " " 124
HYDRANGEA TUBS AND NUT WALK " " 124
WHITE LILIES " " 124
THE STEPS AND THEIR INCIDENTS " " 125
PLAN--THE BEAUTIFUL FRUIT GARDEN " " 129
PLAN--A WILD HEATH GARDEN " " 139
COLOUR IN THE FLOWER GARDEN
CHAPTER I
A MARCH STUDY AND THE BORDER OF EARLY BULBS
There comes a day towards the end of March when there is but little
wind, and that is from the west or even south-west. The sun has gained
much power, so that it is pleasant to sit out in the garden, or, better
still, in some sunny nook of sheltered woodland. There is such a place
among silver-trunked Birches, with here and there the splendid richness
of masses of dark Holly. The rest of the background above eye-level
is of the warm bud-colour of the summer-leafing trees, and, below,
the fading rust of the now nearly flattened fronds of last year's
Bracken, and the still paler drifts of leaves from neighbouring Oaks
and Chestnuts. The sunlight strikes brightly on the silver stems of the
Birches, and casts their shadows clear-cut across the grassy woodland
ride. The grass is barely green as yet, but has the faint winter green
of herbage not yet grown and still powdered with the short remnants
of the fine-leaved, last-year-mown heath grasses. Brown leaves still
hang on young Beech and Oak. The trunks of the Spanish Chestnuts are
elephant-grey, a notable contrast to the sudden, vivid shafts of the
Birches. Some groups of the pale early Pyrenean Daffodil gleam level on
the ground a little way forward.
It is the year's first complete picture of flower-effect in the
woodland landscape. The place is not very far from the house, in the
nearest hundred yards of the copse; where flowers seem to be more in
place than further away. Looking to the left, the long ridge and south
<DW72> of the house-roof is seen through the leafless trees, though the
main wall-block is hidden by the sheltering Hollies and Junipers.
Coming down towards the garden by another broad grassy way, that goes
westward through the Chestnuts and then turns towards the down-hill
north, there comes yet another deviation through Rhododendrons and
Birches to the main lawn. But before the last turn there is a pleasant
mass of colour showing in the wood-edge on the dead-leaf carpet. It
is a straggling group of _Daphne Mezereon_, with some clumps of red
Lent Hellebores, and, to the front, some half-connected patches of the
common Dog-tooth Violet. The nearly related combination of colour is a
delight to the trained colour-eye. There is nothing brilliant; it is
all restrained, refined, in harmony with the veiled light that reaches
the flowers through the great clumps of Hollies and tall half-overhead
Chestnuts and neighbouring Beech. The colours are all a little "sad,"
as the old writers so aptly say of the flower-tints of secondary
strength. But it is a perfect picture. One comes to it again and again
as one does to any picture that is good to live with.
To devise these living pictures with simple well-known flowers seems
to me the best thing to do in gardening. Whether it is the putting
together of two or three kinds of plants, or even of one kind only in
some happy setting, or whether it is the ordering of a much larger
number of plants, as in a flower-border of middle and late summer, the
intention is always the same. Whether the arrangement is simple and
modest, whether it is obvious or whether it is subtle, whether it is
bold and gorgeous, the aim is always to use the plants to the best of
one's means and intelligence so as to form pictures of living beauty.
It is a thing that I see so rarely attempted, and that seems to me so
important, that the wish to suggest it to others, and to give an idea
of examples that I have worked out, in however modest a way, is the
purpose of this book.
These early examples within the days of March are of special interest
because as yet flowers are but few; the mind is less distracted by
much variety than later in the year, and is more readily concentrated
on the few things that may be done and observed; so that the necessary
restriction is a good preparation, by easy steps, for the wider field
of observation that is presented later.
Now we pass on through the dark masses of Rhododendron and the Birches
that shoot up among them. How the silver stems, blotched and banded
with varied browns and greys so deep in tone that they show like a
luminous black, tell among the glossy Rhododendron green; and how
strangely different is the way of growth of the two kinds of tree;
the tall white trunks spearing up through the dense, dark, leathery
leaf-masses of solid, roundish outline, with their delicate network of
reddish branch and spray gently swaying far overhead!
Now we come to the lawn, which <DW72>s a little downward to the north.
On the right it has a low retaining-wall, whose top line is level;
it bears up a border and pathway next the house's western face. The
border and wall are all of a piece, for it is a dry wall partly planted
with the same shrubby and half-shrubby things that are in the earth
above. They have been comforting to look at all the winter; a pleasant
grey coating of Phlomis, Lavender, Rosemary, Cistus and Santolina;
and at the end and angle where the wall is highest, a mass of _Pyrus
japonica_, planted both above and below, already showing its rose-red
bloom. At one point at the foot of the wall is a strong tuft of _Iris
stylosa_ whose first blooms appeared in November. This capital plant
flowers bravely all through the winter in any intervals of open
weather. It likes a sunny place against a wall in poor soil. If it is
planted in better ground the leaves grow very tall and it gives but
little bloom.
[Illustration: _IRIS STYLOSA._]
Now we pass among some shrub-clumps, and at the end come upon a
cheering sight; a tree of _Magnolia conspicua_ bearing hundreds of
its great white cups of fragrant bloom. Just before reaching it, and
taking part with it in the garden picture, are some tall bushes of
_Forsythia suspensa_, tossing out many-feet-long branches loaded with
their burden of clear yellow flowers. They are ten to twelve feet high,
and one looks up at much of the bloom clear-cut against the pure
blue of the sky; the upper part of the Magnolia also shows against the
sky. Here there is a third flower-picture; this time of warm white
and finest yellow on brilliant blue, and out in open sunlight. Among
the Forsythias is also a large bush of _Magnolia stellata_, whose
milk-white flowers may be counted by the thousand. As the earlier _M.
conspicua_ goes out of bloom it comes into full bearing, keeping pace
with the Forsythia, whose season runs on well into April.
[Illustration: _MAGNOLIA CONSPICUA._]
It is always a little difficult to find suitable places for the early
bulbs. Many of them can be enjoyed in rough and grassy places, but we
also want to combine them into pretty living pictures in the garden
proper.
Nothing seems to me more unsatisfactory than the usual way of having
them scattered about in small patches in the edges of flower-borders,
where they only show as little disconnected dabs of colour, and where
they are necessarily in danger of disturbance and probable injury when
their foliage has died down and their places are wanted for summer
flowers.
It was a puzzle for many years to know how to treat these early bulbs,
but at last a plan was devised that seems so satisfactory that I have
no hesitation in advising it for general adoption.
On the further side of a path that bounds my June garden is a border
about seventy feet long and ten feet wide. At every ten feet along
the back is a larch post planted with a free-growing Rose. These are
not only to clothe their posts but are to grow into garlands swinging
on slack chains from post to post. Beyond are Bamboos, and then an
old hedge-bank with Scotch Firs, Oaks, Thorns, &c. The border <DW72>s
upwards from the path, forming a bank of gentle ascent. It was first
planted with hardy Ferns in bold drifts; Male Fern for the most part,
because it is not only handsome but extremely persistent; the fronds
remaining green into the winter. The Fern-spaces are shown in the plan
by diagonal hatching; between them come the bulbs, with a general
edging to the front of mossy Saxifrage.
The colour-scheme begins with the pink of _Megasea ligulata_, and with
the lower-toned pinks of _Fumaria bulbosa_ and the Dog-tooth Violets
(_Erythronium_). At the back of these are Lent Hellebores of dull red
colouring, agreeing charmingly with the colour of the bulbs. A few
white Lent Hellebores are at the end; they have turned to greenish
white by the time the rather late _Scilla amœna_ is in bloom. Then
comes a brilliant patch of pure blue with white--_Scilla sibirica_ and
white Hyacinths, followed by the also pure blues of _Scilla bifolia_
and _Chionodoxa_ and the later, more purple-blue of Grape Hyacinth.
A long drift of white Crocus comes next, in beauty in the border's
earliest days; and later, the blue-white of _Puschkinia_; then again
pure blue and white of _Chionodoxa_ and white Hyacinth.
Now the colours change to white and yellow and golden foliage, with
the pretty little pale trumpet Daffodil Consul Crawford, and beyond it
the stronger yellow of two other small early kinds--_N. nanus_ and the
charming little _N. minor_, quite distinct though so often confounded
with _nanus_ in gardens. With these, and in other strips and patches
towards the end of the border, are plantings of the Golden Valerian,
so useful for its bright yellow foliage quite early in the year. The
leaves of the Orange Day-lily are also of a pale yellowish green colour
when they first come up, and are used at the end of the border. These
plants of golden and pale foliage are also placed in a further region
beyond the plan, and show to great advantage as the eye enfilades
the border and reaches the more distant places. Before the end of
the bulb-border is reached there is once more a drift of harmonised
faint pink colouring of _Megasea_ and the little _Fumaria_ (also known
as _Corydalis bulbosa_) with the pale early Pyrenean Daffodil, _N.
pallidus præcox_.
The bulb-flowers are not all in bloom exactly at the same time, but
there is enough of the colour intended to give the right effect in each
grouping. Standing at the end, just beyond the Dog-tooth Violets, the
arrangement and progression of colour is pleasant and interesting, and
in some portions vivid; the pure blues in the middle spaces being much
enhanced by the yellow flowers and golden foliage that follow.
Through April and May the leaves of the bulbs are growing tall, and
their seed-pods are carefully removed to prevent exhaustion. By the
end of May the Ferns are throwing up their leafy crooks; by June the
feathery fronds are displayed in all their tender freshness; they
spread over the whole bank, and we forget that there are any bulbs
between. By the time the June garden, whose western boundary it forms,
has come into fullest bloom it has become a completely furnished bank
of Fern-beauty.
[Illustration: _MAGNOLIA STELLATA._]
[Illustration: _FERNS IN THE BULB BORDER._]
[Illustration: _THE BANK OF EARLY BULBS._]
CHAPTER II
THE WOOD
Ten acres is but a small area for a bit of woodland, yet it can be made
apparently much larger by well-considered treatment. As the years pass
and the different portions answer to careful guidance, I am myself
surprised to see the number and wonderful variety of the pictures of
sylvan beauty that it displays throughout the year. I did not specially
aim at variety, but, guided by the natural conditions of each region,
tried to think out how best they might be fostered and perhaps a little
bettered.
The only way in which variety of aspect was deliberately chosen was in
the way of thinning out the natural growths. It was a wood of seedling
trees that had come up naturally after an old wood of Scotch Fir had
been cut down, and it seemed well to clear away all but one, or in
some cases two kinds of trees in the several regions. Even in this the
intention was to secure simplicity rather than variety, so that in
moving about the ground there should be one thing at a time to see and
enjoy. It is just this quality of singleness or simplicity of aim that
I find wanting in gardens in general, where one may see quantities of
the best plants grandly grown and yet no garden pictures.
Of course one has to remember that there are many minds to which this
need of an artist's treatment of garden and woodland does not appeal,
just as there are some who do not care for music or for poetry, or
who see no difference between the sculpture of the old Greeks and
that of any modern artist who is not of the first rank, or to whom
architectural refinement is as an unknown language. And in the case of
the more superficial enjoyment of flowers one has sympathy too. For
a love of flowers, of any kind, however shallow, is a sentiment that
makes for human sympathy and kindness, and is in itself uplifting, as
everything must be that is a source of reverence and admiration. Still,
the object of this book is to draw attention, however slightly and
imperfectly, to the better ways of gardening, and to bring to bear upon
the subject some consideration of that combination of common sense,
sense of beauty and artistic knowledge that can make plain ground and
growing things into a year-long succession of living pictures. Common
sense I put first, because it restrains from any sort of folly or sham
or affectation. Sense of beauty is the gift of God, for which those
who have received it in good measure can never be thankful enough.
The nurturing of this gift through long years of study, observation,
and close application in any one of the ways in which fine art finds
expression is the training of the artist's brain and heart and hand.
The better a human mind is trained to the perception of beauty the more
opportunities will it find of exercising this precious gift and the
more directly will it be brought to bear upon even the very simplest
matters of everyday life, and always to their bettering.
So it was in the wood of young seedling trees, where Oak and Holly,
Birch, Beech and Mountain Ash, came up together in a close thicket of
young saplings. It seemed well to consider, in the first place, how to
bring something like order into the mixed jumble, and, the better to do
this, to appeal to the little trees themselves and see what they had to
say about it.
The ground runs on a natural <DW72> downward to the north, or, to be
more exact, as the highest point is at one corner, its surface is
tilted diagonally all over. So, beginning at the lower end of the
woody growth, near the place where the house some day might stand, the
first thing that appeared was a well-grown Holly, and rather near it,
another; both older trees than the more recent seedling growth. Close
to the second Holly was | 1.399087 |
2023-11-16 18:17:33.4590290 | 1,555 | 19 |
Produced by Adrian Mastronardi, Colin M. Kendall 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.)
PAPERS AND PROCEEDINGS
OF THE
TWENTY-THIRD GENERAL MEETING
OF THE
AMERICAN LIBRARY ASSOCIATION
HELD AT
WAUKESHA, WISCONSIN
JULY 4-10
1901
PUBLISHED BY THE
AMERICAN LIBRARY ASSOCIATION
1901
CONTENTS.
TITLE. AUTHOR. PAGE.
Address of the President _Henry J. Carr_ 1
What may be done for libraries by the city _T. L. Montgomery_ 5
What may be done for libraries by the state _E. A. Birge_ 7
What may be done for libraries by the nation _Herbert Putnam_ 9
The trusteeship of literature--I. _George Iles_ 16
" " " " II. _R. T. Ely_ 22
Book copyright _Thorvald Solberg_ 24
The relationship of publishers, booksellers
and librarians _W. Millard Palmer_ 31
Library buildings _W. R. Eastman_ 38
The relationship of the architect to the
librarian _J. L. Mauran _ 43
The departmental library _J. T. Gerould_ 46
Suggestions for an annual list of American}
theses for the degree of doctor of } _W. W. Bishop_ 50
philosophy }
Opportunities _Gratia Countryman_ 52
Some principles of book and picture selection _G. E. Wire_ 54
Book reviews, book lists, and articles on }
children's reading: Are they of practical} _Caroline M. Hewins_ 57
value to the children's librarian? }
Books for children:
I. Fiction _Winifred L. Taylor_ 63
II. Fairy tales _Abby L. Sargent_ 66
III. Science _Ella A. Holmes_ 69
Bulletin work for children _Charlotte E.
Wallace_ 72
Reference work with children _Harriet H. Stanley_ 74
Vitalizing the relation between the library
and the school:
I. The school _May L. Prentice_ 78
II. The library _Irene Warren_ 81
Opening a children's room _Clara W. Hunt_ 83
Report on gifts and bequests, 1900-1901 _G. W. Cole_ 87
Report of the A. L. A. Publishing Board _J. Le Roy
Harrison_ 103
Proceedings 107-141
First Session: Public meeting 107
Second Session 107-118
Secretary's report 107
Treasurer's report and necrology 108
Report of Trustees of Endowment Fund 111
Report of Co-operation Committee 113
Report of Committee on Foreign Documents 113
Report of Committee on Title-pages and Indexes of
Periodical Volumes 114
Report of Committee on "International Catalogue of
Scientific Literature" 116
Memorial to John Fiske 117
Third Session 118-125
Report of Committee on Public Documents 118
Report of Committee on Co-operation with N. E. A. 120
Report of Committee on International Co-operation 122
Report of Committee on Library Training 124
Collection and cataloging of early
newspapers. _W. Beer_ 124
Some principles of book and picture selection 124
Fourth Session 125-127
Some experiences in foreign libraries. _Mary W. Plummer_ 125
From the reader's point of view, and the era of the
placard. _J. K. Hosmer_ 127
Fifth Session 127-137
Report on gifts and bequests 127
Report of A. L. A. Publishing Board 127
Invitation from L. A. U. K. 128
Report of Committee on Handbook of American libraries 128
By-laws 129
Memorial to John Fiske 130
Co-operative list of children's books 130
Printed catalog cards 131
Book copyright 131
Trusteeship of literature 131
Relationship of publishers, booksellers and librarians 134
Sixth Session 137-140
Relationship of publishers, booksellers and
librarians, _continued_ 137
Seventh Session 141-142
Election of officers 141
Report of Committee on Resolutions 141
College and Reference Section 142-145
Catalog Section 146-162
Section for Children's Librarians 163-170
Round Table Meeting: State Library Commissions and
Traveling Libraries 171-183
Round Table Meeting: Work of State Library Associations
and Women's Clubs in Advancing Library Interests 183-195
Trustees' Section 196
Round Table Meeting: Professional Instruction in
Bibliography 197-205
Transactions of Council and Executive Board 206-208
Elementary Institute 208
Illinois State Library School Alumni Association 208
The social side of the Waukesha conference
_Julia T. Rankin_ 209
Officers and Committees 211
Attendance register 212
Attendance summaries. _Nina E. Browne_ 218
CONFERENCE OF LIBRARIANS.
_WAUKESHA, WISCONSIN._
JULY 4-10, 1901.
BEING A LIBRARIAN: ADDRESS OF THE PRESIDENT.
BY HENRY J. CARR, _Librarian Scranton (Pa.) Public Library_.
In your presence, and in addressing you to-night as presiding officer, I
feel to a far greater extent than I can express in words the high honor
that has been conferred in each instance upon all who from time to time
have been chosen to serve as a president of this particular association.
There is in this present age, to be sure, no lack of those popular and
peculiar entities termed associations--associations of many kinds, and
for almost every conceivable purpose. Throughout the entire continent
there exist few, perhaps none, whose history, objects, and work, have
warranted a more just | 29.479069 |
2023-11-16 18:17:33.5603670 | 3,893 | 19 | ROCHESTER ***
Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: Cover art]
[Illustration: The Fight in the Castle Yard]
The Adventures of
Harry Rochester
A Tale of the
Days of Marlborough and Eugene
BY
HERBERT STRANG
AUTHOR OF "TOM BURNABY" "BOYS OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE"
"KOBO: A STORY OF THE RUSSO-JAPANESE WAR"
Illustrated by William Rainey, R.I.
NEW YORK
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
27 AND 29 WEST 230 STREET
1905
"Honour hath three things in it: the vantage-ground to do good; the
approach to kings and principal persons; and the raising of a man's own
fortunes."
--_Bacon_.
_My dear Tom,_
_You received my former books so kindly that I feel assured you will not
object to have this volume inscribed with your name. I am not the less
convinced of this because you know well the country in which my opening
scenes are laid, and I had the pleasure last year of playing cricket
with you within a few miles of the village here disguised as Winton St.
Mary._
_I hope you will bear with me for one minute while I explain that in
writing this book I had three aims. First, to tell a good story: that
of course. Secondly, to give some account of the operations that
resulted in one of the most brilliant victories ever gained by our
British arms. Thirdly, to throw some light--fitful, it may be, but as
clear as the circumstances of my story admitted--on life and manners two
hundred years ago. History, as you have no doubt already learnt, is not
merely campaigning; and I shall be well pleased if these pages enlarge
your knowledge, in ever so slight a degree, of an interesting period in
our country's annals. And if you, or any other Christ's Hospital boy,
should convict me of borrowing a week from the life of a great
personage, or of antedating by a little a development in our national
pastime--well, I shall feel complimented by such evidence of careful
reading, and not be in the least abashed._
_I take the opportunity of this open letter to acknowledge my
indebtedness to the monumental "Memoires militaires relatifs a la
succession d'Espagne" issued by the French General Staff; to Mr. Austin
Dobson for a detail which only his perfect knowledge of the 18th century
could so readily have supplied; and to Lord Wolseley's brilliant life of
Marlborough, which every student of military history must hope so
competent a hand will continue and complete._
_Yours very sincerely,_
_HERBERT STRANG._
_Michaelmas Day, 1905._
*Contents*
_Chapter_ I
The Queen's Purse-Bearer
_Chapter_ II
Sherebiah Shouts
_Chapter_ III
Master and Man
_Chapter_ IV
Mynheer Jan Grootz and Another
_Chapter_ V
A Message from the Squire
_Chapter_ VI
My Lord Marlborough makes a Note
_Chapter_ VII
Snared
_Chapter_ VIII
Flotsam
_Chapter_ IX
Monsieur de Polignac Presses his Suit
_Chapter_ X
Bluff
_Chapter_ XI
The Battle of Lindendaal
_Chapter_ XII
Harry is Discharged
_Chapter_ XIII
Concerning Sherebiah
_Chapter_ XIV
Harry Rides for a Life
_Chapter_ XV
The Water of Affliction
_Chapter_ XVI
Knaves All Three
_Chapter_ XVII
In the Dusk
_Chapter_ XVIII
A Little Plot
_Chapter_ XXI
Marlborough's March to the Danube
_Chapter_ XX
The Castle of Rauhstein
_Chapter_ XXI
Across the Fosse
_Chapter_ XXII
The Fight in the Keep
_Chapter_ XXIII
Blenheim
_Chapter_ XXIV
The Wages of Sin
_Chapter_ XXV
A Bundle of Letters
_Chapter_ XXVI
The New Squire
_Chapter_ XXVII
Visitors at Winton Hall
*List of Illustrations*
_Plate_ I
The Fight in the Castle Yard...... _Frontispiece_
_Plate_ II
Harry makes a Diversion
_Plate_ III
My Lord Marlborough
_Plate_ IV
At the Last Gasp
_Plate_ V
"Mon Colonel, we are surrounded!"
_Plate_ VI
The Stroke of Eight
_Plate_ VII
"Fire and Fury!" shouted Aglionby
_Plate_ VIII
Mein Wirth is Surprised
*Map And Plan*
Map of the Low Countries in 1703
Plan of the Battle of Blenheim
*CHAPTER I*
*The Queen's Purse-Bearer*
Winton St. Mary--Cricket: Old Style--Last Man In--Bowled--The Gaffer
Explains--More Explanations--Parson Rochester--"The Boy"--Cambridge in
the Field--Village Batsmen--Old Everlasting makes One--The Squire--An
Invitation--Lord Godolphin is Interested--An Uphill Game--Young
Pa'son--The Winning Hit
"Stap me, Frank, if ever I rattle my old bones over these roads again!
Every joint in me aches; every wrinkle--and I've too many--is filled
with dust; and my wig--plague on it, Frank, my wig's a doormat. Look at
it--whew!"
My lord Godolphin took off his cocked hat, removed his full periwig, and
shook it over the side of the calash, wrying his lips as the horse of
one of his escort started at the sudden cloud. My lord had good excuse
for his petulance. It was a brilliant June day, in a summer of glorious
weather, and the Wiltshire roads, no better nor worse than other English
highways in the year 1702, were thick with white dust, which the autumn
rains would by and by transform into the stickiest of clinging mud. The
Lord High Treasurer, as he lay back wearily on his cushions, looked,
with his lean, lined, swarthy face and close-cropt grizzled poll, every
day of his fifty-eight years. He was returning with his son Francis, now
nearly twenty-three, from a visit to his estates in Cornwall. Had he
been a younger man he would no doubt have ridden his own horse; had he
been of lower rank he might have travelled by the public coach; but
being near sixty, a baron, and lord of the Treasury to boot, he drove in
his private four-horsed calash, with two red-coated postilions, and four
sturdy liveried henchmen on horseback, all well armed against the perils
of footpads and highwaymen.
It was nearing noon on this bright, hot morning, and my lord had begun
to acknowledge to himself that he would barely complete his journey to
London that day.
"Where are we now, Dickory?" he asked languidly of the nearest rider on
the off-side.
"Nigh Winton St. Mary, my lord," replied the man. "Down the avenue
yonder, my lord; then the common, and the church on the right, and the
village here and there bearing to the left, as you might say, my lord."
"Look 'ee, Frank, we'll draw up at Winton St. Mary and wet our whistles.
My lady Marlborough expects us in town to-night, to be sure; but she
must e'en be content to wait. Time was----eh, my boy?--but now, egad,
I'll not kill myself for her or any woman."
"'Twould be a calamity--for the nation, sir," said Frank Godolphin with
a grin.
"So it would, i' faith. Never fear, Frank, I'll not make way for you
for ten years to come. But what's afoot yonder? A fair, eh?"
The carriage had threaded a fine avenue of elms, and come within sight
of the village common, which stretched away beyond and behind the
church, an expanse of rough turf now somewhat parched and browned,
broken here by a patch of shrub, there by a dwindling pond, and bounded
in the distance by the thick coverts of the manor-house. My lord's
exclamation had been called forth by the bright spectacle that met his
eyes. At the side of the road, and encroaching also on the grass, were
ranged a number of vehicles of various sizes and descriptions, from the
humble donkey-cart of a sherbet seller to the lofty coach of some county
magnate. Between the carriages the travellers caught glimpses of a
crowd; and indeed, as they drew nearer to the scene, their ears were
assailed by sundry shoutings and clappings that seemed to betoken
incidents of sport or pastime. My lord Godolphin, for all his coldness
and reserve in his official dealings, was in his moments a keen
sportsman; from a horse-race to a main of cock-fighting or a
sword-match, nothing that had in it the element of sport came amiss to
him; and as he replaced his wig and settled his hat upon it his eyes lit
up with an anticipation vastly different from his air of weary
discontent.
"Split me, Frank," he cried in a more animated tone than was usual with
him; "whatever it is, 'twill cheer us up. John," he added to the
postilion, "drive on to the grass, and stop at the first opening you
find in the ring. Odsbodikins, 'tis a game at cricket; we'll make an
afternoon of it, Frank, and brave your mother-in-law's anger, come what
may."
The postilions whipped up their horses, wheeled to the right, and drove
with many a jolt on to the common, passing behind the row of vehicles
until they came to an interval between one of the larger sort and a dray
heaped with barrels of cider. There they pulled up sideways to the
crowd, over whose heads the occupants of the calash looked curiously
towards the scene of the game. It was clearly an exciting moment, for
beyond a casual turning of the head the nearest spectators gave no heed
to the new-comers. A space was roped in at some distance in front of
the church, and within the ring the wickets were pitched--very primitive
compared with the well-turned polished apparatus of to-day. The stumps
were two short sticks forked at the top, stuck at a backward slant into
the turf about a foot apart, with one long bail across them. Nothing had
been done to prepare the pitch; the grass was short and dry and stubby,
with a tuft here and there likely to trip an unwary fielder headlong.
There was no crease, but a hole in the ground. Nor was there any
uniformity of attire among the players: all had the stockings and
pantaloons of daily wear, and if there was any difference in their
shirts, it was due merely to their difference in rank and wealth.
"Over" had just been called as Lord Godolphin and his son drove up, and
something in the attitude of the crowd seemed to show that the game was
at a crisis. The umpires, armed with rough curved bats somewhat like
long spoons, had just taken their new places, and the batsman who was to
receive the first ball of the new over was taking his block. A tall,
loose-limbed young fellow, he held his bat with an air of easy
confidence.
"Egad, sir, 'tis Gilbert Young," said Frank Godolphin to his father. "I
knew him at Cambridge: a sticker. Who's the bowler? I don't know him."
The bowler was a youth, a mere stripling of some sixteen or seventeen
years, who stood at his end of the wicket, ball in hand, awaiting the
word to "play". His loose shirt was open at the neck; his black hair,
not yet cropt for a wig, fell in a strong thick mass over his brow; and
as he waited for the batsman to complete his somewhat fastidious
preparations, he once or twice pushed up the heavy cluster with his left
hand.
"Gibs was ever a tantalising beast," said Frank aside. "Hi, you fellow!"
he shouted to a broad-shouldered yokel who stood just in front of him by
the rope, "how stands the score?"
The man addressed looked over his shoulder, and seeing that the speaker
was one of the "quality" he doffed his cap and replied:
"'Tis ninety-four notches, your honour, and last man in. Has a'ready
twenty-vive to hisself, and the Winton boys can't get un out."
"Play!" cried the umpire. The batsman stood to his block, and looked
round the field with a smile of confidence. The bowler gave a quick
glance around, took a light run of some three yards, and delivered the
ball--underhand, for round-arm bowling was not yet invented. The ball
travelled swiftly, no more than two or three feet above the ground,
pitched in front of the block-hole, and was driven hard to the off
towards a thick-set, grimy-looking individual--the village smith. He,
bending to field the ball, missed it, swung round to run after it, and
fell sprawling over a tussock of grass, amid yells of mingled derision
and disappointment.
"Pick theeself up, Lumpy!" roared the man to whom Frank Godolphin had
spoken. But the ball had already been fielded by Long Robin the tanner,
running round from long-on. Sir Gilbert meanwhile had got back to his
end of the wicket, and the scorer, seated near the umpire, had cut two
notches in the scoring stick.
Again the ball was bowled, with an even lower delivery than before. The
batsman stepped a yard out of his ground and caught the ball on the
rise; it flew high over the head of the remotest fieldsman, over the
rope, over the crowd, and dropped within a foot of the lych-gate of the
church. Loud cheers from a party of gentlemen mounted on coaches in
front of a tent greeted this stroke; four notches were cut to the credit
of the side, bringing the score to a hundred. There was dead silence
among the crowd now; it was plain that their sympathies lay with the out
side, and this ominous opening of the new bowler's over was a check upon
their enjoyment.
Sir Gilbert once more stood to his block. For his third ball the bowler
took his run on the other side of the wicket. His delivery this time
was a little higher: the ball pitched awkwardly, and the batsman seemed
to be in two minds what to do with it. His hesitation was fatal. With a
perplexing twist the ball slid along the ground past his bat, hit the
off stump, and just dislodged the bail, which fell perpendicularly and
lay across between the sticks. Sir Gilbert looked at it for a moment
with rueful countenance, then marched towards the tent, while the crowd
cheered and, the innings being over, made for the stalls and carts, at
which ale and cider and gingerbread were to be had.
"Egad, 'twas well bowled," ejaculated Lord Godolphin; "a cunning ball, a
most teasing twist; capital, capital!"
"I'll go and speak to Gibs," said Frank. "Will you come, sir?"
"Not I, i' faith. 'Tis too hot. Bring him to me. I'll drink a glass
of cider here and wait your return."
There was a cider cart near at hand, and his man Dickory brought my lord
a brimming bumper drawn from the wood. He winced as the tart liquor
touched his palate, unaccustomed to such homely drink; but it was at
least cool and refreshing, and he finished the bumper. As he gave it
back he noticed an old man slowly approaching, leaning with one hand
upon a stout knobby stick of oak, and holding in the other a rough
three-legged stool, which he placed between my lord's calash and the
rope. He was a fine-looking old man, dressed in plain country homespun;
his cheeks were seamed and weather-beaten, but there was still a
brightness in his eyes and an erectness in his figure that bespoke
health and the joy of life. He sat down on the stool, took off his hat
and wiped his brow, then, resting both hands on his stick, looked
placidly around him. There was no one near to him; the space was clear,
for players and spectators had all flocked their several ways to get
refreshment, and for some minutes the old man sat alone. Then Lord
Godolphin, to ease his limbs and kill time, stepped out | 29.580407 |
2023-11-16 18:17:33.5902850 | 1,827 | 10 |
Produced by Eric Eldred
[Illustration: 01 GLIMPSE OUTSIDE OF MODERN ROME]
ROMAN HOLIDAYS AND OTHERS
By W. D. Howells
ILLUSTRATED
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
Copyright, 1908, by HARPER & BROTHERS.
Copyright, 1908, by THE SUN PRINTING AND PUBLISHING ASSOCIATION.
Published October, 1908.
CONTENTS
I. UP AND DOWN MADEIRA
II. TWO UP-TOWN BLOCKS INTO SPAIN
III. ASHORE AT GENOA
IV. NAPLES AND HER JOYFUL NOISE
V. POMPEII REVISITED
VI. ROMAN HOLIDAYS
VII. A WEEK AT LEGHORN
VIII. OVER AT PISA
IX.. BACK AT GENOA
X. EDEN AFTER THE FALL
ROMAN HOLIDAYS AND OTHERS
I. UP AND DOWN MADEIRA.
No drop-curtain, at any theatre I have seen, was ever so richly
imagined, with misty tops and shadowy clefts and frowning cliffs and
gloomy valleys and long, plunging cataracts, as the actual landscape of
Madeira, when we drew nearer and nearer to it, at the close of a tearful
afternoon of mid-January. The scenery of drop-curtains is often very
boldly beautiful, but here Nature, if she had taken a hint from art, had
certainly bettered her instruction. During the waits between acts at the
theatre, while studying the magnificent painting beyond the trouble of
the orchestra, I have been most impressed by the splendid variety which
the artist had got into his picture, where the spacious frame lent
itself to his passion for saying everything; but I remembered his
thronging fancies as meagre and scanty in the presence of the stupendous
reality before me. I have, for instance, not even mentioned the sea,
which swept smoother and smoother in toward the feet of those precipices
and grew more and more trans-lucently purple and yellow and green, while
half a score of cascades shot straight down their fronts in shafts of
snowy foam, and over their pachydermatous shoulders streamed and hung
long reaches of gray vines or mosses. To the view from the sea the
island is all, with its changing capes and promontories and bays and
inlets, one immeasurable mountain; and on the afternoon of our approach
it was bestridden by a steadfast rainbow, of which we could only see one
leg indeed, but that very stout and athletic.
There were breadths of dark woodland aloft on this mountain, and
terraced vineyards lower down; and on the shelving plateaus yet farther
from the heights that lost themselves in the clouds there were scattered
white cottages; on little levels close to the sea there were set white
villas. These, as the ship coquetted with the vagaries of the shore,
thickened more and more, until after rounding a prodigious headland we
found ourselves in face of the charming little city of Funchal: long
horizontal lines of red roofs, ivory and pink and salmon walls, evenly
fenestrated, with an ancient fortress giving the modern look of things a
proper mediaeval touch. Large hotels, with the air of palaces, crowned
the upland vantages; there were bell-towers of churches, and in one
place there was a wide splotch of vivid color from the red of the
densely flowering creeper on the side of some favored house. There was
an acceptable expanse of warm brown near the quay from the withered but
unfailing leaves of a sycamore-shaded promenade, and in the fine
roadstead where we anchored there lay other steamers and a lead-
Portuguese war-ship. I am not a painter, but I think that here are the
materials of a water-color which almost any one else could paint. In the
hands of a scene-painter they would yield a really unrivalled
drop-curtain. I stick to the notion of this because when the beautiful
goes too far, as it certainly does at Madeira, it leaves you not only
sated but vindictive; you wish to mock it.
The afternoon saddened more and more, and one could not take an interest
in the islanders who came out in little cockles and proposed to dive for
shillings and sixpences, though quarters and dimes would do. The
company's tender also came out, and numbers of passengers went ashore in
the mere wantonness of paying for their dinner and a night's lodging in
the annexes of the hotels, which they were told beforehand were full.
The lights began to twinkle from the windows of the town, and the dark
fell upon the insupportable picturesqueness of the prospect, leaving one
to a gayety of trooping and climbing lamps which defined the course of
the streets.
The morning broke in sunshine, and after early breakfast the launches
began to ply again between the ship and the shore and continued till
nearly all the first and second cabin people had been carried off. The
people of the steerage satisfied what longing they had for strange
sights and scenes by thronging to the sides of the steamer until they
gave her a strong list landward, as they easily might, for there were
twenty-five hundred of them. At Madeira there is a local Thomas Cook &
Son of quite another name, but we were not finally sure that the alert
youth on the pier who sold us transportation and provision was really
their agent. However, his tickets served perfectly well at all points,
and he was of such an engaging civility and personal comeliness that I
should not have much minded their failing us here and there. He gave the
first charming-touch of the Latin south whose renewed contact is such a
pleasure to any one knowing it from the past. All Portuguese as Funchal
was, it looked so like a hundred little Italian towns that it seemed to
me as if I must always have driven about them in calico-tented
bullock-carts set on runners, as later I drove about Eunchal.
It was warm enough on the ship, but here in the town we found ourselves
in weather that one could easily have taken for summer, if the
inhabitants had not repeatedly assured us that it was the season of
winter, and that there were no flowers and no fruits. They could not, if
they had wished, have denied the flies; these, in a hotel interior to
which we penetrated, simply swarmed. If it was winter in Funchal it was
no wintrier than early autumn would have been in one of those Italian
towns of other days; it had the same temperament, the same little
tree-planted spaces, the same devious, cobble-paved streets, the same
pleasant stucco houses; the churches had bells of like tone, and if
their facades confessed a Spanish touch they were not more Spanish than
half the churches in Naples. The public ways were of a scrupulous
cleanliness, as if, with so many English signs glaring down at them,
they durst not untidy out-of-doors, though in-doors it was said to be
different with them. There are three thousand English living at Funchal
and everybody speaks English, however slightly. The fresh faces of
English girls met us in the streets and no doubt English invalids
abound.
We shipmates were all going to the station of the funicular railway, but
our tickets did not call for bullock-sleds and so we took a clattering
little horse-car, which climbed with us through up-hill streets and got
us to the station too soon. Within the closed grille there the
handsomest of swarthy, black-eyed, black-mustached station-masters (if
such was his quality) told us that we could not have a train at once,
though we had been advised that any ten of us could any time have a
train, because the cars had all gone up the mountain and none would be
down for twenty minutes. He spoke English and he mitigated by a most
amiable personality sufferings which were perhaps not so great as we
would have liked to think | 29.610325 |
2023-11-16 18:17:33.6591130 | 394 | 17 |
Produced by Brenda Lewis, Mary Meehan 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.)
A CHANGED HEART
A Novel.
BY MAY AGNES FLEMING,
AUTHOR OF "GUY EARLSCOURT'S WIFE," "A TERRIBLE SECRET," "A WONDERFUL
WOMAN," "ONE NIGHT'S MYSTERY," "SILENT AND TRUE," "A MAD MARRIAGE,"
"LOST FOR A WOMAN," ETC., ETC.
"If Fortune, with a smiling face,
Strew roses on our way,
When shall we stoop to pick them up?
To-day, my love, to-day."
NEW YORK:
Copyright, 1881, by
_G. W. Carleton & Co., Publishers_,
LONDON: S. LOW, SON & CO.
MDCCCLXXXIII.
Stereotyped by
SAMUEL STODDER,
ELECTROTYPER & STEREOTYPER,
90 ANN STREET, N. Y.
TROW
PRINTING AND BOOK-BINDING CO.
N. Y.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. Miss McGregor at home 7
II. Nathalie 14
III. Miss Rose 25
IV. Val's office 36
V. Killing two birds with one stone 46
VI. An evening at Miss Blake's 59
VII. Too many irons in the fire 67
VIII. Val turns mentor 82
IX. Wooed and won 95
X. | 29.679153 |
2023-11-16 18:17:33.6974480 | 675 | 6 |
Produced by Eric Casteleijn, Cam Venezuela, Charles M.
Bidwell, Thomas Hutchinson, Suzanne L. Shell, Charles
Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
L. P. M.
THE END OF THE GREAT WAR
By J. Stewart Barney
1915
[Illustration: "COUNT VON HEMELSTEIN," THE AMERICAN SAID LAZILY,
"I WAS JUST THINKING WHAT A STUNNING BOOK-COVER YOU WOULD
MAKE FOR A CHEAP NOVEL." Drawn by Clarence F. Underwood.]
_THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED_
TO MY REAL FRIENDS, WHO MAY LOVE IT.
WHILE THE OTHERS IT MAY BORE;
TO MY ENEMIES, GOD BLESS THEM,
THO' THEY SPLUTTER, MORE AND MORE.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I.--THE MAN AND THE HOUR
II.--THE ONE-MAN SECRET
III.--CROSSING WITH ROYALTY
IV.--THE FIRST REBUFF
V.--ECHOES FROM THE WILHELMSTRASSE
VI.--A RUSTY OLD CANNON-BALL
VII.--DIPLOMACY WINS
VIII.--THE SPY-DRIVEN TAXI
IX.--BUCKINGHAM PALACE
X.--HE MEETS THE KING
XI.--THE DEIONIZER
XII.--FIRST SHOW OF FORCE
XIII.--"THE KING IS DEAD; LONG LIVE THE KING!"
XIV.--THE ROYAL TEA-TABLE
XV.--SURROUNDED BY SOLDIERS
XVI.--A DINNER AT THE BRITZ
XVII.--THE VOICE IN THE TELEPHONE
XVIII.--IN THE HANDS OF THE GERMANS
XIX.--THE GERMAN POINT OF VIEW
XX.--GENERAL VON LICHTENSTEIN
XXI.--HE INSTALLS HIS WIRELESS
XXII.--KAFFEE KLATSCH
XXIII.--THE TWO-WHEELED MYSTERY
XXIV.--DER KAISER
XXV.--THE MASQUERADER
XXVI.--TWO REMARKABLE MEN
XXVII.--ALL CARDS ON THE TABLE
XXVIII.--WHERE IS IT?
XXIX.--THE DIFFERENCE OF THEIR STATIONS
XXX.--THEY CALL FOR ASSISTANCE
XXXI.--"SIT DOWN, YOU DOG!"
XXXII.--L. P. M.
XXXIII.--YACHTING IN THE AIR
XXXIV.--THE ULTIMATUM
XXXV.--A LYING KING MAKES A NATION OF LIARS
XXXVI.--THINK OF IT! WHY NOT?
L. P. M.
CHAPTER I
THE MAN AND THE HOUR
The Secretary of State, although he sought to maintain an air of
official reserve, showed that he was deeply impressed by what he had
just heard.
"Well, young man, you are certainly offering to undertake a pretty
large contract."
He smiled, and continued in a slightly rhetorical vein--the Secretary
was above all things first, last, and always an | 29.717488 |
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