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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 |
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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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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
Off to Sea, by WHG Kingston.
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
OFF TO SEA, BY WHG KINGSTON.
CHAPTER ONE.
MY BIRTH AND EDUCATION.
From my earliest days I have been known as Jovial Jack Junker. I got
the name, I believe, from always being in good humour, and seeing the
bright side of things. Whatever I ate did me good, and I never had had
an hour's sickness in my life; while if things happened to go wrong one
day, I knew they would go right the next. People said I was of a happy
disposition; I suppose I was. I always felt inclined to be singing or
whistling, and when I did not, it was because I knew I ought to keep
silence--in church, for instance, or in the presence of my elders, who
happened to be engaged in conversation. Still, I was not born, as the
saying is, with a silver spoon in my mouth, nor did I possess any great
worldly advantages. I did not trouble myself much about the future, I
must confess that. If I got what I wanted, I was contented; if not, I
expected to get it the next day or the day after. I could wait; I
always found something to amuse me in the meantime. My father was a
marine--a man well known to fame, though not the celebrated "Cheeks."
He was known as Sergeant Junker. He had several small sons and
daughters--young Junkers--and when I was about twelve years of age, he
was left an inconsolable widower by the untimely death of our
inestimable mother. She was an excellent woman, and had brought us up,
to the best of her ability, in a way to make us good and useful members
of society. She was indeed a greater loss to us than to our poor
father; for, as my elder brother Simon observed, as he rubbed his eyes,
moist with tears, with the back of his hand--
"You see, Jack, father can go and get another wife, as many do; but we
can't get another mother like her that is gone, that we can't, nohow."
No more thorough testimony could have been given to the virtues of our
mother. She was a superior woman in many respects, and she was of a
very respectable family, and had a nice little fortune of her own; but
she had the common weakness of her sex, and fell in love with the
handsome face of our honest, worthy father, Ben Junker the marine, at
the time a private in that noble corps. She did not like his name, but
she loved him, and overcame her prejudice. He could, at the period I
speak of, scarcely read or write; but she set to work to educate him,
and so far succeeded, that, being a very steady man, he rose in due
course to be a sergeant. She had the ambition of hoping to see him
obtain a commission; but he used to declare that, if he did, nothing
would make him more unhappy, as he should feel exactly like a fish out
of water. He was thus, at the time of which I am speaking, still a
sergeant. Our mother, in consequence of the income she enjoyed, was
able to give her children a much better education than we should
otherwise probably have obtained. At the time of her death, it would
have been difficult to find in our rank of life a more happy, contented,
and better-conducted family. Our father, as I have said, was at first
inconsolable; but he was of a happy, contented disposition, as it is
very necessary that marines, as well as other people, should be--a
disposition which I fortunately inherited from him. He took the rough
with the smooth in life, as a matter of course. A favourite song of
his, which he used to hum, was--
"What's the use of sighing,
While time is on the wing?
Oh! what's the use of crying?
Then merrily, merrily sing
Fa! la!"
Consequently, as Simon said he knew he would, he began in a short time
to look out for another wife; and, unhappily for us, fixed on a widow
with a family. She was, however, a very amiable woman; in fact, her
great fault was, that she was too amiable, too soft and yielding. She
could not manage to rule her own family, and a most uproarious, mutinous
set they were. From the time they came to the house there was no peace
or quiet for anyone else. They, indeed, soon took to try and rule over
us with a high hand. Her girls used to come it over our girls, and her
boys over our boys. Brother Simon, who was bigger and stronger than her
eldest, more than once threatened that he would thrash them all round,
if they had any more nonsense, and that invariably made our poor
stepmother burst into tears, and plead so hard for her rebellious
offspring, that the good, honest fellow had not the heart to put his
threat into execution. At last some of us could stand it no longer. As
Simon was old enough, he went one day, without saying anything to
anybody, and enlisted in the marines. Bill, our second brother, got our
father to apprentice him to a ship-carpenter; and, after no little
trouble and coaxing, he promised to let me go on board a man-of-war. He
did so, however, very unwillingly.
"You don't know the sort of life that you will have to lead aboard ship,
Jack," he observed. "Boys afloat are not the happy-go-lucky sort of
chaps they seem on shore, let me tell you; but, to be sure, they have
got discipline there, which is more than I can say there is to be found
in a certain place that you know of." And my father uttered a deep
sigh.
We were walking, one evening after tea, up and down our bit of a garden,
while he smoked his pipe. He was allowed to live out of barracks, and
we had a small cottage a little way off.
"I don't know, Jack, but what I should not be sorry, if my company was
ordered on service afloat," he observed, confidentially, after a
minute's silence. "Your new mother is a good woman--a very good woman;
about her I made no mistake, though she is not equal, by a long chalk,
to her that's gone; but oh! Jack," and he sighed again, "I did not take
into account those young cubs of hers. They will not rest till they
have driven your sisters out of the house, as they have driven the boys;
and then--and then--why, I suppose, they will drive me away too!"
My poor father! I sighed at the thoughts of his domestic happiness
being so completely destroyed, in consequence of the advice of King
Solomon not having been followed--the rod having been spared, and the
children spoiled.
The following day, my father being sent on duty to Portsea, took me with
him. Soon after we landed, I met, just on the inner end of the Common
Hard, an old friend of mine, Dick Lee, a waterman.
"Father," I said, "if Dick will let me, I'll stop, and have a pull in
his wherry. As I am going to sea, I should like to learn to row better
than I now do."
My father, glad to keep me out of harm's way, told me that, if Dick
wished it, I might remain with him. Well pleased, I ran down the Hard,
and jumped into old Dick's wherry. Dick intended that I should sit in
his boat, and just practise with the oars, but I had no notion of that
sort; so, casting off the painter, I shoved away from the shore. I kept
pulling up and down for some time, and round and round, till my arms
ached; when, determining to take a longer voyage, I turned the boat's
head out into the harbour. The tide was running out: I went on very
swimmingly, I did not think of that. I had not, however, got very far,
when I heard old Dick's voice shouting to me--
"Come back, Jack, come back, you young jackanapes!"
Dick was in a rage, no doubt about that. I pulled round, and in spite
of all my efforts could make no headway. Dick shouted, and swore, but
to no purpose. I might have cracked my sinews with pulling, but still
the boat would keep drifting down and down, running a great risk of
getting athwart-hawse of some of the vessels moored a dozen yards below
me. At last, Dick did what he might as well have done at first--stepped
into another boat with his mate, and came after me. He soon brought me
back as a prize. His temper was in no way soothed, though I cried out,
again and again, I could not help it.
"Jump ashore now, lad," he said, as we touched the Hard. "Next time
you'll do what I tell you you may do. I never said you might go and run
the chance of getting the boat stove in, and yourself drownded. I keeps
my family in order, whatever other people may do."
Obeying old Dick, I stood disconsolately on the Hard, while he took his
fare on board, and pulled away across to Gosport, without deigning to
waste another word on me. However, I soon recovered my spirits, and
amused myself making an excursion over the huge logs of timber that
occupy a considerable space in that nook of the harbour.
I was running along on the more steady pieces of timber which formed the
boundary of the pond, when I saw a boy in a boat, placed very much in
the position from which I had just escaped. In vain he attempted to
stem the tide. He was evidently not accustomed to a boat. He looked
round, and saw that the boat was drifting towards the cable of a vessel
moored off the Hard. I shouted out to him to pull hard with his
starboard oar; but, instead of so doing, he jumped up, and caught hold
of the cable, across which the boat had just then come, letting go at
the same time one of his oars, which fell overboard. He now clung to
the chain, and the current swept the boat away from under his feet.
"Hold on! hold on, for your life!" I shouted out; but, instead of so
doing, he let go, expecting to regain his boat. He tried to swim, but
he was evidently a bad swimmer. I looked round. No boat was near. I
saw there was every chance of his being drowned. I was a capital
swimmer; so, hoping to save the lad, I plunged in, and followed him.
Just as I was taking the leap, I caught sight of old Dick, coming across
the harbour. I shouted at the very top of my voice, pointing to the
place where the boy was floating away. This gave me some hopes that we
should be picked up. I soon saw that I had miscalculated the distance,
for the boy seemed a very, very long way off. I had very little hopes
of helping him, and thought it very likely I should get drowned myself,
when I saw a hawser, somewhat slack, stretched across the course down
which the boy was drifting. "If he has got any sense, he will catch
hold of it," I thought. How thankful I felt when I saw him grasp it!
As I got near, he cried out--
"Help! help! I can hold on no longer!"
"Hold on, whatever you do?" I cried out. "Oh dear! oh dear!" he
shouted again, "what will become of the boat? what will become of the
boat?"
He was evidently getting somewhat stupid and confused. I redoubled my
efforts, and grasping the hawser with one hand, caught hold of his
jacket with the other, just as he was relaxing his grasp.
"Now, stupid!" I cried out, "just catch hold of this rope again, and
hold on! You don't want to get drowned, do you?"
"No, I don't; but you had no business to call me stupid," he exclaimed,
in an indignant tone.
"If you go and get drowned when there's no need of it, you are stupid,"
I answered; "but if you will hold on tight, till Dick comes and takes us
off, I will say something for you."
My arguments had some effect, for hold on tight he did, I helping him by
the collar of his jacket. I had enough to do, however, to keep him and
myself afloat, as well as to hold on at the same time. It seemed to me
that old Dick was a long time coming. At last I shouted out.
"Ay, ay!" answered his well-known voice, and at last I saw the bow of
his boat coming round from under the stern of a vessel above us.
No one was on the decks of any of the vessels round us, which was the
reason, I suppose, that we were allowed to hang on there so long by
ourselves.
"Well, what mischief have you been after?" asked old Dick, as he hauled
the other boy and me afterwards out of the water. "Well, you do look
like two drownded rats?"
"He has been after no mischief at all!" exclaimed the other boy, who, in
spite of his recent alarm, had not lost his spirits.
"He jumped into the water to save my life, and he has saved it; and I am
sure my papa and mamma will not think it was any mischief, but will be
ready to thank him very heartily, as I do."
"And who are you, young gentleman?" asked old Dick. "What business had
you to be tumbling into the water?"
He had begun to pull up the harbour, I should say, placing us in the
stern sheets while he was asking these questions.
"Who am I? you want to know who I am?" said the young gentleman, who was
employed in squeezing the wet out of his clothes; "I am Richard Alfred
Chesterton Plumb," answered the boy, standing up and assuming an air of
dignity; "and I did not tumble into the water, but my boat got away from
me, and I tried to get after it; and that reminds me that she is
floating down the harbour; and so, old gentleman, I will just trouble
you to go in chace of her and try to bring her back."
"Ho! ho! ho!" exclaimed old Dick; "some young bantams do crow loud.
Howsomdever, there is spirit in the lad, no doubt about that!"
"Well, old man," again asked the young gentleman, "are you going after
my boat?"
Old Dick did not deign an answer; but, looking away down the harbour,
espied the boat, and, pulling round, made chase after her. We were soon
up to her, and Master Richard, as he called himself, wanted to be put
aboard again.
"I can row about till I am dry," he observed. "What's the odds?"
However, as there was only one oar remaining, this was an impossibility.
"You will only go and get yourself drownded again," said the old man,
"and catch your death of cold sitting in your wet things into the
bargain. So you just come up to my missus, and she will give you a hot
cup of tea and dry your duds, and then Jack here and I will see you safe
home to your friends."
I have a notion that old Dick was afraid the young master might forget
all about the service which had been rendered him, and having an eye to
the main chance, he was resolved that I should receive a reward--he
himself hoping probably to obtain some remuneration also for his
trouble. On our way back young Master Richard, who was in no way
disconcerted, espied the missing oar, which had been caught in an eddy,
and drifted in towards the shore. We got hold of it, and he now seemed
perfectly happy. We both looked very foolish, I thought, as dripping
wet we followed old Dick up to his house. The old woman had our clothes
very soon off us, and tumbled us both into their bed. The young
gentleman whispered to me that it was not very nice, but I was in no way
particular.
"It will not do to be ungrateful. I would bear anything, rather than
show I did not like it," he added, still whispering.
He at last got rather impatient, and singing out, asked Dick if he would
go and buy him a new suit at Selby's, the tailor's in High Street.
The old man laughed.
"I've got no credit there, young gentleman," he answered. "Maybe, too,
your friends would not be quite pleased. Your clothes will be dry
enough in time; and, there now, the water's boiling, and you shall have
a bowl of tea hot enough to take the skin off your mouths."
The steaming liquid was soon brought to us, and after drinking it,
Master Richard said he felt as warm and comfortable as he had ever done
in his life. He was only anxious to be off. At length, however, the
warmth and closeness of the room sent us both off into a sound sleep.
We were awoke by old Dick's voice.
"Well, lads," he said, "are you ready to put on your clothes, and come
along to young master's friends? I have seen your father, Jack. He
knows all about them, and says it is all right. He tells me, Jack," he
whispered, "they're no end of grand people, so I hope you have stepped
into the right boat this time."
I could not exactly understand the meaning of my old friend's remarks,
but I saw that he was well pleased. Old Mrs. Lee pressed some more tea
and bread and butter on us, and had a sausage frying in the pan. I was
not sorry to get it; but, after taking a few mouthfuls, the young
gentleman said he was very grateful, but that he had had enough, and
that he expected to find dinner when he got home.
"I could not have eaten another mouthful, even if the old woman had
threatened to throw me into the frying-pan," he observed, as we left the
house, "but I did not like to hurt her feelings."
I had eaten up the remainder of the sausage, so I benefited by Master
Richard's delicacy of stomach.
CHAPTER TWO.
MY FIRST START.
We crossed the water to Gosport, and took our way along the road which
led past the small row in which we lived. I inquired on my way of old
Dick, if he knew who the young gentleman's father was.
"They say he's a nabob," answered old Dick, "but what a nabob is, I'm
sure I don't know, except that he's a yellow-faced gentleman, with lots
of money, and always complaining of his liver."
Having received this lucid explanation to my question, I rejoined my
young companion. I thought I might learn more about the matter from
him.
"They say your father is a nabob; is he?" I asked.
"A nabob? No," he answered. "He is a great deal more important
person--he is a brigadier; at least he was in India, and mamma always
speaks of him as the Brigadier, and people always talk of her as Mrs.
Brigadier."
"Then I suppose you are the young Brigadier?" I said, very naturally.
"No, indeed, I am not," he answered. "But there is the house. And, I
say, I am very much obliged to you, remember, for what you have done for
me. I see you are up to joking; but let me advise you not to come any
of your jokes over my father, or mamma either. Indeed, you had better
rather try it with him than with her. You would think twice before you
ever made the attempt again."
Passing through an iron gateway, we proceeded up to the house, which was
some little way from the road. It was low, with a broad verandah round
it, and I found was known as Chuttawunga Bungalow. I saw the name on
the side-post of the gateway. A tall, dark-skinned man, dressed in
white, a broad-rimmed cap on his head, came to the door. He seemed
rather doubtful as to admitting old Dick and me.
"Here, Chetta, let us in at once!" exclaimed the young gentleman in an
authoritative tone. "These are my friends. They have rendered me an
essential service. The boy saved my life when I was drowning, and the
old man pulled us both out of the water, when we could not hold on much
longer. Where is my papa? And, I say, Chetta, do not go and tell Mrs.
Brigadier just yet. I would rather have the matter over with one of
them first."
I felt rather awe-struck at having to go into the presence of so great a
man, for I had pictured him as a tall, ferocious-looking personage, with
a huge moustache and a military air and manner. Great was my
astonishment when I saw, seated in an arm-chair, cross-legged, with one
foot resting on a foot-stool, a small man with yellow hair, thin cheeks,
and habited in a silk dressing-gown and nankeen trousers.
"Why, Richard Alfred Chesterton!" he exclaimed in a sharp, querulous
tone, "where have you been all this time? It is as well your mother had
to go out, or she would have been thrown into a state of great alarm;
and something else, I suspect, too," he said, in a lower tone.
"Well, papa," answered Richard, when the brigadier had ceased speaking,
"you would not address me harshly, if you knew how very nearly you were
having the misery of losing me altogether. It is a long story, so I
will not now enter into details. It will be sufficient for you to know
that I was in a boat, and that out of that boat I fell into the
dangerous current of the harbour; and had it not been for the bravery
and gallantry of this young lad whom I have brought with me, I should
have been at this moment food for the fish in the Solent sea, or a fit
subject for a coroner's inquest, had my body been discovered."
The brigadier opened his grey eyes wider and wider, as the boy continued
speaking.
"And, papa, we must not forget this old boatman, too, who pulled the boy
and me--what's your name? Ay; Jack Junker--out of the water." Thus
Master Dicky ran on.
"Well, my boy, I am thankful to see you safe, and I wish to express my
gratitude to the brave lad, Jack Junker, who saved your life, and to the
old man who pulled you out of the water. My friends, I must consult
Mrs. Brigadier Plumb, how I can best show you my gratitude. I always do
consult her on all important matters. Till then I hope you will remain
in this house. I am too great an invalid to talk much to you, but my
son will do his best to make amends for my deficiencies."
On this Master Richard went up and whispered something in his father's
ear.
"Will one or two do?" I heard the brigadier ask.
"No, no, father, do it handsomely. To be sure, he ran no risk, but it
was the way he did it; and I rather think he looks for some
remuneration."
On this the brigadier shuffled off his chair, and opening his
writing-desk, took out a bank note.
"Here, my friend," he said to old Dick, "I should like to pay you for
the loss of time, and the expense you have been put to, for this
youngster, so accept these few pounds. I hope to show my sense of what
you have done, more heartily by-and-by."
I saw old Dick's eyes sparkle. He had probably expected a sovereign at
the outside.
"Jack," he whispered to me, as we left the room, "you are in luck; for,
if he pays me five pounds for just picking that young shrimp out of the
water, he will certainly do a good deal more for you who saved his
life."
Master Richard soon overtook us, and then insisted on showing us over
the house--into the drawing-room, and dining-room, and
breakfast-parlour, and into several of the bedrooms, then down into the
servants' hall. I had never been in such a fine house in my life
before. And then he took us out into the garden, and walked us all
round, showing us the fruit-trees in blossom, and the beautiful flowers.
"My mamma will be home soon," he observed, "and my two sisters. I want
her to see the brigadier first, because, you see, although it was a very
fine thing in you to pick me out of the water, I had no business to
tumble into it, or, indeed, to be in a boat at all. The brigadier did
not see that, but she will. She keeps us all precious strict, I can
tell you. I have several brothers--the eldest is in the army, and two
are away at school. I have not quite settled what I am going to be. I
should not object to go into the navy, but then I should like to be made
an admiral or a post-captain at once. I have no particular taste for
the army, and as for the law, or several other things, I would as soon
dig potatoes, or go shrimping; and thus, you see, the navy is the only
profession likely to suit me, or I am likely to suit."
Old Dick cocked his eye, as he heard young master's remarks.
"I rather think he must be changed a bit before he is suited to the
navy, however much he may think the navy will suit him; and there I have
an idea he will be pretty considerably mistaken," he whispered to me.
The young gentleman had evidently caught the habit of a pompous style of
speaking from Mrs. Brigadier, as I afterwards discovered. It sounded
somewhat ridiculous, especially from the mouth of so small a chap. I
had reason to suspect that he now and then, too, made curious mistakes;
though of course, not very well able to detect them myself.
At last an open carriage drove up to the door, with a curly-wigged
coachman on the box, and two dark-skinned servants standing behind,
dressed like the one who had opened the door. Inside was a very tall
lady, sitting bolt upright, with two considerably smaller young ladies
opposite to her. Young master told old Dick and me not to make any
noise, lest she should see us, as we were watching their arrival through
the shrubbery. She got out with a dignified air, resting on one of the
black servants, and strode into the house. The two young ladies
followed demurely in her wake. She was exactly what I should have
expected the brigadier to be, only she wore petticoats, and a bonnet
instead of a cocked hat. In a short time the servant appeared, and
summoned young master into the house. He quickly appeared, and beckoned
us from a window to come in. I did not see the meeting of the mother
and son, but I know when I entered she stretched out her arms, and gave
me a kiss on the brow.
"You have rendered me an essential service, young lad," she exclaimed,
in a voice well calculated to hail the maintop in a gale at sea, or to
shout "Advance!" at the head of a regiment in action. "I wish to show
my gratitude, but how can I do so?"
"And you--" and she looked towards old Dick, who drew back; and I really
heard him say--
"Oh, don't!"
He thought she was going to salute him as she had me.
"You took them into your boat; you preserved them from catching cold: I
am grateful--very grateful!" and I saw her fumble in the deep recesses
of a side-pocket.
"My dear," whispered the brigadier, "I have already bestowed a pecuniary
recompense."
"You have!" she said turning round sharply, "without consulting me?"
This was said in an intended low voice, but I heard it.
"Well," she said, "money cannot repay you for the service you have
performed. But you have found your way to this house. Come again
to-morrow, and by that time I will have considered how I can best show
my gratitude."
"Thank you, marm!" answered old Dick, evidently very glad to get away.
"Shall I take Jack with me? he lives over on this side, and I can drop
him at his home as I go back to Gosport."
"If you so think fit, my friend," answered Mrs. Brigadier; "and if the
boy--by-the-by, what is your name?" she asked.
"Jack Junker," I replied; and I told her that my father was a sergeant.
"Jack Junker? Yes, if you wish to go, Jack," she answered. "I also
then shall have time to consider how I can best express my gratitude.
Farewell?"
She put out her hand, and shook old Dick's; but I thought, as she spoke
to me, her manner was considerably colder than it had been at first.
Old Dick and I left the room, and the door was closed behind us.
"I doubt her," whispered old Dick to me. "I am glad the old gentleman,
however, gave me the five pounds. It was handsome in him. But Jack, my
boy, I suspect you will have to rest satisfied with having saved the
life of a fellow-creature; though, as you were the means of my gaining
this, I think I must hand over half to you, as your share."
To this, of course, I would not consent; and somewhat disappointed,
perhaps, I accompanied my old friend through the hall, having the honour
of being salaamed to most profoundly by the dark-skinned domestics. We
walked slowly, and had not got very far, when I heard footsteps coming
behind us. Turning round, I saw Master Richard running with all his
might.
"Here, Jack?" he said, "the Brigadier gave me this, and told me to hand
it over to you. My mother was out of the room at the time, so do not
say anything about it to her. She will show you her gratitude in some
other way. I do not mean to say it is as much as I should like to have
offered you; but here, be quick I put it into your pocket, or we may be
seen from the house."
"Don't be a fool, Jack!" said old Dick, seeing I hesitated. "It's
justly yours, boy, and let them settle the matter as they think best."
"Good-bye, Jack!" said young master, shaking me by the hand.
"Good-bye!" he added, taking old Dick's rough paw. "We are a curious
set; but I say, do not refuse anything you can get. If you want any
interest exerted, then boldly ask my mother. She will do that in a way
which overcomes all difficulties. If she wanted to make me Archbishop
of Canterbury, she would work away till she had done it, if she happened
to live long enough."
Old Dick dropped me at my home. There was a tremendous noise going on,
created by my stepmother's children. She was crying out and imploring
them to be quiet, and they were squabbling and crying and abusing each
other. The big ones had appropriated the little ones' toys, or other
property, and all the poor woman could do they would not restore the
articles, while the young ones were crying to get them back, every now
and then making a rush at their bigger brothers and sisters, and getting
a box on the ear in return. My appearance rather increased than quelled
the commotion. Tommy, the biggest, asked me in a threatening way where
I had been, and of course I was not going to answer him; so he doubled
his fist, and, had I not stood on my guard, he would certainly have hit
me, but he thought better of it. Just at that moment my father returned
off duty, full of my performances, of which old Dick had told him all
particulars. He was very indignant with Tom.
"Is this the way, you young ruffian, | 30.177869 |
2023-11-16 18:17:34.2056910 | 158 | 26 | OF 1861***
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Produced by Al Haines
[Frontispiece: _The First Crusaders in Sight of Jerusalem_]
THE STORY OF
THE CRUSADES
BY
E. M. WILMOT-BUXTON
F.R.Hist.S.
AUTHOR OF
'BRITAIN LONG AGO' 'THE BOOK OF RUSTEM'
'TOLD BY THE NORTHMEN' ETC.
GEORGE G. HARRAP & CO. LTD.
LONDON BOMBAY SYDNEY
_First published December 1910_
_by_ GEORGE G. HARRAP & CO.
_39-4l Parker Street, Kingsway, London, W.C.2
Reprinted September 1913
Reprinted in the present series:
March 1912; May 1914; January 1919; March 1924;
January 1927; November 1927; July 1930_
_Printed in Great Britain by Turnbull & Spears, Edinburgh_
Contents
I. The Story of Mohammed the Prophet
II. Mohammed as Conqueror
III. The Spread of Islam
IV. The Rise of Chivalry
V. The Story of Peter the Hermit
VI. The Story of the Emperor Alexios and the First Crusade
VII. The Siege of Antioch
VIII. The Holy City is won
IX. Bernard of Clairvaux and the Second Crusade
X. The Loss of Jerusalem
XI. The Story of the Third Crusade
XII. The Adventures of Richard Lion-Heart
XIII. The Story of Dandolo, the Blind Doge
XIV. The Forsaking of the High Enterprise
XV. The Story of the Latin Empire of Constantinople
XVI. The Story of the Children's Crusade
XVII. The Emperor Frederick and the Sixth Crusade
XVIII. The Story of the Seventh Crusade
XIX. The Crusade of St Louis
XX. The Story of the Fall of Acre
XXI. The Story of the Fall of Constantinople
XXII. The Effect of the Crusades
List of Books Consulted
Index of Proper Names
Illustrations
The First Crusaders in Sight of Jerusalem... _Frontispiece_
The Vision of Mohammed
Pilgrims of the Eleventh Century journeying to the Holy City
The Preaching of Peter the Hermit
Duke Godfrey marching through Hungary
Robert of Normandy at Dorylæum
The Storming of Jerusalem
King Louis surrounded by the Turks
Richard and Philip at the Siege of Acre
Richard of England utterly defeats the Army of Saladin
The Fleet of the Fifth Crusade sets Sail from Venice
The Children crossing the Alps
John of Brienne attacking the River Tower
The Landing of St Louis in Egypt
The Last Fight of William Longsword
The Fall of Acre
Map of the Crusades
{9}
The Story of the Crusades
CHAPTER I
The Story of Mohammed the Prophet
_A poor shepherd people roaming unnoticed in the deserts of Arabia: a
Hero-Prophet sent down to them with a word they could believe: See! the
unnoticed becomes world-notable, the small has grown world-great_.
CARLYLE: _Hero as Prophet_.
The two hundred years which cover, roughly speaking, the actual period
of the Holy War, are crammed with an interest that never grows dim.
Gallant figures, noble knights, generous foes, valiant women, eager
children, follow one another through these centuries, and form a
pageant the colour and romance of which can never fade, for the
circumstances were in themselves unique. The two great religious
forces of the world--Christianity and Islam, the Cross and the
Crescent--were at grips with one another, and for the first time the
stately East, with its suggestion of mystery, was face to face with the
brilliant West, wherein the civilisation and organisation of Rome were
at last prevailing over the chaos of the Dark Ages.
A very special kind of interest, moreover, belongs to {10} the story of
the Crusades in that the motive of the wars was the desire to rescue
from the hands of unbelievers
_Those holy fields
Over whose acres walked those blessed feet
Which, fourteen hundred year before, were nailed
For our advantage on the bitter cross._
But we shall see, as we read the story, that this was only a part of
the real motive power which inspired and sustained the Holy War.
Even if the land of Palestine and the Holy City, Jerusalem, had never
fallen into the hands of the Saracens, some such war was inevitable.
The East was knocking at the doors of the West with no uncertain sound.
An extraordinary force had come into existence during the four
centuries that immediately preceded the First Crusade, which threatened
to dominate the whole of the Western world. It was a religious
force--always stronger and more effective than any other; and it was
only repelled with the greatest difficulty by Christendom, inspired,
not so much by the motive of religion, as by that curious mixture of
romance and adventurous design which we call chivalry.
Let us try, then, first of all, to get some idea of these Men of the
East, the Mohammedans or Saracens, who managed to keep Europe in a
state of constant turmoil for upwards of five centuries, and to do that
we must go back to the latter years of the sixth century after Christ.
About fifty miles from the shores of the Red Sea stands the city of
Mecca, one of the few important towns to be found on the fringe of the
great sandy desert of Arabia. During hundreds of years Mecca had been
the venerated bourne of pilgrims, for, embedded in the walls {11} of
the sacred building known as the Kaaba, was the "pure white stone,"
said to have fallen from heaven on the day that Adam and Eve took their
sorrowful way from the gates of Paradise.
The Arabs, or Saracens, of these early days were closely connected with
their neighbours, the Jews of Palestine, and claimed the same descent
from Abraham through Ishmael, the outcast son. They believed in the
existence of God, whom, to some extent, they worshipped, under the name
of Allah. But they were deeply interested in nature-worship: the sun,
moon, and stars were their deities. They bowed down before the "pure
white stone" in the Kaaba, now from its frequent handling rather black
than white. They peopled the whole realm of nature--oceans, rivers,
mountains, caves--with spirits good and evil, called "jinns" or genii,
made, not of clay, like mortal men, but of pure flame of fire.
Once upon a time these jinns were said to have lived in heaven, and to
have worshipped the Lord of Hosts; but having rebelled, under the
leadership of Iblis, against Allah, they were cast forth, and descended
to the earth, where they became sometimes a pest and annoyance to men,
and sometimes their servants.
Many legends concerning these spirits are to be found in the Koran, the
sacred book of the Mohammedans. One of these tells how the jinns were
wont to roam round about the gates of heaven, peeping and listening and
catching here and there a little of the converse of the angels. But
these were only isolated words, or disjointed phrases; and the
mischievous jinns, hoping that evil would come of these odds and ends
of conversation separated from their context, whispered them
industriously in the ears of the sons of men. These the {12} latter,
always eager to know more of the Unseen World, readily accepted, and
invariably put a wrong interpretation upon them. Hence arose
superstition, black magic, false prophecies, evil omens, and all such
things as had in them the germ of truth, but had been misunderstood and
misapplied.
From the midst of this imaginative and nature-worshipping people there
arose the prophet who was to found one of the most powerful religious
sects in the world.
In the year 570 A.D., in the city of Mecca, a boy child came to the
young mother Amina, to comfort her in her widowhood for the husband who
had died a few weeks before. Tradition has been active regarding the
cradle of this child, the young Mohammed. He is said to have exclaimed
at the moment of birth, "Allah is great! There is no God but Allah,
and I am His prophet."
That same day an earthquake was reported to have overturned the
gorgeous palace of Persia; a wild camel was seen in a vision to be
overthrown by a slender Arab horse; and Iblis, the evil spirit, leader
of the malignant jinns, was cast into the depths of ocean.
What is actually known about the matter is that the babe was presented
to his tribe on the seventh day after his birth, and was named
Mohammed, the "Praised One," in prophetic allusion to his future fame.
For the first five years of his life, according to Arabian custom, the
child was sent to a foster-mother in the mountains that he might grow
up sturdy and healthy. Soon after the end of that period, his mother
died, and he was left to the care of his uncle, Abu Talib, a wealthy
trader, who was so fond and proud of his nephew that he let the boy
accompany him on many of his long caravan {13} journeys to Yemen or
Syria. Thus the young Mohammed became intimately acquainted with all
sorts and conditions of men. He had no books, but he was an eager
listener to the poems recited by the bards in the market-place of each
great town. He quickly absorbed the legends and superstitions of his
country, formed his own opinion about the idol-worship practised by
many of the Arab tribes, and was present on a great historic occasion,
when an oath was taken by his tribe in alliance with others, to be the
champions of the weak and the avengers of the oppressed. Moreover,
since his own home was at Mecca, the "Fair of all Arabia," the centre
of trade for India, Syria, Egypt, and Italy, the boy had plenty of
chances of acquiring that knowledge of the world which subsequently
served him in good stead as a leader of men.
He grew up a silent, thoughtful youth, loved and respected by his
companions, who named him El Amin, the "Faithful One." He was notable
too for his good looks, for his bright dark eyes, clear brown skin, and
for a curious black vein that swelled between his eyebrows when he was
moved to anger. He had wide opportunities for thought and meditation,
since, as was the case with most Arabs, his occupation was for years
that of a shepherd on the hillsides of his native city. Eventually, at
his uncle's wish, he became camel-driver and conductor of the caravan
of a certain rich widow named Kadija. The long journey to Syria was
undertaken with success, and on his return the widow Kadija looked upon
the young man of twenty-five with eyes of favour. She imagined she saw
two angels shielding him with their wings from the scorching sunshine,
and, taking this for an indication that he was under the special
protection of {14} Allah, sent her sister to him, according to a common
custom of Arabia, to intimate her willingness to be his bride.
So the poor camel-driver became the husband of the wealthy Kadija, and
a very happy marriage it turned out to be. Six children came to
gladden the peaceful home, of whom the youngest, Fatima, was to play a
part in future history. To all appearances these were years of calm
existence, almost of stagnation, for Mohammed; but all the time the
inner life of the man was growing, expanding, throwing out fresh
tentacles of thought and inquiry, as he brooded upon the condition, and
especially upon the religious condition, of his fellow-countrymen. For
the Arabs of his day were a degenerate race, much given to drinking and
gaming and evil passions. They thought nothing of burying their
girl-children alive after birth, as unworthy to be brought up. They
had no heroic ideals, and their religion was becoming more and more
vague and shadowy where it was not given over entirely to the worship
of idols.
It was the Arab custom to keep the month Ramadan as a kind of Lent, in
fasting, in seclusion and meditation; and Mohammed, during that period,
was wont to retire to a cave in a mountain near Mecca, sometimes with
Kadija, sometimes quite alone. There he was overtaken on one occasion
by strange trances and visions in which uttered weird prophetic
sentences. He subsequently confided to Kadija, who was with him at
that time, that he had made the Great Discovery; that all these idols,
and sacred stones, and empty phrases of religion were nothing--nothing
at all. "That God is great, and that there is nothing else great. He
is Reality. Wooden idols are not real; but He is real--He made us and
{15} protects us; hence _We must submit to Allah, and strive after
righteousness_." This was to be the keynote of the faith to be known
as _Islam_.
After this revelation had come to him, Mohammed continued his life of
thought and meditation for some time, until he was nearly forty years
of age. He may have spoken of his conviction to his friends, but he
does not seem to have gained much sympathy, and rather he appears to
have earned the reputation of a dreamer. But about the year 610, as he
was wandering over the wild hillsides, the clear call came, as it is
bound to come to the humble, listening soul. He had lain down to sleep
when, in a vision, he heard three times his name repeated, and the
third time saw the angel Gabriel--in whose existence both Arabs and
Jews believed--who spoke to him and bade him
_Cry! in the name of Allah!
In the name of Allah,
Who hath created man._
At first Mohammed was much disturbed by this message, which he did not
clearly understand. He feared he was under the influence of magic, and
was filled with dread of falling into the hands of jinns. After a
visit to his home, he again sought the mountain, intending in his
harassed state of mind to put an end to his life. Each time he
attempted this, something restrained him, and as he sat at length in
despair upon the ground wrapped in his cloak, the angel once more
appeared, saying--
_O thou that art covered,
Arise and preach,
And magnify Allah!
Purify thy garments,_
{16}
_Shun all evils,
Grant not money on usury,
Wait patiently for Allah.
When the trump shall blow shall be distress for unbelievers._
From that time the vocation of Mohammed was clear. He was to go forth
and preach to a nation of idolaters that there was one God, and only
one, who might claim their worship. Never again did he hesitate, nor,
on the other hand, did he begin his work in haste. He still sojourned
among the mountains, where he was visited by his uncle, Abu Talib, and
by the little son of the latter, a boy called Ali.
"What calls you here, Mohammed?" asked the puzzled Abu, "and what
religion do you now profess?"
Said Mohammed: "I profess the religion of Allah, of His angels and His
prophets, the religion of Abraham. Allah has commissioned me to preach
this to men, and to urge them to embrace it. Nought would be more
worthy of thee, O my uncle, than to adopt the true faith, and to help
me to spread it."
But Abu Talib replied: "Son of my brother, I can never forsake the
faith of my fathers; but if thou art attacked, I will defend thee."
Then to his young son Ali he continued: "Hesitate not to follow any
advice he giveth thee, for Mohammed will never lead thee into any wrong
way."
The first attempts of Mohammed to begin his work of conversion met with
small success. We have good authority for the proverb that "a prophet
has no honour in his own country," and in Mohammed's case his task was
made supremely difficult by the fact that Mecca would no longer be the
goal of thousands of pilgrims every year if the Arabs were to give up
the worship {17} of the idols of the Kaaba, which numbered, exclusive
of the "pure white stone" itself, some three hundred and sixty-five
images. Now the whole prosperity of the city depended upon the caravan
trade brought by these pilgrims, as well as on the profits made out of
providing food and shelter for such vast numbers. Realising this,
Mohammed made no attempt at a public proclamation of the new faith for
the first three years, but contented himself with training two or three
converts to be his helpers in the future.
His faithful wife Kadija was with him heart and soul, and to her, first
of all, he disclosed the details which the angel had revealed to him in
a vision, as to the particular acts of ritual, forms of prayer, and
actual doctrine which _Islam_, as their faith was called, demanded of
its followers. The essential fact of this religion was a belief in
Allah as the one true God, in a future life of happiness or misery
after death, and in Mohammed himself as the Prophet of Allah, whom they
were bound to obey. It was essentially a practical faith, however,
and, in addition to prayer five times a day, the Islamite or _Moslem_
must give alms to the poor, be perfectly honest in weighing and
measuring, be absolutely truthful, and keep strictly to all agreements
made. Many minor details were afterwards added to these, and the whole
were gradually written down in the _Koran_, the sacred book of Islam.
This, of course, was not done till many years later, when Mohammed had
drawn up a moral and social code which he hoped would reform the whole
world. In the meantime he had a hard struggle before him.
One of his first followers was the child Ali, who, though but eleven
years old, became his constant companion in his lonely rambles, and
eagerly received his {18} instructions. A freed slave, and Abu Bekr, a
man of official rank, enthusiastic for the new faith, were his next
converts. In vain did Mohammed call together the members of his tribe,
saying unto them--
"Never has an Arab offered to his people such precious things as I now
present to you--happiness in this life, and joys for ever in the next.
Allah has bidden me call men to Him--Who will join me in the sacred
work and become my brother?"
Deep silence followed this appeal, broken only by the high, childish
voice of little Ali, who cried out--
"I, Prophet of Allah, I will join you!"
Quite seriously Mohammed received the offer, saying to the assembled
throng, "Behold my brother, my _Kalif_! Listen to him. Obey his
commands."
Soon after this appeal to his own tribe, a spirit of active opposition
arose among the men of Mecca, so much so that the chief men came to Abu
Talib and warned him that if he did not prevail upon Mohammed to hold
his peace and give up these new doctrines, they would take up arms
against him and his supporters. Much alarmed at this protest, Abu
Talib implored his nephew to keep his new-formed faith to himself. But
Mohammed answered, "O my uncle, even if the sun should descend on my
right hand and the moon on my left to fight against me, ordering me to
hold my peace or perish, I would not waver from my purpose."
Then, thinking that the friend he loved so well was about to desert
him, he turned away and wept. But the old Abu, touched to the heart,
cried out, "Come back, O my nephew! Preach whatever doctrine thou
wilt. I swear to thee that not for a moment will I desert thy side."
{19}
Opposition soon took the form of misrepresentation. The enemies of
Mohammed would lie in wait for the pilgrims going up to the Kaaba and
warn them to beware of a dangerous magician, whose charms sowed discord
in the household, dividing husband and wife, parent and child. But
this had the natural effect of making strangers much more curious about
Mohammed than they would otherwise have been. They made their own
inquiries, and though few converts were the result, the reputation of
the Prophet, in a more or less misleading form, was gradually spread by
them throughout the length and breadth of Arabia.
Meantime, Mohammed himself was the object of open insult in the streets
of Mecca, as well as of actual violence. One effect of this, however,
was to bring over to his side another uncle, Hamza by name who had been
one of his fiercest opponents. Hearing of some new outrage, he
hastened to the Kaaba and stood forth openly as the champion of the
Prophet.
"_I_ am of the new religion! Return _that_, if you dare!" he cried,
dealing a vigorous blow at one of the angry and astonished assembly.
They drew back in awe, and Hamza, the "Lion of Allah," became one of
the most ardent followers of Islam.
The tide of persecution, however, was not stayed, and at length
Mohammed, unable to protect his followers from the violence he was
willing to endure himself, persuaded them to take refuge in Abyssinia,
under the protection of the Christian king.
Furious at this, the men of Mecca placed Mohammed and his whole family
under a ban for three long years, during which the Faithful nearly
perished of hunger, for no man might buy of them or sell to them or
have {20} any kind of intercourse with them. This ban was removed at
the end of three years, but then a worse blow fell upon the Prophet.
Kadija, his faithful, loving wife, and Abu Talib, his friend and
protector, both died. The death of Abu led to a renewal of
persecution; very few fresh converts were made; failure met him on
every side. The only ray of light in this period of gloom was the
discovery that twelve pilgrims journeying from the distant city of
Medina had already become followers of Islam from what they had heard
of the new faith as taught by Mohammed. These men he gladly instructed
more fully, and sent them back as missionaries to their own city.
In the midst of his depression and disheartened forebodings for the
future, Mohammed was vouchsafed a marvellous vision or dream.
"Awake, thou that sleepest!" cried a voice like a silver trumpet, and
there appeared to him an angel of wonderful brightness, who bade him
mount the winged steed, _Borak_, the Lightning, and ascend to the
Temple at Jerusalem. Thence by a ladder of light, Mohammed rose to the
first heaven, made of pure silver, and lighted by stars suspended by
chains of gold. There he was embraced as the chief of prophets by
Adam, the first created man.
[Illustration: _The Vision of Mohammed_]
Thence he proceeded to the second heaven, which was of steel, and there
he was greeted by Noah. The third heaven, where Joseph met him, was
brilliant with precious stones. There too sat the Angel of Death,
writing down the names of all who were to be born, and blotting out the
names of those whose time had come to die. In the fourth heaven Aaron
showed to him the Angel of Vengeance, in whose hands was a fiery {23}
spear. In the fifth Moses spoke with him and wept to see one who was
going to lead to Paradise more of the Chosen People than he, their
prophet. In the sixth, of marvellous brightness, Abraham occupied
chief place; and Mohammed was even allowed to penetrate further to the
seventh heaven, where Allah, His glory veiled, gave him instructions as
to the doctrines of Islam, and bade him command his followers to utter
fifty prayers a day.
When the Prophet returned to Moses, the latter pointed out that the
number was too much to expect of Arabs, and bade him ask Allah to
reduce it. In answer to his supplications, Allah said at first that
forty prayers would be satisfactory, but Mohammed pleaded earnestly for
further relief, and at last the number was fixed at five, at which it
remains to this day. "Allahu akbar--Prayer is better than sleep!
There is no God but Allah! He giveth life and He dieth not! O thou
bountiful! Thy mercy ceaseth not! My sins are great, greater is Thy
mercy! I praise His perfection! Allahu akbar!"
Still, five times a day, the peculiar cry of the "mullah" is heard from
the tower of prayer, giving the signal for the follower of Islam to
turn towards Mecca, throw himself on his face, and utter the prescribed
words.
Much inspired by this wonderful dream, Mohammed was further encouraged
by the news that seventy men of Medina had joined the ranks of Islam
and were about to meet him on the hillside beyond Mecca, with intent to
induce him, if possible, to take up his future abode in their city,
leaving his birthplace to its fate. There, under the dark midnight
sky, these men bound {24} themselves to worship Allah only, to obey the
Prophet, and to fight in defence of him and his followers.
"And what will be our reward?" asked one.
"Paradise!" replied Mohammed briefly.
And then the oath was sworn; while the Prophet, on his side, promised
to live and die with his new converts when the time was ripe.
The meeting had, however, been watched by spies, who reported all to
the men of Mecca; and a new persecution arose, so bitter that most of
the "Faithful," as the followers of Mohammed came to be called, fled at
once to Medina. Mohammed himself remained, hoping that thus he might
turn the wrath of the idolaters upon himself and protect the flight of
his children.
Presently, however, came information that forty men, one from each
tribe, had sworn together to take his life; and forthwith Mohammed with
Abu Bekr, his devoted friend, departed one dark night and shook off the
dust of Mecca from his feet. Danger was so near that they dared not
take the path to Medina, but made their way to a mountain, on whose
rocky summit they found a small cave into which they crept at dawn of
day.
Knowing what the end of the pursuit would mean, Abu began to lose
nerve, and asked, "What if our pursuers should find our cave? We are
but two."
"We are three," was the calm reply: "Allah is with us!"
Legend says that the pursuers actually approached the mouth of the cave
and were about to investigate it. But in the early hours of the day
Allah had caused a tree to grow up before it, a spider to weave its web
across it, and a wild pigeon, most timid of birds, to lay {25} eggs in
a nest made in the branches; and the searchers, seeing these things,
declared it impossible that any one could be within. A faithful friend
provided them in secret with food and milk, and on the third night they
began the journey to Medina.
"He is come! He is come!" cried the Faithful in Medina, flocking to
meet the wayworn travellers as they entered the city.
And thus a new chapter was opened in the history of Islam.
{26}
CHAPTER II
Mohammed as Conqueror
_He is come to ope
The purple testament of bleeding war._
SHAKESPEARE: _Richard II._
The year which marked Mohammed's triumphant entry into Medina is known
in the Mohammedan world as the _Hegira_, and counts as the Year One in
their calendar--the year from which all others are reckoned. For the
first time the faith of Islam was preached openly, and the claim of
Mohammed to be merely _one_ of the "prophets" gave place to a demand
for acknowledgment as the chief of all, a demand calculated to arouse
the antagonism of all other existing forms of religion. The other
important development of his teaching at this time was that all
faithful Moslems--the followers of the Prophet--must entirely abstain
from the use of intoxicating drink.
Moreover, though at first Mohammed (possibly to please the Jews in
Medina) had commanded that at the hour of prayer every Moslem should
turn his face towards Jerusalem, in course of time, when he began to
see the impossibility of uniting the Jewish believers with those of
Islam, he suddenly, after the usual prostration, turned towards the
Temple at Mecca. From that moment down to the present day the Moslem,
wherever {27} he is, follows this example at the fivefold hour of
prayer.
At Medina, Mohammed married | 30.482726 |
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Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source:
http://www.archive.org/details/oncrossaromance00saffgoog
2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
[Illustration: "_Accursed be the hour I raised you from the dust to my
side_."--Page 339]
ON THE CROSS
A
Romance of the Passion Play at
Oberammergau
BY
Wilhelmine von Hillern
AND
Mary J. Safford
DREXEL BIDDLE, PUBLISHER
PHILADELPHIA
Copyright, 1902
BY
ANTHONY J. DREXEL BIDDLE.
* * *
PRESS OF DREXEL BIDDLE, PHILADELPHIA, U. S. A.
TO
HERR JOHANNES DIEMER,
THE RENOWNED DELIVERER OF THE PROLOGUE IN THE PASSION PLAYS
OF THE LAST DECADE, A TRUE SON OF AMMERGAU, IN WHOSE
UNASSUMING PERSON DWELLS THE CALM, DEEP SOUL OF
THE ARTIST, THE LOYAL SYMPATHIZING FRIEND, IN
WHOSE PEACEFUL HOME I FOUND THE QUIET
AND THE MOOD I NEEDED TO COMPLETE
THIS WORK, IT IS NOW DEDICATED,
WITH GRATEFUL ESTEEM, BY
THE AUTHORESS.
CONTENTS.
Introduction.
CHAPTER I.
A Phantom.
CHAPTER II.
Old Ammergau.
CHAPTER III.
Young Ammergau.
CHAPTER IV.
Expelled from the Play.
CHAPTER V.
Modern Pilgrims.
CHAPTER VI.
The Evening Before the Play.
CHAPTER VII.
The Passion Play.
CHAPTER VIII.
Freyer.
CHAPTER IX.
Signs and Wonders.
CHAPTER X.
In the Early Morning.
CHAPTER XI.
Mary and Magdalene.
CHAPTER XII.
Bridal Torches.
CHAPTER XIII.
Banished from Eden.
CHAPTER XIV.
Pieta.
CHAPTER XV.
The Crowing of the Cock.
CHAPTER XVI.
Prisoned.
CHAPTER XVII.
Flying from the Cross.
CHAPTER XVIII.
The Marriage.
CHAPTER XIX.
At the Child's Bedside.
CHAPTER XX.
Conflicts.
CHAPTER XXI.
Unaccountable.
CHAPTER XXII.
Falling Stars.
CHAPTER XXIII.
Noli me Tangere.
CHAPTER XXIV.
Attempts to Rescue.
CHAPTER XXV.
Day is Dawning.
CHAPTER XXVI.
The Last Support.
CHAPTER XXVII.
Between Poverty and Disgrace.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Parting.
CHAPTER XXIX.
In the Deserted House.
CHAPTER XXX.
The "Wiesherrle."
CHAPTER XXXI.
The Return Home.
CHAPTER XXXII.
To the Village.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
Received Again.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
At Daisenberger's Grave.
CHAPTER XXXV.
The Watchword.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
Memories.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
The Measure is Full.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
On the Way to the Cross.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
Stations of Sorrow.
CHAPTER XL.
Near the Goal.
CONCLUSION.
From Illusion to Truth.
INTRODUCTION.
It | 30.503459 |
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Produced by Julia Miller and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
Transcriber's Note
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. A list of corrections
is found at the end of the text.
[Illustration: "Oh, dear! oh, dear me!" Page 85.]
[Illustration: MINNIE and her PETS
BY MRS. MADELINE LESLIE
MINNIE'S PET PARROT.]
MINNIE'S PET PARROT.
BY
MRS. MADELINE LESLIE,
AUTHOR OF "THE LESLIE STORIES," "TIM, THE SCISSORS-GRINDER,"
ETC.
ILLUSTRATED.
BOSTON:
LEE AND SHEPARD,
1864.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863, by
A. R. BAKER,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of
Massachusetts.
ELECTROTYPED AT THE BOSTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY.
TO MY YOUNG FRIEND,
HENRY FOWLE DURANT, JR.
=These Little Volumes=
ARE AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED
BY THE AUTHOR,
IN THE EARNEST HOPE THAT THEY MAY INCREASE IN HIM THAT
LOVE OF NATURE AND OF RURAL LIFE WHICH HAS EVER
EXERTED SO SALUTARY AN INFLUENCE IN THE
FORMATION OF THE CHARACTERS OF
THE WISE AND GOOD.
MINNIE AND HER PETS.
Minnie's Pet Parrot.
Minnie's Pet Cat.
Minnie's Pet Dog.
Minnie's Pet Horse.
Minnie's Pet Lamb.
Minnie's Pet Monkey.
INTRODUCTION.
The object of these little books is not so much to give full, scientific
information with regard to the animals of which they treat, as to bring
before the child such facts concerning them as shall interest him in
their history, awaken a desire to know more of the particular traits of
each, and especially lead him to be kind to them as a part of God's
creation.
Natural history we deem, according to the opinion of an eminent writer,
as "not only the most captivating of the sciences, but the most
humanizing. It is impossible to study the character and habits of the
lower animals without imbibing an interest in their wants and feelings."
Dr. Chalmers, who was famous for his interest in the brute creation,
says, "To obtain the regards of man's heart in behalf of the lower
animals, we should strive to draw his mind toward them. The poor brutes
look, tremble, and give the signs of suffering, as we do. A threatened
blow strikes them with terror, and they have the same distortions of
agony on the infliction of it. Their blood circulates as ours does. They
sicken, and grow feeble with age, and finally die, as we do. They
possess also instincts which expose them to suffering in another
quarter. The lioness, robbed of her whelps, makes the wilderness ring
with her cries; and the little bird, whose tender household has been
stolen, fills and saddens all the grove with her pathetic melody."
The author has been careful to select only facts well authenticated. She
takes this opportunity to acknowledge most gratefully her indebtedness
to those friends who have contributed original anecdotes which have come
under their own observation; and also to state that she has quoted from
most of the popular English works on these subjects, prominent among
which are Jesse, Richardson, and Hamilton, on dogs; Youatt, the Ettrick
Shepherd, and Randall, on sheep; Morris, Brown's Natural History,
Chambers's Miscellany, etc.
She has been greatly encouraged, in the preparation of these volumes for
the young, by the flattering reception of the previous productions of
her pen. If these should meet with similar favor, they may be followed
by other volumes of the same character and objects.
THE AUTHOR.
MINNIE'S PET PARROT.
CHAPTER I.
MINNIE AND HER PARROT.
In these little books, I am going to tell you about Minnie, her home,
and her pets; and I hope it will teach every boy and every girl who
reads them to be kind to animals, as Minnie was. Minnie Lee had a
pleasant home. She was an only child, and as her parents loved to
please her, they procured every thing which they thought would make her
happy. The first pet Minnie had was a beautiful tortoise-shell kitten,
which she took in her baby arms and hugged tightly to her bosom. After a
time, her father, seeing how much comfort she took with kitty, bought
her a spaniel. He already had a large Newfoundland dog; but Mrs. Lee
was unwilling to have him come into the house, saying that in summer he
drew the flies, and in winter he dirtied her hearth rugs. So Leo, as the
great dog was called, was condemned to the barn, while Tiney could rove
through the parlors and chambers whenever he pleased.
In Minnie's seventh year, her father bought her a Shetland pony and a
lamb, which he told her was called a South Down--a rare and valuable
breed. The little girl now thought her hands quite full; but only the
next Christmas, when her uncle came home from sea, he told her he had
brought an addition to her pets; and true enough, when his luggage came
from town, there was a bag containing a real, live monkey, named Jacko.
These, with the silver-gray parrot, which had been in the family for
years, gave Minnie employment from morning till night.
You will wonder, perhaps, that one child should have so many pets; and,
indeed, the parrot belonged to her mother; but when I tell you that,
though her parents had had six children, she was the only one remaining
to them, and that in her infancy she was very sickly, you will not
wonder so much. The doctor said that their only hope of bringing her up
was to keep her in the open air as much as possible.
"Let her have a run with Leo," he used to say; or, "Get her a horse, and
teach her to ride. That will do her more good than medicine."
When her father came home from town, if he did not see his little
daughter on the lawn, playing with Fidelle, the cat, and Tiney, the dog,
he was almost sure to find her in the shed where Jacko's cage was kept,
with Miss Poll perching on her shoulder.
When visitors called and asked to see her, her mother would laugh, as
she answered, "I'm sure I don't know where the child is, she has so many
pets."
Minnie was not allowed to study much in books; indeed, she scarcely knew
how to read at all; yet she was not an ignorant child | 30.983655 |
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Produced by Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net/ for Project
Gutenberg.
THE TRIBES AND CASTES OF THE CENTRAL PROVINCES OF INDIA
By
R.V. RUSSELL
Of the Indian Civil Service Superintendent of Ethnography, Central
Provinces
Assisted by
Rai Bahadur Hira Lal
Extra Assistant Commissioner
Published Under the Orders of the Central Provinces Administration
In Four Volumes
Vol. III.
Macmillan and Co., Limited St. Martin's Street, London.
1916
CONTENTS OF VOLUME III
Articles on Castes and Tribes of the Central Provinces in Alphabetical
Order
The articles which are considered to be of most general interest are
shown in capitals
Page
Gadaria (Shepherd) 3
Gadba (Forest tribe) 9
Ganda (Weaver and labourer) 14
Gandhmali (Uriya village priests and temple servants) 17
Garpagari (Averter of hailstorms) 19
Gauria (Snake-charmer and juggler) 24
Ghasia (Grass-cutter) 27
Ghosi (Buffalo-herdsman) 32
Golar (Herdsman) 35
Gond (Forest tribe and cultivator) 39
Gond-Gowari (Herdsman) 143
Gondhali (Religious mendicant) 144
Gopal (Vagrant criminal caste) 147
Gosain (Religious mendicant) 150
Gowari (Herdsman) 160
Gujar (Cultivator) 166
Gurao (Village priest) 175
Halba (Forest tribe, labourer) 182
Halwai (Confectioner) 201
Hatkar (Soldier, shepherd) 204
Hijra (Eunuch, mendicant) 206
Holia (Labourer, curing hides) 212
Injhwar (Boatman and fisherman) 213
Jadam (Cultivator) 217
Jadua (Criminal caste) 219
Jangam (Priest of the Lingayat sect) 222
Jat (Landowner and cultivator) 225
Jhadi Telenga (Illegitimate, labourer) 238
Jogi (Religious mendicant and pedlar) 243
Joshi (Astrologer and village priest) 255
Julaha (Weaver) 279
Kachera (Maker of glass bangles) 281
Kachhi (Vegetable-grower) 285
Kadera (Firework-maker) 288
Kahar (Palanquin-bearer and household servant) 291
Kaikari (Basket-maker and vagrant) 296
Kalanga (Soldier, cultivator) 302
Kalar (Liquor vendor) 306
Kamar (Forest tribe) 323
Kanjar (Gipsies and prostitutes) 331
Kapewar (Cultivator) 342
Karan (Writer and clerk) 343
Kasai (Butcher) 346
Kasar (Worker in brass) 369
Kasbi (Prostitute) 373
Katia (Cotton-spinner) 384
Kawar (Forest tribe and cultivator) 389
Kayasth (Village accountant, writer and clerk) 404
Kewat (Boatman and fisherman) 422
Khairwar (Forest tribe; boilers of catechu) 427
Khandait (Soldier, cultivator) 436
Khangar (Village watchman and labourer) 439
Kharia (Forest tribe, labourer) 445
Khatik (Mutton-butcher) 453
Khatri (Merchant) 456
Khojah (Trader and shopkeeper) 461
Khond (Forest tribe, cultivator) 464
Kir (Cultivator) 481
Kirar (Cultivator) 485
Kohli (Cultivator) 493
Kol (Forest tribe, labourer) 500
Kolam (Forest tribe, cultivator) 520
Kolhati (Acrobat) 527
Koli (Forest tribe, cultivator) 532
Kolta (Landowner and cultivator) 537
Komti (Merchant and shopkeeper) 542
Kori (Weaver and labourer) 545
Korku (Forest tribe, labourer) 550
Korwa (Forest tribe, cultivator) 571
Koshti (Weaver) 581
ILLUSTRATIONS IN VOLUME III
Page
65. Gond women grinding corn 42
66. Palace of the Gond kings of Garha-Mandla at Ramnagar 46
67. Gonds on a journey 62
68. Killing of Rawan, the demon king of Ceylon, from whom the
Gonds are supposed to be descended 114
69. Woman about to be swung round the post called Meghnath 116
70. Climbing the pole for a bag of sugar 118
71. Gonds with their bamboo carts at market 122
72. Gond women, showing tattooing on backs of legs 126
73. Maria Gonds in dancing costume 136
74. Gondhali musicians and dancers 144
75. Gosain mendicant 150
76. Alakhwale Gosains with faces covered with ashes 152
77. Gosain mendicants with long hair 154
78. Famous Gosain Mahant. Photograph taken after death 156
79. Gujar village proprietress and her land agent 168
80. Guraos with figures made at the Holi festival called
Gangour 176
81. Group of Gurao musicians with their instruments 180
82. Ploughing with cows and buffaloes in Chhattisgarh 182
83. Halwai or confectioner's shop 202
84. Jogi mendicants of the Kanphata sect 244
85. Jogi musicians with sarangi or fiddle 250
86. Kaikaris making baskets 298
87. Kanjars making ropes 332
88. A group of Kasars or brass-workers 370
89. Dancing girls and musicians 374
90. Girl in full dress and ornaments 378
91. Old type of sugarcane mill 494
92. Group of Kol women 512
93. Group of Kolams 520
94. Korkus of the Melghat hills 550
95. Korku women in full dress 556
96. Koshti men dancing a figure, holding strings and beating
sticks 582
PRONUNCIATION
a has the sound of u in but or murmur.
a has the sound of a in bath or tar.
e has the sound of e in ecarte or ai in maid.
i has the sound of i in bit, or (as a final letter) of y in sulky.
i has the sound of ee in beet.
o has the sound of o in bore or bowl.
u has the sound of u in put or bull.
u has the sound of oo in poor or boot
The plural of caste names and a few common Hindustani words is formed
by adding s in the English manner according to ordinary usage, though
this is not, of course, the Hindustani plural.
Note.--The rupee contains 16 annas, and an anna is of the same value
as a penny. A pice is a quarter of an anna, or a farthing. Rs. 1-8
signifies one rupee and eight annas. A lakh is a hundred thousand,
and a krore ten million.
PART III
ARTICLES ON CASTES AND TRIBES
GARARDIA--KOSHTI
Gadaria
List of Paragraphs
1. General notice.
2. Subdivisions.
3. Marriage customs.
4. Religion and funeral rites.
5. Social customs.
6. Goats and sheep.
7. Blanket-weaving.
8. Sanctity of wool.
1. General notice.
Gadaria, Gadri. [1]--The occupational shepherd caste of northern
India. The name is derived from the Hindi gadar and the Sanskrit
gandhara, a sheep, the Sanskrit name being taken from the country of
Gandhara or Kandahar, from which sheep were first brought. The three
main shepherd castes all have functional names, that of the Dhangars
or Maratha shepherds being derived from dhan, small stock, while the
Kuramwars or Telugu shepherds take their name like the Gadarias from
kuruba, a sheep. These three castes are of similar nature and status,
and differ only in language and local customs. In 1911 the Gadarias
numbered 41,000 persons. They are found in the northern Districts,
and appear to have been amongst the earliest settlers in the Nerbudda
valley, for they have given their name to several villages, as
Gadariakheda and Gadarwara.
2. Subdivisions.
The Gadarias are a very mixed caste. They themselves say that their
first ancestor was created by Mahadeo to tend his rams, and that he
married three women who were fascinated by the sight of him shearing
the sheep. These belonged to the Brahman, Dhimar and Barai castes
respectively, and became the ancestors of the Nikhar, Dhengar and
Barmaiyan subcastes of Gadarias. The Nikhar subcaste are the highest,
their name meaning pure. Dhengar is probably, in reality, a corruption
of Dhangar, the name of the Maratha shepherd caste. They have other
subdivisions of the common territorial type, as Jheria or jungly,
applied to the Gadarias of Chhattisgarh; Desha from desh, country,
meaning those who came from northern India; Purvaiya or eastern,
applied to immigrants from Oudh; and Malvi or those belonging to
Malwa. Nikhar and Dhengar men take food together, but not the women;
and if a marriage cannot be otherwise arranged these subcastes will
sometimes give daughters to each other. A girl thus married is no
longer permitted to take food at her father's house, but she may eat
with the women of her husband's subcaste. Many of their exogamous
groups are named after animals or plants, as Hiranwar, from hiran,
a deer; Sapha from the cobra, Moria from the peacock, Nahar from the
tiger, Phulsungha, a flower, and so on. Others are the names of Rajput
septs and of other castes, as Ahirwar (Ahir) and Bamhania (Brahman).
Another more ambitious legend derives their origin from the Bania
caste. They say that once a Bania was walking along the road with a
cocoanut in his hand when Vishnu met him and asked him what it was. The
Bania answered that it was a cocoanut. Vishnu said that it was not
a cocoanut but wool, and told him to break it, and on breaking the
cocoanut the Bania found that it was filled with wool. The Bania asked
what he should do with it, and Vishnu told him to make a blanket out
of it for the god to sit on. So he made a blanket, and Vishnu said
that from that day he should be the ancestor of the Gadaria caste,
and earn his bread by making blankets from the wool of sheep. The
Bania asked where he should get the sheep from, and the god told him
to go home saying 'Ehan, Ehan, Ehan,' all the way, and when he got
home he would find a flock of sheep following him; but he was not to
look behind him all the way. And the Bania did so, but when he had
almost got home he could not help looking behind him to see if there
were really any sheep. And he saw a long line of sheep following him
in single file, and at the very end was a ram with golden horns just
rising out of the ground. But as he looked it sank back again into
the ground, and he went back to Vishnu and begged for it, but Vishnu
said that as he had looked behind him he had lost it. And this was
the origin of the Gadaria caste, and the Gadarias always say 'Ehan,
Ehan,' as they lead their flocks of sheep and goats to pasture.
3. Marriage customs.
Marriage within the clan is forbidden and also the union of first
cousins. Girls may be married at any age, and are sometimes united to
husbands much younger than themselves. Four castemen of standing carry
the proposal of marriage from the boy's father, and the girl's father,
being forewarned, sends others to meet them. One of the ambassadors
opens the conversation by saying, 'We have the milk and you have the
milk-pail; let them be joined.' To which the girl's party, if the
match be agreeable, will reply, "Yes, we have the tamarind and you
have the mango; if the panches agree let there be a marriage." The
boy's father gives the girl's father five areca-nuts, and the latter
returns them and they clasp each other round the neck. When the
wedding procession reaches the bride's village it is met by their
party, and one of them takes the sarota or iron nut-cutter, which
the bridegroom holds in his hand, and twirls it about in the air
several times. The ceremony is performed by walking round the sacred
pole, and the party return to the bridegroom's lodging, where his
brother-in-law fills the bride's lap with sweetmeats and water-nut
as an omen of fertility. The maihar or small wedding-cakes of wheat
fried in sesamum oil are distributed to all members of the caste
present at the wedding. While the bridegroom's party is absent at
the bride's house, the women who remain behind enjoy amusements of
their own. One of them strips herself naked, tying up her hair like
a religious mendicant, and is known as Baba or holy father. In this
state she romps with her companions in turn, while the others laugh
and applaud. Occasionally some man hides himself in a place where
he can be a witness of their play, but if they discover him he is
beaten severely with belnas or wooden bread-rollers. Widow-marriage
and divorce are permitted, the widow being usually expected to marry
her late husband's younger brother, whether he already has a wife or
not. Sexual offences are not severely reprobated, and may be atoned
for by a feast to the caste-fellows.
4. Religion and funeral rites.
The Gadarias worship the ordinary Hindu deities and also Dishai Devi,
the goddess of the sheep-pen. No Gadaria may go into the sheep-pen with
his shoes on. On entering it in the morning they make obeisance to the
sheep, and these customs seem to indicate that the goddess Dishai Devi
[2] is the deified sheep. When the sheep are shorn and the fleeces are
lying on the ground they take some milk from one of the ewes and mix
rice with it and sprinkle it over the wool. This rite is called Jimai,
and they say that it is feeding the wool, but it appears to be really
a sacrificial offering to the material. The caste burn the dead when
they can afford to do so, and take the bones to the Ganges or Nerbudda,
or if this is not practicable, throw them into the nearest stream.
5. Social customs.
Well-to-do members of the caste employ Brahmans for ceremonial
purposes, but others dispense with their services. The Gadarias
eat flesh and drink liquor, but abstain from fowls and pork. They
will take food cooked with water from a Lodhi or a Dangi, members
of these castes having formerly been their feudal chieftains in the
Vindhyan Districts and Nerbudda valley. Brahmans and members of the
good cultivating castes would be permitted to become Gadarias if
they should so desire. The head of the caste committee has the title
of Mahton and the office is hereditary, the holder being invariably
consulted on caste questions even if he should be a mere boy. The
Gadarias rank with those castes from whom a Brahman cannot take water,
but above the servile and labouring castes. They are usually somewhat
stupid, lazy and good-tempered, and are quite uneducated. Owing to
their work in cleaning the pens and moving about among the sheep, the
women often carry traces of the peculiar smell of these animals. This
is exemplified in the saying, 'Ek to Gadaria, dusre lahsan khae,' or
'Firstly she is a Gadaria and then she has eaten garlic'; the inference
being that she is far indeed from having the scent of the rose.
6. Goats and sheep.
The regular occupations of the Gadarias are the breeding and grazing
of sheep and goats, and the weaving of country blankets from sheep's
wool. The flocks are usually tended by the children, while the men
and women spin and weave the wool and make blankets. Goats are bred
in larger numbers than sheep in the Central Provinces, being more
commonly used for food and sacrifices, while they are also valuable
for their manure. Any Hindu who thinks an animal sacrifice requisite,
and objects to a fowl as unclean, will choose a goat; and the animal
after being sacrificed provides a feast for the worshippers, his head
being the perquisite of the officiating priest. Muhammadans and most
castes of Hindus will eat goat's meat when they can afford it. The
milk is not popular and there is very little demand for it locally,
but it is often sold to the confectioners, and occasionally made into
butter and exported. Sheep's flesh is also eaten, but is not so highly
esteemed. In the case of both sheep and goats there is a feeling
against consuming the flesh of ewes. Sheep are generally black in
colour and only occasionally white. Goats are black, white, speckled
or reddish-white. Both animals are much smaller than in Europe. Both
sheep and goats are in brisk demand in the cotton tracts for their
manure in the hot-weather months, and will be kept continually on
the move from field to field for a month at a time. It is usual to
hire flocks at the rate of one rupee a hundred head for one night;
but sometimes the cultivators combine to buy a large flock, and
after penning them on their fields in the hot weather, send them to
Nagpur in the beginning of the rains to be disposed of. The Gadaria
was formerly the bete noir of the cultivator, on account of the
risk incurred by the crops from the depredations of his sheep and
goats. This is exemplified in the saying:
Ahir, Gadaria, Pasi,
Yeh tinon satyanasi,
or, 'The Ahir (herdsman), the Gadaria and the Pasi, these three are
the husbandmen's foes.' And again:
Ahir, Gadaria, Gujar,
Yeh tinon chahen ujar,
or 'The Ahir, the Gadaria and the Gujar want waste land,' that is for
grazing their flocks. But since the demand for manure has arisen, the
Gadaria has become a popular personage in the village. The shepherds
whistle to their flocks to guide them, and hang bells round the necks
of goats but not of sheep. Some of them, especially in forest tracts,
train ordinary pariah dogs to act as sheep-dogs. As a rule, rams and
he-goats are not gelt, but those who have large flocks sometimes resort
to this practice and afterwards fatten the animals up for sale. They
divide their sheep into five classes, as follows, according to the
length of the ears: Kanari, with ears a hand's length long; Semri,
somewhat shorter; Burhai, ears a forefinger's length; Churia, ears
as long as the little finger; and Neori, with ears as long only as
the top joint of the forefinger. Goats are divided into two classes,
those with ears a hand's length long being called Bangalia or Bagra,
while those with small ears a forefinger's length are known as Gujra.
7. Blanket-weaving.
While ordinary cultivators have now taken to keeping goats, sheep
are still as a rule left to the Gadarias. These are of course valued
principally for their wool, from which the ordinary country blanket
is made. The sheep [3] are shorn two or sometimes three times a year,
in February, June and September, the best wool being obtained in
February from the cold weather coat. Members of the caste commonly
shear for each other without payment. The wool is carded with a
kamtha, or simple bow with a catgut string, and spun by the women of
the household. Blankets are woven by men on a loom like that used for
cotton cloth. The fabric is coarse and rough, but strong and durable,
and the colour is usually a dark dirty grey, approaching black,
being the same as that of the raw material. Every cultivator has one
of these, and the various uses to which it may be put are admirably
described by 'Eha' as follows: [4]
"The kammal is a home-spun blanket of the wool of black sheep, thick,
strong, as rough as a farrier's rasp, and of a colour which cannot
get dirty. When the Kunbi (cultivator) comes out of his hole in the
morning it is wrapped round his shoulders and reaches to his knees,
guarding him from his great enemy, the cold, for the thermometer is
down to 60 deg. Fahrenheit. By-and-by he has a load to carry, so he folds
his kammal into a thick pad and puts it on | 31.285416 |
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Produced by Giovanni Fini and The Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
FOLK–LORE AND LEGENDS
_ENGLISH_
FOLK–LORE
AND
LEGENDS
ENGLISH
[Illustration: DECORATION]
W. W. GIBBINGS
18 BURY ST., LONDON, W.C.
1890
INTRODUCTORY NOTE.
The old English Folklore Tales are fast dying out. The simplicity of
character necessary for the retaining of old memories and beliefs is
being lost, more rapidly in England, perhaps | 31.454687 |
2023-11-16 18:17:35.4349770 | 458 | 67 |
Produced by Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
THE POPULAR RELIGION
AND FOLK-LORE OF
NORTHERN INDIA
BY
W. CROOKE, B.A.
BENGAL CIVIL SERVICE
IN TWO VOLUMES
VOL. I.
A NEW EDITION, REVISED AND ILLUSTRATED
WESTMINSTER
ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE & CO.
2, Whitehall Gardens, S.W.
1896
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.
The success of this book has been much beyond my expectations. That
a considerable edition has been exhausted within a few months after
publication proves that it meets a want.
I have now practically re-written the book, and have taken
the opportunity of introducing a considerable amount of fresh
information collected in the course of the Ethnographical Survey of
the North-Western Provinces, the results of which will be separately
published.
For the illustrations, which now appear for the first time, I am
indebted to the photographic skill of Mr. J. O'Neal, of the Thomason
Engineering College, Rurki. I could have wished that they could have
been drawn from a wider area. But Hardwar and its shrines are very
fairly representative of popular Hinduism in Northern India.
W. Crooke.
Saharanpur,
February, 1895.
PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.
Many books have been written on Brahmanism, or the official religion
of the Hindu; but, as far as I am aware, this is the first attempt
to bring together some of the information available on the popular
beliefs of the races of Upper India.
My object in writing this book has been threefold. In the first place
I desired to collect, for the use of all officers whose work lies
among the rural classes, some information on the beliefs of the people
which will enable | 31.455017 |
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Transcribed from the 1913 Thomas J. Wise pamphlet by David Price, email
[email protected]. Many thanks to Norfolk and Norwich Millennium Library,
UK, for kindly supplying the images from which this transcription was
made.
THE GOLD HORNS
TRANSLATED BY
GEORGE BORROW
_from the Danish of_
ADAM GOTTLOB OEHLENSCHLAGER
EDITED
_with an Introduction by_
EDMUND GOSSE, C.B.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION
1913
_Copyright in the United States of America_
_by Houghton_, _Mifflin & Co. for Clement Shorter_.
INTRODUCTION
Early in the present year Mr. Thos. J. Wise discovered among the
miscellaneous MSS. of Borrow a fragment which proved to be part of a
version of Oehlenschlager's _Gold Horns_. His attention being drawn to
the fact, hitherto unknown, that Borrow had translated this famous poem,
he sought for, and presently found, a complete MS. of the poem, and from
this copy the present text has been printed. The paper on which it is
written is watermarked 1824, and it is probable that the version was
composed in 1826. The hand-writing coincides with that of several of the
pieces included in the _Romantic Ballads_ of that year, and there can be
little doubt that Borrow intended _The Gold Horns_ for that volume, and
rejected it at last. He was conscious, perhaps, that his hand had lacked
the skill needful to reproduce a lyric the melody of which would have
taxed the powers of Coleridge or of Shelley. Nevertheless, his attempt
seems worthy of preservation.
_The Gold Horns_ marks one of the most important stages in the history of
Scandinavian literature. It is the earliest, and the freshest, specimen
of the Romantic Revival in its definite form. In this way, it takes in
Danish poetry a place analogous to that taken by _The Ancient Mariner_ in
English poetry.
The story of the events which led to the composition of _The Gold Horns_
is told independently, by Steffens and by Oehlenschlager in their
respective Memoirs, and the two accounts tally completely. Adam Gottlob
Oehlenschlager (1779-1850), the greatest poet whom the North of Europe
has produced, had already attracted considerable renown and even profit
by his writings, which were in the classico-sentimental manner of the
late 18th century, when, in the summer of 1802, the young Norwegian
philosopher, Henrik Steffens, arrived in Copenhagen from Germany, where
he had imbibed the new romantic ideas. He began to give lectures on
aesthetics, and these awakened a turmoil of opposition. Among those who
heard him, no one was more scandalised than Oehlenschlager, then in his
twenty-third year. He was not acquainted with Steffens, but in the
course of the autumn they happened to meet at a restaurant in Copenhagen,
when they instantly experienced a violent mutual attraction. Steffens
has described how deep an impression was made upon him by the handsome
head, flashing eyes, and graceful vivacity of the poet, while
Oehlenschlager bears witness to being no less fascinated by the gravity
and enthusiasm of the philosopher. The new friends found it impossible
to part, and sixteen hours had gone by, and 3 a.m. had struck, before
Oehlenschlager could tear himself away from the company of Steffens.
He scarcely slept that night, and rose in a condition of bewilderment and
rapture. His first act, after breakfast, was to destroy a whole volume
of his own MS. poetry, which was ready for press, and for which a
publisher had promised him a handsome sum of money. His next was to sit
down and write _The Gold Horns_, a manifesto of his complete conversion
to the principles of romanticism. Later in the day he presented himself
again at Steffens' lodgings, bringing the lyric with him, "to prove," as
he says, "to Steffens that I was a poet at last beyond all doubt or
question." His new friend received him with solemn exultation. "Now you
are indeed a poet," he said, and folded him in his arms. The conversion
of Oehlenschlager to romanticism meant the conquest of Danish literature
by the new order of thought.
Oehlenschlager has explained what it was that suggested to him the
leading idea of his poem. Two antique horns of gold, discovered some
time before in the bogs of Slesvig, had been recently stolen from the
national collection at Rosenborg, and the thieves had melted down the
inestimable treasures. Oehlenschlager treats these horns as the reward
for genuine antiquarian enthusiasm, shown in a sincere and tender passion
for the ancient relics of Scandinavian history. From a generation
unworthy to appreciate them, the _Horns_ had been withdrawn, to be
mysteriously restored at the due romantic hour. He was, when he came
under the influence of Steffens, absolutely ripe for conversion, filled
with the results of his Icelandic studies, and with an imagination
redolent of _Edda_ and the Sagas. To this inflammable material, Henrik
Steffens merely laid the torch of his intelligence.
It is impossible to pretend that Borrow has caught the enchanting beauty
and delicacy of the Danish poem. But he has made a gallant effort to
reproduce the form and language of Oehlenschlager, and we have thought it
not without interest to print opposite his version the whole of the
original Danish.
EDMUND GOSSE.
GULDHORNENE {10} THE GOLD HORNS
De higer og soger Upon the pages
I gamle Boger, Of the olden ages,
I oplukte Hoie, And in hills where are lying
Med speidende Oie, The dead, they are prying;
Paa Svaerd og Skjolde, On armour rusty,
I mulne Volde, In ruins musty,
Paa Runestene, On Rune-stones jumbled,
Blandt smuldnede Bene. With bones long crumbled.
Oldtids Bedrifter Eld's deeds, through guesses
Anede trylle, Beheld, are delighting,
Men i Mulm de sig hylle, But mist possesses
De gamle Skrifter. The ancient writing.
Blikket stirrer, The eye-ball fixed is,
Sig Tanken forvirrer, The thought perplexed is;
I Taage de famle. In darkness they're groping
"I gamle, gamle, Their mouths they're op'ing:
Forsvundne Dage! "Ye days long past,
Da det straalte paa Jorden, When the North was uplighted,
Da Osten var i Norden, And with earth heav'n united,
Giver Glimt tilbage!" A glimpse back cast."
Skyen suser, The clouds are bustling,
Natten bryser, The night blasts rustling,
Gravhoien sukker, Sighs are breaking,
Rosen sig lukker. From grave-hills quaking,
De sig mode, de sig mode, The regions were under
De forklarede Hoie, Thunder.
Kampfarvede, rode, Of the mighty and daring,
Med Stjerneglands i Oie. The ghosts there muster,
Stains of war bearing,
In their eye star lustre.
"I, som rave iblinde, "Ye who blind are straying,
Skal finde And praying,
Et aeldgammelt Minde, Shall an ag'd relic meet,
Der skal komme og svinde! Which shall come and shall fleet,
Dets gyldne Sider Its red sides golden,
Skal Praeget baere, The stamp displaying
Afaeldste Tider. Of the times most olden.
Af det kan I laere, That shall give ye a notion
Med andagtsfuld AEre To hold in devotion
I vor Gave belonne! Our gift, is your duty!
Det skjonneste Skjonne, A maiden, of beauty
En Mo Most rare.
Skal Helligdommen finde!" Shall find the token!"
Saa sjunge de og svinde, They vanished; this spoken
Lufttonerne doe. Their tones die in air.
Hrymfaxe, den sorte, Black Hrymfax, weary,
Puster og dukker Panteth and bloweth,
Og i Havet sig begraver; And in sea himself burieth;
Morgenens Porte Belling, cheery,
Delling oplukker, Morn's gates ope throweth;
Og Skinfaxe traver Forth Skinfax hurrieth,
I straalende Lue On heaven's bridge prancing,
Paa Himmelens Bue. And with lustre glancing.
Og Fuglene synge; The little birds quaver,
Dugperler bade Pearls from night's weeping;
Blomsterblade, The flowers are steeping
Som Vindene gynge; In the winds which waver;
Og med svaevende Fjed To the meadows, fleet
En Mo hendandser A maiden boundeth;
Til Marken afsted. Violet fillet neat
Violer hende krandser, Her brows surroundeth;
Hendes Rosenkind braender, Her cheeks are glowing,
Hun har Liljehaender; Lilly hands she's showing;
Let som et Hind, Light as a hind,
Med muntert Sind With sportive mind
Hun svaever og smiler; She smiling frisketh.
Og som hun iler And as on she whisketh,
Og paa Elskov grubler, And thinks on her lover,
Hun snubler-- She trips something over;
Og stirrer og skuer And, her eyes declining,
Gyldne Luer Beholds a shining,
Og rodmer og baever And red'neth and shaketh,
Og skjaelvende haever And trembling uptaketh
Med undrende Aand With wondering sprite
Udaf sorten Muld From the dingy mould,
Med snehvide Haand, With hand snow-white,
Det rode Guld. The ruddy gold.
En sagte Torden A gentle thunder
Dundrer; Pealeth;
Hele Norden The whole North wonder
Undrer. Feeleth.
Og hen de stimle Forth rush with gabble
I store Vrimle; A countless rabble;
De grave, de soge | 31.640022 |
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Produced by Lionel G. Sear
THE LAST GALLEY
IMPRESSIONS AND TALES
By Arthur Conan Doyle
PREFACE
I have written "Impressions and Tales" upon the title-page of this
volume, because I have included within the same cover two styles of work
which present an essential difference.
The second half of the collection consists of eight stories, which
explain themselves.
The first half is made up of a series of pictures of the past which
maybe regarded as trial flights towards a larger ideal which I have
long had in my mind. It has seemed to me that there is a region
between actual story and actual history which has never been adequately
exploited. I could imagine, for example, a work dealing with some great
historical epoch, and finding its interest not in the happenings to
particular individuals, their adventures and their loves, but in the
fascination of the actual facts of history themselves. These facts might
be with the glamour which the writer of fiction can give, and
fictitious characters and conversations might illustrate them; but none
the less the actual drama of history and not the drama of invention
should claim the attention of the reader. I have been tempted sometimes
to try the effect upon a larger scale; but meanwhile these short
sketches, portraying various crises in the story of the human race, are
to be judged as experiments in that direction.
ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE.
WINDLESHAM, CROWBOROUGH, April, 1911.
CONTENTS
PART I
THE LAST GALLEY
THE CONTEST THROUGH THE VEIL
AN ICONOCLAST
GIANT MAXIMIN
THE COMING OF THE HUNS
THE LAST OF THE LEGIONS
THE FIRST CARGO
THE HOME-COMING
THE RED STAR
PART II
THE SILVER MIRROR
THE BLIGHTING OF SHARKEY
THE MARRIAGE OF THE BRIGADIER
THE LORD OF FALCONBRIDGE
OUT OF THE RUNNING
"DE PROFUNDIS"
THE GREAT BROWN-PERICORD MOTOR
THE TERROR OF BLUE JOHN GAP
PART I. THE LAST GALLEY
"Mutato nomine, de te, Britannia, fabula narratur."
It was a spring morning, one hundred and forty-six years before the
coming of Christ. The North African Coast, with its broad hem of golden
sand, its green belt of feathery palm trees, and its background of
barren, red-scarped hills, shimmered like a dream country in the opal
light. Save for a narrow edge of snow-white surf, the Mediterranean lay
blue and serene as far as the eye could reach. In all its vast expanse
there was no break but for a single galley, which was slowly making its
way from the direction of Sicily and heading for the distant harbour of
Carthage.
Seen from afar it was a stately and beautiful vessel, deep red in
colour, double-banked with scarlet oars, its broad, flapping sail
stained with Tyrian purple, its bulwarks gleaming with brass work. A
brazen, three-pronged ram projected in front, and a high golden figure
of Baal, the God of the Phoenicians, children of Canaan, shone upon the
after deck. From the single high mast above the huge sail streamed the
tiger-striped flag of Carthage. So, like some stately scarlet bird, with
golden beak and wings of purple, she swam upon the face of the waters--a
thing of might and of beauty as seen from the distant shore.
But approach and look at her now! What are these dark streaks which foul
her white decks and dapple her brazen shields? Why do the long red oars
move out of time, irregular, convulsive? Why are some missing from the
staring portholes, some snapped with jagged, yellow edges, some trailing
inert against the side? Why are two prongs of the brazen ram twisted and
broken? See, even the high image of Baal is battered and disfigured! By
every sign this ship has passed through some grievous trial, some day of
terror, which has left its heavy marks upon her.
And now stand upon the deck itself, and see more closely the men who man
her! There are two decks forward and aft, while in the open waist are
the double banks of seats, above and below, where the rowers, two to
an oar, tug and bend at their endless task. Down the centre is a narrow
platform, along which pace a line of warders, lash in hand, who cut
cruelly at the slave who pauses, be it only for an instant, to sweep the
sweat from his dripping brow. But these slaves--look at them! Some are
captured Romans, some Sicilians, many black Libyans, but all are in the
last exhaustion, their weary eyelids drooped over their eyes, their
lips thick with black crusts, and pink with bloody froth, their arms
and backs moving mechanically to the hoarse chant of the overseer. Their
bodies of all tints from ivory to jet, are stripped to the waist, and
every glistening back shows the angry stripes of the warders. But it is
not from these that the blood comes which reddens the seats and tints
the salt water washing beneath their manacled feet. Great gaping wounds,
the marks of sword slash and spear stab, show crimson upon their naked
chests and shoulders, while many lie huddled and senseless athwart the
benches, careless for ever of the whips which still hiss above them. Now
we can understand those empty portholes and those trailing oars.
Nor were the crew in better case than their slaves. The decks were
littered with wounded and dying men. It was but a remnant who still
remained upon their feet. The most lay exhausted upon the fore-deck,
while a few of the more zealous were mending their shattered armour,
restringing their bows, or cleaning the deck from the marks of combat.
Upon a raised platform at the base of the mast stood the sailing-master
who conned the ship, his eyes fixed upon the distant point of Megara
which screened the eastern side of the Bay of Carthage. On the
after-deck were gathered a number of officers, silent and brooding,
glancing from time to time at two of their own class who stood apart
deep in conversation. The one, tall, dark, and wiry, with pure, Semitic
features, and the limbs of a giant, was Magro, the famous Carthaginian
captain, whose name was still a terror on every shore, from Gaul to
the Euxine. The other, a white-bearded, swarthy man, with indomitable
courage and energy stamped upon every eager line of his keen, aquiline
face, was Gisco the politician, a man of the highest Punic blood, a
Suffete of the purple robe, and the leader of that party in the State
which had watched and striven amid the selfishness and slothfulness of
his fellow-countrymen to rouse the public spirit and waken the public
conscience to the ever-increasing danger from Rome. As they talked, the
two men glanced continually, with earnest anxious faces, towards the
northern skyline.
"It is certain," said the older man, with gloom in his voice and
bearing, "none have escaped save ourselves."
"I did not leave the press of the battle whilst I saw one ship which I
could succour," Magro answered. "As it was, we came away, as you saw,
like a wolf which has a hound hanging on to either haunch. The Roman
dogs can show the wolf-bites which prove it. Had any other galley won
clear, they would surely be with us by now, since they have no place of
safety save Carthage."
The younger warrior glanced keenly ahead to the distant point which
marked his native city. Already the low, leafy hill could be seen,
dotted with the white villas of the wealthy Phoenician merchants. Above
them, a gleaming dot against the pale blue morning sky, shone the brazen
roof of the citadel of Byrsa, which capped the sloping town.
"Already they can see us from the watch-towers," he remarked. "Even from
afar they may know the galley of Black Magro. But which of all of them
will guess that we alone remain of all that goodly fleet which sailed
out with blare of trumpet and roll of drum but one short month ago?"
The patrician smiled bitterly. "If it were not for our great ancestors
and for our beloved country, the Queen of the Waters," said he, "I could
find it in my heart to be glad at this destruction which has come upon
this vain and feeble generation. You have spent your life upon the seas,
Magro. You do not know of know how it has been with us on the land. But
I have seen this canker grow upon us which now leads us to our death.
I and others have gone down into the market-place to plead with the
people, and been pelted with mud for our pains. Many a time have
I pointed to Rome, and said, 'Behold these people, who bear arms
themselves, each man for his own duty and pride. How can you who hide
behind mercenaries hope to stand against them?'--a hundred times I have
said it."
"And had they no answer?" asked the Rover.
"Rome was far off and they could not see it, so to them it was nothing,"
the old man answered. "Some thought of trade, and some of votes, and
some of profits from the State, but none would see that the State
itself, the mother of all things, was sinking to her end. So might the
bees debate who should have wax or honey when the torch was blazing
which would bring to ashes the hive and all therein. 'Are we not rulers
of the sea?' 'Was not Hannibal a great man?' Such were their cries,
living ever in the past and blind to the future. Before that sun sets
there will be tearing of hair and rending of garments; what will that
now avail us?"
"It is some sad comfort," said Magro, "to know that what Rome holds she
cannot keep."
"Why say you that? When we go down, she is supreme in all the world."
"For a time, and only for a time," Magro answered, gravely. "Yet you
will smile, perchance, when I tell you how it is that I know it. There
was a wise woman who lived in that part of the Tin Islands which juts
forth into the sea, and from her lips I have heard many things, but not
one which has not come aright. Of the fall of our own country, and even
of this battle, from which we now return, she told me clearly. There is
much strange lore amongst these savage peoples in the west of the land
of Tin."
"What said she of Rome?"
"That she also would fall, even as we, weakened by her riches and her
factions."
Gisco rubbed his hands. "That at least makes our own fall less bitter,"
said he. "But since we have fallen, and Rome will fall, who in turn may
hope to be Queen of the Waters?"
"That also I asked her," said Magro, "and gave her my Tyrian belt with
the golden buckle as a guerdon for her answer. But, indeed, it was too
high payment for the tale she told, which must be false if all else she
said was true. She would have it that in coining days it was her own
land, this fog-girt isle where painted savages can scarce row a wicker
coracle from point to point, which shall at last take the trident which
Carthage and Rome have dropped."
The smile which flickered upon the old patrician's keen features died
away suddenly, and his fingers closed upon his companion's wrist. The
other had set rigid, his head advanced, his hawk eyes upon the northern
skyline. Its straight, blue horizon was broken by two low black dots.
"Galleys!" whispered Gisco.
The whole crew had seen them. They clustered along the starboard
bulwarks, pointing and chattering. For a moment the gloom of defeat was
lifted, and a buzz of joy ran from group to group at the thought that
they were not alone--that some one had escaped the great carnage as well
as themselves.
"By the spirit of Baal," said Black Magro, "I could not have believed
that any could have fought clear from such a welter. Could it be young
Hamilcar in the _Africa_, or is it Beneva in the blue Syrian ship? We
three with others may form a squadron and make head against them yet. If
we hold our course, they will join us ere we round the harbour mole."
Slowly the injured galley toiled on her way, and more swiftly the two
newcomers swept down from the north. Only a few miles off lay the
green point and the white houses which flanked the great African city.
Already, upon the headland, could be seen a dark group of waiting
townsmen. Gisco and Magro were still watching with puckered gaze the
approaching galleys, when the brown Libyan boatswain, with flashing
teeth and gleaming eyes, rushed upon the poop, his long thin arm
stabbing to the north.
"Romans!" he cried. "Romans!"
A hush had fallen over the great vessel. Only the wash of the water and
the measured rattle and beat of the oars broke in upon the silence.
"By the horns of God's altar, I believe the fellow is right!" cried old
Gisco. "See how they swoop upon us like falcons. They are full-manned
and full-oared."
"Plain wood, unpainted," said Magro. "See how it gleams yellow where the
sun strikes it."
"And yonder thing beneath the mast. Is it not the cursed bridge they use
for boarding?"
"So they grudge us even one," said Magro with a bitter laugh. "Not even
one galley shall return to the old sea-mother. Well, for my part, I
would as soon have it so. I am of a mind to stop the oars and await
them."
"It is a man's thought," answered old Gisco; "but the city will need us
in the days to come. What shall it profit us to make the Roman victory
complete? Nay, Magro, let the slaves row as they never rowed before, not
for our own safety, but for the profit of the State."
So the great red ship laboured and lurched onwards, like a weary panting
stag which seeks shelter from his pursuers, while ever swifter and ever
nearer sped the two lean fierce galleys from the north. Already
the morning sun shone upon the lines of low Roman helmets above the
bulwarks, and glistened on the silver wave where each sharp prow shot
through the still blue water. Every moment the ships drew nearer, and
the long thin scream of the Roman trumpets grew louder upon the ear.
Upon the high bluff of Megara there stood a great concourse of the
people of Carthage who had hurried forth from the city upon the news
that the galleys were in sight. They stood now, rich and poor, effete
and plebeian, white Phoenician and dark Kabyle, gazing with breathless
interest at the spectacle before them. Some hundreds of feet beneath
them the Punic galley had drawn so close that with their naked eyes
they could see those stains of battle which told their dismal tale. The
Romans, too, were heading in such a way that it was before their very
faces that their ship was about to be cut off; and yet of all this
multitude not one could raise a hand in its defence. Some wept in
impotent grief, some cursed with flashing eyes and knotted fists, some
on their knees held up appealing hands to Baal; but neither prayer,
tears, nor curses could undo the past nor mend the present. That broken,
crawling galley meant that their fleet was gone. Those two fierce
darting ships meant that the hands of Rome were already at their throat.
Behind them would come others and others, the innumerable trained hosts
of the great Republic, long mistress of the land, now dominant also
upon the waters. In a month, two months, three at the most, their armies
would be there, and what could all the untrained multitudes of Carthage
do to stop them?
"Nay!" cried one, more hopeful than the rest, "at least we are brave men
with arms in our hands."
"Fool!" said another, "is it not such talk which has brought us to our
ruin? What is the brave man untrained to the brave man trained? When
you stand before the sweep and rush of a Roman legion you may learn the
difference."
"Then let us train!"
"Too late! A full year is needful to turn a man to a soldier. Where
will you--where will your city be within the year? Nay, there is but one
chance for us. If we give up our commerce and our colonies, if we strip
ourselves of all that made us great, then perchance the Roman conqueror
may hold his hand."
And already the last sea-fight of Carthage was coming swiftly to an end
before them. Under their very eyes the two Roman galleys had shot in,
one on either side of the vessel of Black Magro. They had grappled with
him, and he, desperate in his despair, had cast the crooked flukes of
his anchors over their gunwales, and bound them to him in an iron
grip, whilst with hammer and crowbar he burst great holes in his own
sheathing. The last Punic galley should never be rowed into Ostia, a
sight for the holiday-makers of Rome. She would lie in her own waters.
And the fierce, dark soul of her rover captain glowed as he thought that
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[Illustration: AFRICAN ELEPHANT]
DOMESTICATED ANIMALS
THEIR RELATION TO MAN AND TO HIS
ADVANCEMENT IN CIVILIZATION
BY
NATHANIEL SOUTHGATE SHALER
DEAN OF THE LAWRENCE SCIENTIFIC SCHOOL OF
HARVARD UNIVERSITY
_ILLUSTRATED_
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1908
COPYRIGHT, 1895, BY
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTION, 1
THE DOG
Ancestry of the Domesticated Dogs.--Early Uses of the Animal:
Variations induced by Civilization.--Shepherd-dogs: their
Peculiarities; other Breeds.--Possible Intellectual
Advances.--Evils of Specialized Breeding.--Likeness of Emotions
of Dogs to those of Man: Comparison with other Domesticated
Animals.--Modes of Expression of Emotions in Dogs.--Future
Development of this Species.--Comparison of Dogs and Cats as
regards Intelligence and Position in Relation to Man, 11
THE HORSE
Value of the Strength of the Horse to Man.--Origin of the
Horse.--Peculiar Advantage of the Solid Hoof.--Domestication
of the Horse.--How begun.--Use as a Pack Animal.--For
War.--Peculiar Advantages of the Animal for Use of Men.--Mental
Peculiarities.--Variability of Body.--Spontaneous Variations
due to Climate.--Variations of Breeds.--Effect of the Invention
of Horseshoes.--Donkeys and Mules compared with Horse.--Especial
Value of these Animals.--Diminishing Value of Horses in Modern
Civilization.--Continued Need of their Service in War, 57
THE FLOCKS AND HERDS: BEASTS FOR BURDEN,
FOOD, AND RAIMENT
Effect of this Group of Animals on Man.--First Subjugations.--Basis
of Domesticability.--Horned Cattle.--Wool-bearing Animals.--Sheep
and Goats.--Camels: their Limitation.--Elephants: Ancient History;
Distribution; Intelligence; Use in the Arts; Need of True
Domestication.--Pigs: their Peculiar Economic Value; Modern
Varieties; Mental Qualities.--Relation of the Development of
Domesticable Animals to the Time of Man's Appearance on the Earth, 103
DOMESTICATED BIRDS
Domestication of Animals mainly accomplished by the Aryan Race;
Small Amount of Such Work by American Indians.--Barnyard Fowl:
Mental Qualities; Habits of Combat.--Peacocks: their Limited
Domestication.--Turkeys: their Origin; tending to revert to the
Savage State.--Water Fowl: Limited Number of Species domesticated;
Intellectual Qualities of this Group.--The Pigeon: Origin and
History of Group; Marvels of Breeding.--Song Birds.--Hawks and
Hawking.--Sympathetic Motive of Birds: their AEsthetic Sense;
their Capacity for Enjoyment, 152
USEFUL INSECTS
Relations of Men to Insect World.--But Few Species Useful to
Man.--Little Trace of Domestication.--Honey-bees: their Origin;
Reasons for no Selective Work; Habits of the Species.--Silkworms:
Singular Importance to Man.--Intelligence of Species.--Cochineal
Insect.--Spanish Flies.--Future of Man relative to Useful Insects, 190
THE RIGHTS OF ANIMALS
Recent Understanding as to the Rights of Animals; Nature of these
Rights; their Origin in Sympathy.--Early State of Sympathetic
Emotions.--Place of Statutes concerning Animal Rights.--Present
and Future of Animal Rights.--Question of Vivisection.--Rights of
Domesticated Animals to Proper Care; to Enjoyment.--Ends of the
Breeder's Art.--Moral Position of the Hunter.--Probable
Development of the Protecting Motive as applied to Animals, 204
THE PROBLEM OF DOMESTICATION
The Conditions of Domestication; Effects on Society; Share of the
Races of Men in the Work.--Evils of Non-Intercourse with
Domesticated Animals as in Cities; Remedies.--Scientific Position
of Domestication; Future of the Art.--List of Species which may
Advantageously be Domesticated.--Peculiar Value of the Birds and
Mammals.--Importance of Groups which tenant High Latitudes.--Plan
for Wilderness Reservations; Relation to National Parks.--Project
for International System of Reservations.--Nature of Organic
Provinces; Harm done to them by Civilized Men.--Way in which
Reservations would Serve to Maintain Types of the Life of
the Earth; how they may be Founded.--Summary and Conclusions, 218
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS
AFRICAN ELEPHANT, _Frontispiece_
SHEEP-DOGS GUARDING A FLOCK AT NIGHT, 10
HOUNDS RUNNING A WILD BOAR, 53
ON ROTTEN ROW, HYDE PARK, LONDON, 63
CAVALRY HORSE, 71
A HURDLE JUMPER, 79
ENGLISH POLO PONIES, 89
WINNOWING GRAIN IN EGYPT, 111
THE HALT IN THE DESERT AT NIGHT--THE STORY TELLER, 121
CARRYING THE SUGAR CANE IN HARVEST--EGYPT, 125
FEEDING SILKWORMS WITH MULBERRY LEAVES IN JAPAN, 193
THE FARMER'S APIARY, 199
ILLUSTRATIONS IN THE TEXT
GREYHOUND AFTER "THE KILL," 13
ST. BERNARD, 15
SPANIEL RETRIEVING WILD DUCK, 17
BULL-DOG, 22
FOX-HOUND AND PUPS, 25
POINTER RETRIEVING A FALLEN BIRD, 26
POINTER AND SETTER, FLUSHING GAME, 27
DUTCH DOGS USED IN HARNESS, 30
KING CHARLES SPANIEL, 33
THE POUNCE OF A TERRIER, 35
POMERANIAN OR "SPITZ," 38
POODLES, 39
COLLIE, 41
A HUNTER, 60
HORSE OF A BULGARIAN MARAUDER, 67
MARE AND FOAL, 68
PLOUGH HORSES, FRANCE, 73
BELGIAN FISHERMAN'S HORSE, 76
HORSES FOR TOWING ON THE BEACH IN HOLLAND, 78
EXERCISING THE THOROUGHBREDS, 84
AN ARABIAN HORSE, 85
ARABIAN SPORTS, 86
SYRIAN HORSE, 92
IN THE CIRCUS, 96
DOMESTICATED BUFFALOES IN EGYPT, 104
CATTLE OF INDIA, 105
INDIAN B | 32.627382 |
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THE CHAUTAUQUAN.
_A MONTHLY MAGAZINE DEVOTED TO THE PROMOTION OF TRUE CULTURE.
ORGAN OF THE CHAUTAUQUA LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC CIRCLE._
VOL. V. JUNE, 1885. No. 9.
OFFICERS OF THE CHAUTAUQUA LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC CIRCLE.
_President_, Lewis Miller, Akron, Ohio. _Chancellor_, J. H. Vincent,
D.D., New Haven, Conn. _Counselors_, The Rev. Lyman Abbott, D.D.;
the Rev. J. M. Gibson, D.D.; Bishop H. W. Warren, D.D.; Prof. W. C.
Wilkinson, D.D.; Edward Everett Hale. _Office Secretary_, Miss Kate
F. Kimball, Plainfield, N. J. _General Secretary_, Albert M. Martin,
Pittsburgh, Pa.
Contents
Transcriber’s Note: This table of contents of this periodical was created
for the HTML version to aid the reader.
REQUIRED READING
The Mechanism of the English Language 497
Home Studies in Chemistry and Physics
Chemistry of Organisms 500
Physics of Organisms 503
Sunday Readings
[_June 7_] 504
[_June 14_] 504
[_June 21_] 505
[_June 28_] 505
The Heart Busy With Things About Us 505
Easy Lessons in Animal Biology
Chapter III. 509
Summer Homes for the City Poor 514
Learn to Enjoy People 517
Our Ladies of Sorrow 517
The Nicaragua and Panama Routes to the Pacific 518
Geography of the Heavens for June 520
How to Win
Chapter IV. 521
The Catlin Paintings 524
George Bancroft 526
How Perseus Began To Be Great 529
Canada of To-Day 529
Some American Museums 531
Natural History and People of Borneo 533
The What-To-Do Club 536
Criticisms 537
Outline and Programs 539
Local Circles 540
The C. L. S. C. Classes 545
The Chautauqua University 547
Editor’s Outlook 549
Editor’s Note-Book 551
C. L. S. C. Notes on Required Readings for June 553
Course of Reading for 1885-6 554
Paragraphs from New Books 555
Talk About Books 556
Books Received 557
Special Notes 557
Important to Members of the C. L. S. C. 558
Chautauqua School of Languages, 1885 558
REQUIRED READING FOR JUNE.
THE MECHANISM OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE.
BY PRESIDENT D. H. WHEELER, D.D., LL.D.
To _us_ the unit of speech is the word; historically, the unit is the
sentence. It matters little which of the theories respecting the first
forms of speech we adopt; all such theories may be rejected, and still we
shall find it most reasonable to believe that man’s earliest utterances
were wholes, answering in value to our sentences. A revolution has been
effected and we have a _part of speech_ for our unit. We construct or
build our sentences out of pieces of different meaning and value. Our
simplest sentence has two of these pieces—a subject or noun, and a verb;
a long sentence may have a dozen or a score of pieces. The making of
sentences out of parts of speech is a kind of mechanics. The sentence
has its mechanism, of which we usually learn the science by analyzing
sentences. This analytical process yields what we call the principles
of syntax. It must be remembered, however, that we learn to talk before
we learn grammar, and that multitudes of people scarcely know any unit
except the sentence. Their vocabulary is a phrase-book, in which every
word has a fixed and unchangeable position. These persons abound in the
illiterate countries; in Italy, for example, the majority of the people
speak only in sentences having invariable forms; change the order of the
words and you become unintelligible to them. The same effect is produced
by employing a synonym for any word in any sentence. Our people are
usually more alert to variety in expression and catch meanings in forms
and arrangements to which they are unaccustomed.
A long sentence falls, when we take it apart, into two large pieces; the
subject and its belongings, and the predicate and its belongings. Each of
these large pieces breaks up into a number of small pieces. If we look
carefully at the average long sentence, we shall find that the parts are
held together by a systematic and habitual principle of arrangement,
and that this changes in passing from one language to another. French
says “a man good,” English “a good man.” Reverse the order of noun and
adjective in either language, and the sense is obscured for the average
hearer or reader. There is a number of these differences; and therefore
every language has its peculiar mechanism. In mechanical type languages
fall into groups. Greek and Latin, for example, use inflections to
connect the words with each other; English does not employ inflections
for this purpose. We have a few inflected forms, but we use them merely
because they have come down to us. Greek syntax is inflectional; our
syntax is said to be that of flat construction, or, as I prefer to say,
it is positional. The _place_ of a word determines its function and
relations in the sentence. This flat construction is found in other
tongues; but English abounds in it and depends upon it as a principle
of arrangement. When we say “proud men,” the hearer knows that the
adjective _proud_ describes the noun _men_. In Latin, the adjective
would have a termination to correspond in value to that of the noun, and
the two might be separated by several words. Our principle requires the
two to keep close together. If the adjective is to be modified, we may
reverse the order and write “Men proud of their country.” If, however,
the sentence is simple enough, the adjective may move to the other end
of the statement and become a predicate, as when we say, “Men in that
country are proud of their civilization.” These rules show the mechanics
of the adjective. We expect it to precede the noun or to follow it with a
dependent clause, or to follow, at an interval, the verb as a predicate.
Young writers will be helped in their work by remembering that these are
principles of mechanism—that they are building their sentences, and that
the parts have their proper place and order, just as wood, brick and
stone have in a building.
The foregoing illustrations are briefly stated to prepare the way for
a few suggestions respecting some special mechanical contrivances of
our language. A general principle in grammar acts as an aggressive and
conquering force; it extends its domain, insensibly and gradually, but
surely, as far as possible. In an inflectional age a tendency to increase
and perfect inflections is discovered; in a flat-construction age the
tendency to extend the domain of flat syntax is equally manifest. In
our language some constructions are common now, though at one time they
were scarcely allowed. This general observation is illustrated in the
flat construction of a modifying clause in the nature of a relative
pronoun clause. For example, “The man we saw” is a flat construction
which has invaded the territory of the relative pronoun. The sentence is
cut down from “the men _whom_ we saw.” Very little study has been given
to these encroachments and conquests; but they will amply reward the
careful student of them. The flat construction in the province of the
relative is one of our devices for reducing the use of _who_, _which_,
_whose_, _whom_ and _that_. These words occur so frequently in the speech
and on the printed page that we have quite unconsciously gone about
reducing their importance, and the results are so considerable as to
merit special attention. I have made some comparative studies, having
for their object something like accurate measurement of the change in
the use of this class of pronouns, since the year 1611, the date of the
English Bible of King James. Two great changes are easily discovered.
(1) The number of relative pronouns on a page has been reduced, on an
average, about one half. (2) The word _that_ has been almost pushed out
of the relative office. The devices by which the use of relatives has
been rendered unnecessary, are generally forms of the flat construction.
The ousting of _that_ from relative functions has been promoted by the
unconscious effort to dispense with the excessive repetition of the
word. When used as a conjunction, a demonstrative and a relative, its
repetition becomes tiresome to both writer and reader. A careful study
will show that present English employs _that_ very seldom as a relative,
and much less frequently than the English of the last century employed
it as a connective and a demonstrative. In the case of _that_ we see the
operation of a principle in architectural criticism. If a particular
architectural device becomes common, it becomes unfashionable. Its
frequency offends the taste and the offense is punished by a change.
Forty years ago the ordinary Greek column was used on small private
dwellings in many sections of this country. It became so disagreeable
to our taste that this column was for some time nearly out of use in
public buildings. _That_ is, like any piece in architecture, made so
common as to become unconsciously offensive. The fact brings out a
subtle principle of sentence mechanics—we require variety and dislike a
dreary uniformity in this kind of architecture. Good writing in English,
_readable_ English, will always respond in greater or less measure to
the unconscious demand of the English-reading mind. Most persons do not
know what is the offending element in a dreary sentence; they only know
that “the style” is tiresome, and that they can not interest themselves
in the reading. The good writer overcomes the difficulty by avoiding the
offending elements.
It will usually be found that the tiresome effect is produced by
repetition and uniformity. The pieces used may all be good; but we
do not like to see Greek pillars before every house along the road.
We tire of Gibbon’s periods, of Addison’s perfection, of Macaulay’s
stateliness. We can read a little of each with delight; for daily diet
we do not desire any of them. I will now give some of the results of
my comparative studies of relative pronouns in the English sentence.
I begin with the Bible of 1611. I notice first here that the Psalms
differ from other books of the Bible, and I suppose that the difference
arises from the superior directness of prayer. The same difference is
discoverable between the modern prayer and the sermon. In the Psalms
there is one relative in each ninety-five words, on the average; and
about four fifths of these are _thats_. In the _number_ of relatives,
the Psalms approach closely to modern parsimony; but in the use of
_that_ they exaggerate the practice of the | 32.707961 |
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HELEN'S BABIES
With some account of their ways, innocent, crafty, angelic, impish,
witching and impulsive; also a partial record of their actions during
ten days of their existence
By JOHN HABBERTON
The first cause, so far as it can be determined, of the existence of
this book may be found in the following letter, written by my only
married sister, and received by me, Harry Burton, salesman of white
goods, bachelor, aged twenty-eight, and received just as I was trying
to decide where I should Spend a fortnight's vacation:--
"HILLCREST, June 15, 1875.
"DEAR HARRY:--Remembering that you are always complaining that you
never have a chance to read, and knowing that you won't get it this
summer, if you spend your vacation among people of your own set, I
write to ask you to come up here. I admit that I am not wholly
disinterested in inviting you. The truth is, Tom and I are invited to
spend a fortnight with my old schoolmate, Alice Wayne, who, you know,
is the dearest girl in the world, though you DIDN'T obey me and marry
her before Frank Wayne appeared. Well, we're dying to go, for Alice and
Frank live in splendid style; but as they haven't included our children
in their invitation, and have no children of their own, we must leave
Budge and Toddie at home. I've no doubt they'll be perfectly safe, for
my girl is a jewel, and devoted to the children, but I would feel a
great deal easier if there was a man in the house. Besides, there's the
silver, and burglars are less likely to break into a house where
there's a savage-looking man. (Never mind about thanking me for the
compliment.) If YOU'LL only come up, my mind will be completely at
rest. The children won't give you the slightest trouble; they're the
best children in the world--everybody says so.
"Tom has plenty of cigars, I know, for the money I should have had for
a new suit went to pay his cigar-man. He has some new claret, too, that
HE goes into ecstasies over, though _I_ can't tell it from the vilest
black ink, except by the color. Our horses are in splendid condition,
and so is the garden--you see I don't forget your old passion for
flowers. And, last and best, there never were so many handsome girls at
Hillcrest as there are among the summer boarders already here; the
girls you already are acquainted with here will see that you meet all
the newer acquisitions.
"Reply by telegraph right away.
"Of course you'll say 'Yes.'
"In great haste, your loving
"SISTER HELEN.
P. S. You shall have our own chamber; it catches every breeze, and
commands the finest views. The children's room communicates with it;
so, if anything SHOULD happen to the darlings at night, you'd be sure
to hear them."
"Just the thing!" I ejaculated. Five minutes later I had telegraphed
Helen my acceptance of her invitation, and had mentally selected | 33.079995 |
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[Illustration: "Good-bye, Baltie, dear"]
THREE LITTLE WOMEN, A STORY FOR GIRLS
by
GABRIELLE E. JACKSON
1913
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I--The Carruths
CHAPTER II--"Baltie"
CHAPTER III--The Spirit of Mad Anthony
CHAPTER IV--Baltie is Rescued
CHAPTER V--A New Member of the Family
CHAPTER VI--Blue Monday
CHAPTER VII--Mammy Generalissimo
CHAPTER VIII--Chemical Experiments
CHAPTER IX--Spontaneous Combustion
CHAPTER X--Readjustment
CHAPTER XI--First Ventures
CHAPTER XII--Another Shoulder is Added
CHAPTER XIII--The Battle of Town and Gown
CHAPTER XIV--The Candy Enterprise Grows
CHAPTER XV--The Reckoning
CHAPTER XVI--United We Stand, Divided We Fall
CHAPTER XVII--A Family Council
CHAPTER XVIII--"Save Me From My Friends"
CHAPTER XIX--"An Auction Extraordinary"
CHAPTER XX--Constance B.'s Venture
CHAPTER XXI--Constance B.'s Candies
CHAPTER XXII--First Steps
CHAPTER XXIII--Opening Day
CHAPTER XXIV--One Month Later
CHAPTER I
The Carruths
The afternoon was a wild one. All day driving sheets of rain had swept
along the streets of Riveredge, hurled against windowpanes by fierce
gusts of wind, or dashed in miniature rivers across piazzas. At noon
it seemed as though the wind meant to change to the westward and the
clouds break, but the promise of better weather had failed, and
although the rain now fell only fitfully in drenching showers, and one
could "run between the drops" the wind still blustered and fumed,
tossing the wayfarers about, and tearing from the trees what foliage
the rain had spared, to hurl it to the ground in sodden masses. It was
more like a late November than a late September day, and had a
depressing effect upon everybody.
"I want to go out; I want to go out; I want to go out, _out_, OUT!"
cried little Jean Carruth, pressing her face against the window-pane
until from the outside her nose appeared like a bit of white paper
stuck fast to the glass.
"If you do you'll get wet, _wet_, WET, as sop, _sop_, SOP, and then
mother'll ask what _we_ were about to let you," said a laughing voice
from the farther side of the room, where Constance, her sister, nearly
five years her senior, was busily engaged in trimming a hat, holding
it from her to get the effect of a fascinating bow she had just pinned
upon one side.
"But I haven't a single thing to do. All my lessons for Monday are
finished; I'm tired of stories; I'm tired of fancy work, and I'm tired
of--_everything_ and I want to go _out_," ended the woe-begone voice in
rapid crescendo.
"Do you think it would hurt her to go, Eleanor?" asked Constance,
turning toward a girl who sat at a pretty desk, her elbows resting
upon it and her hands propping her chin as she pored over a copy of
the French Revolution, but who failed to take the least notice of the
question.
Constance made a funny face and repeated it. She might as well have
kept silent for all the impression it made, and with a resigned nod
toward Jean she resumed her millinery work.
But too much depended upon the reply for Jean Carruth to accept the
situation so mildly. Murmuring softly, "You wait a minute," she
slipped noiselessly across the room and out into the broad hall
beyond. Upon a deep window-seat stood a papier-mache megaphone.
Placing it to her lips, her eyes dancing with mischief above its rim,
she bellowed:
"Eleanor Maxwell Carruth, do you think it would hurt me to go out
now?"
The effect was electrical. Bounding from her chair with sufficient
alacrity to send the French Revolution crashing upon the floor,
Eleanor Carruth clapped both hands over her ears, as she cried:
"Jean, you little imp of mischief!"
"Well, I wanted to make you hear me," answered that young lady
complacently. "Constance had spoken to you twice but you'd gone to
France and couldn't hear her, so I thought maybe the megaphone would
reach across the Atlantic Ocean, and it _did_. Now can I go out?"
"_Can_ you or may you? which do you mean," asked the eldest sister
somewhat sententiously.
Constance laughed softly in her corner.
"O, fiddlesticks on your old English! I get enough of it five days in
a week without having to take a dose of it Saturday afternoon too. I
know well enough that I _can_ go out, but whether you'll say yes is
another question, and I want to," and Jean puckered up her small
pug-nose at her sister.
"What a spunky little body it is," said the latter, laughing in spite
of herself, for Jean, the ten-year-old baby of the family was already
proving that she was likely to be a very lively offspring of the
Carruth stock.
"And where are you minded to stroll on this charming afternoon when
everybody else is glad to sit in a snug room and take a Saturday
rest?"
"Mother isn't taking hers," was the prompt retort. "She's down helping
pack the boxes that are to go to that girls' college out in Iowa. She
went in all the rain right after luncheon, and I guess if _she_ can go
out while it poured 'cats and dogs,' I can when--when--when--well it
doesn't even pour _cats_. It's almost stopped raining."
"Where _do_ you get hold of those awful expressions, Jean? Whoever
heard of 'cats and dogs' pouring down? What _am_ I to do with you? I
declare I feel responsible for your development and--"
"Then let me go _out_. I need some fresh air to develop in: my lungs
don't pump worth a cent in this stuffy place. It's hot enough to roast
a pig with those logs blazing in the fire-place. I don't see how you
stand it."
"Go get your rubber boots and rain coat," said Eleanor resignedly.
"You're half duck, I firmly believe, and never so happy as when you're
splashing through puddles. Thank goodness your skirts are still short,
and you can't very well get _them_ sloppy; and your boots will keep
your legs dry unless you try wading up to your hips. But where are you
going?"
"I'm going down to Amy Fletcher's to see how Bunny is. He got hurt
yesterday and it's made him dreadfully sick," answered Jean, as she
struggled with her rubber boots, growing red in the face as she tugged
at them. In five minutes she was equipped to do battle with almost any
storm, and with a "Good bye! I'll be back pretty soon, and then I'll
have enough fresh air to keep me in fine shape for the night," out she
flew, banging the front door behind her.
Eleanor watched the lively little figure as it went skipping down the
street, a street which was always called a beautiful one, although now
wet and sodden with the rain, for Mr. Carruth had built his home in a
most attractive part of the delightful town of Riveredge. Maybe you
won't find it on the map by that name, but it's _there_ just the same,
and quite as attractive to-day as it was several years ago.
Bernard Carruth had been a man of refined taste and possessed a keen
appreciation of all that was beautiful, so it was not surprising that
he should have chosen Riveredge when deciding upon a place for his
home. Situated as it was on the banks of the splendid stream which had
suggested its name, the town boasted unusual attractions, and drew to
it an element which soon assured its development in the most
satisfactory manner. It became noted for its beautiful homes, its
cultured people and its delightful social life.
Among the prettiest of its homes was Bernard Carruth's. It stood but a
short way from the river's bank, was built almost entirely of
cobble-stones, oiled shingles being used where the stones were not
practicable.
It was made up of quaint turns and unexpected corners, although not a
single inch of space, or the shape of a room was sacrificed to the
oddity of the architecture. It was not a very large house nor yet a
very small one, but as Mr. Carruth said when all was completed, the
house sensibly and artistically furnished, and his family comfortably
installed therein:
"It is big enough for the big girl, our three little girls and their
old daddy, and so what more can be asked? Only that the good Lord will
spare us to each other to enjoy it."
This was when Jean was but a little more than two years of age, and
for five years they _did_ enjoy it as only a closely united family can
enjoy a charming home. Then one of Mr. Carruth's college chums got
into serious financial difficulties and Bernard Carruth indorsed
heavily for him.
The sequel was the same wretched old story repeated: Ruin overtook the
friend, and Bernard Carruth's substance was swept into the maelstrom
which swallowed up everything. He never recovered from the blow, or
false representations which led to it, learning unhappily, when the
mischief was done, how sorely he had been betrayed, and within
eighteen months from the date of indorsing his friend's paper he was
laid away in pretty Brookside Cemetery, leaving his wife and three
daughters to face the world upon a very limited income. This was a
little more than two years before the opening of this story. Little
Jean was now ten and a half, Constance fifteen and Eleanor, the
eldest, nearly seventeen, although many judged her to be older, owing
to her quiet, reserved manner and studious habits, for Eleanor was,
undoubtedly, "the brainy member of the family," as Constance put it.
She was a pupil in the Riveredge Seminary, and would graduate the
following June; a privilege made possible by an aunt's generosity,
since Mrs. Carruth had been left with little more than her home, which
Mr. Carruth had given her as soon as it was completed, and the
interest upon his life insurance which amounted to less than fifteen
hundred a year; a small sum upon which to keep up the home, provide
for and educate three daughters.
Constance was now a pupil at the Riveredge High School and Jean at the
grammar school. Both had been seminary pupils prior to Mr. Carruth's
death, but expenses had to be curtailed at once.
Constance was the domestic body of the household; prettiest of the
three, sunshiny, happy, resourceful, she faced the family's altered
position bravely, giving up the advantages and delights of the
seminary without a murmur and contributing to her mother's peace of
mind to a degree she little guessed by taking the most optimistic view
of the situation and meeting altered conditions with a laugh and a
song, and the assurance that "_some_ day she was going to make her
fortune and set 'em all up in fine shape once more." She got her
sanguine disposition from her mother who never looked upon the dull
side of the clouds, although it was often a hard matter to win around
to their shiny side.
Eleanor was quite unlike her; indeed, Eleanor did not resemble either
her father or mother, for Mr. Carruth had been a most genial,
warm-hearted man, and unselfish to the last degree. Eleanor was very
reserved, inclined to keep her affairs to herself, and extremely
matured for her years, finding her relaxation and recreation in a
manner which the average girl of her age would have considered tasks.
Jean was a bunch of nervous impulses, and no one ever knew where the
madcap would bounce up next. She was a beautiful child with a mop of
wavy reddish-brown hair falling in the softest curls about face and
shoulders; eyes that shone lustrous and lambent as twin stars beneath
their delicately arched brows, and regarded you with a steadfast
interest as though they meant to look straight through you, and
separate truth from falsehood. A mouth that was a whimsical
combination of fun and resolution. A nose that could pucker
disdainfully on provocation, and it never needed a greater than its
owner's doubt of the sincerity of the person addressing her.
This is the small person skipping along the pretty Riveredge street
toward the more sparsely settled northern end of the town, hopping
_not from_ dry spot to dry spot _between_ the puddles, but _into_ and
_into_ the deepest to be found. Amy Fletcher's home was one of the
largest in the outskirts of Riveredge and its grounds the most
beautiful. Between it and Riveredge stood an old stone house owned and
occupied by a family named Raulsbury; a family noted for its parsimony
and narrow outlook upon life in general. Broad open fields lay between
this house and the Fletcher place which was some distance beyond. In
many places the fences were broken; at one point the field was a good
deal higher than the road it bordered and a deep gully lay between it
and the sidewalk.
When Jean reached that point of her moist, breezy walk she stopped
short. In the mud of the gully, drenched, cold and shivering lay an
old, blind bay horse. He had stumbled into it, and was too feeble to
get out.
CHAPTER II
"Baltie"
"When he's forsaken
Withered and shaken
What can an old _horse_
Do but die?"
(With apologies to Tom Hood.)
For one moment Jean stood petrified, too overcome by the sight to stir
or speak, then with a low, pitying cry of:
"Oh, Baltie, Baltie! How came you there?" the child tossed her
umbrella aside and scrambled down into the ditch, the water which
stood in it splashing and flying all over her, as she hastened toward
the prone horse.
At the sound of her voice the poor creature raised his head which had
been drooping forward upon his bent-up knees, turned his sightless
eyes toward her and tried to nicker, but succeeded only in making a
quavering, shivering sound.
"Oh, Baltie, dear, dear Baltie, how did you get out of your stable and
come way off here?" cried the girl taking the pathetic old head into
her arms, and drawing it to her breast regardless of the mud with
which it was thickly plastered. "You got out of the field through that
broken place in the fence up there didn't you dear? And you must have
tumbled right straight down the bank into this ditch, 'cause you're
all splashed over with mud, poor, poor Baltie. And your legs are all
cut and bleeding too. Oh, how long have you been here? You couldn't
see where you were going, could you? You poor, dear thing. Oh, what
shall I do for you? What shall I? If I could only help you up," and
the dauntless little body tugged with all her might and main to raise
the fallen animal. She might as well have striven to raise Gibraltar,
for, even though the horse strove to get upon his feet, he was far too
weak and exhausted to do so, and again dropped heavily to the ground,
nearly over-setting his intrepid little friend as he sank down.
Jean was in despair. What _should_ she do? To go on to her friend
Amy's and leave the old horse to the chance of someone else's tender
mercies never entered her head, and had any one been near at hand to
suggest that solution of the problem he would have promptly found
himself in the midst of a small tornado of righteous wrath. No, here
lay misery incarnate right before her eyes and, of course, she must
instantly set about relieving it. But how?
"Baltie," or Old Baltimore, as the horse was called, belonged to the
Raulsbury's. Everybody within a radius of twenty miles knew him; knew
also that the family had brought him to the place when they came there
from the suburbs of Baltimore more than twenty years ago. Brought him
a high-stepping, fiery, thoroughbred colt which was the admiration and
envy of all Riveredge. John Raulsbury, the grandfather, was his owner
then, and drove him until his death, when "Baltimore" was seventeen
years old; even that was an advanced age for a horse. From the moment
of Grandfather Raulsbury's death Baltimore began to fail and lose his
high spirits. Some people insisted that he was grieving for the friend
of his colt-hood and the heyday of life, but Jabe Raulsbury, the son,
said "the horse was gettin' played out. What could ye expect when he
was more'n seventeen years old?"
So Baltimore became "Old Baltie," and his fate the plow, the dirt
cart, the farm wagon. His box-stall, fine grooming, and fine harness
were things of the past. "The barn shed's good 'nough fer such an old
skate's he's gettin' ter be," said Jabe, and Jabe's son, a shiftless
nonentity, agreed with him.
So that was blue-blooded Baltie's fate, but even such misfortune
failed to break his spirit, and now and again, while plodding
hopelessly along the road, dragging the heavy farm wagon, he would
raise his head, prick up his ears, and plunge ahead, forgetful of his
twenty years, when he heard a speedy step behind him. But, alas! his
sudden sprint always came to a most humiliating end, for his strength
had failed rapidly during the past few years, and the eyes, once so
alert and full of fire, were sadly clouded, making steps very
uncertain. An ugly stumble usually ended in a cruel jerk upon the
still sensitive mouth and poor old Baltie was reduced to the
humiliating plod once more.
Yet, through it all he retained his sweet, high-bred disposition,
accepting his altered circumstances like the gentleman he was, and
never retaliating upon those who so misused him. During his
twenty-third year he became totally blind, and when rheumatism, the
outcome of the lack of proper stabling and care, added to his
miseries, poor Baltie was almost turned adrift; the shed was there, to
be sure, and when he had time to think about it, Jabe dumped some feed
into the manger and threw a bundle of straw upon the floor. But for
the greater part of the time Baltie had to shift for himself as best
he could.
During the past summer he had been the talk of an indignant town, and
more than one threatening word had been spoken regarding the man's
treatment of the poor old horse.
For a moment the little girl stood in deep, perplexing thought, then
suddenly her face lighted up and her expressive eyes sparkled with the
thoughts which lay behind them.
"I know what I'll do, Baltie: I'll go straight up to Jabe Raulsbury's
and _make_ him come down and take care of you. Good-bye, dear; I won't
be any time at all 'cause I'll go right across the fields," and giving
the horse a final encouraging stroke, she caught up her umbrella which
had meantime been resting handle uppermost up in a mud-puddle, and
scrambling up the bank which had been poor Baltie's undoing,
disappeared beneath the tumble-down fence and was off across the
pasture heedless of all obstacles.
Jabe Raulsbury's farm had once been part of Riveredge, but one by one
his broad acres had been sold so that now only a small section of the
original farmstead remained to him, and this was a constant eyesore to
his neighbors, owing to its neglected condition, for beautiful homes
had been erected all about it upon the acres he had sold at such a
large profit. Several good offers had been made him for his property
by those who would gladly have bought the land simply to have improved
their own places and thus add to the attraction of that section of
Riveredge. But no; not another foot of his farm would Jabe Raulsbury
sell, and if ever dog-in-the-manger was fully demonstrated it was by
this parsimonious irascible man whom no one respected and many
heartily despised.
This wild, wet afternoon he was seated upon a stool just within the
shelter of his barn sorting over a pile of turnips which lay upon the
floor near him. He was not an attractive figure, to say the least, as
he bent over the work. Cadaverous, simply because he was too
parsimonious to provide sufficient nourishing food to meet the demands
of such a huge body. Unkempt, grizzled auburn hair and grizzled auburn
beard, the latter sparse enough to disclose the sinister mouth. Eyes
about the color of green gooseberries and with about as much
expression.
As he sat there tossing into the baskets before him the sorted-out
turnips, he became aware of rapidly approaching footsteps, and raised
his head just as a small figure came hurrying around the corner of the
barn, for the scramble up the steep bank, and rapid walk across the
wet pastures, had set Jean's heart a-beating, and that, coupled with
her indignation, caused her to pant. She had gone first to the house,
but had there learned from Mrs. Raulsbury, a timid, nervous,
woefully-dominated individual, who looked and acted as though she
scarcely dared call her soul her own, that "Jabe was down yonder in
the far-barn sortin' turnips." So down to the "far-barn" went Jean.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Raulsbury," she began, her heart, it must be
confessed, adding, rather than lessening its number of beats, at
confronting the forbidding expression of the individual with whom she
was passing the time of day.
"Huh!" grunted Jabe Raulsbury, giving her one searching look from
between his | 33.340075 |
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_"If a wife is allowed to boil at
all she will always boil over."_
The Gentle Art
_of_
Cooking Wives
By ELIZABETH STRONG WORTHINGTON
Author _of_ "How to
Cook Husbands," etc.
Published at 150 Fifth Avenue, New York
by the Dodge Publishing Company
[The Gentle Art of Cooking Wives]
COPYRIGHT IN THE YEAR
NINETEEN HUNDRED BY
DODGE PUBLISHING CO.
[Illustration: "CONSTANCE"]
I
"Girls, come to order!" shouted Hilda Bretherton in a somewhat
disorderly tone.
"How can we come to order without a president?" queried a
rosy-cheeked, roly-poly damsel answering to the name of Puddy Kennett.
"I elect Prue Shaftsbury!" screamed Hilda above the merry din of
voices.
"You can't elect--you simply nominate," said Prue.
"I second the motion," said Nannie Branscome, and her remark was
instantly followed by a storm of "ayes" before they were called for,
and the president was declared elected and proceeded to take her seat.
"Young ladies," said she, "we are met to consider a scandalous----"
"Scurrilous," suggested Hilda.
"----alarming article," continued the president, "entitled 'How to
Cook Wives.'"
"Here! here!" interrupted Hilda again, "we can't do anything until
we've elected officers and appointed committees."
"Out of a club of four members?" queried Prudence.
"Certainly. Mother said that yesterday at her club, out of eight women
they elected twelve officers and appointed seven committees of three
each. Why, you know two men can't meet on a street corner without
immediately forming a secret society, electing president,
vice-president, secretary, and treasurer, and appointing a committee
of five to get up a banquet."
"But to return to the subject," persisted the president--a long-faced
girl with a solemn countenance, but a suspicious gleam in her eye.
"'How to Cook Wives'--that is the question before the house."
"'How to Cook Wives!' Well, if that isn't rich! It makes me think of
the old English nursery song--'Come, ducky, come and be killed.' Now
it will be, 'Come, ducky, come and be cooked.' I move that Congress be
urged to enact a law adopting that phrase as the only legal form of
proposal. Then if any little goose accepts she knows what to expect,
and is not caught up and fried without foreknowledge."
"Young ladies," said the president.
"Don't mow me down in my prime," urged Hilda in an injured tone. "I'm
making my maiden speech in the house."
"Oh, girls, look, quick!" cried Puddy. "See Miss Leigh. Isn't that a
fetching gown she has on?"
The entire club rushed to the window.
"Who's she with?" asked Hilda. "He's rather fetching, too."
"I believe his name is Chance," said Puddy Kennett. "He's not a
society fellow."
"Oh, he's the chum of that lovely man," said Hilda.
"Which lovely man?" asked Prue. "There are so many of them."
"Why--oh, you know his name. I can't think of it--Loveland--Steve
Loveland. We met him at Constance Leigh's one evening."
Here Nannie Branscome, but no one noticed her.
"Young ladies, come to order," said the president.
"Or order will come to you," said Hilda. "Prue has raised her
parasol--gavel, I mean."
"There goes Amy Frisbe," remarked Puddy from her post by the window.
"Do you know her engagement's off?"
"Well, I'll be jig----" Hilda began.
"Sh-h!" said the president.
"The president objects to slang, but I'll still be jiggered, as Lord
Fauntleroy's friend remarked."
"Sh-h!" said the president.
"Girls, that reminds me," said Puddy. "I met a publisher from New York
at the opera last night who objected to the slightest slang."
"Oh, me!" exclaimed Hilda. "Why, where has Mother Nature been keeping
the dear man all these years?"
"On Mr. Sheldon's editorial staff," suggested Nannie Branscome.
"Oh, that's too bad, Nannie," exclaimed Prudence. "My father--and he's
not a religious man--said the Topeka _Capital_ was a wonderful paper
Sheldon's week."
"I'm not denying that," said Nannie. "I believe it was wonderful. I
believe and tremble."
"With other little----"
"Sh-h!" said the president, and Hilda subsided.
"Was Amy Frisbe at the opera last night?" asked Puddy rather
irrelevantly.
"No," said Hilda, "but Arthur Driscol was. He sat in a box with the
Gorman party and was devoted to Mamie Moore all the evening. If I'd
been Mrs. Gorman I'd dropped him over the railing."
"You don't mean that Amy Frisbe has been jilted?" exclaimed the
president.
"I do, and it's her third serious heart wound. Really, that girl is
entitled to draw a pension."
"Well, I'll be jig----" began Nannie.
"Sh-h!" said the president, and then she added: "Young ladies, it is
for you to decide how you'll be served up in future."
"_Is_ it for us to decide?" asked Nannie Branscome.
She had a peculiar way of saying things of this sort. She would lower
her head and look out from under her head frizzles in a non-committal
fashion, but with a suggestion of something that made her piquant,
bewitching face irresistible.
"Certainly," said the president. "The style of cooking depends on the
cook."
"Well, let us first see what choice we have in the matter. What
variety of dishes are named? Where's the article and where did it come
from?" asked Hilda.
"George Daly had it last night and he read bits of it between the
acts."
"So that's what I missed by declining Mrs. Warren's box party
invitation!" exclaimed Hilda. "Well, let's have the article."
"I haven't got it," said Puddy. "George wouldn't give it to me. He
said it belonged to Mr. Porter, but I copied some of it."
"Oh, there's Evelyn Rogers. Let's call her in. Evelyn! Evelyn!"
Hilda was at the window gesticulating and calling.
"Young ladies," said the president, "I'm surprised. Come to order.
Good-morning, Evelyn. We are met to consider an important matter--'How
to Cook Wives.'"
Evelyn laughed.
"Is that all you called me in for? I heard enough of that last night.
It was George Daly's theme all the evening."
"Were you at the box party?" asked Hilda.
"Yes, I was so silly as to go. Oh, these society people just wear me
out. I'm more tired this morning than I should be if I'd worked at a
churn all day yesterday. They're so stupid. They talk all night about
nothing."
"You ought to commend them for intellectual economy; they make a
little go such a long way," said Prudence.
"Seriously, though, are you met to consider that piece?" asked Evelyn.
"No," said Puddy. "We just happened to meet, and that came up for
discussion."
"Well, as I don't care----" began Evelyn, laughing.
"Sh-h!" said the president.
"The publisher from New York says slang is not used in the best
circles," said Hilda.
She recited this in a loud, stereotyped tone, giving the last word a
strong upward inflection, suggestive of a final call to the
dining-room.
"Yes, I know," said Evelyn. "I met him at the box party last night,
and he told me so."
"What did you say?" inquired Puddy.
"I said it must be awful to be deaf from birth."
"Did he hear that?" laughed Hilda.
"I presume he did, for he gave me one look and straightway became dumb
as well as deaf."
"Girls, I must be going!" exclaimed Hilda suddenly. "Really, if any
poor galley slave works harder than I do, I commend him to the Society
for the Prevention of Cruelty to Adults. I've already been out to a
luncheon to-day, at Mrs. Pierce's, and Pachmann's _matinee_ this
afternoon, and I must go to Joe Harding's dinner to-night----"
"Are you going to that swell affair?" interrupted Puddy. "I envy you."
"I don't," said Evelyn scornfully. "Joe Harding's little better than
an idiot, and he's notorious in many ways."
"He can give swell dinners, though, and the best people are his
guests."
"No, they're not," said Evelyn emphatically. "I'm not there and never
will be."
"Young ladies, come to order," said Hilda in a severe tone, "and
listen to my tale of woe. After the Harding dinner I go to the opera
with the Harding party, and then, with my chaperone, that pink of
propriety, Mrs. Warren, I attend the Pachmann reception at the
Rutherfords. Now, if your scrubwoman can name a longer, harder,
or----"
"More soul and brain enervating list," continued Evelyn.
"I should be pleased--I mean pained to hear it," concluded Hilda.
"And what does it all amount to?" asked Evelyn. "Will any one tell me
what you are working for?"
"A settlement," said Nannie promptly. "I'm the only niece of poor but
impecunious relatives, and they expect me to do my best and marry
well."
"Goodness, child!" exclaimed Hilda, "I hope you don't tell the brutal,
cold-blooded truth in society!"
"Why, no, that isn't it," said Puddy. "We are going out to have a good
time."
"Oh, you slaves and bondwomen!" exclaimed Evelyn. "You don't know what
a good time means. I must be off. Adieu, seneschals." And with a
pitying smile she left them.
She was a handsome, spirited-looking girl, with a queenly carriage. As
she went out of the house Constance Leigh came by, and the two walked
off together.
"There's a pair of them," Hilda remarked.
"Awfully nice girls," said Nannie.
"Oh, yes, but they're rabid. Constance Leigh is as independent as a
March hare, and Evelyn is perfectly fierce for reforms now."
"What, a socialist?" asked Prudence.
"No, not exactly, but she gathers the most awful class of people about
her, and fairly bristles with indignation if one ventures to criticise
them."
"What do you mean--criminals?" asked Prudence.
"You'd think so if you chanced to run into one of them. Why, last
Sunday evening she had an inebriate up to tea with her; next Sunday
she expects a wife-beater, or choker, or something of that sort, and
the other day, when I was coming out from a call on her, I met a
black-browed, desperately wicked-looking man--as big | 33.534078 |
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Produced by David Starner, Paul Marshall and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
[** Transcriber's Notes:
Superscripts have been represented using regular characters,
e.g. "ye 27th".
The [oe] ligature has been replaced with simply an oe. **]
BALLADS OF BOOKS
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
BALLADS OF BOOKS
CHOSEN BY
BRANDER MATTHEWS
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
1900
_Copyright, 1886_
BY GEORGE J. COOMBES
PRINTED BY
THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A.
TO
FREDERICK LOCKER
POET AND LOVER OF BOOKS
_Come and take a choice of all my library_
Titus Andronicus, iv. 1
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
PREFATORY NOTE.
_______________
The poets have ever been lovers of books; indeed, one might ask how
should a man be a poet who did not admire a treasure as precious and as
beautiful as a book may be. With evident enjoyment, Keats describes
A viol, bowstrings torn, cross-wise upon
A glorious folio of Anacreon;
and it was a glorious folio of Beaumont and Fletcher which another
English poet (whose most poetic work was done in prose) "dragged home
late at night from Barker's in Covent Garden," and to pacify his
conscience for the purchase of which he kept to his overworn suit of
clothes for four or five weeks longer than he ought. Charles Lamb was a
true bibliophile, in the earlier and more exact sense of the term; he
loved his ragged volumes as he loved his fellow-men, and he was as
intolerant of books that are not books as he was of men who were not
manly. He conferred the dukedom of his library on Coleridge, who was no
respecter of books, though he could not but enrich them with his
marginal notes. Southey and Lord Houghton and Mr. Locker are English
poets with libraries of their own, more orderly and far richer than the
fortuitous congregation of printed atoms, a mere medley of unrelated
tomes, which often masquerades as The Library in the mansions of the
noble and the wealthy. Shelley said that he thought Southey had a
secret in every one of his books which he was afraid the stranger might
discover: but this was probably no more, and no other, than the secret
of comfort, consolation, refreshment, and happiness to be found in any
library by him who shall bring with him the golden key that unlocks its
silent door.
Mr. Lowell has recently dwelt on the difference between literature and
books: and, accepting this distinction, the editor desires to declare
at once that as a whole this collection is devoted rather to books than
to literature. The poems in the following pages celebrate the
bric-a-brac of the one rather than the masterpieces of the other. The
stanzas here garnered into one sheaf sing of books as books, of books
valuable and valued for their perfection of type and page and
printing,--for their beauty and for their rarity,--or for their
association with some famous man or woman of the storied past
Two centuries and a half ago Drummond of Hawthornden prefixed to the
'Varieties' of his friend Persons a braggart distich:--
This book a world is; here, if errors be,
The like, nay worse, in the great world we see.
The present collection of varieties in verse has little or naught to do
with the great world and its errors: it has to do chiefly, not to say
wholly, with the world of the Bookmen--the little world of the
Book-lover, the Bibliophile, the Bibliomaniac--a mad world, my masters,
in which there are to be found not a few poets who cherish old wine and
old wood, old friends and old books, and who believe that old books are
the best of old friends.
Books, books again, and books once more!
These are our theme, which some miscall
Mere madness, setting little store
By copies either short or tall,
But you, O slaves of shelf and stall!
We rather write for you that hold
Patched folios dear, and prize "the small
Rare volume, black with burnished gold."
as Mr. Austin Dobson sang on the threshold of Mr. Lang's delightfully
discursive little book about the 'Library.'
The editor has much pleasure in thanking the poets who have allowed him
to reprint their poems in these pages; and he acknowledges a double
debt of gratitude to the friends who have written poems expressly for
this collection. Encouraged by their support, and remembering that he
is not a contributor to his own pages, the editor ventures to conclude
his harmless necessary catalogue of the things contained and not
contained within these covers, by quoting Herrick's address to his
Book:--
Be bold, my Book, nor be abash'd, or fear,
The cutting thumb-nail, or the brow severe;
But by the muses swear, all here is good,
If but well read, or ill read, understood.
BRANDER MATTHEWS.
NEW YORK, _November_, 1886.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
=Proem.=
_BALLADE OF THE BOOKWORM._
_Deep in the Past I peer, and see
A Child upon the Nursery floor,
A Child with book, upon his knee,
Who asks, like Oliver, for more!
The number of his years is IV,
And yet in Letters hath he skill,
How deep he dives in Fairy-lore!
The Books I loved, I love them still!_
_One gift the Fairies gave me: (Three
They commonly bestowed of yore)
The Love of Books, the Golden Key
That opens the Enchanted Door;
Behind it BLUEBEARD lurks and o'er
And o'er doth JACK his Giants kill,
And there is all ALADDIN'S store,--
The Books I loved, I love them still!_
_Take all, but leave my Books to me!
These heavy creels of old we love
We fill not now, nor wander free,
Nor wear the heart that once we wore;
Not now each River seems to pour
His waters from the Muse's hill;
Though something's gone from stream and shore,
The Books I love, I love them still!_
_ENVOY!_
_Fate, that art Queen by shore and sea,
We bow submissive to thy will,
Ah grant, by some benign decree,
The Books I loved--to love them still._
A. LANG.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
=Contents.=
PAGE
_Prefatory Note_ v
PROEM. [1]_Ballade of the Bookworm_ (A. Lang) ix
EDWARD D. ANDERSON. _The Baby in the Library_ 17
FRANCIS BENNOCH. _My Books_ 19
LAMAN BLANCHARD. _The Art of Book-Keeping_ 20
ANNE C. L. BOTTA. _In the Library_ 26
H. C. BUNNER. [1]_My Shakspere_ 28
ROBERT BURNS. _The Bookworms_ 31
CATULLUS. [1]_To his Book_ (Translated by A. Lang) 32
BEVERLY CHEW. _Old Books are best_ 33
THOMAS S. COLLIER. [1]_The Forgotten Books_ 34
HELEN GRAY CONE. _An Invocation in a Library_ 36
SAMUEL DANIEL. _Concerning the Honor of Books_ 38
ISA | 33.57925 |
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Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's Note:
This is only an excerpt from the novel.
All-Story Weekly
_July 13-August 10, 1918_
PALOS OF THE DOG
STAR PACK
by J. U. Giesy
* * * * *
1. OUT OF THE STORM
It was a miserable night which brought me first in touch with Jason
Croft. There was a rain and enough wind to send it in gusty dashes
against the windows. It was the sort of a night when I always felt
glad to cast off coat and shoes, don a robe and slippers, and sit down
with the curtains drawn, a lighted pipe, and the soft glow of a lamp
falling across the pages of my book. I am, I admit, always strangely
susceptible to the shut-in sense of comfort afforded by a pipe, the
steady yellow of a light, and the magic of printed lines at a time of
elemental turmoil and stress.
It was with a feeling little short of positive annoyance that I heard
the door-bell ring. Indeed, I confess, I was tempted to ignore it
altogether at first. But as it rang again, and was followed by a rapid
tattoo of rapping, as of fists pounded against the door itself, I
rose, laid aside my book, and stepped into the hall.
First switching on a porch-light, I opened the outer door, to reveal
the figure of an old woman, somewhat stooping, her head covered by a
shawl, which sloped wetly from her head to either shoulder, and was
caught and held beneath her chin by one bony hand.
"Doctor," she began in a tone of almost frantic excitement. "Dr.
Murray--come quick!"
Perhaps I may as well introduce myself here as anywhere else. I am Dr.
George Murray, still, as at the time of which I write, in charge of
the State Mental Hospital in a Western State. The institution was not
then very large, and since taking my position at the head of its staff
I had found myself with considerable time for my study along the lines
of human psychology and the various powers and aberrations of the
mind.
Also, I may as well confess, as a first step toward a better
understanding of my part in what followed, that for years before
coming to the asylum I had delved more or less deeply into such
studies, seeking to learn what I might concerning both the normal and
the abnormal manifestations of mental force.
There is good reading and highly entertaining, I assure you, in the
various philosophies dealing with life, religion, and the several
beliefs regarding the soul of man. I was therefore fairly conversant
not only with the Occidental creeds, but with those of the Oriental
races as well. And I knew that certain of the Eastern sects had
advanced in their knowledge far beyond our Western world. I had even
endeavored to make their knowledge mine, so far as I could, in certain
lines at least, and had from time to time applied some of that
knowledge to the treatment of cases in the institution of which I was
the head.
But I was not thinking of anything like that as I looked at the
shawl-wrapped face of the little bent woman, wrinkled and wry enough
to have been a very part of the storm which beat about her and blew
back the skirts of my lounging-robe and chilled my ankles. I lived in
a residence detached from the asylum buildings proper, but none the
less a part of the institution; and, as a matter of fact, my sole
thought was a feeling of surprise that any one should have come here
to find me, and despite the woman's manifest state of anxiety and
haste, a decided reluctance to go with her quickly or otherwise on
such a night.
I rather temporized: "But, my dear woman, surely there are other
doctors for you to call. I am really not in general practice. I am
connected with the asylum--" "And that is the very reason I always
said I would come for you if anything happened to Mr. Jason," she cut
in.
"Whom?" I inquired, interested in spite of myself at this plainly
premeditated demand for my service.
"Mr. Jason Croft, sir," she returned. "He's dead maybe--I dunno. But
he's been that way for a week."
"Dead?" I exclaimed in almost an involuntary fashion, startled by her
words.
"Dead, or asleep. I don't know which."
Clearly there was something here I wasn't getting into fully, and my
interest aroused. The whole affair seemed to be taking on an
atmosphere of the peculiar, and it was equally clear that the gusty
doorway was no place to talk. "Come in," I said. "What is your name?"
"Goss," said she, without making any move to enter. "I'm house-keeper
for Mr. Jason, but I'll not be comin' in unless you say you'll go."
"Then come in without any more delay," I replied, making up my mind. I
knew Croft in a way--by sight at least. He was a big fellow with light
hair and a splendid physique, who had been pointed out to me shortly
after my arrival. Once I had even got close enough to the man to look
into his eyes. They were gray, and held a peculiar something in their
gaze which had arrested my attention at once. Jason Croft had the eyes
of a mystic--of a student of those very things I myself had studied
more or less.
They were the eyes of one who saw deeper than the mere objective
surface of life, and the old woman's words at the last had waked up my
interest in no uncertain degree. I had decided I would go with her to
Croft's house, which was not very far down the street, and see, if I
might, for myself just what had occurred to send her rushing to me
through the night.
I gave her a seat, said I would get on my shoes and coat, and went
back into the room I had left some moments before. There I dressed
quickly for my venture into the storm, adding a raincoat to my other
attire, and was back in the hall inside five minutes at most.
* * * * *
We set out at once, emerging into the wind-driven rain, my long
raincoat flapping about my legs and the little old woman tottering
along at my side. And what with the rain, the wind, and the unexpected
summons, I found myself in a rather strange frame of mind. The whole
thing seemed more like some story I had read than a happening of real
life, particularly so as my companion kept pace with me and uttered no
sound save at times a rather rasping sort of breath. The whole thing
became an almost eery experience as we hastened down the storm-swept
street.
Then we turned in at a gate and went up toward the large house I knew
to be Croft's, and the little old woman unlocked a heavy front door
and led me into a hall. It was a most unusual hall, too, its walls
draped with rare tapestries and rugs, its floor covered with other
rugs such as I had never seen outside | 33.586648 |
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Produced by Jeff Kaylin, Bruce Albrecht, and Andrew Sly.
[Illustration: That is where we play--I mean it is most pleasant there]
The
Very Small Person
By
Annie Hamilton Donnell
Author of "Rebecca Mary"
Illustrated by Elizabeth Shippen Green
New York and London
Harper & Brothers Publishers
MCMVI
Contents
I. Little Blue Overalls
II. The Boy
III. The Adopted
IV. Bobby Unwelcome
V. The Little Girl Who Should Have Been a Boy
VI. The Lie
VII. The Princess of Make-Believe
VIII. The Promise
IX. The Little Lover
X. The Child
XI. The Recompense
Illustrations
That is where we play--I mean it is most pleasant there
Little Blue Overalls climbed into a chair
'Fore I'd lean my chin on folks's gates and watch 'em!
She stayed there a week--a month--a year
It was worse than creepy, creaky noises
I can't play... I'm being good
Murray had... seen the vision, too
Elizabeth
Chapter I
Little Blue Overalls
Miss Salome's face was gently frowning as she wrote.
"Dear John," the letter began,--"It's all very well except one thing.
I wonder you didn't think of that. _I'm_ thinking of it most
of the time, and it takes away so much of the pleasure of the
rose-garden and the raspberry-bushes! Anne is in raptures over the
raspberry-bushes.
"Yes, the raspberries and the roses are all right. And I like the
stone-wall with the woodbine over it. (Good boy, you remembered that,
didn't you?) And the apple-tree and the horse-chestnut and the
elm--of course I like them.
"The house is just big enough and just small enough, and there's a
trunk-closet, as I stipulated. And Anne's room has a'southern
exposure'--Anne's crazy spot is southern exposures. Mine's _it_.
Dear, dear, John, how could you forget _it!_ That everything
else--closets and stone-walls and exposures--should be to my mind but
_that!_ Well, I am thinking of moving out, before I move in. But I
haven't told Anne. Anne is the kind of person _not_ to tell, until
the last moment. It saves one's nerves--heigh-ho! I thought I was
coming here to get away from nerves! I was so satisfied. I really
meant to thank you, John, until I discovered--it. Oh yes, I
know--Elizabeth is looking over your shoulder, and you two are saying
something that is unfit for publication about old maids! My children,
then thank the Lord you aren't either of you old maids. Make the most
of it."
Miss Salome let her pen slip to the bare floor and gazed before her
wistfully. The room was in the dreary early stages of unpacking, but
it was not of that Miss Salome was thinking. Her eyes were gazing out
of the window at a thin gray trail of smoke against the blue ground
of the sky. She could see the little house, too, brown and tiny and a
little battered. She could see the clothes-line, and count easily
enough the pairs of little stockings on it. She caught up the pen
again fiercely.
"There are eight," she wrote. "Allowing two legs to a child, doesn't
that make _four?_ John Dearborn, you have bought me a house next
door to four children! I think I shall begin to put the books back
to-night. As ill luck will have it, they are all unpacked.
"I have said nothing to Anne; Anne has said nothing to me. But we
both know. She has counted the stockings too. We are both old maids.
No, I have not _seen_ them yet--anything but their stockings on the
clothes-line. But the mother is not a washer-woman--there is no hope.
I don't know how I know she isn't a washer-woman, but I do. It is
impressed upon me. So there are four children, to say nothing of the
Lord knows how many babies still in socks! I cannot forgive you,
John."
Miss Salome had been abroad for many years. Stricken suddenly with
homesickness, she and her ancient serving-woman, Anne, had fled
across seas to their native land. Miss Salome had first commissioned
John, long-suffering John,--adviser, business-manager, brother,--to
find her a snug little home with specified adjuncts of trunk-closets,
elm, apple, and horse-chestnut trees, woodbiney stone walls--and a
"southern exposure" for Anne. John had done his best. But how could
he have forgotten, and Elizabeth have forgotten, and Miss Salome
herself have forgotten--it? Every one knew Miss Salome's distaste for
little children. Anne's too, though Anne was more taciturn than her
mistress.
"Hullo!"
Miss Salome started. In the doorway stood a very small person in blue
jeans overalls.
"Hullo! I want your money or your life! I'm a 'wayman."
"A--_what?_" Miss Salome managed to ejaculate. The Little Blue
Overalls advanced a few feet into the room.
"Robber, you know;--you know what robbers are, don't you? I'm one.
You needn't call me a _high_wayman, I'm so--so low. Just 'wayman 'll
do. Why, gracious! you ain't afraid, are you? You needn't be,--I
won't hurt you!" and a sweet-toned, delighted little laugh echoed
through the bare room. "You needn't give me your money or your life.
Never mind. I'll'scuse you."
Miss Salome uttered no word at all. Of course this boy belonged in a
pair of those stockings over there. It was no more than was to be
expected.
"It's me. I'm not a 'wayman any more,--just _me_. I heard you'd come,
so I thought I'd come an' see you. You glad? Why don't you ask me
will I take a seat?"
"Will I--will you take a seat?" repeated Miss Salome, as if she were
saying a lesson. The Little Blue Overalls climbed into a chair.
[Illustration: Little Blue Overalls climbed into a chair]
"Looks pretty bad here, doesn't it? I guess you forgot to sweep," he
said, assuming social curves in his plump little body. He had the air
of having come to stay. Miss Salome's lips, under orders to tighten,
found themselves unexpectedly relaxing into a smile. The Little Blue
Overalls was amusing.
"_We've_ got a sofy, an' a rockin'-chair. The sofy's new, but
Chessie's broke a hole in it."
"Are there four of you?" Miss Salome asked, abruptly. It was the
Little Blue Overalls' turn to start now.
"_Me?_--gracious! four o' me? I guess you're out o' your head,
aren't-- Oh, you mean _child'en!_ Well, there's five, 'thout
countin' the spandy new one--she's too little to count."
Five--six, with the spandy new one! Miss Salome's gaze wandered from
the piles of books on the floor to the empty packing-boxes, as if
trying to find the shortest distance.
"There are only four pairs on the line," she murmured,
weakly,--"stockings," she added. The Little Blue Overalls nodded
comprehendingly.
"I don't wear 'em summers,--I guess you didn't notice I was in my
bare feet, did you? Well, I am. It's a savin'. The rest are nothing
but girls--I'm all the boy we've got. Boys are tough. But I don't
s'pose you ever was one, so you don't know?" There was an upward
inflection to the voice of the Little Blue Overalls. An answer seemed
expected.
"No--no, I never was one," Miss Salome said, hastily. She could hear
Anne's plodding steps in the hall. It would be embarrassing to have
Anne come in now. But the footsteps plodded by. After more
conversation on a surprising number of topics, the Little Blue
Overalls climbed out of the chair.
"I've had a 'joyable time, an' I'll be pleased to come again, thank
you," he said, with cheerful politeness. "I'm glad you've come,--I
like you, but I hope you'll sweep your floor." He retreated a few
steps, then faced about again and advanced into the enemy's near
neighborhood. He was holding out a very small, brown, unwashed hand.
"I forgot 'bout shakin' hands," he smiled. "Le's. I hope you like me,
too, an' I guess you do, don't you? Everybody does. Nobody ever
_didn't_ like me in my life, an' I'm seven. Good-bye."
Miss Salome heard him patter down the hall, and she half thought--she
was not sure--that at the kitchen door he stopped. Half an hour
afterwards she saw a very small person crossing the rose-garden. If
there was something in his hands that he was eating, Miss Salome
never asked Anne about it. It was not her way to ask Anne questions.
It was not Anne's way to ask her. The letter to John was finished,
oddly enough, without further mention of--it. Miss Salome got the
broom and swept the bare big room carefully. She hummed a little as
she worked. Out in the kitchen Anne was humming too.
"It is a pleasant little place, especially the stone-wall and the
woodbine," Miss Salome was thinking; "I'm glad I specified woodbine
and stone-walls. John would never have thought. So many other things
are pleasant, too; but, dear, dear, it is very unfortunate about that
one thing!" Still Miss Salome hummed, and after tea she got Anne to
help her move out the empty packing-boxes.
The next day the Little Blue Overalls came again. This time he was a
peddler, with horse-chestnut "apples" to sell, and rose-petal pies.
He said they were bargains.
"You can truly eat the pies," he remarked. "There's a _little_ sugar
in 'em. I saved it off the top o' _her_ bun," indicating Anne's
locality with a jerk of his little cropped head. So it was a fact,
was it? He had been eating something when he crossed the rose-garden?
Miss Salome wondered at Anne.
The next day, and the next,--every day the Little Blue Overalls came,
always in a new character. Miss Salome found herself watching for
him. She could catch the little blue glint of very small overalls as
soon as they got to the far side of the rose-garden. But for Anne, at
the end of the first week she would have gone out to meet him. Dear,
dear, but for Miss Salome, Anne would have gone!
The Little Blue Overalls confided his troubles to Miss Salome. He
told her how hard it was to be the only boy,--how impossible, of
course, it was to play girly plays, and how he had longed to find a
congenial spirit. Mysteriously enough, he appeared confident that he
had found the congenial spirit at last. Miss Salome's petticoats
seemed no obstacle. He showed her his pocketful of treasures. He
taught her to whittle, and how to bear it when she "bleeded." He
taught her to whistle--very softly, on account of Anne. (He taught
Anne, too--softly, on account of Miss Salome.) He let her make sails
for his boats, and sew on his buttons,--those that Anne didn't sew
on.
"Dear John," wrote Miss Salome, "the raspberries are ripe. When you
were a very small person--say seven--did you ever mash them between
raspberry leaves, with'sugar in,' and call them pies,--and eat them?
They are really palatable. Of course it is a little risky on account
of possible bugs. I don't remember that you were a remarkable little
boy. Were you? Did you ever play you were a highwayman, or an
elephant, or anything of that sort? Queer I can't remember.
"Anne is delighted with her southern exposure, but she has never said
so. That is why I know she is. I am delighted with the roses and the
closets and the horse-chestnut--especially the horst-chestnut. That
is where we play--I mean it is most pleasant there, hot afternoons.
Did you use to dote on horse-chestnuts? Queer boys should. But I
rather like them myself, in a way,--out of the way! We have picked up
a hundred and seventeen." Miss Salome dropped into the plural number
innocently, and Elizabeth laughed over John's shoulder. Elizabeth did
the reading between the lines. John was only a man.
One day Little Blue Overalls was late. He came from the direction of
the stable that adjoined Miss Salome's house. He was excited and
breathless. A fur rug was draped around his shoulders and trailed
uncomfortably behind him.
"Come on!" he cried, eagerly. "It's a circus! I'm the grizzled bear.
There's a four-legged girl--Chessie, you know, with stockin's on her
hands,--and a Manx rooster ('thout any tail), and, oh, my! the
_splendidest_ livin' skeleton you ever saw! I want you to be
man'ger--come on! It's easy enough. You poke us with a stick, an' we
perform. I dance, an' the four-legged girl walks, an' the rooster
crows, an' the skeleton skel-- Oh, well, you needn't poke the
skeleton."
The Little Blue Overalls paused for breath. Miss Salome laid aside
her work. Where was Anne?--but the stable could be reached without
passing the kitchen windows. Saturdays Anne was very busy, anyway.
"I'm ready," laughed Miss Salome. She had never been a
circus-manager, but she could learn. It was easier than whittling.
Together they hurried away to the stable. At the door Miss Salome
came to an abrupt stop. An astonished exclamation escaped her.
The living skeleton sat on an empty barrel, lean and grave and
patient. The living skeleton also uttered an exclamation. She and the
circus-manager gazed at each other in a remarkable way, as if under a
spell.
"Come on!" shouted the grizzled bear.
After that, Miss Salome and Anne were not so reserved. What was the
use? And it was much easier, after all, to be found out. Things ran
along smoothly and pleasantly after that.
Late in the autumn, Elizabeth, looking over John's shoulder one day,
laughed, then cried out, sharply. "Oh!" she said; "oh, I am sorry!"
And John echoed her an instant later.
"Dear John," the letter said, "when you were little were you ever
very sick, and did you _die?_ Oh, I see, but don't laugh. I think I
am a little out of my head to-day. One is when one is anxious. And
Little Blue Overalls is very sick. I found Anne crying a little while
ago, and just now she came in and found me. She didn't mind; I don't.
"He did not come yesterday or the day before. Yesterday I went to see
why. Anne was just coming away from the door. 'He's sick,' she said,
in her crisp, sharp way,--you know it, John,--but she was white in
the face. The little mother came to the door. Queer I had never seen
her before,--Little Blue Overalls has her blue eyes.
"There were two or three small persons clinging to her, and the very
smallest one I ever saw was in her arms. She looked fright--" The
letter broke off abruptly here. Another slip was enclosed that began
as abruptly. "Anne says it is scarlet-fever. The doctor has been
there just now. I am going to have him brought over here--you _know_
I don't mean the doctor. And you would not smile, either of you--not
Elizabeth, anyway, for she will think of her own babies--"
"Yes, yes," Elizabeth cried, "I am thinking!"
"--That is why he must not stay over there. There are so many babies.
I am going over there now."
The letter that followed this one was a week delayed.
"Dear John," it said,--"you must be looking out for another place. If
anything should--he is very sick, John! And I could not stay here
without him. Nor Anne. John, would you ever think that Anne was born
a nurse? Well, the Lord made her one. I have found it out. Not with a
little dainty white cap on, and a nurse's apron,--not that kind, but
with light, cool fingers and a great, tender heart. That is the
Lord's kind, and it's Anne. She is taking beautiful care of our
Little Blue Overalls. The little mother and I appreciate Anne. But he
is very very sick, John.
"I could not stay here. Why, there isn't a spot that wouldn't remind
me! There's a faint little path worn in the grass beside the
stone-wall where he has been'sentry.' There's a bare spot under the
horse-chestnut where he played blacksmith and'shoe-ed' the
saw-horse. And he used to pounce out on me from behind the old elm
and demand my money or my life,--he was a highwayman the first time I
saw him. I've bought rose-pies and horse-chestnut apples of him on
the front door-steps. We've played circus in the barn. We've been
Indians and gypsies and Rough Riders all over the place. You must
look round for another one, John. I can't stay here.
"Here's Anne. She says he is asleep now. Before he went he sent word
to me that he was a wounded soldier, and he _wished_ I'd make a red
cross and sew it on Anne's sleeve. I must go and make it. Good-bye.
The letter will not smell good because I shall fumigate it, on
account of Elizabeth's babies. You need not be afraid."
There was no letter at all the next week, early or late, and they
were afraid Little Blue Overalls was dead. Elizabeth hugged her
babies close and cried softly over their little, bright heads. Then
shortly afterwards the telegram came, and she laughed--and
cried--over that. It was as welcome as it was guiltless of
punctuation:
"Thank the Lord John Little Blue Overalls is going to get well."
Chapter II
The Boy
The trail of the Boy was always entirely distinct, but on this
especial morning it lay over house, porch, barn--everything. The
Mother followed it up, stooping to gather the miscellany of boyish
belongings into her apron. She had a delightful scheme in her mind
for clearing everything up. She wanted to see how it would seem, for
once, not to have any litter of whittlings, of strings and marbles
and tops! No litter of beloved birds' eggs, snake-skins,
turtle-shells! No trail of the Boy anywhere.
It had taken the whole family to get the Boy off, but now he was
gone. Even yet the haze of dust the stage-coach had stirred up from
the dry roadway lingered like a faint blur on the landscape. It could
not be ten minutes since they had bidden the Boy his first good-bye.
The Mother smiled softly.
"But I did it!" she murmured. "Of course,--I _had_ to. The idea of
letting your Boy go off without kissing him good-bye! Mary," she
suddenly spoke aloud, addressing the Patient Aunt, who was following
the trail too, picking up the siftings from the other's apron--"Mary,
did you kiss him? There was really no need, you know, because you are
not his mother. And it would have saved his feelings not to."
The Patient Aunt laughed. She was very young and pretty, and the
"patient" in her name had to do only with her manner of bearing the
Boy.
"No, I didn't," she said. "I didn't dare to, after I saw him wipe
yours off!"
"_Mary!_"
"With the back of his hand. I am not near-sighted. Now _why_ should a
well-meaning little kiss distress a Boy like that? That's what I want
to know."
"It didn't once," sighed the Mother, gently. "Not when he was a baby.
I'm glad I got in a great many of them then, while I had a chance. It
was the trousers that did it, Mary. From the minute he put on
trousers he objected to being kissed. I put his kilts on again one
day, and he let me kiss him."
"But it was a bribe to get you to take them off," laughed the Patient
Aunt, wickedly. "I remember;--I was there. And you took them off to
pay for that kiss. You can't deny it, Bess."
"Yes, I took them off--and after that I kissed _them_. It was next
best. Mary, does it seem very _awful_ quiet here to you?"
"Awful. I never heard anything like it in my life. I'm going to let
something drop and make a noise." She dropped a tin trumpet, but it
fell on the thick rug, and they scarcely heard it.
The front gate clicked softly, and the Father came striding up the
walk, whistling exaggeratedly. He had ridden down to the corner with
the Boy.
"Well, well, well," he said; "now I shall go to work. I'm going up to
my den, girls, and I don't want to be called away for anything or
anybody lower than a President or the minister. This is my first good
chance to work for ten years."
Which showed how old the Boy was. He was rather young to go off alone
on a journey, but a neighbor half a mile down the glary white road
was going his way, and would take him in charge. The neighbor was
lame, and the Boy thought he was going to take charge of the
neighbor. It was as well. Nobody had undeceived him.
In a little over half an hour--three-quarters at most--the trail of
the Boy was wiped out. Then the Patient Aunt and the Mother sat down
peacefully and undisturbed to their sewing. Everything was very
spruce and cleared up. The Mother was thinking of that, and of how
very, very still it was. She wished the Patient Aunt would begin to
sing, or a door would slam somewhere.
"Dear me!" she thought, with a tremulous little smile, "here I am
wanting to hear a door slam already! Any one wouldn't think I'd had a
special set of door nerves for years!" She started in to rock
briskly. There used to be a board that creaked by the west window.
Why didn't it creak now? The Mother tried to make it.
"Mary," she cried, suddenly and sharply--"_Mary!_"
"Mercy! Well, what is it, my dear? Is the house afire, or anything?"
"Why don't you talk, and not sit there as still as a post? You
haven't said a word for half an hour."
"Why, so I haven't,--or you either, for that matter. I thought we
were sitting here enjoying the calm. Doesn't it look too lovely and
fixed-up for anything, Bess? Seems like Sunday. _Don't_ you wish
somebody would call before we get stirred up again?"
"There's time enough. We sha'n't get stirred up again for a week,"
sighed the Mother. She seemed suddenly to remember, as a new thing,
that weeks held seven days apiece; days, twenty-four hours. The
little old table at school repeated itself to her mind. Then she
remembered how the Boy said it. She saw him toeing the stripe in the
carpet before her; she heard his high sweet sing-song:
"Sixty sec-unds make a min-it. Sixty min-its make a nour. Sixty hours
make--no; I mean twenty-four hours--make a d-a-a-y."
That was the way the Boy said it--God bless the Boy! The Mother got
up abruptly.
"I think I will go up and call on William," she said, unsteadily. The
Patient Aunt nodded gravely. "But he doesn't like to be interrupted,
you know," she reminded, thinking of the Boy's interruptions.
Up-stairs, the Father said "Come in," with remarkable alacrity. He
looked up from his manuscripts and welcomed her. The sheets, tossed
untidily about the table were mostly blank ones.
"Well, dear?" the little Mother said, with a question in her voice.
"Not at all;--_bad_," he answered, gloomily. "I haven't written a
word yet, Bess. At this rate, how soon will my new book be out? It's
so confoundedly still--"
"Yes, dear, I know," the Mother said, hastily. Then they both gazed
out of the window, and saw the Boy's little, rough-coated, ugly dog
moping under the Boy's best-beloved tree. The Boy had pleaded hard to
be allowed to take the dog on the journey. They both remembered that
now.
"He's lonesome," murmured the Mother, but she meant that they two
were. And they had thought it would be such a rest and relief! But
then, you remember, the Boy had never been away before, and he was
only ten.
So one day and one more after it dragged by. Two from seven leaves
five. The Mother secretly despaired. The second night, after the
others were asleep, she stole around the house and strewed the Boy's
things about in all the rooms; but she could not make them look at
ease. Nevertheless, she let them lie, and, oddly enough, no one
appeared to see them next morning. All the family made fine pretence
of being cheerful, and spoke often of the quietude and peace--how
restful it was; how they had known beforehand that it would be so,
without the whooping, whistling, tramping, slamming Boy.
"So relieving to the nerves," the Patient Aunt said.
"So soothing," murmured the Mother, sadly.
"So confoundedly nice and still!" the Father muttered in his beard.
"Haven't had such a chance to work for ten years." But he did not
work. The third day he said he must take a little run to the city
to--to see his publishers, you know. There were things that needed
looking after;--if the Mother would toss a few things into his grip,
he'd be off;--back in a few days, of course. And so he went. It was a
relief to the Mother, and a still further one when, on the fourth
day, the Patient Aunt went away on a little visit to--to some
friends.
"I'm glad they're gone," nodded the little Mother, decisively, "for I
couldn't have stood it another day--_not another day!_ Now _I'm_
going away myself. I suppose I should have gone anyway, but it's much
pleasanter not to have them know. They would both of them have
laughed. What do _they_ know about being a Mother and having your
little Boy away? Oh yes, they can laugh and be relieved--and
rested--and soothed! It's mothers whose hearts break with
lonesomeness--mothers and ugly little dogs." She took the moping
little beast up in her lap and stroked his rough coat.
"You shall go too," she whispered. "You can't wait three days more,
either, can you? It would have killed you, too, wouldn't it? We are
glad those other people went away, aren't we? Now we'll go to the
Boy."
Early the next morning they went. The Mother thought she had never
been so happy before in her life, and the ugly little beast yelped
with anticipative joy. In a little--a very little--while, now, they
would hear the Boy shout--see him caper--feel his hard little palms
on their faces. They would see the trail of the Boy over everything;
not a make-believe, made-up trail, but the real, littered, _Boy_
thing.
"I hope those other two people are enjoying their trips. _We_ are,
aren't we?" cried the happy Mother, hugging the little ugly dog in
her arms. "And they won't know;--they can't laugh at us. We'll never
let them know we couldn't bear it another minute, will we? The Boy
sha'n't tell on us."
The place where the Boy was visiting was quite a long | 33.679708 |
2023-11-16 18:17:37.6614270 | 7,436 | 6 |
Produced by David Clarke, Sunflower and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Wilson's
Tales of the Borders
AND OF SCOTLAND.
HISTORICAL, TRADITIONARY, & IMAGINATIVE.
WITH A GLOSSARY.
REVISED BY
ALEXANDER LEIGHTON,
ONE OF THE ORIGINAL EDITORS AND CONTRIBUTORS.
VOL. IX.
LONDON:
WALTER SCOTT, 14 PATERNOSTER SQUARE.
AND NEWCASTLE-UPON-TYNE.
1885.
CONTENTS.
Page.
THE <DW36>; OR, EBENEZER THE DISOWNED
(_John Mackay Wilson_) 1
THE LEGEND OF FAIR HELEN OF KIRCONNEL
(_Alexander Leighton_) 23
TOM DUNCAN'S YARN (_Oliver Richardson_) 55
THE PROFESSOR'S TALES (_Professor Thomas Gillespie_)
THE THREE BRETHREN 87
THE MISTAKE RECTIFIED 97
DURA DEN; OR, SECOND THOUGHTS ARE BEST 106
THE LAIRD OF LUCKY'S HOW (_Alexander Campbell_) 119
THE ABDUCTION (_Alexander Leighton_) 151
SIR PATRICK HUME: A TALE OF THE HOUSE OF MARCHMONT
(_John Mackay Wilson_) 167
THE SERJEANT'S TALES (_John Howell_)
THE PACKMAN'S JOURNEY TO LONDON 178
CHARLES LAWSON (_John Mackay Wilson_) 210
BON GAULTIER'S TALES (_Theodore Martin_)
MRS. HUMPHREY GREENWOOD'S TEA-PARTY 217
THE RECLUSE OF THE HEBRIDES (_Walter Logan_) 230
ELLEN ARUNDEL (_Walter Logan_) 238
CHATELARD (_Alexander Campbell_) 243
CHRISTIE OF THE CLEEK (_Alexander Leighton_) 275
WILSON'S
TALES OF THE BORDERS,
AND OF SCOTLAND.
THE <DW36>; OR, EBENEZER THE DISOWNED.
It is proverbial to say, with reference to particular constitutions or
habits of body, that May is a _trying_ month, and we have known what it
is to experience its trials in the sense signified. With our
grandmothers too, yea, and with our grandfathers also, May was held to
be an unlucky month. Nevertheless, it is a lovely, it is a beautiful
month, and the forerunner of the most healthy of the twelve. It is like
a timid maiden blushing into womanhood, wooing and yet shrinking from
the admiration which her beauty compels. The buds, the blossoms, the
young leaves, the tender flowers, the glittering dew-drops, and the song
of birds, burst from the grasp of winter as if the God of nature
whispered in the sunbeams--"Let there be life!" But it is in the morning
only, and before the business of the world summons us to its mechanical
and artificial realities, that the beauties of May can be felt in all
their freshness. We read of the glories of Eden, and that the earth was
cursed because of man's transgression; yet, when we look abroad upon the
glowing landscape, above us, and around us, and behold the pure heavens
like a sea of music floating over us, and hear the earth answer it back
in varied melody, while mountain, wood, and dale, seem dreaming in the
sound, and stealing into loveliness, we almost wonder that a bad man
should exist in the midst of a world that is still so beautiful, and
where every object around him is a representative of the wisdom, the
goodness, the mercy, the purity, and the omnipotence of his Creator.
There is a language in the very wild-flowers among our feet that
breathes a lesson of virtue. We can appreciate the feeling with which
the poet beheld
"The _last_ rose of summer left blooming alone;"
but in the firstlings of the spring, the primrose, the lily, and their
early train, there is an appeal that passes beyond our senses. They are
like the lispings and the smiles of infancy--lowly preachers, emblems of
our own immortality, and we love them like living things. They speak to
us of childhood and the scenes of youth, and _memory_ dwells in their
very fragrance. Yes, May is a beautiful month--it is a month of fair
sights and of sweet sounds. To it belongs the lowly primrose blushing by
the brae-side in congregated beauty, with here and there a cowslip
bending over them like a lover among the flowers; the lily hanging its
head by the brook that reflects its image, like a bride at the altar, as
if conscious of its own loveliness; the hardy daisy on the green sward,
like a proud man struggling in penury with the storms of fate. Now, too,
the blossoms on a thousand trees unfold their rainbow hues; the tender
leaves seem instinct with life, and expand to the sunbeams; and the
bright fields, like an emerald sea, wave their first undulations to the
breeze. The lark pours down a flood of melody on the nest of its mate,
and the linnet trills a lay of love to its partner from the yellow
furze. The chaffinch chants in the hedge its sweet but unvaried _line of
music_; the thrush hymns his bold roundelay; and the blackbird swells
the chorus; while the bird of spring sends its voice from the glens,
like a wandering echo lost between love and sadness; and the swallow,
newly returned from warmer climes or its winter sleep,
"Twitters from the straw-built shed."
The insect tribe leap into being, countless in numbers and matchless in
livery, and their low hum swims like the embodiment of a dream in the
air. The May-fly invites the angler to the river, while the minnow
gambols in the brook; the young salmon sports and sparkles in the
stream, and the grey trout glides slowly beneath the shadow of a rock in
the deep pool. To enjoy for a single hour in a May morning the luxuries
which nature spreads around--to wander in its fields and in its
woods--to feel ourselves a part of God's glad creation--to _feel_ the
gowan under our feet, and health circulating through our veins with the
refreshing breeze, is a recipe worth all in the Materia Medica.
Now, it was before sunrise on such a morning in May as I have described,
that a traveller left the Black Bull in Wooler, and proceeded to the
Cheviots. He took his route by way of Earle and Langleeford; and, at the
latter place, leaving the long and beautiful glen, began to ascend the
mountain. On the cairn, which is perhaps about five hundred yards from
what is called the extreme summit of the mountain, he met an old and
intelligent shepherd, from whom he heard many tales, the legends of the
mountains--and amongst others, the following story:--
Near the banks of one of the romantic streams which take their rise
among the Cheviots, stood a small and pleasant, and what might be termed
respectable or genteel-looking building. It stood like the home of
solitude, excluded by mountains from the world. Beneath it, the rivulet
wandered over its rugged bed; to the east rose Cheviot, the giant of the
hills; to the west, lesser mountains reared their fantastic forms,
thinly studded here and there with dwarf alders, which the birds of
heaven had planted, and their progeny had nestled in their branches; to
the north and the south stretched a long and secluded glen, where beauty
blushed in the arms of wildness--and thick woods, where the young fir
and the oak of the ancient forest grew together, flourished beneath the
shelter of the hills. Fertility also smiled by the sides of the rivulet,
though the rising and setting sun threw the shadows of barrenness over
it. Around the cottage stood a clump of solitary firs, and behind it an
enclosure of alders, twisted together, sheltered a garden from the
storms that swept down the hills.
Now, many years ago, a stranger woman, who brought with her a female
domestic and a male infant, became the occupant of this house among the
hills. She lived more luxuriously than the sheep-farmers in the
neighbourhood, and her accent was not that of the Borders. She was
between forty and fifty years of age, and her stature and strength were
beyond the ordinary stature and strength of women. Her manners were
repulsive, and her bearing haughty; but it seemed the haughtiness of a
weak and uneducated mind. Her few neighbours, simple though they were,
and little as they saw or knew of the world, its inhabitants and its
manners, perceived that the stranger who had come amongst them had not
been habituated to the affluence or easy circumstances with which she
was then surrounded. The child also was hard-favoured, and of a
disagreeable countenance; his back was strangely deformed; his feet were
distorted, and his limbs of unequal length. No one could look upon the
child without a feeling of compassion, save the woman who was his
mother, his nurse, or his keeper (for none knew in what relation she
stood to him), and she treated him as a persecutor, who hated his sight,
and was weary of his existence.
She gave her name as Mrs Baird; and, as the child grew up, she generally
in derision called him "_AEsop_," or, in hatred, "the little monster!"
but the woman-servant called him Ebenezer, though she treated him with a
degree of harshness only less brutal than she whom he began to call
mother. We shall, therefore, in his history mention him by the name of
Ebenezer Baird. As he grew in years, the disagreeable expression of his
countenance became stronger, his deformity and lameness increased, and
the treatment he had experienced added to both.
When nine years of age, he was sent to a boarding-school about twelve
miles distant. Here a new series of persecutions awaited him. Until the
day of his entering the school, he was almost ignorant that there was an
alphabet. He knew not a letter. He had seen one or two books, but he
knew not their use: he had never seen any one look upon them; he
regarded them merely as he did a picture--a piece of useless furniture,
or a plaything. Lame as he was, he had climbed the steep and the
dripping precipice for the eggs of the water-ouzel, sought among the
crags for the young of the gorgeous kingfisher, or climbed the tallest
trees in quest of the crested wrens, which chirped and fluttered in
invisible swarms among the branches.[A] The birds were to him
companions; he wished to rear their young, that they might love him, for
there was a lack of something in his heart--he knew not what it was--but
it was the void of being beloved, of being regarded. It is said that
nature abhors a vacuum, and so did the heart of Ebenezer. He knew not
what name to give it, but he longed for something that would show a
liking for him, and to which he could show a liking in return. The heart
is wicked, but it is not unsocial--its affections wither in
solitariness. When he strolled forth on these rambles about the glen,
having asked the permission of his mother or keeper (call her what you
will) before he went, "Go, imp! AEsop!" she was wont to exclaim, "and I
shall pray that you may break your neck before you return." There were
no farmers' or shepherds' children within several miles: he had seen
some of them, and when they had seen him, they had laughed at his
deformity--they had imitated his lameness, and contorted their
countenances into a caricatured resemblance of his. Such were poor
Ebenezer's acquirements, and such his acquaintance with human nature,
when he entered the boarding-school. A primer was put into his hands.
"What must I do with it?" thought Ebenezer. He beheld the rod of
correction in the hands of the teacher, and he trembled--for his
misshapen shoulders were familiar with such an instrument. He heard
others read, he saw them write; and he feared, wondered, and trembled
the more. He thought that he would be called upon to do the same, and he
knew he could not. He had no idea of _learning_--he had never heard of
such a thing. He thought that he must do as he saw others doing at once,
and he cast many troubled looks at the lord of a hundred boys. When the
name of "Ebenezer Baird" was called out, he burst into tears, he sobbed,
terror overwhelmed him. But when the teacher approached him kindly, took
him from his seat, placed him between his knees, patted his head, and
desired him to speak after him, the heart of the little <DW36> was
assured, and more than assured; it was the first time he had experienced
kindness, and he could have fallen on the ground and hugged the knees of
his master. The teacher, indeed, found Ebenezer the most ignorant
scholar he had ever met with, but he was no tyrant of the birch, though
to his pupils
"A man severe he was, and stern to view;"
and though he had all the manners and austerity of the old school about
him, he did not lay his head upon the pillow with his arm tired by the
incessant use of the ferule. He was touched with the simplicity and the
extreme ignorance of his new boarder, and he felt also for his lameness
and deformity. Thrice he went over the alphabet with his pupil,
commencing, "_Big Aw_--_Little Aw_," and having got over _b_, he told
him to remember that _c_ was like a half-moon. "Ye'll aye mind _c_
again," added he; "think ye _see_ the moon." Thus they went on to _g_,
and he asked him what the carters said to their horses when they wished
them to go faster; but this Ebenezer could not tell--carts and horses
were sights that he had seen as objects of wonder. They are but seldom
seen amongst the hills now, and in those days they were almost unknown.
Getting over _h_, he strove to impress _i_ upon the memory of his pupil,
by touching the solitary grey orbit in his countenance (for Ebenezer had
but one), and asking him what he called it. "My _e'e_," answered
Ebenezer.
"No, sir, you must not say your _e'e_, but your _eye_--mind that; and
that letter is _I_."
The teacher went on, showing him that he could not forget round O, and
crooked S; and in truth, after his first lesson, Ebenezer was master of
these two letters. And, afterwards, when the teacher, in trying him
promiscuously through the alphabet, would inquire, "What letter is
this?"--"I no ken," the <DW36> would reply; "but I'm sure it's no O,
and it's no S." Within a week he was master of the six-and-twenty
mystical symbols, with the exception of four--and those four were _b_
and _d_, _p_ and _q_. Ebenezer could not for three months be brought to
distinguish the _b_ from the _d_, nor the _p_ from the _q_; but he had
never even heard that he had a right hand and a left until he came to
the school--and how could it be expected?
Scarce, however, had he mastered the alphabet, until the faculties of
the deformed began to expand. He now both understood and felt what it
was to learn. He passed from class to class with a rapidity that
astonished his teacher. He could not join in the boisterous sports of
his schoolfellows, and while they were engaged in their pastime, he
sought solitude, and his task accompanied him. He possessed strong
natural talents, and his infirmities gave them the assistance of
industry. His teacher noted these things in the <DW36>, and he was
gratified with them; but he hesitated to express his feelings openly,
lest the charge of partiality should be brought against him. Ebenezer,
however, had entered the academy as the butt of his schoolfellows--they
mocked, they mimicked, they tormented, they despised, or affected to
despise him; and his talents and progress, instead of abating their
persecutions, augmented them. His teacher was afraid to show him more
kindness than he showed to others; and his schoolfellows gloried in
annoying the <DW36>--they persecuted, they shunned, they hated him more
than even his mother did. He began to hate the world, for he had found
none that would love him. His teacher was the only human being that had
ever whispered to him words of praise or of kindness, and that had
always been in cold, guarded, and measured terms.
Before he was eighteen, he had acquired all the knowledge that his
teacher could impart, and he returned to the cottage among the
mountains. There, however, he was again subjected to a persecution more
barbarous than that which he had met with from his schoolfellows. Mrs
Baird mocked, insulted, and drove him from her presence; and her
domestic showed him neither kindness nor respect. In stature, he
scarcely exceeded five feet; and his body was feeble as well as
deformed. The cruelty with which he had been treated had given an
asperity to his temper, and made him almost a hater of the human race;
and these feelings had lent their character to his countenance, marking
its naturally harsh expression with suspicion and melancholy.
He was about five-and-twenty when the pangs and the terrors of death
fell upon her whom he regarded as his parent. She died--as a sinner
dies--with insulted eternity frowning to receive her. A few minutes
before her death, she desired the <DW36> to approach her bedside. She
fixed her closing eyes, which affection had never lighted, upon his. She
informed him that he was not her son.
"Oh, tell me, then, whose son I am! Who are my parents?" he exclaimed,
eagerly. "Speak! speak!"
"Your parents!" she muttered; and remorse and ignorance held her
departing soul in their grasp. She struggled; she again continued: "Your
parents! no, Ebenezer, no! I dare not name them! I have sworn--I have
sworn! and a death-bed is no time to break an oath!"
"Speak! speak! Tell me, as you hope for heaven!" cried the <DW36>, with
his thin, bony fingers grasping the wrists of the dying woman.
"Monster! monster!" she screamed, wildly, and in terror, "leave
me--leave me! You are provided for--open that chest--the chest--the
chest!"
Ebenezer loosed his grasp; he sprang towards a strong chest which stood
in the room. "The keys! the keys!" he exclaimed, wildly; and again
hurrying to the bed, he violently pulled a bunch of keys from beneath
her pillow. But while he applied them to the chest, the herald of death
rattled in the throat of its victim; and, with one agonising throe and a
deep groan, her spirit escaped, and her body lay a corpse upon the bed.
He opened the chest, and in it he found securities, which settled upon
him, under the name of Ebenezer Baird, five thousand pounds. But there
was nothing which threw light on his parentage--nothing to inform who he
was, or why he was there.
The body of her who had never shed a tear over him he accompanied to the
grave. But now a deeper gloom fell upon him. He met but few men, and the
few he met shunned him, for there was a wildness and a bitterness in his
words--a railing against the world--which they wished not to hear. He
fancied, too, that they despised him--that their eyes were ever
examining the form of his deformities; and he returned their glance with
a scowl, and their words with the accents of hatred. Even as he passed
the solitary farmhouse, the younger children fled in terror, and the
elder laughed, or pointed towards him the finger of curiosity. All these
things fell upon the heart of the <DW36>, and turned the human kindness
of his bosom into gall. His companions became the solitude of the
mountains, and the silence of the woods. They heard his bitter
soliloquies without reviling him, or echo answered him in tones of
sympathy more mournful than his own. He sought a thing that he might
love, that might unlock his prisoned heart, or give life to its blighted
feelings. He loved the very primrose, because it was a thing of beauty,
and shrank not from his deformity as man did. To him it gave forth its
sweetness, and its leaves withered not at his touch; and he bent and
kissed the flower that smiled upon him whom his kind avoided. He courted
the very storms of winter, for they shunned him not, but spent their
fury on his person, unconscious of its form. The only living thing that
regarded him, or that had ever evinced affection towards him, was a dog,
of the mastiff kind, which ever followed at his side, licked his hand,
and received its food from it. And on this living thing all the
affections that his heart ever felt were expended. He loved it as a
companion, a friend, and protector; and he knew it was not
ungrateful--it never avoided him; but, when mockery or insult was
offered to its master, it growled, and looked in his face, as if asking
permission to punish the offender.
Such was the life that he had passed until he was between thirty and
forty years of age. Still he continued his solitary rambles, having a
feeling for everything around him but man. Man only was his
persecutor--man only despised him. His own kind and his own kindred had
shut him out from them and disowned him--his sight had been hateful to
them, and his form loathsome. He avoided the very sun, for it revealed
his shadow; but he wandered in rapture, gazing on the midnight heavens,
calling the stars by name, while his soul was lifted up with their
glory, and his deformity lost and overshadowed in the depth of their
magnificence. He loved the flowers of day, the song of morning birds,
and the wildness or beauty of the landscape; but these dwindled, and
drew not forth his soul as did the awful gorgeousness of night, with its
ten thousand worlds lighted up, burning, sparkling, glimmering in
immensity--the gems that studded the throne of the Eternal. While others
slept, the deformed wandered on the mountains, holding communion with
the heavens.
About the period we refer to, a gay party came upon a visit to a
gentleman whose mansion was situated about three miles from the cottage
of the <DW36>. As they rode out, they frequently passed him in his
wanderings. And when they did so, some turned to gaze on him with a look
of prying curiosity, others laughed and called to their companions--and
the indignation of Ebenezer was excited, and the frown grew black upon
his face.
He was wandering in a wood in the glen, visiting his favourite
wild-flowers (for he had many that he visited daily, and each was
familiar to him as the face of man to man--he rejoiced when they budded,
blossomed, and laughed in their summer joy, and he grieved when they
withered and died away), when a scream of distress burst upon his ear.
His faithful mastiff started, and answered to the sound. He hurried from
the wood to whence the sound proceeded as rapidly as his lameness would
admit. The mastiff followed by his side, and, by its signs of
impatience, seemed eager to increase its speed, though it would not
forsake him. The cries of distress continued, and became louder. On
emerging from the wood, he perceived a young lady rushing wildly towards
it, and behind her, within ten yards, followed an infuriated bull. A few
moments more, and she must have fallen its victim. With an eager howl,
the dog sprang from the side of its master, and stood between the lady
and her pursuer. Ebenezer forgot his lameness and the feebleness of his
frame, and he hastened at his utmost speed to the rescue of a human
being. Even at that moment a glow of delight passed through his heart,
that the despised <DW36> would save the life of a fellow-mortal--of one
of the race that shunned him. Ere he approached, the lady had fallen,
exhausted and in terror, on the ground. The mastiff kept the enraged
animal at bay, and, with a strength such as he had never before
exhibited, Ebenezer raised the lady in his arms, and bore her to the
wood. He placed her against a tree: the stream passed by within a few
yards, and he brought water in the palms of his hands, and knelt over
her, to bathe her temples and her fair brow. Her brow was indeed fair,
and her face beautiful beyond all that he had looked upon. Her golden
hair in wavy ringlets fell upon her shoulders--but her deep blue eyes
were closed. Her years did not appear to be more than twenty.
"Beautiful!--beautiful!" exclaimed the <DW36>, as he dropped the water
on her face, and gazed on it as he spoke--"it is wondrous beautiful! But
she will open her eyes--she will turn from me as doth her race!--as from
the animal that pursued her!--yet, sure she is beautiful!" and again, as
he spoke, Ebenezer sighed.
The fair being recovered--she raised her eyes--she gazed on his face,
and turned not away from it. She expressed no false horror on beholding
his countenance--no affected revulsion at the sight of his deformity;
but she looked upon him with gratitude--she thanked him with tears. The
<DW36> started--his heart burned. To be gazed on with kindness, to be
thanked, and with tears, and by one so fair, so young, so beautiful, was
to him so strange, so new, he half doubted the reality of the scene
before him. Before the kindness and gratitude that beamed from her eyes,
the misanthropy that had frozen up his bosom began to dissolve, and the
gloom on his features died away, as a vapour before the face of the
morning sun. New thoughts fired his imagination--new feelings transfixed
his heart. Her smile fell like a sunbeam on his soul, where light had
never before dawned; her accents of gratitude, from the moment they were
delivered, became the music of his memory. He found an object on the
earth that he could love--or shall we say that he _did_ love; for he
felt as though already her existence were mysteriously linked to his. We
are no believers in what is termed _love at first sight_. Some
romance-writers hold it up as an established doctrine, and love-sick
boys and moping girls will make oath to the creed. But there never was
love at first sight that a week's perseverance could not wear away. It
holds no intercourse with the heart, but is a mere _fancy_ of the eye;
as a man would fancy a horse, a house, or a picture, which he desires to
purchase. Love is not the offspring of an hour or a day, nor is it the
_ignis fatuus_ which plays about the brain, and disturbs the sleep of
the youth and the maiden in their teens. It slowly steals and dawns upon
the heart, as day imperceptibly creeps over the earth, first with the
tinged cloud--the grey and the clearer dawn--the approaching, the
rising, and the risen sun--blending into each other a brighter and a
brighter shade; but each indistinguishable in their progress and
blending, as the motion of the pointers on a watch, which move
unobserved as time flies, and we mark not the silent progress of light
till it envelop us in its majesty. Such is the progress of pure, holy,
and enduring love. It springs not from mere sight, but its radiance
grows with esteem; it is the whisper of sympathy, unity of feeling, and
mutual reverence, which increases with a knowledge of each other, until
but one pulse seems to throb in two bosoms. The feelings which now
swelled in the bosom of Ebenezer Baird were not the true and only love
which springs from esteem, but they were akin to it. For though the
beauty of the fair being he had rescued had struck his eye, it was not
her beauty that melted the misanthropy of his heart, but the tear of
gratitude, the voice of thanks, the glance that turned not away from
him, the smile--the first that woman had bestowed on him--that entered
his soul. They came from the heart, and they spoke to the heart.
She informed him that her name was Maria Bradbury, and that she was one
of the party then on a visit to the gentleman in his neighbourhood. He
offered to accompany her to the house, and she accepted his offer. But
it was necessary to pass near the spot where he had rescued her from the
fury of the enraged bull. As they drew towards the side of the wood,
they perceived that the bull was gone, but the noble mastiff, the
friend, companion, and defender of the <DW36>, lay dead before them.
Ebenezer wrung his hands, he mourned over his faithful guardian.
"Friend! poor Friend!" he cried (the name of the mastiff was Friend),
"hast thou, too, left me? Thou, of all the things that lived, alone
didst love thy master! Pardon me, lady, pardon an outcast; but until
this hour I have never experienced friendship from man nor kindness from
woman. The human race have treated me as a thing that belonged not to
the same family with themselves; they have persecuted or mocked me, and
I have hated them. Start not--hatred is an alien to my soul--it was not
born there, it was forced upon it--but I hate not you--no! no! You have
spoken kindly to me, you have smiled on me!--the despised, the disowned
Ebenezer will remember you. That poor dog alone, of all living things,
showed affection for me. But he died in a good cause! Poor Friend! poor
Friend!--where shall I find a companion now?" and the tears of the
<DW36> ran down his cheeks as he spoke.
Maria wept also, partly for the fate of the noble animal that had died
in her deliverance, and partly from the sorrow of her companion; for
there is a sympathy in tears.
"Ha! you weep!" cried the <DW36>; "you weep for poor Friend and for me.
Bless thee--bless thee, fair one! they are the first that were ever shed
for my sake! I thought there was not a tear on earth for me."
He accompanied her to the lodge of the mansion where she was then
residing, and there he left her, though she invited him to accompany
her, that he might also receive the congratulations of her friends.
She related to them her deliverance. "Ha! little Ebenezer turned a
hero!" cried one; "Ebenezer the <DW36> become a knight-errant!" said
another. But they resolved to visit him in a body, and return him their
thanks.
But the soul of the deformed was now changed, and his countenance,
though still melancholy, had lost its asperity. His days became a dream,
his existence a wish. For the first time he entertained the hope of
happiness; it was vain, romantic, perhaps we might say absurd, but he
cherished it.
Maria spoke much of the courage, the humanity, the seeming loneliness,
and the knowledge of the deformed, to her friends; and their
entertainer, with his entire party of visiters, with but one exception,
a few days afterwards, proceeded to the cottage of Ebenezer, to thank
him for his intrepidity. The exception we have alluded to was a Lady
Helen Dorrington, a woman of a proud and haughty temper, and whose
personal attractions, if | 33.681467 |
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Produced by Emmy, MFR, Linda Cantoni, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive). This project is dedicated with
love to Emmy's memory.
PATRINS
_TO WHICH IS ADDED_
An INQUIRENDO Into the WIT &
Other Good Parts of HIS LATE MAJESTY
KING CHARLES the Second
_WRITTEN BY_
LOUISE IMOGEN GUINEY
[Illustration: SICUT LILIUM INTER SPINAS]
_BOSTON_
Printed for _Copeland and Day_
_69 Cornhill_ 1897
COPYRIGHT 1897 BY COPELAND AND DAY
[Inscription: M.R.D., from her affectionate
old friend who wrote it. 1897]
TO BLISS CARMAN
A _patrin_, according to _Romano Lavo-Lil_, is "a Gypsy trail:
handfuls of leaves or grass cast by the Gypsies on the road, to
denote, to those behind, the way which they have taken." Well, these
wild dry whims are _patrins_ dropped now in the open for our tribe;
but particularly for you. They will greet you as you lazily come up,
and mean: Fare on, and good luck love you to the end! On each have I
put the date of its writing, as one might make memoranda of little
leisurely adventures in prolonged fair weather; and you will read, in
between and all along, a record of pleasant lonely paths never very
far from your own, biggest of Romanys! in the thought-country of our
common youth.
Ingraham Hill, South Thomaston, Maine,
October 19, 1896.
Contents
Page
On the Rabid _versus_ the Harmless Scholar 3
The Great Playground 13
On the Ethics of Descent 29
Some Impressions from the Tudor Exhibition 39
On the Delights of an Incognito 63
The Puppy: A Portrait 73
On Dying Considered as a Dramatic Situation 83
A Bitter Complaint of the Ungentle Reader 99
Animum non Coelum 109
The Precept of Peace 117
On a Pleasing Encounter with a Pickpocket 131
Reminiscences of a Fine Gentleman 139
Irish 153
An Open Letter to the Moon 169
The Under Dog 181
Quiet London 191
The Captives 205
On Teaching One's Grandmother How to Suck Eggs 223
Wilful Sadness in Literature 233
An Inquirendo into the Wit and Other Good Parts
of His Late Majesty, King Charles the Second 247
ON THE RABID _VERSUS_ THE HARMLESS SCHOLAR
A PHILOSOPHER now living, and too deserving for any fate but choice
private oblivion, was in Paris, for the first time, a dozen years
ago; and having seen and heard there, in the shops, parks, and
omnibus stations, much more baby than he found pleasing, he remarked,
upon his return, that it was a great pity the French, who are so in
love with system, had never seen their way to shutting up everything
under ten years of age! Now, that was the remark of an artist in
human affairs, and may provoke a number of analogies. What is in the
making is not a public spectacle. It ought to be considered very
outrageous, on the death of a painter or a poet, to exhibit those
rough first drafts, which he, living, had the acumen to conceal.
And if, to an impartial eye, in a foreign city, native innocents
seem too aggressively to the fore, why should not the seclusion
desired for them be visited a thousandfold upon the heads, let us
say, of students, who are also in a crude transitional state, and
undergoing a growth much more distressing to a sensitive observer
than the physical? Youth is the most inspiring thing on earth, but
not the best to let loose, especially while it carries swaggeringly
that most dangerous of all blunderbusses, knowledge at half-cock.
There is, indeed, no more melancholy condition than that of healthy
boys scowling over books, in an eternal protest against their father
Adam's fall from a state of relative omniscience. Sir Philip Sidney
thought it was "a piece of the Tower of Babylon's curse that a man
should be put to school to learn his | 33.781008 |
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Produced by Michael Gray
THE MAN WHO DID NOT DIE
ALTEMUS' BEAUTIFUL STORIES SERIES
THE MAN WHO DID NOT DIE
THE STORY OF ELIJAH
BY
J. H. WILLARD.
ILLUSTRATED
PHILADELPHIA
HENRY ALTEMUS COMPANY
Altemus' Illustrated
Beautiful Stories Series
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS.
THE FIRST EASTER.
ONCE IN SEVEN YEARS.
The Story of the Jubilee
WITH HAMMER AND NAIL.
The Story of Jael and Sisera
FIVE KINGS IN A CAVE.
The Story of a Great Battle
THE WISEST MAN.
The Story of Solomon
A FARMER'S WIFE.
The Story of Ruth
THE MAN WHO DID NOT DIE.
The Story of Elijah
WHEN IRON DID SWIM.
The Story of Elisha
WHAT IS SWEETER THAN HONEY.
The Story of Samson
Twenty-five Cents Each
Copyright, 1906
By Henry Altemus
THE MAN WHO DID NOT DIE.
AFTER the death of King Solomon, his son Rehoboam became ruler
of the Israelites. The prodigality and magnificence of
Solomon's court, and his lavish way of living had been met by
heavy taxation. Seeing the vast revenues of the kingdom
employed in this way, the people had grown discontented, and
then disloyal.
After Rehoboam had become king, the Israelites appealed | 33.880063 |
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E-text prepared by Malcolm Farmer and the Project Gutenberg Online
Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 25299-h.htm or 25299-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/5/2/9/25299/25299-h/25299-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/5/2/9/25299/25299-h.zip)
Transcriber's note:
Obvious minor typesetting errors in punctuation have been
silently corrected.
One sentence which began "The gale had cracked a very
large bow..." has been changed for consistency with the
rest of the paragraph to read "The gale had cracked a very
large bough..."
WOOD MAGIC
A Fable
by
RICHARD JEFFERIES
Author of "The Gamekeeper at Home," "Field and Hedgerow," "The Toilers
of the Field," Etc.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
New Impression
Longmans, Green, and Co.
39 Paternoster Row, London
New York, Bombay, and Calcutta
1907
All rights reserved
_BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE._
_First published, 2 vols., post 8vo, by Cassell & Co., in 1881; Reissued
by them in one volume in 1882._
_'Silver Library' Edition, June, 1883. Reprinted September, 1894;
January, 1899; February, 1903; April, 1907._
_Inscribed to Harold._
CONTENTS.
I. Sir Bevis
II. At Home
III. Adventures of the Weasel
IV. Brook-Folk
V. Kapchack
VI. The Squirrel
VII. The Courtiers
VIII. The Emperor Choo Hoo
IX. The Council
X. Traitors
XI. The Storm in the Night
XII. The Old Oak.--The King's Despair
XIII. The Courtship in the Orchard
XIV. The Great Battle
XV. Palace Secrets
XVI. The New King
XVII. Sir Bevis and the Wind
PREFATORY NOTE.
Little need be said as to this re-issue of _Wood Magic_. It was
originally published in two volumes, post 8vo, by Messrs. Cassell & Co.
in 1881, and re-issued by them in one volume in 1882. The present
edition is reprinted from the original edition. The frontispiece and
vignette are drawn by the accomplished lady who chooses to be known as
E. V. B., whose illustrations to the _Story Without an End_ charmed many
boys and girls years ago, and I hope still fascinate their children.
C. J. L.
WOOD MAGIC.
CHAPTER I.
SIR BEVIS.
One morning as little "Sir" Bevis [such was his pet name] was digging in
the farmhouse garden, he saw a daisy, and throwing aside his spade, he
sat down on the grass to pick the flower to pieces. He pulled the
pink-tipped petals off one by one, and as they dropped they were lost.
Next he gathered a bright dandelion, and squeezed the white juice from
the hollow stem, which drying presently, left his fingers stained with
brown spots. Then he drew forth a bennet from its sheath, and bit and
sucked it till his teeth were green from the sap. Lying at full length,
he drummed the earth with his toes, while the tall grass blades tickled
his cheeks.
Presently, rolling on his back, he drummed again with his heels. He
looked up at the blue sky, but only for a moment, because the glare of
light was too strong in his eyes. After a minute, he turned on his side,
thrust out one arm, placed his head on it, and drew up one knee, as if
going to sleep. His little brown wrist, bared by the sleeve shortening
as he extended his arm, bent down the grass, and his still browner
fingers played with the blades, and every now and then tore one off.
A flutter of wings sounded among the blossom on an apple-tree close by,
and instantly Bevis sat up, knowing it must be a goldfinch thinking of
building a nest in the branches. If the trunk of the tree had not been
so big, he would have tried to climb it at once, but he knew he could
not do it, nor could he see the bird for the leaves and bloom. A puff of
wind came and showered the petals down upon him; they fell like
snowflakes on his face and dotted the grass.
Buzz! A great bumble-bee, with a band of red gold across his back, flew
up, and hovered near, wavering to and fro in the air as he stayed to
look at a flower.
Buzz! Bevis listened, and knew very well what he was saying. It was:
"This is a sweet little garden, my darling; a very pleasant garden; all
grass and daisies, and apple-trees, and narrow patches with flowers and
fruit-trees one side, and a wall and currant-bushes another side, and a
low box-hedge and a haha, where you can see the high mowing grass quite
underneath you; and a round summer-house in the corner, painted as blue
inside as a hedge-sparrow's egg is outside; and then another haha with
iron railings, which you are always climbing up, Bevis, on the fourth
side, with stone steps leading down to a meadow, where the cows are
feeding, and where they have left all the buttercups standing as tall
as your waist, sir. The gate in the iron railings is not fastened, and
besides, there is a gap in the box-hedge, and it is easy to drop down
the haha wall, but that is mowing grass there. You know very well you
could not come to any harm in the meadow; they said you were not to go
outside the garden, but that's all nonsense, and very stupid. _I_ am
going outside the garden, Bevis. Good-morning, dear." Buzz! And the
great bumble-bee flew slowly between the iron railings, out among the
buttercups, and away up the field.
Bevis went to the railings, and stood on the lowest bar; then he opened
the gate a little way, but it squeaked so loud upon its rusty hinges
that he let it shut again. He walked round the garden along beside the
box-hedge to the patch by the lilac trees; they were single lilacs,
which are much more beautiful than the double, and all bowed down with a
mass of bloom. Some rhubarb grew there, and to bring it up the faster,
they had put a round wooden box on it, hollowed out from the sawn butt
of an elm, which was rotten within and easily scooped. The top was
covered with an old board, and every time that Bevis passed he lifted up
the corner of the board and peeped in, to see if the large red, swelling
knobs were yet bursting.
One of these round wooden boxes had been split and spoilt, and half of | 33.983035 |
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Produced by Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper, Moti Ben-Ari and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: Cover]
THE AUGUSTAN REPRINT SOCIETY
JOHN EVELYN
THE HISTORY
OF
SABATAI SEVI,
_The Suppos'd Messiah_
OF THE JEWS.
(1669)
_Introduction by_
CHRISTOPHER W. GROSE
PUBLICATION NUMBER 131
WILLIAM ANDREWS CLARK MEMORIAL LIBRARY
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, LOS ANGELES
1968
GENERAL EDITORS
George Robert Guffey, _University of California, Los Angeles_
Maximillian E. Novak, _University of California, Los Angeles_
Robert Vosper, _William Andrews Clark Memorial Library_
ADVISORY EDITORS
Richard C. Boys, _University of Michigan_
James L. Clifford, _Columbia University_
Ralph Cohen, _University of Virginia_
Vinton A. Dearing, _University of California, Los Angeles_
Arthur Friedman, _University of Chicago_
Louis A. Landa, _Princeton University_
Earl Miner, _University of California, Los Angeles_
Samuel H. Monk, _University of Minnesota_
Everett T. Moore, _University of California, Los Angeles_
Lawrence Clark Powell, _William Andrews Clark Memorial Library_
James Sutherland, _University College, London_
H. T. Swedenberg, Jr., _University of California, Los Angeles_
CORRESPONDING SECRETARY
Edna C. Davis, _William Andrews Clark Memorial Library_
INTRODUCTION
_And you should if you please refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews._
The reader of John Evelyn's _History of Sabatai Sevi, The Pretended
Messiah of the Jewes_ or of the _History of the Three Late Famous
Impostors_ (1669) in which it is the most significant part, discovers a
fascinating, if unoriginal, addition to the work of the great diarist
and dilettante, the amateur student of engraving and trees--and smoke.
Evelyn's work was almost totally derived from the account of Sir Paul
Rycaut, who was from 1661 secretary (and later consul) for the Levant
mercantile company in Smyrna. Rycaut was in fact responsible for what
first-hand reporting there is in the _History_, and Evelyn's book
preceded by only eleven years Rycaut's _History of the Turkish Empire
1623-1677_, where the story first appeared under the author's own name.
What gives Evelyn's _Pretended Messiah_ its own interest is partly the
immediacy of the news of Sabatai Sevi, and partly the context in which
Evelyn places the story, a context to some extent indicated in the
title, _History of the Three Late Famous Impostors_. When the work was
published in 1669, Sevi was neither the amusing curiosity he is likely
to be for the modern reader, nor the impertinent confidence man
suggested by Evelyn's "impostor." Evelyn was reviewing for an English
audience one of the great crises in Jewish history, the career of the
man who has been called Judaism's "most notorious messianic
claimant."[1] That career was not entirely past history in 1669. Sevi
lived until 1675, and even after his humiliation and final banishment in
1673 he could write to his father-in-law in Salonica that men would see
in his lifetime the day of redemption and the return of the Jews to
Zion; "For God hath appointed me Lord of all Mizrayim."[2] Indeed, a
remnant of Judaeo-Turkish Shabbethaians called Doenmehs apparently
exists in Salonica to the present day.
Whatever the appeal of Sevi's story may be for modern readers--as a mode
of fiction, perhaps, or an instance of mass hysteria--Evelyn's discovery
of an exemplum for religious and political enthusiasts may seem forced
or reductive. In 1669, however, the interest of Englishmen in Jewish
affairs was by no means merely academic--or narrowly commercial. There
were, it is true, English sportsmen in 1666 who were actually betting on
the Sevi career--ten to one that the "Messiah of Ismir" would be crowned
King of Jerusalem within two years. And what was most disturbing about
Sevi to the English nation as a whole was perhaps the disruption of
trade, in which Sevi's father was intimately involved, as the agent of
an English mercantile house. At the height of the furor, Jewish
merchants were dissolving businesses as well as unroofing their houses
in preparation for the return to Jerusalem. But the prime significance
for Evelyn--perhaps more than for Rycaut--is revealed in the instinctive
mental connection between Jewish and Christian history, or ways of
thinking about history, on the one hand, and political realities in
England on the other. Only nine years had passed since the return of
Charles II and the displacement of the Protectorate, with its remarkable
Jewish elements. As for the return of the Christian Messiah and an
imminent reign of the saints, Sevi might well have reminded Evelyn of
the English "impostor," the Quaker Jacob Naylor, whose messianic claims
were publicly examined at Bristol in 1657. Far more important to
Englishmen of the period, however, was the episode involving the mission
of the Amsterdam rabbi Menasseh ben Israel to Cromwell's England in
1655, a year after Naylor's first appearance.
For two centuries after their expulsion from England by Edward I--that
is, until the seventeenth century--Jews either avoided England entirely
or lived there in deliberate obscurity. Some Spanish and Portuguese
Jewish refugees from the Inquisition did arrive in England; but
particularly after the execution for treason of Elizabeth's physician
Roderigo Lopez in 1594, they could remain only as "Crypto-Jews." It was
during the Puritan regime that the Jewish position in England really
improved, and the removal of the legal bar dates from the conference
summoned by Cromwell in response to the demands of Menasseh.[3] The
interest in Rabbinical literature displayed by learned men like Joseph
Scaliger, Johann Buxtorf, Hugo Grotius, and John Selden, together with a
general Old Testament emphasis in Protestant scriptural study, made
Judaism a more fashionable interest than it had been in previous years.
Cromwell's own encouragement of Menasseh is usually viewed as an
expression of his tolerationist principles and the hope that the return
of Jews to England would aid in extending trade with Spain and Portugal,
and even with the Levant. An additional facet of his general reception
of Menasseh is relevant to Evelyn's _Pretended Messiah_. A chief
argument in _The Humble Address of Menasseh ben Israel_ (November 5,
1655) was the Amsterdam rabbi's belief that since England was the only
country rejecting the Jews, their readmittance would be the signal for
the coming of the Messiah. Fifth-Monarchy enthusiasts recalled the
prophecies of _Daniel_ and _Revelations_ and linked them with the
relatively immediate experience of the Thirty Years' War; motives of
mercantile jealousy were to some extent offset by millenarian anxiety.
Indeed, the possibility of an imminent millennial reign of the saints
could be the strongest kind of argument for showing favor to the Jews.
Cromwell all but proselytized at the meetings of the conference;
ultimately, because of the opposition of commercial interests, he was
forced to dissolve it.
We can perhaps best understand Evelyn's account of Sabatai Sevi, "the
Messiah of Ismir," against this background of English Protestant
millennial thinking, admirably summarized in Michael Fixler's recent
study.[4] As Fixler suggests, it was possibly to discredit the
Fifth-Monarchy men that Rycaut first included the account in what was to
become his _History of the Turkish Empire_. At any rate, Sevi himself
was hardly the mere con-man Rycaut and Evelyn portray; the mask, indeed,
is _erepta_ only with the greatest of difficulty. Because Rycaut was
interested in trade and cultural _mores_, his (and consequently,
Evelyn's) account neglects features of the story which are of primary
interest to more psychologically inclined readers. We are told almost
nothing, for example, of the details of Sevi's solitary youth; his
physical attractiveness; his clear voice as well suited to lascivious
Spanish love-songs (interpreted mystically) as to Psalms; and his early
rejection of the Talmud for the practical Cabala, with its strenuous,
self-mortifying asceticism. One would gather from Evelyn that only the
deluded followers of the "impostor" and not Sevi himself imposed such
punishments as self-burial, and bathing in the sea, even in midwinter.
More surprising, perhaps, is the almost total neglect of Sarah, Sevi's
third wife, mentioned in the _Pretended Messiah_ only as the "Ligornese
Lady" whom Sevi acquired after freeing himself "from the Incumbrances of
a Family." In fact, the beautiful and engaging Sarah seems to have
become an integral part of the movement, a movement which in its early
stages was all-male. A prostitute notorious in her own right, primarily
for her claims to be the destined bride of the Messiah, Sarah apparently
escaped miraculously from a Christian convent after being cared for as
an orphan of the savage Chmielnicki massacres in Poland. As he was later
to do with a more formidable rival to his exclusive claims (Nehemiah
ha-Kohen, who ultimately exposed him as a fraud) Sevi called Sarah to
Cairo in 1664, claiming to have dreamed of her as _his_ future bride.
Eventually, after his "conversion," she followed him even into the
Turkish seraglio where he bore the title Mahmed Effendi.
Other details are missing from Evelyn's _Pretended Messiah_; the
interested reader may pursue the strange tale in Graetz's _History of
the Jews_ or the partly fictionalized biography by Joseph Kastein, _The
Messiah of Ismir_.[5] We may note in passing one additional incident.
After his first banishment from Smyrna (as a result of pronouncing the
sacred tetragrammaton in Hebrew), Sevi met the mystic Abraham ha-Yakini,
who subsequently forged in archaic characters and style a document
entitled "The Great Wisdom of Solomon"--a document accepted by Sevi as
an authentic "archeological" revelation. The event was shortly followed
by a bizarre celebration of Sevi's marriage as the Son of God ("En Sof")
with the Torah, and may have provided climactic metaphysical
confirmation of Sevi's hopes. In the manner of the old apocalypses, it
pronounced Sevi the "saviour of My people, Israel," one who in time
"shall overthrow the great dragon and kill the serpent."[6]
Good as Evelyn's _Pretended Messiah_ may have been for contemporaries
as a review of recent "news," and we must not underestimate this
function, to the modern reader it seems closer to fiction, of a
peculiarly propagandistic and ironic kind. Aside from omissions from the
story--partly a matter of ignorance or failure in perception, and partly
deliberate exclusion of inconvenient material--Evelyn's enthusiastic
acceptance of his source's frequent theatrical metaphors is one measure
of the distance from history of the _Pretended Messiah_. When Evelyn's
Sevi is grave, it is a "formal and pharisaical gravitie" which is
"starcht on." His motives in general seem highly conscious, even
deliberate; and despite a certain doubleness in the point of view of the
_Pretended Messiah_, the reason for Sevi's comic simplicity is not
difficult to discover. Sir Paul Rycaut, as I have suggested, seems
primarily interested in the effects of the movement on trade. The most
vehement thinking of the book, though ascribed to an unnamed opponent of
Sevi, could well be that of Rycaut himself:
[The opponent observed] in what a wilde manner the whole People
of the Jewes was transported, with the groundless beliefe of a
_Messiah_, leaving not onely their Trade, and course of living,
but publishing Prophesies of a speedy Kingdome, of rescue from
the Tyranny of the Turk, and leading the Grand Signior himself
Captive in Chaines; matters so dangerous and obnoxious to the
State wherein they lived, as might justly convict them of
Treason and Rebellion, and leave them to the Mercy of that
Justice, which on the least jealousie and suspicion of Matters
of this nature uses to extirpate Families, and subvert the
Mansion-houses of their own People, much rather of the Jewes, on
whom the Turkes would gladly take occasion to dispoile them of
their Estates, and condemn the whole Nation to perpetual
slavery.
(pp. 78-79)
Evelyn retains this and similar material, apparently never suspecting
that the Turks may well have been hesitant from real fear; but the
burden of his emphasis is more overtly political and religious. Evelyn
is less than ingenuous, perhaps, in associating Sevi with Peter Serini's
fake brother, or even with Mahomed Bei--another of the "late famous
impostors." But the connection does have the effect of putting Sevi in
an imaginary world where all masks will be discovered and the truth
known. Ultimately, Evelyn's Jews, like Dryden's and Milton's, are
English--"_our_ modern Enthusiasts and other prodigious Sects amongst
us, who Dreame of the like Carnal Expectations, and a Temporal Monarchy"
(sig. A8; italics mine). One hardly needs to fill out the reading. With
a traditional reminder that "the Time is not yet Accomplished," Evelyn
warns English sectarians to beware of misleading fictions--"to weigh how
nearly their Characters approach the Style and Design of those deluded
wretches."
Evelyn's words here suggest something of the wider interest of the
_Pretended Messiah_. For in threatening the modern enthusiasts, as it
were, with the status of comic fiction, he also hinted at the literal
immediacy of such explicitly imaginative works as _Absalom and
Achitophel_, _Paradise Regained_, and _Samson Agonistes_. What Evelyn's
_Pretended Messiah_ helps to reveal, then, is not only the potential
metaphoric value of news itself, but also the peculiar proximity of
poetry to "history" in a period when historical thought was inseparable
from apocalyptic myth.[7]
University of California,
Los Angeles
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CHRISTMAS ENTERTAINMENTS
BY ALICE M. KELLOGG
CONTAINING
FANCY DRILLS, ACROSTICS, MOTION SONGS, TABLEAUX, SHORT PLAYS,
RECITATIONS IN COSTUME
FOR CHILDREN OF FIVE TO FIFTEEN YEARS
CONTENTS.
* * * * *
NEW SONGS TO OLD TUNES:
Time for Santa Claus M. Nora Boylan
Santa Claus is Coming Maud L. Betts
Old Santa Claus M. Nora Boylan
FANCY DRILLS:
A Christmas-bell Drill Ella M. Powers
The Snow Brigade Marian Loder
Christmas Stockings A.S. Webber
ACROSTICS:
Christmas Children M. Nora Boylan
Santa Claus W.S.C.
Charity Jay Bee
Merry Christmas M.D. Sterling
MOTION SONGS:
A Christmas Lullaby
Dance of the Snowflakes Alice E. Allen
Little Snowflakes Ella M. Powers
Christmas Stories Lettie Sterling
TABLEAUX:
Christmas Pictures
RECITATIONS IN COSTUME:
The Brownie Men M. Nora Boylan
Winter's Children J.D. Moore
Santa Claus Julia C.R. Dorr
Father Christmas' Message J.A. Atkinson
SHORT PLAYS:
Mr. St. Nicholas Alice M. Kellogg
Christmas Offerings by
Children from Other Lands Ella M. Powers
A Christmas Reunion M.D. Sterling
Christmas Waits Katherine West
A Christmas Party Lizzie M. Hadley
RECITATIONS FOR THE PRIMARY GRADE:
Santa's Helpers M. Nora Boylan
Christmas Eve Eugene Field
Santa Claus' Visit Susie M. Best
To Santa Claus Jennie D. Moore
What I Should Like Jennie D. Moore
A Gentle Reminder Alice W. Rollins
Christmas Time M.N.B.
Christmas Wishes C. Phillips
Christmas Morn M.N.B.
My Christmas Secrets S.C. Peabody
Kriss Kringle Susie M. Best
A Message Ella M. Powers
The Mousie M.N.B.
A Letter from Santa Claus William Howard
The Christmas We Like Ella M. Powers
Saint Nick M.N.B.
Merry, Merry Christmas Carine L. Rose
Christmas Questions Wolstan Dixey
A Catastrophe Susie M. Best
RECITATIONS FOR THE GRAMMAR GRADE:
A Christmas Gift Mabel L. Pray
A Christmas Thought Lucy Larcom
The Merry Christmas Eve Charles Kingsley
The Christmas Stocking Charles H. Pearson
Christmas Hymn Eugene Field
Bells Across the Snow F.R. Havergal
Christmas Eve Frank E. Brown
The Little Christmas Tree Susan Coolidge
The Russian Santa Claus Lizzie M. Hadley
A Christmas Garden
A Christmas Carol J.R. Lowell
The Power of Christmas
Peace on Earth S.T. Coleridge
The Christmas Tree
Old English Christmases
Holly and Ivy Eugene Field
Holiday Chimes
Christmas Dolls Elizabeth J. Rook
Red Pepper A. Constance Smedley
A Game of Letters Elizabeth J. Rook
Under the Christmas Tree Arthur Guiterman
NOTE.
A large proportion of the material in this collection was contributed
to _The School Journal_. It is distinguished from other selections by
the author's name following directly after the title.
Christmas Entertainments.
* * * * *
=Time for Santa Claus.=
By M. NORA BOYLAN.
(To be sung to the tune of "Ta-ra-ra, boom-de-ay.")
Now's the time for Santa Claus;
Christmas comes with loud huzzas.
Hark! the bells! Oh, hear them ring!
Ting-a-ling-ling ting-a-ling.
_Cho_.--Ting-a-ling-ling ting-a-ling,
Ting-a-ling-ling ting-a-ling,
Ting-a-ling-ling ting-a-ling,
Ting-a-ling-ling ting-a-ling.
See his prancing reindeer brave,
Hear him tell them to behave--
Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen,
Comet, Cupid, Donder, Blitzen.--_Chorus_.
Yes, hurrah for Santa Claus!
Blow the trumpets, shout huzzas!
We'll be happy while we sing--
Ting-a-ling-ling ting-a-ling.--_Chorus_.
* * * * *
=Santa Claus is Coming.=
By MAUD L. BETTS.
(To be sung to the tune of "Marching thro Georgia.")
Santa Claus is coming--we shall welcome him with glee;
He'll hang a gift for every one upon the Christmas-tree;
He'll not forget a single child. How happy we shall be;
For Santa Claus is coming.
_Chorus_--
Hurrah! hurrah! for Christmas time is near;
Hurrah! hurrah! the time to all so dear;
We all shall hang our stockings up when Christmas eve is here.
For Santa Claus is coming.
But we must remember all that we must do our part;
Christmas is the time of times, to give with all our heart
We must always share our joys with those who have no part,
When Santa Claus is coming.
* * * * *
=Old Santa Claus.=
By M. NORA BOYLAN.
(To be sung to the tune of "Yankee Doodle." The verses may
be given by a single voice, with the chorus by the school, or
selected voices on the platform.)
Old Santa Claus is a jolly man
Who brings us lots of toys, sir;
And none are happier Christmas time
Than little girls and boys, sir.
Have you not seen our Santa Claus,
With hair so snowy white, sir?
Just hang your stocking Christmas eve,--
He'll come that very night, sir.
And if you watch, perhaps you'll see
This friend in furs hid deep, sir.
But I have never seen him once--
I'm always fast asleep, sir.
_Chorus_--Santa Claus is jolly, sir;
Santa Claus is kind, sir;
Santa Claus on Christmas eve
Comes riding on the wind, sir.
* * * * *
=A Christmas-bell Drill.=
By ELLA M. POWERS.
(This drill may be given by eight little girls provided with
wands. At the top of each wand are tacked three streamers of
red, white, and | 34.445908 |
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THE VICE BONDAGE OF A GREAT CITY
OR
The Wickedest City in the World
--By--
ROBERT O. HARLAND.
The Reign of Vice, Graft and Political Corruption.
Expose of the monstrous Vice Trust. Its personnel.
Graft by the Vice Trust from the Army of Sin for
protection. A score of forms of vice graft.
Horrifying revelations of the life of the Scarlet
Woman. New lights on White Slavery. Protected
Gambling and the blind police. The inside story of
an enslaved police department. A warning to the
parents. How to save YOUR GIRL or BOY.
ALSO remedies to cure the Municipal Evil that in one
city alone fills the pockets of not more than ten
Vice Lords with $15,000,000, annually, made from the
sins of 50,000 unfortunate men and women; an evil
that is blasting our nation's decency and prosperity
and is eating into the very vitals of our Republic.
Save the growing generation of men and women.
A book to create public and saving opinion, to destroy
lethargy and inoculate the germ of activity; to enlist
every aid to wipe out the curse of this nation.
Copyright, 1912,
by
ROBERT O. HARLAND.
PUBLISHED BY
THE YOUNG PEOPLE'S CIVIC LEAGUE
301-305 Security Building
Chicago, Ill.
This book is a recital of sin, crime and graft. It is fact, not fiction.
Commercialized crime, police collusion with underworld power and the
barter of men's and women's souls is going on today.
The investigation conducted by the Civil Service Commission, which has
resulted in the discharge of several police inspectors and a number of
subordinates, has tended to minimize, temporarily, the vice conditions.
The vice lords have sneaked away to their lairs, and are waiting until the
brooms of the municipal house-cleaners are stacked away in a corner.
The "town is closed," to use the vernacular.
That fact does not detract from the moral value of this expose.
Why?
Because the storm will blow over.
The axe of the Civil Service Commission has hacked deep into the trunk of
the Vice-Graft tree, but the roots from which the sap of crime flows still
live and flourish.
A few policemen have been thrown into the discard, the victims of the
System that is still unharmed.
The Temple of Crime, Vice and Graft will be rebuilded. The foundation is
intact.
The conditions which are exposed in this book flourished until a few
months ago. Their human causes still live, but craven with fear.
The Vice Trust shall thrive on men's souls and women's bodies again.
It shall exist until the root of evil is killed--until corrupt and ruling
politics is hounded out of the city--to death!
CONTENTS.
Preface Page 9
CHAPTER I. THE VICE TRUST, ITS KINGDOM AND POWER.
The Story of Chicago's Subjugation to Political and Police
Corruption.--The Corrupt Ballot Box.--The Mechanism of the
Trust.--The Prices of Sin and Vice.--The Horror of Ruined
and Purchased Lives.--The Remedy 15
CHAPTER II. THE DEBAUCHERY OF THE BALLOT.
The Sacredness of the Ballot.--Its Corruption by the Vice
Trust.--Methods of Corruption.--Affidavits Showing
Corruption.--A Cleansed Ballot Box, A Cleansed City 47
CHAPTER III. COME AND SEE. A City Defiled.
The First Step.--State Street and Its Pitfalls.--The Stages
of Sin.--The Borderland of Hell.--The Cafe Evil.--The Rich
Man's Girl Trap.--Crimes that Thrive by Night 63
CHAPTER IV. THE "REDLIGHT" DISTRICT.
Houses of Infamy.--The Feeders of the "Redlight" District.--
The Life of a Prostitute.--The Big Palaces of Vice.--The
Blood Price.--Hidden Tragedies.--The Polluted Grave 87
CHAPTER V. WHAT WILL YOU BID FOR THIS WOMAN?
White Slavery.--The Trapping of the Prey.--Price of a Body
and Soul.--Hell's Bondage.--The "Cadet" Master.--Death the
Penalty 100
CHAPTER VI. VICE AND GRAFT.
Police Collectors.--The Triumvirate.--Figures that Freeze
the Blood.--Graft that Feeds on Flesh and Blood.--The
Prostitute's Graft Price.--The Kimona Trust.--The Laundry
Trust.--The Criminal Doctor.--The Prostitute and the Beer
Graft.--The Woman and the "Cadet."--Terrible Examples.--Lure
of the Life.--The Pace that Kills.--To the Woman:
Death.--How about Your Daughter? 108
CHAPTER VII. SIDE GRAFTS OF THE SOCIAL EVIL.
The Rent Graft.--Saloon Graft.--Dance Halls and Protective
Prices.--Graft from the Vice Palaces.--The Massage
Parlor.--The Drug Crime.--The Vampire Trust 143
CHAPTER VIII. GAMBLING AND ITS GRAFT.
The Gambler's Fate.--The Handbook.--Other Games of Chance
and Their Protection.--Police Profit.--All Gambling
Crooked.--A Warning 156
CHAPTER IX. TEARING OFF THE POLICE MASK.
A Story of the Hypocrisy of the Police Department.--Its
Neglect of Duty.--Its Protection of Crime.--The Fate of One
Police Official.--The Lost Child that is Never Found.--The
Exposure of Big Crimes.--"Tipped Off" Raids.--Strange
Ignorance of Police.--The Fate of the Honest
Policeman.--Collusion of the Police and Thieves 174
CHAPTER X. WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT IT?
The Cause of the Great Evils.--A Warning.--The Duty of
Parents.--Young Girls and Boys Should Know the Truth.--
Conclusion 190
Preface.
Seventy-five years have elapsed since Chicago became an incorporated city.
From a trading post with Fort Dearborn standing guard over its small
population, Chicago has grown until today she ranks among the great
metropoles of the world.
Today her name is reckoned with in every country. Her industries are the
supply houses of the nations; her manufacturing plants deal with all
peoples; her financial institutions figure vitally in the world's
exchanges.
Chicago is the most cosmopolitan city on the globe. The children of all
races have been attracted to her because of the thousands of opportunities
in all walks of life.
We live in a sordid age of commercialism suffering from intense
neurasthenia. We have made our factories and our places of business our
temples. We have enthroned the dollar-god, and fawning, have paid worship
to it seeking its gold and silver in return.
It has been said by an English philosopher that the optic nerve of the
American people has been paralyzed by the glitter of gold. That is true of
Chicago. It is true that our moral sense has been warped. Morality has
lost its value except as it subserves our financial and material
interests.
Vice has been co-existent with human consciousness. An abuse of natural
laws affecting the race through the individual, is vice in its broadest
interpretation. In the annals of the world's history we find moral
degradation triumphant on one page and defeated on the next. There seems
to be a constant balancing of the moral and social scale.
In all ages vice has been, in a sense, commercialized. The vicious have
always lived off it, fattened upon it, and died of its slow insidious
poison.
It remained for this industrial and much-vaunted age systematically to
commercialize vice.
Chicago with its 2,000,000 inhabitants, its vicious element of unfortunate
men and women, its haunts of degradation and shame, its wealth and its
poverty, and its democratic form of government, was the experimental place
of a "scientific," systematized commercialization of sin.
God knows and men are beginning to realize how well the experiment has
succeeded!
There is no excuse or reason for trumpeting a city's shame if the
conditions are simply the result of isolated vice and terrible social
environments. If that were all, this book would never have been written.
Tersely, we have come to our task with a solemn duty and moral obligation
in our heart, mind and soul, viz:--
To show the world at large that Chicago is today the Wickedest City in
the World, because a small body of men, invested with a sacred power,
political and social, has created a gigantic and ever-growing Vice Trust,
annually becoming richer and more dangerous off the sins and crimes of
degraded men and abandoned women.
It is our intention to demonstrate to the world the machinations of the
corporation of crime, its political power, its enslavery of 5,000 fallen
women in the segregated districts and twice as many more at large within
the city, its annual earnings from a toleration of vice and crime, its
prostitution of the police department, and its hideous and myriad ways of
trapping new victims to take the places of those whom it had driven to
despair and untimely death.
The story is shocking to your moral sense; paralyzing to your brain; but
it is the Truth. It should be known. Too long have we groped blindly in
the dark. An hour of awakening is needed.
Vice might be eradicated if the vast system, whose existence we are about
to describe, could be first obliterated. Unless the root be removed, the
evil will grow rapidly again, despite sincere and persistent reforms. It
is our intention to show by logical narration of facts how the annual
tribute paid to the Vice Trust for protection and nourishment by the
hordes of living demons in the city of Chicago is at least $15,000,000.
The life-blood of women, bought and sold on the auction block of the Vice
Combine, the innocent girls who barter their lives of purity for a sip of
the poison of the bitter wine of life, the men who drag the shackles of
sin on their limbs, and the hellish fiends who serve Satan on earth,
prostrate before the directorate of the Vice Trust, offer their tribute to
the over lords of the city's degradation.
This book is not the fantastic, lurid picturing of the shames of women and
the crimes of men. It is an expose of how not more than ten men whom we
call the Directorate of Ten, create, organize, mobilize and lead, and
derive almost fabulous profits from, an army of thousands of unfortunates.
It is the story of a power wrested from the people at the debauched ballot
boxes and used as the weapon to murder men and women annually. This is not
the dream of an overzealous mind seeking sincerely to right a terrible
wrong. It is a cold, statistical narration of facts. It is the
observations of one who for ten years has studied every phase of the
demoniacal system, who has been intimately associated with the Directorate
of Ten, who has stood by and watched the never-ending procession of the
men and women slaves who have done the monster's bidding and fallen
inevitably into the charnal houses of the dead.
The average Chicago man or woman knows of the thousand and one forms of
vice that flourish in Chicago, but he or she does not know that the entire
vice system works in harmony like the most delicate piece of mechanism.
The voters do not know that vice is more perfectly organized in Chicago
today than any corporation in existence. The writer has set out to show
in the glaring, white light of truth the real causes of the present
social evil.
The social evil today does not find its ultimate reason in unrestrained
passions, human viciousness and weakness; it finds its reason in the
commercialization of debased creatures and the enslavement of them in
profitable labors to their masters, until death.
The Vice Trust to increase constantly its profits has a thousand lures for
the unwary. The masters of these infamous pitfalls are the lieutenants of
this monstrous trust. The writer knows of all these chasms and has studied
the horrifying details of the men and women traps. He has attempted to set
them forth and nail the sign of warning above them.
The wages of sin is Death! If once a woman or a man is enslaved in any one
of the traps set by the Vice Trust then death lies at the end of a short
path. Yearly, thousands of young and pure girls and ambitious and clean
young men, come to Chicago as to the city of dreams, pleasure and glory.
Yearly, thousands are trapped and soon pay the awful penalty. The city boy
and the city girl are not immune. Many of them meet similar fates. If the
writer can stem the rush of these young souls to the fires of living hells
he will feel well rewarded for his task. He has endeavored, by placing the
responsibility for the social evil on corrupt politics that has created a
grafting, robbing, and murdering Vice Trust, to put the subject in a new
and interesting light. To the men and women who sleep not, because their
children, young and undefiled, are growing up within the reach of an
insatiable monster, does the writer particularly appeal. He has attempted
to show that the Vice Trust, the secret cause of municipal degradation, is
the monster that must be annihilated.
The Chicago police department is an inefficient and corrupted body today,
that is protecting vice and not destroying it, because a majority of its
members are enslaved by the Vice Trust. Every vice, every sin, every crime
has its price of toleration. This is the reign of the triumvirate of vice,
graft and political corruption.
To all men of character and worth, to every father and every mother with
the welfare of their children at heart, the writer appeals in the battle
against this hideous evil.
One soul saved, one man helped, one woman turned from the pathway of hell
will give this volume a human value. The author in conclusion asks a
thorough consideration of the facts related and hopes that all to whom
this book may come, may feel its message of truth and join the ranks of
the army of righteous men and women who have pledged their lives to make
Chicago a city after man's highest conception, a place where our children
may grow to maturity imbued with the spirit and character that make true
American men and women.
[Illustration: LOST OPPORTUNITIES OF HISTORY.
By Courtesy of The Chicago Daily News.
WHAT DANTE MISSED.]
CHAPTER I.
The Vice Trust, its Kingdom and its Power.
The Story of Chicago's Subjugation to Political and Police Corruption--The
Corrupt Ballot Box--The Mechanism of the Trust--The Prices of Sin and
Vice--The Horror of Ruined and Purchased Lives--The Remedy.
Seventy-five years ago a body of pioneer souls who dared death for the
dream of individual liberty, wealth and happiness, founded a city, and
after the manner of the times, adopted an Indian name and called it
Chicago.
The city grew, prospered, flourished; likewise did the inhabitants. Nature
seemed to bless all who settled within her boundaries. Resources undreamed
of were discovered.
The lake breezes fanned the tiny flame of future greatness and the sun
warmed the ambitious blood of the early inhabitants. She became the golden
gate to the unexplored West. She became the cosmopolitan and central point
of a world power. Chicago was talked of, considered, bargained with from
East to West, and North to South.
With vastness came power; with power, abuse; with abuse, vice; with vice,
crime; with crime, graft.
It is of CHICAGO, TODAY, we write.
Truth sears, eats, destroys that which is but veneer and golden covering.
Chicago has blinded herself to the hideous truth. She has hidden her head,
closed her eyes and cried out:
"I will not see!"
Vice, like some slimy, hideous, mephitic, green-eyed monster from the
deepest abyss of Hell has crept, sinuous and noiseless, on an unsuspecting
people.
It has battened upon red, pure life-blood. It has fattened on white flesh.
It has destroyed virginal purity, public morals and political honesty.
The monster has been insatiable. Satan, king of the damned dead since the
Beginning, urged on the monster Vice.
His political minions kneeled and offered sacrifice to the incarnate Evil
of the World. To save themselves they fed him of the rich and sacred
stores of the city. They took their portion.
They are still taking their share.
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STANHOPE PRIZE ESSAY--1859.
THE
CAUSES OF THE SUCCESSES
OF THE
OTTOMAN TURKS.
BY
JAMES SURTEES PHILLPOTTS,
SCHOLAR OF NEW COLLEGE.
[Illustration]
OXFORD:
T. and G. SHRIMPTON.
M DCCC LIX.
THE CAUSES OF THE SUCCESSES OF THE OTTOMAN TURKS.
By the fall of the Seljukian dynasty in Asia Minor, a vast number of
Turks, scattered over the fertile tracts of Western Asia, were left
without any organized government. The Emirs of the Seljouks in their
different districts tried to set up separate kingdoms for themselves,
but their power was successfully exercised only in making depredations
upon each other. For some time they were under the sway of the Khans of
Persia, but the decline of the Mogul Empire after the death of Cazan,
freed them from this control[1]. During this time of general anarchy,
a clan of Oghouz Turks, under Ertogruhl, settled in the dominions of
Alaeddin, the chief of Iconium. These Turks were of the same family as
the Huns and Avars, and the other Barbarian hordes, whose invasions | 34.979189 |
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by the Posner Memorial Collection
(http://posner.library.cmu.edu/Posner/))
HISTORY
OF THE
ORIGIN, FORMATION, AND ADOPTION
OF THE
CONSTITUTION OF THE UNITED STATES;
WITH
NOTICES OF ITS PRINCIPAL FRAMERS.
BY
GEORGE TICKNOR CURTIS.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOLUME I.
NEW YORK:
HARPER AND BROTHERS,
FRANKLIN SQUARE.
1854.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1854, by
GEORGE T. CURTIS,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of
Massachusetts
TO
GEORGE TICKNOR, ESQ.,
THE HISTORIAN OF SPANISH LITERATURE,
BY WHOSE ACCURATE SCHOLARSHIP AND CAREFUL CRITICISM
THESE PAGES HAVE LARGELY PROFITED,
I DEDICATE THIS WORK,
IN AFFECTIONATE ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF TIES,
WHICH HAVE BEEN TO ME CONSTANT SOURCES OF HAPPINESS
THROUGH MY WHOLE LIFE.
PREFACE.
A special history of the origin and establishment of the Constitution of
the United States has not yet found a place in our national literature.
Many years ago, I formed the design of writing such a work, for the
purpose of exhibiting the deep causes which at once rendered the
Convention of 1787 inevitable, and controlled or directed its course and
decisions; the mode in which its great work was accomplished; and the
foundations on which our national liberty and prosperity were then
deliberately settled by the statesmen to whom the American Revolution
gave birth, and on which they have rested ever since.
In the prosecution of this purpose I had, until death terminated his
earthly interests, the encouragement and countenance of that illustrious
person, whose relation to the Constitution of the United States, during
the last forty years, has been not inferior in importance to that of
any of its founders during the preceding period.
Mr. Webster had for a long time the intention of writing a work which
should display the remarkable state of affairs under whose influence the
Constitution was first brought into practical application; and this
design he relinquished only when all the remaining plans of his life
were surrendered with the solemn and religious resignation that marked
its close. It was known to him that I had begun to labor upon another
branch of the same subject. In the spring of 1852 I wrote to him to
explain the plan of my work, and to ask him for a copy of some remarks
made by his father in the Convention of New Hampshire when the
Constitution was ratified by that State. I received from him the
following answer.
"WASHINGTON, March 7th, [1852].
"MY DEAR SIR,--
"I will try to find for you my father's speech, as it was collected from
tradition and published some years ago. If I live to see warm weather in
Marshfield, I shall be glad to see you beneath its shades, and to talk
of your book.
"You are probably aware that I have meditated the writing of something
upon the History of the Constitution and the Administration of
Washington. I have the plan of such a work pretty definitely arranged,
but whether I shall ever be able to execute it I cannot say:--'the wills
above be done.'
"Yours most truly,
"DANL. WEBSTER."
Regarding this kind and gracious intimation as a wish not to be
anticipated in any part of the field which he had marked out for
himself, I replied, that if, when I should have the pleasure of seeing
him, my work should seem to involve any material part of the subject
which he had comprehended within his own plan, I should of course
relinquish it at once. When, however, the period of that summer's
leisure arrived, and brought with it, to his watchful observation, so
many tokens that "the night cometh," he seemed anxious to impress upon
me the importance of the task I had undertaken, and to remove any
obstacle to its fulfilment that he might have suggested. Being | 35.034123 |
2023-11-16 18:17:39.3271100 | 6,586 | 11 |
Produced by Audrey Longhurst, Emanuela Piasentini and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+------------------------------------------------------------+
|Transcriber's note. |
| |
|The original punctuation, language and spelling have been |
|retained, except where noted at the end of the text. |
|Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note.|
| |
|The [oe] ligature has been rendered as oe. |
| |
|Alternative spellings: |
|chateau: chateau |
|camerara: camarera |
|Fenelon: Fenelon |
|Ferte-Senneterre: Ferte-Senneterre |
|Hotel: Hotel |
|Leganez: Leganez |
|Orleans: Orleans |
|Querouialle: Querouialle |
|Saint-Megrin: Saint-Megrin |
|Sevigne: Sevigne, Sevigne |
|Tremouille: Tremouille |
|Tarent: Tarente |
+------------------------------------------------------------+
POLITICAL WOMEN.
BY
SUTHERLAND MENZIES,
AUTHOR OF "ROYAL FAVOURITES," ETC.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
HENRY S. KING & CO.,
65, CORNHILL, AND 12, PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON.
1873.
[_All rights reserved._]
CONTENTS OF VOLUME II.
BOOK V.--_continued._
PAGE
CHAP. III.--The struggle between Conde and Turenne--Noble
conduct of Mademoiselle de Montpensier--Fall of
the Fronde 3
IV.--The Duke de Nemours slain in a duel by his
brother-in-law Beaufort 12
V.--Triumph of Mazarin 16
BOOK VI.
CHAP. I.--Closing scenes--Madame de Longueville 35
II.--Madame de Chevreuse 49
III.--The Princess Palatine 54
IV.--Madame de Montbazon 61
V.--Mademoiselle de Montpensier 69
VI.--The Wife of the Great Conde 80
PART II.
The Duchess of Portsmouth 93
PART III.
BOOK I.
PRINCESS DES URSINS.
CHAP. I.--Two ladies of the Bedchamber during _the war of
the Spanish Succession_--Lady Churchill and the
Princess des Ursins--Political motives for their
elevation in England and Spain 127
II.--The Princess des Ursins--The married life of
Anne de la Tremouille--She becomes the centre of
contemporary politics in Rome 131
III.--Madame des Ursins aspires to govern Spain--Her
manoeuvres to secure the post of Camerara-Mayor 141
IV.--The Princess assumes the functions of
Camerara-Mayor to the young Queen of Spain--An
unpropitious royal wedding 148
V.--Onerous and incongruous duties of the
Camerara-Mayor--She renders Marie Louise popular
with the Spaniards--The policy adopted by the
Princess for the regeneration of Spain--Character
of Philip and Marie Louise--Two political systems
combated by Madame des Ursins--She effects the
ruin of her political rivals and reigns
absolutely in the Councils of the Crown 161
VI.--The Princess makes a false step in her
Statecraft--A blunder and an imbroglio 175
VII.--The Princess quits Madrid by command of Louis
XIV.--After a short exile, she receives
permission to visit Versailles 184
VIII.--The Princess triumphs at Versailles 192
BOOK II.
CHAP. I.--Sarah Jennings and John Churchill 207
II.--State of parties in action on the accession of
Queen Anne--Harley and Bolingbroke aim at
overthrowing the sway of the female
"Viceroy"--Abigail Hill becomes the instrument
of the Duchess's downfall--Squabbles between
the Queen and her Mistress of the Robes 215
III.--Success of the Cabal--The Queen emancipates
herself from all obligations to the Duke and
Duchess of Marlborough--The downfall of the
Duchess and the Whigs resolved upon--The
Duchess's stormy and final interview with
the Queen 233
IV.--The disgrace of the Duchess involves the fall
of the Whigs--Anne demands back the Duchess's
gold keys of office--Extraordinary influence of
Sarah and Abigail on the fortunes of Europe--The
illustrious soldier and his disgraced wife
driven from England 242
BOOK III.
CHAP. I.--Delicate and perilous position of the Princess
des Ursins after the Battle of Almanza--She
effects an important reform by the centralisation
of the different kingdoms of Spain--The Duke of
Orleans heads a faction inimical to the
Princess--She demands and obtains his recall--Her
bold resolution to act in opposition to the timid
policy of Versailles--The loftiness of her past
conduct and character--The victory of Villaviciosa
definitely seats the House of Bourbon on the
throne of Spain 251
II.--The Princess's share in the Treaty of Utrecht--At
the culminating point of her greatness, a
humiliating catastrophe is impending--Philip
negotiates for the erection of a territory into
a sovereignty for Madame des Ursins--The sudden
death of Queen Marie Louise causes a serious
conjunction for the Princess--Her power begins
to totter 264
III.--The Princess finds herself friendless in
Spain--Suspicions and slanders rife with regard
to the relations existing between her and the
King--The projected creation of a sovereignty
fails, through the abandonment of England--Philip,
in consequence, refuses to sign the Treaty of
Utrecht, but Louis XIV. compels the King and
Princess to yield--Their _tetes-a-tetes_ causing
great scandal, the King suddenly orders the
Princess to find him a wife 272
IV.--Among the Princesses eligible to become Philip's
consort, he chooses the Princess of Parma--Alberoni
deceives Madame des Ursins as to the character of
Elizabeth Farnese--The Camerara-Mayor's prompt and
cruel disgrace at the hands of the new Queen--She
is arrested and carried to St. Jean de Luz--Her
courage under adversity--She returns to Rome, and
dies there 287
BOOK IV.
I.--_Closing Scenes_--The Princess des Ursins 301
II.--Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough 307
BOOK V.
(_Continued._)
POLITICAL WOMEN.
CHAPTER III.
THE STRUGGLE BETWEEN CONDE AND TURENNE AT PARIS--NOBLE CONDUCT OF
MADEMOISELLE DE MONTPENSIER--FALL OF THE FRONDE.
THE second-rate actors in this shifting drama presented no less
diversity in the motives of their actions. Beaufort, who commanded the
troops of Gaston, and Nemours those of Conde, although brothers-in-law,
weakened by their dissentions an army which their concord would have
rendered formidable. The necessity of military operations required their
absence from Paris; but they preferred rather to there exhibit
themselves to their mistresses, decked out in a general's uniform, and
grasping the truncheon of command. No greater harmony existed between
the Prince de Conti and Madame de Longueville than when La Rochefoucauld
severed them. At Bordeaux they favoured opposite parties, and
contributed to augment the discord prevailing, and to weaken the party
of the Princes by dividing it. The Duchess de Longueville, when no
longer guided by La Rochefoucauld, did not fail to lose herself in
aimless projects, and to compromise herself in intrigues without result.
On Nemours being wounded, his wife repaired to the army to tend him, and
the Duchess de Chatillon, under pretext of visiting one of her
chateaux, accompanied her as far as Montargis; thence she went to the
convent of Filles de Sainte-Marie, where, believing herself quite
incognita, she went, under various disguises, to see him whom she had
never ceased to love. These mysterious visits soon became no longer a
secret to any one; and then Conde and his sister could convince
themselves how different are the sentiments which love inspires and
those which self-interest and vanity simulate. The great Conde, by his
intelligence and bearing, had all the means of pleasing women; but
obtained small success notwithstanding. Mademoiselle Vigean excepted, he
appears to have been incapable of inspiring the tender passion, in the
truest acceptation of the phrase. He went further than his sister, it
seems, in the neglect of his person. It was his habit of life to be
almost always badly dressed, and only appeared radiant on the field of
battle. So that the Duke de Nemours was not the only rival with whom
Conde had to contend for the favours of that beauty for whom Louis XIV.
in his boyish amusements had shown a preference, and which has furnished
a theme for some agreeable trifling to the sparkling muse of Benserade.
An abbe, named Cambiac, in the service of the house of Conde, balanced
for some time the passion to which Nemours had given birth in the bosom
of the Duchess de Chatillon, and the jealousy of Nemours failed to expel
Cambiac. The Duchess kept fair with him as the man who had obtained the
greatest sway over her relation, the Princess-dowager de Conde. The
condescension of the Duchess de Chatillon towards this intriguing and
licentious priest procured her, on the part of the Princess-dowager, a
legacy of more than a hundred thousand crowns in Bavaria, and the
usufruct of an estate worth twenty thousand livres in rent per annum.
Cambiac, however, retired, when he knew that Conde was his rival. But
the victor of Rocroy had more address in winning battles than in
conducting a love intrigue. He was clumsy enough to employ as a
go-between in his courtship of his new mistress a certain gentleman
named Vineuil, who was, it is true, one of his most skilful and attached
followers, but whose good looks, agreeable and satirical wit, and
enterprising character rendered him a very dangerous emissary among
women. He had even acquired some celebrity through his successes in that
way. Madame de Montbazon, Madame de Mouy, and the Princess of Wurtemberg
had successively experienced the effects of his seductions. Vineuil made
himself very agreeable to Madame de Chatillon, and if Conde were wronged
by him in that quarter, he never knew of it; for Vineuil was always in
great favour with him. Nemours excited his jealousy, and Nemours only
dreaded Conde. However, shortly before, in the month of March, 1652, the
Marquis de la Boulay and Count de Choisy, both enamoured of this Queen
of Hearts, were bent on fighting a duel about her. A rumour of their
intention got wind. The Duchess de Chatillon heard of it, and appeared
unexpectedly on the spot fixed by the two adversaries for a rendezvous;
and at the very instant they were about to unsheath their swords, she
flung herself between them, seized each by the hand, and led them into
the presence of the Duke d'Orleans, who charged Marshals l'Hospital,
Schomberg, and d'Etampes, then in Paris, to arrange that affair and
prevent a duel. In this they succeeded, but these rivalries and gallant
intrigues very sensibly weakened Conde's party, and hindered there being
anything secret or combined in the execution of projects determined upon
in the councils of its chief.
In the meantime, the siege of Etampes had been raised; and the army of
Conde had issued forth, probably with the intention of attacking Turenne
if he were found engaged with the Duke de Lorraine. On its approaching
Paris, Conde took the command of it, and fixed his head-quarters at
Saint-Cloud, in order to manoeuvre on both banks of the Seine. The
proximity of his camp to Paris did him far greater harm than even a
defeat would have done. With but a scanty commissariat, Conde was of
course obliged to permit every sort of licence. All the crops were
ruined in the neighbouring fields; the peasantry were plundered,
injured, and their domestic peace destroyed; and the country-houses of
the rich Parisians were pillaged and burned in all directions. The evils
of civil war now came home to the hearts of the people of the capital,
and, forgetting how great a part they themselves had taken in producing
the results they lamented, they cast the whole blame upon Conde, and
regarded him thenceforth with a malevolent eye.
That prince was distracted with different passions and different
feelings. He was himself desirous of peace, and willing to make
sacrifices to obtain it. His fair mistress, the Duchess de Chatillon,
linked with La Rochefoucauld and the Duke de Nemours, confirmed him in
seeking it; but, on the other hand, his sister, who sought to break off
his connection with Madame de Chatillon, joined with the Spaniards, to
whom he had bound himself by so many ties, to lead him away from Paris,
and to protract the war. Gaston's daughter, too, Mademoiselle de
Montpensier, mingled in all these intrigues, and took the same unwise
means to force herself as a bride upon the young King, which De Retz
took to force himself as minister upon his mother. But while these
separate interests tore the capital, the peril of the army of Conde
became imminent. Turenne having brought the Court to St. Denis, caused a
number of boats to be drawn up from Pontoise, and commenced the
construction of a bridge opposite Epinay.
Conde, betrayed on all sides, could at length perceive what an error he
had committed in quitting the army only to lose himself amidst a series
of impotent intrigues, and in having preferred the counsels of such a
fickle mistress as Madame de Chatillon to those of a courageous and
devoted sister such as Madame de Longueville. Towards the end of June,
he got on horseback with a small number of intrepid friends, and rode
forth to try for the last time the fate of arms.
It was too late. Marshal de la Ferte-Senneterre had brought from
Lorraine powerful reinforcements to the royal army, which thereby
amounted to twelve thousand men. That of the Fronde had scarcely the
half of that number, and it was discouraged, divided, incapable of
giving battle, and could only carry on a few days' campaign around
Paris, thanks to the manoeuvres and energy everywhere exhibited by its
chief. It was evident that no other alternative remained to Conde but to
treat with the Court at any price, or to throw himself into the arms of
Spain, and the famous combat of the Faubourg Saint-Antoine, seriously
considered, was only an act of despair, an heroic but vain protest of
courage against fortune. Success would have remedied nothing, and a
defeat might have been expected, in which Conde might have lost his
glory and his life. It was no slight error of Turenne to risk a combat
against such an adversary without a disposition of his entire force, for
at that moment La Ferte-Senneterre was still with the artillery before
the barrier Saint-Denis. Reunited, the Queen's two generals might
overwhelm Conde; separated, La Ferte-Senneterre remained useless, and
Turenne left alone might purchase his victory very dearly. The latter
therefore required that La Ferte should hasten to join him by forced
marches, and that the attack should not be commenced before he arrived.
But the orders of the Court admitted of no delay, and the Duke de
Bouillon himself advised an immediate attack, in order to avoid having
the appearance of manoeuvring with Conde. Hence the fatal combat of the
2nd of July, 1652, in which so many valiant officers, of whom the army
was proud, perished uselessly.
Historians in relating the details of that deplorable day have dwelt
upon the courage and talent displayed by Conde within that narrow arena,
that small space of ground which extended from the barrier du Trone, by
the main street of the Faubourg Saint-Antoine, in front of the Bastille.
As usual, he had formed a picked squadron which he led on all points,
himself leading the most desperate charges. He had posted himself in
front of Turenne, disputing foot to foot with him the _Grande Rue Saint
Antoine_, and during the intervals of relaxation of the enemy's attacks,
he rode off towards Picpus to encourage Tavannes, who was repelling with
his customary vigour every attack made by Saint-Megrin, or to hold in
check, on the side of the Seine and Charenton Navailles, one of
Turenne's best lieutenants. It was in the _Grande Rue_ where the rudest
shocks were delivered. Turenne and Conde there rivalled each other in
boldness and obstinacy, both charging at the head of their troops, both
covered with blood, and unceasingly exposed to the fire of musketry.
Turenne, far superior in numbers, was rapidly gaining ground, when Conde
suddenly, sword in hand, at the head of his squadron of fifty brave
gentlemen, forced him to fall back, and the affair remained undecided
until Navailles, who had just received a reinforcement with artillery,
overthrew all the barricades in his path, and in advancing, threatened
to surround Conde. The latter, throwing himself quickly in that
direction, saw on reaching the last barricade his two friends, Nemours
and La Rochefoucauld, the one wounded in several places and unable to
stand, the other blinded by a ball which had passed through his face
just below the eyes, and both in immediate danger of being made
prisoners. All exhausted as he was--for the fighting lasted from morning
till evening,--Conde had still heart and energy to make a last charge
for their rescue, and to place them in safety within the city. He felt
the old flame of Rocroy and Nordlingen firing his blood, and he fought
like the boldest of his dragoons. The citizens on the ramparts beheld
with emotion the Prince, covered with blood and dust, enter a garden,
throw off his casque and cuirass, and roll himself half-naked upon the
grass to wipe off the sweat in which he was bathed. Meanwhile, La
Ferte-Senneterre had come up. From that moment all gave way, and the
Prince, feebly seconded by his disheartened soldiers, with the greatest
difficulty reached the Place de la Bastille. There he found the gates of
Paris shut. In vain did Beaufort urge the city militia to go to the
assistance of that handful of brave men on the point of succumbing:
wearied with three years of discord and manipulated by Mazarin, it no
longer responded to the summons of its old chief. Splendidly dressed
ladies waved signals to their champions and lovers below, and the
streets became alive with the shouting of armed citizens, who desired to
be let out to the aid of their defenders, and could not see with cold
blood the slaughter of their friends. Thousands went to the Luxembourg
to beseech Gaston to open the gates of the city for the reception of
the wounded and the protection of the over-matched. Long trains of
wounded and dying young men began to be carried in; the groans and blood
were horrible to hear and see; and the women of all ranks and ages were
frantic with sympathy and grief. De Retz and terror had so chilled the
Duke d'Orleans into inaction that he would have let Conde perish, had
not Mademoiselle de Montpensier, who was at that time smitten with
Conde, wrung indignantly from her father, by dint of tears and
entreaties, an order to open the gates to the outnumbered Prince.
Mazarin, from the heights of Charonne, where he had stationed himself
with the young King, might well have thought that it was all over with
his worst enemy; and, when startled to hear that Mademoiselle herself
had even ordered the cannon of the Bastille to be fired upon the royal
army, exclaimed, "With that cannon-shot she has slain her husband,"
making allusion to the ambition which the Princess d'Orleans always had
to espouse the youthful Louis XIV. True, on that same day, Mademoiselle
destroyed with her own hand her dearest hopes; but that trait of
generosity and greatness of soul has for ever honoured her memory, and
shields it from many errors and much ridicule. After having solemnly
pledged itself to Conde, it would have been the height of opprobrium for
the House of Orleans to let Conde fall before their eyes: better to have
perished with him, and at least saved its honour.
Mademoiselle has related in what condition she found Conde, when having
placed herself at the window of a little dwelling near the Bastille, in
order to see the troops pass as they entered the city, the Prince
hurried for a moment from the gate to speak to her. He neither thought
of himself, all covered with blood as he was, nor even of his cause,
very nearly hopeless: he thought only of the friends he had lost. It
did not occur to him that they were those who had embarked him in
negotiations the results of which had proved so fatal: he thought only
that they had died for him, and his anguish grew insupportable. "He
was," says Mademoiselle, "in a most pitiable state; he was not wounded
himself, yet he was covered from head to foot with dust and blood, his
hair all disordered, his face flushed with exertion, his cuirass
battered with blows, and having lost the scabbard of his sword in the
fight, he held the blade naked in his hand." As he entered, the memory
of all those he had seen fall around him seemed to rush suddenly upon
Conde, and casting himself upon a seat, he burst into tears. "Forgive
me," said the great soldier, "I have lost all my friends--the gallant
young hearts that loved me." "No, they are only wounded," said his
cousin, "and many of them not dangerously; they will recover and love
you still." Conde sprang up at the good news, and rushed back into the
fight. At the head of all his effective cavalry, he made one desperate,
long-continued charge, and drove the enemy backward for a mile. In the
meantime, the gates were opened wide, and, file after file, the weary
soldiers marched into the city; and dashing homeward after his brilliant
assault, Conde and his squadron galloped in the last: but when the
ponderous bars were once more drawn across the portals, it was felt that
the combatants indeed were saved, but that the Fronde was destroyed.
CHAPTER IV.
THE DUKE DE NEMOURS SLAIN IN A DUEL BY HIS BROTHER-IN-LAW, BEAUFORT.
SOME few days after the fierce fight of the Faubourg Saint-Antoine,
Conde had an interview with the Duke d'Orleans, "who embraced him with
an air as gay as though he had failed him in nothing."[1] Conde uttered
no word of reproach out of respect to his daughter. He did not behave
exactly in the same way towards Madame de Chatillon. She had addressed a
note to him begging him to visit her. She showed this effusion to
Mademoiselle, saying, "He will at least see from that the uneasiness
which is felt for him." But Conde's mind was disabused, and when he met
her who had been his ruin, "he cast upon her, we are told, the most
terrible glances conceivable, showing by the expression of his
countenance how much he despised her."[2] Well would it have been if
soon afterwards the grand-nephew of Henry IV. had not lent anew his ear
to the song of the syren and resumed the slavery of her dishonouring
fetters!
[1] Mademoiselle de Montpensier, tom. ii. p. 148.
[2] The same.
It is not to our purpose to retrace the melancholy scenes of which,
after the combat of Saint Antoine, and during the remainder of the month
of July, 1652, Paris was the theatre. It would be only to dwell upon the
sad spectacle of the agony and supreme convulsions of a beaten party,
struggling in vain to escape its fate, and seeking safety in excesses
which only served to precipitate its destruction.
Conde left no violent extreme untried to determine Paris to make further
sacrifices for his cause. Dissatisfied with the deliberations of the
Hotel de Ville, he caused it to be carried by assault by the populace,
who killed several of the _echevins_. The Fronde, however, was
approaching its last agony. Divided amongst themselves by selfish
interests, and outwearied with endless intrigues, the majority of the
Frondeurs only awaited a fitting opportunity of treating with Mazarin.
An amnesty soon made its appearance, and the Cardinal took the step of
quitting France once more in order to facilitate a reconciliation. But
Conde, on his side, was very little disposed thereto, for he had gone
very far indeed to retrace his steps. Furious at having failed to reach
the object which he had thought to attain, exasperated by the
abandonment of his partisans, by the sarcasms of pamphleteers, he
demanded securities and large indemnifications; and proposed such hard
conditions that all accord with him became impossible. Thereupon he
collected some troops around his standard, a tolerably large number of
gentlemen, and rejoined the Duke de Lorraine, who was advancing upon
Paris. Their united forces amounted to eighty squadrons and eight
thousand infantry. Turenne had scarcely half that strength; but he
manoeuvred so skilfully round Paris, that they failed to get any
advantage over him. Conde withdrew; and when the King, on his return to
the Louvre, published a second amnesty (October, 1652), the Prince had
crossed the frontier, after having taken several strongholds in his line
of march. Shortly afterwards, he became generalissimo of the Spanish
armies, whilst a decree of the parliament declared him guilty of high
treason and a traitor to the State.
Previous to Conde's departure from Paris, intense indignation had been
excited in every well-balanced mind by a shocking event--the Duke de
Nemours having been slain by the hand of his brother-in-law, the Duke de
Beaufort, in an abominable duel. From De Nemours the provocation had
come, and all the wrong was on his part; but as the victim, he was
deplored by all those who were ignorant of what had contributed to bring
about the affair, and for some time the new governor of Paris (Beaufort)
could not show himself in public.
In the Dukes de Nemours and La Rochefoucauld, Conde had lost his two
pacific advisers. In vain had he offered to La Rochefoucauld the post of
Nemours, the command under him, and thus to be the second authority in
his army. La Rochefoucauld had excused himself on account of his wound,
and Conde gave the vacant command to the Prince de Tarente.
Henceforward, Madame de Chatillon quite alone was unable to
counterbalance the counsels and influence of Madame de Longueville, and
Conde plunged deeper than ever into the Spanish alliance and the war
waged by that nation against France.
Whilst all these events were happening, Bordeaux had become the theatre
of continued troubles. Madame de Longueville no longer agreed with her
younger brother; the inhabitants of the city, who had only entered
half-heartedly and been almost forced into rebellion, became impatient
to extricate themselves from the constrained position in which they were
held. As the sequel to negotiations which the city carried on with the
Duke de Vendome, who blockaded it, there was a general amnesty.
When Conde retired to the Netherlands, it was not long before it became
known, to the national humiliation, that the best soldier of France, a
prince of the blood and | 35.34715 |
2023-11-16 18:17:39.3344600 | 2,366 | 7 |
Produced by Ted Garvin, Beth Trapaga and the Distributed Proofreading
Team
NORMANDY:
THE SCENERY & ROMANCE OF ITS ANCIENT TOWNS:
DEPICTED BY GORDON HOME
Part 3.
CHAPTER VII
Concerning Mont St Michel
So, when their feet were planted on the plain
That broaden'd toward the base of Camelot,
Far off they saw the silver-misty morn
Rolling her smoke about the Royal mount,
That rose between the forest and the field.
At times the summit of the high city flash'd;
At times the spires and turrets half-way down
Pricked through the mist; at times the great gate shone
Only, that open'd on the field below:
Anon, the whole fair city disappeared.
Tennyson's _Gareth and Lynette_
"The majestic splendour of this gulf, its strategetic importance, have at
all times attracted the attention of warriors." In this quaint fashion
commences the third chapter of a book upon Mont St Michel which is to be
purchased in the little town. We have already had a glimpse of the
splendour of the gulf from Avranches, but there are other aspects of the
rock which are equally impressive. They are missed by all those who,
instead of going by the picturesque and winding coast-road from
Pontaubault, take the straight and dusty _route nationale_ to Pontorson,
and then turn to follow the tramway that has in recent years been extended
along the causeway to the mount itself. If one can manage to make it a
rather late ride along the coast-road just mentioned, many beautiful
distant views of Mont St Michel, backed by sunset lights, will be an ample
reward. Even on a grey and almost featureless evening, when the sea is
leaden-hued, there may, perhaps, appear one of those thin crimson lines
that are the last efforts of the setting sun. This often appears just
behind the grey and dim rock, and the crimson is reflected in a delicate
tinge upon the glistening sands. Tiny rustic villages, with churches humble
and unobtrusive, and prominent calvaries, are passed one after the other.
At times the farmyards seem to have taken the road into their own hands,
for a stone well-head will appear almost in the roadway, and chickens,
pigs, and a litter of straw have to be allowed for by those who ride or
drive along this rural way. When the rock is still some distance off, the
road seems to determine to take a short cut across the sands, but thinking
better of it, it runs along the outer margin of the reclaimed land, and
there is nothing to prevent the sea from flooding over the road at its own
discretion. Once on the broad and solidly constructed causeway, the rock
rapidly gathers in bulk and detail. It has, indeed, as one approaches, an
almost fantastic and fairy-like outline. Then as more and more grows from
the hazy mass, one sees that this remarkable place has a crowded and much
embattled loneliness. Two round towers, sturdy and boldly machicolated,
appear straight ahead, but oddly enough the wall between them has no
opening of any sort, and the stranger is perplexed at the inhospitable
curtain-wall that seems to refuse him admittance to the mediaeval delights
within. It almost heightens the impression that the place belongs
altogether to dreamland, for in that shadowy world all that is most
desirable is so often beyond the reach of the dreamer. It is a very
different impression that one gains if the steam train has been taken, for
its arrival is awaited by a small crowd of vulture-like servants and
porters from the hotels. The little crowd treats the incoming train-load of
tourists as its carrion, and one has no time to notice whether there is a
gateway or not before being swept along the sloping wooden staging that
leads to the only entrance. The simple archway in the outer wall leads into
the Cour de l'Avancee where those two great iron cannons, mentioned in an
earlier chapter, are conspicuous objects. They were captured by the heroic
garrison when the English, in 1433, made their last great effort to obtain
possession of the rock. Beyond these, one passes through the barbican to
the Cour de la Herse, which is largely occupied by the Hotel Poulard Aine.
Then one passes through the Porte du Roi, and enters the town proper. The
narrow little street is flanked by many an old house that has seen most of
the vicissitudes that the little island city has suffered. In fact many of
these shops which are now almost entirely given over to the sale of
mementoes and books of photographs of the island, are individually of great
interest. One of the most ancient in the upper part of the street, is
pointed out as that occupied in the fourteenth century by Tiphane de
Raguenel, the wife of the heroic Bertrand du Guesclin.
It is almost impossible for those who are sensitive in such matters, not to
feel some annoyance at the pleasant but persistent efforts of the vendors
of souvenirs to induce every single visitor to purchase at each separate
shop. To get an opportunity for closely examining the carved oaken beams
and architectural details of the houses, one must make at least some small
purchase at each trinket store in front of which one is inclined to pause.
Perhaps it would even be wise before attempting to look at anything
architectural in this quaintest of old-world streets, to go from one end to
the other, buying something of trifling cost, say a picture postcard, from
each saleswoman. In this way, one might purchase immunity from the
over-solicitous shop-keepers, and have the privilege of being able to
realise the mediaeval character of the place without constant
interruptions.
Nearly every visitor to Mont St Michel considers that this historic gem, in
its wonderful setting of opalescent sand, can be "done" in a few hours.
They think that if they climb up the steps to the museum--a new building
made more conspicuous than it need be by a board bearing the word _Musee_
in enormous letters--if they walk along the ramparts, stare for a moment at
the gateways, and then go round the abbey buildings with one of the small
crowds that the guide pilots through the maze of extraordinary vaulted
passages and chambers, that they have done ample justice to this
world-famous sight. If the rock had only one-half of its historic and
fantastically arranged buildings, it would still deserve considerably more
than this fleeting attention paid to it by such a large proportion of the
tourists. So many of these poor folk come to Mont St Michel quite willing
to learn the reasons for its past greatness, but they do not bring with
them the smallest grains of knowledge. The guides, whose knowledge of
English is limited to such words as "Sirteenth Senchury" (thirteenth
century), give them no clues to the reasons for the existence of any
buildings on the island, and quite a large proportion of visitors go away
without any more knowledge than they could have obtained from the
examination of a good book of photographs.
To really appreciate in any degree the natural charms of Mont St Michel, at
least one night should be spent on the rock. Having debated between the
rival houses of Poularde Aine and Poularde Jeune, and probably decided on
the older branch of the family, perhaps with a view to being able to speak
of their famous omelettes with enthusiasm, one is conducted to one of the
houses or dependences connected with the hotel. If one has selected the
Maison Rouge, it is necessary to make a long climb to one's bedroom. The
long salle a manger, where dinner is served, is in a tall wedge-like
building just outside the Porte du Roi and in the twilight of evening
coffee can be taken on the little tables of the cafe that overflows on to
the pavement of the narrow street. The cafe faces the head-quarters of the
hotel, and is as much a part of it as any of the other buildings which
contain the bedrooms. To the stranger it comes as a surprise to be handed a
Chinese lantern at bedtime, and to be conducted by one of the hotel
servants almost to the top of the tall house just mentioned. Suddenly the
man opens a door and you step out into an oppressive darkness. Here the use
of the Chinese lantern is obvious, for without some artificial light, the
long series of worn stone steps, that must be climbed before reaching the
Maison Rouge, would offer many opportunities for awkward falls. The
bedrooms in this house, when one has finally reached a floor far above the
little street, have a most enviable position. They are all provided with
small balconies where the enormous sweep of sand or glistening ocean,
according to the condition of the tides, is a sight which will drag the
greatest sluggard from his bed at the first hour of dawn. Right away down
below are the hoary old houses of the town, hemmed in by the fortified wall
that surrounds this side of the island. Then stretching away towards the
greeny-blue coast-line is the long line of digue or causeway on which one
may see a distant puff of white smoke, betokening the arrival of the early
train of the morning. The attaches of the rival hotels are already awaiting
the arrival of the early batch of sight-seers. All over the delicately
tinted sands there are constantly moving shadows from the light clouds
forming over the sea, and blowing freshly from the west there comes an
invigorating breeze.
Before even the museum can have a real interest for us, we must go back to
the early times when Mont St Michel was a bare rock; when it was not even
an island, and when the bay of Mont St Michel was covered by the forest of
Scissey.
It seems that the Romans raised a shrine to Jupiter on the rock, which soon
gave to it the name of Mons Jovis, afterwards to be contracted into
Mont-Jou. They had displaced some earlier Druidical or other
sun-worshippers who had carried on their rites at this lonely spot; but the
Roman innovation soon became a thing of the past and the Franks, after
their conversion to Christianity, built on the rock two oratories, one to
St Stephen and the other to St Symphorian. It was then that the name
Mont-Jou was abandoned in favour of Mons-Tumba. The smaller rock, now known
as Tombelaine, was called Tumbella meaning the little tomb, to distinguish
it from the larger rock. It is not known why the two rocks should have been
associated with the word tomb, and it is quite possible that the T | 35.3545 |
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Produced by Mary Munarin and David Widger
A RESIDENCE IN FRANCE,
DURING THE YEARS
1792, 1793, 1794, AND 1795;
DESCRIBED IN A SERIES OF LETTERS
FROM AN ENGLISH LADY;
With General And Incidental Remarks
On The French Character And Manners.
Prepared for the Press
By John Gifford, Esq.
Author of the History of France, Letter to Lord
Lauderdale, Letter to the Hon. T. Erskine, &c.
Second Edition.
_Plus je vis l'Etranger plus j'aimai ma Patrie._
--Du Belloy.
London: Printed for T. N. Longman, Paternoster Row. 1797.
PRELIMINARY REMARKS BY THE EDITOR.
The following Letters were submitted to my inspection and judgement by
the Author, of whose principles and abilities I had reason to entertain a
very high opinion. How far my judgement has been exercised to advantage
in enforcing the propriety of introducing them to the public, that public
must decide. To me, I confess, it appeared, that a series of important
facts, tending to throw a strong light on the internal state of France,
during the most important period of the Revolution, could neither prove
uninteresting to the general reader, nor indifferent to the future
historian of that momentous epoch; and I conceived, that the opposite and
judicious reflections of a well-formed and well-cultivated mind,
naturally | 35.799358 |
2023-11-16 18:17:39.9609510 | 1,513 | 29 |
E-text prepared by Al Haines
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustration.
See 20983-h.htm or 20983-h.zip:
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ROBERT HARDY'S SEVEN DAYS.
A Dream and Its Consequences.
by
CHARLES M. SHELDON,
Author of
"In His Steps," "The Crucifixion of Phillip Strong,"
"His Brother's Keeper," Etc.
[Frontispiece: "He continued kneeling there."]
London:
Ward, Lock & Co., Limited,
Warwick House, Salisbury Square, E.C.
New York and Melbourne.
1899
PREFACE.
This story was first read by the author to his Sunday evening
congregation in the spring of 1892. The chapters were given one at a
time on consecutive Sundays, and the way in which the story was
received encouraged the pastor in his attempt to solve the problem of
the Sunday evening service in this manner.
CHARLES M. SHELDON.
Central Church, TOPEKA, Kansas.
CONTENTS.
THE DREAM
MONDAY--THE FIRST DAY
TUESDAY--THE SECOND DAY
WEDNESDAY--THE THIRD DAY
THURSDAY--THE FOURTH DAY
FRIDAY--THE FIFTH DAY
SATURDAY--THE SIXTH DAY
SUNDAY--THE SEVENTH DAY
ROBERT HARDY'S SEVEN DAYS.
THE DREAM.
It was Sunday night, and Robert Hardy had just come home from the
evening service in the church at Barton. He was not in the habit of
attending the evening service, but something said by his minister in
the morning had impelled him to go out. The evening had been a little
unpleasant, and a light snow was falling, and his wife had excused
herself from going to church on that account. Mr. Hardy came home
cross and fault-finding.
"Catch me going to evening service again! Only fifty people out, and
it was a sheer waste of fuel and light. The sermon was one of the
dullest I ever heard. I believe Mr. Jones is growing too old for our
church. We need a young man, more up with the times. He is
everlastingly harping on the necessity of doing what we can in the
present to save souls. To hear him talk you would think every man who
wasn't running round to save souls every winter was a robber and an
enemy of society. He is getting off, too, on this new-fangled
Christian Sociology, and thinks the rich men are oppressing the poor,
and that church members ought to study and follow more closely the
teachings of Christ, and be more brotherly and neighbourly to their
fellow men. Bah! I am sick of the whole subject of humanity. I shall
withdraw my pledge to the salary if the present style of preaching
continues."
"What was the text of the sermon tonight?" asked Mrs. Hardy.
"Oh, I don't remember exactly! Something about 'This night thy soul
shall be demanded,' or words like that. I don't believe in this
attempt to scare folks into heaven."
"It would take a good many sermons to scare you, Robert."
"Yes, more than two a week," replied Mr. Hardy, with a dry laugh. He
drew off his overcoat and threw himself down on the lounge in front of
the open fire. "Where are the girls?"
"Alice is upstairs reading the morning paper; Clara and Bess went over
to call on the Caxtons."
"How did they happen to go over there?"
Mrs. Hardy hesitated. Finally she said, "James came over and invited
them."
"And they know I have forbidden them to have anything to do with the
Caxtons! When they come in I will let them know I mean what I say. It
is very strange the girls do not appear to understand that."
Mr. Hardy rose from the lounge and walked across the room, then came
back and lay down again, and from his recumbent position poked the fire
savagely with the shovel.
Mrs. Hardy bit her lips and seemed on the point of replying, but said
nothing.
At last Mr. Hardy asked, "Where are the boys?"
"Will is getting out his lessons for to-morrow up in his room. George
went out about eight o'clock. He didn't say where he was going."
"It's a nice family. Is there one night in the year, Mary, when all
our children are at home?"
"Almost as many as there are when you are at home!" retorted Mrs.
Hardy. "What with your club and your lodge and your scientific society
and your reading circle and your directors' meeting, the children see
about as much of you as you do of them. How many nights in a week do
you give to us, Robert? Do you think it is strange that the children
go outside for their amusements? Our home"--Mrs. Hardy paused and
looked around at the costly interior of the room where the two
were--"our home is well furnished with everything but our own children."
The man on the lounge was silent. He felt the sharpness of the thrust
made by his wife, and knew it was too true to be denied. But Mr. Hardy
was, above all things else, selfish. He had not the remotest intention
of giving up his club or his scientific society or his frequent cosy
dinners with business men down town because his wife spent so many
lonely deserted evenings at home, and because his children were almost
strangers to him. But it annoyed him, as a respectable citizen, to
have his children making acquaintances that he did not approve, and it
grated on his old-fashioned, inherited New England ideas that his boys
and girls should be away from home so often in the evening, and
especially on Sunday evening. The maxim of Robert Hardy's life was
"Self-interest first." As long as he was not thwarted in his own
pleasures he was as good-natured as the average man. He provided
liberally for the household expenses, and his wife and children were
supplied with money and the means to travel as they requested it. But
the minute he was crossed in his own plans, or anyone demanded of him a
service that compelled some self-denial, he became hard, ill-natured,
and haughty.
He had been a member of the church at Barton for twenty-five years, one
of the trustees, and a liberal giver. He prided himself on that fact.
| 35.980991 |
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Produced by Sue Fleming, sp1nd and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
THE
DUCHESS OF TRAJETTO.
BY
THE AUTHOR OF "MARY POWELL."
Giulia Gonzaga, che, dovunque il piede
Volge, e dovunque i sereni occhi gira,
Non pur ogn' altra di belta le cede,
Ma, come scesa dal ciel, Dea l'ammira.
Ariosto.
LONDON:
ARTHUR HALL & CO., 26, PATERNOSTER ROW.
1863.
LONDON:
BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.
CONTENTS.
CHAP. PAGE
I. THE DUCHESS IN DANGER 1
II. THE DUCHESS IN SAFETY 15
III. THE DUCHESS'S STORY 34
IV. MOORISH SLAVES 48
V. THE CARDINAL AND THE JEW 62
VI. THE SORROWS OF THE JEW 74
VII. SEBASTIAN DEL PIOMBO 86
VIII. THE DUCHESS AND THE PAINTER 99
IX. DAWN OF A PURE LIGHT 115
X. VITTORIA DI COLONNA 129
| 36.280487 |
2023-11-16 18:17:40.6293580 | 2,025 | 9 | CHURCH OF RIPON***
E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram, Julia Miller, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 25800-h.htm or 25800-h.zip:
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or
(http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/5/8/0/25800/25800-h.zip)
Transcriber's note
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. A list of
changes is found at the end of the book. Inconsistencies in
spelling and hyphenation have been retained. A list of
inconsistently spelled words is found at the end of the book.
Text enclosed by equal signs was in bold face in the original
(=bold text=).
THE CATHEDRAL CHURCH OF RIPON
A Short History of the
Church & a Description
of Its Fabric
by
CECIL HALLETT, B.A.
Magdalen Coll., Oxford
With 53 Illustrations
[Illustration: RIPON CATHEDRAL FROM THE FOOTBRIDGE OVER THE SKELL.]
[Illustration]
London George Bell & Sons 1901
PREFACE.
The original authorities for the history (both constitutional and
architectural) of the Church of Ripon have been most ably edited for the
Surtees Society by the Rev. Canon J. T. Fowler, F.S.A., in his
_Memorials of Ripon_ and _The Ripon Chapter Acts_ (_Surtees Soc._, vols.
74, 78, 81, 64). These authorities range from the Saxon period to the
times following the Reformation, but in the Introductions to vol. 81,
and in the Rev. J. Ward's _Fasti Riponienses_, included in vol. 78, the
story is virtually continued to our own day; while the aforesaid
Introductions epitomise, in its constitutional and architectural
aspects, the whole history of the church.
To these volumes and to their Editor, who most kindly consented to
revise the proofs of this book, the present writer is very deeply
indebted. He has also had recourse to an article by Sir G. Gilbert
Scott, R.A., in vol. xxxi. of the _Archaeological Journal_; to the same
Author's _Recollections_; to several articles on the Saxon Crypt, duly
specified on pp. 76, 77; to the Guides, by J. R. Walbran, F.S.A.,
published by Mr. Harrison of Ripon; to Mr. Murray's _Cathedrals_; to the
volume by the Ven. Archdeacon Danks in Messrs. Isbister's Cathedral
Series; to _A Day in the City of Ripon_, by Mr. George Parker of Ripon;
to the old Guides by Farrer and Gent respectively; and to other works of
a more general character.
His sincere thanks are also due to the Right Rev. the Bishop of Ripon
for permission to consult the library at the Palace; to the Very Rev.
the Dean for privileges granted in connection with the library in the
Cathedral and with the Cathedral itself; to the Ven. the Archdeacon of
Ripon and the Ven. the Archdeacon of Richmond for their courteous
assistance on several occasions; to Mr. J. T. Micklethwaite, V.P.S.A.,
Mr. W. H. St. John Hope, Mrs. Swire, the Rev. H. A. Wilson, Fellow of
Magdalen College, the Rev. G. W. Garrod, and Mr. John Whitham for
valuable information on various points, historical and architectural; to
Mr. Ronald P. Jones for his excellent photographs, to the Archaeological
Institute and other learned Societies for various other illustrations,
and to the Rev. E. H. Swann, the Rev. J. Beanland, Capt. E. J. Warre
Slade, R.N., Mr. F. Forbes Glennie, Mr. T. Wall, Mr. Watson, and others
for similar assistance.
He desires also to express his thanks to Mr. E. W. Winser, Dean's
Verger, for much valuable local information; to Mr. Henry Williams,
Canons' Verger, for expert advice on points of masonry; and to both, as
well as to the Sexton, for that general assistance which they so
willingly rendered him throughout his investigation of the Fabric.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.--HISTORY OF THE CHURCH 3
CHAPTER II.--THE EXTERIOR 39
CHAPTER III.--THE INTERIOR 65
CHAPTER IV.--OTHER OLD BUILDINGS IN RIPON 133
APPENDIX--
Abbots of the Monastery of Ripon 142
Canons of Stanwick 142
Deans of King James I. Foundation 143
Deans of the Cathedral Foundation 143
Bishops of Ripon 143
INDEX 145
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
Ripon Cathedral from the Footbridge over the Skel _Frontispiece_
Arms of the See _Title Page_
The Nave, South Side 2
View from the South-West 3
Early Apsidal Chapel with Later Chapel superimposed 13
The West Front before Restoration 17
Mediaeval Seals (3) 20
Ripon Minster Anterior to 1660 (from an old Engraving) 32
The Cathedral from the South-East 38
The West Doorways 39
View from the North-West 42
Doorway, North Transept 47
Doorway, South Transept 52
Reconstructed Angle of the Great Tower 57
Flying Buttresses, South Side of Choir 59
The East End 61
The North-Western Portion of the Nave 64
Conjectural View of the Interior of Archbishop Roger's
Nave (by Sir G. G. Scott) 65
Conjectural Plan of Archbishop Roger's Church
(by Sir G. G. Scott) 67
The Nave, looking Westward 70
Plan of Saxon Crypt 72
The Saxon Crypt 73
Conjectural Plan of St. Wilfrid's Crypt and Presbytery
(by Mr. J. T. Micklethwaite) 77
The Two Fonts 79
Bas-Relief in the South Aisle of the Nave 80
The Western Arch of the Central Tower 83
The North Transept 87
Vault of North Transept Aisle 91
The Rood Screen 95
The Great East Window 97
Bay of Archbishop Roger's Choir (by Sir G. G. Scott) 98
Decorated Capital in the Choir 99
The North Side of the Choir 100
Bosses from the Choir-Vault (2) 103
The Sedilia 105
Choir Stalls 107
Misereres 108
Desk-End of Mayor's Stall 109
Finial in front of the Bishop's Throne 110
The West End of the Choir 112
The North Choir Aisle 113
Transitional Vaulting Corbel 114
The Norman Crypt 118
The Chapter-House 122
Ancient Sculptures in the Chapter-House 124
The Library 130
The Old Chapel, St. Mary Magdalene's Hospital 132
Chapel of St. Anne's Hospital 135
Seal of St. Mary Magdalene's Hospital 138
PLAN OF THE CATHEDRAL _at end_
[Illustration: THE NAVE--SOUTH SIDE.
(Showing junction of Transitional and Perpendicular work in the
Tower.)]
[Illustration: VIEW FROM THE SOUTH-WEST.]
RIPON CATHEDRAL.
CHAPTER I.
HISTORY OF THE CHURCH.
There is evidence that the neighbourhood of Ripon was inhabited during,
and perhaps before, the Roman occupation of Britain. Whether the place
was a settlement of the Romans is uncertain; but it was assuredly in
touch with their civilization, for several of their roads passed near
it--notably Watling Street, on which, six miles to the east, was
Isurium, the modern Aldborough; while imperial coins and other Roman
objects have been dug up in Ripon itself. It is not known whether the
Romans imparted to the local tribes of the Brigantes their own
Christianity; but two centuries after the withdrawal of the legions the
greater part of what is now | 36.649398 |
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Produced by Annie McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S
YOUNG PEOPLE
AN ILLUSTRATED WEEKLY.]
* * * * *
VOL. I.--NO. 3. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.
Tuesday, November 18, 1879. Copyright, 1879, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50
per Year, in Advance.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE TOURNAMENT.--DRAWN BY JAMES E. KELLY.]
THE TOURNAMENT.
Great rivalry arose once between James and Henry, two school-mates and
warm friends, and all on account of a pretty girl who went to the same
school. Each one wanted to walk with her, and carry her books and lunch
basket; and as Mary was a bit of a coquette, and showed no preference
for either of her admirers, each tried to be the first to meet her in
the shady winding lane that led from her house to the school. At last
they determined to decide the matter in the old knightly manner, by a
tournament. Two stout boys consented to act as chargers, and the day for
the meeting was appointed.
It was Saturday afternoon, a half-holiday, when the rivals met in the
back yard of Henry's house, armed with old brooms for lances, and with
shields made out of barrel heads. The chargers backed up against the
fence, the champions mounted and faced each other from opposite sides of
the yard. The herald with an old tin horn gave the signal for the onset.
There was a wild rush across the yard, and a terrific shock as the
champions met. James's lance struck Henry right under the chin, and
overthrew him in spite of his gallant efforts to keep his seat.
The herald at once proclaimed victory for James; and Henry, before he
was allowed to rise from the ground, was compelled to renounce all
intention of walking to school with Mary in the future.
[Begun in No. 1 of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, Nov. 4.]
THE BRAVE SWISS BOY.
_II.--A PERILOUS ADVENTURE.--(Continued.)_
[Illustration: "WALTER AIMED TWO OR THREE BLOWS AT THE CREATURE'S
BREAST."]
In this dreadful crisis, Walter pressed as hard as he could against the
rocky crag, having but one hand at liberty to defend himself against the
furious attack of the bird. It was quite impossible for him to get at
his axe, and the force with which he was assaulted caused him nearly to
let go his hold. He tried to seize the vulture's throat and strangle it;
but the bird was too active, and made all such attempts perfectly
useless. He could scarcely hope to continue such a dangerous struggle
much longer. He was becoming faint from terror, and his left hand was
fast growing benumbed with grasping the rock. He had almost resigned
himself to his fate, and expected the next moment to be dashed to pieces
on the field of ice beneath. Suddenly, however, he recollected his
pocket-knife, and a new ray of hope dawned. Giving up the attempt to
clutch at the furious bird, he drew the knife out of his pocket, and
opened it with his teeth, and aiming two or three blows at the
creature's breast, he found at last that he had been successful in
reaching some mortal part. The fluttering of the wings ceased, and the
dying bird stained the virgin snow with its blood on the ice-field
below. Walter was saved; there was no other enemy now to fear; his life
was no longer in danger; but his energies were taxed to the utmost, and
it was well for him that the terrible contest had lasted no longer.
Pale, trembling in every limb, and spattered with the vulture's blood as
well as that which trickled from the many wounds he had received, the
valiant young cragsman sank helplessly to the ground, where he lay for
some minutes, paralyzed with the terrible exertion he had gone through.
At length, however, he so far recovered himself as to be able to
continue his fatiguing and dangerous journey, and soon succeeded in
reaching the spot where he had left his jacket, shoes, and alpenstock.
Having gained a place of safety, he poured forth his thanks to God for
delivering him from such great danger, and began to bind up his wounds,
which for the first time were now paining him. When this was
accomplished in a rough and ready sort of way, he had a peep at the
trophies in his bag, whose capture had been attended with such
adventurous danger, and with the aid of his alpenstock succeeded in
getting the dead body of the old bird, which he found had been struck
right to the heart. But his knife he could not recover, so concluded
that he must have dropped it after the deadly encounter.
"That doesn't matter much," said he to himself, as he looked at the size
of the bird. "It is a good exchange; and if I give the stranger the old
bird with the young ones, I dare say he will give me another knife. What
a splendid creature! Fully four feet long, and the wings at least three
yards across. How father will open his eyes when he sees the dead
Laemmergeier--and the Scotch gentleman too!"
Tying the legs of the bird together with cord which he had fortunately
brought, he slung it across his shoulder to balance the weight of the
bag, and then started on his journey across the glacier, the foot of
which he soon reached, and was then within hailing distance of the hotel
where the stranger was residing.
It was a good thing that he had not been kept longer away, for the sun
was beginning to set by the time he reached the valley, and only the
highest peaks were lit up by its departing glory. Tired and hungry,
Walter was thankful to find himself once more at the door of the inn,
where there was the same crowd of travellers, guides, horses, and mules
he had seen in the morning. His appearance had attracted general
attention as he descended the last hill leading to the hotel.
"Why, I declare it's Watty Hirzel!" exclaimed one of the guides. "He was
here this morning, and I declare he's got a young eagle hanging across
his shoulder."
"Say an old vulture, Mohrle, and you'll be nearer the mark," replied the
lad in a cheerful tone and with sparkling eyes; for he felt so proud of
the triumph he had achieved that all fatigue seemed to be forgotten. "An
old vulture, Mohrle, and a splendid fellow into the bargain! I've got
the young ones in my bag here."
"You're a pretty fellow!" said another guide, with a sneer. "I suppose
you mean to tell us that you've killed the old bird and carried off the
young ones?"
"Yes, that is just what I mean to tell you," replied the boy, smiling,
and paying no attention to the sneer of the other. "I've done it all
alone. I took the youngsters out of the nest, and had a regular fight
with the old ones afterward. I brought one of them home; but the other
you will find somewhere in the Urbacht Valley, if you like to go and
look for it."
"I think the lad speaks the truth," said Mohrle, gazing at Walter with
astonishment and respect.--"You've had a long journey, my boy, and
you're covered with blood. Did the old vulture hurt you?"
"Yes, the brute stuck his claws into me, and if I hadn't had a sharp
knife in my pocket, it would have been all over with me. But let me
through, for I want to take the young birds up stairs to a gentleman
here."
Mohrle and the other guides who had surrounded the courageous boy would
gladly have detained him longer to hear all the particulars of his
daring adventure; but he pressed through the crowd, promising to tell
them all about it afterward, and made his way up to the room occupied by
Mr. Seymour, who received him with as much astonishment as the guides
had done.
"There, Sir," exclaimed Walter, as he took the young vultures out of his
bag and placed them on the floor--"there are the birds you wanted; and
here is one of the old ones, which I brought with me from the Engelhorn.
But you must let them have something to eat--the live ones, I mean; for
they've had nothing for nearly a whole day, and are squealing for
hunger."
Mr. Seymour stood for a moment speechless. He was filled with delight at
the sight of the young birds he had so long wished for, but was at the
same time dumfounded at the courage and honor of the young mountaineer.
"Is it possible?" he exclaimed at last. "Have you really ventured to
risk your life, although I told you that I didn't want the birds?"
"Well, Sir, I know you said so; but I saw by your face that you would
like to have them all the same; and so, as you had been so kind to me, I
didn't mind running a little risk to please you, although it was hard
work. So there they are; but you mustn't forget to feed them, or they
will be starved to death before morning."
"Oh, we will take good care that they don't die of hunger," replied Mr.
Seymour, ringing the bell. "I think, as you take such a warm interest in
the welfare of the birds, you must feel rather hungry yourself. So sit
down and have something to eat, and then you can tell me all about your | 36.704026 |
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[Transcriber's Note:
This text is intended for readers who cannot use the "real" (Unicode,
UTF-8) version of the file. Some adjustments have been made:
vowels with overline have been written out as am, an, em... without
further marking
the "dram" | 36.779047 |
2023-11-16 18:17:41.3593830 | 771 | 142 |
Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
_THE WOODLAWN SERIES._
Bertie and the Gardeners:
OR,
THE WAY TO BE HAPPY.
BY
MRS MADELINE LESLIE.
AUTHOR OF "AUNT HATTIE'S LIBRARY FOR BOYS AND
GIRLS," ETC.
CHICAGO:
HENRY A. SUMNER & COMPANY
1880.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by
A. R. BAKER,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Massachusetts.
[Illustration: Winnie catching the Snow-flakes.
Vol. VI., p. 103]
[Illustration: THE WOODLAWN SERIES.]
TO
HARRY, NELLIE, AND WILLIE SAMPSON;
ALSO,
To the Memory of their Deceased Brothers and Sister,
BERTIE, FRANKEY AND EMMA,
THESE LITTLE BOOKS ARE AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED.
If the perusal prompt them and other readers to imitate the virtues of
our hero in his efforts to _be_ good, and to _do_ good, the wishes of
the author will be realized.
BERTIE; OR, THE WOODLAWN SERIES.
BY MRS. MADELINE LESLIE.
16 mo. 6 vols., Illustrated.
I. BERTIE'S HOME.
II. BERTIE AND THE CARPENTERS.
III. BERTIE AND THE MASONS.
IV. BERTIE AND THE PLUMBERS.
V. BERTIE AND THE PAINTERS.
VI. BERTIE AND THE GARDENERS.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
THE NEW FARMER, 11
CHAPTER II.
THE SICK WORKMAN, 21
CHAPTER III.
THE MERRY GARDENER, 30
CHAPTER IV.
VISITORS TO WOODLAWN, 40
CHAPTER V.
THE SORROWING FATHER, 51
CHAPTER VI.
CLEARING THE CREEK, 64
CHAPTER VII.
PAT'S VISIT HOME, 74
CHAPTER VIII.
LETTER FROM PAT, 84
CHAPTER IX.
BERTIE'S SPELLING MATCH, 97
CHAPTER X.
BERTIE'S PRESENTS, 107
CHAPTER XI.
THE HEART AND HAND, 118
CHAPTER XII.
VIOLETS AND VIOLETTA, 127
CHAPTER XIII.
BERTIE'S REWARD, 138
CHAPTER XIV.
BERTIE AND THE NEWSBOY, 148
CHAPTER XV.
THE LAST CHAPTER, 155
Bertie and the Gardeners.
CHAPTER I.
THE NEW FARMER.
The new house at Woodlawn was nearly completed; and Mr. Curtis now set
to work in earnest, clearing the grounds of the rubbish, in order to
make the terraces and lay out his avenue in front.
Those who have read the other books about Bertie, will know that two
wide avenues, enclosed by handsome iron gates, had been already made;
one winding along on the shores of Lake Shawsheen, the other entering
from a higher point which led through a grove toward the house where
the enchanting view of lawn and water burst at once on the vision.
But in the vicinity of the house, no grading had | 37.379423 |
2023-11-16 18:17:41.4031300 | 76 | 18 |
Produced by Donald Cummings and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
THE BLIND BROTHER.
SUNSHINE LIBRARY.
=Aunt Hannah and Seth.= By James Otis.
=Blind Brother (The).= By Homer Greene.
=Captain's Dog (The).= By Louis Enault | 37.42317 |
2023-11-16 18:17:41.8781620 | 75 | 16 |
E-text prepared by Joseph Gray
WOODCRAFT
by
Nessmuk
PREFACE
Woodcraft is dedicated to the Grand Army of "Outers," as a pocket
volume of reference on woodcraft.
For brick and mortar breed filth and crime,
With a pulse of evil that throbs and beats;
And men are with | 37.898202 |
2023-11-16 18:17:42.0597510 | 527 | 27 |
Produced by StevenGibbs and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
THE KEY TO THE
BRONTE WORKS.
THE KEY TO THE
BRONTE WORKS
THE KEY TO CHARLOTTE BRONTE'S "WUTHERING HEIGHTS,"
"JANE EYRE," AND HER OTHER WORKS.
SHOWING THE METHOD OF THEIR CONSTRUCTION AND THEIR
RELATION TO THE FACTS AND PEOPLE OF HER LIFE.
BY
JOHN MALHAM-DEMBLEBY.
London and Felling-on-Tyne:
THE WALTER SCOTT PUBLISHING CO., LTD.
NEW YORK AND MELBOURNE.
1911.
_All Rights Reserved._
CONTENTS.
CHAP. PAGE
I. OUTLINE OF CHARLOTTE BRONTE'S LIFE 13
II. ORIGIN OF THE CANDLE-BEARING BEDSIDE VISITANT AND
THE UNCOUTH SERVANT IN "WUTHERING HEIGHTS" AND
"JANE EYRE" 20
III. ORIGIN OF THE FOUNDLING HEATHCLIFFE AND HIS NAME
IN "WUTHERING HEIGHTS"--ORIGIN OF THE INSANE
LADY AND THE WHITE VEIL SCENE IN "JANE EYRE" 33
IV. A RAINY DAY IN CHARLOTTE BRONTE'S CHILDHOOD:
THE OPENING INCIDENT IN THE AUTOBIOGRAPHIES
OF THE HEROINES OF "WUTHERING HEIGHTS" AND
"JANE EYRE" 37
V. CHARLOTTE BRONTE'S FRIEND, TABITHA AYKROYD, THE
BRONTES' SERVANT, AS MRS. DEAN OF "WUTHERING
HEIGHTS," AND AS BESSIE AND HANNAH OF "JANE EYRE" 43
VI. CHARLOTTE BRONTE'S CHILD APPARITION IN "THE
PROFESSOR," "WUTHERING HEIGHTS," AND "JANE EYRE" 52
VII. THE ORIGINALS OF GIMMERTON, GIMMERDEN, GIMMERTON
KIRK AND CHAPEL, PENISTON CRAGS, THE FAIRY CAVE,
ETC., IN | 38.079791 |
2023-11-16 18:17:42.1913750 | 2,024 | 97 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images available at The Internet Archive)
COLLECTION
OF
BRITISH AUTHORS
TAUCHNITZ EDITION.
VOL. 2719.
KIRSTEEN BY MRS. OLIPHANT.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
TAUCHNITZ EDITION.
By the same Author,
_The Chronicles of Carlingford_:
THE RECTOR AND THE DOCTOR’S FAMILY 1 vol.
SALEM CHAPEL 2 vols.
THE PERPETUAL CURATE 2 vols.
MISS MARJORIBANKS 2 vols.
PHŒBE, JUNIOR 2 vols.
* * * * *
THE LAST OF THE MORTIMERS 2 v.
MARGARET MAITLAND 1 v.
AGNES 2 v.
MADONNA MARY 2 v.
THE MINISTER’S WIFE 2 v.
OMBRA 2 v.
MEMOIR OF COUNT DE MONTALEMBERT 2 v.
MAY 2 v.
INNOCENT 2 v.
FOR LOVE AND LIFE 2 v.
A ROSE IN JUNE 1 v.
THE STORY OF VALENTINE AND HIS BROTHER 2 v.
WHITELADIES 2 v.
THE CURATE IN CHARGE 1 v.
MRS. ARTHUR 2 v.
CARITÀ 2 v.
YOUNG MUSGRAVE 2 v.
THE PRIMROSE PATH 2 v.
WITHIN THE PRECINCTS 3 v.
THE GREATEST HEIRESS IN ENGLAND 2 v.
HE THAT WILL NOT WHEN HE MAY 2 v.
HARRY JOSCELYN 2 v.
IN TRUST 2 v.
IT WAS A LOVER AND HIS LASS 3 v.
THE LADIES LINDORES 3 v.
HESTER 3 v.
THE WIZARD’S SON 3 v.
A COUNTRY GENTLEMAN AND HIS FAMILY 2 v.
NEIGHBOURS ON THE GREEN 1 v.
THE DUKE’S DAUGHTER 1 v.
THE FUGITIVES 1 v.
KIRSTEEN
THE STORY
OF
A SCOTCH FAMILY SEVENTY YEARS AGO
BY
MRS. OLIPHANT,
AUTHOR OF “THE CHRONICLES OF CARLINGFORD,”
ETC. ETC.
_COPYRIGHT EDITION._
IN TWO VOLUMES.--VOL. I.
LEIPZIG
BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ
1891.
INSCRIBED
WITH LOVE AND RESPECT
TO
CHRISTINA ROGERSON.
KIRSTEEN.
PART I.
CHAPTER I.
“Where is Kirsteen?”
“’Deed, mem, I canna tell you; and if you would be guided by me you
wouldna wail and cry for Kirsteen, night and day. You’re getting into
real ill habits with her to do everything for you. And the poor lassie
has not a meenit to hersel’. She’s on the run from morning to night.
Bring me this, and get me that. I ken you’re very weakly and life’s a
great trouble, but I would fain have ye take a little thought for her
too.”
Mrs. Douglas looked as if she might cry under Marg’ret’s reproof. She
was a pale pink woman seated in a large high easy-chair, so-called,
something like a porter’s chair. It was not particularly easy, but it
was filled with pillows, and was the best that the locality and the time
could supply. Her voice had a sound of tears in it as she replied:
“If you were as weak as I am, Marg’ret, and pains from head to foot, you
would know better--and not grudge me the only comfort I have.”
“Me grudge ye ainything! no for the world; except just that bairn’s time
and a’ her life that might be at its brightest; but poor thing, poor
thing!” said Marg’ret, shaking her head.
The scene was the parlour at Drumcarro, in the wilds of Argyllshire, the
speakers, the mistress of the house _de jure_, and she who was at the
head of affairs _de facto_, Marg’ret the housekeeper, cook, lady’s maid,
and general manager of everything. Mrs. Douglas had brought Marg’ret
with her as her maid when she came to Drumcarro as a bride some thirty
years before; but as she went on having child after child for nearly
twenty years, without much stamina of either mind or body to support
that continual strain, Marg’ret had gradually become more and more the
deputy and representative, the real substitute of the feminine head of
the house. Not much was demanded of that functionary so far as the
management of its wider affairs went. Her husband was an arbitrary and
high-tempered man, whose will was absolute in the family, who took
counsel with no one, and who after the few complaisances of a grim
honeymoon let his wife drop into the harmless position of a nonentity,
which indeed was that which was best fitted for her. All her active
duties one by one had fallen into the hands of Marg’ret, whose first
tender impulse to save the mistress whom she loved from toils unfitted
for her, had gradually developed into the self-confidence and universal
assumption of an able and energetic housekeeper born to organize and
administer. Marg’ret did not know what these fine words meant, but she
knew “her work,” as she would have said, and by degrees had taken
everything in the house and many things outside it into her hands. It
was to her that the family went for everything, who was the giver of all
indulgences, the only person who dared speak to “the maister,” when
clothes were wanted or any new thing. She was an excellent cook, a good
manager, combining all the qualities that make a house comfortable, and
she was the only one in the house who was not afraid of “the maister,”
of whom on the contrary he stood in a little awe. A wife cannot throw up
her situation with the certainty of finding another at a moment’s notice
as a good housekeeper can do--even if she has spirit enough to entertain
such an idea. And poor Mrs. Douglas had no spirit, no health, little
brains to begin with and none left now, after thirty years of domestic
tyranny and “a bairntime” of fourteen children. What could such a poor
soul do but fall into invalidism with so many excellent reasons
constantly recurring for adopting the habits of that state and its
pathos and helplessness? especially with Marg’ret to fall back upon,
who, though she would sometimes speak her mind to her mistress, nursed
and tended, watched over and guarded her with the most unfailing care.
Drumcarro himself (as he liked to be called) scarcely dared to be very
uncivil to his wife in Marg’ret’s presence. He knew better than to
quarrel with the woman who kept so much comfort with so little expense
in his spare yet crowded house.
“Who is your ‘poor thing, poor thing’?” said a cheerful voice, with a
mimicry of Marg’ret’s manner and her accent (for Marg’ret said poor as
if it were written with a French u, that sound so difficult to English
lips) “would it be the colley dogue or the canary bird or maybe the
mistress of the house?”
Marg’ret turned round upon the only antagonist in the house who could
hold head against her, or whom she could not crush at a blow--Kirsteen,
the second daughter, who came in at this moment, quite softly but with a
sudden burst open of the door, a sort of compromise between the noise it
would have been natural to her to make, and the quietness essential to
the invalid’s comfort. She was a girl of nearly twenty, a daughter of
the hills, strongly built, not slim but trim, with red hair and brown
eyes and a wonderful complexion, the pure whiteness like milk which so
often goes with those ruddy locks, and the colour of health and fine air
on her cheeks. I would have darkened and smoothed my Kirsteen’s abundant
hair if I could, for in those days nobody admired it. The type of beauty
to which the palm was given was the pale and elegant type, with hair
like night and starry eyes either blue or dark; and accordingly Kirsteen
was not considered a pretty girl, though there were many who liked her
looks in spite of her red hair, which was how people expressed their | 38.211415 |
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Produced by David Brannan. HTML version by Al Haines.
The Adventure of the Dying Detective
By
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
Mrs. Hudson, the landlady of Sherlock Holmes, was a long-suffering
woman. Not only was her first-floor flat invaded at all hours by
throngs of singular and often undesirable characters but her remarkable
lodger showed an eccentricity and irregularity in his life which must
have sorely tried her patience. His incredible untidiness, his
addiction to music at strange hours, his occasional revolver practice
within doors, his weird and often malodorous scientific experiments,
and the atmosphere of violence and danger which hung around him made
him the very worst tenant in London. On the other hand, his payments
were princely. I have no doubt that the house might have been purchased
at the price which Holmes paid for his rooms during the years that I
was | 38.680538 |
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Produced by Colin Bell, Delphine Lettau, Julia Neufeld and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: MARTIN LUTHER.
WILL^M COLLINS, GLASGOW.]
HISTORY
OF
THE REFORMATION
IN THE
SIXTEENTH CENTURY.
BY
J. H. MERLE D'AUBIGNE, D.D.
J'appelle accessoire, l'est | 38.691529 |
2023-11-16 18:17:42.8671120 | 432 | 10 |
Produced by Annie R. McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE]
* * * * *
VOL. II.--NO. 97. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.
Tuesday, September 6, 1881. Copyright, 1881, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50
per Year, in Advance.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE SMALL PASSENGER WITH THE LARGE VALISE.]
[Begun in No. 92 of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, August 2]
TIM AND TIP;
OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A BOY AND A DOG
BY JAMES OTIS.
CHAPTER VI.
TIM MAKES AN ACQUAINTANCE.
When Tim left old Mose's kitchen it was nearly time for the steamer to
start on her regular trip, and the passengers were coming on board
quite fast. The bustle and excitement which always attend the sailing of
steamers, even though the trip be a short one, were all so new and
strange to Tim that he forgot his own troubles in watching the scene
around him. He saw Mr. Rankin near the kitchen, and was told by him that
he could remain on deck until the Captain should ring his bell, when he
would let him know of it.
Therefore Tim had an opportunity to take in all the details of the
interesting scene. The deck hands were scurrying to and fro, wheeling in
freight or baggage on funny little trucks with very small wheels and
very long handles; passengers were running around excitedly, as if they
thought they ought to attend to matters which did not concern them;
newsboys were crying the latest editions of the papers; old women were
trying to sell fruit that did not look very fresh, and everything
appeared to be in the greatest confusion.
While Tim was leaning on the after-rail | 38.887152 |
2023-11-16 18:17:43.0605840 | 2,025 | 19 |
Produced by David Edwards, Haragos PAil and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
UNIFORM WITH
JOHN DOUGH AND THE CHERUB
THE LAND OF OZ
BY L. FRANK BAUM
_Elaborately illustrated--in colors_
_and black-and-white by_
_JOHN R. NEILL_
John Dough and the Cherub
_by_
L. Frank Baum
AUTHOR OF
THE WIZARD OF OZ
THE LAND OF OZ
THE WOGGLE-BUG BOOK
FATHER GOOSE
QUEEN ZIXI OF IX
THE ENCHANTED ISLAND OF YEW, ETC.
[Illustration]
ILLUSTRATED BY
John R. Neill
CHICAGO
THE REILLY & BRITTON COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
[Illustration]
COPYRIGHT, 1906, BY
L. FRANK BAUM
All Rights
Reserved
[Illustration]
To my young friend
John Randolph Reilly
this book is
affectionately dedicated
L.F.B
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
LIST OF CHAPTERS
THE GREAT ELIXIR 9
THE TWO FLASKS 11
THE GINGERBREAD MAN 27
JOHN DOUGH BEGINS HIS ADVENTURES 41
CHICK, THE CHERUB 59
THE FREAKS OF PHREEX 104
THE LADY EXECUTIONER 121
THE PALACE OF ROMANCE 140
THE SILVER PIG 159
PITTYPAT AND THE MIFKETS 166
THE ISLAND PRINCESS 185
PARA BRUIN, THE RUBBER BEAR 206
BLACK OOBOO 220
UNDER LAND AND WATER 238
THE FAIRY BEAVERS 252
THE FLIGHT OF THE FLAMINGOES 273
SPORT OF PIRATE ISLAND 284
HILAND AND LOLAND 294
KING DOUGH AND HIS COURT 308
[Illustration: BOY OR GIRL?]
The Great Elixir
Over the door appeared a weather-worn sign that read: "JULES GROGRANDE,
BAKER." In one of the windows, painted upon a sheet of cardboard, was
another sign: "Home-made Bread by the Best Modern Machinery." There was
a third sign in the window beyond the doorway, and this was marked upon
a bit of wrapping-paper, and said: "Fresh Gingerbread Every Day."
When you opened the door, the top of it struck a brass bell suspended
from the ceiling and made it tinkle merrily. Hearing the sound, Madame
Leontine Grogrande would come from her little room back of the shop and
stand behind the counter and ask you what you would like to purchase.
Madame Leontine--or Madame Tina, as the children called her--was quite
short and quite fat; and she had a round, pleasant face that was good
to look upon. She moved somewhat slowly, for the rheumatism troubled
her more or less; but no one minded if Madame was a bit slow in tying
up her parcels. For surely no cakes or buns in all the town were so
delicious or fresh as those she sold, and she had a way of giving the
biggest cakes to the smallest girls and boys who came into her shop,
that proved she was fond of children and had a generous heart.
People loved to come to the Grogrande Bakery. When one opened the
door an exquisite fragrance of newly baked bread and cakes greeted
the nostrils; and, if you were not hungry when you entered, you were
sure to become so when you examined and smelled the delicious pies
and doughnuts and gingerbread and buns with which the shelves and
show-cases were stocked. There were trays of French candies, too; and
because all the goods were fresh and wholesome the bakery was well
patronized and did a thriving business.
The reason no one saw Monsieur Jules in the shop was because his time
was always occupied in the bakery in the rear--a long, low room filled
with ovens and tables covered with pots and pans and dishes (which the
skillful baker used for mixing and stirring) and long shelves bearing
sugars and spices and baking-powders and sweet-smelling extracts that
made his wares taste so sweet and agreeable.
[Illustration: AN ARAB DASHED INTO THE ROOM.]
The bake-room was three times as big as the shop; but Monsieur Jules
needed all the space in the preparation of the great variety of goods
required by his patrons, and he prided himself on the fact that his
edibles were fresh-made each day. In order to have the bread and rolls
ready at breakfast time he was obliged to get up at three o'clock every
morning, and so he went to bed about sundown.
On a certain forenoon the door of the shop opened so abruptly that the
little brass bell made a furious jingling.
An Arab dashed into the room, stopped short, looked around with a
bewildered air, and then rushed away again and banged the door after
him.
Madame looked surprised, but said nothing. She recognized the Arab to
be a certain Ali Dubh, living in the neighborhood, who was accustomed
to purchase a loaf from her every morning. Perhaps he had forgotten his
money, Madame thought.
When the afternoon was half over he entered again, running as if fiends
were at his heels. In the center of the room he paused, slapped his
forehead despairingly with both palms, and said in a wailing voice:
"They're after me!"
Next moment he dashed away at full speed, even forgetting to close
the door; so Madame came from behind the counter and did it herself.
She delayed a moment to gaze at the figure of Ali Dubh racing up the
street. Then he turned the corner of an alley and disappeared from view.
[Illustration]
Things did not startle Madame easily; but the Arab's queer behavior
aroused in her a mild curiosity, and while she stood looking through
the glass of the door, and wondering what had excited the man, she
saw two strange forms glide past her shop with a stealthy motion and
proceed in the same direction Ali Dubh had taken.
They were also Arabs, without a doubt; for although their forms were
muffled in long cloaks, the turbans they wore and the glint of their
dark, beady eyes proclaimed them children of the desert.
When they came to the alley where Ali Dubh had disappeared, the two
strangers were joined by a third, who crept up to them with the sly,
cat-like tread Madame had noted, and seemed to confer with them.
Afterward one turned to the east, a second continued up the street, and
the third stole into the alley.
"Yes," thought Madame, "they are after Ali Dubh, sure enough. But if
they move so slowly they are not likely to catch the poor fellow at
all."
Now, Madame knew very little of her queer customer; for although he
made a daily visit to the bakery for a loaf and a few cakes, he was of
a gloomy disposition, and never stopped for a chat or a bit of gossip.
It was his custom to silently make his simple purchases and then steal
softly away.
Therefore his excited actions upon this eventful day were really
remarkable, and the good lady was puzzled how to explain them.
She sat late in the shop that evening, burning a dingy oil lamp that
swung in the center of the room. For her rheumatism was more painful
than usual, and she dreaded to go to bed and waken Monsieur Jules with
her moanings. The good man was slumbering peacefully upstairs--she
could hear his lusty snores even where she sat--and it was a shame to
disturb him when he must rise so early.
So she sat in her little room at the end of the counter, trying to knit
by the light of a flickering candle, and rocking back and forth in her
chair with a monotonous motion.
Suddenly the little bell tinkled and a gust of air entered the shop,
sending the mingled odors of baked stuff whirling and scurrying about
the room in a most fragrant manner. Then the door closed, and Madame
laid down her knitting and turned to greet the new-comer.
To her astonishment, it proved to be Ali Dubh. His brown cheeks were
flushed, and his glittering black eyes roamed swiftly over the shop
before they turned full upon the Madame's calm face.
"Good!" he exclaimed, "you are alone."
"It is too late for trade. I am going to bed presently," said Madame.
"I am in great trouble, and you must help me," returned the Arab,
hastily. "Lock your door and come with me into your little room, so
that no one can see us through the street windows."
Mad | 39.080624 |
2023-11-16 18:17:43.2659260 | 6,586 | 9 |
E-text prepared by Chris Pinfield and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/walpolechatham1711esda
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by plus signs is in bold face (+bold+).
Text enclosed by equal signs is transliterated Greek
(=Greek=)
A word that includes a superscript has been spelt out
in full.
Bell's English History Source Books
General Editors: S. E. WINBOLT, M.A., and KENNETH BELL, M.A.
WALPOLE AND CHATHAM (1714-1760)
Compiled by
KATHARINE A. ESDAILE
Some Time Scholar of Lady Margaret Hall, Oxford
[Illustration: bell]
London
G. Bell & Sons, Ltd.
1912
INTRODUCTION
This series of English History Source Books is intended for use with any
ordinary textbook of English History. Experience has conclusively shown
that such apparatus is a valuable--nay, an indispensable--adjunct to the
history lesson. It is capable of two main uses: either by way of lively
illustration at the close of a lesson, or by way of inference-drawing,
before the textbook is read, at the beginning of the lesson. The kind of
problems and exercises that may be based on the documents are legion,
and are admirably illustrated in a _History of England for Schools_,
Part I., by Keatinge and Frazer, pp. 377-381. However, we have no wish
to prescribe for the teacher the manner in which he shall exercise his
craft, but simply to provide him and his pupils with materials hitherto
not readily accessible for school purposes. The very moderate price of
the books in this series should bring them within the reach of every
secondary school. Source books enable the pupil to take a more active
part than hitherto in the history lesson. Here is the apparatus, the raw
material: its use we leave to teacher and taught.
Our belief is that the books may profitably be used by all grades of
historical students between the standards of fourth-form boys
in secondary schools and undergraduates at Universities. What
differentiates students at one extreme from those at the other is not so
much the kind of subject-matter dealt with, as the amount they can read
into or extract from it.
In regard to choice of subject-matter, while trying to satisfy the
natural demand for certain "stock" documents of vital importance, we
hope to introduce much fresh and novel matter. It is our intention that
the majority of the extracts should be lively in style--that is,
personal, or descriptive, or rhetorical, or even strongly partisan--and
should not so much profess to give the truth as supply data for
inference. We aim at the greatest possible variety, and lay under
contribution letters, biographies, ballads and poems, diaries, debates,
and newspaper accounts. Economics, London, municipal, and social life
generally, and local history, are represented in these pages.
The order of the extracts is strictly chronological, each being
numbered, titled, and dated, and its authority given. The text is
modernised, where necessary, to the extent of leaving no difficulties in
reading.
We shall be most grateful to teachers and students who may send us
suggestions for improvement.
S. E. WINBOLT.
KENNETH BELL.
NOTE TO THIS VOLUME
I have to thank the Editors of the _English Historical Review_ for
permission to reprint the passages dealing with the War of Jenkins' Ear,
published by Sir John Laughton in the fourth volume of the _Review_, and
the Scottish History Society for a similar permission with regard to the
Proclamation of James III. and the Landing of the Young Pretender. The
Letters of Horace Walpole are quoted throughout under the dates and
names of correspondents, not from any particular edition, as this
enables a letter to be found without difficulty in any edition;
otherwise the sources are given in full.
The lover of the eighteenth century is born, but he is also made. It is
the aim of this little book to help in the making.
K. A. E.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PAGE
STATE OF PARTIES AT THE QUEEN'S DEATH (1714) 1
PROCLAMATION OF GEORGE I. (1714) 4
CHARACTER AND PERSON OF GEORGE I. (1660-1727) 5
PUBLIC FEELING AS TO THE NEW DYNASTY (1714) 6
THE '15:
I. THE PRETENDER'S DECLARATION 9
II. THE PROCLAMATION OF JAMES III. 14
III. FAILURE OF THE EXPEDITION EXPLAINED 16
THE SEPTENNIAL ACT (1716) 18
DEFEAT OF THE SPANISH FLEET OFF SICILY BY ADMIRAL SIR GEORGE
BYNG, JULY 31, 1718 19
THE SOUTH SEA BUBBLE (1720):
I. THE PROPOSALS: THE SECOND SCHEME OF THE SOUTH SEA COMPANY 21
II. THE BUBBLE BURST 25
SIR ROBERT WALPOLE AS PRIME MINISTER (1721-1741) 27
WOOD'S HALFPENCE: THE FIRST DRAPIER's LETTER (1724) 29
CHARACTER OF GEORGE II. (1683-1760) 36
THE CONDITION OF THE FLEET PRISON, AS REVEALED BY A PARLIAMENTARY
ENQUIRY (1729):
(_a_) DESCRIPTION OF THE WARDEN, THOMAS BAMBRIDGE 38
(_b_) HIS CRUELTY 39
(_c_) FINDINGS OF THE PARLIAMENTARY COMMITTEE 40
THE EXCISE BILL (1733) 42
THE PORTEOUS RIOTS (1736) 45
LORD CHESTERFIELD'S SPEECH ON THE BILL FOR THE ESTABLISHMENT
OF THE CENSORSHIP OF STAGE PLAYS (1737) 47
DEATH OF QUEEN CAROLINE (1737): HER CHARACTER DESCRIBED
BY GEORGE II. 49
THE WAR OF JENKINS' EAR (1739) 51
THE OPPOSITION SUSPECTS WALPOLE OF DOUBLE-DEALING (1739) 53
ADMIRAL VERNON'S VICTORY AT PORTOBELLO (1740):
I. "ADMIRAL HOSIER'S GHOST" 55
II. "GREAT BRITAIN'S GLORY; OR, THE STAY-AT-HOME FLEET" 58
THE NEW MINISTERS (1742):
I. HERVEY'S ACCOUNT OF THE MINISTRY 58
II. EPIGRAM ON THE MINISTRY 60
III. EPIGRAM ON PULTENEY'S ACCEPTANCE OF A PEERAGE 60
THE ORIGIN OF THE SEVEN YEARS' WAR (1741-1748) 61
THE '45:
I. LANDING OF THE YOUNG PRETENDER; THE RAISING OF THE
STANDARD; SURRENDER OF EDINBURGH 65
II. TREATMENT OF THE VANQUISHED--
(_a_) AFTER PRESTON PANS 74
(_b_) AFTER CULLODEN 76
III. COLLINS'S "ODE WRITTEN IN THE BEGINNING OF THE YEAR 1746" 79
IV. AN ADVENTURE OF CHARLES EDWARD 79
TRIAL OF THE REBEL LORDS (1746) 81
TREATY OF AIX-LA-CHAPELLE (1748):
I. LORD BOLINGBROKE ON THE PRELIMINARIES 84
II. THE ARTICLES OF PEACE 86
III. A CONTEMPORARY VIEW OF THE PEACE 88
LORD CHESTERFIELD'S ACT FOR THE REFORM OF THE CALENDAR (1751):
I. HISTORICAL ACCOUNT OF THE BILL 89
II. LORD CHESTERFIELD'S OWN ACCOUNT 93
SMOLLETT'S CHARACTER OF THE DUKE OF NEWCASTLE 94
THE TRIAL AND EXECUTION OF ADMIRAL BYNG (1759):
I. HORACE WALPOLE TO SIR HORACE MANN 97
II. THOMAS POTTER TO MR. GRENVILLE 101
THE COALITION GOVERNMENT OF 1757 102
THE ENGLISH IN INDIA (1757-1759):
I. THE BLACK HOLE OF CALCUTTA DESCRIBED BY A SURVIVOR 103
II. CLIVE TO PITT ON ENGLAND'S OPPORTUNITY 105
THE PLAINS OF ABRAHAM, SEPTEMBER 13, 1759:
I. THE NIGHT ATTACK 109
II. THE BATTLE 110
"THE HEAVEN-BORN MINISTER": HORACE WALPOLE's HOMAGE TO PITT:
I. IN THE GREAT YEAR (1759) 113
II. CHARACTER OF WILLIAM PITT DESCRIBED IN THE LIGHT
OF SUBSEQUENT HISTORY 114
DEATH OF GEORGE II. (1760) 115
APPENDIX: LONDON IN 1725-1736:
(_a_) DEFOE'S DESCRIPTION OF LONDON IN 1725 117
(_b_) PRESENTMENT OF THE MIDDLESEX GRAND JURY (1736) 119
WALPOLE AND CHATHAM
1714-1760
STATE OF PARTIES AT THE QUEEN'S DEATH (1714).
+Source.+--_Letter to Sir William Windham_, Bolingbroke's Works, 1754.
Vol. i., pp. 28-31.
The thunder had long grumbled in the air, and yet when the bolt [the
Queen's death] fell, most of our party appeared as much surprised as if
they had had no reason to expect it. There was a perfect calm and
universal submission throughout the whole kingdom. The Chevalier indeed
set out as if his design had been to gain the coast and to embark for
Great Britain, and the Court of France made a merit to themselves of
stopping him and obliging him to return. But this, to my certain
knowledge, was a farce acted by concert, to keep up an opinion of his
character, when all opinion of his cause seemed to be at an end. He
owned this concert to me at Bar, on the occasion of my telling him that
he would have found no party ready to receive him, and that the
enterprise would have been to the last degree extravagant. He was at
this time far from having any encouragement: no party, numerous enough
to make the least disturbance, was formed in his favour. On the King's
arrival the storm arose. The menaces of the Whigs, backed by some very
rash declarations, by little circumstances of humor which frequently
offend more than real injuries, and by the entire change of all the
persons in employment, blew up the coals.
At first many of the tories had been made to entertain some faint hopes
that they would be permitted to live in quiet. I have been assured that
the King left Hanover in that resolution. Happy had it been for him and
for us if he had continued in it; if the moderation of his temper had
not been overborne by the violence of party, and his and the national
interest sacrificed to the passions of a few. Others there were among
the tories who had flattered themselves with much greater expectations
than these, and who had depended, not on such imaginary favor and
dangerous advancement as was offered them afterwards, but on real credit
and substantial power under the new government. Such impressions on the
minds of men had rendered the two houses of parliament, which were then
sitting, as good courtiers to King George, as ever they had been to
queen Anne. But all these hopes being at once and with violence
extinguished, despair succeeded in their room.
Our party began soon to act like men delivered over to their passions,
and unguided by any other principle; not like men fired by a just
resentment and a reasonable ambition to a bold undertaking. They treated
the government like men who were resolved not to live under it, and yet
they took no one measure to support themselves against it. They
expressed, without reserve or circumspection, an eagerness to join in
any attempt against the establishment which they had received and
confirmed, and which many of them had courted but a few weeks before:
and yet in the midst of all this bravery, when the election of the new
parliament came on, some of these very men acted with the coolness of
those who are much better disposed to compound than to take arms.
The body of the tories being in this temper, it is not to be wondered
at, if they heated one another and began apace to turn their eyes
towards the pretender: and if those few, who had already engaged with
him, applied themselves to improve the conjuncture and endeavour to lift
a party for him.
I went, about a month after the queen's death, as soon as the seals were
taken from me, into the country, and whilst I continued there, I felt
the general disposition to jacobitism encrease daily among people of all
ranks; among several who had been constantly distinguished by their
aversion to that cause. But at my return to London in the month of
February or March one thousand seven hundred and fifteen, a few weeks
before I left England, I began for the first time in my whole life to
perceive these general dispositions ripen into resolutions, and to
observe some regular workings among many of our principal friends, which
denoted a scheme of this kind. These workings, indeed, were very faint,
for the persons concerned in carrying them on did not think it safe to
speak too plainly to men who were, in truth, ill disposed to the
government, because they neither found their account at present under
it, nor had been managed with art enough to leave them hopes of finding
it hereafter: but who at the same time had not the least affection for
the pretender's person, nor any principle favorable to his interest.
This was the state of things when the new parliament, which his majesty
had called, assembled. A great majority of the elections had gone in
favour of the Whigs, to which the want of concert among the tories had
contributed as much as the vigor of that party, and the influence of the
new government. The whigs came to the opening of this parliament full of
as much violence as could possess men who expected to make their court,
to confirm themselves in power, and to gratify their resentments by the
same measures. I have heard that it was a dispute among the ministers
how far this spirit should be indulged, and that the king was
determined, or confirmed in determination, to consent to the
prosecutions, and to give the reins to the party by the representations
that were made to him, that great difficulties would arise in the
conduct of the session, if the court should appear inclined to check
this spirit, and by Mr. W[alpole]'s undertaking to carry all the
business successfully through the house of commons if they were at
liberty. Such has often been the unhappy fate of our princes; a real
necessity sometimes, and sometimes a seeming one, has forced them to
compound with a part of the nation at the expense of the whole; and the
success of their business for one year has been purchased at the price
of public disorder for many.
The conjecture I am speaking of forms a memorable instance of this
truth. If milder measures had been pursued, certain it is, that the
tories had never universally embraced jacobitism. The violence of the
whigs forced them into the arms of the pretender. The court and the
party seemed to vie with one another which should go the greatest
lengths in severity: and the ministers, whose true interest it must at
all times be to calm the minds of men, and who ought never to set the
examples of extraordinary inquiries or extraordinary accusations, were
upon this occasion the tribunes of the people.
PROCLAMATION OF GEORGE I. (1714).
+Source.+--Oldmixon's _History of England, George I._, 1735. P. 564.
Whereas it hath pleas'd Almighty God to call to his Mercy our late
Soveraign Lady Queen _Anne_, of blessed Memory; by whose Decease, the
Imperial Crowns of _Great Britain_, _France_, and _Ireland_, are solely,
and rightfully come to the High and Mighty Prince _George_, elector of
_Brunswick-Lunenburg_: We therefore, the Lords Spiritual and Temporal of
the Realm, being here assisted with those of her late Majesty's Privy
Council, with Numbers of other principal gentlemen of Quality, with the
Lord-Mayor, Aldermen, and Citizens of _London_, do now hereby, with one
full Voice and Consent of Tongue and Heart, publish and proclaim, That
the high and mighty Prince _George_, Elector of _Brunswick-Lunenburg_,
is now, by the Death of our late Soveraign of happy Memory, become our
lawful and rightful Liege Lord, _George_, by the Grace of God, King of
_Great Britain_, _France_ and _Ireland_, Defender of the Faith, _&c._ To
whom we do acknowledge all Faith and constant Obedience, with all hearty
and humble Affection, beseeching God, by whom Kings and Queens do reign,
to bless the Royal King _George_ with long and happy years to reign over
us.
Given at the Palace of St. _James's_,
the First Day of _August, 1714_.
GOD SAVE THE KING.
[Then follow the signatures of 127 peers and commoners, "Lords and
Gentlemen who signed the Proclamation," including Lords Buckingham,
Shrewsbury, Oxford, Bolingbroke, and Sir Christopher Wren.]
CHARACTER AND PERSON OF GEORGE I. (1660-1727).
A. BY LORD CHESTERFIELD.
+Source.+--Lord Chesterfield (1694-1774), _Characters of Eminent Persons
of His own Time_, 1777. P. 9.
George the First was an honest and dull German gentleman, as unfit as
unwilling to act the part of a King, which is, to shine and oppress.
Lazy and inactive even in his pleasures; which were therefore lowly and
sensual: He was coolly intrepid, and indolently benevolent. He was
diffident of his own parts, which made him speak little in public[1] and
prefer in his social, which were his favourite, hours, the company of
waggs and buffoons.... His views and affections were singly confined to
the narrow compass of his electorate.--England was too big for him.--If
he had nothing great as a King, he had nothing bad as a Man--and if he
does not adorn, at least he will not stain the annals of this country.
In private life, he would have been loved and esteemed as a good
citizen, a good friend, and a good neighbour.--Happy were it for Europe,
happy for the world, if there were not greater Kings in it!
B. BY HORACE WALPOLE.
+Source.+--_Reminiscences_, in _Works of Horace Walpole_, Earl of
Oxford, 1798. Vol. iv., p. 275; _Letter to Sir Horace Mann, Feb. 25,
1782_.
"At ten years old [_i.e._, in 1727] I had set my heart on seeing George
I., and being a favourite child, my mother asked leave for me to be
presented to him; which to the First Minister's wife was granted, and I
was carried by the late Lady Chesterfield to kiss his hand as he went to
supper in the Duchess of Kendal's apartment. This was the night but one
before he left England the last time."
"The person of the King is as perfect in my memory as if I saw him but
yesterday. It was that of an elderly man, rather pale, and exactly like
his pictures and coins, not tall, of an aspect rather good than august,
with a dark tie wig, a plain coat, waistcoat and breeches of
snuff- cloth, with stockings of the same colour and a blue
riband over all."
[1] Lord Chesterfield does not mention that George I. spoke no
English.--ED.
PUBLIC FEELING AS TO THE NEW DYNASTY (1714).
A. WHIG.
+Source.+--_Letters of Lady M. W. Montagu._ Vol. 1., p. 86. Bohn's
edition.
_Aug. 9, 1714._
The Archbishop of York has been come to Bishopsthorpe but three days. I
went with my cousin to see the King proclaimed, which was done, the
archbishop walking next the Lord Mayor, all the country gentry
following, with greater crowds of people than I believed to be in York,
vast acclamations, and the appearance of a general satisfaction. The
Pretender afterwards dragged about the streets and burned. Ringing of
bells, bonfires, and illuminations, the mob crying Liberty and Property!
and Long live King George! This morning all the principal men of any
figure took port for London, and we are alarmed with the fear of
attempts from Scotland, though all Protestants here seem unanimous for
the Hanover succession.
B. TORY.
+Source.+--Thomas Hearne [1678-1735], _Reliquiae Hearnianae_, 1869. Vol. i.,
pp. 303, 309.
_Aug. 4._--This day, at two o'clock, the said elector of Brunswick (who
is in the fifty-fifth year of his age, being born May 28th, 1660) was
proclaimed in Oxford. The vice-chancellor, and doctors, and masters met
in the convocation house, and from thence went to St. Mary's, to attend
at the solemnity. There was but a small appearance of doctors and
masters that went from the convocation house. I stood in the Bodleian
gallery where I observed them. Dr. Hudson was amongst them, and all the
heads of houses in town. But there were a great many more doctors and
masters at St. Marie's, where a scaffold was erected for them.
_Aug. 5._--The illumination and rejoicing in Oxford was very little last
night. The proclamation was published at Abingdon also yesterday, but
there was little appearance.
A letter having been put into the mayor of Oxford's hands before he
published the proclamation, cautioning him against proclaiming King
George, and advising him to proclaim the pretender by the name of King
James III., the said Mayor, notwithstanding, proclaimed King George, and
yesterday our vice-chancellor, and heads, and proctors, agreed to a
reward of an hundred pounds to be paid to anyone that should discover
the author or authors of the letter; and the order for the same being
printed I have inserted a copy of it here.
"_At a general meeting of the vice-chancellor, heads of houses, and
proctors of the university of Oxford, at the Apodyterium of the
Convocation House, on Wednesday, Aug. 4, 1714._
"Whereas a letter directed to Mr. Mayor of the city of Oxford,
containing treasonable matters, was delivered at his house on Monday
night last, betwixt nine and ten of the clock, by a person in an
open-sleeved gown, and in a cinnamon- coat, as yet unknown:
which letter has been communicated to Mr. Vice-Chancellor by the said
Mayor: if any one will discover the author or authors of the said
letter, or the person who delivered it, so as he or they may be brought
to justice, he shall have a reward of one hundred pounds, to be paid
him forthwith by Mr. Vice-Chancellor.
"BERNARD GARDINER, Vice-Chancellor."
The letter to which the vice-chancellor's programme refers:
OXON, _August 2nd, 1714_.
MR. MAYOR,
If you are so honest a man as to prefer your duty and allegiance to your
lawfull sovereign before the fear of danger, you will not need this
caution, which comes from your friends to warn you, if you should
receive an order to proclaim Hannover, not to comply with it. For the
hand of God is now at work to set things upon a right foot, and in a few
days you will find wonderfull changes, which if you are wise enough to
foresee, you will obtain grace and favour from the hands of his sacred
majestie king James, by proclaiming him voluntarily, which otherwise you
will be forced to do with disgrace. If you have not the courage to do
this, at least for your own safety delay proclaiming Hannover as long as
you can under pretense of sickness or some other reason. For you cannot
do it without certain hazard of your life, be you ever so well guarded.
I, who am but secretary to the rest, having a particular friendship for
you, and an opinion of your honesty and good inclinations to his
majestie's service, have prevailed with them to let me give you this
warning. If you would know who the rest are, our name is
LEGION, _and we are many_.
This note shall be your sufficient warrant in times to come for
proclaiming his majestie King James, and if this does not satisfie you,
upon your first publick notice we will do it in person.
For Mr. Broadwater, mayor of the City of Oxford, these.
_Sept. 25._--On Monday last (Sept. 20th) King George (as he is styled)
with his son (who is in the 31st year of his age, and is called prince
of Wales, he having been so created), entered London, and came to the
palace of St. James's, attended with several thousands. It was observed
that the Duke of Marlborough was more huzza'd, upon this occasion, than
King George, and that the acclamation, _God save the Duke of
Marlborough!_ was more frequently repeated than _God save the king!_ In
the evening the illuminations and bonfires were not many. King George
hath begun to change all the ministers, and to put in the _whiggs_,
every post bringing us news of this alteration, to the grievous
mortification of that party called _tories_. The duke of Marlborough is
made captain general of all the forces in room of the duke of Ormond,
not to mention the other great changes. But the tories must thank
themselves for all this, they having acted whilst in power very
unworthily, and instead of preferring worthy scholars and truly honest
men, they put in the quite contrary, and indeed behaved themselves with
very little courage or integrity. I am sorry to write this; but 'tis too
notorious, and they therefore very deservedly suffer now. They have
acted contrary to their principles, and must therefore expect to smart.
But the whiggs, as they have professed bad principles, so they have
acted accordingly, not in the least receding from what they have laid
down as principles. 'Tis to be hoped the tories may now at last see
their folly, and may resolve to act steadily and uniformly, and to
provide for, and take care of, one another, and with true courage and
resolution endeavour to retrieve credit and reputation by practising
those doctrines which will make for the service of the king, and of the
whole nation, and not suffer those enemies the whiggs utterly to ruin
their country, as they have done almost already.
THE '15.
I.
THE PRETENDER'S DECLARATION (1715).
+Source.+--A. Boyer's _Political State of Great Britain_, 1720. Vol. x.,
pp. 626-630.
_His Majesty's Most Gracious Declaration._
JAMES R.
James VIII. by the Grace of God, of Scotland, England, France and
Ireland, King, Defender of the Faith &c. To all Our Loving Subjects of
What Degree or Quality soever. Greeting. As we are firmly resolved never
to lose any Opportunity of asserting Our undoubted Title to the Imperial
Crown of these Realms, and of endeavouring to get the Possession of that
Right which is devolv'd upon Us by the Laws of God and Man: so we must
in Justice to the Sentiments of our Heart declare, That nothing in the
World can give Us so great satisfaction, as to owe to the Endeavours of
Our Loyal Subjects both our own and their Restoration to that happy
Settlement which can alone deliver this Church and Nation from the
Calamities which they lie at present under, and from those future
Miseries which must be the Consequences of the present usurpation.
During the Life of Our dear Sister, of Glorious Memory, the Happiness
which Our People enjoy'd softened in some Degree the Hardship of our own
Fate; and we must further confess, That when we reflected on the
Goodness of her Nature, and her Inclination to Justice, we could not but
persuade Our Self, that she intended to establish and perpetuate the
Peace which she had given to these Kingdoms by destroying for ever all
Competition | 39.285966 |
2023-11-16 18:17:43.3074770 | 7,435 | 9 |
Produced by Sharon Joiner, Sam W. and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
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The
Myrtle Reed
Cook Book
[Illustration]
G. P. Putnam's Sons
New York London
The Knickerbocker Press
1916
Copyright, 1905, 1906, 1911
by
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
Copyright, 1916
by
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
The Knickerbocker Press, New York
_Over One Million Copies Sold_
MYRTLE REED
_Miss Reed's books are peculiarly adapted for dainty yet
inexpensive gifts. They are printed in two colors, on
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LOVE LETTERS OF A MUSICIAN
LATER LOVE LETTERS OF A MUSICIAN
THE SPINSTER BOOK
LAVENDER AND OLD LACE
THE MASTER'S VIOLIN
AT THE SIGN OF THE JACK-O'-LANTERN
A SPINNER IN THE SUN
LOVE AFFAIRS OF LITERARY MEN
FLOWER OF THE DUSK
OLD ROSE AND SILVER
MASTER OF THE VINEYARD
A WEAVER OF DREAMS
THE WHITE SHIELD
THREADS OF GREY AND GOLD
HAPPY WOMEN
16 Illus.
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PICKABACK SONGS
Words by Myrtle Reed. Music by Eva Cruzen Hart.
Pictures by Ike Morgan. 4to. Boards, $1.50
_Send for Descriptive Circular_
EXPLANATION
The only excuse the author and publishers have to offer for the
appearance of this book is that, so far as they know, there is no
other like it.
CONTENTS
PAGE
The Philosophy of Breakfast 1
How to Set the Table 9
The Kitchen Rubaiyat 15
Fruits 20
Cereals 39
Salt Fish 58
Breakfast Meats 72
Substitutes for Meat 87
Eggs 91
Omelets 111
Quick Breads 121
Raised Breakfast Breads 147
Pancakes 160
Coffee Cakes, Doughnuts, and Waffles 173
Breakfast Beverages 186
Simple Salads 191
One Hundred Sandwich Fillings 228
Luncheon Beverages 235
Eating and Dining 241
Thirty-five Canapes 244
One Hundred Simple Soups 252
Fifty Ways to Cook Shell-Fish 281
Sixty Ways to Cook Fish 297
One Hundred and Fifty Ways to Cook Meat and
Poultry 316
Twenty Ways to Cook Potatoes 366
One Hundred and Fifty Ways to Cook Other
Vegetables 373
Thirty Simple Sauces 423
One Hundred and Fifty Salads 431
Simple Desserts 459
Index 531
The Myrtle Reed Cook Book
THE PHILOSOPHY OF BREAKFAST
The breakfast habit is of antique origin. Presumably the primeval man
arose from troubled dreams, in the first gray light of dawn, and set
forth upon devious forest trails, seeking that which he might devour,
while the primeval woman still slumbered in her cave. Nowadays, it is
the lady herself who rises while the day is yet young, slips into a
kimono, and patters out into the kitchen to light the gas flame under
the breakfast food.
In this matter of breaking the fast, each house is law unto itself.
There are some who demand a dinner at seven or eight in the morning,
and others who consider breakfast utterly useless. The Englishman, who
is still mighty on the face of the earth, eats a breakfast which would
seriously tax the digestive apparatus of an ostrich or a goat, and
goes on his way rejoicing.
In an English cook-book only seven years old, menus for "ideal"
breakfasts are given, which run as follows:
"Devilled Drum-sticks and Eggs on the dish, Pigs Feet, Buttered
Toast, Dry Toast, Brown and White Bread and Butter, Marmalade and
Porridge."
"Bloaters on Toast, Collared Tongue, Hot Buttered Toast, Dry Toast,
Marmalade, Brown and White Bread and Butter, Bread and Milk."
"Pigeon Pie, Stewed Kidney, Milk Rolls, Dry Toast, Brown and White
Bread and Butter, Mustard and Cress, Milk Porridge."
And for a "simple breakfast,"--in August, mind you!--this is
especially recommended:
"Bloaters on Toast, Corned Beef, Muffins, Brown and White Bread and
Butter, Marmalade, and Boiled Hominy."
An American who ate a breakfast like that in August probably would not
send his collars to the laundry more than once or twice more, but it
takes all kinds of people to make up a world.
Across the Channel from the brawny Briton is the Frenchman, who, with
infinitely more wisdom, begins his day with a cup of coffee and a
roll. So far, so good, but his _dejeuner a la fourchette_ at eleven or
twelve is not always unobjectionable from a hygienic standpoint. The
"uniform breakfast," which is cheerfully advocated by some, may be
hygienic but it is not exciting. Before the weary mental vision
stretches an endless procession of breakfasts, all exactly alike, year
in and year out. It is quite possible that the "no-breakfast" theory
was first formulated by some one who had been, was, or was about to be
a victim of this system.
The "no-breakfast" plan has much to recommend it, however. In the
first place, it saves a deal of trouble. The family rises, bathes
itself, puts on its spotless raiment in leisurely and untroubled
fashion, and proceeds to the particular business of the day. There are
no burnt toast, soggy waffles, muddy coffee, heavy muffins, or pasty
breakfast food to be reckoned with. Theoretically, the energy supplied
by last night's dinner is "on tap," waiting to be called upon. And,
moreover, one is seldom hungry in the morning, and what is the use of
feeding a person who is not hungry?
It has been often said, and justly, that Americans eat too much.
Considering the English breakfast, however, we may metaphorically pat
ourselves upon the back, for there is no one of us, surely, who taxes
the Department of the Interior thus.
"What is one man's meat is another man's poison" has been held
pointedly to refer to breakfast, for here, as nowhere else, is the
individual a law unto himself. Fruit is the satisfaction of one and
the distress of another; cereal is a life-giving food to one and a
soggy mass of indigestibility to some one else; and coffee, which is
really most innocent when properly made, has lately taken much blame
for sins not its own.
Quite often the discomfort caused by the ill-advised combination of
acid fruit with a starchy cereal has been attributed to the clear,
amber beverage which probably was the much-vaunted "nectar of the
gods." Coffee with cream in it may be wrong for some people who could
use boiling milk with impunity.
For a woman who spends the early part of the day at home, the omission
of breakfast may be salutary. When hunger seizes her, she is within
reach of her own kitchen, where proper foods may be properly cooked,
but for a business woman or man the plan is little less than suicidal.
Mr. Man may, indeed, go down town in comfort, with no thought of food,
but, no later than noon, he is keenly desirous of interior decoration.
Within his reach there is, usually, but the lunch counter, where, in
company with other hapless humans, he sustains himself with leathery
pie, coffee which never met the coffee bean, and the durable doughnut
of commerce. The result is--to put it mildly--discontent, which
seemingly has no adequate cause.
It is better, by far, for Mr. Man to eat a breakfast which shall
contain the proteids, carbohydrates, phosphates, and starches that he
will require during the day, and omit the noon luncheon entirely,
except, perhaps, for a bit of fruit. Moreover, a dainty breakfast,
daintily served, has a distinct aesthetic value. The temper of the
individual escorted to the front door by a devoted spouse has more
than a little to do with the temper of the selfsame individual who is
let in at night by the aforesaid D. S.
Many a man is confronted in the morning by an untidy, ill-cooked
breakfast, a frowsy woman and a still frowsier baby, and, too often,
by querulous whinings and complaints.
The ancient Britons had a pleasing arrangement which they called "The
Truce of God." By this, there was no fighting whatever, no matter what
the provocation, between sunset on Wednesday and sunrise on Monday.
This gave time for other affairs, and for the exercise of patience,
toleration, and other virtues of the same ilk.
Many a household might take a leaf from this book to good advantage.
Settle all differences after dinner, since at no time of the day is
man in more reasonable mood, and ordain a "Truce of God" from dawn
until after dinner.
No dinner, however beautifully cooked and served, no fine raiment,
however costly and becoming, can ever atone, in the memory of a man,
for the wild and untamed morning which too often prevails in the
American household. His mind, distraught with business cares, harks
back to his home--with pleasure? None too often, more's the pity.
Some one has said that, in order to make a gentleman, one must begin
with the grandfather. It is equally true that a good and proper
breakfast begins the night before--or, better yet, the morning before.
Careful, systematic planning in advance lightens immeasurably the
burden of housekeeping, and, many a time, makes the actual work
nothing but fun. Those who have tried the experiment of planning meals
for the entire week are enthusiastic in praise of the system. It
secures variety, simplifies marketing, arranges for left-overs, and
gives many an hour of peace and comfort which could not be had
otherwise.
Even if a woman be her own maid, as, according to statistics,
eighty-five per cent. of us are, a dainty, hygienic, satisfying
breakfast is hers and her lord's for little more than the asking. By
careful preparation in advance, the morning labor is reduced to a
minimum; by the intelligent use of lists and memoranda, the weary and
reluctant body is saved many an unnecessary step.
An alarm clock of the "intermittent" sort insures early rising, a dash
of cold water on the face is a physical and mental tonic of the most
agreeable kind, and one hour in the morning is worth two at night, as
the grandmothers of all of us have often said.
Fruit, usually, may be prepared for serving the night before, and will
be improved by a few hours in the refrigerator. Cereals should be
soaked over night in the water in which they are to be cooked, and a
few hours' cooking in the afternoon will injure very few cereals
destined for the breakfast table the next morning. Codfish balls and
many other things will be none the worse for a night's waiting; the
table can be set, and everything made ready for a perfect breakfast,
which half an hour of intelligent effort in the morning will readily
evolve.
A plea is made for the use of the chafing-dish, which is fully as
attractive at the breakfast table as in the "wee sma' hours" in which
it usually shines; for a white apron instead of a gingham one when "my
lady" is also the cook; for a crisp, clean shirt-waist instead of an
abominable dressing-sack; for smooth, tidy hair, instead of unkempt
locks; for a collar and a belt, and a persistent, if determined,
cheerfulness.
In the long run, these things pay, and with compound interest at that.
They involve a certain amount of labor, a great deal of careful
planning, eternal getting-up when it is far more pleasant to abide in
dreamland, quite often a despairing weariness, if not a headache, and
no small draft upon one's power of self-denial and self-sacrifice.
But he who goes in the morning from a quiet, comfortable, well-ordered
house, with a pleasant memory of the presiding genius of his
hearthstone, is twice the man that his fellow may be, whose wife
breakfasts at ten in her bed, or, frowsy and unkempt, whines at him
from across a miserable breakfast--twice as well fitted for the
ceaseless grind of an exhausting day in the business arena, whence he
returns at night, footsore, weary, and depressed, to the four walls
wherein he abides.
"How far that little candle throws its beams!
So shines a good deed in a naughty world."
To some, this may seem an undue stress laid upon the material side of
existence, but the human animal needs animal comforts even more than
his brother of forest and field, and from such humble beginnings great
things may come, not the least of which is the fine, spiritual essence
of a happy home.
HOW TO SET THE TABLE
Having said so much, we proceed, not to our mutton, as the French have
it, but to our breakfast, in which the table plays no small nor
unimportant part.
There are rumors that the pretty and sensible fashion of doilies on
the bare table is on the wane, but let us hope these are untrue, or,
if not, that some of us may have the courage of our convictions and
continue to adhere to a custom which has everything in its favor and
nothing against it.
In the absence of handsome top of oak or mahogany, the breakfast
cloths, fringed or not, as one likes, which are about a yard and a
quarter square, are the next best thing. Asbestos mats, under the
cloth, protect the table from the hot dishes. Failing these, fairly
satisfactory substitutes are made from thin white oil-cloth, between
two layers of canton flannel, "fur side outside," and quilted on the
machine. Grass table-mats are also used, but always under cloth or
doily. Canton flannel, quilted, three layers to a mat, is easily
washed, and furnishes a great deal of protection.
Breakfast, most assuredly, is not dinner, and there should be a
distinct difference in the laying of the table. The small doilies are
easily washed, and fresh ones are possible every morning--an assured
gain in the way of daintiness.
Let us suppose that we have a handsome table-top, and an unlimited
supply of doilies, tray-cloths and centrepieces. First the centrepiece
goes on, exactly in the centre, by the way, and not with a prejudiced
leaning to one side or the other. On this belongs the pot of growing
fern, the low jar containing a few simple flowers, or a bowl of fruit,
decorated with green leaves, if green leaves are to be had.
At each place the breakfast doily, nine or twelve inches square, a
small doily for the coffee cup, and another for the glass of water. At
the right of the plate, the small silver knife, sharp edge toward the
plate, the spoons for fruit and cereal; at the left, one fork, or two,
as needed, and the coffee spoon.
In front of the master of the house the small platter containing the
_piece de resistance_ will eventually be placed; in front of the
mistress of the mansion, the silver tray bearing the coffee
service--coffee-pot, hot-water pitcher, cream jug, milk pitcher, and
sugar bowl.
Breakfast napkins are smaller than dinner napkins, and the small
fringed napkins are not out of place. "Costly thy habit as thy purse
will buy" might well refer to linen, for it is the one thing in which
price is a direct guarantee of quality.
Satisfactory breakfast cloths and napkins are made of linen sheeting,
fringed, hemstitched, or carefully hemmed by hand, and in this way a
pretty cloth can be had for less money than in any other. The linen
wears well, washes beautifully, and acquires a finer sheen with every
tubbing. Insertions and borders of torchon or other heavy lace make a
breakfast cloth suitable for the most elaborate occasion, and separate
doilies may easily be made to match. The heavy white embroidery which
has recently come into favor is unusually attractive here.
Finger-bowls wait on the sideboard, to be placed after the fruit
course, or after breakfast. The rose-water, slice of lemon, geranium
leaves, and other finger-bowl refinements in favor for dinners are out
of place at breakfast. Clear, cool water is in better taste.
The china used at the breakfast table should be different from that
used at dinner. Heavier ware is permissible, and more latitude in the
way of decoration is given. Much of the breakfast china one sees in
the shops is distinctly cheerful in tone, and one must take care to
select the more quiet patterns. It is not pleasant to go to breakfast
with a fickle appetite, and be greeted by a trumpet-toned "Good
Morning" from the china.
Endless difference is allowed, however, and all the quaint, pretty
jugs, pitchers, and plates may properly be used at breakfast. One is
wise, however, to have a particular color scheme in mind and to buy
all china to blend with it. Blue and white is a good combination, and
is, perhaps, more suitable for the morning meal than anything else. As
a certain philosopher says: "The blue and white look so pretty with
the eggs!"
The carafe, muffin plate, platter, and all other bowls, platters,
plates, and pitchers not on the individual cover have each a separate
doily, with the protecting mat always under hot dishes. A well-set
table is governed by a simple law--that of precision. Dishes arranged
in an order little less than military, all angles either right or
acute, will, for some occult reason, always look well. Informality may
be given by the arrangement of the flowers, or by a flower or two laid
carelessly on the table. But one must be careful not to trifle too
much with this law of precision. Knives, forks, and spoons must all be
laid straight, but not near enough together to touch, and napkins and
dishes must be precisely placed, else confusion and riot will result.
The breakfast selected as a type consists of fruit, a cereal, salt
fish, or salt meat, or eggs, or omelets, hot bread of some kind, and
pancakes or waffles, or coffee cake, one dish from each group, and
coffee. Six dishes in all, which may be less if desired, but never
more. All six form a breakfast sufficiently hearty for a stone mason
or a piano mover; one or two give a breakfast light enough to tempt
those who eat no breakfast at all. For serving it are required small
and medium-sized plates, knives, forks, spoons, egg cups, platters,
service plates, cups and saucers, glasses, coffee-pot, pitchers, sugar
bowl, and cream jug, syrup pitcher, and fruit bowl.
Fruit is said to be "gold in the morning," and it is a poor breakfast,
indeed, from which it is omitted. Even in winter it is not hard to
secure variety, if time and thought be taken, for the dried fruits are
always in the market and by careful cooking may be made acceptable to
the most uncertain appetite.
Medical authorities recommend a glass of water taken the first thing
upon rising, either hot or cold as suits one best. A little
lemon-juice takes the "flat" taste from plain hot water, and clear,
cool water, not iced, needs nothing at all. This simple observance of
a very obvious hygienic rule will temper the tempestuous morning for
any one. One washes his face, his hands, his body--then why not his
stomach, which has worked hard a large part of the night, and is
earnestly desirous of the soothing refreshment of a bath?
To those carping critics who cavil at the appearance of the stomach
in a chapter entitled "How to Set the Table," we need only say that
the table is set for the stomach, and the stomach should be set for
the table, and anyway, it comes very near being a table of contents,
_n'est-ce pas_?
THE KITCHEN RUBAIYAT
Wake, for the Alarm Clock scatters into Flight
The variegated Nightmares of the Night;
Allures the Gas into the Kitchen Range
And pleads for Rolls and Muffins that are Light.
Before the Splendor of the last Dream died
Methought a Voice from out my Doorway cried:
"When all the Breakfast is Prepared for him
Why doth my lord within his Crib abide?"
And, as the cat Purred, she who was Before
Within the Kitchen shouted: "Guard the Door!
Else this new Bridget will have Flown the Coop
And, once Departed, will Return no More!"
All maids in sight the Wise One gladly Hires
And one of them she Presently acquires,
Yet toward the Bureau does not fail to Look
Because all Maids, as well as Men, are liars.
For Mary Ann has gone, with all her Woes,
And Dinah, too, has fled--where, no one knows,
But still a Bridget from the Bureau comes
And many a Tekla of her Reference blows.
Come, fill the Cup, and let the Kettle Sing!
The Cream and Sugar and Hot Water bring!
Methinks this fragrant liquid amber here
Within the Pot, is pretty much the Thing.
Each Morn a thousand Cereals brings, you say?
Yes, but where leaves the Food of Yesterday?
And this same Grocer man that sells us Nerve
Shall take Pa's Wheat and Mother's Oats away.
For lo, my small Back Yard is thickly Strown
With Ki-Tee-Munch, Chew-Chew, and Postman's Own
Where Apple-Nuts and Strength have been Forgot--
Ah, how these Papers by the Winds are Blown!
The tender Waffle hearts are Set upon
Is either Crisp or Soggy, and Anon
Like Maple Syrup made of corn and Cobs
Lasts but a scant Five Minutes, and is Gone.
I often think that never gets so Red
My flower-like Nose as when I've just been Fed
And after Breakfast, in the Glass I look,
And never Fail to Wish that I were dead.
And this faint Sallow Place upon my Mien--
How came it There? From that fair Coffee Bean?
Ah, take the Glass away! Make Haste unless
You want to see my Whole Complexion green.
When I was Younger, I did oft Frequent
The Married Bunch, and heard Great Argument
About the Fearful Price of Eggs, and How
To get a Dollar's Work out of a Cent.
And when I asked them of their Recompense,
What did they Get for Keeping Down Expense--
Oh, many a cup of Coffee, Steaming Hot,
Must drown the Memory of their Insolence!
If I were Married 't would be my Desire
To get up Every Morn and Build the Fire
For fear my Husband should use Kerosene,
And, without warning, be transported Higher.
Ah, with the Coffee all my Years provide!
Its chemicals may turn me green Inside,
But all my Fears are Scattered to the Winds
When o'er the fragrant Pot I can Preside.
I blame our Mother Eve, who did mistake
Her Job, and flirted Somewhat with the Snake,
For all the Errors of the Flaky Roll,
For all the Terrors of the Buckwheat Cake.
A glass of Creamy Milk just from the Cow,
Or Buttermilk, drawn from the Goat, I trow,
And thou across the Festal Board from Me,
A Six-Room Flat were Paradise enow!
Some for a Patent Bread that will not Crumb,
And nary Bite of Cereal for Some--
Ah, take the Coffee! Let all else go by
Nor heed the Thick White Fur upon the Tongue.
Look to the Human Wrecks about us: lo,
About their Indigestion how they Blow,
And lay the Blame on Coffee, crystal Clear,
Or say the Crisp Hot Muffin is their Foe!
And those who chew and chew upon the Grain,
Have got so used to Chewing, they are Fain
To Dwell upon their Health Food in their Talk
And presently their Neighbors go Insane.
FOOT-NOTES
1. The author began with the intention of adapting the entire Rubaiyat
to kitchen purposes, but thought better of it just in time to head off
the Lyric Muse, who was coming at full gallop, with her trunk.
2. Those who do not like The Kitchen Rubaiyat will doubtless be glad
there is no more of it.
3. Those who do like it can begin at the beginning and read it again.
The rest of it would be about like this installment, anyway.
P. S. If the demand is great enough, the rest of it may appear in
another book.
P. S. 2. The publisher of this book has an unalterable prejudice
against printing poetry, but he allowed The Kitchen Rubaiyat to slip
by without question.
P. S. 3.?
FRUITS IN SEASON
Apples All the year.
Apricots July 20 to August 20.
Bananas All the year.
Blackberries July 1 to August 15.
Cherries June 1 to July 15.
Currants, Red and White July 1 to August 15.
Figs, dried All the year.
Figs, bag October and November.
Gooseberries July.
Grapes, Concord August 20 to November 15.
" Malaga November to March.
" California December to March.
Grapefruit October to July.
Green Gage Plums August 1 to September 15.
Huckleberries July and August.
Melons, Musk, Water, Cantaloupe July 15 to October 15.
Oranges December to May.
Peaches August and September.
Pears August and September.
Pineapples June to September.
Plums, Blue September.
Quinces September, October, and November.
Rhubarb April to September.
Raspberries, Black and Red July and August.
Strawberries May and June.
Tangerines November to February.
The above table, of course, is only a rough outline, as seasons and
localities vary so much. The tendency, too, is to extend the season of
every fruit indefinitely, as transporting and refrigerating methods
improve. Fruit out of season is always expensive, and often unripe and
unsatisfactory. Fortunately, when it is at its best it is always
abundant and at the lowest price.
Among the dried fruits may be mentioned Prunelles, Apricots, Apples,
Blackberries, Cherries, Nectarines, Peaches, peeled and unpeeled,
Pears, Plums, Raspberries, Prunes, Figs, and Dates. Canned fruits
which may be used for breakfast, with proper preparation, are Pears,
Peaches, Apricots, Cherries, Plums, and Pineapples.
Dried fruits may be soaked over night in the water in which they are
to be cooked, and simmered slowly, until they are tender, with little
sugar or none at all. They may also be steamed, either with or
without sugar, omitting the soaking, until tender enough for a straw
to pierce. Combinations of dried fruits are often agreeable, and a few
raisins will sometimes add a pleasant flavor.
Canned fruits intended for breakfast should be drained and very
thoroughly rinsed in cold water, then allowed to stand for some hours
in a cool place.
Many of the fruits, both dried and fresh, combine well with cereals.
Care must be taken, however, to follow such acid fruits as Currants,
Cherries, Oranges, and Grapefruit, with meat or egg dishes, omitting
the cereal, as the starch and acid are very likely to fight with each
other when once inside, to the inconvenience of the non-combatant. A
fruit which for any reason tastes "flat" can be instantly improved in
flavor and tonic quality by a sprinkle of lemon-juice.
Below are given different ways of preparing fruit for the breakfast
table.
APPLES
I. When served whole, apples should be carefully washed and rubbed to
a high polish with a crash towel. Only perfect fruit should be served
in this way, and green leaves in the fruit bowl are especially
desirable. Fruit-knives are essential.
II. Pare, quarter, and core good eating apples, removing all
imperfections. Serve a few quarters on each plate, with or without
sugar. A sprinkle of cinnamon or lemon-juice will improve fruit which
has little flavor. A grating of nutmeg may also be used.
III. _A la Conde._--Pare, quarter, and core good cooking apples.
Arrange in rows in an earthen baking-dish, sprinkle with powdered
sugar and lemon-juice, pour a little water into the baking-dish, and
add a heaping tablespoonful of butter. Bake slowly, basting frequently
with the apple-juice and melted butter. When tender, take out, drain,
and cool, saving the juice. Serve with boiled rice or other cereal,
using the juice instead of milk.
IV. _A la Cherbourg._--Pare and core good cooking apples; halve or
quarter if desired. Cook slowly in a thin syrup flavored with
lemon-peel and a bit of ginger-root. Serve separately or with cereal.
V. _A la Fermiere._--Pare and core the apples and arrange in a
well-buttered baking-dish. Sprinkle slightly with sugar and cinnamon;
baste often with melted butter, and serve with boiled rice or other
cereal, using the juice instead of milk.
VI. _A la Francaise._--Core and then peel tart apples. Put into cold
water from half an inch to an inch in depth, sprinkle with sugar,
cover tightly, and cook very slowly on the back part of the range
till tender. Flavorings already noted may be added at pleasure. Skim
out the apples, reduce the remaining syrup one-half by rapid boiling,
pour over the apples, and cool. Serve cold, with or without cereal.
VII. _A la Ninon._--Sprinkle baked apples with freshly grated cocoanut
on taking from the oven. Serve on a mound of boiled rice with the milk
of the cocoanut.
VIII. _A la Religieuse._--Core cooking apples; score the skin deeply
in a circle all around the fruit. Sprinkle a little sugar in the
cores, and dissolve a little currant jelly in the water used for the
basting. Cook slowly, and baste once with melted butter. The peel is
supposed to rise all around the apple, like a veil--hence the name.
IX. _Baked._--Peel or not, as preferred. Sprinkle with melted butter
and sugar, baste now and then with hot water, and serve separately or
with cereal.
X. _Baked, with Bananas._--Core, draw a peeled and scraped banana
through each core, trimming the ends off even, and bake slowly,
basting with hot water, melted butter, and lemon-juice. The apples may
be peeled if desired. Serve separately, or with cereal.
XI. _Baked, with Cereal._--Pare or not, as | 39.327517 |
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[Illustration: THE SISTINE MADONNA.--RAPHAEL.]
CHILD-LIFE IN ART
BY
ESTELLE M. HURLL, M.A.
Illustrated
Children are God's apostles, day by day
Sent forth to preach of love and hope and peace.
LOWELL.
BOSTON
JOSEPH KNIGHT COMPANY
1895
_Copyright, 1894,_
BY JOSEPH KNIGHT COMPANY.
University Press:
JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.
PREFACE.
The subject of this little book is its best claim upon public favor.
Child-life in every form appeals with singular force to the sympathies
of all. In palace and in cottage, in the city and in the country,
childhood reigns supreme by the divine right of love. No monarch rules
more mightily than the infant sovereign in the Kingdom of Home, and none
more beneficently. His advent brings a bit of heaven into our midst, and
we become more gentle and tender for the sacred influence. Every phase
of the growing young life is beautiful and interesting to us. Every new
mood awakens in us a sense of awe before unfolding possibilities for
good or evil.
The poetry of childhood is full of attractiveness to the artist,
and many and varied are the forms in which he interprets it. The
Christ-child has been his highest ideal. All that human imagination
could conceive of innocence and purity and divine loveliness has been
shown forth in the delineation of the Babe of Bethlehem. The influence
of such art has made itself felt upon all child pictures. It matters not
whether the subject be a prince or a street-waif; the true artist sees
in him something which is lovable and winning, and transfers it to his
canvas for our lasting pleasure.
Art has produced so many representations of children that it would be a
hopeless task to attempt a complete enumeration of them, and the book
makes no pretensions to exhaustiveness. The aim has been merely to
suggest a convenient outline of classification, and to describe a few
characteristic examples in each group. The nature of the undertaking
has, of course, necessitated consulting the works of many standard
authorities, to whom I gratefully acknowledge my indebtedness. The names
of the most prominent are included in the bibliographical list. While
faithfully studying their opinions, I have always reserved the right of
forming an independent estimate of any painting considered, especially
when, as in many cases, I have myself seen the original. I am under
great obligations to my friend Professor Anne Eugenia Morgan of
Wellesley for first showing me, through her philosophical
art-interpretations, the true meaning and value of the works of
the masters. From these interpretations I have drawn many of the
suggestions which are embodied in the descriptions of the following
pages.
While addressing lovers of children primarily, I have also hoped to
interest students in the history of art. I have therefore added a few
notes containing further details in regard to some of the subjects.
E. M. H.
NEW BEDFORD, MASS., June 1, 1894.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. CHILDHOOD IN IDEAL TYPES 3
II. CHILDREN BORN TO THE PURPLE 29
III. THE CHILDREN OF FIELD AND VILLAGE 57
IV. THE CHILD-LIFE OF THE STREETS 87
V. CHILD-ANGELS 115
VI. THE CHRIST-CHILD 141
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
SISTINE MADONNA Raphael _Frontispiece_
THE STRAWBERRY GIRL Reynolds 7
PENELOPE BOOTHBY Reynolds 15
ANGEL HEADS Reynolds 19
_From the original painting in the National Gallery, London._
NATURE Lawrence 23
PORTRAIT OF PRINCE JAMES, DUKE OF YORK Van Dyck 33
_From a painting in San Luca, Rome, after the Turin portrait
by Van Dyck._
PORTRAIT OF PRINCESS MARY STUART AND
PRINCE WILLIAM II. OF ORANGE Van Dyck 39
_From the original painting in Amsterdam._
PORTRAIT OF THE INFANTA MARIA THERESA Velasquez 45
_From the original painting in the Prado, Madrid._
PORTRAIT OF THE INFANTA MARGUERITE Velasquez 49
_From the original painting in the Louvre, Paris._
RUSTIC CHILDREN Gainsborough 59
LA CRUCHE CASSEE (The Broken Pitcher) Greuze 71
_From the original painting in the Louvre, Paris._
CHILD'S HEAD Bouguereau 77
THE LITTLE RABBIT SELLER Meyer von Bremen 81
BEGGAR BOYS Murillo 89
_From the original painting in the Pinacothek, Munich._
STREET ARABS Dorothy Tennant Stanley 98
THE MEETING Marie Bashkirtseff 103
_From the original painting in the Luxembourg, Paris._
CASTLES IN SPAIN J. G. Brown 107
GROUP OF ANGELS. From the Assumption Titian 119
_From the original painting in the Academy, Venice._
PIPING ANGEL. Detail of Frari Madonna Bellini 127
_From the original painting in Venice._
ANGEL. From Madonna and Child Luigi Vivarini 131
_From the original painting in the Church of Redentore, Venice._
ANGEL. From the Vision of Saint Bernard Filippino Lippi 135
_From the original painting in the Badia, Florence._
MADONNA OF THE CASA TEMPI Raphael 147
INFANT JESUS AND SAINT JOHN Boucher 155
_From the original painting in the Uffizi, Florence._
THE CHRIST-CHILD Deger 159
HEAD OF BOY CHRIST Hofmann 163
_Detail of Christ Disputing with the Doctors._
* * * * *
I.
CHILDHOOD IN IDEAL TYPES.
O child! O new-born denizen
Of life's great city! on thy head
The glory of the morn is shed,
Like a celestial benison!
Here at the portal thou dost stand,
And with thy little hand
Thou openest the mysterious gate
Into the future's undiscovered land.
LONGFELLOW.
CHILD-LIFE IN ART.
CHAPTER I.
CHILDHOOD IN IDEAL TYPES.
If we could gather into one great gallery all the paintings of
child-life which the world has ever produced, there would be scattered
here and there some few works of a distinctly unique character, before
which we should rest so completely satisfied that we should quite forget
to look at any others. These choice gems are the work of those rare men
of genius who, looking beyond all trivial circumstances and individual
peculiarities, discovered the essential secrets of child-life, and
embodied them in ideal types. They are pictures of _childhood_, rather
than of _children_, representing those phases of thought and emotion
which are peculiar to the child as such, and which all children possess
in common. In their presence every mother spontaneously exclaims, "How
like my own little one!" because the artist has interpreted the real
child nature. Such pictures may justly take rank among the highest
productions of creative art, having proven their claim to greatness by
their unquestioned appeal to universal admiration.
In work of this kind one name alone is prominent, a name which England
is proud to claim as hers, but to which all the world pays honor,--the
name of Sir Joshua Reynolds, Prince of Child-painters. A simple-hearted
man, of sweet, kindly disposition, the great portrait-painter, bachelor
though he was, possessed in rare measure the mysterious gift of winning
the confidence of children. The great octagonal studio in Leicester
Square must have often resounded to the laughter of childish voices, as
he entertained his little patrons with the pet dogs and birds he used in
their portraits, and coaxed them into good nature with a thousand merry
tricks. Although the greater number of these little people belonged to
the most wealthy and aristocratic families in England, their pictures
do not in any way indicate their rank. Still less do they show any
distinguishing marks of the artificial age in which they lived. Dressed
in the simplest of costumes, of the sort which is never out of fashion
and always in the best taste, and posed in the natural attitudes of
unconscious grace, they are representatives of childhood, pure and
simple, rather than of any particular social class or historical period.
A list of Sir Joshua's child pictures may suitably begin with one
which, in his own opinion, is among the best and most original of all
his works. This is the Strawberry Girl, exhibited in 1773, and repeated
many times by the painter,--"not so much for the sake of profit," as
Northcote explains, "as for improvement." The model was the artist's
pretty niece, Miss Theophila ("Offy") Palmer, who was named for his
mother, and whom he loved as an own daughter.
The little girl stands with head slightly drooping, in the sweet, shy
way so natural to a timid child. The big eyes are lifted to ours half
confidingly, half timidly, while a smile hovers bewitchingly over the
mouth. A long, pointed basket hangs on one arm, and the plump hands are
folded together in front like a little woman's. The child wears a
curious round cap on her head, under which, presumably, her hair is
gathered up in womanly fashion, for there are no stray locks to be
seen except the two soft curves on the forehead. Altogether, the figure
presents just that odd commingling of dignity with childish timidity
which we so often notice in our own little maids, and which makes them
at once so lovable and so womanly.
[Illustration: THE STRAWBERRY GIRL.--REYNOLDS.]
Some fifteen years after Sir Joshua's niece posed as the Strawberry
Girl, her own little daughter, another "Offy," served the artist uncle
as the model for Simplicity. The great-niece was as lovely a child as
her mother had been, and critics agree in placing Simplicity among the
best works of the painter. The setting is a landscape, in the foreground
of which the child is seated, with her lap full of flowers. The sweet
face is turned aside in a somewhat pensive poise, and the exquisite
purity of its expression is exactly represented by the title. Of a
similar character is the Age of Innocence, which portrays a little girl
looking out into the world with wide eyes and parted lips, a complete
embodiment of the innocence of childhood on the threshold of life. The
face, which is presented in profile, is finely cut, and charmingly
framed in short, clustering curls.
In looking for ideal types among the child-pictures of Sir Joshua
Reynolds, we need by no means be confined to those which bear fancy
titles. His portraits are as truly interpretative as his imaginative
subjects, and each typifies a distinct element of child-life. The little
Miss Bowles sitting on the ground hugging her dog, and Master Bunbury
looking out of the canvas with breathless eagerness, arouse a universal
interest, which is entirely independent of their individuality. Miss
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THE POETICAL WORKS
OF
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
VOL. V
[Illustration: _William Wordsworth_
_after Margaret Gillies_
_Printed by Wittmann Paris_]
THE POETICAL WORKS
OF
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
EDITED BY
WILLIAM KNIGHT
VOL. V
[Illustration]
London
MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD.
NEW YORK: MACMILLAN & CO.
1896
_All rights reserved_
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE EXCURSION--
PREFACE TO THE EDITION OF 1814 20
BOOK FIRST--THE WANDERER 26
BOOK SECOND--THE SOLITARY 67
BOOK THIRD--DESPONDENCY 105
BOOK FOURTH--DESPONDENCY CORRECTED 142
BOOK FIFTH--THE PASTOR 195
BOOK SIXTH--THE CHURCH-YARD AMONG
THE MOUNTAINS 235
BOOK SEVENTH--THE CHURCH-YARD AMONG
THE MOUNTAINS--_Continued_ 283
BOOK EIGHTH--THE PARSONAGE 326
BOOK NINTH--DISCOURSE OF THE WANDERER,
AND AN EVENING VISIT TO THE LAKE 352
NOTES 383
APPENDIX
NOTE A 391
NOTE B 392
NOTE C 393
NOTE D 396
NOTE E 398
WORDSWORTH'S POETICAL WORKS
THE EXCURSION
Composed 1795-1814.--Published 1814
[Something must now be said of this poem, but chiefly, as has been done
through the whole of these notes, with reference to my personal friends,
and especially to her who has perseveringly taken them down from my
dictation. Towards the close of the first book, stand the lines that were
first written,--beginning "Nine tedious years," and ending "Last human
tenant of these ruined walls." These were composed in 1795, at Racedown;
and for several passages describing the employment and demeanour of
Margaret during her affliction, I was indebted to observations made
in Dorsetshire, and afterwards at Alfoxden, in Somersetshire, where
I resided in 1797 and 1798. The lines towards the conclusion of the
fourth book, "Despondency corrected,"--beginning "For the man who in
this spirit," to the words "intellectual soul,"--were in order of time
composed the next, either at Racedown or Alfoxden, I do not remember
which. The rest of the poem was written in the vale of Grasmere, chiefly
during our residence at Allan Bank. The long poem on my own education
was, together with many minor poems, composed while we lived at the
cottage at Town-end. Perhaps my purpose of giving an additional interest
to these my poems, in the eyes of my nearest and dearest friends, may be
promoted by saying a few words upon the character of the Wanderer, the
Solitary, and the Pastor, and some other of the persons introduced. And
first of the principal one, the Wanderer.
My lamented friend Southey (for this is written a month after his
decease[A]) used to say that had he been born a <DW7>, the course of
life which would in all probability have been his, was the one for which
he was most fitted and most to his mind, that of a Benedictine monk, in
a convent, furnished, as many once were, and some still are, with an
inexhaustible library. _Books_, as appears from many passages in his
writings, and was evident to those who had opportunities of observing his
daily life, were in fact _his passion_; and _wandering_, I can with truth
affirm, was _mine_; but this propensity in me was happily counteracted by
inability from want of fortune to fulfil my wishes.
But had I been born in a class which would have deprived me of what is
called a liberal education, it is not unlikely that, being strong in
body, I should have taken to a way of life such as that in which my
Pedlar passed the greater part of his days. At all events, I am here
called upon freely to acknowledge that the character I have represented
in his person is chiefly an idea of what I fancied my own character might
have become in his circumstances. Nevertheless much of what he says and
does had an external existence, that fell under my own youthful and
subsequent observation.
An individual, named Patrick, by birth and education a Scotchman,
followed this humble occupation for many years, and afterwards settled
in the town of Kendal.[B] He married a kinswoman of my wife's, and her
sister Sarah was brought up from her ninth year under this good man's
roof.[C] My own imaginations I was happy to find clothed in reality,
and fresh ones suggested, by what she reported of this man's tenderness
of heart, his strong and pure imagination, and his solid attainments in
literature, chiefly religious, whether in prose or verse. At Hawkshead
also, while I was a schoolboy, there occasionally resided a Packman
(the name then generally given to persons of this calling), with whom
I had frequent conversations upon what had befallen him, and what he
had observed, during his wandering life; and, as was natural, we took
much to each other; and, upon the subject of _Pedlarism_ in general, as
_then_ followed, and its favourableness to an intimate knowledge of human
concerns, not merely among the humbler classes of society, I need say
nothing here in addition to what is to be found in _The Excursion_, and a
note attached to it.
Now for the Solitary. Of him I have much less to say. Not long after we
took up our abode at Grasmere, came to reside there, from what motive
I either never knew or have forgotten, a Scotchman, a little past the
middle of life, who had for many years been chaplain to a Highland
regiment. He was in no respect, as far as I know, an interesting
character, though in his appearance there was a good deal that attracted
attention, as if he had been shattered in fortune, and not happy in mind.
Of his quondam position I availed myself to connect with the Wanderer,
also a Scotchman, a character suitable to my purpose, the elements of
which I drew from several persons with whom I had been connected, and
who fell under my observation during frequent residences in London at
the beginning of the French Revolution. The chief of these was, one may
now say, a Mr. Fawcett, a preacher at a Dissenting meeting-house at the
Old Jewry. It happened to me several times to be one of his congregation
through my connection with Mr. Nicholson of Cateaton Street, Strand,
who, at a time when I had not many acquaintances in London, used often
to invite me to dine with him on Sundays; and I took that opportunity
(Mr. N. being a Dissenter) of going to hear Fawcett, who was an able and
eloquent man. He published a poem on War, which had a good deal of merit,
and made me think more about him than I should otherwise have done.
But his Christianity was probably never very deeply rooted; and, like
many others in those times of like shewy talents, he had not strength
of character to withstand the effects of the French Revolution, and of
the wild and lax opinions which had done so much towards producing it,
and far more in carrying it forward in its extremes. Poor Fawcett, I
have been told, became pretty much such a person as I have described,
and early disappeared from the stage, having fallen into habits of
intemperance, which I have heard (though I will not answer for the fact)
hastened his death. Of him I need say no more. There were many like him
at that time, which the world will never be without, but which were more
numerous then, for reasons too obvious to be dwelt upon.
To what is said of the Pastor in the poem, I have little to add but what
may be deemed superfluous. It has ever appeared to me highly favourable
to the beneficial influence of the Church of England upon all gradations
and classes of society, that the patronage of its benefices is in
numerous instances attached to the estates of noble families of ancient
gentry; and accordingly I am gratified by the opportunity afforded me in
_The Excursion_, to pourtray the character of a country clergyman of more
than ordinary talents, born and bred in the upper ranks of society so
as to partake of their refinements, and at the same time brought by his
pastoral office and his love of rural life into intimate connection with
the peasantry of his native district.
To illustrate the relation which in my mind this Pastor bore to the
Wanderer, and the resemblances between them, or rather the points of
community in their nature, I likened one to an oak, and the other to a
sycamore; and having here referred to this comparison, I need only add, I
had no one individual in my mind, wishing rather to embody this idea than
to break in upon the simplicity of it by traits of individual character,
or of any peculiarity of opinion.
And now for a few words upon the scene where these interviews and
conversations are supposed to occur.
The scene of the first book of the poem is, I must own, laid in a
tract of country not sufficiently near to that which soon comes into
view in the second book, to agree with the fact. All that relates to
Margaret, and the ruined cottage, etc., was taken from observations
made in the south-west of England, and certainly it would require more
than seven-league boots to stretch in one morning, from a common in
Somersetshire, or Dorsetshire, to the heights of Furness Fells, and the
deep valleys they embosom. For thus dealing with space, I need make, I
trust, no apology; but my friends may be amused by the truth.
In the poem, I suppose that the Pedlar and I ascended from a plain
country up the vale of Langdale, and struck off a good way above the
chapel to the western side of the vale. We ascended the hill, and thence
looked down upon the circular recess in which lies Blea Tarn, chosen by
the Solitary for his retreat. After we quit his cottage, passing over
a low ridge, we descend into another vale, that of Little Langdale,
towards the head of which stands embowered, or partly shaded by yews and
other trees, something between a cottage and a mansion, or gentleman's
house, such as they once were in this country. This I convert into the
parsonage, and at the same time, and as by the waving of a magic wand, I
turn the comparatively confined vale of Langdale, its tarn, and the rude
chapel which once adorned the valley, into the stately and comparatively
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COMPLIMENTS OF THE AUTHOR TO
[Illustration: Anson Mills]
[Illustration: Hannah Cassel Mills]
MY STORY
BY
ANSON MILLS
BRIGADIER GENERAL, U. S. A.
EDITED BY C. H. CLAUDY
PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR
1918
PRESS OF BYRON S. ADAMS
WASHINGTON, D. C.
COPYRIGHT 1918
BY ANSON MILLS, BRIG.-GEN. U. S. A.
CONTENTS
FIRST PERIOD
PAGE
My Ancestors 25
Privations of the Early Pioneers 31
Charlotteville Academy 37
West Point Military Academy 41
Early Days in Texas 48
El Paso Experiences 51
In Washington 64
My Brothers in Texas 69
SECOND PERIOD
Four Years of Civil War 78
After the War 102
Marriage 114
THIRD PERIOD
Travels West and East 123
Nannie's Impressions of the West 135
Western Experiences 152
Detail to Paris Exposition 177
Out West Again 186
Brevet Commissions in the Army 209
In Washington Again 213
Consolidation of the El Paso and Juarez Street Railways 251
The Reformation of El Paso 253
Mexico 258
Equitable Distribution of the Waters of the Rio Grande 263
Boundary Commission 281
Woman's Suffrage 307
Prohibition 310
Trip to Europe with General Miles 312
My Cartridge Belt Equipment 314
The League to Enforce Peace 332
Trial by Combat 341
Personal Trial by Combat 341
National Trial by Combat 349
Honolulu 355
Conclusion 357
APPENDICES
The Organization and Administration of the United States Army 361
Address before the Society of the Army of the Cumberland 382
Address before the Order of Indian Wars, on "The Battle of the
Rosebud" 394
INDEX TO ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
Anson and Nannie, day before marriage 117
Anson, day before marriage, with "Big Four" Cassel girls 117
Banco de Santa Margarita 290, 291
Batchelder, Frank R. 254
Bisbee, Brigadier General William H. 101
Blanco, Jacobo 279
Bridger, Jim 154
Burckhalter, Marietta 29
Burges, Richard F. 295
Cannon, Speaker Joseph 235
Cartridge Belt Equipment 315, 316, 319, 320, 323, 324, 327, 328
Caldwell, Menger 241
Caldwell, Sally 241
Cassel, Mr. and Mrs., with "Auntie" 120
Chamizal Arbitration Commission 296
Clark, Speaker Champ 234
Cleveland, President Grover 226
Cody, W. F. (Buffalo Bill) 154
Commanding Officer's quarters at Ft. Grant 196
Dennis, William C. 295
Dewey, Admiral George 236
Duelling pistols 340
Fairbanks, Vice-President Charles W. 250
Father and son at fifty-eight and thirteen years 205
Follett, W. W. 274
Freeman, Brigadier General H. B. 101
Granddaughters, Nancy, Constance and Mabel 240
Happer, John A. 254
Hazlett, Captain Charles E. 67
Hoar, Senator George F. 228
Horcon cut-off 288, 289
Joint Boundarv Commission 280
Keblinger, W. Wilbur 254
Kelly, Dora Miller 241
Kline, Kathleen Cassel 244
Little Anson at five, and Constance at two years 187
Little Anson at seventeen months and twelve years 218
Little Anson's company at Ft. Grant 194
McKinley, President William 227
Map of El Paso 56, 57
Map, Showing the Principal Engagements, Sioux War 399
Map, Battle of the Rosebud 403
Martin, Captain Carl Anson 244
Martin, Caroline Mills 29
Miles, General Nelson A. 12
Miller, Martin V. B. 241
Mills, Allen 28
Mills, Anson 2
Mills, Emmett 28
Mills, Hannah Cassel 3
Mills, James P. 29
Mills, W. W. 28
Mills Building, El Paso 247
Mills Building, Washington, D. C. 246
Mills Memorial Fountain, Thorntown, Indiana 242
Moral Suasion Horse at Fort Bridger 110
My abandoned birthplace 39
My family and Commanding Officer's quarters at Ft. Thomas 191
My father and his daughters 29
Myself with brothers 28
Nannie and Constance at Ft. Grant 202
Nannie's family Bible inscription 185
Nannie's residence at Gloucester (Bayberry Ledge) 248
Nannie's travels (graphic map) 216, 217
Nannie 215
Nettleton, Colonel E. S. 274
No Flesh (Brulé Chief) 159
No Flesh Battle Picture 160, 161
Orndorff, Mr. and Mrs. Thomas C. 330
Our sitting room at Ft. Grant 198
Our residence in Washington 224
Overton (Captain) with Nancy 239
Overton, Constance Mills 239
Picnic at Ft. Thomas 192
Powell, Major James W. 274
Puga, F. Beltran y 279
Robertson, Jack 154
Root, Senator Elihu 229
Scales and Armor 88
Schley, Admiral Winfield Scott 237
Shepherd, Brigadier General O. L. 101
Smiley, Eliza Jane 29
Spotted Tail (Brulé Chief) 159
Steedman, Major General James B. 101
Stevens, Horace B. 254
Street in El Paso, 1870 188
Summer Camp on Graham Mountain 201
Tepee and capturing officers at Slim Buttes 110
Wilson, Brigadier General John M. (classmate) 249
[Illustration:
_To General Anson Mills
from his friend
Nelson A. Miles_
_Lieut-General U. S. Army_
]
PREFACE
WASHINGTON, D. C., December 12, 1917.
The record of important events in human affairs as they are placed
upon the pages of history and drift into the shadows of the past,
should be recorded with sacred fidelity. The historian who places
accurate and important knowledge at the disposal of the present and
future students and writers is a public benefactor for those not only
of his own time, but for the generations that shall follow.
The achievements and failures, the evils and blessings, the
benevolence and the injustice, the rights and wrongs, the ambitions,
wisdom and intelligence, the happiness and nobility, as well as the
distress and sacrifice of a race or people rightly recorded, forms an
invaluable guide and chart for the innumerable throng that occupy the
field of activities and in their turn pass on to be replaced by others.
Doubly fortunate is the one who takes an important and distinguished
part in the important events of his time, and then can write an
account of those events for the instruction and benefit of others. It
is doubtful if any epoch in history was more important or freighted
with more difficult or greater problems to be solved than those
presented during the time just preceding, during and subsequent to our
great Civil War.
The great Republic formed after seven years of valor and sacrifice
from thirteen weak and scattered colonies, had, through several
decades of unprecedented development and prosperity, become a most
powerful homogeneous nation. In its creation and progress, there was
left one element of discord; one vexed question remained unsettled
that threatened to dismember the government, destroy the federation
and seriously embarrass our advance toward a higher civilization. When
reason became dethroned, logic and argument failed, the problem had to
be settled by the dread arbitrament of war.
The young men, the very flower of our national manhood, were required
to decide that great problem. For the very important duties of
citizenship and soldier, the distinguished author of this volume was
well equipped for the important duties of that time and to render
important service for his government and the people of our country.
Descending from the best of ancestral stock, born and reared in what
was known as the Great Middle West, in an atmosphere of national
independence, a region of our country where we find the highest type
of our American civilization, he grew to manhood under the most
favored auspices. Educated at excellent schools and institutions of
learning, his mind became well stored with useful knowledge concerning
his own country and the world. He then went to that famous military
academy, West Point, where he acquired a thorough military training
and those manly attributes for which the institution is noted.
His mind naturally sought wider fields of usefulness, and when he
resigned, he became identified with that marvelous civil development
that has transformed a vast wilderness and mountain waste into
productive communities and States.
As a civil engineer, he was most useful and successful. When the great
crisis came, he was found true and steadfast in his allegiance to the
national welfare amid chaos, doubt and uncertainty. His loyalty was
invaluable, his patriotism sublime; among the first to volunteer, his
record was most commendable and praiseworthy, ever present in every
campaign and battle in which his company or regiment was engaged. Four
times breveted for distinguished conduct in battle, he fought for a
principle, and had the satisfaction of witnessing its final triumph,
and its universal approval by the civilized world.
In that "war for civilization" on our western frontier, he again
rendered distinguished service, not only by his conspicuous gallantry
in action against Indians, but by his skill and genius as a commander
in achieving success and victory where there was little prospect of
winning either. In a campaign where success depends entirely upon the
ability of the commander, there he succeeded.
During a long life of civil and military achievements, he was blessed
by the companionship of one of the most estimable, accomplished and
noblest of women, whose gentle influence was refining, whose presence
was inspiring, and whose counsel was most encouraging and beneficial.
A successful life, rich with noble designs and good deeds, General
Mills has contributed a favor in giving to the readers, the result of
his experiences and observations.
These pages are commended to the public with the full knowledge of the
fact that they are written for no selfish purpose, but for the highest
and best of motives.
[Illustration:
_Nelson A. Miles_
_Lieutenant General, U. S. Army._
]
BAYBERRY LEDGE,
EAST GLOUCESTER, MASS.,
August 31, 1917.
MY DEAR DAUGHTER CONSTANCE:
After retiring from the line of the army, some twenty years
ago, I had no further military duty before me save that of
Commissioner on the Boundary Commission between the United
States and Mexico, which I believed would occupy but a short
time. Your mother and I had permanently located in Washington.
We believed our lives had been so varied--mingling with so many
races during so many vicissitudes and trials--that it would be
interesting to you and your children for me, assisted by her, to
write of our careers. Of this intention we told you in a letter
dated January 1, 1898, that you might help us in such parts of
the story as you were old enough to remember, although this was
but a small part of our long career, you coming to us when we
were middle-aged.
But the duties of the Boundary Commission became so arduous,
and my business increased so as to keep me strenuously occupied
until two years ago. And now, just as I find time for these
reminiscences, the greatest sorrow of my life has come upon
you and me--the loss of your mother. This shock has been so
appalling that it shook my resolution to attempt the task
without her, who had been the inspiration and chief factor in
my life. Before giving up the plan, however, I submitted it to
friends who had been nearest to us during our married life,
and asked their advice. They all think I should not abandon my
first intention of writing my life and career, in which my wife
took so large a part. I record here my letter to Mrs. Albert
S. Burleson and her answer, which is typical of the rest. I
have selected her letter for publication because of its womanly
sentiment, and because the marital life of General Burleson,
my friend for a generation, has been not unlike my own. These
letters are as follows:
EASTERN POINT,
GLOUCESTER, MASS.,
May 31, 1917.
MY DEAR MRS. BURLESON:
We, Constance and I, want to thank you and General Burleson for
your card of sympathy.
Twenty years ago, after retirement, I had in mind to write
a reminiscence of my career, but the boundary duties and my
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(This file was produced from images generously made
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CHESS
GENERALSHIP
BY
FRANKLIN K. YOUNG
_Vol. I._
GRAND RECONNAISSANCE.
“_He who first devised chessplay, made a model of the Art
Militarie, representing therein all the concurrents and
contemplations of War, without omitting any._”
“_Examen de Ingenios._”
_Juan Huarte, 1616._
“_Chess is the deepest of all games; it is constructed to carry
out the principal of a battle, and the whole theory of Chess lies
in that form of action._”
_Emanuel Lasker._
BOSTON
INTERNATIONAL PUBLISHING CO.
1910
_Copyright, 1910_,
BY FRANKLIN K. YOUNG.
_Entered at Stationers’ Hall._
_All rights reserved._
“_Chess is the gymnasium for the mind--it does for the brain what
athletics does for the body._”
_Henry Thomas Buckle._
GEORGE E. CROSBY CO., PRINTERS, BOSTON, MASS.
YOUNG’S CHESS WORKS
MINOR TACTICS OF CHESS $1.00
An eminently attractive treatment of the game of
Chess.--_Scientific American._
MAJOR TACTICS OF CHESS 2.50
In this book one finds the principles of strategy
and logistics applied to Chess in a unique and
scientific way.--_Army and Navy Register._
GRAND TACTICS OF CHESS 3.50
For the student who desires to enter the broader
channels of Chess, the best books are by FRANKLIN
K. YOUNG: his “Minor Tactics” and his more elaborate
“Grand Tactics” are the most important productions
of modern Chess literature.--_American Chess Magazine._
CHESS STRATEGETICS ILLUSTRATED 2.50
We know no work outside of the masterpieces of Newton,
Hamilton and Darwin, which so organizes and systematizes
human thought.--_Chicago Evening Post._
* * * * *
_“There are secrets that the children_
_Are not taught in public school;_
_If these secrets were broadcasted,_
_How could we the masses rule?_
_If they understood Religion,_
_Jurisprudence, Trade and War,_
_Would they groan and sweat and labor--_
_Make our bricks and furnish straw?”_
_Anon._
* * * * *
TO
The Memory
OF
EPAMINONDAS
THE INVENTOR
OF
SCIENTIFIC WARFARE
* * * * *
_“I leave no sons_
_To perpetuate my name;_
_But I leave two daughters--_
_LEUCTRA and MANTINEA_
_Who will transmit my fame_
_To remotest posterity.”_
* * * * *
_“For empire and greatness it importeth most that a people
do profess arms as their principal honor, study and
occupation.”--Sir Francis Bacon._
* * * * *
_“There is nothing truly imposing but Military Glory.”--Napoleon._
* * * * *
_“The conquered in war, sinking beneath the tribute exacted
by the victor and not daring to utter their impotent hatred,
bequeath to their children miseries so extreme that the aged have
not further evil to fear in death, nor the youthful any good to
hope in life.”--Xenocles._
* * * * *
_“War is an element established by the Deity in the order of
the World; perpetual peace upon this Earth we inhabit is a
dream.”--Von Moltke._
PREFACE
_“To become a good General one well may begin by playing at
Chess.”--Prince de Condé._
_Except the theatre of actual Warfare, no spot known to man furnishes
such facilities for the practice of combined strategy, tactics and
logistics as does the surface of the Chess-board._
To those familiar with the Science of Strategetics, it needs no proof
that ability to play a good game at Chess, indicates the possession of
faculties common to all great military commanders.
At a certain point, the talent of Morphy for Chess-play and the talent of
Napoleon for Warfare become merged; and beyond this point, their methods
of thought and of action are identical.
Opportunity to display, and in most spectacular fashion, their singular
and superlative genius, was not wanting to either.
But unlike the ferocious Corsican, whose “only desire is to find myself
on the battlefield,” the greatest of all Masters at Chess, found in the
slaughter of his fellow-creatures no incentive sufficient to call forth
those unsurpassed strategetical powers, which recorded Chess-play shows
he possessed.
From this sameness of talent, common to the great Chess-player and the
great military commander, arises the practical utility of the Royal Game.
For by means of Chess-play, one may learn and practice in their highest
interpretation, mental and physical processes of paramount importance to
the community in time of extreme peril.
From such considerations and for the further reason that in a true
Republic all avenues to greatness are open to merit, scientific
Chess-play should be intelligently and systematically taught in the
public schools. “A people desirous of liberty will entrust its defense to
none but themselves,” says the Roman maxim, and in crises, woe to that
land where the ruler is but a child in arms, and where the disinclination
of the people towards its exercise is equalled by their unfamiliarity
with the military habit.
Despite the ethics of civilization, the optimism of the “unco guid” and
the unction even of our own heart’s deep desire, there seems no doubt but
that each generation will have its wars.
“_Pax perpetua_,” writes Leibnitz, “exists only in God’s acre.” Here on
earth, if seems that men forever will continue to murder one another for
various reasons; all of which, in the future as in the past, will be good
and sufficient to the fellow who wins; and this by processes differing
only in neatness and despatch.
Whether this condition is commendable or not, depends upon the point
of view. Being irremediable, such phase of the subject hardly is worth
discussing. However, the following by a well-qualified observer, is
interesting and undeniably an intelligent opinion, viz.:
From the essay on “WAR,” read by Prof. John Ruskin at Woolwich, (Eng.)
Military Academy.
“All the pure and noble arts of Peace are founded on War; no great Art
ever rose on Earth, but among a nation of soldiers.
“As Peace is established or extended the Arts decline. They reach an
unparalleled pitch of costliness, but lose their life, enlist themselves
at last on the side of luxury and corruption and among wholly tranquil
nations, wither utterly away.
“So when I tell you that War is the foundation of all the Arts, I mean
also that it is the foundation of all the high virtues and faculties of
men.
“It was very strange for me to discover this and very dreadful--but I saw
it to be quite an undeniable fact.
“We talk of Peace and Learning, of Peace and Plenty, of Peace and
Civilization; but I found that those were not the words which the Muse of
History coupled together; but that on her lips the words were--Peace and
Selfishness, Peace and Sensuality, Peace and Corruption, Peace and Death.
“I found in brief, that all great nations learned their truth of word and
strength of thought in War; that they were nourished in War and wasted in
Peace; taught by War and deceived by Peace; trained by War and betrayed
by Peace; that they were born in War and expired in Peace.
“Creative, or foundational War, is that in which the natural
restlessness and love of contest among men, is disciplined into modes of
beautiful--though it may be fatal--play; in which the natural ambition
and love of Power is chastened into aggressive conquest of surrounding
evil; and in which the natural instincts of self-defence are sanctified
by the nobleness of the institutions which they are appointed to defend.
“For such War as this all men are born; in such War as this any man may
happily die; and forth from such War as this have arisen throughout the
Ages, all the highest sanctities and virtues of Humanity.”
* * * * *
That our own country may escape the common lot of nations, is something
not even to be hoped.
Defended by four almost bottomless ditches, nevertheless it is a
certainty that coming generations of Americans must stand in arms, not
only to repel foreign aggression, but to uphold even the integrity of the
Great Republic; and with the hand-writing of coming events flaming on the
wall, posterity well may heed the solemn warning of by-gone centuries:
“_As man is superior to the brute, so is a trained and educated soldier
superior to the merely brave, numerous and enthusiastic._”
* * * * *
_“The evils to be apprehended from a standing army are remote and in
my judgment, not to be dreaded; but | 183.260172 |
2023-11-16 18:20:07.4380340 | 2,128 | 13 |
Produced by David Edwards, Josephine Paolucci 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: THE BOAT BUILDER SERIES
OLIVER OPTIC
William T. Adams]
The Boat-Builder Series.
I.
ALL ADRIFT;
OR,
THE GOLDWING CLUB.
II.
SNUG HARBOR;
OR,
THE CHAMPLAIN MECHANICS.
III.
SQUARE AND COMPASS;
OR,
BUILDING THE HOUSE.
IV.
STEM TO STERN;
OR,
BUILDING THE BOAT.
V.
ALL TAUT;
OR,
RIGGING THE BOAT.
VI.
READY ABOUT;
OR,
SAILING THE BOAT.
[Illustration: "WHAT ARE YOU DOING UP THERE? DEMANDED PEARL." PAGE
252.]
[Illustration: OLIVER OPTIC'S
BOAT-BUILDER SERIES.
ALL ADRIFT.
BOSTON, LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS.]
_The Boat-Builder Series_
ALL ADRIFT
OR
THE GOLDWING CLUB
BY
OLIVER OPTIC
AUTHOR OF "YOUNG AMERICA ABROAD" "THE GREAT WESTERN SERIES" "THE ARMY
AND NAVY SERIES" "THE WOODVILLE SERIES" "THE STARRY-FLAG SERIES" "THE
BOAT-CLUB STORIES" "THE UPWARD AND ONWARD SERIES" "THE YACHT-CLUB
SERIES" "THE LAKE-SHORE SERIES" "THE RIVERDALE STORIES" ETC. ETC.
_WITH EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS_
BOSTON
LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK
CHARLES T. DILLINGHAM
1883
COPYRIGHT, 1882,
BY WILLIAM T. ADAMS.
_All rights reserved._
TO MY GRANDSON
ROBERT ELMER RUSSELL
This Book
IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.
PREFACE.
"All Adrift" is the first volume of a new set of books, to be known as
"THE BOAT-BUILDER SERIES." The story contains the adventures of a boy
who is trying to do something to help support the family, but who finds
himself all adrift in the world. He has the reputation of being rather
"wild," though he proves that he is honest, loves the truth, and is
willing to work for a living. Having been born and brought up on the
shore of Lake Champlain, he could not well avoid being a boatman,
especially as his father was a pilot on a steamer. Nearly all the scenes
of the story are on the water; and the boy shows not only that he can
handle a boat, but that he has ingenuity, and fertility of resource.
The narrative of the hero's adventures contained in this volume is the
introduction to the remaining volumes of the series, in which this boy
and others are put in the way of obtaining a great deal of useful
information, by which the readers of these books are expected to profit.
Captain Royal Gildrock, a wealthy retired shipmaster, has some ideas of
his own in regard to boys. He thinks that one great need of this country
is educated mechanics, more skilled labor. He has the means to carry his
ideas into practice, and actively engages in the work of instructing and
building up the boys in a knowledge of the useful arts. He believes in
religion, morality, and social and political virtue. He insists upon
practice in addition to precept and theory, as well in the inculcation
of the duties of social life as in mechanics and useful arts.
If the first volume is all story and adventure, those that follow it
will not be wholly given up to the details of the mechanic arts. The
captain has a steam-yacht; and the hero of the first story has a fine
sailboat, to say nothing of a whole fleet of other craft belonging to
the nabob. The boys are not of the tame sort: they are not of the
humdrum kind, and they are inclined to make things lively. In fact, they
are live boys, and the captain sometimes has his hands full in managing
them.
With this explanation, the author sends out the first volume with the
hope that this book and those which follow it will be as successful as
their numerous predecessors in pleasing his young friends--and his old
friends, he may add, as he treads the downhill of life.
DORCHESTER, MASS., AUG. 21, 1882.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. PAGE
A GROWLING PASSENGER 13
CHAPTER II.
A SHORT AND DECISIVE CONFLICT 24
CHAPTER III.
A BRILLIANT SCHEME MADE POSSIBLE 34
CHAPTER IV.
IN THE CABIN OF THE GOLDWING 45
CHAPTER V.
A BOAT WITH A BAD REPUTATION 55
CHAPTER VI.
THE ROBBERY AT THE HOTEL 66
CHAPTER VII.
THE MAN THAT LOOKED THROUGH THE KEYHOLE 76
CHAPTER VIII.
THE COLCHESTER CLUB CHANGES ITS NAME 87
CHAPTER IX.
A WEATHER HELM AND A LEE HELM 98
CHAPTER X.
THE MISSISQUOI IN PURSUIT 109
CHAPTER XI.
THE BEGINNING OF THE CHASE 119
CHAPTER XII.
A ROUGH TIME OF IT 129
CHAPTER XIII.
SAFE UNDER A LEE 140
CHAPTER XIV.
EARLY IN THE MORNING 150
CHAPTER XV.
THE STRATEGY OF THE CHASE 161
CHAPTER XVI.
A GRAVE CHARGE AGAINST THE SKIPPER 172
CHAPTER XVII.
DORY DORNWOOD DECIDES TO "FACE THE MUSIC" 183
CHAPTER XVIII.
DORY LOCKS HIS PASSENGERS INTO THE CABIN 194
CHAPTER XIX.
PEARL HAWLINSHED RESORTS TO VIOLENCE 205
CHAPTER XX.
MR. PEPPERS FINDS THE TABLES TURNED 215
CHAPTER XXI.
Another Element in the Contest 226
CHAPTER XXII.
THE GAME AMONG THE SHALLOWS 237
CHAPTER XXIII.
HEADED OFF ON BOTH SIDES 247
CHAPTER XXIV.
THROUGH VARIED STRIFE AND STRUGGLES 257
CHAPTER XXV.
WIND SOUTH-SOUTH-WEST BLOWING FRESH 268
CHAPTER XXVI.
DORY DORNWOOD MANOEUVRES TO ESCAPE 278
CHAPTER XXVII.
DORY MAKES A HARBOR FOR THE NIGHT 289
CHAPTER XXVIII.
TERRIBLE INTELLIGENCE FROM HOME 300
CHAPTER XXIX.
CAPTAIN GILDROCK HAS DECIDED OBJECTIONS 310
CHAPTER XXX.
CAPTAIN GILDROCK DILATES UPON HIS NOTABLE SCHEME 321
ALL ADRIFT;
OR,
THE GOLDWING CLUB.
CHAPTER I.
A GROWLING PASSENGER.
"Boy, I told you to bring me some pickles," said Major Billcord, a
passenger on a Lake Champlain steamer, to a boy in a white jacket, who
was doing duty as a waiter at dinner in the cabin.
"Yes, sir; and I brought them," replied Dory Dornwood, as he took the
dish of pickles almost from under the passenger's nose, and placed it
quite under his nose.
"No impudence to me, boy!" exclaimed Major Billcord, as he bestowed a
savage glance at the young waiter.
"I beg your pardon, sir: I did not mean to be impudent," replied Dory
meekly.
"Waiter, bring me a piece of roast beef rare. Now, mind, I want it
rare," said the passenger sitting next to the major.
"Yes, sir; in a moment, sir," added Dory, to indicate that he heard the
order.
"When I send you for any thing, you should put it where I can see it,"
added Major Billcord sternly.
"I thought I put the pickles where you could see them," answered Dory,
as he started for the pantry to obtain the roast beef rare.
"Here, boy, stop!" called the major. "Where are you going now? Bring me
the boiled onions, and I want them well done."
"Yes, sir," replied the waiter, as he darted after the onions, and
returned with them in an instant; for he found the dish in another part
of the table. "The boiled onions," he added, as he placed them beside
the snappy passenger's plate, so that he should be sure to see them.
"Isn't it about time for my roast beef, waiter?" asked the next
gentleman.
"In a moment, sir."
"These onions are not half done, boy!" exclaimed the major. "I told you
to bring me onions well done, and not raw onions."
"I don't cook them, sir; and I brought such as I find on the table,"
pleaded Dory, as he started to fill the order of the next passenger.
"Here! come back, boy! I want boiled onions well done, and I don't want
any impudence," snarled the major.
Dory brought another dish of onions, and placed them by the side of the
gentleman's plate. He repeated the order of the next passenger to assure
him that he had not forgotten it, and was in the act of rushing for it,
when Major Billcord broke out again.
"These onions are no better than the others: they are not half cooked.
Now go to the steward, and tell him I want boiled onions well done."
"Get my roast beef first," | 183.458074 |
2023-11-16 18:20:07.4398690 | 7,436 | 8 |
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Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/gardinercrom00garduoft
OLIVER CROMWELL
* * * * * *
WORKS BY SAMUEL RAWSON GARDINER
HISTORY OF ENGLAND, from the Accession of James I. to the Outbreak
of the Civil War, 1603-1642. 10 vols. crown 8vo, 5_s._ net each.
A HISTORY OF THE GREAT CIVIL WAR, 1642-1649. 4 vols. crown 8vo,
5_s._ net each.
A HISTORY OF THE COMMONWEALTH AND THE PROTECTORATE. 1649-1660. 4
vols. crown 8vo, 5_s._ net each.
A STUDENT'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND. From the Earliest Times to 1885.
Vol. I. B.C. 55-A.D. 1509. With 173 Illustrations. Crown 8vo, 4_s._
Vol. II. 1509-1689. With 96 Illustrations. Crown 8vo, 4_s._
Vol. III. 1689-1901. With 109 Illustrations. Crown 8vo, 4_s._
*.* _Complete in One Volume, with 378 Illustrations. Crown 8vo,
12s._
A SCHOOL ATLAS OF ENGLISH HISTORY. Edited by SAMUEL RAWSON
GARDINER, D.C.L., LL.D. With 66 Maps and 22 Plans of
Battles and Sieges. Fcp. 4to, 5_s._
CROMWELL'S PLACE IN HISTORY. Founded on Six Lectures delivered at
Oxford. Crown 8vo, 3_s._ 6_d._
OLIVER CROMWELL. With Frontispiece. Crown 8vo, 5_s._ net.
WHAT GUNPOWDER PLOT WAS: a Reply to Father Gerard. With 8
Illustrations and Plans. Crown 8vo, 5_s._
THE FIRST TWO STUARTS AND THE PURITAN REVOLUTION, 1603-1660. 4
Maps. Fcp. 8vo, 2_s._ 6_d._
THE THIRTY YEARS' WAR, 1618-1648. With a Map. Fcp. 8vo, 2_s._ 6_d._
OUTLINE OF ENGLISH HISTORY, B.C. 55-A.D. 1901. With 67 Woodcuts and
17 Maps. Fcp. 8vo, 2_s._ 6_d._
THE FRENCH REVOLUTION, 1789-1795. By Mrs. S. R. GARDINER. With 7
Maps. Fcp. 8vo, 2_s._ 6_d._
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON
NEW YORK, BOMBAY, AND CALCUTTA
* * * * * *
[Illustration: Printed in Paris
OLIVER CROMWELL
_From the Original Panel by Samuel Cooper at Sidney Sussex College,
Cambridge._]
OLIVER CROMWELL
by
SAMUEL RAWSON GARDINER, M.A.
Hon. D.C.L. Oxford: Litt.D. Cambridge: LL.D. Edinburgh
Ph.D. Goettingen: Late Fellow of Merton College
Honorary Student of Christ Church
Fellow of King's College, London
With Frontispiece
New Impression
Longmans, Green, and Co.
39 Paternoster Row, London
New York, Bombay, and Calcutta
1909
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I.
KING AND PARLIAMENT. 1
CHAPTER II.
THE NEW MODEL ARMY AND THE PRESBYTERIANS. 56
CHAPTER III.
THE NEW MODEL ARMY AND THE KING. 101
CHAPTER IV.
THE LAST YEARS OF THE LONG PARLIAMENT. 166
CHAPTER V.
THE NOMINATED PARLIAMENT AND THE PROTECTORATE. 213
CHAPTER VI.
A PARLIAMENTARY CONSTITUTION. 264
PREFACE.
The following work gives within a short compass a history of Oliver
Cromwell from a biographical point of view. The text has been revised
by the author, but otherwise is the same in a cheaper form as that
which was published by Messrs. Goupil with illustrations in their
Illustrated Series of Historical Volumes.
OLIVER CROMWELL.
CHAPTER I.
KING AND PARLIAMENT.
Oliver Cromwell, the future Lord Protector of the Commonwealth of
England, was born at Huntingdon on April 25, 1599, receiving his
baptismal name from his uncle, Sir Oliver Cromwell of Hinchingbrooke, a
mansion hard by the little town. It was at Huntingdon that the father
of the infant, Robert Cromwell, had established himself, farming lands
and perhaps also adding to his income by the profits of a brewhouse
managed by his wife, Elizabeth--a descendant of a middle-class Norfolk
family of Steward--originally Styward--which, whatever writers of
authority may say, was not in any way connected with the Royal House of
Scotland.
"I was," said Cromwell in one of his later speeches, "by birth a
gentleman, living neither in any considerable height nor yet in
obscurity. I have been called to several employments in the nation,
and--not to be overtedious--I did endeavour to discharge the duty of
an honest man in those services to God and His people's interest, and
to the Commonwealth." The open secret of Cromwell's public life is set
forth in these words:--his aim being: first, to be himself an honest
man; secondly, to serve God and the people of God; and thirdly, to
fulfil his duty to the Commonwealth. In this order, and in no other,
did his obligations to his fellow-creatures present themselves to his
eyes. For the work before him it could not be otherwise than helpful
that his position in life brought him into contact with all classes of
society.
What powers and capacities this infant--or indeed any other infant--may
have derived from this or the other ancestor, is a mystery too deep for
human knowledge; but at least it may be noted that the descent of the
Cromwells from Sir Richard Williams, the nephew of Thomas Cromwell,
the despotic Minister of Henry VIII., brought into the family a Welsh
strain which may have shown itself in the fervid idealism lighting up
the stern practical sense of the warrior and statesman.
Of Oliver's father little is known; but his portrait testifies that
he was a man of sober Puritanism, not much given to any form of
spiritual enthusiasm--very unlike his elder brother, Sir Oliver, who
had inherited not only the estate, but the splendid ways of his father,
Sir Henry Cromwell--the Golden Knight--and who, after running through
his property, was compelled to sell his land and to retire into a
more obscure position. As the little Oliver grew up, he had before
his eyes the types of the future Cavalier and Roundhead in his own
family. So far as parental influence could decide the question, there
could be no doubt on which side the young Oliver would take his stand.
His education was carried on in the free school of the town, under
Dr. Beard, the author of _The Theatre of God's Judgments Displayed_,
in which a belief in the constant intervention of Providence in the
punishment of offenders was set forth by numerous examples of the
calamities of the wicked. Though Oliver afterwards learned to modify
the crudeness of this teaching, the doctrine that success or failure
was an indication of Divine favour or disfavour never left him, and he
was able, in the days of his greatness, to point unhesitatingly to the
results of Naseby and Worcester as evidence that God Himself approved
of the victorious cause.
In 1616 Cromwell matriculated at Sidney Sussex College, Cambridge,
where his portrait now adorns the walls of the College hall. After a
sojourn of no more than a year, he left the University, probably--as
his father died in that year--to care for his widowed mother and his
five sisters, he himself being now the only surviving son. It is said
that not long afterwards he settled in London to study law, and though
there is no adequate authority for this statement, it derives support
from the fact that he found a wife in London, marrying in 1620, at
the early age of twenty-one, Elizabeth Bourchier, the daughter of a
City merchant. The silence of contemporaries shows that, in an age
when many women took an active part in politics, she confined herself
to the sphere of domestic influence. The one letter of hers that is
preserved displays not merely her affectionate disposition, but also
her helpfulness in reminding her great husband of the necessity of
performing those little acts of courtesy which men engaged in large
affairs are sometimes prone to neglect. She was undoubtedly a model of
female perfection after the Periclean standard.
Of Cromwell's early life for some years after his marriage we have
little positive information. His public career was opened by his
election in 1628 to sit for Huntingdon in the Parliament which insisted
on the Petition of Right. Though his uncle had by this time left
Hinchingbrooke, and could therefore have had no direct influence on the
electors, it is quite likely that the choice of his fellow-townsmen
was, to a great extent, influenced by their desire to show their
attachment to a family with which they had long been in friendly
relation.
Even so, however, it is in the highest degree improbable that Cromwell
would have been selected by his neighbours, to whom every action of
his life had been laid open, unless they had had reason to confide in
his moral worth as well as in his aptitude for public business. Yet
it is in this period of his life that, if Royalist pamphleteers are
to be credited, Cromwell was wallowing in revolting profligacy, and
the charge may seem to find some support from his own language in a
subsequent letter to his cousin, Mrs. St. John: "You know," he wrote,
"what my manner of life hath been. Oh! I lived in and loved darkness,
and hated light. I was a chief--the chief of sinners. This is true,
I hated godliness, yet God had mercy upon me." It has however never
been wise to take the expressions of a converted penitent literally,
and it is enough to suppose that Cromwell had been, at least whilst
an undergraduate at Cambridge, a buoyant, unthinking youth, fond of
outdoor exercise; though, on the other hand, whilst he never attained
to proficiency as a scholar, he by no means neglected the authorised
studies of the place. Much as opinion has differed on every other point
in his character, there was never any doubt as to his love of horses
and to his desire to encourage men of learning. It may fairly be argued
that his tastes in either direction must have been acquired in youth.
One piece of evidence has indeed been put forward against Cromwell. On
the register of St. John's parish at Huntingdon are two entries--one
dated 1621, and the other 1628--stating that Cromwell submitted in
those years to some form of Church censure. The formation of the
letters, however, the absence of any date of month or day, and also the
state of the parchment on which the entries occur, leave no reasonable
doubt that they were the work of a forger. It does not follow that the
forger had not a recollection that something of the kind had happened
within local memory, and if we take it as possible that Cromwell was
censured for 'his deeds,' whatever they may have been, in 1621, and
that in 1628 he voluntarily acknowledged some offence--the wording
of the forged entry gives some countenance to this deduction--may we
not note a coincidence of date between the second entry and one in
the diary of Sir Theodore Mayerne--the fashionable physician of the
day--who notes that Oliver Cromwell, who visited him in September of
that year, was _valde melancholicus_. Even if no heed whatever is to
be paid to the St. John's register, Mayerne's statement enables us
approximately to date that time of mental struggle which he passed
through at some time in these years, and which was at last brought
to an end when the contemplation of his own unworthiness yielded to
the assurance of his Saviour's love. "Whoever yet," he wrote long
afterwards to his daughter Bridget, "tasted that the Lord is gracious,
without some sense of self, vanity and badness?" It was a crisis in his
life which, if he had been born in the Roman communion, would probably
have sent him--as it sent Luther--into a monastery. Being what he was,
a Puritan Englishman, it left him with strong resolution to do his work
in this world strenuously, and to help others in things temporal, as he
himself had been helped in things spiritual.
English Puritanism, like other widely spread influences, was complex
in its nature, leading to different results in different men.
Intellectually it was based on the Calvinistic theology, and many were
led on by it to the fiercest intolerance of all systems of thought
and practice which were unconformable thereto. Cromwell's nature
was too large, and his character too strong, to allow him long to
associate himself with the bigots of his age. His Puritanism--if not as
universally sympathetic as a modern philosopher might wish--was moral
rather than intellectual. No doubt it rendered him impatient of the
outward forms in which the religious devotion of such contemporaries
as George Herbert and Crashaw found appropriate sustenance, but at
the same time it held him back from bowing down to the idol of the
men of his own party--the requirement of accurate conformity to the
Calvinistic standard of belief. It was sufficient for him, if he and
his associates found inspiration in a sense of personal dependence on
God, issuing forth in good and beneficent deeds.
When, in 1628, Cromwell took his seat in the House of Commons he
would be sure of a good reception as a cousin of Hampden. There is,
however, nothing to surprise us in his silence during the eventful
debates on the Petition of Right. He was no orator by nature, though
he could express himself forcibly when he felt deeply, and at this
time, and indeed during the whole of his life, he felt more deeply
on religious than on political questions. The House, in its second
session held in 1629, was occupied during the greater portion of its
time with religious questions, and it was then that Cromwell made his
first speech, if so short an utterance can be dignified by that name.
"Dr. Beard," he informed the House, "told him that one Dr. Alablaster
did at the Spital preach in a sermon tenets of Popery, and Beard being
to repeat the same, the now Bishop of Winton, then Bishop of Lincoln,
did send for Dr. Beard, and charged him as his diocesan, not to preach
any doctrine contrary to that which Alablaster had delivered, and
when Beard did, by the advice of Bishop Felton, preach against Dr.
Alablaster's sermon and person, Dr. Neile, now Bishop of Winton, did
reprehend him, the said Beard, for it."
The circumstances of the time give special biographical importance to
the opening of this window into Cromwell's mind. The strife between
the Puritan clergy and the Court prelates was waxing high. The latter,
whilst anxious to enforce discipline, and the external usages which,
though enjoined in the Prayer Book, had been neglected in many parts of
the country, were at the same time contending for a broader religious
teaching than that presented by Calvin's logic; but knowing that they
were in a comparatively small minority they, perhaps not unnaturally,
fell back on the protection of the King, who was in ecclesiastical
matters completely under the influence of Laud. The result of Charles's
consultations with such Bishops as were at hand had been the issue of
a Declaration which was prefixed to a new edition of the articles, and
is to be found in Prayer Books at the present day. The King's remedy
for disputes in the Church on predestination and such matters was to
impose silence on both parties, and it was in view of this policy
that Cromwell raked up an old story to show how at least twelve years
before, his old schoolmaster, Dr. Beard, had been forbidden to preach
any doctrine but that which the member for Huntingdon stigmatised
as Popish, and this too by a prelate who was now seeking, in a less
direct way, to impose silence on Puritan ministers. Other members of
Parliament had striven to oppose the ecclesiasticism of the Court by
the intolerant assertion that Calvinism alone was to be preached.
Cromwell did nothing of the kind. He did not even say that those who
upheld what he calls 'tenets of Popery' were to be silenced. He merely
asked that those who objected to them might be free to deliver their
testimony in public. There is the germ here of his future liberal
policy as Lord Protector--the germ too of a wide difference of opinion
from those with whom he was at this time acting in concert.[A]
[A] My argument would obviously not stand if the remainder
of the speech printed in Rushworth were held to be
genuine. There is, however, good reason to know that it
is not (_Hist. of Eng._, 1603-1642, vii., 56, note).
Little as we know of Cromwell's proceedings during the eleven years in
which no Parliament sat, that little is significant. His interference
in temporal affairs was invariably on the side of the poor. In 1630
a new charter was granted to Huntingdon, conferring the government
of the town on a mayor and twelve aldermen appointed for life. To
this Cromwell raised no objection, taking no special delight in
representative institutions, but he protested against so much of the
charter as, by allowing the new corporation to deal at its pleasure
with the common property of the borough, left the holders of rights
of pasture at their mercy; and, heated by a sense of injustice to
his poorer neighbours, he spoke angrily on the matter to Barnard,
the new mayor. Cromwell was summoned before the council, with the
result that the Earl of Manchester, appointed to arbitrate, sustained
his objections, whilst Cromwell, having gained his point, apologised
for the roughness of his speech. It is not unlikely that it was in
consequence of this difference with the new governors of the town that
he shortly afterwards sold his property there, and removed to St.
Ives, where he established himself as a grazing farmer. Nor was he
less solicitous for the spiritual than for the temporal welfare of his
neighbours. Many Puritans were at this time attempting to lessen the
influence of the beneficed clergy, who were, in many places, opposed to
them, by raising sums for the payment of lecturers, who would preach
Puritan sermons without being bound to read prayers before them. The
earliest extant letter of Cromwell's was written in 1636 to a City
merchant, asking him to continue his subscription to the maintenance of
a certain Dr. Wells, 'a man of goodness and industry and ability to do
good every way'. "You know, Mr. Story," he adds, "to withdraw the pay
is to let fall the lecture, and who goeth to warfare at his own cost?"
In 1636 Cromwell removed to Ely, where he farmed the Cathedral tithes
in succession to his maternal uncle, Sir Thomas Steward. Soon after
he was settled in his new home, there were disturbances in the fen
country which the Earl of Bedford and his associates were endeavouring
to drain. On the plea that the work was already accomplished, the new
proprietors ordered the expulsion of cattle from the pastures scattered
amongst the waters. The owners, egged on by one at least of the
neighbouring gentry, tumultuously resisted the attempt to exclude them
from their rights of commonage. We are told, too, that 'it is commonly
reported by the commoners in the said fens and the fens adjoining, that
Mr. Cromwell, of Ely, hath undertaken--they paying him a groat for
every cow they have upon the common--to hold the drainers in writ of
law for five years, and that in the mean time they should enjoy every
foot of their commons'. That Cromwell should have taken up the cause
of the weak, and at the same time should have attempted to serve them
by legal proceedings, whilst keeping aloof from their riotous action,
is a fair indication of the character of the man. No wonder he grew in
popularity, or that in 1640 he was elected by the borough of Cambridge
to both the Parliaments which met in that year.
In the Short Parliament Cromwell sat, so far as we know, as a
silent member. Of his appearance in the Long Parliament we have the
often-quoted description of his personal appearance from a young
courtier. "I came into the House," wrote Sir Philip Warwick, "one
morning well clad, and perceived a gentleman speaking whom I knew
not, very ordinarily apparelled, for it was a plain cloth suit which
seemed to be made by an ill country tailor; his linen was plain, and
not very clean; and I remember a speck or two of blood upon his little
band, which was not larger than his collar. His hat was without a
hat-band. His stature was of a good size; his sword stuck close to
his side; his countenance swollen and reddish, his voice sharp and
untuneable, and his eloquence full of fervour, for the subject matter
would not bear much of reason, it being on behalf of a servant of Mr
Prynne's who had dispersed libels against the Queen for her dancing
and such like innocent and courtly sports; and he aggravated the
imprisonment of this man by the council-table unto that height that
one would have believed the very Government itself had been in great
danger by it. I sincerely profess it lessened much my reverence unto
that great council, for he was very much hearkened unto; and yet I
lived to see this very gentleman whom, by multiplied good escapes,
and by real but usurped power, having had a better tailor, and more
converse among good company, appear of great and majestic deportment
and comely presence." Curiously enough the so-called servant of
Prynne--he was never actually in Prynne's service at all--was no other
than John Lilburne, who was such a thorn in the flesh to Cromwell
in later years. In undertaking the defence of the man who had been
sentenced to scourge and imprisonment for disseminating books held
to be libels by Charles and his ministers, Cromwell announced to his
fellow-members his own political position. In life--and above all in
political life--it is not possible to satisfy those who expect the
actions of any man to be absolutely consistent. Later generations may
be convinced not only that Charles was sincere in following a course
which he believed to be the right one, but that this course commended
itself to certain elements of human nature, and was, therefore, no
mere emanation of his own personal character. It nevertheless remains
that he was far from being strong enough for the place which he had
inherited from his predecessors, and that in wearing the garments of
the Elizabethan monarchy, he was all too unconscious of the work which
the new generation required of him--all too ready to claim the rights
of Elizabeth, without a particle of the skill in the art of government
which she derived from her intimate familiarity with the people over
which she had been called to rule.
Charles's unskilfulness was the more disastrous, as he came to the
throne during a crisis when few men would have been able to maintain
the prestige of the monarchy. On the one hand the special powers
entrusted to the Tudor sovereigns were no longer needed after the
domestic and foreign dangers which occupied their reigns had been
successfully met. On the other hand, a strife between religious parties
had arisen which called for action on lines very different from
those which had commended themselves to Elizabeth. In throwing off
the authority of the Roman See, Elizabeth had the national spirit of
England at her back, whilst in resisting the claims of the Presbyterian
clergy, she had the support of the great majority of the laity. By
the end of her reign she had succeeded in establishing that special
form of ecclesiastical government which she favoured. Yet though the
clergy had ceased to cry out for the supersession of episcopacy by the
Presbyterian discipline, the bulk of the clergy and of the religious
laity were Puritan to the core. So much had been effected by the
long struggle against Rome and Spain and the resulting detestation
of any form of belief which savoured of Rome and Spain. During the
twenty-two years of the peace-loving James, religious thought ceased
to be influenced by a sense of national danger. First one, and then
another--a Bancroft, an Andrewes, or a Laud, men of the college or
the cathedral--began to think their own thoughts, to welcome a wider
interpretation of religious truths than that of Calvin's Institute,
and, above all, to distrust the inward conviction as likely to be
warped by passion or self-interest, and to dwell upon the value of
the external influences of ritual and organisation. To do justice to
both these schools of thought and practice at the time of Charles's
accession would have taxed the strength of any man, seeing how
unprepared was the England of that day to admit the possibility of
toleration. The pity of it was that Charles, with all his fine feelings
and conscientious rectitude, was unfitted for the task. Abandoning
himself heart and soul to the newly risen tide of religious thought,
his imagination was too weak to enable him to realise the strength
of Puritanism, so that he bent his energies, not to securing for his
friends free scope for the exercise of what persuasion was in them, but
for the repression of those whom he looked upon as the enemies of the
Church and the Crown. With the assistance of Laud he did everything in
his power to crush Puritanism, with the result of making Puritanism
stronger than it had been before. Every man of independent mind who
revolted against the petty interference exercised by Laud placed
himself by sympathy, if not by perfect conviction, in the Puritan ranks.
Neither in Elizabeth's nor in Charles's reign was it possible
to dissociate politics from religion. Parliament, dissatisfied
with Charles's ineffectual guidance of the State, was still more
dissatisfied with his attempt to use his authority over the Church to
the profit of an unpopular party. The House of Commons representing
mainly that section of the population in which Puritanism was the
strongest--the country gentlemen in touch with the middle-class in
the towns--was eager to pull down Laud's system in the Church, and to
hinder the extension of Royal authority in the State. To do this it was
necessary not only to diminish the power of the Crown, but to transfer
much of it to Parliament, which, at least in the eyes of its members,
was far more capable of governing England wisely.
That Cromwell heartily accepted this view of the situation is evident
from his being selected to move the second reading of the Bill for the
revival of annual Parliaments, which, by a subsequent compromise, was
ultimately converted into a Triennial Act ordaining that there should
never again be an intermission of Parliament for more than three years.
The fact that he was placed on no less than eighteen committees in
the early part of the sittings of the Parliaments shows that he had
acquired a position which he could never have reached merely through
his cousinship with Hampden and St. John. That he concurred in the
destruction of the special courts which had fortified the Crown in the
Tudor period, and in the prosecution of Strafford, needs no evidence to
prove. These were the acts of the House as a whole. It was the part he
took on those ecclesiastical questions which divided the House into two
antagonistic parties which is most significant of his position at this
time.
However much members of the House of Commons might differ on the
future government of the Church, they were still of one mind as to
the necessity of changing the system under which it had been of late
controlled. There may have been much to be said on behalf of an
episcopacy exercising a moderating influence over the clergy, and
guarding the rights of minorities against the oppressive instincts of a
clerical majority. As a matter of fact this had not been the attitude
of Charles's Bishops. Appointed by the Crown, and chosen out of one
party only--and that the party of the minority amongst the clergy and
the religious laity--they had seized the opportunity of giving free
scope to their own practices and of hampering in every possible way
the practices of those opposed to them. It was no Puritan, but Jeremy
Taylor, the staunch defender of monarchy and episcopacy, who hit the
nail on the head. "The interest of the bishops," he wrote, "is conjunct
with the prosperity of the King, besides the interest of their own
security, by the obligation of secular advantages. For they who have
their livelihood from the King, and are in expectance of their fortune
from him, are more likely to pay a tribute of exacted duty than others
whose fortunes are not in such immediate dependency on His Majesty.
It is but the common expectation of gratitude that a patron paramount
shall be more assisted by his beneficiaries in cases of necessity than
by those who receive nothing from him but the common influences of
government."
As usual, it was easier to mark the evil than to provide an adequate
remedy. The party which numbered Hyde and Falkland in its ranks, and
which afterwards developed into that of the Parliamentary Royalists,
was alarmed lest a tyrannical episcopacy should be followed by a still
more tyrannical Presbyterian discipline, and therefore strove to
substitute for the existing system some scheme of modified episcopacy
by which bishops should be in some way responsible to clerical
councils. Cromwell was working hand in hand with men who strove to meet
the difficulty in another way. The so-called Root-and-Branch Bill,
said to have been drawn up by St. John, was brought to the House of
Commons by himself and Vane. By them it was passed on to Hazlerigg,
who in his turn passed it on to Sir Edward Dering, by whom it was
actually moved in the House. As it was finally shaped in Committee,
this bill, whilst absolutely abolishing archbishops, bishops, deans
and chapters, transferred their ecclesiastical jurisdiction to bodies
of Commissioners to be named by Parliament itself. Cromwell evidently
had no more desire than Falkland to establish the Church Courts of the
Scottish Presbyterian system in England.
This bill never passed beyond the Committee stage. It was soon
overshadowed by the question whether Charles could be trusted or
not. The discovery of the plots by which he had attempted to save
Strafford's life, and the knowledge that he was now visiting Scotland
with the intention of bringing up a Scottish army to his support
against the Parliament at Westminster strengthened the hands of the
party of Parliamentary supremacy, and left its leaders disinclined
to pursue their ecclesiastical policy till they had settled the
political question in their own favour. Important as Charles's own
character--with its love of shifts and evasions--was in deciding
the issue, it must not be forgotten that the crisis arose from a
circumstance common to all revolutions. When a considerable change is
made in the government of a nation, it is absolutely necessary, if
orderly progress is to result from it, that the persons in authority
shall be changed. The man or men by whom the condemned practices have
been maintained cannot be trusted to carry out the new scheme, because
they must of necessity regard it as disastrous to the nation. The
success of the Revolution of 1688-89 was mainly owing to the fact that
James was replaced by William; in 1641 neither was Charles inclined
to fly to the Continent, nor were the sentiments of either party
in the House such as to suggest his replacement by another prince,
even if such a prince were to be found. All that his most pronounced
adversaries--amongst whom Cromwell was to be counted--could suggest was
to leave him | 183.459909 |
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######################################################################
Transcriber’s Notes
This e-text is based on the printed edition of ‘Shakespeare and
the Stage,’ by Maurice Jonas, from 1918. Inconsistent spelling and
hyphenation have been retained, but punctuation and typographical
errors have been corrected.
Illustrations, as well as facsimiles of book titles and exemplary
book pages, have been moved between two paragraphs for reasons of
clarity and comprehensibility. As a consequence, page references for
illustrations have been removed, because in most cases they are no
longer consistent with the original. Some title lines of the facsimile
pages seem to be cropped at the upper end. These errors originate from
the printed book; the rest of the titles cannot be retrieved.
The chapters in the original book have been numbered inconsistently;
the correct numbering scheme has been applied to this electronic
version.
Repeated, missing or inconsistent quotations have been adopted from the
original without modifications. No | 183.562835 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
########################################################################
Transcriber’s Notes
Hyphenation and punctuation have been corrected and standardised.
Cromwell’s letters, however, have been fully retained according to the
original text; no changes in spelling have been applied here.
Numbered ranges have been expanded in full, i.e. 1595-6 is now
1595-1596. Dittoes in the Table of Contents have been eliminated by
insertion of appropriate text. Internal references have been adapted
to match the numbering scheme used in this electronic version.
The following passages have been changed:
p. 28: 'England and Francis' → 'England and France'
Footnote 240: 'Harl. MSS 6, 148' → 'Harl. MSS 6,148'
Underscores have been used to highlight _italic_ text. The caret symbol
(^) represents superscript characters; multiple characters have been
grouped using a pair of curly brackets (^{text}).
########################################################################
[Illustration: THOMAS CROMWELL
FROM A PICTURE IN THE BODLEIAN LIBRARY]
LIFE AND LETTERS OF
THOMAS CROMWELL
BY
ROGER BIGELOW MERRIMAN
A.M. HARV., B.LITT. OXON.
WITH A PORTRAIT AND FACSIMILE
VOL. I
LIFE, LETTERS TO 1535
OXFORD
AT THE CLARENDON PRESS
1902
HENRY FROWDE, M.A.
_PUBLISHER TO THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD_
LONDON, EDINBURGH
NEW YORK
PREFACE
This book is an attempt to present the life of Thomas Cromwell as a
statesman, and to estimate his work without religious bias. Though it
would certainly be difficult to overrate his importance in the history
of the Church of England, I maintain that the motives that inspired his
actions were invariably political, and that the many ecclesiastical
changes carried through under his guidance were but incidents of his
administration, not ends in themselves. Consequently any attempt to
judge him from a distinctively religious standpoint, whether Catholic or
Protestant, can hardly fail, it seems to me, to mislead the student and
obscure the truth. I cannot agree, on the other hand, with those who
have represented Cromwell as a purely selfish political adventurer, the
subservient instrument of a wicked master, bent only on his own gain. It
seems to me as idle to disparage his patriotism and statesmanship, as it
is to try to make him out a hero of the Reformation. He merits a place
far higher than that of most men of his type, a type essentially
characteristic of the sixteenth century, a type of which the Earl of
Warwick in England and Maurice of Saxony on the Continent are striking
examples, a type that profoundly influenced the destinies of
Protestantism, but to which theological issues were either a mere
nothing, or else totally subordinate to political considerations.
It has been justly said that Cromwell’s correspondence is our chief
source of information for the period immediately following the breach
with Rome. To transcribe _in extenso_ the letters he received would be
almost the task of a lifetime; for they form the bulk of the enormous
mass of material with which the editors of the Calendars of State Papers
for the years 1533-1540 have had to deal. But the number of extant
letters he wrote is, comparatively speaking, extremely small; it has
therefore been possible to make full copies of them in every case, and I
trust that the many advantages--linguistic as well as historical--that
can only be secured by complete, and as far as possible accurate
transcriptions of the originals, will be accepted as sufficient reason
for editing this collection of documents, twenty-one of which have
neither been printed nor calendared before. The rules that have been
observed in transcription will be found in the Prefatory Note (vol. i.
p. 311). The Calendar references to the more important letters received
by Cromwell, where they bear directly on those he wrote, are given in
the notes at the end of the second volume.
My warmest thanks are due to Mr. F. York Powell, Regius Professor of
Modern History in the University of Oxford, who has guided me throughout
in matter, form, and style; and to my friend and master Mr. A. L. Smith,
Fellow of Balliol College, whose advice and encouragement have been an
inspiration from first to last. It is not easy for me to express how
much I have depended on their suggestions and criticism. I am indebted
to Mr. Owen Edwards, Fellow of Lincoln College, for indispensable help
in the early stages of my work. The main plan of this book is in many
respects similar to that of his Lothian Essay for the year 1887, which I
regret that he has never published. My grateful acknowledgements are
also due to Mr. James Gairdner of the Public Record Office for
information about Cromwell’s early life; to Professor Dr. Max Lenz, of
the University of Berlin, for | 183.656554 |
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THE PORTSMOUTH ROAD
WORKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR.
=ENGLISH PEN ARTISTS OF TO-DAY=: Examples of their work, with some
Criticisms and Appreciations. Super royal 4to, L3 3_s._ net.
=THE BRIGHTON ROAD=: Old Times and New on a Classic Highway. With 95
Illustrations by the Author and from old prints. Demy 8vo, 16_s._
=FROM PADDINGTON TO PENZANCE=: The Record of a Summer Tramp. With 105
Illustrations by the Author. Demy 8vo, 16_s._
=A PRACTICAL HANDBOOK OF DRAWING FOR MODERN METHODS OF REPRODUCTION.=
Illustrated by the Author and others. Demy 8vo, 7_s._ 6_d._
=THE MARCHES OF WALES=: Notes and Impressions on the Welsh Borders, from
the Severn Sea to the Sands o' Dee. With 115 Illustrations by the Author
and from old-time portraits. Demy 8vo, 16_s._
=REVOLTED WOMAN=: Past, Present, and to Come. Illustrated by the Author
and from old-time portraits. Demy 8vo, 5_s._ net.
=THE DOVER ROAD=: Annals of an Ancient Turnpike. With 100 Illustrations by
the Author and from other sources. Demy 8vo. [_In the Press._
[Illustration:
"_Till, woe is me, so lubberly,
The vermin came and pressed me._"
_From a painting by George Morland._]
_THE PORTSMOUTH
ROAD AND ITS TRIBUTARIES:
TO-DAY AND IN DAYS OF OLD._
BY CHARLES G. HARPER,
AUTHOR OF The Brighton Road,
Marches of Wales, Drawing for
Reproduction, &c., &c., &c.
[Illustration]
_Illustrated by the Author, and from
Old-time Prints and Pictures._
LONDON: CHAPMAN & HALL LIMITED
1895
(_All Rights Reserved._)
RICHARD CLAY & SONS, LIMITED,
LONDON & BUNGAY.
TO HENRY REICHARDT, ESQ.
_My dear Reichardt,_
_Here is the result of two years' hard work for your perusal; the outcome
of delving amid musty, dusty files of by-gone newspapers; of research
among forgotten books, and pamphlets curious and controversial; of country
jaunts along this old road both for pleasures sake and for taking the
notes and sketches that go towards making up the story of this old
highway._
_You will appreciate, more than most, the difficulties of contriving a
well-ordered narrative of times so clean forgotten as those of old-road
travel, and better still will you perceive the largeness of the task of
transmuting the notes and sketches of this undertaking into paper and
print. Hence this dedication._
_Yours, &c._,
CHARLES G. HARPER.
Preface
_There has been of late years a remarkable and widespread revival of
interest in the old coach-roads of England; a revival chiefly owing to the
modern amateur's enthusiasm for coaching; partly due to the healthy sport
and pastime of cycling, that brings so many afield from populous cities
who would otherwise grow stunted in body and dull of brain; and in degree
owing to the contemplative spirit that takes delight in scenes of by-gone
commerce and activity, prosaic enough, to the most of them that lived in
the Coaching Age, but now become hallowed by mere lapse of years and the
supersession of horse-flesh by steam-power._
_The Story of the Roads belongs now to History, and History is, to your
thoughtful man, quite as interesting as the best of novels. Sixty years
ago the Story of the Roads was brought to an end, and at that time (so
unheeded is the romance of every-day life) it seemed a story of the most
commonplace type, not worthy the telling. But we have gained what was of
necessity denied our fathers and grandfathers in this matter--the charm of
Historical Perspective, that lends a saving grace to experiences of the
most ordinary description, and to happenings the most untoward. Our
forebears travelled the roads from necessity, and saw nothing save
unromantic discomforts in their journeyings to and fro. We who read the
records of their times are apt to lament their passing, and to wish the
leisured life and not a few of the usages of our grandfathers back again.
The wish is vain, but natural, for it is a characteristic of every
succeeding generation to look back lovingly on times past, and in the
retrospect to see in roseate colours what was dull and, neutral-tinted to
folk who lived their lives in those by-gone days._
_If we only could pierce to the thought of aeons past, perhaps we should
find the men of the Stone Age regretting the times of the Arboreal
Ancestor, and should discover that distant relative, while swinging by his
prehensile tail from the branches of some forest tree, lamenting the
careless, irresponsible life of his remote forebear, the Primitive
Pre-atomic Globule._
_However that may be, certain it is that when our day is done, when Steam
shall have been dethroned and natural forces of which we know nothing have
revolutionized the lives of our descendants, those heirs of all the ages
will look back regretfully upon this Era of ours, and wistfully meditate
upon the romantic life we led towards the end of the nineteenth century!_
_The glamour of old-time travel has appealed to me equally with others of
my time, and has led me to explore the old coach-roads and their records.
Work of this kind is a pleasure, and the programme I have mapped out of
treating all the classic roads of England in this wise, is, though long
and difficult, not (to quote a horsey phrase suitable to this subject) all
"collar work."_
CHARLES G. HARPER.
35, CONNAUGHT STREET, HYDE PARK,
LONDON, _April 1895_.
LIST _of_ ILLVSTRATIONS
SEPARATE PLATES
PAGE
1. THE PRESS GANG. _By George Morland._ Frontispiece.
2. OLD "ELEPHANT AND CASTLE," 1824 22
3. "ELEPHANT AND CASTLE," 1826 30
4. ADMIRAL BYNG 48
5. A STRANGE SIGHT SOME TIME HENCE 52
6. THE SHOOTING OF ADMIRAL BYNG 56
7. WILLIAM PITT 74
8. THE RECRUITING SERGEANT 90
9. ROAD AND RAIL: DITTON MARSH, NIGHT 94
10. THE "NEW TIMES" GUILDFORD COACH 98
11. THE "TALLY-HO" HAMPTON COURT AND DORKING COACH 104
12. MICKLEHAM CHURCH 108
13. BROCKHAM BRIDGE 114
14. ESHER PLACE 120
15. LORD CLIVE 124
16. PRINCESS CHARLOTTE OF WALES 128
17. THE "ANCHOR," RIPLEY 142
18. GUILDHALL, GUILDFORD 148
19. CASTLE ARCH 152
20. AN INN YARD, 1747. _After Hogarth_ 162
21. THE "RED ROVER" GUILDFORD AND SOUTHAMPTON COACH 166
22. ST. CATHERINE'S CHAPEL. _After J. M. W. Turner_ 170
23. MARY TOFTS 178
24. NEW GODALMING STATION 184
25. THE DEVIL'S PUNCH BOWL 194
26. HINDHEAD. _After J. M. W. Turner_ 198
27. TYNDALL'S HOUSE 208
28. SAMUEL PEPYS 236
29. JOHN WILKES 240
30. SAILORS CAROUSING. _From a Sketch by Rowlandson_ 252
31. THE "FLYING BULL" INN 268
32. PETERSFIELD MARKET-PLACE 278
33. THE "COACH AND HORSES" INN 298
34. CATHERINGTON CHURCH 320
35. AN EXTRAORDINARY SCENE ON THE PORTSMOUTH ROAD.
_By Rowlandson_ 330
36. THE SAILOR'S RETURN 334
37. TRUE BLUE; OR BRITAIN'S JOLLY TARS PAID OFF AT
PORTSMOUTH, 1797. _By Isaac Cruikshank_ 338
38. THE LIBERTY OF THE SUBJECT, 1782. _By James
Gillray_ 346
ILLUSTRATIONS IN TEXT
PAGE
The Revellers 12
Edward Gibbon 19
"Dog and Duck" Tavern 28
Sign of the "Dog and Duck" 29
Jonas Hanway 43
"If the shades of those antagonists foregather" 44
The First Umbrella 46
The "Green Man," Putney Heath 70
The Windmill, Wimbledon Common 74
Mr. Walter Shoolbred 97
Boots at the "Bear" 102
The "Bear," Esher 103
Burford Bridge 111
The "White Horse," Dorking 112
The Road to Dorking 113
Castle Mill 117
Cobham Churchyard 137
Pain's Hill 139
Fame up-to-Date 142
Herbert Liddell Cortis 146
Market-House, Godalming 176
Charterhouse Relics 189
Gowser Jug 190
Wesley 191
Bust of Nelson 192
Tombstone, Thursley 204
Thursley Church 205
Sun-dial, Thursley 206
"Considering Cap" 223
Milland Chapel 260
"The Wakes," Selborne 261
Badge of the Selborne Society 267
The "Flying Bull" Sign 271
The "Jolly Drovers" 272
"Shaved with Trouble and Cold Water" 284
Edward Gibbon 288
Windy Weather 304
Benighted 319
Dancing Sailor 361
THE ROAD TO PORTSMOUTH
Miles
Stone's End, Borough, to--
Newington 1/4
Vauxhall 1-1/2
Battersea Rise 4
Wandsworth (cross River Wandle) 5-1/2
Tibbet's Corner, Putney Heath 7-3/4
"Robin Hood," Kingston Vale 9
Norbiton Church 11-1/4
Kingston Market-place 12
Thames Ditton 13-3/4
Esher 16
Cobham Street (cross River Mole) 19-1/2
Wisley Common 20-1/4
Ripley 23-1/2
Guildford (cross River Wey) 29-1/2
St. Catherine's Hill 30-1/2
Peasmarsh Common (cross River Wey) 31-1/4
| 183.656608 |
2023-11-16 18:20:11.1393020 | 144 | 18 |
Produced by Thiers Halliwell, Clarity and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
Transcriber’s notes:
In this e-text, paired underscores denote _italicised text_, and a
^ (caret) indicates superscripted text. Footnotes have been positioned
below the relevant paragraphs. A small number of spelling and
typographic errors have been corrected silently.
_Some Eccentrics
& a Woman_
_First Published in 1911_
[Illustration: A VIEW from the PUMP ROOM, BATH.] | 187.159342 |
2023-11-16 18:20:11.2382670 | 88 | 19 |
Produced by Richard Tonsing, Mark C. Orton and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
[Illustration]
PLAYS,
WRITTEN BY
Sir =John Vanbrugh=.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
=Volume= | 187.258307 |
2023-11-16 18:20:11.2389890 | 6,819 | 82 |
E-text prepared by sp1nd, Mary Meehan, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made
available by Internet Archive (http://archive.org)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
http://archive.org/details/champagnestandar00lanerich
THE CHAMPAGNE STANDARD
by
MRS. JOHN LANE
Author of "Kitwyk," "Brown's Retreat," etc.
London: John Lane, The Bodley Head
New York: John Lane Company
MDCCCCV
Copyright, 1905,
by John Lane Company
The Plimpton Press Norwood Mass. U.S.A.
TO THE PUBLISHER
MY GENIAL AND
SUGGESTIVE CRITIC
_My Preface_
I was sitting alone with a lead-pencil, having a _tete-a-tete_ with a
sheet of paper. A brisk fire burned on the hearth, and through the
beating of the rain against the little, curved Georgian windows I could
hear the monotonous roll of the sea at the foot of the narrow street,
and the tear and crunching of the pebbles down the shingle as the waves
receded.
I had been ordered to write a preface to explain the liberty I had taken
in making miscellaneous observations about two great nations, and then
putting a climax to my effrontery by having them printed. So here I was
trying, with the aid of a lead-pencil and a sheet of paper, to construct
a preface, and that without the ghost of an idea how to begin. Nor was
the dim electric light illuminating; nor, in the narrow street, the
nasal invocation of an aged man with a green shade over his eyes, arm
in arm with an aged woman keenly alive to pennies, somewhere out of
whose interiors there emanated a song to the words, "Glowry, glowry,
hallaluh!"
In fact, all the ideas that did occur to me were miles away from a
preface. It was maddening! I even demanded that the ocean should stop
making such a horrid noise, if only for five minutes. And that set me
idly to thinking what would happen to the world if the tides should
really be struck motionless even for that short space of time. The idea
is so out of my line that it is quite at the service of any distressed
romancer, dashed with science, who, also, may be nibbling his pencil.
I sat steeped in that profound melancholy familiar to authors who are
required to say something and who have nothing to say. Finally, in a
despair which is familiar to such as have seen the first act of _Faust_,
I invoked that Supernatural Power who comes with a red light and bestows
inspiration.
"If you'll only help me to begin," I cried, "I'll do the rest!" For I
realised in what active demand his services must be.
I didn't believe anything would happen. Nothing ever does except in the
first act of _Faust_, and I must really take this opportunity to beg
Faust not to unbutton his old age so obviously. Still, that again has
nothing to do with my preface!
I reclined on a red plush couch before the fire and thought gloomily of
Faust's buttons, and how the supernatural never comes to one's aid these
material days, when my eyes, following the elegant outlines of the
couch, strayed to a red plush chair at its foot, strangely and
supernaturally out of place. And how can I describe my amazement and
terror when I saw on that red plush chair a big black cat, with his tail
neatly curled about his toes! A strange black cat where no cat had ever
been seen before! He stared at me, and I stared at him. Was he the Rapid
Reply of that Supernatural Power I had so rashly invoked? At the mere
thought I turned cold.
"Are you a message 'from the night's Plutonian shore'?" I said,
trembling, "or do you belong to the landlady?"
His reply was merely to blink, and indeed he was so black and the
background was so black that but for his blink I shouldn't have known he
was there.
"If," I murmured, "he recognises quotations from _The Raven_, it will be
a sign that he is going to stay forever." Whereupon I declaimed all the
shivery bits of that immortal poem, which I had received as a Christmas
present.
He was so far from being agitated that before I had finished he had
settled down in a cosy heap, with his fore-paws tucked under his black
shirt front, and was fast asleep, delivering himself of the emotional
purr of a tea kettle in full operation. For a moment I was appalled. Was
this new and stodgy edition of _The Raven_ going to stay forever?
"'Get thee back into the tempest and the night's Plutonian shore,'" I
urged, but all he did was to open one lazy eye, and wink. For a moment I
was frozen with horror. Was I doomed to live forever in the society of a
strange black cat, of possibly supernatural antecedents?
"'Take thy form from off my door,'" I was about to address him, but
paused, for, strictly speaking, he was not on my door. And just as I
was quite faint with apprehension, common-sense, which does not usually
come to the aid of ladies in distress, came to mine. Like a flash it
came to me that even if he stayed forever, _I_ needn't. I had only taken
the lodgings by the week. He was foiled.
With a new sense of security I again studied him, and I observed a
subtle change. He was evidently a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde kind of cat. I
became conscious of a complex personality. Though to the careless
observer he might appear to be only a chubby cat, full of purr, to me he
was rapidly developing into something more; in fact, mind was, as usual,
triumphing over matter, and presto! before I knew what he was about, he
had changed into an idea.
"To call you only a cat!" I cried in fervent gratitude. "Only a cat,
indeed! You are much more than a cat--you are a miracle! You are a
preface!" And so, indeed, he was.
Like one inspired I thought of his first illustrious ancestor, on four
legs, the one who had once so heroically looked at a king, with the
result that not only did he gain a perpetual permission for his race,
but he has passed into an immortal proverb. That was not his only
glorious deed, however, for it was he who first encouraged the Modest.
If it had not been for that historic cat, what would have become of
them! When the Modest want to say something, no matter how modestly, and
get frightfully snubbed, don't they always declare that "A cat may look
at a king"? Really, that illustrious cat has never had his due! Besides
heaps of other things, is he not the original type of the first true
Republican? I would like to know what the world would have done if he
hadn't looked at the king? Why, it was the first great Declaration of
Independence.
Besides, don't we owe to him, though hitherto unacknowledged, those
underlying principles of that other glorious Declaration of
Independence, the happy result of which seems to be that tea is so
awfully dear in America?
No, one doesn't hold with a cat's laughing at a king. No cat should
laugh at a king, for that leads to anarchy and impoliteness and things
going off. It is the cat who looks civilly at kings who has come to
stay, along with republics and free thought. But possibly that is the
one little drawback--thought is so dreadfully free! It used to be rather
select to think, but now everybody thinks, and kings and other important
things are not nearly as sacred as they used to be, and even the Modest
get a chance. I suppose it is the spirit of the Age.
I had got so far and had to nibble again at my pencil for further
inspiration, when the door opened and my landlady appeared. She is a
worthy woman, and she holds her head on one side like an elderly
canary-bird.
She spoke with a remnant of breath.
"If you please, ma'am, we have lost our Alonzo the Brave."
"You will probably," I replied with great presence of mind, considering
that I had no idea what she was talking about, "find him with the fair
Imogene."
Here my landlady, with her eyes penetrating the corners, gave a cry of
rapture, "There he is! Glory be!" And she pounced on the black and
purring stranger, who rose and stretched his back to a mountainous
height and his jaws to a pink cavern.
"This is our Alonzo the Brave," and she pressed his rebellious head
against the pins on her ample bosom.
"Oh, indeed," I said politely; "and though he is your Alonzo the Brave,
I hope you won't mind his being my preface, will you? And may I ask what
does he like best in the world besides Imogene?"
Alonzo the Brave had partly wriggled out of her ardent embrace, so that
he now hung suspended by his elastic body, while his legs dangled at
amazing length.
"Me," and my landlady simpered.
"I mean in the eating line," I explained.
Catnip, said his biographer, was his favourite weakness.
"Then get him a pennyworth of catnip and put it on my bill," I said
benevolently. For I thought as she carried him off struggling, even a
poor preface is cheap at a penny, and without Alonzo the Brave there
would have been no preface, and without his heroic ancestor the Modest
would never have had a chance!
I do hope this explains the following pages. I have not, like Alonzo's
ancestor, strictly confined my observations to kings. I have, indeed,
ventured to look at all sorts of things, many of them very sublime, and
solemn and important, and some less so; and, as the following pages will
prove, I have availed myself freely of the privilege of the Modest.
If the two greatest nations of the world have served me as "copy," it is
because they are very near and dear, and the Modest, like more
celebrated writers, have a way of using their nearest and dearest as
"copy," especially their dearest.
In conclusion, I trust I have adequately explained, by help of Alonzo
the Brave, that it is the privilege of the Modest to make observations
about everything--whether anyone will ever read them, why--that's
another matter.
A. E. L.
KEMPTOWN, January, 1906.
_Contents_
_Page_
The Champagne Standard 1
American Wives and English Housekeeping 40
Kitchen Comedies 75
Entertaining 104
Temporary Power 130
The Extravagant Economy of Women 153
A Modern Tendency 171
A Plea for Women Architects 181
The Electric Age 188
Gunpowder or Toothpowder 196
The Pleasure of Patriotism 211
Romance and Eyeglasses 220
The Plague of Music 230
A Domestic Danger 245
A Study of Frivolity 259
On Taking Oneself Seriously 271
Soft-Soap 290
_The Champagne Standard_
The other evening at a charming dinner party in London, and in that
intimate time which is just before the men return to the drawing room, I
found myself tete-a-tete with my genial hostess. She leaned forward and
said with a touch of anxiety in her pretty eyes, "Confess that I am
heroic?"
"Why?" I asked, somewhat surprised.
"To give a dinner party without champagne."
It was only then that I realised that we had had excellent claret and
hock instead of that fatal wine which represents, as really nothing else
does, the cheap pretence which is so humorously characteristic of Modern
Society.
"You see," she said with a deep sigh, "I have a conscience, and I try to
reconcile a modest purse and the hospitality people expect from me, and
that is being very heroic these days, and it does so disagree with me to
be heroic! Besides, people don't appreciate your heroism, they only
think you are mean!"
I realised at once the truth and absurdity of what she said. It does
require tremendous heroism to have the courage of a small income and to
be hospitable within your means, for by force of bad example hospitality
grows dearer year by year. The increasing extravagance of life is all
owing to those millionaires, and imitation millionaires, whose example
is a curse and a menace. They set the pace, and the whole world tears
after. Because solely of their wealth, or supposed wealth, they are
accepted everywhere, and it is they who have broken down the once
impassable barriers between the English classes, with the result that
the evil which before might have been confined to the highest, now that
extravagant imitation is universal, permeates all ranks even to the
lowest.
The old aristocracy is giving place to the new millionaires, and it
gladly bestows on them its friendship in exchange for the privilege of
consorting with untold wealth and possible hints on how to make it. The
dignity that hedges about royalty is indeed a thing of the past, since a
bubble king of finance is said to have been too busy to vouchsafe an
audience to an emperor.
There is nothing in the modern world so absolutely real and convincing
and universal as its pretence. It has set itself a standard of aims and
of living which can best be described as the Champagne Standard.
To live up to the champagne standard you have to put your best foot
foremost, and that foot is usually a woman's. It is the women who are
the arbiters of the essentially unimportant in life, the neglect of
which is a crime. It is the women who have set the champagne standard. A
man who lays a great stress on the importance of trivialities has either
a worldly woman behind him, or he has a decided feminine streak in his
character.
Yes, it is the champagne standard; for nothing else so accurately
describes the insincere, pretentious, and frothy striving after one's
little private unattainables. It is aspiration turned sour. Aspirations,
real and true, keep the world progressive, make of men great men and of
women great women; but it is the minor aspirations after what we have
not got, what the accident of circumstances prevents us from having,
which make of life a weariness and a profound disappointment. Not the
tragedies of life make us bitter, but the pin-pricks.
In America, for instance, one does not need to be so very old to be
aware of the amazing changes in the ways of living, the result of an
unbalanced increase of wealth which has brought with it the imported
complexity of older and more aristocratic countries. It is the older
civilisation's retaliation against those blustering new millions that
have done her such incalculable harm. Indeed, it would have been well
for the great republic had she put an absolutely prohibitive tariff on
the fatal importation. The republican simplicity of our fathers is
slowly vanishing in the blind, mad struggle of modern life--in a
standard of living that is based on folly. It is easier to imitate the
old-world luxury than the old-world cultivation which mellows down the
crudeness of wealth and makes it an accessory and not the principal.
Unfortunately we judge a nation by those of its people who are most in
evidence, and do it the injustice of over-looking the best and finest
types among its wealthiest class: men and women who are the first to
regret and disown what is false and unworthy in their social life. We
assume that the blatant, self-advertising _nouveau riche_, with whom
wealth is the standard of success and virtue, is the national American
type, instead of the worst of many types, whose bad example is as well
recognised as a peril to character in America as in other countries.
Wealth in all nations covers a multitude of sins, but in America, to
judge from recent developments, it would seem to cover crimes. Is not
America now passing through a gigantic struggle, the result of the
hideous modern fight for wealth, in which the common man goes under,
while the reckless speculators who juggled with his hard-earned savings
use these same savings to fight justice to the bitter end? Possibly in
no other enlightened country in the world could such titanic frauds,
with such incalculably far-reaching effects, be so successfully
attempted, and that by a handful of men who had in their keeping the
hopes of countless unsuspecting people who trusted to their honesty and
uprightness.
The race for wealth in America has become a madness--a disease. It is
not a love of wealth for what it will bring into life, of beauty and
goodness, but a love of millions pure and simple. Who has not seen the
effect of millions on the average human character? Who has not seen men
grow hard and rapacious in proportion as their millions accumulated? Who
has not seen the tendency to judge of deeds and virtue by the same false
standard? A shady transaction performed by a millionaire is condoned
because he is a millionaire and for no other reason. Without millions he
would be shunned, but with them he is regarded with the eyes of a most
benevolent charity. It is high time indeed that a prophet should arise
and preach the simple life, but let him not preach it from below
upwards. He must preach it to the kings of the world and the
billionaires and magnates, and above all to the lady magnates; and let
him be sure not to forget the lady magnates, for they are of the
supremest importance and set the fashion. Let him turn them from their
complicated ways. Now the ways of magnates and all who belong to them
are very instructive. The well-authenticated story goes that at a dinner
party the other night at a magnate's,--to describe his indescribable
importance it is sufficient to call a man a magnate--after the ladies
returned to the drawing-room, the hostess, her broad expanse tinkling
and glittering with diamonds, leaned back in a great tufted chair--just
like a throne _en deshabille_--and shivered slightly. A footman went in
search of the lady's maid.
"Francoise," said the magnate's lady with languid magnificence, "I feel
chilly; bring me another diamond necklace."
Yes, let the prophet first convert the magnate and the magnate's "lady"
to a simpler life, then the simple life will undoubtedly become the
fashion, for the small fry will follow soon enough. Are we not all like
sheep? And what is the use of arguing with sheep who are leaping after
the bellwether?
There is one safeguard for the American republic, and that is, in
default of any other description, its ice-water-drinking class. In its
ice-water-drinking class lies its safety, for that represents the
backbone of the republic. It represents a class which, in spite of the
sanitary drawbacks of ice, is a national asset. It seems curious to
boast of the people who drink ice-water, and yet they represent American
life, simple, sincere, and untouched by the sophistries of the champagne
standard, and of a social ambition imported from abroad; decently well
off people, but not so well off but that the only heritage of their sons
will be a practical education. Already we are reaping the curse of
inherited wealth in America, where, unlike England, it has no duties to
keep the balance. The English aristocrat has inherited political duties
and responsibilities towards his country which, as a rule, he
faithfully performs, and which make of him a hard-working man.
Unfortunately it is the fashion for the rich American, in his race for
wealth and pleasure, or out of sheer indolence, to ignore politics and
all that is of vital importance in national life. And until the best
elements of the nation take a practical interest in the government of
their country and in the administration of its great institutions, the
nation cannot reach its highest development. Just now, unhappily, we
have a warning example of what happens in America to the second
generation that inherits instead of makes incalculable wealth. The
District Attorney of New York, in a case which has shaken the foundation
of all commercial rectitude, is quoted as saying of the still young man
whom the accident of inheritance placed in a position of despotic power
over millions of money and millions of modest hopes: "He is an excellent
type of the second generation." It is an epigram which should be a
warning, as the cause is a menace to American business methods. For did
not Emerson say, studying American ways more than a generation ago when
American life was simpler: "It takes three generations from
shirt-sleeves to shirt-sleeves." But in that warning there is hope, for
in the scattering of wealth lies America's chance of salvation. Plain
living and high thinking once characterised what was best in American
life, and the men and women whose thoughts were high and whose living
plain were mostly from that simple ice-water-drinking class that has
produced much of the nobility and patriotism of America. That ice-water
has helped to encourage dyspepsia, granted; but even a great virtue can
have its defects.
How different was the America of our childhood! One remembers the
time when, if the honoured guest was not invited to quench his thirst
with ice-water at the hospitable board, he was, as a great treat,
furnished with cider. Claret was the drink of those adventurous souls
who had traditions and had been abroad. There was no champagne
standard--champagne only graced the table on solemn, state occasions.
But in these rapid days the hospitable people who would once have
offered you a serious glass of claret now give you champagne. And
because Smith, who can afford it, gives you good champagne, Jones, who
cannot afford it, gives you bad champagne. But the bad and the good
champagne are both tied up in white cloths, as if they had the
toothache, so how awfully lucky it is that when the label is fifth-rate,
Mrs. Jones, trusting in the shrouded shape, can offer bad champagne with
ignorant satisfaction.
It is interesting to study the evolution of Jones. There was Jones's
father; he didn't pretend. He lived in a modest house and kept one
servant and had a fat bank account. Old Mrs. Jones, a charming woman
with the manners of a duchess, helped in the housework. Old Jones dined
all the days of his life at one o'clock, and had a "meat-tea" at six. At
ten every night he ate an apple, and then he went to bed at ten-thirty.
He left a handsome fortune to his children, who shared alike, which made
Jones, Jr., only comfortably off. Now young Jones and his wife began by
following in the footsteps of their parents, but Jones made money in
business, and the result was that Mrs. Jones had aspirations.
Aspirations are always a feminine attribute. So Jones bought a
fashionable house, and instead of one servant Mrs. Jones keeps four;
instead of a joint and pie, American pie, for which his simple appetite
longs, Jones has a six-course dinner at eight which gives him dyspepsia.
There is not the ghost of a doubt that Mrs. Jones is too afraid of the
servants to have a plain dinner. And it is also quite certain that she
goes to a fashionable church for a social impetus rather than divine
uplifting, and that she sends her only child, Petra Jones, to a
fashionable kindergarten so that the unfortunate child, who is at an age
when she ought to be making mud pies, shall be early launched into
fashionable friendships. Indeed, one day, in a burst of confidence, Mrs.
Jones described how Petra had been snubbed. It seems that the Jones's
child met another small school-fellow in the park in custody of the last
thing in French nurses. Being only six and still unsophisticated in the
ways of fashion, she rushed up to the young patrician and suggested
their playing together.
"No, I can't play with you," the young patrician sniffed--"for my ma
don't call on your ma."
Why is it that the pin-pricks of life are so much harder to bear than
its tragedies? Mrs. Jones mourned over this snub to the pride of Jones,
but she has no leisure to observe that Jones, her husband, is meanwhile
growing old and hollow-eyed with care and business worries and the
expense of aspiring. O champagne standard! O foolish Mrs. Jones!
As long as we can be snubbed and suffer what is the use of telling us
that we are born free and equal? The only liberty we have is to breathe,
and our equality consists in that, plebeian and patrician alike, we are
permitted to take in as much air as our infant lungs can accommodate.
After that our equality ceases.
When Mrs. Jones goes to the expense of giving a dinner party, does she
only invite her nearest and dearest, who are acquainted with the extent
of Jones's purse? Not a bit of it. She invites most of her enemies and
some strangers. There really should be a limit to the attention one
bestows on the stranger within his gates.
There was dear old Mrs. Carter Patterson in the days of my youth. She
was a funny old woman with a nose like a beak, a rusty Chantilly lace
veil, and a black front. She stopped my mother in the street and
explained that she was in a tearing hurry as she was about to call on
Mrs. Mangles.
"Why, I thought," and my simple mother hesitated, "I thought you said
you hated her."
"So I do, my dear, so I do, but I always make a point of calling on my
enemies, it's no use calling on one's friends."
Who has not studied the increasing difficulty of that surgical operation
called the launching of a young girl into modern society. Every year it
grows more and more difficult--society seems to form a kind of trust to
keep out the young girl, at least to judge from the extreme difficulty
of getting her in; and after she is in, the bitterness of it, and
vexation of spirit, only the young girl knows. The operation is
different in different countries, though one has heard of the agonies
endured in England during the process. In America the ceremony is as
expensive as a wedding. Because one girl has had a huge coming-out
reception, that shakes her pa's cheque book to its centre, why the other
girl must have a still bigger one.
I have been a witness to the coming out of Maria's only child Nancy. The
education of Nancy was not so much to teach her anything, as to give her
the best opportunity of making fashionable acquaintances. It was my
privilege to study her mother's heroic efforts to get Nancy into a
fashionable dancing-school, the entrance to which gave the fortunate one
that supreme distinction which nothing else could. Twice "mother"
failed, and she wept in my presence in sheer weariness of soul, but the
third time Nancy got in--not triumphantly, but she slipped in by some
oversight of a fashionable matron whose duty it was to keep out
ineligible little children, and "mother" was happy, though the little
"400" boys in the round dances did neglect Nancy, who looked shyly and
wistfully about, a small melancholy wall-flower, with her eyes swimming
with tears, as the little boys wisely footed it with all the most
eligible of the "400" little girls. It is very instructive to see how
early the sense of worthy worldly wisdom develops itself!
But Nancy had passed through all these stages of social martyrdom, and
had comfortably hardened. Talk of the Spartan boy with the fox nibbling
at his vitals! There are worse things than having a fox nibble at your
vitals--Nancy knew.
When I met "mother" the morning of the coming-out of Nancy, she was
nearly in a condition of nervous prostration. The house was in the
clutches of florists and caterers, and father had fled to his office
with the strict injunction not to appear until late in the afternoon.
The awful problems were two: Would Nancy get as many bouquets as a rival
"bud"--the technical name for a debutante--who had reached the acme of
social distinction with two hundred and thirty-five, and would enough
people come to make a show?
"I shall die if she doesn't get as many bouquets as that Bell girl,"
"mother" cried in an ecstasy of nervous anguish, "but she has only got
two hundred and ten."
"It's as bad as getting married," I cried sympathetically.
"Quite," and Maria groaned; "and without any real result."
Between a confusion of carpet covering and potted plants I went upstairs
in search of the "bud."
"Only two hundred and ten bouquets," she cried in a tempest
of discontent, "and Betty Bell (the rival bud) is to have a
five-thousand-dollar ball and I am not! Mother says it isn't giving the
ball she'd mind, but it's people not coming. It's easy enough sending
out invitations, but the mean thing is, people accept and don't come.
That's the latest fashion," cried this bitter "bud." "Mother said she'd
be mortified to death to give a ball and have nobody but the waiters to
drink up the champagne. We're of just enough importance to have our
invitations accepted and thrown over if anything better turns up."
Such was her perfectly justifiable wail.
That afternoon at six I came again in my best clothes. A reception is
after all the simplest of social functions. It entails no obligations,
and is as democratic as an electric car. It is perhaps one of the few
functions in which even the noblest society may use its elbows, and as a
school for staring, the kind that sees through the amplest human body as
if it were mere air, nothing could be more useful and practical. It is
an interesting study to observe how the female l | 187.259029 |
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SPORTS AND PASTIMES
EDITED BY
HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF BEAUFORT, K.G.
ASSISTED BY ALFRED E. T. WATSON
_YACHTING_
II.
[Illustration: Old Flags.]
YACHTING
BY
R. T. PRITCHETT
THE MARQUIS OF DUFFERIN AND AVA, K.P.
JAMES McFERRAN
REV. G. L. BLAKE, T. B. MIDDLETON
EDWARD WALTER CASTLE AND ROBERT CASTLE
G. CHRISTOPHER DAVIES, LEWIS HERRESHOFF
THE EARL OF ONSLOW, G.C.M.G., H. HORN
SIR GEORGE LEACH, K.C.B., VICE-PRESIDENT Y.R.A.
[Illustration: Yachts.]
IN TWO VOLUMES--VOL. II.
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY R. T. PRITCHETT
AND FROM PHOTOGRAPHS_
LONDON
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
1894
_All rights reserved_
CONTENTS OF THE SECOND VOLUME
CHAPTER PAGE
I. ROYAL YACHTS AND ENGLISH YACHT CLUBS 1
_By R. T. Pritchett, Marquis of Dufferin and Ava,
K.P., James McFerran, and Rev. G. L. Blake._
II. SCOTTISH CLUBS 72
_By R. T. Pritchett and Rev. G. L. Blake._
III. IRISH CLUBS 99
_By R. T. Pritchett, Rev. G. L. Blake, and T. B.
Middleton._
IV. THE THAMES CLUBS AND WINDERMERE 152
_By Edward Walter Castle, Robert Castle, and R. T.
Pritchett._
V. YACHTING ON THE NORFOLK BROADS 190
_By G. Christopher Davies._
VI. YACHTING IN AMERICA 227
_By Lewis Herreshoff._
VII. YACHTING IN NEW ZEALAND 287
_By the Earl of Onslow, G.C.M.G._
VIII. FOREIGN AND COLONIAL YACHTING 304
_By R. T. Pritchett and Rev. G. L. Blake._
IX. SOME FAMOUS RACES 324
_By R. T. Pritchett._
X. RACING IN A 40-RATER IN 1892 332
_By R. T. Pritchett._
XI. YACHT RACING IN 1893 349
_By H. Horn._
XII. THE AMERICAN YACHTING SEASON OF 1893 400
_By Lewis Herreshoff._
XIII. THE AMERICA CUP RACES, 1893 416
_By Sir George Leach, K.C.B., Vice-President Y.R.A._
APPENDIX: THE 'GIRALDA' 425
INDEX 427
ILLUSTRATIONS IN THE SECOND VOLUME
(_Reproduced by J. D. Cooper and Messrs. Walker & Boutall_)
FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS
ARTIST TO FACE PAGE
OLD FLAGS _R. T. Pritchett_ _Frontispiece_
HER MAJESTY THE QUEEN GOING TO SCOTLAND
" 6
THE ROYAL YACHT 'VICTORIA AND ALBERT,' 1843
" 8
'PEARL,' 'FALCON,' AND 'WATERWITCH'
" 12
'MYSTERY' WINNING THE CUP PRESENTED BY R.Y.S. TO R.T.Y.C.
" 14
'CORSAIR,' R.Y.S., WINNING THE QUEEN'S CUP AT COWES, 1892
" 16
YACHT CLUB BURGEES _Club Card_ 48
'IREX' _From a photograph by Adamson_ 58
'YARANA' " 64
'ARROW,' ROYAL CINQUE PORTS YACHT CLUB, 1876
_R. T. Pritchett_ 68
'REVERIE' _From a photograph_ 70
NORTHERN YACHT CLUB CRUISING OFF GARROCH HEAD, 1825
_From a painting by Hutcheson_ 76
ROYAL NORTHERN YACHT CLUB, ROTHESAY
_From a photograph by Secretary_ 78
THE START FOR ARDRISHAIG CUP
_From a photograph by Adamson_ 84
'MARJORIE' " " 86
'MAY' " | 187.361558 |
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YOUNG KNIGHTS OF THE EMPIRE
THEIR CODE AND FURTHER SCOUT YARNS
BY
SIR ROBERT BADEN-POWELL K.C.B., K.C.V.O., LL.D.
AUTHOR OF "SCOUTING FOR BOYS," "YARNS FOR BOY SCOUTS," "SCOUTING
GAMES," "MY ADVENTURES AS A SPY," ETC.
1917
FOREWORD
TO BOY-MEN,--
In offering this collection of yarns, I do not suggest that these are
anything more than further illustrations of the steps already schemed
in _Scouting for Boys_ for self-education in character and good
citizenship.
But illustrations by themselves are of comparatively little value
unless the theories and ideas conveyed by them are also put into
actual and habitual practice.
It is in this that the boy needs your encouragement.
ROBERT BADEN-POWELL
YOUNG KNIGHTS OF THE EMPIRE
THE SCOUT LAW
Perhaps you wonder what is a Young Knight of the Empire.
Well, you know what a knight is--or rather, used to be in the old
days--a gallant fellow who was always ready to defend weaker people
when they were being bullied; he was brave and honourable, and ready
to risk his life in doing his duty according to the code or law of
Chivalry.
Well, nowadays there are thousands of boys all over the British Empire
carrying out the same idea, and making themselves into fine, reliable
men, ready to take the place of those who have gone away to fight and
who have fallen at the Front. These are the Boy Scouts. Their code is
the Scout Law--that is, a set of ten rules which they carry out in
their daily life.
I will explain these Laws, and will give you some other yarns of camp
life and adventure such as the Scouts go in for.
HONOUR
Law 1. A SCOUT'S HONOUR IS TO BE TRUSTED.
_If a Scout says "On my honour it is so," that means it is so, just
as if he had taken a most solemn oath._
_Similarly if a Scout officer says to a Scout, "I trust you on your
honour to do this," the Scout is bound to carry out the order to the
very best of his ability, and to let nothing interfere with his doing
so._
_If a Scout were to break his honour by telling_ a lie, or_ by
not carrying out an order exactly when trusted on his honour to do so,
he may be directed to hand over his Scout badge and never wear it
again. He may also be directed to cease to be a Scout._
People of a civilised country, just like boys in a school, are bound
to conduct themselves in a proper manner, because of the law which
causes them to be punished if they misbehave. There is a code of laws
drawn up for this purpose.
But there is another kind of law which binds people just as much as
their written laws, though this one is neither written nor published.
This unwritten law is Honour.
A boy who has clambered over the school wall to go out of bounds and
smoke secretly has committed an offence against the published law of
the school. If next day the master asks in school, "Who has broken out
of bounds?" the boy is not bound by the law to confess that he did; he
can remain silent and thus escape punishment; but he is a
poor-spirited creature if he does so, and has no sense of honour. If
he is honourable he will manfully and honestly tell the master that he
broke out and will stand whatever punishment comes of it. By so doing
he will have proved to the master and to the other boys that he is
manly and not afraid to tell the truth, and is to be relied upon
because he puts his honour before all.
So the first training that the Boy Scout gets is to understand that
Honour is his own private law which is guided by his conscience, and
that once he is a Scout he must be guided in all his doings by his
sense of Honour.
LOYALTY
Law 2. A SCOUT IS LOYAL to the King, and to his officers, and to his
parents, his Country, his employers, and to those under his orders. He
must stick to them through thick and thin against anyone who is their
enemy or who even talks badly of them.
There was a Scoutmaster in the East End of London who when the war
broke out felt it his duty to give up the splendid work he was doing
amongst the poor boys of the East End in order to take up service for
his Country.
Scoutmaster Lukis--for that is his name--felt bound, by his sense of
loyalty to his King and his Country, to give up the life he was then
living and face the dangers of soldiering on active service.
But the example which he set in loyalty was promptly followed by some
eighty young fellows who were his Scouts or Old Scouts.
Their loyalty to him made them wish to follow their leader wherever
his duty led him. So they became soldiers like himself and all went
together to the Front.
A day came when the trenches which they were holding were heavily
shelled. The danger was great and the losses were heavy, and finally a
piece of shrapnel struck Captain Lukis in the leg and shattered his
thigh. Two of his East London Boy Scout's sprang to his assistance and
tended him with devoted care. They waited for a lull in the firing and
finally between them they carried him, although exposed to a deadly
fire, to a place of safety. While so doing one of them was hit and
severely wounded.
But the spirit of the lads was splendid. They cared nothing for their
own safety so that they got their beloved Scoutmaster out of danger.
That was loyalty.
Loyalty means faithfulness. Your dog is faithful to you and sticks to
you even though you may beat him. He overlooks your faults and your
unkindness and remains loyal to you.
Loyalty begins at home.
Some boys are always thinking that their parents are wrong or unfair
to them. If you think that your parents have any faults, don't look at
those faults. Be loyal to your parents; remember only that it is
thanks to them that you are alive and able to be a Scout.
Obey your parents, believe in them, and respect them; if you can at
any time help them, do so. By doing these things you are being loyal
to them. By being loyal to them you are carrying out that commandment
of the Bible which says: "Honour thy father and thy mother." Be loyal,
also, in the same way-by obeying and thinking no evil and by backing
them up-to your Patrol-leader, your Scoutmaster, and your
schoolmaster. If you are a working boy carry out the same idea towards
your foreman, your manager, and your employer.
On taking up your work, you have agreed to do a certain amount for a
certain wage, and it is loyalty on your part then to stick to that
agreement and to give good work in return for your pay.
If, on the other hand, you are a well-to-do boy and come to have a
servant or a man working under you as you grow older, you should
equally be loyal to him. Remember that in taking him on you expect a
certain amount of work from him for the money you give him; if you
find that he gives you more work than you agreed for, you will be
acting loyally to him if you then increase his wage: but never go back
on your agreement, and do not try to make more money out of him than
you meant to do when first making the contract. So, too, if you are a
Patrol or other leader, and if those under you get into trouble
through carrying out your ideas, be loyal to them; own up that it was
through your fault that they did wrong.
Whatever line of life you may be in, be loyal to God, to your King,
and to your Country.
* * * * *
ANTARCTIC SCOUTING.
All Boy Scouts know of Sir Ernest Shackleton, a brother peace-scout of
the Empire--and a first-class one, too.
On one of his voyages of exploration to the South Pole he was very
nearly successful in getting to that point, he was within ninety-seven
miles of it, in fact, when his food supplies gave out, and he and
those with him were in great danger of starving, and had, most
unwillingly, to turn back to regain their ship.
They had left the ship when they had got her as far south as was
possible through the ice; they then went on foot over land and sea,
all hard frozen and covered with snow, and they took their food with
them, and stored depots, or what Scouts would call "caches," to use on
their return journey. For weeks they struggled along over difficult
ground.
One day in January, although they had cut down their rations and ate
as little as possible (so little indeed that they were getting weak),
they found that they were coming to the end of their food, and they
must either turn back or go on and die, in which case the record of
their work would have been lost. So they planted a flagstaff with the
Union Jack on it, and left a box containing a notice that they had
annexed the land for Great Britain and King Edward VII.
They took a long look with their field-glasses in the direction of the
South Pole to see if any mountains were to be seen, but there were
none. And then they started on their desperate tramp to the ship.
They made a number of interesting and useful discoveries. They came
upon mountains and glaciers of ice, and mineral rocks of coal and
limestone.
And they found tiny insects which are able to live in the ice, and
when they boiled them, they did not kill them!
They found that the penguins, the great wingless birds which sit up
and look just like people, enjoyed listening to a gramophone, which
they set going for their benefit.
But their journey back was a very anxious and trying experience for
them.
In order to guide them they had planted flags here and there along
their path, but storms came and blew them down, and it was, therefore,
most difficult to find their way from one food depot to another. They
did it largely by spooring their old tracks.
This is how Sir Ernest Shackleton describes their doings on one
particular day:
"We were thirty miles from our depot. Although we could see it in the
distance, it was practically unattainable, for soft snow covered
treacherous crevasses, and as we stumbled along in our search for food
we seemed to get no nearer to our longed-for goal. The situation was
desperate.
"Two of our party, utterly worn out and exhausted, fell in harness,
but with the greatest pluck again pushed on as soon as they had
temporarily recovered. It was with a feeling of devout thankfulness
that we crossed the last crevasse and secured some food. Beyond a
little tea we had had nothing for thirty-four hours, and previously to
that our last meal consisted merely of one pannikin of half-cooked
pony maize-not much foundation for work under such conditions, and
with an extremely low temperature. Under these conditions we marched
sixteen miles in twenty-two hours.
"On another occasion during that same journey we were all struck down
with dysentery, and this at a distance of ninety miles from our depot.
Though the weather was fine, we were all too weak to move, but here,
as on other occasions, Providence came to our rescue, and strong
southerly blizzards helped us along.
"From December 4th, 1908, to February 23rd, 1909, we lived in a state
of constant anxiety, intensified by more acute knowledge gained from
narrow escapes and close contact with death. Over and over again there
were times when no mortal leadership could have availed us.
"It was during these periods that we learnt that some Power beyond our
own guided our footsteps. If we acknowledged this--as we did--down
among the ice, it is only fitting that we should remember it now when
the same Power has brought us safely home through all these troubles
and dangers. No one who has seen and experienced what we have done
there can take credit to himself for our escape from what appeared to
be overwhelming difficulties."
Sir Ernest Shackleton also praises the conduct of his officers and men
as helping largely to their success. He says:
"We were all the best of comrades. Every man denied himself, and was
eager to do his level best."
True Scouts, all of them.
* * * * *
SOME FAMOUS VICTORIES THROUGH LOYALTY TO LEADERS.
Trafalgar.
The month of October is full of glorious national memories for Scouts.
On October 21st, 1805, was fought the battle of Trafalgar, when the
British Fleet, under Admiral Lord Nelson, attacked and defeated the
combined forces of French and Spanish men-of-war.
It looked almost hopeless for a small fleet to attack so large a one;
but Nelson made that grand signal which called on every man _that
day to do his duty,_ and every man, like a true Scout, did his
duty, even though in many a case it cost him his life.
Nelson himself showed the example, for he drove his ship in between
two of the enemy's ships and fought them, one against two. He never
attempted to take cover, but exposed himself to danger as much as
anyone, and was killed at the moment of victory. The sailors of to-day
still wear a black silk neckerchief round their necks as a sign of
mourning for the great admiral.
* * * * *
BALACLAVA.
Then on October 25th, 1854, in the Crimea, in South Russia, took place
two grand charges by the British cavalry-against the Russian cavalry.
One of these, the charge of the Light Brigade, every boy knows about,
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An African Millionaire
Episodes in the Life of the Illustrious Colonel Clay
By Grant Allen
First published in 1897
CONTENTS
1. The Episode of the Mexican Seer
2. The Episode of the Diamond Links
3. The Episode of the Old Master
4. The Episode of the Tyrolean Castle
5. The Episode of the Drawn Game
6. The Episode of the German Professor
7. The Episode of the Arrest of the Colonel
8. The Episode of the Seldon Gold-Mine
9. The Episode of the Japanned Dispatch-Box
10. The Episode of the Game of Poker
11. The Episode of the Bertillon Method
12. The Episode of the Old Bailey
I
THE EPISODE OF THE MEXICAN SEER
My name is Seymour Wilbraham Wentworth. I am brother-in-law and
secretary to Sir Charles Vandrift, the South African millionaire and
famous financier. Many years ago, when Charlie Vandrift was a small
lawyer in Cape Town, I had the (qualified) good fortune to marry his
sister. Much later, when the Vandrift estate and farm near Kimberley
developed by degrees into the Cloetedorp Golcondas, Limited, my
brother-in-law offered me the not unremunerative post of secretary;
in which capacity I have ever since been his constant and attached
companion.
He is not a man whom any common sharper can take in, is Charles
Vandrift. Middle height, square build, firm mouth, keen eyes--the
very picture of a sharp and successful business genius. I have only
known one rogue impose upon Sir Charles, and that one rogue, as the
Commissary of Police at Nice remarked, would doubtless have imposed
upon a syndicate of Vidocq, Robert Houdin, and Cagliostro.
We had run across to the Riviera for a few weeks in the season. Our
object being strictly rest and recreation from the arduous duties
of financial combination, we did not think it necessary to take our
wives out with us. Indeed, Lady Vandrift is absolutely wedded to the
joys of London, and does not appreciate the rural delights of the
Mediterranean littoral. But Sir Charles and I, though immersed in
affairs when at home, both thoroughly enjoy the complete change from
the City to the charming vegetation and pellucid air on the terrace
at Monte Carlo. We _are_ so fond of scenery. That delicious view
over the rocks of Monaco, with the Maritime Alps in the rear, and
the blue sea in front, not to mention the imposing Casino in the
foreground, appeals to me as one of the most beautiful prospects in
all Europe. Sir Charles has a sentimental attachment for the place.
He finds it restores and freshens him, after the turmoil of London,
to win a few hundreds at roulette in the course of an afternoon
among the palms and cactuses and pure breezes of Monte Carlo. The
country, say I, for a jaded intellect! However, we never on any
account actually stop in the Principality itself. Sir Charles thinks
Monte Carlo is not a sound address for a financier's letters. He
prefers a comfortable hotel on the Promenade des Anglais at Nice,
where he recovers health and renovates his nervous system by taking
daily excursions along the coast to the Casino.
This particular season we were snugly ensconced at the Hotel des
Anglais. We had capital quarters on the first floor--salon, study,
and bedrooms--and found on the spot a most agreeable cosmopolitan
society. All Nice, just then, was ringing with talk about a curious
impostor, known to his followers as the Great Mexican Seer, and
supposed to be gifted with second sight, as well as with endless
other supernatural powers. Now, it is a peculiarity of my able
brother-in-law's that, when he meets with a quack, he burns to
expose him; he is so keen a man of business himself that it gives
him, so to speak, a disinterested pleasure to unmask and detect
imposture in others. Many ladies at the hotel, some of whom had met
and conversed with the Mexican Seer, were constantly telling us
strange stories of his doings. He had disclosed to one the present
whereabouts of a runaway husband; he had pointed out to another the
numbers that would win at roulette next evening; he had shown a
third the image on a screen of the man she had for years adored
without his knowledge. Of course, Sir Charles didn't believe a word
of it; but his curiosity was roused; he wished to see and judge for
himself of the wonderful thought-reader.
"What would be his terms, do you think, for a private seance?" he
asked of Madame Picardet, the lady to whom the Seer had successfully
predicted the winning numbers.
"He does not work for money," Madame Picardet answered, "but for
the good of humanity. I'm sure he would gladly come and exhibit for
nothing his miraculous faculties."
"Nonsense!" Sir Charles answered. "The man must live. I'd pay him
five guineas, though, to see him alone. What hotel is he stopping at?"
"The Cosmopolitan, I think," the lady answered. "Oh no; I remember
now, the Westminster."
Sir Charles turned to me quietly. "Look here, Seymour," he
whispered. "Go round to this fellow's place immediately after
dinner, and offer him five pounds to give a private seance at once
in my rooms, without mentioning who I am to him; keep the name quite
quiet. Bring him back with you, too, and come straight upstairs
with him, so that there may be no collusion. We'll see just how much
the fellow can tell us."
I went as directed. I found the Seer a very remarkable and
interesting person. He stood about Sir Charles's own height, but was
slimmer and straighter, with an aquiline nose, strangely piercing
eyes, very large black pupils, and a finely-chiselled close-shaven
face, like the bust of Antinous in our hall in Mayfair. What gave him
his most characteristic touch, however, was his odd head of hair,
curly and wavy like Paderewski's, standing out in a halo round his
high white forehead and his delicate profile. I could see at a
glance why he succeeded so well in impressing women; he had the
look of a poet, a singer, a prophet.
"I have come round," I said, "to ask whether you will consent to
give a seance at once in a friend's rooms; and my principal wishes
me to add that he is prepared to pay five pounds as the price of the
entertainment."
Senor Antonio Herrera--that was what he called himself--bowed to
me with impressive Spanish politeness. His dusky olive cheeks were
wrinkled with a smile of gentle contempt as he answered gravely--
"I do not sell my gifts; I bestow them freely. If your friend--your
anonymous friend--desires to behold the cosmic wonders that are
wrought through my hands, I am glad to show them to him.
Fortunately, as often happens when it is necessary to convince
and confound a sceptic (for that your friend is a sceptic I feel
instinctively), I chance to have no engagements at all this
evening." He ran his hand through his fine, long hair reflectively.
"Yes, I go," he continued, as if addressing some unknown presence
that hovered about the ceiling; "I go; come with me!" Then he put on
his broad sombrero, with its crimson ribbon, wrapped a cloak round
his shoulders, lighted a cigarette, and strode forth by my side
towards the Hotel des Anglais.
He talked little by the way, and that little in curt sentences. He
seemed buried in deep thought; indeed, when we reached the door and
I turned in, he walked a step or two farther on, as if not noticing
to what place I had brought him. Then he drew himself up short, and
gazed around him for a moment. "Ha, the Anglais," he said--and I may
mention in passing that his English, in spite of a slight southern
accent, was idiomatic and excellent. "It is here, then; it is here!"
He was addressing once more the unseen presence.
I smiled to think that these childish devices were intended to
deceive Sir Charles Vandrift. Not quite the sort of man (as the City
of London knows) to be taken in by hocus-pocus. And all this, I saw,
was the cheapest and most commonplace conjurer's patter.
We went upstairs to our rooms. Charles had gathered together a
few friends to watch the performance. The Seer entered, wrapt in
thought. He was in evening dress, but a red sash round his waist
gave a touch of picturesqueness and a dash of colour. He paused for
a moment in the middle of the salon, without letting his eyes rest
on anybody or anything. Then he walked straight up to Charles, and
held out his dark hand.
"Good-evening," he said. "You are the host. My soul's sight tells
me so."
"Good shot," Sir Charles answered. "These fellows have to be
quick-witted, you know, Mrs. Mackenzie, or they'd never get on
at it."
The Seer gazed about him, and smiled blankly at a person or two
whose faces he seemed to recognise from a previous existence. Then
Charles began to ask him a few simple questions, not about himself,
but about me, just to test him. He answered most of them with
surprising correctness. "His name? His name begins with an S I
think:--You call him Seymour." He paused long between each clause, as
if the facts were revealed to him slowly. "Seymour--Wilbraham--Earl
of Strafford. No, not Earl of Strafford! Seymour Wilbraham
Wentworth. There seems to be some connection in somebody's mind now
present between Wentworth and Strafford. I am not English. I do not
know what it means. But they are somehow the same name, Wentworth
and Strafford."
He gazed around, apparently for confirmation. A lady came to his
rescue.
"Wentworth was the surname of the great Earl of Strafford," she
murmured gently; "and I was wondering, as you spoke, whether
Mr. Wentworth might possibly be descended from him."
"He is," the Seer replied instantly, with a flash of those dark
eyes. And I thought this curious; for though my father always
maintained the reality of the relationship, there was one link
wanting to complete the pedigree. He could not make sure that
the Hon. Thomas Wilbraham Wentworth was the father of Jonathan
Wentworth, the Bristol horse-dealer, from whom we are descended.
"Where was I born?" Sir Charles interrupted, coming suddenly to his
own case.
The Seer clapped his two hands to his forehead and held it between
them, as if to prevent it from bursting. "Africa," he said slowly,
as the facts narrowed down, so to speak. "South Africa; Cape of Good
Hope; Jansenville; De Witt Street. 1840."
"By Jove, he's correct," Sir Charles muttered. "He seems really to
do it. Still, he may have found me out. He may have known where he
was coming."
"I never gave a hint," I answered; "till he reached the door, he
didn't even know to what hotel I was piloting him."
The Seer stroked his chin softly. His eye appeared to me to have a
furtive gleam in it. "Would you like me to tell you the number of
a bank-note inclosed in an envelope?" he asked casually.
"Go out of the room," Sir Charles said, "while I pass it round the
company."
Senor Herrera disappeared. Sir Charles passed it round cautiously,
holding it all the time in his own hand, but letting his guests see
the number. Then he placed it in an envelope and gummed it down
firmly.
The Seer returned. His keen eyes swept the company with a
comprehensive glance. He shook his shaggy mane. Then he took
the envelope in his hands and gazed at it fixedly. "AF, 73549,"
he answered, in a slow tone. "A Bank of England note for fifty
pounds--exchanged at the Casino for gold won yesterday at
Monte Carlo."
"I see how he did that," Sir Charles said triumphantly. "He must
have changed it there himself; and then I changed it back again.
In point of fact, I remember seeing a fellow with long hair loafing
about. Still, it's capital conjuring."
"He can see through matter," one of the ladies interposed. It was
Madame Picardet. "He can see through a box." She drew a little gold
vinaigrette, such as our grandmothers used, from her dress-pocket.
"What is in this?" she inquired, holding it up to him.
Senor Herrera gazed through it. "Three gold coins," he replied,
knitting his brows with the effort of seeing into the box: "one,
an American five dollars; one, a French ten-franc piece; one,
twenty marks, German, of the old Emperor William."
She opened the box and passed it round. Sir Charles smiled a quiet
smile.
"Confederacy!" he muttered, half to himself. "Confederacy!"
The Seer turned to him with a sullen air. "You want a better sign?"
he said, in a very impressive voice. "A sign that will convince you!
Very well: you have a letter in your left waistcoat pocket--a
crumpled-up letter. Do you wish me to read it out? I will, if you
desire it."
It may seem to those who know Sir Charles incredible, but, I am
bound to admit, my brother-in-law. What that letter
contained I cannot say; he only answered, very testily and
evasively, "No, thank you; I won't trouble you. The exhibition you
have already given us of your skill in this kind more than amply
suffices." And his fingers strayed nervously to his waistcoat
pocket, as if he was half afraid, even then, Senor Herrera would
read it.
I fancied, too, he glanced somewhat anxiously towards Madame
Picardet.
The Seer bowed courteously. "Your will, senor, is law," he said. "I
make it a principle, though I can see through all things, invariably
to respect the secrecies and sanctities. If it were not so, I might
dissolve society. For which of us is there who could bear the whole
truth being told about him?" He gazed around the room. An unpleasant
thrill supervened. Most of us felt this uncanny Spanish American
knew really too much. And some of us were engaged in financial
operations.
"For example," the Seer continued blandly, "I happened a few weeks
ago to travel down here from Paris by train with a very intelligent
man, a company promoter. He had in his bag some documents--some
confidential documents:" he glanced at Sir Charles. "You know the
kind of thing, my dear sir: reports from experts--from mining
engineers. You may have seen some such; marked _strictly private_."
"They form an element in high finance," Sir Charles admitted coldly.
"Pre-cisely," the Seer murmured, his accent for a moment less
Spanish than before. "And, as they were marked _strictly private_,
I respect, of course, the seal of confidence. That's all I wish to
say. I hold it a duty, being intrusted with such powers, not to use
them in a manner which may annoy or incommode my fellow-creatures."
"Your feeling does you honour," Sir Charles answered, with some
acerbity. Then he whispered in my ear: "Confounded clever scoundrel,
Sey; rather wish we hadn't brought him here."
Senor Herrera seemed intuitively to divine this wish, for he
interposed, in a lighter and gayer tone--
"I will now show you a different and more interesting embodiment
of occult power, for which we shall need a somewhat subdued
arrangement of surrounding lights. Would you mind, senor host--for
I have purposely abstained from reading your name on the brain of
any one present--would you mind my turning down this lamp just a
little?... So! That will do. Now, this one; and this one. Exactly!
that's right." He poured a few grains of powder out of a packet into
a saucer. "Next, a match, if you please. Thank you!" It burnt with a
strange green light. He drew from his pocket a card, and produced a
little ink-bottle. "Have you a pen?" he asked.
I instantly brought one. He handed it to Sir Charles. "Oblige me,"
he said, "by writing your name there." And he indicated a place in
the centre of the card, which had an embossed edge, with a small
middle square of a different colour.
Sir Charles has a natural disinclination to signing his name without
knowing why. "What do you want with it?" he asked. (A millionaire's
signature has so many uses.)
"I want you to put the card in an envelope," the Seer replied, "and
then to burn it. After that, I shall show you your own name written
in letters of blood on my arm, in your own handwriting."
Sir Charles took the pen. If the signature was to be burned as soon
as finished, he didn't mind giving it. He wrote his name in his
usual firm clear style--the writing of a man who knows his worth
and is not afraid of drawing a cheque for five thousand.
"Look at it long," the Seer said, from the other side of the room.
He had not watched him write it.
Sir Charles stared at it fixedly. The Seer was really beginning to
produce an impression.
"Now, put it in that envelope," the Seer exclaimed.
Sir Charles, like a lamb, placed it as directed.
The Seer strode forward. "Give me the envelope," he said. He took it
in his hand, walked over towards the fireplace, and solemnly burnt
it. "See--it crumbles into ashes," he cried. Then he came back to
the middle of the room, close to the green light, rolled up his
sleeve, and held his arm before Sir Charles. There, in blood-red
letters, my brother-in-law read the name, "Charles Vandrift," in
his own handwriting!
"I see how that's done," Sir Charles murmured, drawing back. "It's
a clever delusion; but still, I see through it. It's like that
ghost-book. Your ink was deep green; your light was green; you made
me look at it long; and then I saw the same thing written on the
skin of your arm in complementary colours."
"You think so?" the Seer replied, with a curious curl of the lip.
"I'm sure of it," Sir Charles answered.
Quick as lightning the Seer again rolled up his sleeve. "That's
your name," he cried, in a very clear voice, "but not your whole
name. What do you say, then, to my right? Is this one also a
complementary colour?" He held his other arm out. There, in
sea-green letters, I read the name, "Charles O'Sullivan Vandrift."
It is my brother-in-law's full baptismal designation; but he has
dropped the O'Sullivan for many years past, and, to say the truth,
doesn't like it. He is a little bit ashamed of his mother's family.
Charles glanced at it hurriedly. "Quite right," he said, "quite
right!" But his voice was hollow. I could guess he didn't care to
continue the seance. He could see through the man, of course; but it
was clear the fellow knew too much about us to be entirely pleasant.
"Turn up the lights," I said, and a servant turned them. "Shall I
say coffee and benedictine?" I whispered to Vandrift.
"By all means," he answered. "Anything to keep this fellow from
further impertinences! And, I say, don't you think you'd better
suggest at the same time that the men should smoke? Even these
ladies are not above a cigarette--some of them."
There was a sigh of relief. The lights burned brightly. The Seer for
the moment retired from business, so to speak. He accepted a partaga
with a very good grace, sipped his coffee in a corner, and chatted
to the lady who had suggested Strafford with marked politeness. He
was a polished gentleman.
Next morning, in the hall of the hotel, I saw Madame Picardet again,
in a neat tailor-made travelling dress, evidently bound for the
railway-station.
"What, off, Madame Picardet?" I cried.
She smiled, and held out her prettily-gloved hand. "Yes, I'm off,"
she answered archly. "Florence, or Rome, or somewhere. I've drained
Nice dry--like a sucked orange. Got all the fun I can out of it.
Now I'm away again to my beloved Italy."
But it struck me as odd that, if Italy was her game, she went by the
omnibus which takes down to the train de luxe for Paris. However,
a man of the world accepts what a lady tells him, no matter how
improbable; and I confess, for ten days or so, I thought no more
about her, or the Seer either.
At the end of that time our fortnightly pass-book came in from
the bank in London. It is part of my duty, as the millionaire's
secretary, to make up this book once a fortnight, and to compare
the cancelled cheques with Sir Charles's counterfoils. On this
particular occasion I happened to observe what I can only describe
as a very grave discrepancy,--in fact, a discrepancy of 5000 pounds.
On the wrong side, too. Sir Charles was debited with 5000 pounds
more than the total amount that was shown on the counterfoils.
I examined the book with care. The source of the error was obvious.
It lay in a cheque to Self or Bearer, for 5000 pounds, signed by Sir
Charles, and evidently paid across the counter in London, as it bore
on its face no stamp or indication of any other office.
I called in my brother-in-law from the salon to the study. "Look
here, Charles," I said, "there's a cheque in the book which you
haven't entered." And I handed it to him without comment, for I
thought it might have been drawn to settle some little loss on the
turf or at cards, or to make up some other affair he didn't desire
to mention to me. These things will happen.
He looked at it and stared hard. Then he pursed up his mouth and
gave a long low "Whew!" At last he turned it over and remarked,
"I say, Sey, my boy, we've just been done jolly well brown,
haven't we?"
I glanced at the cheque. "How do you mean?" I inquired.
"Why, the Seer," he replied, still staring at it ruefully. "I
don't mind the five thou., but to think the fellow should have
gammoned the pair of us like that--ignominious, I call it!"
"How do you know it's the Seer?" I asked.
"Look at the green ink," he answered. "Besides, I recollect the
very shape of the last flourish. I flourished a bit like that in
the excitement of the moment, which I don't always do with my
regular signature."
"He's done us," I answered, recognising it. "But how the dickens
did he manage to transfer it to the cheque? This looks like your
own handwriting, Charles, not a clever forgery."
"It is," he said. "I admit it--I can't deny it. Only fancy his
bamboozling me when I was most on my guard! I wasn't to be taken
in by any of his silly occult tricks and catch-words; but it never
occurred to me he was going to victimise me financially in this
way. I expected attempts at a loan or an extortion; but to collar
my signature to a blank cheque--atrocious!"
"How did he manage it?" I asked.
"I haven't the faintest conception. I only know those are the
words I wrote. I could swear to them anywhere."
"Then you can't protest the cheque?"
"Unfortunately, no; it's my own true signature."
We went that afternoon without delay to see the Chief Commissary
of Police at the office. He was a gentlemanly Frenchman, much less
formal and red-tapey than usual, and he spoke excellent English
with an American accent, having acted, in fact, as a detective in
New York for about ten years in his early manhood.
"I guess," he said slowly, after hearing our story, "you've been
victimised right here by Colonel Clay, gentlemen."
"Who is Colonel Clay?" Sir Charles asked.
"That's just what I want to know," the Commissary answered, in
his curious American-French-English. "He is a Colonel, because he
occasionally gives himself a commission; he is called Colonel Clay,
because he appears to possess an india-rubber face, and he can
mould it like clay in the hands of the potter. Real name, unknown.
Nationality, equally French and English. Address, usually Europe.
Profession, former maker of wax figures to the Musee Grevin. Age,
what he chooses. Employs his knowledge to mould his own nose
and cheeks, with wax additions, to the character he desires to
personate. Aquiline this time, you say. Hein! Anything like these
photographs?"
He rummaged in his desk and handed us two.
"Not in the least," Sir Charles answered. "Except, perhaps, as to the
neck, everything here is quite unlike him."
"Then that's the Colonel!" the Commissary answered, with decision,
rubbing his hands in glee. "Look here," and he took out a pencil
and rapidly sketched the outline of one of the two faces--that of
a bland-looking young man, with no expression worth mentioning.
"There's the Colonel in his simple disguise. Very good. Now watch
me: figure to yourself that he adds here a tiny patch of wax to his
nose--an aquiline bridge--just so; well, you have him right there;
and the chin, ah, one touch: now, for hair, a wig: for complexion,
nothing easier: that's the profile of your rascal, isn't it?"
"Exactly," we both murmured. By two curves of the pencil, and a
shock of false hair, the face was transmuted.
"He had very large eyes, with very big pupils, though," I objected,
looking close; "and the man in the photograph here has them small
and boiled-fishy."
"That's so," the Commissary answered. "A drop of belladonna
expands--and produces the Seer; five grains of opium contract--and
give a dead-alive, stupidly-innocent appearance. Well, you leave
this affair to me, gentlemen. I'll see the fun out. I don't say I'll
catch him for you; nobody ever yet has caught Colonel Clay; but
I'll explain how he did the trick; and that ought to be consolation
enough to a man of your means for a trifle of five thousand!"
"You are not the conventional French office-holder, M. le
Commissaire," I ventured to interpose.
"You bet!" the Commissary replied, and drew himself up like a
captain of infantry. "Messieurs," he continued, in French, with the
utmost dignity, "I shall devote the resources of this office to
tracing out the crime, and, if possible, to effectuating the arrest
of the culpable."
We telegraphed to London, of course, and we wrote to the bank, with
a full description of the suspected person. But I need hardly add
that nothing came of it.
Three days later the Commissary called at our hotel. "Well,
gentlemen," he said, "I am glad to say I have discovered
everything!"
"What? Arrested the Seer?" Sir Charles cried.
The Commissary drew back, almost horrified at the suggestion.
"Arrested Colonel Clay?" he exclaimed. "Mais, monsieur, we are only
human! Arrested him? No, not quite. But tracked out how he did it.
That is already much--to unravel Colonel Clay, gentlemen!"
"Well, what do you make of it?" Sir Charles asked, crestfallen.
The Commissary sat down and gloated over his discovery. It was
clear a well-planned crime amused him vastly. "In the first place,
monsieur," he said, "disabuse your mind of the idea that when
monsieur your secretary went out to fetch Senor Herrera that night,
Senor Herrera didn't know to whose rooms he was coming. Quite
otherwise, in point of fact. I do not doubt myself that Senor
Herrera, or Colonel Clay (call him which you like), came to Nice
this winter for no other purpose than just to rob you."
"But I sent for him," my brother-in-law interposed.
"Yes; he _meant_ you to send for him. He forced a card, so to
speak. If he couldn't do that I guess he would be a pretty poor
conjurer. He had a lady of his own--his wife, let us say, or his
sister--stopping here at this hotel; a certain Madame Picardet.
Through her he induced several ladies of your circle to attend his
seances. She and they spoke to you about him, and aroused your
curiosity. You may bet your bottom dollar that when he came to
this room he came ready primed and prepared with endless facts
about both of you."
"What fools we have been, Sey," my brother-in-law exclaimed. "I see
it all now. That designing woman sent round before dinner to say I
wanted to meet him; and by the time you got there he was ready
for bamboozling me."
"That's so," the Commissary answered. "He had your name ready
painted on both his arms; and he had made other preparations of
still greater importance."
"You mean the cheque. Well, how did he get it?"
The Commissary opened the door. "Come in," he said. And a young man
entered whom we recognised at once as the chief clerk in the Foreign
Department of the Credit Marseillais, the principal bank all along
the Riviera.
"State what you know of this cheque," the Commissary said, showing
it to him, for we had handed it over to the police as a piece of
evidence.
"About four weeks since--" the clerk began.
"Say ten days before your seance," the Commissary interposed.
"A gentleman with very long hair and an aquiline nose, dark,
strange, and handsome, called in at my department and asked if I
could tell him the name of Sir Charles Vandrift's London banker.
He said he had a sum to pay in to your credit, and asked if we
would forward it for him. I told him it was irregular for us to
receive the money, as you had no account with us, but that your
London bankers were Darby, Drummond, and Rothenberg, Limited."
"Quite right," Sir Charles murmured.
"Two days later a lady, Madame Picardet, who was a customer of ours,
brought in a good cheque for three hundred pounds, signed by a
first-rate name, and asked us to pay it in on her behalf to Darby,
Drummond, and Rothenberg's, and to open a London account with them
for her. We did so, and received in reply a cheque-book."
"From which this cheque was taken, as I learn from the number,
by telegram from London," the Commissary put in. "Also, that on
the same day on which your cheque was cashed, Madame Picardet,
in London, withdrew her balance."
"But how did the fellow get me to sign the cheque?" Sir Charles
cried. "How did he manage the card trick?"
The Commissary produced a similar card from his pocket. "Was that
the sort of thing?" he asked.
"Precisely! A facsimile."
"I thought so. Well, our Colonel, I find, bought a packet of such
cards, intended for admission to a religious function, at a shop
in the Quai Massena. He cut out the centre, and, see here--" The
Commissary turned it over, and showed a piece of paper pasted neatly
over the back; this he tore off, and there, concealed behind it, lay
a folded cheque, with only the place where the signature should be
written showing through on the face which the Seer had presented
to us. "I call that a neat trick," the Commissary remarked, with
professional enjoyment of a really good deception.
"But he burnt the envelope before my eyes," Sir Charles exclaimed.
"Pooh!" the Commissary answered. "What would he be worth as a
conjurer, anyway, if he couldn't substitute one envelope for another
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
+-------------------------------------------------+
|Transcriber's note: |
| |
|Obvious typographic errors have been corrected. |
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|The Publisher updated some of the text of the |
|Book List by hand, indicating those which were |
|out of print. |
|The original text has been retained. |
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+-------------------------------------------------+
ECHOES FROM THE ORIENT
A BROAD OUTLINE OF THEOSOPHICAL DOCTRINES
BY
WILLIAM Q. JUDGE
[OCCULTUS]
SECOND POINT LOMA EDITION
THE THEOSOPHICAL PUBLISHING COMPANY
POINT LOMA, CALIFORNIA
1910
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1890,
in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C.
BY WILLIAM Q. JUDGE.
[Illustration: Logo]
THE ARYAN THEOSOPHICAL PRESS
Point Loma, California
DEDICATED TO
HELENA PETROVNA BLAVATSKY
WITH LOVE
AND GRATITUDE
BY
THE AUTHOR
TO THE READER
Echoes from the Orient was written by Mr. Judge sixteen years ago (1890)
as a series of papers for a well known periodical. The author wrote
under the name of "_Occultus_," as it was intended that his personality
should be hidden until the series was completed. The value of these
papers as a popular presentation of Theosophical teaching was at once
seen and led to their publication in book form. As Mr. Judge wrote in
his "Antecedent Words" to the earlier edition:
"The restrictions upon the treatment of the subject growing out of the
popular character of the paper in which they were published precluded
the detail and elaboration that would have been possible in a
philosophical or religious periodical. No pretense is made that the
subject of Theosophy as understood in the Orient has been exhaustively
treated, for, believing that millions of years have been devoted by the
sages who are the guardians of Theosophical truth to its investigation,
I think no one writer could do more than to repeat some of the echoes
reaching his ears."
The reader should remember that the scope and influence of the
Theosophical Movement have since that time (1890) greatly expanded, the
work of THE UNIVERSAL BROTHERHOOD AND THEOSOPHICAL SOCIETY now reaching
nearly every country in the world.
Point Loma, California, 1906
ECHOES FROM THE ORIENT.
I.
What appears to the Western mind to be a very strange superstition
prevails in India about wonderful persons who are said to be of immense
age, and who keep themselves secluded in places not accessible to the
ordinary traveler. So long has this been current in India that the name
applied to these beings is well known in the Sanskrit language:
"Mahâtma," a compound of two words, _maha_, great, and _âtma_, soul. The
belief in the existence of such persons is not confined to the ignorant,
but is shared by the educated of all castes. The lower classes look upon
the Mahâtmas as a sort of gods, and think most of their wonderful powers
and great age. The pundits, or learned class, and educated Hindus in
general, have a different view; they say that Mahâtmas are men or souls
with unlimited knowledge of natural laws and of man's history and
development. They claim also that the Mahâtmas--or Rishees, as they
sometimes call them--have preserved the knowledge of all natural laws
for ages, not only by tradition among their disciples, but also by
actual records and in libraries existing somewhere in the many
underground temples and passages in India. Some believers assert that
there are also stores of books and records in secluded parts all over
that part of Thibet which is not known to Europeans, access to them
being possible only for the Mahâtmas and Adepts.
The credence given to such a universal theory grows out of an old Indian
doctrine that man is a spiritual being--a soul, in other words--and
that this soul takes on different bodies from life to life on earth in
order at last to arrive at such perfect knowledge, through repeated
experience, as to enable one to assume a body fit to be the
dwelling-place of a Mahâtma or perfected soul. Then, they say, that
particular soul becomes a spiritual helper to mankind. The perfected men
are said to know the truth about the genesis of worlds and systems, as
well as the development of man upon this and other planets.
Were such doctrines held only in India, it would be natural to pass the
subject by with this brief mention. But when it is found that a large
body of people in America and Europe hold the same beliefs, it is
interesting to note such an un-Western development of thought. The
Theosophical Society was founded in New York in 1875, with the avowed
object of forming a nucleus for a Universal Brotherhood, and its
founders state that they believe the Indian Mahâtmas directed them to
establish such a society. Since its foundation it has gained members in
all countries, including people of wealth as well as those in moderate
circumstances, and the highly cultured also. Within its ranks there
flourish beliefs in the Mahâtmas of India and in Reïncarnation and its
twin doctrine, Karma. This last holds that no power, human or divine,
can save one from the consequences of acts performed, and that in this
life we are experiencing the results due to us for all acts and thoughts
which were ours in the preceding incarnation.
This has brought out a large body of literature in books and magazines
published in the United States, England, India, and elsewhere.
Newspapers are published in the interest of the new-old cult in the
vernacular of Hindûstan and also in old Ceylon. Even Japan has its
periodicals devoted to the same end, and to ignore so wide-spread a
movement would bespeak ignorance of the factors at work in our
development. When such an eminent authority as the great French savant,
Emile Burnouf, says that the Theosophical movement must be counted as
one of the three great religious influences in the world to-day, there
is no need of an excuse for presenting its features in detail to readers
imbued with the civilization of the West.
II.
In my former paper I merely hinted at the two principal doctrines
promulgated by the Theosophical Society; it is well now to notice the
fact that the Society itself was organized amid a shout of laughter,
which at intervals ever since has been repeated. Very soon after it
launched forth it found a new member in a Bavarian gentleman, Baron
Henry Louis de Palm, who not long thereafter died and obligingly left
his body to be cremated.
The funeral was held at Masonic Hall, New York city, and attracted
widespread attention from both press and public. It was Theosophical in
its character, and while conducted with befitting dignity in view of the
solemnity of the occasion, was along distinctly original lines. All this
of course, drew forth satire from the press, but served the purpose of
gaining some attention for the young Society. Its history since then has
been remarkable, and it is safe to say that no other similar body in
this century has drawn to itself so much consideration, stirred up such
a thinking among people on mystical subjects, and grown so rapidly amid
the loudest derision and against the fiercest opposition, within the
short space of fifteen years.
While the press has been sneering and enemies have been plotting, the
workers in the Society have established centers all over the world, and
are to-day engaged persistently in sending out Theosophical literature
into every nook and corner of the United States. A glance at the
Theosophical map shows a line of Branches of the Society dotting a strip
of this country which reaches from the city of New York to the Pacific
Coast; at either end this belt spreads out to take in Boston and New
Orleans in the East and San Francisco and San Diego in the West; while
near the middle of the continent there is another accumulation of
centers. This is claimed to be strictly and mystically Theosophical,
because at each end of the magic line of effort and at its central point
there is an accumulation of nucleï. It is a fact that the branches of
the Society in America are rapidly running up into the first hundred.
For some little time there existed in Washington a Branch of the Society
called the Gnostic, but it never engaged in any active work. After it
had been once incontinently dissolved by its president, who thereafter
withdrew, leaving the presidency in the hands of another, the governing
body of the American Theosophists formally dischartered the Gnostic, and
its members joined other Branches. There is, however, to-day a
Washington Branch named boldly after the much lauded and belittled Mme.
H. P. Blavatsky, while the Theosophical map shows an accumulation of
influences in Washington that point to an additional Branch, and inquiry
in official quarters discloses the fact that the matter is already
mooted.
The Theosophical map of which I have spoken is a curiosity, an anomaly
in the nineteenth century. Few of the members are allowed to see it; but
those who are say that it is a register of the actual state, day by day,
of the whole United States Section--a sort of weather map, with areas of
pressure and Theosophical humidity in all directions. Where a Branch is
well founded and in good condition, the spot or sensitive surface shows
clearness and fixity. In certain places which are in a formative
condition there is another appearance symptomatic of a vortex that may
soon bring forth a Branch; while, wherever the principle of
disintegration has crept into an existing organization, there the
formerly bright and fixed spots grow cloudy. By means of this map, those
who are managing the real growth of the movement can tell how it is
going and aid it intelligently. Of course all this sounds ridiculous in
our age; but, whether true or false, there are many Theosophists who
believe it. A similar arrangement would be desirable in other branches
of our civilization.
The grand theories of the Theosophists regarding evolution, human races,
religions and general civilization, as well as the future state of man
and the various planets he inhabits, should engage our more serious
attention; and of these I propose to speak at another time.
III.
The first Echo from the burnished and mysterious East which reverberated
from these pages sounded the note of Universal Brotherhood. Among the
men of this day such an idea is generally accepted as vague and utopian,
but one which it will do no harm to subscribe to; they therefore quickly
assent, and as quickly nullify the profession by action in the opposite
direction. For the civilization of to-day, and especially of the United
States, is an attempt to accentuate and glorify the individual. The
oft-repeated declaration that any born citizen may aspire to occupy the
highest office in the gift of the nation is proof of this, and the
Mahâtmas who guard the truth through the ages while nations are
decaying, assert that the reaction is sure to come in a relapse into the
worst forms of anarchy. The only way to prevent such a relapse is for
men to really practice the Universal Brotherhood they are willing to
accept with the tongue. These exalted beings further say that all men
are--as a scientific and dynamic fact--united, whether they admit it or
not; and that each nation suffers, on the moral as well as the physical
plane, from the faults of all other nations, and receives benefit from
the others also even against its will. This is due to the existence of
an imponderable, tenuous medium which interpenetrates the entire globe,
and in which all the acts | 187.56574 |
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Produced by David Widger
THE PILGRIM, AND THE AMERICAN OF TODAY--1892
By Charles Dudley Warner
This December evening, the imagination, by a law of contrast, recalls
another December night two hundred and seventy years ago. The circle of
darkness is drawn about a little group of Pilgrims who have come ashore
on a sandy and inhospitable coast. On one side is a vexed and wintry sea,
three thousand miles of tossing waves and tempest, beyond which lie the
home, the hedgerows and cottages, the church towers, the libraries and
universities, the habits and associations of an old civilization, the
strongest and dearest ties that can entwine around a human heart,
abandoned now definitely and forever by these wanderers; on the other
side a wintry forest of unknown extent, without highways, the lair of
wild beasts, impenetrable except by trails known only to the savages,
whose sudden appearance and disappearance adds mystery and terror to the
impression the imagination has conjured up of the wilderness.
This darkness is | 187.66134 |
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Produced by J. Boulton
MEDITATIONS
By Marcus Aurelius
CONTENTS
NOTES
INTRODUCTION
FIRST BOOK
SECOND BOOK
THIRD BOOK
FOURTH BOOK
FIFTH BOOK
SIXTH BOOK
SEVENTH BOOK
EIGHTH BOOK
NINTH BOOK
TENTH BOOK
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[Illustration: FLUNG A SNOWBALL AT ME. _Page 11_.]
THE SNOWBALL
BY
STANLEY J. WEYMAN
AUTHOR OF "A GENTLEMAN OF FRANCE," "UNDER
THE RED ROBE," "MY LADY ROTHA,"
ETC. ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK
THE MERRIAM COMPANY
67 Fifth Avenue
Copyright, 1895, by
THE MERRIAM COMPANY
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
* * *
Flung a snowball at me. _Frontispiece_.
He dropped his napkin.
"Your scribe might do for me."
She sprang forward.
It was the king.
"Are you coming out there?"
MERRIAM'S
VIOLET SERIES.
* * *
Illustrated, Square 32mo, Cloth, 40c.
* * *
No. 6
I.--A Man and His Model. By Anthony Hope.
II.--The Body-Snatcher. By Robert Louis Stevenson.
III.--The Silence of the Maharajah. By Marie Corelli.
IV.--Some Good Intentions and a Blunder.
V.--After To-Morrow. By the Author of "The Green Carnation."
VI.--The Snowball. By Stanley J. Weyman.
* * *
OTHER VOLUMES IN PREPARATION.
* * *
_For sale by all booksellers, or will be sent post-paid
upon receipt of price by_
THE MERRIAM COMPANY
_Publishers and Booksellers_
67 FIFTH AVENUE NEW YORK
THE SNOWBALL.
The slight indisposition from which the Queen suffered in the spring
of 1602, and which was occasioned by a cold caught during her
lying-in, by diverting the King's attention from matters of State, had
the effect of doubling the burden cast on my shoulders. Though the
main threads of M. de Biron's conspiracy were in our hands as early as
the month of November of the preceding year, and steps had been
immediately taken to sound the chief associates by summoning them to
court, an interval necessarily followed during which we had everything
to fear; and this not only from the despair of the guilty, but from
the timidity of the innocent who, in a court filled with cabals and
rumors of intrigues, might see no way to clear themselves. Even the
shows and interludes which followed the Dauphin's birth, and made that
Christmas remarkable, served only to amuse the idle; they could not
disperse the cloud which hung over the Louvre, nor divert those who,
on the one side or the other, had aught to fear.
In connection with this period of suspense I recall an episode, both
characteristic in itself, and worthy, I think, by reason of its
oddity, to be set down here; where it may serve for a preface to those
more serious events, attending the trial and execution of M. de Biron,
which I shall have presently to relate.
I had occasion, about the end of the month of January, to see M. du
Hallot. The weather was cold, and partly for that reason, partly from
a desire to keep my visit, which had to do with La Fin's disclosures,
from the general eye, I chose to go on foot. For the same reason I
took with me only two armed servants, and a confidential page, the son
of my friend Arnaud. M. du Hallot, who lived at this time in a house
in the Faubourg St. Germain, not far from the College of France,
detained me long, and when I rose to leave insisted that I should take
his coach, as snow had begun to fall and already lay an inch deep in
the streets. At first I was unwilling to do this, but reflecting that
such small services are highly appreciated by those who render them,
and attach men more surely and subtly than the greatest bribes, I
finally consented, and, taking my place with some becoming
expressions, bade young Arnaud find his way home on foot.
The coach had nearly reached the south end of the Pont au Change, when
a number of youths ran by me, pelting one another with snowballs, and
shouting so lustily that I was at a loss which to admire more--the
silence of their feet or the loudness of their voices. Aware that lads
of that age are small respecters of persons, I was not surprised to
see two or three of them rush on to the bridge before us, and even
continue their Parthian warfare under the very feet of the horses. The
result was, however, that the latter presently took fright at that
part of the bridge where the houses encroach most boldly on the
roadway; and, but for the care of the running footman, who hastened to
their heads, might have done some harm either to the coach or the
passersby.
As it was, we were brought to a stop while one of the wheels was
extricated from the kennel, into which it had become wedged. Smiling
to think what the King--for he, strangely warned by Providence, was
all his life long timid in a coach--would have said to this, I went to
open the curtains, and had just effected this to a certain extent,
when one of a crowd of idlers who stood on the raised pavement beside
us deliberately lifted up his arm and flung a snowball at me.
The missile flew wide of its mark by an inch or two only. That I was
amazed at such audacity goes without saying, but in my doubt of what
it might be the prelude--for the breakdown of the coach in that narrow
place, the haunt of the rufflers and vagrants of every kind, might be
a part of a concerted plan--I fell back into my place. The coach, as
it happened, moved on with a jerk at the same moment; and before I had
well digested the matter, or had time to mark the demeanor of the
crowd, we were clear of the bridge and rolling past the Chatelet.
A smaller man might have stopped to revenge, and to cook a sprat have
passed all Paris through the net. But remembering my own youthful
days, when I attended the College of Burgundy, I set down the freak to
the insolence of some young student, and, shrugging my shoulders,
dismissed it from my thoughts. An instant later, however, observing
that the fragments of the snowball were melting on the seat by my side
and wetting the cushion, I raised my hand to brush them away. In the
act I saw, to my surprise, a piece of paper lying among the _debris_.
"Ho, ho!" said I to myself. "This is a strange snowball! I have heard
that the apprentices put stones in theirs. But paper! Let me see what
this means."
The morsel, though moistened by contact with the snow, remained
intact. Unfolding it with the greatest care--for already I began to
discern that here was something out of the common--I found written on
the inner side, in a clear, clerkly hand, the words, "_Beware of
Nicholas!_"
It will be remembered that Simon Nicholas was at this time secretary
to the King, and so high in his favor as to be admitted to the
knowledge of all but his most private affairs. Gay, and of a very
jovial wit, he was able to commend himself to Henry by amusing him;
while his years, for he was over sixty, seemed some warranty for his
discretion, and at the same time gave younger sinners a feeling of
superior worth, since they might repent and he had not. Often in
contact with him, I had always found him equal to his duties, and
though too fond of the table and of all the good things of this life,
neither given to babbling nor boasting. In a word, one for whom I had
more liking than respect.
A man in his position, however, possesses such stupendous
opportunities for evil that, as I read the warning so cunningly
conveyed to me, I sat aghast. His office gave him at all times that
ready access to the King's person which is the aim of conspirators
against the lives of sovereigns; and, short of this supreme treachery,
he was master of secrets which Biron's associates would give all to
gain. When I add that I knew Nicholas to be a man of extravagant
habits and careless life, and one, moreover, who, if rumor did not
wrong him, had lost much in that rearrangement of the finances which I
had lately effected without even the King's privity, it will be seen
that those words, "Beware of Nicholas," were calculated to occasion me
the most profound thought.
Of the person who had conveyed the missive to me I had unfortunately
seen nothing; though I believed him to be a man, and young. But the
circumstances, which seemed to indicate the extreme need of secrecy,
gave me a hint as to my own conduct. Accordingly, I smoothed my brow,
and on the coach stopping at the Arsenal descended with my usual face
of preoccupation.
At the foot of the staircase my _maitre-d'-hotel_ met me.
"M. Nicholas, the King's secretary, is here," he said. "He has been
waiting your return an hour and more, Monseigneur."
"Lay another cover," I answered, repressing the surprise I could not
but feel on hearing of this visit, so strangely _a propos_. "Doubtless
he has come to dine with me."
Barely staying to take off my cloak, I went upstairs with an air as
gay as possible, and, making my visitor a hundred apologies for the
inconvenience I had caused him, insisted he should sit down with me.
This he was nothing loth to do; though, as presently appeared, his
errand was only to submit to me some papers connected with the new tax
of a penny in the shilling, which it was his duty to lay before me.
I scolded him gayly for the long period which had elapsed since his
last visit, and succeeded so well in setting him at his ease that he
presently began to rally me on my slackness; for I could touch nothing
but a little game and a glass of water. Excusing myself as well as I
could, I encouraged him to continue the attack; and certainly, if a
good conscience waits on appetite, I had soon abundant evidence on his
behalf. He grew merry and talkative, and, telling me some free tales,
bore himself altogether so naturally that I had begun to deem my
suspicions baseless, when a chance word gave me new grounds for
entertaining them.
I was on the subject of my morning's employment. Knowing how easily
confidence begets confidence, and that in his position the matter
could not be long kept from him, I told him as a secret where I had
been.
"I do not wish all the world to know, my friend," I said; "but you are
a discreet man, and it will go no farther. I am just from Du
Hallot's."
[Illustration: HE DROPPED HIS NAPKIN. _Page 20_.]
He dropped his napkin and stooped to pick it up again with a gesture
so hasty that it caught my attention and led me to watch him.
Moreover, although my words seemed to call for an answer, he did not
speak until he had taken a deep draught of wine; and then he said
only, "Indeed!" in a tone of such indifference as might at another
time have deceived me, but now was perfectly patent.
"Yes," I replied, affecting to be engaged with my own plate (we were
eating nuts). "Doubtless you will be able to guess on what subject."
"I?" he said, as quick to answer as he had before been slow. "No, I
think not."
"La Fin," I said; "and his statements respecting M. de Biron's
friends."
"Ah!" he replied, shrugging his shoulders. He had contrived to regain
his composure, but I noticed that his hand shook, and I saw him put a
nut into his mouth with so much salt upon it that he had no choice but
to make a grimace. "They tell me he accuses everybody," he grumbled,
his eyes on his plate. "Even the King is scarcely safe from him. But I
have heard no particulars."
"They will be known by and by," I answered prudently. And after that I
did not think it wise to speak farther, lest I should give more than I
got; but as soon as he had finished, and we had washed our hands, I
led him to the closet looking on the river, where I was in the habit
of working with my secretaries. I sent them away and sat down with him
to his accounts; but in the position in which I found myself, between
suspicion and perplexity, I could so little command my attention that
I gathered nothing from their items; and had I found another doing the
King's service as negligently I had certainly sent him about his
business. Nevertheless I made some show of auditing them, and had
reached the last roll when something in the fairly written summary,
which closed the account, caught my eye. I bent more closely over it,
and presently making an occasion to carry the parchment into the next
room, compared it with the handwriting on the scrap of paper I had
found in the snowball. A brief scrutiny showed me that they were the
work of the same person!
[Illustration: "YOUR SCRIBE MIGHT DO FOR ME." _Page 23_.]
I went back to M. Nicholas, and after attesting the accounts, and
making one or two notes, remarked in a careless way on the clearness
of the hand. "I am badly in need of a fourth secretary," I added.
"Your scribe might do for me."
It did not escape me that once again M. Nicholas looked uncomfortable,
his red face taking a deeper tinge and his hand going nervously to his
pointed gray beard, "I do not think he would do for you," he answered.
"What is his name?" I asked, purposely bending over the papers and
avoiding his eyes.
"I have dismissed him," he rejoined curtly. "I do not know where he
could now be found."
"That is a pity--he writes well," I answered, as if it were nothing
but a whim that led me to pursue the subject. "And good clerks are
scarce. What was his name?"
"Felix," he said reluctantly.
I had now all I wanted. Accordingly I spoke of another matter and
shortly afterward Nicholas rose and went. But he left me in a fever of
doubt and suspicion; so that for nearly half an hour I walked up and
down the room, unable to decide whether I should treat the warning of
the snowball with contempt, as the work of a discharged servant, or on
that very account attach the more credit to it. By and by I remembered
that the last sheet of the roll I had audited bore date the previous
day; whence it was clear that Felix had been dismissed within the last
twenty-four hours, and perhaps after the delivery of his note to me.
Such a coincidence, which seemed no less pertinent than strange,
opened a wide field for conjecture; and the possibility that Nicholas
had really called on me to sound me and learn what I knew presently
occurring to my mind, brought me to a final determination to seek out
this Felix, and without the delay of an hour sift the matter to the
bottom.
Doubtless I shall seem to some to have acted precipitately, and built
much on small foundations. I answer that I had the life of the King my
master to guard, and in that cause dared neglect no precaution,
however trivial, nor any indication, however remote. Would that all my
care and vigilance had longer sufficed to preserve for France the life
of that great man! But God willed otherwise.
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THE CONDUCT OF MIND SERIES
EDITED BY
JOSEPH JASTROW
VOCATIONAL PSYCHOLOGY
VOCATIONAL PSYCHOLOGY
ITS PROBLEMS AND METHODS
BY
H. L. HOLLINGWORTH
ASSOCIATE PROFESSOR OF PSYCHOLOGY, COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY
WITH A CHAPTER ON
THE VOCATIONAL APTITUDES OF WOMEN
BY LETA STETTER HOLLINGWORTH, PH.D.
CLINICAL PSYCHOLOGIST, BELLEVUE HOSPITAL,
NEW YORK CITY
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
NEW YORK LONDON
1922
COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
Printed in the United States of America
TO
THADDEUS L. BOLTON
FRIEND AND VOCATIONAL
COUNSELLOR OF YOUTH
* * * * *
_It is our business to make both a science and an art of human nature. As
in the physical world we select first the material suited to our purpose,
then turn the iron into steel and temper the steel for the knife, so in the
world of human action we must learn to select the right man, to educate him
and to fit him for his exact task. This indeed we try to do in all our
social institutions, religions, commerce, systems of education and
government. But we work by the rule of thumb--blind, deaf and wasteful. The
nineteenth century witnessed an extraordinary increase in our knowledge of
the material world and in our power to make it subservient to our ends; the
twentieth century will probably witness a corresponding increase in our
knowledge of human nature and in our power to use it for our welfare._--J.
MCKEEN CATTELL, "<DW25> Scientificus Americanus," _Science_, April 10, 1903.
PREFACE
This book has developed from the material presented in a course on
"Psychological Tests in Vocational Guidance and Selection" which the writer
was invited to conduct in Teachers' College, Columbia University. The
widespread interest in vocational psychology which has grown up in recent
years, the eagerness with which even the most superficial and absurd
systems of "character analysis" are being adopted and tried out, and
especially the lack of references, offering conservative evaluation, to
which inquirers may be directed, have made it seem advisable to publish the
material in systematic form. The book is essentially a presentation of the
problems and methods of that branch of applied psychology which deals with
individual differences in mental constitution. In the present instance only
those differences are considered which may seem to be significant in
determining the individual's choice of a vocation, or in influencing the
selection of workers from among a group of applicants or candidates. It is
the writer's hope that the book may be suggestive to the individual who
seeks to know himself better, helpful to the student and parent who may
desire to avoid the wiles of the charlatan, encouraging to the investigator
or counsellor who is engaged in carrying forward the solution of vocational
problems, and useful to the practical man who may be mainly interested in
surrounding himself with competent associates and employees. To all those
whose published works are referred to in the bibliography, as well as to
many not therein mentioned, the writer is under heavy obligations. He is
especially indebted to Professor F. G. Bonser, of Teachers' College, for
the original invitation to formulate the material, and to Professor Joseph
Jastrow, editor of the "Conduct of Mind" series, for most patient and
helpful editorial criticism and suggestion.
H. L. HOLLINGWORTH.
Columbia University.
* * * * *
Transcriber's note:
For Text: A word surrounded by underscores like _this_ signifies the word
is italics in the text.
For Numbers and Equations: Parentheses have been added to clarify
fractions. Superscripts are designated with a caret and brackets, e.g.
11.1^{3} is 11.1 to the third power. Greek letters in equations are
translated to their English version.
Minor typos have been corrected and footnotes moved to the end of the
sections.
* * * * *
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I.--MOTIVES AND ANTECEDENTS OF VOCATIONAL PSYCHOLOGY 1
II.--THE SEARCH FOR PHRENOLOGICAL AND PHYSIOGNOMIC PRINCIPLES 21
III.--THE DEVELOPMENT OF PSYCHOLOGICAL TESTS 57
IV.--THE PSYCHOGRAPHIC METHODS 80
V.--SPECIAL VOCATIONAL TESTS AND METHODS 109
VI.--SELF-ANALYSIS AND THE JUDGMENT OF ASSOCIATES 122
VII.--EXPERIMENTAL STUDY OF SELF-ANALYSIS, ESTIMATES
OF ASSOCIATES AND THE RESULTS OF THE TESTS 143
VIII.--THE SCHOOL CURRICULUM AS A VOCATIONAL TEST 174
IX.--THE DETERMINANTS OF VOCATIONAL APTITUDE 208
X.--THE VOCATIONAL APTITUDES OF WOMEN 222
XI.--THEORY AND PRINCIPLE OF PSYCHOLOGICAL TESTS
AS APPLIED TO VOCATIONAL ANALYSIS 245
XII.--CONCLUSION 266
APPENDIX 275
TESTS, BLANKS, STANDARDS, FORMS 283
INDEX 303
INTRODUCTION
In the present volume Professor Hollingworth makes a distinctive and
notable contribution to applied psychology. The problem is an ancient one:
that of determining the qualities of men with reference to their fitness
for the work of the world. The general problem precedes the special one
alike in theory and in practice. The earliest solutions were in the nature
of ambitious attempts to read the ear-marks of mental ability in outward
signs; under the incentive of the growth of science these gave way to such
systems as phrenology and physiognomy. Such revelations, decisive if sound,
proved to be vain hopes or hopelessly irrelevant. The impressionistic
verdicts gained from actual experience reflected the cumulative acumen of
discernment which ever was and remains the issue of wisdom, empirical but
authentic. It furnishes suggestive clues to investigation and a check upon
its results. The problem came to its own when the modern science of
psychology gave it its setting in the rapid accumulation of knowledge and
technique for the interpretation of mental qualities. It at once
established the futility of ambitious leads and the necessity of careful,
patient and discerning analysis. The present volume surveys the field of
attained results and the method of their attainment, in this engaging
research.
Central in interest and promise stands the psychological test. In so far as
psychology has laid bare the fundamental qualities upon which achievement
depends, its application has developed a series of tests to determine how
the individual compares with the others or with the average in respect to
this, that, and the other constituent quality. Professor Hollingworth
presents the results of such analysis, both in relation to the variety of
human traits and in the grading of individuals by reference to the measure
of the quality which each possesses. The enumeration is at best
provisional, but in its totality cannot go far wrong in establishing the
measure of a man. It includes the qualities which can hardly be determined
otherwise than by an impressionistic judgment, as well as those appraised
by actual achievement under test. There results a mental scale of general
ability, adequate to gauge normality and to suggest practical standards of
superiority or deficiency.
The question at once arises: how far are the qualities desirable for this
or that vocation of a general order, and how far are they specific in their
demands. In this respect vocations differ widely. The musical vocation
exemplifies a specialized profession depending upon a proficiency that is
largely a dower of heredity; yet within this field the psychological test
has proved its efficiency by determining the still more specialized
facilities that jointly compose the psychology of the musician. In further
pursuit of insight the psychological laboratory has undertaken to analyze
the qualities needed for the several specialties of modern vocational life,
by setting up "test" counterparts of practical occupations, by reducing
them to their underlying facilities, by testing the correlation of quality
and achievement, and by combining the clues or verdicts of several methods.
Conclusions depend for their value upon logical caution and the technical
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ANTHROPOLOGICAL PAPERS
OF
THE AMERICAN MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY
VOLUME XXXVIII, PART I
TEXTILE FIBERS USED IN EASTERN
ABORIGINAL NORTH AMERICA
By A. C. Whitford
[Illustration: THE
AMERICAN
MUSEUM
OF
NATURAL
HISTORY
SCIENCE
EDUCATION]
By Order of the Trustees
of
THE AMERICAN MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY
New York City
1941
THE AMERICAN MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY
PUBLICATIONS IN ANTHROPOLOGY
In 1906 the present series of Anthropological Papers was authorized by
the Trustees of the Museum to record the results of research conducted
by the Department of Anthropology. The series comprises octavo volumes
of about 350 pages each, issued in parts at irregular intervals.
Previous to 1906 articles devoted to anthropological subjects appeared
as occasional papers in the Bulletin and also in the Memoir series of
the Museum. Of the Anthropological Papers 35 volumes have been
completed. A complete list of these publications with prices will be
furnished when requested. All communications should be addressed to
the Librarian of the Museum.
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COLTER’S HELL
AND
JACKSON’S HOLE
By Merrill J. Mattes
Published by
YELLOWSTONE LIBRARY AND MUSEUM ASSOCIATION
and the
GRAND TETON NATURAL HISTORY ASSOCIATION
in cooperation with
NATIONAL PARK SERVICE
U.S. DEPARTMENT OF THE INTERIOR
[Illustration: Yellowstone Library and Museum Association; National Park
Service]
© 1962 Yellowstone Library and Museum Association
Reprint 1970
The Yellowstone Library and Museum Association and the Grand Teton
Natural History Association are non-profit distributing organizations
whose purpose is the stimulation of interest in the educational and
inspirational aspects of Yellowstone and Grand Teton history and natural
history. The Associations cooperate with and are recognized by the
United States Department of the Interior and its Bureau, the National
Park Service, as essential operating organizations.
As one means of accomplishing their aims the Associations publish
reasonably priced booklets which are available for purchase by mail
throughout the year or at the museum information desks in the parks
during the summer.
Photographs used were provided through the courtesy of the National Park
Service, except where otherwise credited.
COLTER’S HELL AND JACKSON’S HOLE:
The Fur Trappers’ Exploration of the Yellowstone and Grand Teton Park
Region
By
Merrill J. Mattes
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Page
I. Strange Land of “Volcanoes” and “Shining Mountains” 1
II. The Mystery of “La Roche Jaune” or Yellow Rock River 9
III. John Colter, The Phantom Explorer—1807-1808 13
IV. “Colter’s Hell”: A Case of Mistaken Identity 19
V. “Les Trois Tetons”: The Golden Age of Discovery, 1810-1824 25
VI. “Jackson’s Hole”: Era of the Rocky Mountain Fur Company,
1825-1832 35
VII. “The Fire Hole”: Era of the American Fur Company, 1833-1840 53
VIII. Epilogue: 1841-1870 77
Selected Bibliography 86
Vicinity Map at rear
[Illustration: BEAVER TRAP]
I. Strange Land of “Volcanoes” and “Shining Mountains”
The Yellowstone-Grand Teton region was not officially discovered and its
scenic marvels were not publicly proclaimed until the 1870’s, beginning
with the Washburn-Langford-Doane expedition. For thirty years before,
from 1841 to 1869, this region was a Paradise Lost, rarely visited by
white men. But for thirty years before that, or from 1807 to 1840, this
region had hundreds of appreciative visitors. These were the Rocky
Mountain fur trappers. While searching for the golden-brown fur of the
beaver, destined for the St. Louis market, these adventurers thoroughly
explored this fabulous region. Although news of their discoveries
received scant public notice back in the settlements, or was discounted
as tall tales, to them belongs the honor of being the first actual
explorers of these twin parks.
Neighboring Yellowstone and Grand Teton, established as National Parks
in 1872 and 1929, respectively, are separately managed today as units of
our National Park System. But geographically, now as well as in the
early nineteenth century, they embrace one unique region, characterized
by topographic and geologic features that are the crescendo of a great
scenic symphony. Here, at the heart of the continent, the source of the
three major river systems of the continent—the Columbia, the Colorado,
and the Missouri-Mississippi—may be found the greatest geyser basins,
the largest mountain lake, the most colorful of kaleidoscopic canyons,
one of the richest arrays of wildlife, and one of the most spectacularly
beautiful mountain ranges in the world. The Yellowstone-Grand Teton
region has historical unity, also, particularly during the obscure but
heroic age of the Rocky Mountain fur trade.
“Colter’s Hell”—bearing the name of the legendary discoverer, and
conjuring up visions of a primitive “Dante’s Inferno”—is the term which
visitors today associate with the early history of Yellowstone National
Park and its universally famous hydrothermal wonders. Actually, the
wandering, bearded, buck-skinned beaver trappers never referred to the
geyser region of the upper Madison as Colter’s Hell. As we will see, the
real Colter’s Hell in Jim Bridger’s day was another place altogether,
having nothing to do with anything within Yellowstone Park itself. In
trapper times the Yellowstone geyser area had no fixed name but was
variously described by them as a region of “great volcanoes,” “boiling
springs” or “spouting fountains.” On the recently discovered Hood and
Ferris maps (see below) it is labeled “the Burnt Hole” (although this
name seems to have been restricted by Russell and others to the Hebgen
Lake Valley). Captain Bonneville tells us that his men knew of this
region as “the Firehole” and this name, as applied to the river draining
the geyser basins, survives today.
Yellowstone Park, carved out of territorial Wyoming, Montana, and Idaho,
is a rough-edged rectangle of 3,500 square miles that straddles the
twisting course of the Continental Divide. It is a geological circus, a
unique creation of ancient volcanoes and glaciers, flanked on the
southeast and east by the Absaroka Range, on the north by the Snowy
Range, on the northwest by the Gallatin and Madison ranges, on the west
by the Centennial Range, and on the south by the Teton Mountains.
From the Park flow the headwaters of two continental rivers and their
major tributaries. From here the Snake River arcs southward toward
Jackson’s Hole and the cathedral-like Tetons, destined to join the
Columbia River and the Pacific Ocean. Here the Firehole and Gibbon
rivers, draining the principal geyser basins, unite to become the
Madison River, and here also arises the Gallatin, these being two of the
Three Forks of the Missouri. Here arises a branch of the North Fork of
the Shoshone River, a tributary of the Bighorn. And here, after its
birth near Two Ocean Pass, begins the mighty Yellowstone River which,
after passing through its vast mirror-like lake and its prismatic
canyon, flows out onto the plains to receive the Bighorn and join the
Missouri on its marathon journey to the Mississippi River and the Gulf
of Mexico.
[Illustration: Indians at Jackson Lake.]
This region held a fortune in coveted beaver skins, but it was remote,
snowbound, haunted by the vindictive Blackfeet, and plagued by weird
visions, sulphurous fumes, and uncanny noises. Here indeed was fertile
soil for a legend.
On a clear day Yellowstone Park visitors can see to the south the
mountain spires which identify Grand Teton National Park of Wyoming, an
indefinable shape of 500 square miles. (The actual boundaries of these
neighboring parks are separated by a scant five miles.) The Tetons are
perhaps the most distinctive of the granite giants which comprise the
Rocky Mountains. A series of sharp pyramids of naked rock, the peaks
stand like sharks’ teeth against the sky. The most precipitous sides and
the most needle-like summit belong to the highest of these, the Grand
Teton, which rises over 7,000 feet from its immediate base, nearly
14,000 feet above the level of the distant sea.
The Teton Mountains are the most conspicuous landmarks of a region which
contains the scrambled sources of the three greatest river systems of
continental United States. As we have seen, Yellowstone Park to the
north gives birth to the eastward-flowing Missouri and the westward
flowing Columbia waters. East of the Tetons, in the Wind River
Mountains, is the head of Green River which rolls southward to merge
into the mighty Colorado River, tumbling through the arid lands to the
Gulf of California.
Jackson’s Hole is that part of the Upper Snake River Valley which lies
at the eastern base of the Teton Range. One of the largest enclosed
valleys in the Rocky Mountains, its glaciated floor extends about sixty
miles north and south, and varies up to twelve miles in width. It is
bounded on the west by the Tetons, on the east and south by the less
pretentious Mount Leidy Highlands and the Gros Ventre and Hoback
Mountains. The Gros Ventres merge imperceptibly into the Wind River
Mountains farther east, the crest of which forms the Continental Divide.
The southern extremity of the Tetons merges with the eastern end of the
Snake River Range near the canyon where the Snake River escapes from the
valley.
Historic Jackson’s Hole, also known as “Jackson’s Big Hole”—but now
politely refined to just plain Jackson Hole—was named in 1829 for David
Jackson, one of the partners of the Rocky Mountain Fur Company. To the
early trapper a “hole” was a sizeable valley abounding in game, and
usually (with the exception of Yellowstone’s “Firehole”) associated with
some distinctive personality—hence Brown’s Hole, Pierre’s Hole,
Gardner’s Hole, etc. However, Jackson’s Hole was more than just a
pleasant spot for trapping and camping. Research gives substance to the
view that this was the historic crossroads of the Rocky Mountain fur
trade.
Jackson’s Hole was destined by geography to become a traffic center of
the Western fur trade. Between South Pass at the head of the Little
Sandy and the northern passes above the Three Forks of the Missouri it
offered the most feasible route across the Rocky Mountain barrier. In
addition, it was the focal point of a region that was highly prized and
vigorously contested because of its populous beaver streams. Here
trappers’ trails converged like the spokes of a great wheel and, after
Lewis and Clark, most of the important trapper-explorers crossed
Jackson’s Hole on their journeys.
[Illustration: Indian “Buffalo Jump”—Yellowstone Valley.]
In historic times there were seven gateways to and from Jackson’s Hole:
northward up Snake River; northeastward up Pacific Creek to Two Ocean
Pass; eastward up Buffalo Fork to Twogwotee Pass; eastward up the Gros
Ventre to Union Pass; southward up the Hoback to Green River; westward
via Teton Pass or Conant Pass (at the south and north extremities of the
Teton Range) to Pierre’s Hole.
[Illustration: “Dawn of Discovery”—Exhibit in Fur Trade Museum, Grand
Teton National Park.]
The Tetons received their name from French-Canadian trappers who
accompanied the earliest British expeditions into this territory. As
they approached the range from the west, they beheld three towering
mountains upon which they bestowed the name of “Trois Tetons” (“Three
Breasts”). This romantic designation was readily adopted by the lonely
trapping fraternity to whom the sharp snowy peaks (now known as the
Grand, Middle and South Tetons) became a beacon to guide them through
the hostile wilderness. To the Indians the Tetons were variously known
as “The Three Brothers,” “The Hoaryheaded Fathers,” and “Tee Win-at,”
meaning “The Pinnacles.” The earliest Americans in the region, being
more practical than romantic, could find no better name for the silvery
spires than “The Pilot Knobs,” while an official Hudson’s Bay Company
map indicates with equal homeliness, “The Three Paps.” The name “Three
Tetons” survived, however, and was officially recognized by
cartographers. The name first appeared publicly in the Bonneville Map of
1837.
The Upper Snake River (i.e., above the mouth of Henry’s Fork) was called
“Mad River” by the Astorians. Others simply referred to it as the
“Columbia River” or “the headwaters of the Columbia,” but to most of the
fur trappers it was “Lewis River” or “Lewis Fork,” so originally named
in the Clark Map of 1810 for Capt. Meriwether Lewis, as Clark’s Fork of
the Columbia was named after his fellow explorer, Capt. William Clark.
This name was much more appropriate than its present one, which is
derived from the Snake or Shoshone Indians, and first appears on the
Greenhow Map of 1840.
In spite of past efforts by water power advocates to “improve” it by a
dam, Yellowstone Lake remains just as it was when first discovered by
John Colter, the original “Lake Eustis” of the Clark Map of 1810.
Jackson Lake, however, was enlarged by a dam built in 1916 by the Bureau
of Reclamation. This lake is identifiable with the “Lake Biddle” of the
Clark Map of 1810, the “Teton Lake” of Warren A. Ferris, and the “Lewis
Lake” referred to frequently by another trapper, Joseph L. Meek. There
is today a tributary of the Upper Snake known as Lewis River, heading in
a Lewis Lake within the confines of Yellowstone National Park, neither
of which are to be confused with the historic “Lewis River” and “Lewis
Lake.”
[Illustration: Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone.]
[Illustration: POWDER HORN]
II. The Mystery of “La Roche Jaune” or Yellow Rock River
For some twenty years before the advent of Lewis and Clark,
French-Canadian voyageurs of the North West Company were in league with
the Mandans, and from these Indians learned of the distant “Pierre
Jaune” or “Roche Jaune” River, a translation from the Indian equivalent
of “Yellow Rock River.” Chittenden theorizes that the ultimate origin of
the name descends from the brilliant and infinite varieties of yellow
which dominate the color scheme of the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone,
and which probably awed the first aboriginal explorer just as it does
today’s auto-borne tourist.
Although there is room for debate as to whether any of the Canadian
traders beat Lewis and Clark to the mouth of the Yellowstone, it is
certain that one of their number preceded the Americans in the approach
to its headwaters. On September 10, 1805, Francois Antoine Larocque
reached “Riviere aux Roches Jaunes” just below the mouth of Pryor’s
Fork, near present Billings, Montana, in the course of “a voyage of
discovery to the Rocky Mountains.” After wintering at the Mandan
villages in 1804-1805 as a neighbor of the hibernating Lewis and Clark,
and being thwarted in his desire to accompany them upstream, Larocque
had returned to his post on the Assiniboine for supplies, then hurried
back to the Mandans, going from there overland via Knife River, the
Little Missouri, and the Tongue to the Bighorn Mountains, country of the
Crows.
While wintering with the Mandans, Captain Clark sketched two maps of the
unexplored country westward, based on “the information of traders,
indians and my own observation and ideas.” One of these shows
“Rochejhone River” with six tributaries from the south, five with Indian
names, two translated as “Tongue River” and “Big Horn R.” The Bighorns
and Rocky Mountains beyond are represented only by diagrammatic strokes.
There is a trail from the mouth of Knife River to the Bighorns, roughly
the same subsequently taken by Larocque. This was actually a refinement
of a sketch made for Clark by the Mandan Chief Big White. The second map
shows “River yellow rock” minus tributaries but with the Crows (“gens de
Corbeau”) located just west of an imaginative “montagne de
roche—conjecturall.” These maps, the first to our knowledge to depict
the Yellowstone River, were sent to President Jefferson on April 7,
1805, by Meriwether Lewis, to accompany his eagerly awaited progress
report.
Upon their return trip in 1806, after wintering at Fort Clatsop at the
mouth of the Columbia, Lewis and Clark divided in order to explore the
country more thoroughly, the latter undertaking to determine the source
of the mysterious Yellowstone. On July 15, with eleven white men, the
Indian woman Sacajawea and her baby, the cavalcade crossed Bozeman Pass,
which marks the divide between the Yellowstone and Gallatin Fork, and
reached the vicinity of present Livingston, Montana. Never suspecting
what wonders lay concealed behind the snowy mountain wall to the south,
Clark hurried on down the river to rejoin Lewis, with glory enough for
one expedition.
There is only one hint of volcanic phenomena which Clark seems to have
obtained from any source other than the presumed conversation with
Colter, mentioned below. This was an Indian tale, received after Clark’s
return, but before Colter’s return, to the effect that at the head of
Tongue River, a branch of the Yellowstone, “there is frequently heard a
loud noise like Thunder, which makes the earth Tremble, they state that
they seldom go there because their children Cannot sleep—and Conceive it
possessed of spirits, who were averse that men Should be near them.”
Speculates Vinton, “it can hardly be doubted that the Indians referred
to the geyser basin in the Park,” rather than to the Tongue River
neighborhood.
It is commonly supposed that, prior to Colter, no white man had
knowledge of strange phenomena on the Upper Yellowstone, this
supposition being one of the pillars of the “first-discovery” theory. It
is fairly evident that Clark knew nothing of geysers when he was within
seventy-five miles of them in 1806 but, ironically enough, at this time
some intimation of them had certainly reached others, including Clark’s
sponsor, Thomas Jefferson. On October 22, 1805, James Wilkinson,
governor of Louisiana Territory, with headquarters in St. Louis, sent to
the President, in care of Captain Amos Stoddard,
a Savage delineation on a Buffalo Pelt, of the Missouri & its South
Western branches, including the Rivers plate & Lycorne or Pierre
jaune; This Rude Sketch without Scale or Compass ‘et remplie de
Fantaisies ridicules’ is not destitute of Interests, as it exposes the
location of several important Objects, & may point the way to useful
enquiry—among other things a little incredible, a volcano is
distinctly described on Yellow Stone River.
Wilkinson apparently obtained this primitive map from unidentified
traders. It could not have been a copy of Clark’s map sent from Fort
Mandan the April previous, for it obviously contained new data. In an
advice to Henry Dearborn, Secretary of War, dated September 18, 1805,
Wilkinson revealed that his interest in Yellowstone curiosities was
sufficiently aroused to dispatch an expedition of his own upriver!
I have equipt a Perogue out of my Small private means, not with any
view to Self interest, to ascend the missouri and enter the River
Piere jaune, or yellow Stone, called by the natives, Unicorn River,
the same by which Capt. Lewis I find since expects to return and which
my informants tell me is filled with wonders. This Party will not get
back before the Summer 1807—they are natives of this town....
Who were Wilkinson’s explorers, and what became of them? Who were the
“informants”? Was their information firsthand or derived from Indians
who, unlike the Mandans, were acquainted with details of the Upper
Yellowstone? These questions may be unanswerable, but they arise to
shadow the giant figure of John Colter.
[Illustration: Fur Trade Museum, Moose Visitor Center—Grand Teton
National Park Headquarters.]
[Illustration: HAWKEN RIFLE]
III. John Colter, the Phantom Explorer—1807-1808
The epic journey of discovery known as “The Lewis and Clark Expedition”
was organized in the autumn of 1803 at Maysville, Kentucky. Here, on
October 15, John Colter enlisted as a private with the stipulated pay of
$5 a month, apparently answering the requirement for “good hunters,
stout, healthy, unmarried men, accustomed to the woods and capable of
bearing bodily fatigue in a pretty considerable | 188.35417 |
2023-11-16 18:20:12.3420880 | 5,925 | 52 |
Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Janet Blenkinship and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
AN AUTHOR'S MIND;
THE BOOK OF TITLE-PAGES:
"A BOOKFUL OF BOOKS," OR "THIRTY BOOKS IN ONE."
EDITED BY
M.F. TUPPER, ESQ., M. A.
"En un mot, mes amis, je n'ai entrepris de vous contenter tous en
general; ainsi, une et autres en particulier; et par special,
moymeme."--PASQUIER.
HARTFORD:
PUBLISHED BY SILAS ANDRUS & SON.
1851.
ANNOUNCEMENT.
BY THE EDITOR.
The writer of this strange book (a particular friend of mine) came to me
a few mornings ago with a very happy face and a very blotty manuscript.
"Congratulate me," he began, "on having dispersed an armada of
head-aches hitherto invincible, on having exorcised my brain of its
legionary spectres, and brushed away the swarming thoughts that used to
persecute my solitude; I can now lie down as calmly as the lamb, and
rise as gayly as the lark; instead of a writhing Laocoon, my just-found
Harlequin's wand has changed me into infant Hercules brandishing his
strangled snakes; I have mowed, for the nonce, the docks, mallows,
hogweed, and wild-parsley of my rank field, and its smooth green carpet
looks like a rich meadow; I am free, happy, well at ease: argal, an thou
lovest me, congratulate."
Wider and wider still stared out my wonder, to hear my usually sober
friend so voluble in words and so profuse of images: I saw at once it
was a set speech, prepared for an impromptu occasion; nevertheless, as
he was clearly in an enviable state of disenthraldom from
thoughtfulness, I graciously accorded him a sympathetic smile. And then
this more than Gregorian cure for the head-ache! here was an anodyne
infinitely precious to one so brain-feverish as I: had all this pleasure
and comfort arisen from such common-place remedials as a dear young
lover's courtesy or a deceased old miser's codicil, I should long ago
have heard all about it; for, between ourselves, my friend was never
known to keep a secret. There was evidently more than this in the
discovery; and when my curiosity, provoked by his laughing silence, was
naturally enough exhibiting itself in a "What on earth----?" he broke
out with the abruptness of an Abernethy, "Read my book."
Well, I did read it; and, in candid disparagement, as amicably bound,
can readily believe what I was told afterwards, that, to except a very
small portion of older material, it had been at chance intervals rapidly
thrown off in a couple of months, (the old current-quill style,) chiefly
with the view of relieving a too prolific brain: it appeared to me a
mere idle overflowing of the brimful mind; an honest, indeed, but often
useless exposure of multifarious fancies--some good, some bad, and not a
few indifferent; an incautious uncalled-for confession of a thousand
thoughts, little worth the printing, if the very writing were not indeed
superfluous. Nevertheless, with all its faults, I thought the book a
novelty, and liked it not the less for its off-hand fashion; it had
something of the free, fresh, frank air of an old-school squire at
Christmas-tide, suggestive as his misletoe, cheerful as his face, and
careless as his hospitality. Knowing then that my friend had been more
than once an author--indeed, he tells us so himself--and perceiving,
from innumerable symptoms, that he meditated putting also this before
the world, I thought kindly to anticipate his wishes by proposing its
publication: but I was rather curtly answered with a "Did I suppose
these gnats were intended to be shrined in amber? these mere minnows to
be treated with the high consideration due only to potted char and white
bait? these fleeting thoughts fixed in stone before that Gorgon-head,
the public? these ephemeral fancies dropped into the true elixir of
immortality, printer's-ink? these----" I stopped him, for this other
mighty mouthful of images betrayed the hypocrite--"Yes, I did." An
involuntary smile assured me he did too, and the cause proceeded thus:
first, a promise not to burn the book; then a Bentley to the rescue,
with accessory considerations; and then, the due administration of a
little wholesome flattery: by this time we had obtained permission,
after modest reluctance pretty well enacted, to transform the deformity
of manuscript into the well-proportioned elegance of print. But, this
much gained, our author would not yield to any argument we could urge
upon the next point, viz: leave to produce the volume, duly fathered
with his name. "Not he indeed; he loved quiet too well; he might, it was
true, secretly like the bantling, but cared not to acknowledge it before
a populous reading-world, every individual whereof esteems himself and
herself competent to criticize!" Mr. Publisher, deeply disinterested, of
course, bristled up at the notion of any thing anonymous; and the only
alternative remaining was the stale expedient of an editor; that editor,
in brief, to be none other than myself, a very palpable-obscure: and let
this excuse my name upon the title-page.
Now, as editor, I have had to do--what seems, by the way, to be regarded
by collective wisdom as the best thing possible--nothing: my author
would not suffer the change of a syllable, for all his seeming
carelessness about the THING, as he called it; so, I had no
more for my part than humbly to act the Helot, and try to set decently
upon the public tables a genuine mess of Spartan porridge.
M. F. T.
_Albury, Guildford._
AN AUTHOR'S MIND:
THE
BOOK OF TITLE-PAGES.
A RAMBLE.
In these days of universal knowledge, schoolmaster and scholars all
abroad together, quotation is voted pedantry, and to interpret is
accounted an impertinence; yet will I boldly proclaim, as a mere fact,
clear to the perceptions of all it may concern, "This book deserves
richly of the Sosii." And that for the best of reasons: it is not only a
book, but a book full of books; not merely a new book, but a
little-library of new books; thirty books in one, a very harvest of
epitomized authorship, the cream of a whole fairy dairy of quiescent
post-octavos. It is not--O, mark ye this, my Sosii, (and by the way,
gentle ladies, these were worshipful booksellers of old, the Murrays and
the Bentleys of imperial Rome,)--it is not the dull concreted elongation
of one isolated hackneyed idea--supposing in every work there _be one_,
a charitable hypothesis--wire-drawn, and coaxed, and hammered through
three regulation volumes; but the scarcely-more-than-hinted abstractions
of some forty thousand flitting notions--hasty, yet meditative Hamlets;
none of those lengthy, drawling emblems of Laertes--driven in flocks to
the net of the fowler, and penned with difficult compression within
these modest limits. So "goe forth, littel boke," and make thyself a
friend among those good husbandmen, who tend the trees of knowledge, and
bring their fruit to the world's market.
Now, reader, one little preliminary parley with you about myself: here
beginneth the trouble of authorship, but it is a trouble causing ease;
ease from thoughts--thoughts--thoughts, which never cease to make one's
head ache till they are fixed on paper; ease from dreams by night and
reveries by day, (thronging up in crowds behind, like Deucalion's
children, or a serried host in front, like Jason's instant army,)
harassing the brain, and struggling for birth, a separate existence, a
definite life; ease, in a cessation of that continuous internal hum of
aerial forget-me-nots, clamouring to be recorded. O, happy unimaginable
vacancy of mind, to whistle as you walk for want of thought! O, mental
holiday, now as impossible to me, as to take a true school-boy's
interest in rounders and prisoner's base! An author's mind--and remember
always, friend, I write in character, so judge not as egotistic vanity
merely the well playing of my _role_--such a mind is not a sheet of
smooth wax, but a magic stone indented with fluttering inscriptions; no
empty tenement, but a barn stored to bursting: it is a painful pressure,
constraining to write for comfort's sake; an appetite craving to be
satisfied, as well as a power to be exerted; an impetus that longs to
get away, rather than a dormant dynamic: thrice have I (let me confess
it) poured forth the alleviating volume as an author, a real
author--real, because for very peace of mind, involuntarily; but still
the vessel fills; still the indigenous crop springs up, choking a better
harvest, seeds of foreign growth; still those Lernaean necks sprout
again, claiming with many mouths to explain, amuse, suggest, and
controvert--to publish invention, and proscribe error. Truly, it were
enviable to be less apprehensive, less retentive; to be fitted with a
colander-mind, like that penal cask which forty-nine Danaides might not
keep from leaking; to be, sometimes at least, suffered for a holiday to
ramble brainless in the paradise of fools. Memory, imagination, zeal,
perceptions of men and things, equally with rank and riches, have often
cost their full price, as many mad have known; they take too much out of
a man--fret, wear, worry him; to be irritable, is the conditional tax
laid of old upon an author's intellect; the crowd of internal imagery
makes him hasty, quick, nervous as a haunted hunted man: minds of
coarser web heed not how small a thorn rends one of so delicate a
texture; they cannot estimate the wish that a duller sword were in a
tougher scabbard; the river, not content with channel and restraining
banks, overflows perpetually; the extortionate exacting armies of the
Ideal and the Causal persecute MY spirit, and I would make a
patriot stand at once to vanquish the invaders of my peace: I write
these things only to be quit of them, and not to let the crowd increase;
I have conceived a plan to destroy them all, as Jehu and Elijah with the
priests of Baal; I feel Malthusian among my mental nurselings; a dire
resolve has filled me to effect a premature destruction of the literary
populace superfoetating in my brain--plays, novels, essays, tales,
homilies, and rhythmicals; for ethics and poetics, politics and
rhetorics, will I display no more mercy than sundry commentators of
maltreated Aristotle: I will exhibit them in their state chaotic; I will
addle the eggs, and the chicken shall not chirp; I will reveal, and
secrets shall not waste me; I will write, and thoughts shall not batten
on me.
The world is too full of books, and I yearn not causelessly to add more
than this involuntary unit: bottles, bottles--invariable bottles--was
the one idea of a most clever Head at Nieder-Selters; books,
books--accumulating books--press upon my conscience in this literary
London: despairing auctioneers hate the sound, ruined publishers dread
it, surfeited readers grumble at it, and the very cheese-monger begins
to be an epicure as to which grand work is next to be demolished.
Friendships and loves tremble at the daily recurrence of "Have you read
this?" and "Mind you buy that;" wise men shun a blue-belle, sure that
she will recommend a book; and the yet wiser treat themselves to
solitary confinement, that they may not have to meet the last new batch
of authors, and be obliged to purchase, if not to peruse, their
never-ending books. I fear to increase the plague, to be convicted an
abettor of great evils, though by the measure of a little one. I am
infected, and I know it: but for science-sake I break the quarantine,
and in my magnanimity would be victimized unknown, consigning to a
speedy grave this useless offspring, together with its too productive
parent, and saving of a race so hopeless little else than their
predetermined names--in fact, their title-pages.
But is that indeed little? Speak, authors with piles of ready-written
copy, is not the theme (so often carried out beyond, or beside, or even
against its original purpose) less perplexing than the after-thought
thesis? Bear witness, readers, bit by a mysterious advertisement in the
'_Morning Post_,' are names, indeed, not matters of much weight? Press
forward, Sosii aforesaid, and answer me truly, is not a title-page the
better part of many books? Cheap promises of stale pleasure, false hopes
of dull interest, imprimaturs of deceived fancy, lying visions of the
future unfulfilled, title-pages still do good service to the cause
of--bookselling.
And, to commence, let me elucidate mine own--I mean the first, the head
and front of this offending phalanx--mine own, _par excellence_, '_An
Authors Mind_:' such in sooth it shall be found, for richer or poorer,
for better or for worse; not of selfish, but of common application; not
so much individually of mine own, as generically of authors; a medley
of crudities; an undigested mass, as any in the maw of Polypheme; a
fermenting hotchpotch of half-formed things, illustrative, among other
matters, of the Lucretian theory, those close-cohering atoms; a farrago
of thoughts, and systems of thoughts, in most admired disorder, which
would symbolize the Copernican astronomy, with its necessary clash of
whirling orbs, about as well as the intangible chaos of Berkeleyan
metaphysics.
So much then on the moment for the monosyllable "Mind;"--whereof
followeth, indeed, all the more hereafter; but--"An author's?"--what
author's? You would see my patent of such rank, my commission to wear
such honourable uniform. Pr'ythee be content with simple assurance that
it is so; consider the charm of unsatisfied curiosity, and pry not; let
me sit unseen, a spectator; for this once I would go _in domino_.
Heretofore, "credit me, fair Discretion, your Affability" hath achieved
glory, and might Solomonize on its vanity at least as well as poor
discomfited, discovered Sir Piercie Shafton: heretofore, I have stood
forth in good causes, with helm unbarred, and due proclamation of name,
style, and title, an avowed author; and might sermonize thus upon
success, that a little censure loseth more friends than much praise
winneth enemies. So now, with visor down, and a white shield, as a young
knight-candidate unknown, it pleases my leisure to take my pastime in
the tourney: and so long as in truthful prowess I bear me gallantly and
gently, who is he that hath a right to unlatch my helmet, or where is
the herald that may challenge my rank? Nevertheless, inquisitive,
consider the mysteries that lie in the Turkish-looking _sobriquet_ of
"Mufti;" its vowels and its consonants are full of strict intention I
never saw cause why the most charming of essayists hid himself in
"Elia," but he may for all that have had pregnant reasons; even so, (but
that slender wit could read my riddle,) you shall perhaps find fault
with my Mussulman agnomen; still you and I equally participate in this
shallow secret, and within so brief a word is concealed the key to
unlock the casket that tempts your curiosity: however, the less said of
so diaphanous a mystery, the better.
And let me remark this of the mode anonymous; a mode, indeed, to
purposes of shame, and slander, and falsity of all kinds too often
prostituted for the present, bear with it; sometimes it is well to go
disguised, and the voice of one unseen lacks not eager listeners; we
address your judgment, unbiased by the prejudice or sanction of a name:
we put forth, lightly and negligently, those lesser matters which
opportunity hath not yet matured; we escape the nervous pains, the
literary perils of the hardier acknowledged. Only of this one thing be
sure; we--(no, I; why should unregal, unhierarchal I affect
pluralities?)--I hope to keep inviolate, as much when masked as when
avowed, the laws of truth, charity, sincerity, and honour; and,
although, among my many booklets, the grave and the gay will be found in
near approximation, I trust--will it offend any to tell them that I
pray?--to do no ill service at any time to the cause of that true
religion which resents not the neighbourhood of innocent cheerfulness. I
show you, friend, my honest mind.
I by itself, I; odious mono-literal; thinnest, feeblest, most
insignificant of letters, I dread your egotistic influence as my bane;
they will not suffer you, nor bear with a book so speckled with your
presence. Still, world, hear me; mercifully spare a poor grammarian the
penance of perpetual third persons; let an individual tender conscience
escape censure for using the true singular in preference to that
imposing lie, the plural. Suffer a humble unit to speak of himself as I,
and, once for all, let me permissively disclaim intentional self-conceit
in the needful usage of isolated I-ship.
These few preliminaries being settled, though I fear little to the
satisfaction of either party concerned, let us proceed--further to
preliminarize; for you will find, even to the end, as you may have found
out already from the beginning, that your white knight is mounted rather
on an ambling preambling palfrey, than on any determinate charger;
curveting and prancing, and rambling and scrambling at his own unmanaged
will: scorning the bit and bridle, too hot to bear the spur, careless of
listing laws, and wishing rather playfully to show his paces, than to
tilt against a foe.
An author's mind, _qua_ author, is essentially a gossip; an oral,
ocular, imaginative, common-place book: a _pot pourri_ mixed from the
_hortus siccus_ of education, and the greener garden of internal thought
that springs in fresh verdure about the heart's own fountain; a compound
of many metals flowing from the mental crucible as one--perchance a base
alloy, perchance new, and precious, and beautiful as the fine brass of
Corinth; an accidental meeting in the same small chamber of many
spiritual essences that combine, as by magnetism into some strange and
novel substance; a mixture of appropriations, made lawfully a man's own
by labour spent upon the raw material; corn-clad Egypt rescued from a
burnt Africa by the richness of a swelling Nile--the black forest of
pines changed into a laughing vineyard by skill, enterprise, and
culture--the mechanism of Frankenstein's man of clay, energized at
length by the spark Promethean.
And now, reader, do you begin to comprehend me, and my title? '_An
Author's Mind_' is first in the field, and, as with root and fruit, must
take precedence of its booklets; bear then, if you will, with this
desultory anatomization of itself yet a little longer, and then in good
time and moderate space you will come to the rudiments--bones, so to
speak--of its many members, the frame-work on which its nerves and
muscles hang, the names of its unborn children, the title-pages of its
own unprinted books.
Philosophers and fools, separately or together, as the case may be--for
folly and philosophy not seldom form one Janus-head, and Minerva's bird
seems sometimes not ill-fitted with the face of Momus--these and their
thousand intermediates have tried in all ages to define that quaint
enigma, Man: and I wot not that any pundit of literature hath better
succeeded than the nameless, fameless man--or woman, was it?--or haply
some innocent shrewd child--who whilom did enunciate that MAN IS A
WRITING ANIMAL: true as arithmetic, clear as the sunbeam, rational
as Euclid, a discerning, just, exclusive definition. That he is "capable
of laughter," is well enough even for thy deathless fame, O Stagyrite!
but equally (so Buffon testifies) are apes and monkeys, horses and
hyenas; whether perforce of tickling or sympathy, or native notions of
the humorous, we will not stop to contend. That he actually is "an
animal whose best wisdom is laughter," hath but little reason in it,
Democrite, seeing there are such obvious anomalies among men as suicidal
jesters and cachinating idiots; nevertheless, my punster of Abdera, thy
whimsical fancy, surviving the wreck of dynasties, and too light to sink
in the billows of oblivion, is now become the popular thought, the
fashionable dress of heretofore moping wisdom: crow, an thou wilt, jolly
old chanticleer, but remember thee thou crowest on a dunghill; man is
not a mere merry-andrew. Neither is he exclusively "a weeping animal,"
lugubrious Heraclite, no better definer than thy laughter-loving foe:
that man weeps, or ought to weep, the world within him and the world
without him indeed bear testimony: but is he the only mourner in this
valley of grief, this travailing creation? No, no; they walk lengthily
in black procession: yet is this present writing not the fit season for
enlarging upon sorrows; we must not now mourn and be desolate as a poor
bird grieving for its pilfered young--is Macduff's lamentable cry for
his lost little ones, "All--what, all?" more piteous?--we must now
indulge in despondent fears, like yonder hard-run stag, with terror in
his eye, and true tears coursing down his melancholy face: we must not
now mourn over cruelty and ingratitude, like that poor old worn-out
horse, crying--positively crying, and looking imploringly for merciful
rest into man's iron face; we must not scream like the wounded hare, nor
beat against our cage like the wild bird prisoned from its freedom.
Moreover, Heraclite, even in thine own day thou mightest well have heard
of the classic wailings of Philomel for Atys, or of consumptive Canens,
that shadow of a voice, for her metamorphosed Pie, and have known that
very crocodiles have tears: pass on, thy desolate definition hath not
served for man.
With flippant tongue a mercantile cosmopolite, stable in statistics and
learned in the leger, here interposes an erudite suggestion: "Man is a
calculating animal." Surely, so he is, unless he be a spendthrift; but
he still shares his quality with others; for the squirrel hoards his
nuts, the aunt lays in her barley-corns, the moon knoweth her seasons,
and the sun his going down: moreover, Chinese slates, multiplying
rulers, and, as their aggregated wisdom, Babbage's machine, will stoutly
contest so mechanical a fancy. Savoury steams, and those too smelling
strongly of truth, assault the nostrils, as a Vitellite--what a name of
hungry omen for the imperial devourer!--plausibly insinuates man to be
"a cooking animal." Who can gainsay it? and wherewithal, but with
domesticated monkeys, does he share this happy attribute? It is true,
the butcher-bird spits his prey on a thorn, the slow epicurean boa
glazes his mashed antelope, the king of vultures quietly waits for a
gamey taste and the rapid roasting of the tropics: but all this care,
all this caloric, cannot be accounted culinary, and without a question,
the kitchen _is_ a sphere where the lord of creation reigns supreme:
still, thou best of practical philosophers, caterer for daily
dinners--man--MAN, I say, is not altogether a compact of edible
commons, a Falstaff pudding-bag robbed of his seasoning wit, a mere
congeries of food and pickles; moreover, honest Gingel of "fair" fame
hath (or used to have, "in my warm youth, when George the Third was
king,") automatons, [pray, observe, Sosii, I am not pedant or wiseacre
enough to indite _automata_; we conquering Britons stole that word among
many others from poor dead Greece, who couldn't want it; having made it
ours in the singular, why be bashful about the plural! So also of
memorandums, omnibuses, [you remember Farren's _omni_BI!]
necropolises, gymnasiums, eukeirogeneions, and other unlegacied
property of dear departed Rome and Greece. All this, as you see,
is clearly parenthetical;] well, then, Gingel has automatons, that will
serve you up all kinds of delicate viands, pleasant meats, and
choice cates by clock | 188.362128 |
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Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive
Transcriber's Note:
1. Page scan source:
http://www.archive.org/details/studentlifegerm02 | 188.364166 |
2023-11-16 18:20:12.3462910 | 134 | 18 |
Produced by Judith Boss. HTML version by Al Haines.
The Lost Continent was originally published
under the title Beyond Thirty
THE LOST CONTINENT
by
Edgar Rice Burroughs
JTABLE 3 9 1
1
Since earliest childhood I have been strangely fascinated by the
mystery surrounding the history of the last days of twentieth century
Europe. My interest is keenest, perhaps, not so much in relation to
known facts as to speculation upon the unknowable of the two centuries
that have rolled by since human intercourse between the Western and
Eastern Hemispheres ceased--the mystery | 188.366331 |
2023-11-16 18:20:12.4342300 | 163 | 13 |
E-text prepared by Denis Pronovost, Richard Hulse, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images
generously made available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 51418-h.htm or 51418-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/51418/51418-h/51418-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/51418/51418-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/1812napoleoniin00vere
Transcriber’s note | 188.45427 |
2023-11-16 18:20:12.4376040 | 3,286 | 15 |
Transcribed from the 1864 Chapman and Hall “Tales of All Countries”
edition by David Price, email [email protected]
RETURNING HOME.
IT is generally supposed that people who live at home,—good domestic
people, who love tea and their arm-chairs, and who keep the parlour
hearth-rug ever warm,—it is generally supposed that these are the people
who value home the most, and best appreciate all the comforts of that
cherished institution. I am inclined to doubt this. It is, I think, to
those who live farthest away from home, to those who find the greatest
difficulty in visiting home, that the word conveys the sweetest idea. In
some distant parts of the world it may be that an Englishman acknowledges
his permanent resting place; but there are many others in which he will
not call his daily house, his home. He would, in his own idea, desecrate
the word by doing so. His home is across the blue waters, in the little
northern island, which perhaps he may visit no more; which he has left,
at any rate, for half his life; from which circumstances, and the
necessity of living, have banished him. His home is still in England,
and when he speaks of home his thoughts are there.
No one can understand the intensity of this feeling who has not seen or
felt the absence of interest in life which falls to the lot of many who
have to eat their bread on distant soils. We are all apt to think that a
life in strange countries will be a life of excitement, of stirring
enterprise, and varied scenes;—that in abandoning the comforts of home,
we shall receive in exchange more of movement and of adventure than would
come in our way in our own tame country; and this feeling has, I am sure,
sent many a young man roaming. Take any spirited fellow of twenty, and
ask him whether he would like to go to Mexico for the next ten years!
Prudence and his father may ultimately save him from such banishment, but
he will not refuse without a pang of regret.
Alas! it is a mistake. Bread may be earned, and fortunes, perhaps, made
in such countries; and as it is the destiny of our race to spread itself
over the wide face of the globe, it is well that there should be
something to gild and paint the outward face of that lot which so many
are called upon to choose. But for a life of daily excitement, there is
no life like life in England; and the farther that one goes from England
the more stagnant, I think, do the waters of existence become.
But if it be so for men, it is ten times more so for women. An
Englishman, if he be at Guatemala or Belize, must work for his bread, and
that work will find him in thought and excitement. But what of his wife?
Where will she find excitement? By what pursuit will she repay herself
for all that she has left behind her at her mother’s fireside? She will
love her husband. Yes; that at least! If there be not that, there will
be a hell, indeed. Then she will nurse her children, and talk of
her—home. When the time shall come that her promised return thither is
within a year or two of its accomplishment, her thoughts will all be
fixed on that coming pleasure, as are the thoughts of a young girl on her
first ball for the fortnight before that event comes off.
On the central plain of that portion of Central America which is called
Costa Rica stands the city of San José. It is the capital of the
Republic,—for Costa Rica is a Republic,—and, for Central America, is a
town of some importance. It is in the middle of the coffee district,
surrounded by rich soil on which the sugar-cane is produced, is blessed
with a climate only moderately hot, and the native inhabitants are
neither cut-throats nor cannibals. It may be said, therefore, that by
comparison with some other spots to which Englishmen and others are
congregated for the gathering together of money, San José may be
considered as a happy region; but, nevertheless, a life there is not in
every way desirable. It is a dull place, with little to interest either
the eye or the ear. Although the heat of the tropics is but little felt
there on account of its altitude, men and women become too lifeless for
much enterprise. There is no society. There are a few Germans and a few
Englishmen in the place, who see each other on matters of business during
the day; but, sombre as life generally is, they seem to care little for
each other’s company on any other footing. I know not to what point the
aspirations of the Germans may stretch themselves, but to the English the
one idea that gives salt to life is the idea of home. On some day,
however distant it may be, they will once more turn their faces towards
the little northern island, and then all will be well with them.
To a certain Englishman there, and to his dear little wife, this prospect
came some few years since somewhat suddenly. Events and tidings, it
matters not which or what, brought it about that they resolved between
themselves that they would start immediately;—almost immediately. They
would pack up and leave San José within four months of the day on which
their purpose was first formed. At San José a period of only four months
for such a purpose was immediately. It creates a feeling of instant
excitement, a necessity for instant doing, a consciousness that there was
in those few weeks ample work both for the hands and thoughts,—work
almost more than ample. The dear little wife, who for the last two years
had been so listless, felt herself flurried.
“Harry,” she said to her husband, “how shall we ever be ready?” And her
pretty face was lighted up with unusual brightness at the happy thought
of so much haste with such an object. “And baby’s things too,” she said,
as she thought of all the various little articles of dress that would be
needed. A journey from San José to Southampton cannot in truth be made
as easily as one from London to Liverpool. Let us think of a month to be
passed without any aid from the washerwoman, and the greatest part of
that month amidst the sweltering heats of the West Indian tropics!
In the first month of her hurry and flurry Mrs. Arkwright was a happy
woman. She would see her mother again and her sisters. It was now four
years since she had left them on the quay at Southampton, while all their
hearts were broken at the parting. She was a young bride then, going
forth with her new lord to meet the stern world. He had then been home
to look for a wife, and he had found what he looked for in the younger
sister of his partner. For he, Henry Arkwright, and his wife’s brother,
Abel Ring, had established themselves together in San José. And now, she
thought, how there would be another meeting on those quays at which there
should be no broken hearts; at which there should be love without sorrow,
and kisses, sweet with the sweetness of welcome, not bitter with the
bitterness of parting. And people told her,—the few neighbours around
her,—how happy, how fortunate she was to get home thus early in her life.
They had been out some ten,—some twenty years, and still the day of their
return was distant. And then she pressed her living baby to her breast,
and wiped away a tear as she thought of the other darling whom she would
leave beneath that distant sod.
And then came the question as to the route home. San José stands in the
middle of the high plain of Costa Rica, half way between the Pacific and
the Atlantic. The journey thence down to the Pacific is, by comparison,
easy. There is a road, and the mules on which the travellers must ride
go steadily and easily down to Punta Arenas, the port on that ocean.
There are inns, too, on the way,—places of public entertainment at which
refreshment may be obtained, and beds, or fair substitutes for beds. But
then by this route the traveller must take a long additional sea voyage.
He must convey himself and his weary baggage down to that wretched place
on the Pacific, there wait for a steamer to take him to Panamá, cross the
isthmus, and reship himself in the other waters for his long journey
home. That terrible unshipping and reshipping is a sore burden to the
unaccustomed traveller. When it is absolutely necessary,—then indeed it
is done without much thought; but in the case of the Arkwrights it was
not absolutely necessary. And there was another reason which turned Mrs.
Arkwright’s heart against that journey by Punt’ Arenas. The place is
unhealthy, having at certain seasons a very bad name;—and here on their
outward journey her husband had been taken ill. She had never ceased to
think of the fortnight she had spent there among uncouth strangers,
during a portion of which his life had trembled in the balance. Early,
therefore, in those four months she begged that she might not be taken
round by Punt’ Arenas. There was another route. “Harry, if you love me,
let me go by the Serapiqui.” As to Harry’s loving her, there was no
doubt about that, as she well knew.
There was this other route by the Serapiqui river, and by Greytown.
Greytown, it is true, is quite as unhealthy as Punt’ Arenas, and by that
route one’s baggage must be shipped and unshipped into small boats.
There are all manner of difficulties attached to it. Perhaps no direct
road to and from any city on the world’s surface is subject to sharper
fatigue while it lasts. Journeying by this route also, the traveller
leaves San José mounted on his mule, and so mounted he makes his way
through the vast primeval forests down to the banks of the Serapiqui
river. That there is a track for him is of course true; but it is simply
a track, and during nine months of the twelve is so deep in mud that the
mules sink in it to their bellies. Then, when the river has been
reached, the traveller seats him in his canoe, and for two days is
paddled down,—down along the Serapiqui, into the San Juan River, and down
along the San Juan till he reaches Greytown, passing one night at some
hut on the river side. At Greytown he waits for the steamer which will
carry him his first stage on his road towards Southampton. He must be a
connoisseur in disagreeables of every kind who can say with any precision
whether Greytown or Punt’ Arenas is the better place for a week’s
sojourn.
For a full month Mr. Arkwright would not give way to his wife. At first
he all but conquered her by declaring that the Serapiqui journey would be
dangerous for the baby; but she heard from some one that it could be made
less fatiguing for the baby than the other route. A baby had been
carried down in a litter strapped on to a mule’s back. A guide at the
mule’s head would be necessary, and that was all. When once in her boat
the baby would be as well as in her cradle. What purpose cannot a woman
gain by perseverance? Her purpose in this instance Mrs. Arkwright did at
last gain by persevering.
And then their preparations for the journey went on with much flurrying
and hot haste. To us at home, who live and feel our life every day, the
manufacture of endless baby-linen and the packing of mountains of clothes
does not give an idea of much pleasurable excitement; but at San José,
where there was scarcely motion enough in existence to prevent its waters
from becoming foul with stagnation, this packing of baby-linen was
delightful, and for a month or so the days went by with happy wings.
But by degrees reports began to reach both Arkwright and his wife as to
this new route, which made them uneasy. The wet season had been
prolonged, and even though they might not be deluged by rain themselves,
the path would be in such a state of mud as to render the labour
incessant. One or two people declared that the road was unfit at any
time for a woman,—and then the river would be much swollen. These
tidings did not reach Arkwright and his wife together, or at any rate not
till late amidst their preparations, or a change might still have been
made. As it was, after all her entreaties, Mrs. Arkwright did not like
to ask him again to alter his plans; and he, having altered them once,
was averse to change them again. So things went on till the mules and
the boats had been hired, and things had gone so far that no change could
then be made without much cost and trouble.
During the last ten days of their sojourn at San José, Mrs. Arkwright had
lost all that appearance of joy which had cheered up her sweet face
during the last few months. Terror at that terrible journey obliterated
in her mind all the happiness which had arisen from the hope of being
soon at home. She was thoroughly cowed by the danger to be encountered,
and would gladly have gone down to Punt’ Arenas, had it been now possible
that she could so arrange it. It rained, and rained, and still rained,
when there was now only a week from the time they started. Oh! if they
could only wait for another month! But this she said to no one. After
what had passed between her and her husband, she had not the heart to say
such words to him. Arkwright himself was a man not given to much
talking, a silent thoughtful man, stern withal in his outward bearing,
but tender-hearted and loving in his nature. The sweet young wife who
had left all, and come with him out to that dull distant place, was very
dear to him,—dearer than she herself was aware, and in these days he was
thinking much of her coming troubles. Why had he given way to her
foolish prayers? Ah, why indeed? And thus the last few days of their
sojourn in San José passed away from them. Once or twice during these
days she did speak out, expressing her fears. Her feelings were too much
for her, and she could not restrain herself. “Poor mamma,” she said, | 188.457644 |
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Produced by Annie R. McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S ROUND TABLE]
Copyright, 1896, by HARPER & BROTHERS. All Rights Reserved.
* * * * *
PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, JULY 14, 1896. FIVE CENTS A COPY.
VOL. XVII.--NO. 872. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
CROSSING THE XUACAXÉLLA.[1]
[1] Pronounced Hwar-car-hál-yar. This story is a sequel to "Captured by
the Navajos," contained in the Christmas Extra of Vol. XV. Frank and
Henry Burton were the sons of a Colonel in the army, and had been
appointed honorary corporals in Santa Fe, and attached to headquarters.
On the march to Arizona they distinguished themselves by gallant
conduct, and were promoted to the rank of sergeants.
BY CAPTAIN CHARLES A. CURTIS, U. S. A.
I.
"Here, Frank, come and help push this gate. I can't start it alone."
"Wait a moment, Henry. Don't be in such a rush. I think I hear a horse
coming down the Prescott road. I want to see if it's the express from La
Paz."
The younger boy ceased his efforts to close the gates, and advancing a
few steps before the entrance of the fort, looked up the valley to where
the road from Prescott appeared from behind a spur of the foot-hills.
The two boys, aged respectively fourteen and sixteen, were dressed in
the army uniform, and wore gold-lace sergeant's chevrons upon their
sleeves. Their white stripes were piped with red, and their cap cords
and regimental badges were of the officers' pattern and quality.
A beautiful white setter, with liver- spots and ears, and mottled
nose and paws, followed the boys and stood between them, nestling her
delicate muzzle against the younger boy's hip, and responding to his
caresses with waves of a plumy tail.
"Do you think we shall hear from father, Frank?"
"We ought to. He said, in his last letter, he was getting settled at the
Presidio, and would soon send for us."
"Takes twelve days to bring a letter | 188.45827 |
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Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: Cover]
BY CANADIAN STREAMS
BY
LAWRENCE J. BURPEE
TORONTO
THE MUSSON BOOK COMPANY LIMITED
_Entered at_
_Stationers Hall_
1909
THE RIVERS OF CANADA
Who that has travelled upon their far-spreading waters has not felt the
compelling charm of the rivers of Canada? The matchless variety of their
scenery, from the gentle grace of the Sissibou to the tempestuous
grandeur of the Fraser; the romance that clings to their shores--legends
and tales of Micmac and Iroquois, Cree, Blackfoot, and Chilcotin;
stories of peaceful Acadian villages beside the Gaspereau, and fortified
towns along the St. Lawrence; of warlike expeditions and missionary
enterprises up the Richelieu and the Saguenay; of heroic exploits at the
Long Sault and at Vercheres; of memorable explorations in the north and
the far west? How many of us realise the illimitable possibilities of
these arteries of a nation, their vital importance as avenues of
commerce and communication, the potential energy stored in their rushing
waters? Do we even appreciate their actual extent, or thoroughly grasp
the fact that this network of waterways covers half a continent, and
reaches every corner of this vast Dominion?
Two hundred years ago little was known of these rivers outside the
valley of the St. Lawrence. One hundred years later scores of new
waterways had been explored from source to outlet, some of them ranking
among the great rivers of the earth. The Western Sea, that had lured
the restless sons of New France toward the setting sun, that had
furnished a dominating impulse to her explorers, from Jacques Cartier to
La Verendrye, was at last reached by Canadians of another race--and the
road that they travelled was the water-road that connects three oceans.
In their frail canoes these tireless pathfinders journeyed up the mighty
St. Lawrence and its great tributary the Ottawa, through Lake Nipissing,
and down the French river to Georgian Bay; they skirted the shores of
the inland seas to the head of Lake Superior, and by way of numberless
portages crossed the almost indistinguishable height of land to Rainy
Lake and the beautiful Lake of the Woods. They descended the wild
Winnipeg to Lake Winnipeg, paddled up the Saskatchewan to Cumberland
House, turned north by way of Frog Portage to the Churchill, and
ascended that waterway to its source, where they climbed | 188.561441 |
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Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Emmy and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
[Illustration: HE HAD INSISTED UPON THE TWO WOMEN DANCING FOR HIS
AMUSEMENT]
THE
MOTOR PIRATE
By
G. Sidney Paternoster
With a Frontispiece by Charles R. Sykes
New York * * * * *
A. Wessels Company
* * * * * * MCMVI
_Copyright, 1904_
BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
* * * * *
_All rights reserved_
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. MAINLY ABOUT MYSELF 1
II. THE COMPTON CHAMBERLAIN OUTRAGE 9
III. WHEREIN I MEET THE PIRATE 21
IV. CONCERNING MY RIVAL 36
V. THE COLONEL DREAMS AND I AWAKEN 48
VI. I AM ARRESTED 59
VII. I MAKE FRIENDS WITH INSPECTOR FORREST, C.I.D 71
VIII. MURDER 81
IX. EXPLAINS A MYSTERIOUS DISAP | 191.098907 |
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Produced by Joshua Hutchinson, KarenD and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by Cornell University Digital Collections)
VOL. XXXV. NO. 9.
THE
AMERICAN MISSIONARY.
* * * * *
“To the Poor the Gospel is Preached.”
* * * * *
SEPTEMBER, 1881.
_CONTENTS_:
EDITORIAL.
ANNUAL MEETING—FINANCIAL—OUR BROADSIDE 257
THE PLACE OF THE CHURCH IN THE | 191.359204 |
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Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images available at The Internet Archive)
GRANIA
VOL. I.
_By the same Author_
HURRISH: a Study
IRELAND (Story of the Nations Series)
MAJOR LAWRENCE, F.L.S.
PLAIN FRANCES MOWBRAY, &c.
WITH ESSEX IN IRELAND
[Illustration: ISLANDS OF ARAN
GALWAY BAY.]
GRANIA
THE STORY OF AN ISLAND
BY THE
HON. EMILY LAWLESS
AUTHOR OF ‘HURRISH, A STUDY’
ETC.
IN TWO VOLUMES
VOL. I.
LONDON
SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 WATERLOO PLACE
1892
[_All rights reserved_]
DEDICATION
To M. C.
This story was always intended to be dedicated to you. It could hardly,
in fact, have been dedicated to anyone else, seeing that it was with you
it was originally planned; you who helped out its meagre scraps of
Gaelic; you with whom was first discussed the possibility of an Irish
story without any Irish brogue in it--that brogue which is a tiresome
necessity always, and might surely be dispensed with, as we both agreed,
in a case where no single actor on the tiny stage is supposed to utter a
word of English. For the rest, they are but melancholy places, these
Aran Isles of ours, as you and I know well, and the following pages have
caught their full share--something, perhaps, more than their full
share--of that gloom. That this is an artistic fault no one can doubt,
yet there are times--are there not?--when it does not seem so very easy
to exaggerate the amount of gloom which life is any day and every day
quite willing to bestow.
Several causes have delayed the little book’s appearance until now, but
here it is, ready at last, and dedicated still to you.
E. L.
LYONS, HAZLEHATCH:
_January, 1892_.
PART I
SEPTEMBER
PART I
_SEPTEMBER_
CHAPTER I
A mild September afternoon, thirty years ago, in the middle of Galway
Bay.
Clouds over the whole expanse of sky, nowhere showing any immediate
disposition to fall as rain, yet nowhere allowing the sky to appear
decidedly, nowhere even becoming themselves decided, keeping everywhere
a broad indefinable wash of greyness, a grey so dim, uniform, and
all-pervasive, that it defied observation, floating and melting away
into a dimly blotted horizon, an horizon which, whether at any given
point to call sea or sky, land or water, it was all but impossible to
decide.
Here and there in that wide cloud-covered sweep of sky a sort of break
or window occurred, and through this break or window long shafts of
sunlight fell in a cold and chastened drizzle, now upon the bluish
levels of crestless waves, now upon the bleak untrodden corner of some
portion of the coast of Clare, tilted perpendicularly upwards; now
perhaps again upon that low line of islands which breaks the outermost
curve of the bay of Galway, and beyond which is nothing, nothing, that
is to say, but the Atlantic, a region which, despite the ploughing of
innumerable keels, is still given up by the dwellers of those islands to
a mystic condition of things unknown to geographers, but too deeply
rooted in their consciousness to yield to any mere reports from
without.
One of these momentary shafts of light had just caught in its passage
upon the sails of a fishing smack or hooker, Con O’Malley’s hooker, from
the middle isle of Aran. It was an old, battered, much-enduring sail of
indeterminate hue, inclining to coffee colour, and patched towards the
top with a large patch of a different shade and much newer material. The
hooker itself was old, too, and patched, but still seaworthy, and, as
the only hooker at that time belonging to the islands, a source, as all
Inishmaan knew, of unspeakable pride and satisfaction to its owner.
At present its only occupants were Con himself and his little
eleven-year-old daughter, Grania. There was, however, a smaller boat
belonging to it a few yards away, which had been detached a short while
before for the convenience of fishing. The occupants of this smaller
boat were two also, a lad of about fourteen, well grown, light haired,
fairly well to do, despite the raggedness of his clothes, which in
Ireland is no especial test of poverty. The other was a man of about
twenty-eight or thirty, the raggedness of whose clothes was of the
absolute rather than comparative order. The face, too, above the rags
was rather wilder, more unsettled, more restless than even West
Connaught recognises as customary or becoming. Nay, if you chose to
consider it critically, you might have called it a dangerous face, not
ugly, handsome rather, as far as the features went, and lit by a pair of
eyes so dark as to be almost black, but with a restlessly moving lower
jaw, a quantity of hair raked into a tangled mass over an excessively
low brow, and the eyes themselves were sombre, furtive, menacing--the
eyes of a wolf or other beast of prey--eyes which by moments seemed to
flash upon you like something sinister seen suddenly at dead of night.
Shan Daly, or Shan-à-vehonee--‘Shan the vagabond’--he was commonly
called by his neighbours, and he certainly looked the character.
Even this man’s fashion of fishing had something in it of the same
furtive and predatory character. Fishing, no doubt, is a predatory
pursuit; still, if any predatory pursuit can be said to be legalised or
sanctified, it surely is. Shan Daly’s manner of fishing, however,
carried no biblical suggestions with it. Every time his line neared the
surface with a fish attached, he clutched at it with a sudden clawing
gesture, expressive of fierce, hungry desire, his lips moving, his eyes
glittering, his whole face working. Even when the fish had been cleared
from the line and lay in a scaly heap at the bottom of the boat, his
looks still followed them with the same peculiarly hungry expression.
Watching him at such a moment you would hardly have been surprised had
you seen him suddenly begin to devour them, then and there, scales and
all, as an otter might have done.
For more than an hour the light western breeze which had carried the
hooker so rapidly to Ballyvaughan that morning, with its load of kelp,
had been gradually dying away, until now it was all but gone. Far and
wide, too, not a sign of its revival appeared. Schools of gulls rose and
dipped in circles here and there upon the surface of the water, their
screams, now harsh and ear-piercing, now faint and rendered almost
inaudible by distance. A few other fishing boats lay becalmed at widely
separated points in the broad circumference, and, where the two lines of
coast, converging rapidly towards one another, met at Galway, a big
merchantman was seen slowly moving into harbour in the wake of a small
tug, the trail of whose smoke lay behind it, a long coal-black thread
upon the satiny surface.
Leaning against the taffrail of his vessel, Con O’Malley puffed lazily
at his pipe, and watched the smoke disappearing in thin concentric
circles, his brawny shoulders, already bent, less from age than from an
inveterate habit of slouching and leaning showing massively against that
watery background. Opposite, at the further end of the boat, the little
red-petticoated figure of his daughter sat perched upon the top of a
heap of loose stones, which served for the moment as ballast. The day,
as has been said, was calm, but the Atlantic is never an absolutely
passive object. Every now and then a slow sleepy swell would come and
lift the boat upon its shoulders, up one long green watery <DW72> and
down another, setting the heap of stones rolling and grinding one
against the other. Whenever this happened the little figure upon the
ballast would get temporarily dislodged from its perch, and sent
rolling, now to one side, now to the other, according as the boat moved,
or the loose freight shifted its position. The next moment, however,
with a quick scrambling action, like that of some small marmoset or
squirrel, it would have clambered up again to its former place; its feet
would have wedged themselves securely into a new position against the
stones, the small mouth opening to display a row of white teeth with a
laugh of triumphant glee at its own achievement.
A wild little face, and a wild little figure! Bare-headed, with unkempt
hair tossing in a brown mane over face and neck; a short red flannel
petticoat barely reaching to the knees; another, a whitish one, tied by
the strings cloak-fashion about the shoulders, and tumbling backwards
with every movement. One thing would probably have struck a stranger as
incongruous, and that was the small feet and legs were not, as might
have been expected, bare, but clad in comfortable thick knitted
stockings, with shoes, or rather sandals, of the kind known as
_pampooties_, made of cow’s skin, the hair being left on, the upper
portion sewn together and tied with a wisp of wool in more or less
classical fashion across the two small insteps.
Seen against that indeterminate welter of sea and sky, the little brown
face with its rapidly moving glances, strongly marked brows, vividly
tinted colouring, might have brought southern suggestions to your mind.
Small Italian faces have something of that same outline, that flash,
that vividness of colouring: gipsies too. Could the child by any chance,
you might have asked yourself, be a gipsy? But no: a moment’s
reflection would have told you it was impossible, for there are no
gipsies, never have been any, in Ireland.
Of course, the real explanation would soon have presented itself to your
mind. It lay in that long-unrenewed, but still-to-be-distinguished
streak of Spanish blood, which comes out, generation after generation,
in so many a West Irish face, a legacy from the days when, to all
intents and purposes, yonder little town was a beleaguered fortress,
dependent for daily necessities upon its boats and the shifting caprice
of the seas; the landways between it and the rest of the island being as
impracticable for all ordinary purposes and ordinary travellers as any
similar extent of mid-Africa to-day.
Hours pass unobserved in occupations which are thoroughly congenial to
our temperaments, and it would have been difficult to hit upon one more
congenial to such a temperament as Con O’Malley’s than that in which he
was at that moment engaged. Had wind, sky, and other conditions
continued unchanged, he would in all probability have maintained the
same attitude, smoked his pipe with the same passive enjoyment, watched
the horizon with the same vaguely scrutinising air, till darkness drove
him home to supper and Inishmaan. An interruption, however, came, as
interruptions are apt to come when they are least wanted. The fishing
that afternoon had been unusually good, and for a long time past the two
occupants of the smaller boat had been too busily occupied pulling in
their lines to have time for anything else. It was plain, however, that
strict harmony was not reigning there. Now and then a smothered
ejaculation might have been heard from the elder of the two fishermen
directed against some proceeding on the part of the younger one.
Presently this would die away, and silence again set in, broken only by
the movements of the fishers, the whisper of the water, the far-off
cries of the gulls, and the dull sleepy croak with which the old hooker
responded to the swell, which, lifting it upon its shoulders up one
smooth grey incline, let it drop down again with a stealthy rocking
motion the next moment upon the other.
Suddenly a loud burst of noise broke from the curragh. It was less like
the anger of a human being than like the violent jabbering, the harsh,
inarticulate cries of some infuriated ape. Harsher and harsher, louder
and louder still it grew, till the discord seemed to fill the whole
hitherto peace-enveloped scene; the very gulls wheeling overhead
sweeping away in wider circles as the clamour reached their ears.
Con O’Malley roused himself, lifted his gaze from the horizon, took the
pipe out of his mouth, and, standing erect, flung an angry glance at
the curragh, which was only separated from his own boat by some twenty
or thirty yards of water.
Evidently a furious quarrel was raging there. The two fishermen, a
minute ago, defined, as everything else, large or small, was defined
against that grey, luminous background of water, were now tumbled
together into an indistinguishable heap, rolling, kicking, struggling at
the bottom of the boat. Now a foot or hand, now a head, rose above the
confusion, as one or other of the combatants came uppermost; then the
struggle grew hot and desperate, and the fragile craft rocked from side
to side, but nothing was to be seen of either of them.
Suddenly Shan Daly’s face appeared. It was convulsed with rage; fury and
a sort of wild triumph shone in his black eyes; one skinny arm, from
which the ragged sleeve had fallen back, rose, brown, naked, and
sinewy, over the edge of the boat. He had pinned the boy, Murdough
Blake, down with his left hand, and with the other was now feeling
round, evidently for something to strike him with. Before he could do
so, however, Con O’Malley interfered.
‘_Cred thurt_, Shan Daly? _Cred thurt?_’[1] he exclaimed in loud,
peremptory tones.
There was an instant silence. Shan Daly drew back, showing a very ugly
face--a face spotted green and yellow with passion, teeth gleaming
whitely, rage and the desire of vengeance struggling in every line of
it. He stared at his interlocutor wildly for a minute, as if hardly
realising who he was or what he was being asked, his mouth moving as if
he was about to speak, but not a word escaping from his lips. In the
meantime, the boy had shaken himself free, had got upon his feet, and
now proceeded to explain the cause of the quarrel. His face was red with
the prolonged struggle, his clothes torn, there was a bad bleeding
bruise upon the back of one of his hands, but though he breathed hard,
and was evidently excited, it was with a volubility quite remarkable
under the circumstances that he proceeded to explain the matter in hand.
Shan Daly, he said, had quarrelled with him about the fish. The fish
would roll together whenever the boat moved, so that the two heaps, his
and Shan’s, got mixed. Could he, Murdough Blake, help their rolling? No:
God knew that he could not help it. Yet Shan Daly had sworn to have his
blood if he didn’t keep them apart. How was he to keep them apart? It
was all the fault of the fish themselves! Yes, it was! So it was! He had
done his best to keep them apart, but the fish were slimy and they ran
together. Did he make them slimy? No, he did not! It was God Himself
who had made them slimy. But Shan Daly....
How much longer he would have gone on it is difficult to say, but at
this point his explanations were cut summarily short.
‘_Bedhe hushth, agus tharann sho_,’[2] Con O’Malley said curtly.
The smaller boat was then pushed up to the other and the boy obeyed. No
sooner was he upon the deck of the larger vessel than Con O’Malley
silently descended into the curragh. The two boats were again pushed a
few yards apart, and Murdough Blake found himself left behind upon the
hooker.
CHAPTER II
Hardly had the smaller boat pushed away from the larger one and regained
its former place, before the little girl upon the ballast scrambled
hastily down from her perch, mounted the deck, and went up to the boy as
he stood there astonished, furious, red to the roots of his hair with
anger and indignant surprise.
She had been watching the struggle between him and Shan Daly with
breathless interest. She hated Shan with all the hate of her fierce
little heart. She loved Murdough. He was their nearest neighbour, her
playfellow, her big brother--not that they were of any kin to one
another--her hero, after a fashion. She adored him as a small schoolboy
adores a bigger one, and, like that small schoolboy, laid herself open
to be daily and hourly snubbed by the object of her adoration.
‘Is it hurt you are, Murdough? Murdough dheelish, is it hurt you are?
Speak, Murdougheen, speak to me! Did the beast stick you? Speak, I say!’
she asked in quick, eager Irish, pouring out a profusion of those tender
diminutives for which our duller English affords such a meagre and a
poverty-stricken equivalent.
But the boy was too angry, too profoundly insulted by the whole
foregoing scene, especially the end of it, to make any response. He
pushed her from him instead with a quick, angry gesture, and continued
to stare at the sea and the other boat with an air of immeasurable
offence.
The little girl did not seem to mind. She kept pressing herself closely
against him for a minute or two longer, with all the loving,
not-to-be-repulsed, pertinacity of an affectionate kitten. Then, finding
that he took no notice of these attentions, she left him, and trotted
back to her former perch, clambering over the big stones with an agility
born of practice, and having dived into a recess hidden away between a
couple of loose boards, presently found what she was in search of, and,
scrambling back, came close up to him and thrust the object silently
into his hands.
It was only a bit of bread, perfectly stale, dry bread, but then it was
baker’s bread, not griddle, and as such accounted a high delicacy upon
Inishmaan, only to be procured when a boat went to the mainland, and
even then only by the more wealthy of its citizens, such as Con
O’Malley, who had a fancy for such exotic dainties, and found an eternal
diet of potatoes and oatmeal porridge, even if varied by a bit of
cabbage and stringy bacon upon Sundays and saints’ days, apt at times to
pall.
It seemed as if even this treasured offering would not at first
propitiate the angry boy. He even went so far as to make a gesture with
his hand as if upon the point of flinging it away from him into the sea.
Some internal monitor probably made him refrain from this last act of
desperation, for it was getting late, and a long time since he had eaten
anything. He stood still, however, a picture of sullen irresolution: his
good-looking, blunt-featured, thoroughly Irish face lowering, his
under-lip thrust forward, his hands, one of them with the piece of bread
in it, hanging by his side. A sharper voice than Grania’s came, however,
to arouse him.
‘_Monnum oan d’youl! Monnum oan d’youl!_’[3] Con O’Malley shouted
angrily from the curragh. ‘Go to her helm this minute, ma bouchaleen, or
it will be the worse for you! Is it on to the Inishscattery rocks you’d
have us be driving?’
Murdough Blake started; then, with another angry pout, crossed the deck
of the hooker, and went to take up his place beside the helm, upon the
same spot on which Con O’Malley himself had stood a few minutes before.
The big boat was almost immovable; still, the Atlantic is never exactly
a toy to play with, and it was necessary for some hand to be upon the
helm in case of a sudden capricious change of wind, or unlooked-for
squall arising. Little Grania did not go back to her former place upon
the ballast, but, trotting after him, scrambled nimbly on to the
narrow, almost knife-like edge of the hooker, twisting her small
pampootie-clad feet round a rope, so as to get a better purchase and be
able to balance herself.
The afternoon was closing in quickly now. Clouds had gathered thickly to
northward. The naked stone-strewn country between Spiddal and Cashla,
the wild, almost unvisited, wholly roadless region beyond Greatman’s
Bay, were all lost to sight in dull, purplish-brown shadows. Around the
boat the water, however, was still grey and luminous, and the sky above
it clear, but the distance was filled with racing, hurrying streaks of
darker water; while from time to time sudden flurries of wind broke up
the hitherto perfect reflections.
Usually, when these two companions were alone together, an incessant
chattering went on, or, to be accurate, an incessant monologue; for
Murdough Blake already possessed one of the more distinctive gifts of
his countrymen, and his tongue had a power of building up castles in the
air--castles in which he himself, of course, was chief actor, owner,
lord, general person of importance--castles which would sometimes mount
up, tier above tier, higher and higher, tottering dizzily before the
dazzled eyes of his small companion | 191.359358 |
2023-11-16 18:20:15.5380680 | 4,557 | 9 |
Produced by sp1nd, Cathy Maxam, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
PRACTICAL
MIND-READING
By WILLIAM WALKER ATKINSON
A COURSE OF LESSONS ON
THOUGHT-TRANSFERENCE,
TELEPATHY, MENTAL-CURRENTS,
MENTAL RAPPORT, &c.
CONTAINING
Practical Instruction, Exercises, Directions, etc., capable
of being understood, mastered and demonstrated
by any person of average intelligence
PUBLISHED AND SOLD BY
ADVANCED THOUGHT PUBLISHING CO.
168 N. MICHIGAN AVE., CHICAGO, ILL.
LONDON AGENTS:
L.N. FOWLER & CO.,
7 IMPERIAL ARCADE, LUDGATE CIRCUS, E.C.
(Practical Mind Reading)
Copyright 1907, by
THE LYAL BOOK COMPANY
Copyright 1908, by
ADVANCED THOUGHT PUBLISHING CO.
NOTICE--This book is protected by Copyright and simultaneous
publication, in Great Britain, France, Germany, Russia and other
countries. All foreign rights reserved.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
LESSON I--THE NATURE OF MIND READING 5
A plain, practical, scientific explanation of this Vast, Mysterious
Subject, explaining the action of Mind upon Mind, and the Mental
Wireless Telegraphy, according to the latest and best authorities.
LESSON II--THE PROOFS OF MIND READING 13
The result of the latest scientific experiments and investigations
regarding this subject; practical proof and indisputable facts.
LESSON III--CONTACT MIND READING 24
Full instruction regarding the "Nerve Currents" passing from the human
Transmitter to the human Receiver; stated so plainly that any one may
instantly grasp the theory and practice.
LESSON IV--DEVELOPMENT EXERCISES 34
How to develop yourself; how to grow proficient in practice; how to find
Locations; how to find Objects; how to perform the necessary elementary
feats, and thus prepare for Public Work.
LESSON V--SIMPLE DEMONSTRATIONS 49
Public or Parlor Demonstrations. Fourteen Practical Demonstrations are
explained; full directions for performing them are given, so that the
student may reproduce the experiments and demonstrations.
LESSON VI--DIFFICULT DEMONSTRATIONS 66
Explanations and instructions given for their performance. The Banknote
Test; the Blackboard Feats; Drawing Pictures; Telepathic Chess and
Checkers, etc., described, explained, and full instructions given for
their reproduction.
LESSON VII--SENSATIONAL FEATS 79
The Driving Feat; the Combination Lock Feat; the Office Detective Feat;
the Postoffice Box Feat, and many other sensational demonstrations
explained, together with an exposure of "Fake Demonstrations."
LESSON VIII--HIGHER PHENOMENA 85
Demonstrations without contact. Development Directions. Long Distance
Experiments. Automatic Writing. Valuable Suggestions and Advice.
LESSON I.
THE NATURE OF MIND READING.
Only a few years ago the general public was in almost total ignorance of
the great truth of Thought Transference, Thought Projection, Telepathy,
or Mind Reading. It is true that here and there were to be found a few
scientists earnestly investigating and eagerly uncovering the hidden
truths concerning the subjects. But the mass of the people were either
entirely ignorant of the subject, or else were intensely skeptical of
any thing concerning the matter, laughing to scorn the daring thinker
who ventured to express his interest or belief in this great scientific
phenomena.
But how different to-day. On all hands we hear of the wonders of Thought
Transference, or Telepathy, as it is called. Scientific men write and
teach of its fascinating manifestations, and even the general public has
heard much of the new science and believes more or less in it, according
to the degree of intelligence and knowledge concerning the subject
possessed by the individual. Listen to these words from the lips of some
of the greatest scientists of the day.
Prof. William James, the eminent instructor at Harvard University, says:
"When from our present advanced standpoint we look back upon the past
stages of human thought, whether it be scientific thought or theological
thought, we are amazed that a universe which appears to us of so vast
and mysterious a complication should ever have seemed to anyone so
little and plain a thing. Whether it be Descartes' world or Newton's;
whether it be that of the Materialists of the last century, or that of
the Bridgewater treatises of our own, it is always the same to
us--incredibly perspectiveless and short. Even Lyell's, Faraday's,
Mill's and Darwin's consciousness of their respective subjects are
already beginning to put on an infantile and innocent look." These
remarks are doubly significant by reason of their having been made by
Prof. James as the president of the "Society for Psychical Research."
The eminent English scientist, Sir William Crookes, in his address as
president of the Royal Society, at Bristol, England, a few years ago,
said: "Were I now introducing for the first time these inquiries to the
world of science, I should choose a starting point different from that
of old, where we formerly began. It would be well to begin with
telepathy; with the fundamental law, as I believe it to be, that
_thoughts and images may be transferred from one mind to another without
the agency of the recognized organs of sense_--that knowledge may enter
the human mind without being communicated in any hitherto known or
recognized ways. Although the inquiry has elicited important facts with
reference to the mind, it has not yet reached the scientific stage of
certainty which would enable it to be usefully brought before one of our
sections. I will therefore confine myself to pointing out the direction
in which scientific investigation can legitimately advance. If telepathy
take place, we have two physical facts--the physical change in the brain
of A. the suggestor, and the analogous physical change in the brain of
B. the recipient of the suggestion. Between these two physical events
there must exist a train of physical causes. Whenever the connecting
sequence of intermediate causes begins to be revealed, the inquiry will
then come within the range of one of the sections of the British
Association. Such a sequence can only occur through an intervening
medium. All the phenomena of the Universe are presumably in some way
continuous, and it is unscientific to call in the aid of mysterious
agencies when with every fresh advance in knowledge, it is shown that
ether vibrations have powers and attributes abundantly equal to any
demand--even the transmission of thought."
Prof. Crookes then went on to say: "It is supposed by some physiologists
that the essential cells of nerves do not actually touch, but are
separated by a narrow gap which widens in sleep while it narrows almost
to extinction during mental activity. This condition is so singularly
like that of a Branly or Lodge coherer (a device which has led Marconi
to the discovery of wireless telegraphy) as to suggest a further
analogy. The structure of brain and nerve being similar, it is
conceivable that there may be present masses of such nerve coherers in
the brain whose special function it may be to receive impulses brought
from without through the connecting sequence of ether waves of
appropriate order of magnitude. Roentgen has familiarized us with an
order of vibrations of extreme minuteness compared with the smallest
waves of which we have hitherto been acquainted, and of dimensions
comparable with the distances between the centers of the atoms of which
the material universe is built up; and there is no reason for believing
that we have here reached the limit of frequency. It is known that the
action of thought is accompanied by certain molecular movements in the
brain, and here we have physical vibrations capable from their extreme
minuteness of acting direct upon individual molecules, while their
rapidity approaches that of the internal and external movements of the
atoms themselves."
A formidable range of phenomena must be scientifically sifted before we
effectually grasp a faculty so strange, so bewildering, and for ages so
inscrutable, as the direct action of mind on mind. It has been said
that nothing worth the proving can be proved, nor yet disproved. True
this may have been in the past, it is true no longer. The science of our
century has forged weapons of observation and analysis by which the
veriest tyro may profit. Science has trained and fashioned the average
mind into habits of exactitude and disciplined perception, and in so
doing has fortified itself for tasks higher, wider and incomparably more
wonderful than even the wisest among our ancestors imagined. Like the
souls in Plato's myth that follow the chariot of Zeus, it has ascended
to a point of vision far above the earth. It is henceforth open to
science to transcend all we now think we know of matter, and to gain new
glimpses of a profounder scheme of Cosmic Law. In old Egyptian days a
well-known inscription was carved over the portal of the Temple of Isis:
'I am whatever has been, is, or ever will be; and my veil no man hath
yet lifted.' Not thus do modern seekers after truth confront Nature--the
word that stands for the baffling mysteries of the Universe. Steadily,
unflinchingly, we strive to pierce the inmost heart of Nature, from what
she is, to reconstruct what she has been, and to prophesy what she yet
shall be. Veil after veil we have lifted, and her face grows more
beautiful, august and wonderful with every barrier that is withdrawn.
Camille Flamarrion, the eminent French astronomer, is a believer in
Thought Transference and Mind Reading, and has written the following
expression of his convictions on this subject: "We sum up, therefore,
our preceding observations by the conclusion that _one mind can act at a
distance upon another, without the habitual medium of words, or any
other visible means of communication_. It appears to us altogether
unreasonable to reject this conclusion if we accept the facts. There is
nothing unscientific, nothing romantic, in admitting that an idea can
influence the brain from a distance. The action of one human being upon
another, from a distance is a scientific fact; it is as certain as the
existence of Paris, of Napoleon, of Oxygen, or of Sirius." The same
authority has also said "There can be no doubt that our psychical force
creates a movement of the ether, _which transmits itself afar like all
movements of ether and becomes perceptible to brains in harmony with our
own_. The transformation of a psychic action into an ethereal movement,
and the reverse, may be analogous to what takes place on a telephone,
where the receptive plate, which is identical with the plate at the
other end, reconstructs the sonorous movement transmitted, not by means
of sound, but by electricity."
We have quoted at length from this eminent authority to show once and
for all that this great science of MIND-READING is recognized, and
approved of by the highest authorities on Modern Science, and also to
give our students the benefit of the current scientific theories upon
the subject. In this work we have but very little to say about theory,
but shall confine ourselves to facts, and actual instruction.
Science knows and has proven that thoughts may be and have been
transmitted from one mind to another, in some cases over thousands of
miles of space, but it has not as yet solved the mystery of the "Why" of
the subject, and contents itself with explaining the "How." The nearest
approach to a correct theory seems to be the one which compares the mind
with the "wireless telegraph," and which supposes that the vibrations of
thought travel through the ether, just as do the waves of this high
order of electricity. The mind of one person acts like a "transmitter"
of the wireless telegraph, while the mind of the other acts as a
"receiver" of the same set of instruments.
There are undoubtedly vibrations set up in the brain when one thinks,
and there are undoubtedly waves of thought just as there are waves of
electricity. Science informs us that there is an increase of temperature
in the human brain during periods of thought-activity, and also that
there are constant chemical changes in the structure going on when the
brain cells are active. This is akin to the generation of electricity
in a battery, and undoubtedly acts in the same way in producing
vibrations, and transmitting them to the brain of another. Sir William
Crookes, in the address just quoted, points out the direction of the
scientific theories concerning the matter. But, this is all that we
shall have to say about the theory of Mind Reading. We shall now pass on
to the actual practical instruction. The student is asked, however, to
always carry in his mind the fact that Mind travels in waves from one
brain to another just as electricity travels from the Transmitter to the
Receiver. By holding this picture in your mind, you will have the whole
practical theory, in condensed form, right before you, so that you may
be able to act accordingly.
LESSON II.
THE PROOFS OF MIND READING.
As we have said in the previous chapter, the general public is gradually
awakening to the knowledge of the reality of Mental Transference, and it
is scarcely necessary to devote the time and space to a proof of the
reality of the phenomena in these days, although a few years ago a work
on the subject would have had to be composed principally of evidences
and proofs. But, nevertheless, it may be well for us to take a hasty
look at the nature of the proof in this work.
Nearly everyone has had evidences of Mind Reading or Thought
Transference in his or her own life. Nearly every one has had
experiences of being in a person's company when one of the two would
make a remark and the other, somewhat startled, would exclaim, "Why,
that's just what I was going to say," or words to that effect. Nearly
every one has had experiences of knowing what a second person was going
to say before the person spoke. And, likewise common is the experience
of thinking of a person a few moments before the person came into sight.
Many of us have suddenly found ourselves thinking of a person who had
been out of our minds for months, or years, when all of a sudden the
person himself would appear. These instances are so common as to be
generally recognized, without question. These occurrences have given
rise to the two common "sayings," viz., "Speak of the devil and his imps
appear," or "Speak of angels and you hear the rustle of their wings."
Mark Twain, in an article printed several years ago, spoke of a plan
that he had frequently practiced, i.e., that of writing a letter to a
person upon some subject, then addressing the envelope and inserting the
letter, and then tearing the whole thing into pieces instead of sending
it. He stated that in a large percentage of such cases he would receive
within a short time a letter from the person to whom the destroyed
letter had been addressed, answering the questions asked, or else
speaking along the same lines as those of the destroyed letter. We have
known of this experiment being tried on people thousands of miles away
from the writer, and also in cases in which the other person had not
been heard of for many years. There is a field open for experiment along
these lines which some of our students might investigate with profit and
satisfaction.
Perhaps the best available evidence of Mind Reading at the disposal of
the public to-day is that found in the records of the English Society
for Psychical Research. The experiments of the members of this Society
and other investigators have resulted in the piling up of a mass of
facts more than sufficient to fully establish the correctness of the
theory of Mind Reading. Series of carefully managed experiments have
been conducted, the results of which have conclusively proven that the
thought-waves set into motion by the mind of one person may be
consciously received by the mind of another. We shall quote here from
the reports of those investigators, in order to show you the important
results that have been obtained, and to set at rest forever any lurking
doubts as to the reality of the phenomena which may still find lodgment
in your mind. Remember, please, that these committees were composed of
some of the leading scientific authorities of England--men whose
standing and reliability, as well as whose judgment, was beyond
question. These cases form a part of the scientific records of the
English Society.
THE CREERY EXPERIMENTS.
One of the interesting series of experiments conducted by members of the
English Society was that of the family of the Rev. A.M. Creery, of
Derbyshire, England. This investigation was made upon hearing the report
of the Rev. Mr. Creery regarding a number of experiments he had
conducted with his four children. He reported that he had begun by
practicing a variation of what is generally known as the "willing game",
in which one of the party leaves the room, and the company selects some
object to be hidden, after which the person is recalled to the room when
the company concentrates its mind upon the hidden object, and the seeker
eventually finds it by means of Mind Reading. The reverend gentleman
said in his report to the Society:
"We began by selecting the simplest objects in the room; then chose
names of towns, people, dates, cards out of a pack, lines from different
poems, etc., any thing or series of ideas that those present could keep
before the mind steadily. The children seldom made a mistake. I have
seen seventeen cards chosen by myself, named right in succession without
any mistake. We soon found that a great deal depended upon the
steadiness with which the ideas were kept before the minds of the
thinkers, and upon the energy with which they willed the ideas to pass.
I may say that this faculty is not confined to the members of one
family; it is much more general than we imagine. To verify this
conclusion I invited two of a neighbor's children to join us in our
experiment, and very excellent results we secured from them."
The Society then began a series of careful investigations extending over
a period of one year. The utmost care was taken to obviate the chance
of fraud, collusion, mistakes, or outside influences. The experiments
were conducted partly in Mr. Creery's house and partly in rooms selected
by the members of the investigating committee. Having selected at random
one of the children, the child would be taken from the room and
accompanied by a member of the committee would wait out of sight or
hearing of the room. The remainder of the committee would then select a
card from a pack, or else write down a name or number which occurred to
them at the moment. The following verbatim report of what followed will
give you an idea of the results generally obtained. The report goes on
to say:
"On re-entering the room the little girl would usually stand with her
face to the wall, placed thus by us. But sometimes she would stand with
her eyes directed toward the ground for a period of silence varying from
a few seconds to a minute, till she called out to us some number, card
or what it might be." The report states that in the case of giving the
names of objects chosen, the child scored six cases out of fourteen. In
the case of naming of small objects held in the hands of members of the
committee, she scored _five out of six_. In the case of naming cards she
scored six out of thirteen. In the case of stating fictitious names
chosen by the committee she scored, at a first trial, five out of ten.
One of the experiments is reported as follows:
"One of the children was sent into an adjoining room, the door of which
was closed. The committee then thought of some object in the house and
wrote the name down on paper. The strictest silence was observed. We
then all silently thought of the name of the thing selected. In a few
seconds the door of the adjoining room opened, and the child would
appear _generally with the object selected_. No one was allowed to leave
the room after the object had been fixed upon; no communication with the
child was conceivable, as her place was often changed. Further, the only
instructions given to the child were to fetch some object in the house
that we would fix upon and would keep in mind to the exclusion of all
other ideas. In this way we wrote down, | 191.558108 |
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TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
Bold text is denoted by =equal signs=.
Superscripts are denoted by ^ and have not been expanded;
for example 'I am informed y^t the Ma^{rs} of'.
Obvious typographical and punctuation errors have been corrected
after careful comparison with other occurrences within the text and
consultation of external sources.
More detail can be found at the end of the book.
CAMBRIDGE NAVAL AND MILITARY SERIES
GENERAL EDITORS
SIR JULIAN S. CORBETT, LL.M., F.S.A.
H. J. EDWARDS, C.B., C.B.E., M.A.
BRITISH FLAGS
CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS
C. F. CLAY, MANAGER
LONDON: FETTER LANE, E.C. 4
NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN CO.
BOMBAY }
CALCUTTA } MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD.
MADRAS }
TORONTO: THE MACMILLAN CO. OF
CANADA, LTD.
TOKYO: MARUZEN-KABUSHIKI-KAISHA
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
[Illustration: _A Ship of Henry VIII, circa 1545_]
BRITISH FLAGS
THEIR EARLY HISTORY, AND THEIR DEVELOPMENT
AT SEA; WITH AN ACCOUNT OF THE ORIGIN OF
THE FLAG AS A NATIONAL DEVICE
BY
W. G. PERRIN
ADMIRALTY LIBRARIAN
SECRETARY OF THE NAVY RECORDS SOCIETY
FELLOW OF THE ROYAL HISTORICAL SOCIETY
ILLUSTRATED IN COLOUR
BY
HERBERT S. VAUGHAN
CHEVALIER OF THE LEGION
OF HONOUR
CAMBRIDGE
AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS
1922
PREFACE
It might have been expected that the attempt to trace to their origin
in the past the institutions and customs in common use upon the sea
would from an early date occupy the attention of a seafaring people,
but for some obscure reason the British nation has always been
indifferent to the history of its activities upon that element on which
its greatness was founded, and to which it has become more and more
dependent for its daily bread and its very existence. To those who
are alive to this fact it will hardly come as a surprise, therefore,
to learn that the first sustained attempt at a detailed investigation
into the history of the flag at sea was made under the patronage
of the German Admiralty by a German Admiral. Vice-Admiral Siegel's
_Die Flagge_, published in 1912, was the first book to deal with the
development of the flag at sea in a scientific spirit, and although
the earlier chapters contain some mistakes due to his employment of
translations of early works instead of original texts, and the accounts
of the British flags in the later chapters suffer because he had no
access to original records, it is a worthy piece of work.
The present book is an attempt to remove the reproach to the British
nation which this implies. Its plan is somewhat different from that
of the work referred to above. Instead of dealing with the flags of
all maritime nations of the world--a task that (if it was to be more
than a mere copying or compilation) would entail much work in foreign
archives--it seemed more profitable to concentrate upon the history
of British Naval Flags, for researches made so far back as 1908 had
taught me how much that is inaccurate about their history had received
acceptance. But first it seemed necessary to devote some time and
space to the inquiry into the origin of the flag and how it became the
honoured symbol of nationality that it now is, and for this a general
view had to be taken in order that a firm foundation might be laid for
the early history of our own flags.
In the first chapter the ground worked over by Admiral Siegel has been
solidified by examination of the original authorities, with the result
that a few errors have been detected and some new facts brought to
light, and the investigation has also been extended further; the most
important of the additions being those relating to the standards in
the Phoenician and Greek ships of war, forms of the early "standard"
and "gonfanon," and the Genoese Standard of St George and the Dragon.
For the deduction that the use of a national flag arose in the Italian
city states I take the entire responsibility, well aware that further
investigations may possibly bring to light fresh facts which will
overthrow it.
The chapter on early English, Scottish and Irish flags serves as an
introduction to the history of our national flag, which was invented
for the use of the mercantile marine, though it was very soon
appropriated by the Royal Navy for its sole use. It is very improbable
that further research will enable the gap left by the unfortunate
destruction of the early 17th century records to be filled, so that the
story of the Union Flag may be taken as being substantially complete,
but there is still room for further work upon the history of its
component crosses. It will be seen that I have been unable to find any
solid ground for the common belief that the cross of St George was
introduced as the national emblem of England by Richard I, and am of
opinion that it did not begin to attain that position until the first
years of the reign of Edward I.
The chapters on the flags used to indicate distinctions of command and
service at sea give an account of the use (now obsolete) of the Royal
Standard at sea by naval commanders-in-chief; of the history of the
Admiralty anchor-flag; and of the steps by which the present Admirals'
flags were evolved. The history of the ensigns from their first
adoption at sea about the end of Elizabeth's reign has been set out in
some detail, but further research may bring to light more details of
interest in the years between 1574 and 1653. The causes which led to
the adoption of a red ensign as the most important British ensign and
the steps which led to its appropriation to the Mercantile Marine, and
not the Royal Navy, are stated as far as the records availed, though
here again further research is needed in the late Elizabethan and
early Stuart periods among records that may still survive in private
ownership. These chapters may, perhaps, | 191.658813 |
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THE
CALVINISTIC DOCTRINE
OF
PREDESTINATION
EXAMINED AND REFUTED:
BEING THE SUBSTANCE OF
A SERIES OF DISCOURSES
Delivered in St. George's M. E. Church, Philadelphia,
BY
FRANCIS HODGSON, D. D.
PHILADELPHIA:
HIGGINS AND PERKINPINE.
No. 40 NORTH FOURTH STREET,
1855.
Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1854, by
FRANCIS HODGSON,
in the Office of the Clerk of the District Court of the United
States in and for the Eastern District | 191.658946 |
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MYSTERY AND CONFIDENCE:
_A TALE._
BY ELIZABETH PINCHARD.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR HENRY COLBURN,
PUBLIC LIBRARY, CONDUIT-STREET, HANOVER-SQUARE,
AND SOLD BY GEORGE GOLDIE, EDINBURGH,
AND JOHN CUMMING, DUBLIN.
1814.
B. CLARKE, Printer, Well-Street, London.
ADVERTISEMENT.
It having been suggested to the Author of the following Tale, that its
principal event may perhaps be thought somewhat too romantic and
improbable, she begs to observe, that it is founded upon a fact well
known, and not so long past as not to be in the recollection of many
persons now alive, and particularly those in the higher circles.
MYSTERY
AND
CONFIDENCE.
CHAP. I.
Due westward, fronting to the green,
A rural portico was seen,
Where Ellen's hand had taught to twine
The ivy and Idean vine;
The clematis, the favor'd flow'r,
Which boasts the name of virgin's bow'r.
LADY OF THE LAKE.
At the foot of one of the most romantic mountains in North Wales, about
a mile from the coast of Carnarvonshire, stands the little village of
Llanwyllan: there, amongst trees which seemed coeval with the dwelling,
was a very large farm-house, the residence of Farmer Powis. Its high
chimneys, and neatly white-washed walls, rendered it a pleasing object
to those who travelled on the high-road, about a mile off, which led to
the next market-town, if high-road that might be called which merely
served to facilitate the journies of the neighbouring farmers' wives to
market and back again, or those of the curate, who served the churches
in the immediate vicinity. The hand of native taste had removed a few
branches from the immense trees which shaded this rural dwelling, and by
that means afforded to the inhabitants a view of the road, the spire of
the village church, and two or three natural rills of water, which,
falling from the adjacent hills, increased the beauty of the scene. At
this dwelling a traveller arrived on the evening of a day which had been
intensely hot, in the summer of 18--: the dust | 191.659915 |
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by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
HISTORIC HIGHWAYS OF AMERICA
VOLUME 15
[Illustration: General Roy Stone
(_Father of the good-roads movement in the United States_)]
HISTORIC HIGHWAYS OF AMERICA
VOLUME 15
The Future of Road-making in America
A Symposium
BY
ARCHER BUTLER HULBERT
and others
_With Illustrations_
[Illustration]
THE ARTHUR H. CLARK COMPANY
CLEVELAND, OHIO
1905
COPYRIGHT, 1905
BY
THE ARTHUR H. CLARK COMPANY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
CONTENTS
PAGE
PREFACE 11
I. THE FUTURE OF ROAD-MAKING IN AMERICA 15
II. GOVERNMENT COOPERATION IN OBJECT-LESSON ROAD WORK 67
III. GOOD ROADS FOR FARMERS 81
IV. THE SELECTION OF MATERIALS FOR MACADAM ROADS 170
V. STONE ROADS IN NEW JERSEY 190
ILLUSTRATIONS
I. PORTRAIT OF GENERAL ROY STONE
(father of the good-roads movement
in the United States) _Frontispiece_
II. A GOOD-ROADS TRAIN 59
III. SAMPLE STEEL TRACK FOR COMMON ROADS
(showing portrait of Hon. Martin Dodge) 66
IV. TYPICAL MACADAM ROAD NEAR BRYN MAWR, PENNSYLVANIA 83
V. A STUDY IN GRADING 89
VI. SAND CLAY ROAD IN RICHLAND COUNTY, SOUTH CAROLINA 115
VII. GRAVEL ROAD NEAR SOLDIERS' HOME, DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA 127
VIII. OYSTER-SHELL OBJECT-LESSON ROAD 137
IX. EARTH AND MACADAM ROADS 168
PREFACE
The present volume on the Future of Road-making in America presents
representative opinions, from laymen and specialists, on the subject of
the road question as it stands today.
After the | 192.162141 |
Subsets and Splits