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Produced by David T. Jones, Mardi Desjardins and the online
Distributed Proofreaders Canada team at
http://www.pgdpcanada.net
CAKES AND ALE
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_
THE FLOWING BOWL
A TREATISE ON DRINKS OF ALL KINDS
AND OF ALL PERIODS, INTERSPERSED
WITH SUNDRY ANECDOTES AND
REMINISCENCES
BY
EDWARD SPENCER
('NATHANIEL GUBBINS')
Author of "Cakes and Ale," etc.
_Crown 8vo., cloth gilt, 2/6 net._
SECOND EDITION.
With cover design by the late PHIL MAY.
"The Flowing Bowl" overflows with good
cheer. In the happy style that enlivens its
companion volume, "Cakes and Ale," the
author gives a history of drinks and their
use, interspersed with innumerable recipes
for drinks new and old, dug out of records
of ancient days, or set down anew.
LONDON: STANLEY PAUL & CO.
31, Essex Street, Strand, W.C.
CAKES & ALE
A DISSERTATION ON BANQUETS
INTERSPERSED WITH VARIOUS RECIPES,
MORE OR LESS ORIGINAL, AND
ANECDOTES, MAINLY VERACIOUS
BY
EDWARD SPENCER
('NATHANIEL GUBBINS')
AUTHOR OF "THE FLOWING BOWL," ETC.
_FOURTH EDITION_
STANLEY PAUL & CO.
31, ESSEX STREET, STRAND, W.C.
| 232.65112 | 1,100 |
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Produced by Stephen Hope, Delphine Lettau, Clive Pickton,
Julia Neufeld and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: HOP-PICKING. (_See page 274._)]
THE
LITTLE GLEANER.
A
Monthly Magazine for the Young.
VOL. X., NEW SERIES.
1888.
LONDON:
HOULSTON AND SONS, 7, PATERNOSTER BUILDINGS, E.C.;
AND E. WILMSHURST, BOOKSELLER, BLACKHEATH, S.E.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY W. H. AND L. COLLINGRIDGE,
148 AND 149, ALDERSGATE STREET, E.C.
[Illustration: _Engraved by S. W. Partridge & Co._
"WELL, THEN, COME TO THE CANAL." (_See page 4._)]
THE EDITOR'S NEW YEAR'S ADDRESS TO HIS YOUNG FRIENDS.
Dear young friends,--We wish you each and all a very Happy New Year,
and, above all things else, that it may prove to many of you a year of
grace--that is, we pray that the rich saving grace of God may be put in
the hearts of many of our readers who hitherto have not called upon Him
for mercy.
How many who began the year 1887 in health are now laid in the grave!
Some, no doubt, who read this address will be thinking of others who
read last year's, and who were interested in THE LITTLE GLEANER,
watching for its appearance month by month, but who now have passed
away, and will no more read it, nor walk and talk with them again.
The other month, a wrapper in which a GLEANER had been enclosed by some
friend to a person in Ireland was sent to us bearing this solemn mark,
"_Dead_." This told us that the person to whom the GLEANER had been sent
had become the prey of death, and would never read another.
Oh, how solemn that word looked and sounded to us--"_dead_!" and the
thought rushed into our mind, "How did he die? Where is he? If he died
in Christ, it is well with him, for all who thus die are eternally at
rest, free from sin, care, pain, and sorrow. Yea, they are 'for ever
with the Lord.'"
Dear reader, how is it with you? You are spared, while some have been
called from time into eternity. We hope you feel this to be a mercy, and
we now ask, Have you ever been led to the throne of grace, concerned
about sin and salvation? Has the cry ever gone from your heart to the
Lord, "God be merciful to me a sinner"? If not, oh, that, as this year
begins to pass away, the Spirit may cause your heart to feel the guilt
of your sin, and lead you, a poor, burdened, contrite one, to the feet
of Him who died on the cross, and whose blood cleanses those who are
thus brought unto Him from all sin. Then you shall prove that He is
"mighty to save"--yea, "able to save all those to the uttermost that
come unto God by Him."
We believe that many who will read these words have proved the ability
of Christ Jesus to save, and that others are seeking Him, and longing to
know that their sins are forgiven. We rejoice over them, and pray that
many more may be brought to walk the same way, for it is the way from
sin, death, and hell, and the way to Christ, peace, and heaven. All who
walk therein belong to the flock of the Good Shepherd; and we can say to
each one who has thus fled to Him for refuge, "He careth for you." His
love is stronger than death, and knows no change, for He is "the same
yesterday, and to-day, and for ever."
Dear young friends, there is a reality in the religion of Jesus, and we
pray that, in this truth-despising day, you may feel the power of grace,
and, | 232.651136 | 1,101 |
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E-text prepared by sp1nd and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
(http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
Internet Archive (http://archive.org)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations,
some of which are in color.
See 41497-h.htm or 41497-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/41497/41497-h/41497-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/41497/41497-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
http://archive.org/details/reynolds00bensuoft
Masterpieces in Colour
Edited by--T. Leman Hare
REYNOLDS
1723-1792
* * * * *
IN THE SAME SERIES
ARTIST. AUTHOR.
VELAZQUEZ. S. L. BENSUSAN.
REYNOLDS. S. L. BENSUSAN.
TURNER. C. LEWIS HIND.
ROMNEY. C. LEWIS HIND.
GREUZE. ALYS EYRE MACKLIN.
BOTTICELLI. HENRY B. BINNS.
ROSSETTI. LUCIEN PISSARRO.
BELLINI. GEORGE HAY.
FRA ANGELICO. JAMES MASON.
REMBRANDT. JOSEF ISRAELS.
LEIGHTON. A. LYS BALDRY.
RAPHAEL. PAUL G. KONODY.
HOLMAN HUNT. MARY E. COLERIDGE.
TITIAN. S. L. BENSUSAN.
MILLAIS. A. LYS BALDRY.
CARLO DOLCI. GEORGE HAY.
GAINSBOROUGH. MAX ROTHSCHILD.
TINTORETTO. S. L. BENSUSAN.
LUINI. JAMES MASON.
FRANZ HALS. EDGCUMBE STALEY.
VAN DYCK. PERCY M. TURNER.
LEONARDO DA VINCI. M. W. BROCKWELL.
RUBENS. S. L. BENSUSAN.
WHISTLER. T. MARTIN WOOD.
HOLBEIN. S. L. BENSUSAN.
BURNE-JONES. A. LYS BALDRY.
VIGEE LE BRUN. C. HALDANE MACFALL.
CHARDIN. PAUL G. KONODY.
FRAGONARD. C. HALDANE MACFALL.
MEMLINC. W. H. J. & J. C. WEALE.
CONSTABLE. C. LEWIS HIND.
RAEBURN. JAMES L. CAW.
JOHN S. SARGENT. T. MARTIN WOOD.
_Others in Preparation._
* * * * *
[Illustration: PLATE I.--MRS. HOARE AND CHILD. In the Wallace
Collection, London. (Frontispiece)
This picture is perhaps one of Sir Joshua Reynolds' most beautiful
compositions. The flesh painting is very fine and the handling of the
dress remarkably free, its delicate colouring being in beautiful harmony
with the surroundings. The painter gave us a portrait of the same child
when he was a boy; it is now in the collection of Baron Albert de
Rothschild. Sir Joshua made for this picture a sketch in oils which
hangs in the Gallery at Bridgewater House.]
REYNOLDS
by
S. L. BENSUSAN
Illustrated with Eight Reproductions in Colour
[Illustration]
London: T. C. & E. C. Jack
New York: Frederick A. Stokes Co.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Plate
I. Mrs. Hoare and Child Frontispiece
In the Wallace Collection, London
Page
II. Nelly O'Brien 14
In the Wallace Collection, London
III. The Three Graces 24
In the National Gallery, London
IV. The Age of Innocence 34
In the National Gallery, London
V. Lord Heathfield 40
In the National Gallery, London
VI. Portrait of Two Gentlemen 50
In the National Gallery, London
VII. Portrait of Lady and Child 60
In the National Gallery, London
VIII. Duchess of Devonshire and Child 70
At Chatsworth House, Derbyshire
[Illustration]
There are certain men born to every generation who approach life with
the complete assurance of distinction in any work that they may have
chosen for the exercise of their gifts. They are strangers to doubt and
uncertainty; they disarm Fortune by claiming freely as a right what she
is accustomed to grant grudgingly as a favour--"they ride Life's lists
as a knight might ride." One feels that these fortunate few are destined
for success just as the majority are doomed to failure, that nothing
save a long series of mishaps can keep them from the goal of their
ambition. They have the temperament that makes achievement easy, and a
steadfast determination that the demons of mischance cannot resist for
long.
When one turns to consider English art in the eighteenth century, the
name of Joshua Reynolds stands out in a brighter light than any
other. One would not say that he was the greatest painter of his
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Produced by Dennis McCarthy, Atlanta, Georgia
and Tad Book, student, Pontifical North American College, Rome.
THE HOLY BIBLE
Translated from the Latin Vulgate
Diligently Compared with the Hebrew, Greek,
and Other Editions in Divers Languages
THE OLD TESTAMENT
First Published by the English College at Douay
A.D. 1609 & 1610
and
THE NEW TESTAMENT
First Published by the English College at Rheims
A.D. 1582
With Annotations
The Whole Revised and Diligently Compared with
the Latin Vulgate by Bishop Richard Challoner
A.D. 1749-1752
CREDITS
Without the assistance of many individuals and groups, this text of the
Douay-Rheims Version of the Holy Bible would not be available for the
Project Gutenberg collection. Our most grateful and sincere thanks goes
to those at 'Catholic Software' who have provided the electronic plain
texts of the 73 books of the Bible. 'Catholic Software' also produces a
Douay Bible program on CD-ROM that features a fully searchable Douay-
Rheims Bible, footnotes, Latin text and dictionary, topical index, maps,
Biblical art gallery, and other features. For more information of this
and many other products contact:
Catholic Software
Box 1914
Murray, KY 42071
(502) 753-8198
http://www.catholicity.com/market/CSoftware/
[email protected]
Additional production assistance has been provided by volunteers from
the Atlanta Council of the Knights of Columbus. Tad Book compiled and
reformatted the texts to Project Gutenberg standards. Dennis McCarthy
assisted Mr. Book and transcribed selections from the first editions
included as appendices.
HISTORY
This e-text comes from multiple editions of Challoner's revised Douay-
Rheims Version of the Holy Bible. In 1568 English exiles, many from
Oxford, established the English College of Douay (Douai/Doway), Flanders,
under William (later Cardinal) Allen. In October, 1578, Gregory Martin
began the work of preparing an English translation of the Bible for
Catholic readers, the first such translation into Modern English.
Assisting were William Allen, Richard Bristow, Thomas Worthington, and
William Reynolds who revised, criticized, and corrected Dr. Martin's
work. The college published the New Testament at Rheims (Reims/Rhemes),
France, in 1582 through John Fogny with a preface and explanatory notes,
authored chiefly by Bristol, Allen, and Worthington. Later the Old
Testament was published at Douay in two parts (1609 and 1610) by Laurence
Kellam through the efforts of Dr. Worthington, then superior of the
seminary. The translation had been prepared before the appearance of the
New Testament, but the publication was delayed due to financial
difficulties. The religious and scholarly adherence to the Latin Vulgate
text led to the less elegant and idiomatic words and phrases often found
in the translation. In some instances where no English word conveyed the
full meaning of the Latin, a Latin word was Anglicized and its meaning
defined in a glossary. Although ridiculed by critics, many of these
words later found common usage in the English language. Spellings of
proper names and the numbering of the Psalms are adopted from the Latin
Vulgate.
In 1749 Dr. Richard Challoner began a major revision of the Douay and
Rheims texts, the spellings and phrasing of which had become increasingly
archaic in the almost two centuries since the translations were first
produced. He modernized the diction and introduced a more fluid style,
while faithfully maintaining the accuracy of Dr. Martin's texts. This
revision became the 'de facto' standard text for English speaking
Catholics until the twentieth century. It is still highly regarded by
many for its style, although it is now rarely used for liturgical
purposes. The notes included in this electronic edition are generally
attributed to Bishop Challoner.
The 1610 printing of the second tome of the Old Testament includes an
appendix containing the non-canonical books 'Prayer of Manasses,' 'Third
Booke of Esdras,' and 'Fourth Booke of Esdras.' While not part of
Challoner's revision, the 1610 texts are placed in the appendices of
this e-text. Also included are the original texts of two short books,
'The Prophecie of Abdias' and 'The Catholike Epistle of Iude the
Apostle,' to give the reader a sense of the language of the first
editions in comparison to the Challoner revision. Further background on
the Douay-Rheims version may be found in a selection from the preface to
the 1582 edition and the original glossary included in the appendices.
CONTENTS
The Old Testament
Book of Genesis
Book of Exodus
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Transcribed from the November 1914 Chas. J. Thynne edition by David
Price, email [email protected]
ROME, TURKEY
AND
JERUSALEM.
BY THE REV. E. HOARE,
SOMETIME VICAR OF TRINITY, TUNBRIDGE WELLS,
AND HONORARY CANON OF CANTERBURY.
* * * * *
_NEW EDITION_.
(_Fourth Impression_.)
* * * * *
EDITED BY THE
REV. J. H. TOWNSEND, D.D.,
LATE VICAR OF ST. MARK’S, TUNBRIDGE WELLS, AUTHOR OF
“EDWARD HOARE, M.A., A RECORD OF HIS LIFE.” &c., &c.
* * * * *
* * * * *
LONDON:
CHAS. J. THYNNE,
GREAT QUEEN STREET, KINGSWAY, W.C.
_November_, _1914_.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
ROME:—
THE OUTLINE 1
THE CONSUMPTION 18
TURKEY:—
THE EUPHRATES 36
THE FROGS 54
THE ADVENT 69
JERUSALEM 89
* * * * *
NEW EDITION.
First Impression December, 1912.
Second,, April, 1913.
Third,, June, 1913.
Fourth „ November, 1914.
FOREWORD TO FOURTH IMPRESSION.
Those of us who have been watching political events | 232.845736 | 1,104 |
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Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org
(Images generously made available by the Hathi Trust.)
HUMAN
ALL-TOO-HUMAN
_A BOOK FOR FREE SPIRITS_
PART I
By
FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE
TRANSLATED BY
HELEN ZIMMERN
WITH INTRODUCTION BY
J. M. KENNEDY
The Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche
The First Complete and Authorised English Translation
Edited by Dr Oscar Levy
Volume Six
T.N. FOULIS
13 & 15 FREDERICK STREET
EDINBURGH: AND LONDON
1909
CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTION
AUTHOR'S PREFACE
FIRST DIVISION: FIRST AND LAST THINGS
SECOND DIVISION: THE HISTORY OF THE MORAL
SENTIMENT
THIRD DIVISION: THE RELIGIOUS LIFE
FOURTH DIVISION: CONCERNING THE SOUL OF
ARTISTS AND AUTHORS
FIFTH DIVISION: THE SIGNS OF HIGHER AND
LOWER CULTURE
SIXTH DIVISION: MAN IN SOCIETY
SEVENTH DIVISION: WIFE AND CHILD
EIGHTH DIVISION: A GLANCE AT THE STATE
AN EPODE--AMONG FRIENDS
INTRODUCTION.
Nietzsche's essay, _Richard Wagner in Bayreuth,_ appeared in 1876,
and his next publication was his present work, which was issued in
1878. A comparison of the books will show that the two years of
meditation intervening had brought about a great change in Nietzsche's
views, his style of expressing them, and the form in which they
were cast. The Dionysian, overflowing with life, gives way to an
Apollonian thinker with a touch of pessimism. The long essay form is
abandoned, and instead we have a series of aphorisms, some tinged with
melancholy, others with satire, several, especially towards the end,
with Nietzschian wit at its best, and a few at the beginning so very
abstruse as to require careful study.
Since the Bayreuth festivals of 1876, Nietzsche had gradually come to
see Wagner as he really was. The ideal musician that Nietzsche had
pictured in his own mind turned out to be nothing more than a rather
dilettante philosopher, an opportunistic decadent with a suspicious
tendency towards Christianity. The young philosopher thereupon
proceeded to shake off the influence which the musician had exercised
upon him. He was successful in doing so, but not without a struggle,
just as he had formerly shaken off the influence of Schopenhauer.
Hence he writes in his autobiography:[1] "_Human, all-too-Human,_ is
the monument of a crisis. It is entitled: 'A book for _free_ spirits,'
and almost every line in it represents a victory--in its pages I freed
myself from everything foreign to my real nature. Idealism is foreign
to me: the title says, 'Where _you_ see ideal things, I see things
which are only--human alas! all-too-human!' I know man _better_--the
term 'free spirit' must here be understood in no other sense than this:
a _freed_ man, who has once more taken possession of himself."
The form of this book will be better understood when it is remembered
that at this period Nietzsche was beginning to suffer from stomach
trouble and headaches. As a cure for his complaints, he spent his time
in travel when he could get a few weeks' respite from his duties at
Basel University; and it was in the course of his solitary walks and
hill-climbing tours that the majority of these thoughts occurred to
him and were jotted down there and then. A few of them, however, date
further back, as he tells us in the preface to the second part of this
work. Many of them, he says, occupied his mind even before he published
his first book, _The Birth of Tragedy_ and several others, as we learn
from his notebooks and posthumous writings, date from the period of the
_Thoughts out of Season._
It must be clearly understood, however, that Nietzsche's disease must
not be looked upon in the same way as that of an ordinary man. People
are inclined to regard a sick man as rancorous; but any one who rights
with and conquers his disease, and even exploits it, as Nietzsche did,
benefits thereby to an extraordinary degree. In the first place, he has
passed through several stages of human psychology with which a healthy
man is entirely unacquainted; _e.g._ he has learnt by introspection
the spiteful and revengeful spirit of the sick man and his religion.
Secondly, in his moments of freedom from pain and gloom his thoughts
will be all the more brilliant.
In support of this last statement, one instance may be selected out of
hundreds that could be adduced. Heinrich Heine spent the greater part
of his life in exile from his native country, tortured by headaches,
and finally dying in a foreign land as the result of a spinal disease.
His splendid works were composed in his moments of respite from
illness, and during the last years of his life, when his health was
at its worst, he gave to the world his famous _Romancero._ We would
likewise do well to recollect Goethe's saying:
Zart Gedicht, wie Regenbogen,
Wird nur auf dunkelm Grund gezogen.[2]
Thus neither the form of this book--so startling at first to those who
have been brought up in the traditions of our own school--nor the
treat all men as equals, and proclaim the establishment of equal rights:
so far a socialistic mode of thought which is based on
_justice_ is possible; but, as has been said, only within
the ranks of the governing classes, which in this case
_practises_ justice with sacrifices and abnegations. On
the other hand, to _demand_ equality of rights, as do the
Socialists of the subject caste, is by no means the outcome
of justice, but of covetousness. If you expose bloody pieces
of flesh to a beast, and then withdraw them again until
it finally begins to roar, do you think that the roaring
implies justice?
Theologians on the other hand, as may be expected, will find no such
ready help in their difficulties from Nietzsche. They must, on the
contrary, be on their guard against so alert an adversary--a duty
which they are apparently not going to shirk; for theologians are
amongst the most ardent students of Nietzsche in this country. Their
attention may therefore be drawn to aphorism 630 of this book, dealing
with convictions and their origin, which will no doubt be successfully
refuted by the defenders of the true faith. In fact, there is not a
single paragraph in the book that does not deserve careful study by all
serious thinkers.
On the whole, however, this is a calm book, and those who are
accustomed to Nietzsche the out-spoken Immoralist, may be somewhat
astonished at the calm tone of the present volume. The explanation is
that Nietzsche was now just beginning to walk on his own philosophical
path. His life-long aim, the uplifting of the type man, was still in
view, but the way leading towards it was once more uncertain. Hence the
peculiarly calm, even melancholic, and what Nietzsche himself would
call Apollonian, tinge of many of these aphorisms, so different from
the style of his earlier and later writings. For this very reason,
however, the book may appeal all the more to English readers, who are
of course more Apollonian than Dionysian. Nietzsche is feeling his way,
and these aphorisms represent his first steps. As such--besides having
a high intrinsic value of themselves--they are enormous aids to the
study of his character and temperament.
J. M. KENNEDY.
[Footnote 1: _Ecce <DW25>,_ p. 75.]
[Footnote 2: "Tender poetry, like rainbows, can appear only on a dark
and sombre background."--J.M.K.]
PREFACE
1.
I have been told frequently, and always with great surprise, that there
is something common and distinctive in all my writings, from the _Birth
of Tragedy_ to the latest published _Prelude to a Philosophy of the
Future._ They all contain, I have been told, snares and nets for unwary
birds, and an almost perpetual unconscious demand for the inversion
of customary valuations and valued customs. What? _Everything_
only--human-all-too-human? People lay down my writings with this sigh,
not without a certain dread and distrust of morality itself, indeed
almost tempted and encouraged to become advocates of the _worst_
things: as being perhaps only the _best_ disparaged? My writings have
been called a school of suspicion and especially of disdain, more
happily, also, a school of courage and even of audacity. Indeed, I
myself do not think that any one has ever looked at the world with such
a profound suspicion; and not only as occasional Devil's Advocate, but
equally also, to speak theologically, as enemy and impeacher of God;
and he who realises something of the consequences involved, in every
profound suspicion, something of the chills and anxieties of loneliness
to which every uncompromising _difference of outlook_ condemns him
who is affected therewith, will also understand how often I sought
shelter in some kind of reverence or hostility, or scientificality
or levity or stupidity, in order to recover from myself, and, as it
were, to obtain temporary self-forgetfulness; also why, when I did not
find what I _needed,_ I was obliged to manufacture it, to counterfeit
and to imagine it in a suitable manner (and what else have poets ever
done? And for what purpose has all the art in the world existed?).
What I always required most, however, for my cure and self-recovery,
was the belief that I was _not_ isolated in such circumstances, that I
did not _see_ in an isolated manner--a magic suspicion of relationship
and similarity to others in outlook and desire, a repose in the
confidence of friendship, a blindness in both parties without suspicion
or note of interrogation, an enjoyment of foregrounds, and surfaces
of the near and the nearest, of all that has colour, epidermis, and
outside appearance. Perhaps I might be reproached in this respect
for much "art" and fine false coinage; for instance, for voluntarily
and knowingly shutting my eyes to Schopenhauer's blind will to
morality at a time when I had become sufficiently clear-sighted about
morality; also for deceiving myself about Richard Wagner's incurable
romanticism, as if it were a beginning and not an end; also about
the Greeks, also about the Germans and their future--and there would
still probably be quite a long list of such alsos? Supposing however,
that this were all true and that I were reproached with good reason,
what do _you_ know, what _could_ you know as to how much artifice of
self-preservation, how much rationality and higher protection there is
in such self-deception,--and how much falseness I still _require_ in
order to allow myself again and again the luxury of _my_ sincerity?
... In short, I still live; and life, in spite of ourselves, is not
devised by morality; it _demands_ illusion, it _lives_ by illusion
... but----There! I am already beginning again and doing what I have
always done, old immoralist and bird-catcher that I am,--I am talking
un-morally, ultra-morally, "beyond good and evil"?...
2.
Thus then, when I found it necessary, I _invented_ once on a time the
"free spirits," to whom this discouragingly encouraging book with
the title _Human, all-too-Human,_ is dedicated. There are no such
"free spirits" nor have there been such, but, as already said, I then
required them for company to keep me cheerful in the midst of evils
(sickness, loneliness, foreignness,--_acedia,_ inactivity) as brave
companions and ghosts with whom I could laugh and gossip when so
inclined and send to the devil when they became bores,--as compensation
for the lack of friends. That such free spirits _will be possible_ some
day, that our Europe _will_ have such bold and cheerful wights amongst
her sons of to-morrow and the day after to-morrow, as the shadows of
a hermit's phantasmagoria--_I_ should be the last to doubt thereof.
Already I see them _coming,_ slowly, slowly; and perhaps I am doing
something to hasten their coming when I describe in advance under what
auspices I _see_ them originate, and upon what paths I _see_ them come.
3.
One may suppose that a spirit in which the type "free spirit" is to
become fully mature and sweet, has had its decisive event in a _great
emancipation,_ and that it was all the more fettered previously and
apparently bound for ever to its corner and pillar. What is it that
binds most strongly? What cords are almost unrendable? In men of a
lofty and select type it will be their duties; the reverence which is
suitable to youth, respect and tenderness for all that is time-honoured
and worthy, gratitude to the land which bore them, to the hand which
led them, to the sanctuary where they learnt to adore,--their most
exalted moments themselves will bind them most effectively, will lay
upon them the most enduring obligations. For those who are thus bound
the great emancipation comes suddenly, like an earthquake; the young
soul is all at once convulsed, unloosened and extricated--it does not
itself know what is happening. An impulsion and-compulsion sway and
over-master it like a command; a will and a wish awaken, to go forth
on their course, anywhere, at any cost; a violent, dangerous curiosity
about an undiscovered world flames and flares in every sense. "Better
to die than live _here_"--says the imperious voice and seduction, and
this "here," this "at home" is all that the soul has hitherto loved! A
sudden fear and suspicion of that which it loved, a flash of disdain
for what was called its "duty," a rebellious, arbitrary, volcanically
throbbing longing for travel, foreignness, estrangement, coldness,
disenchantment, glaciation, a hatred of love, perhaps a sacrilegious
clutch and look _backwards,_ to where it hitherto adored and loved,
perhaps a glow of shame at what it was just doing, and at the same
time a rejoicing _that_ it was doing it, an intoxicated, internal,
exulting thrill which betrays a triumph--a triumph? Over what? Over
whom? An enigmatical, questionable, doubtful triumph, but the _first_
triumph nevertheless;--such evil and painful incidents belong to the
history of the great emancipation. It is, at the same time, a disease
which may destroy the man, this first outbreak of power and will to
self-decision, self-valuation, this will to _free_ will; and how much
disease is manifested in the wild attempts and eccentricities by which
the liberated and emancipated one now seeks to demonstrate his mastery
over things! He roves about raging with unsatisfied longing; whatever
he captures has to suffer for the dangerous tension of his pride;
he tears to pieces whatever attracts him. With a malicious laugh he
twirls round whatever he finds veiled or guarded by a sense of shame;
he tries how these things look when turned upside down. It is a matter
of arbitrariness with him, and pleasure in arbitrariness, if he now
perhaps bestow his favour on what had hitherto a bad repute,--if he
inquisitively and temptingly haunt what is specially forbidden. In the
background of his activities and wanderings --for he is restless and
aimless in his course as in a desert--stands the note of interrogation
of an increasingly dangerous curiosity. "Cannot _all_ valuations be
reversed? And is good perhaps evil? And God only an invention and
artifice of the devil? Is everything, perhaps, radically false? And
if we are the deceived, are we not thereby also deceivers? _Must_ we
not also be deceivers?"--Such thoughts lead and mislead him more and
more, onward and away. Solitude encircles and engirdles him, always
more threatening, more throttling, more heart-oppressing, that terrible
goddess and _mater sæva cupidinum_--but who knows nowadays what
_solitude_ is?...
4.
From this morbid solitariness, from the desert of such years of
experiment, it is still a long way to the copious, overflowing safety
and soundness which does not care to dispense with disease itself as
an instrument and angling-hook of knowledge;--to that _mature_ freedom
of spirit which is equally self-control and discipline of the heart,
and gives access to many and opposed modes of thought;--to that inward
comprehensiveness and daintiness of superabundance, which excludes any
danger of the spirit's becoming enamoured and lost in its own paths,
and lying intoxicated in some corner or other; to that excess of
plastic, healing, formative, and restorative powers, which is exactly
the sign of _splendid_ health, that excess which gives the free spirit
the dangerous prerogative of being entitled to live by _experiments_
and offer itself to adventure; the free spirit's prerogative of
mastership! Long years of convalescence may lie in between, years full
of many-, painfully-enchanting magical transformations, curbed
and led by a tough _will to health,_ which often dares to dress and
disguise itself as actual health. There is a middle condition therein,
which a man of such a fate never calls to mind later on without
emotion; a pale, delicate light and a sunshine-happiness are peculiar
to him, a feeling of bird-like freedom, prospect, and haught | 233.157557 | 1,105 |
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Produced by Judith Boss
THE EARLY SHORT FICTION OF EDITH WHARTON
By Edith Wharton
A Ten-Volume Collection
Volume One
Contents of Volume One
Stories
KERFOL.........................March 1916
MRS. MANSTEY'S VIEW............July 1891
THE BOLTED DOOR................March 1909
THE DILETTANTE.................December 1903
THE HOUSE OF THE DEAD HAND.....August 1904
The following works not included in the present eBook:
Verse
THE PARTING DAY................February 1880
AEROPAGUS......................March 1880
A FAILURE......................April 1880
PATIENCE.......................April 1880
WANTS..........................May 1880
THE LAST GIUSTIANINI...........October 1889
EURYALUS.......................December 1889
HAPPINESS......................December 1889
Bibliography
EDITH WHARTON BIBLIOGRAPHY:
SHORT STORIES AND POEMS........Judy Boss
KERFOL
As first published in Scribner's Magazine, March 1916
I
"You ought to buy it," said my host; "it's just the place for a
solitary-minded devil like you. And it would be rather worth while to
own the most romantic house in Brittany. The present people are dead
broke, and it's going for a song--you ought to buy it."
It was not with the least idea of living up to the character my friend
Lanrivain ascribed to me (as a matter of fact, under my unsociable
exterior I have always had secret yearnings for domesticity) that I took
his hint one autumn afternoon and went to Kerfol. My friend was motoring
over to Quimper on business: he dropped me on the way, at a cross-road
on a heath, and said: "First turn to the right and second to the left.
Then straight ahead till you see an avenue. If you meet any peasants,
don't ask your way. They don't understand French, and they would pretend
they did and mix you up. I'll be back for you here by sunset--and don't
forget the tombs in the chapel."
I followed Lanrivain's directions with the hesitation occasioned by the
usual difficulty of remembering whether he had said the first turn
to the right and second to the left, or the contrary. If I had met a
peasant I should certainly have asked, and probably been sent astray;
but I had the desert landscape to myself, and so stumbled on the right
turn and walked on across the heath till I came to an avenue. It was so
unlike any other avenue I have ever seen that I instantly knew it must
be THE avenue. The grey-trunked trees sprang up straight to a great
height and then interwove their pale-grey branches in a long tunnel
through which the autumn light fell faintly. I know most trees by name,
but I haven't to this day been able to decide what those trees were.
They had the tall curve of elms, the tenuity of poplars, the ashen
colour of olives under a rainy sky; and they stretched ahead of me for
half a mile or more without a break in their arch. If ever I saw an
avenue that unmistakably led to something, it was the avenue at Kerfol.
My heart beat a little as I began to walk down it.
Presently the trees ended and I came to a fortified gate in a long wall.
Between me and the wall was an open space of grass, with other grey
avenues radiating from it. Behind the wall were tall slate roofs mossed
with silver, a chapel belfry, the top of a keep. A moat filled with
wild shrubs and brambles surrounded the place; the drawbridge had been
replaced by a stone arch, and the portcullis by an iron gate. I stood
for a long time on the hither side of the moat, gazing about me, and
letting the influence of the place sink in. I said to myself: "If I wait
long enough, the guardian will turn up and show me the tombs--" and I
rather hoped he wouldn't turn up too soon.
I sat down on a stone and lit a cigarette. As soon as I had done it, it
struck me as a puerile and portentous thing to do, with that great blind
house looking down at me, and all the empty avenues converging on me. It
may have been the depth of the silence that made me so conscious of my
gesture. The squeak of my match sounded as loud as the scraping of a
brake, and I almost fancied I heard it fall when I tossed it onto
the grass. But there was more than that: a sense of irrelevance,
of littleness, of childish bravado, in sitting there puffing my
cigarette-smoke into the face of such a past.
I knew nothing of the history of Kerfol--I was new to Brittany, and
Lanrivain had never mentioned the name to me till the day before--but
one couldn't as much as glance at that pile without feeling in it a
long accumulation of history. What kind of history I was not prepared to
guess: perhaps only the sheer | 233.262555 | 1,106 |
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Gutenberg
Department of the Interior
Ethnological Survey Publications
Volume IV, Part I
STUDIES IN MORO HISTORY, LAW, AND RELIGION
By
NAJEEB M. SALEEBY
Manila
Bureau of Public Printing
1905
Letter of Transmittal
Department of the Interior,
The Ethnological Survey,
Manila, December 21, 1904.
Sir: I have the honor to transmit a series of papers on Moro
history, law, and religion consisting of original studies and
translations from Moro texts made by Dr. Najeeb M. Saleeby. I
recommend that | 233.39637 | 1,107 |
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made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
HERO TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE SERBIANS
By
WOISLAV M. PETROVITCH
Late attache to the Serbian Royal Legation to the Court of St. James
With a preface by
CHEDO MIYATOVICH
Formerly Serbian Minister to the Court of St. James
And thirty-two illustrations
In colour by
WILLIAM SEWELL & GILBERT JAMES
To that most Eminent Serbian
Patriot and Statesman
His Excellency
Nicholas P. Pashitch
This book is
respectfully inscribed
by the author
PREFACE
Serbians attach the utmost value and importance to the sympathies of
such a highly cultured, great, and therefore legitimately influential
people as is the British nation. Since the beginning of the twentieth
century there have been two critical occasions [1]--the annexation of
Bosnia and Herzegovina by Austria and the war against the Turks--when
we have had opportunities to note how British sympathies, even when
apparently only platonic, can be of great practical importance for
our nation. It is quite natural that we should desire to retain and
if possible deepen and increase those sympathies. We are proud of our
army, but we flatter ourselves that our nation may win sympathy and
respect by other than military features of its national character. We
wish that our British friends should know our nation such as it is. We
wish them to be acquainted with our national psychology. And nothing
could give a better insight into the very soul of the Serbian nation
than this book.
The Serbians belong ethnologically to the great family of the
Slavonic nations. They are first cousins to the Russians, Poles,
Czechs, Slovaks, and Bulgars, and they are brothers to the Croats
and Slovenes. Since the Church has ceased to be the discordant and
disuniting element in the life of the nations, the Orthodox Serbians
and the Roman Catholic Croats are practically one and the same
people. But of all Slavonic nations the Serbians can legitimately
claim to be the most poetical one. Their language is the richest and
the most musical among all the Slavonic languages. The late Professor
Morfill, a man who was something of a Panslavist, repeatedly said to
me: "I wish you Serbians, as well as all other Slavonic nations, to
join Russia in a political union, but I do not wish you to surrender
your beautiful and well-developed language to be exchanged for the
Russian!" On one occasion he went even so far as to suggest that the
future United States of the Slavs should adopt as their literary and
official language the Serbian, as by far the finest and most musical
of all the Slavonic tongues.
When our ancestors occupied the western part of the Balkan
Peninsula, they found there numerous Latin colonies and Greek towns
and settlements. In the course of twelve centuries we have through
intermarriage absorbed much Greek and Latin blood. That influence, and
the influence of the commercial and political intercourse with Italy,
has softened our language and our manners and intensified our original
Slavonic love of what is beautiful, poetical, and noble. We are a
special Slavonic type, modified by Latin and Greek influences. The
Bulgars are a Slavonic nation of a quite different type, created by
the circulation of Tartar blood in Slavonian veins. This simple fact
throws much light on the conflicts between the Serbians and Bulgarians
during the Middle Ages, and even in our own days.
Now what are the Serbian national songs? They are not songs made by
cultured or highly educated poets--songs which, becoming popular,
are sung by common people. They are songs made by the common people
themselves. Up to the middle of the nineteenth century the Serbian
peasantry lived mostly in agricultural and family associations called
Zadrooga. As M. Petrovitch has stated, the sons of a peasant did
not leave their father's house when they got married, but built a
wooden cottage on the land surrounding the father's house. Very often
a large settlement arose around the original home, with often more
than a hundred persons, men and women, working together, considering
the land and houses as their common property, enjoying the fruits of
their work as the common property too. | 233.398279 | 1,108 |
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Produced by David Widger
DON QUIXOTE
by Miguel de Cervantes
Translated by John Ormsby
Volume I.
Part 12.
CHAPTER XXX.
WHICH TREATS OF ADDRESS DISPLAYED BY THE FAIR DOROTHEA, WITH OTHER
MATTERS PLEASANT AND AMUSING
The curate had hardly ceased speaking, when Sancho said, "In faith, then,
senor licentiate, he who did that deed was my master; and it was not for
want of my telling him beforehand and warning him to mind what he was
about, and that it was a sin to set them at liberty, as they were all on
the march there because they were special scoundrels."
"Blockhead!" said Don Quixote at this, "it is no business or concern of
knights-errant to inquire whether any persons in affliction, in chains,
or oppressed that they may meet on the high roads go that way and suffer
as they do because of their faults or because of their misfortunes. It
only concerns them to aid them as persons in need of help, having regard
to their sufferings and not to their rascalities. I encountered a chaplet
or string of miserable and unfortunate people, and did for them what my
sense of duty demands of me, and as for the rest be that as it may; and
whoever takes objection to it, saving the sacred dignity of the senor
licentiate and his honoured person, I say he knows little about chivalry
and lies like a whoreson villain, and this I will give him to know to the
fullest extent with my sword;" and so saying he settled himself in his
stirrups and pressed down his morion; for the barber's basin, which
according to him was Mambrino's helmet, he carried hanging at the
saddle-bow until he could repair the damage done to it by the galley
slaves.
Dorothea, who was shrewd and sprightly, and by this time thoroughly
understood Don Quixote's crazy turn, and that all except Sancho Panza
were making game of him, not to be behind the rest said to him, on
observing his irritation, "Sir Knight, remember the boon you have
promised me, and that in accordance with it you must not engage in any
other adventure, be it ever so pressing; calm yourself, for if the
licentiate had known that the galley slaves had been set free by that
unconquered arm he would have stopped his mouth thrice over, or even
bitten his tongue three times before he would have said a word that
tended towards disrespect of your worship."
"That I swear heartily," said the curate, "and I would have even plucked
off a moustache."
"I will hold my peace, senora," said Don Quixote, "and I will curb the
natural anger that had arisen in my breast, and will proceed in peace and
quietness until I have fulfilled my promise; but in return for this
consideration I entreat you to tell me, if you have no objection to do
so, what is the nature of your trouble, and how many, who, and what are
the persons of whom I am to require due satisfaction, and on whom I am to
take vengeance on your behalf?"
"That I will do with all my heart," replied Dorothea, "if it will not be
wearisome to you to hear of miseries and misfortunes."
"It will not be wearisome, senora," said Don Quixote; to which Dorothea
replied, "Well, if that be so, give me your attention." As soon as she
said this, Cardenio and the barber drew close to her side, eager to hear
what sort of story the quick-witted Dorothea would invent for herself;
and Sancho did the same, for he was as much taken in by her as his
master; and she having settled herself comfortably in the saddle, and
with the help of coughing and other preliminaries taken time to think,
began with great sprightliness of manner in this fashion.
"First of all, I would have you know, sirs, that my name is-" and here
she stopped for a moment, for she forgot the name the curate had given
her; but he came to her relief, seeing what her difficulty was, and said,
"It is no wonder, senora, that your highness should be confused and
embarrassed in telling the tale of your misfortunes; for such afflictions
often have the effect of depriving the sufferers of memory, so that they
do not even remember their own names, as is the case now with your
ladyship, who has forgotten that she is called the Princess Micomicona,
lawful heiress of the great kingdom of Micomicon; and with this cue your
highness may now recall to your sorrowful recollection all you may wish
to tell us."
"That is the truth," said the damsel; "but I think from this on I shall
have no need of any prompting, and I shall bring my true story safe into
port, and here it is. The king my father, who was called Tinacrio the
Sapient, was very learned in what they call magic arts, and became aware
by his craft that my mother, who was called Queen Jaramilla, was to die
before he did, and that soon after he too was to depart this life, and I
was to be left an orphan without father or mother. But all this, he
decl | 233.407988 | 1,109 |
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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/American Libraries.)
[Illustration: _London, Published by I. Murray, 1819_
SWISS COTTAGE.]
FIRST IMPRESSIONS
ON
A TOUR UPON THE CONTINENT
IN THE SUMMER OF 1818,
THROUGH PARTS OF
FRANCE, ITALY, SWITZERLAND,
THE BORDERS OF GERMANY,
AND A PART OF
_FRENCH FLANDERS_.
BY MARIANNE BAILLIE.
LONDON:
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE-STREET.
1819.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY THOMAS DAVISON, WHITEFRIARS.
TO
ONE OF THE MOST VALUED FRIENDS OF HER EARLIEST YEARS,
THE RIGHT HON. JOHN TREVOR,
THE AUTHOR
INSCRIBES THE
FOLLOWING LITTLE WORK,
WITH EVERY SENTIMENT OF AFFECTIONATE RESPECT
AND ESTEEM.
DIRECTIONS TO THE BINDER.
Swiss Cottage to face the title.
View of Turin 164
Passage of the Simplon 212
Colossal Figure 218
Hermitage of St. Frene 312
PREFACE
In perusing the following pages, it will I hope be believed, that they
were not originally written with any view to publication: circumstances
have since occurred, which induce me to alter my first intention, and to
submit them to a more enlarged circle, than that of a few intimate
friends, to whose eye alone I had once thought of presenting them.
In committing my First Impressions to so fearful an ordeal as the
opinion of the Public, I feel oppressed by a sense of their various
imperfections, and by the conviction of their trifling value as a work
of the sort; yet I still flatter myself they will be received with
forbearance. I had much amusement in attempting this little sketch, and
I most sincerely entreat that it may be considered as what it is, a
sketch only. My friends will not, and readers in general must not, look
for fine writing from the pen of such a novice as myself; nor ought they
to expect me (labouring under the twofold disadvantage of sex and
inexperience) to narrate with the accuracy and precision of a regular
tourist, the history (natural, moral, political, literary and
commercial) of all the places we visited: still less, that (in
compliment to the lovers of the gastronomic art) I should undertake to
give the bill of fare of every _table d'hote_ or _traiteur_ that we met
with in our progress.
Among the many fears which assail me, there is one that recurs to my
mind with more pertinacity than the rest: that I may be taxed with
having bestowed too warm and glowing a colouring upon some objects of
natural beauty and sublimity. Formerly, indeed, I believe I was in
danger of leaning towards romance in describing scenes which had
particularly impressed my imagination or interested my feelings, and of
attempting to imitate, with too rash and unadvised a pencil, the fervour
of a Mrs. Radcliffe, although to catch the peculiar charm and spirit of
her style I felt to be (for me) impossible. But notwithstanding that I
still remember with complacence the time when the vivid imagination of
very early youth procured me the enjoyment of a thousand bright and
lovely illusions, and cast a sort of fairy splendour over existence
which was certainly more bewitching than many realities that I have
since met with, I at present feel (as better becomes me) more inclined
to worship at the sober shrine of reason and judgment. This, it will be
easily conceived, was likely to render my Tour a more faithful picture,
than if it had been undertaken some years ago, and I can safely affirm,
that I commenced it with a determination to observe all things without
prejudice of any sort, not even that of nationality; for prejudice is
still the same irrational and unworthy feeling, in every shape and under
every name. I was much hurried at the time of writing this Journal; but
a greater degree of subsequent leisure has enabled me to add some few
notes which may, I hope, amuse and interest my readers. In these I
acknowledge with gratitude the occasional assistance of a partial
friend.
_April, 1819._
FIRST IMPRESSIONS.
On Monday, August 9th, we embarked from the Ship inn at Dover, for
Calais, on board the Princess Augusta packet. The passage was dreadful,
the usual miseries attended us, and at the time I am now writing this,
viz. August 13th, we are still suffering from the effects of our voyage.
I will not make my readers ill by recalling the disgusting scenes which
we there encountered, suffice it to say, that the bare remembrance of
them is sufficient to overwhelm my still sick fancy, and to render the
very name of the sea appalling to my ears. Upon landing at Calais,
however, we contrived to raise our heavy eyes, with a lively feeling of
curiosity | 233.532552 | 1,110 |
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at Free Literature (online soon in an extended version,
also linking to free sources for education worldwide...
MOOC's, educational materials,...) Images generously made
available by the Internet Archive.
THE
WAR OF WOMEN.
BY
ALEXANDRE DUMAS.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
BOSTON:
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
1903.
THE WAR OF WOMEN.
THE VICOMTESSE DE CAMBES.
I.
Two days later they came in sight of Bordeaux, and it became necessary
to decide at once how they should enter the city. The dukes, with their
army, were no more than ten leagues away, so that they were at liberty
to choose between a peaceable and a forcible entry. The important
question to be decided was whether it was better to have immediate
possession of Bordeaux at all hazards, or to comply with the wishes
of the Parliament. Madame la Princesse summoned her council of war,
which consisted of Madame de Tourville, Claire, Lenet, and her maids of
honor. Madame de Tourville knew her arch antagonist so well that she
had persistently opposed his admission to the council, upon the ground
that the war was a war of women, in which men were to be used only to
do the fighting. But Madame la Princesse declared that as Lenet was
saddled upon her by her husband, she could not exclude him from the
deliberative chamber, where, after all, his presence would amount to
nothing, as it was agreed beforehand that he might talk all he chose,
but that they would not listen to him.
Madame de Tourville's precautions were by no means uncalled-for; she
had employed the two days that had just passed in bringing Madame la
Princesse around to the bellicose ideas which she was only too anxious
to adopt, and she feared that Lenet would destroy the whole structure
that she had erected with such infinite pains.
When the council was assembled, Madame de Tourville set forth her plan.
She proposed that the dukes should come up secretly with their army,
that they should procure, by force or by persuasion, a goodly number of
boats, and go down the river into Bordeaux, shouting: "Vive Condé! Down
with Mazarin!"
In this way Madame la Princesse's entry would assume the proportions
of a veritable triumph, and Madame de Tourville, by a détour, would
accomplish her famous project of taking forcible possession of
Bordeaux, and thus inspiring the queen with a wholesome terror of an
army whose opening move resulted so brilliantly.
Lenet nodded approval of everything, interrupting Madame de Tourville
with admiring exclamations. When she had completed the exposition of
her plan, he said:--
"Magnificent, madame! be good enough now to sum up your conclusions."
"That I can do very easily, in two words," said the good woman,
triumphantly, warming up at the sound of her own voice. "Amid the
hail-storm of bullets, the clanging of bells, and the cries, whether of
rage or affection, of the people, a handful of weak women will be seen,
intrepidly fulfilling their noble mission; a child in its mother's arms
will appeal to the Parliament for protection. This touching spectacle
cannot fail to move the most savage hearts. Thus we shall conquer,
partly by force, partly by the justice of our cause; and that, I think,
is Madame la Princesse's object."
The summing up aroused even more enthusiasm than the original speech.
Madame la Princesse applauded; Claire, whose desire to be sent with
a flag of truce to Île Saint-Georges became more and more earnest,
applauded; the captain of the guards, whose business it was to thirst
for battle, applauded; and Lenet did more than applaud; he took Madame
de Tourville's hand, and pressed it with no less respect than emotion.
"Madame," he cried, "even if I had not known how great is your
prudence, and how thoroughly you are acquainted, both by intuition
and study, with the great civil and military question which engages
our attention, I should assuredly be convinced of it now, and should
prostrate myself before the most useful adviser that her Highness could
hope to find."
"Is she not?" said the princess; "isn't it a fine scheme, Lenet? I
agree with her entirely. Come, Vialas, give Monsieur le Duc d'Enghien
the little sword I had made for him, and his helmet and coat of mail."
"Yes! do so, Vialas. But a single word first, by your leave, madame,"
said Lenet; while Madame de Tourville, who was all swollen up with
pride, began to lose confidence, in view of her vivid remembrance of
the subtle arguments with which Lenet was accustomed to combat her
plans.
"Well," said the princess, "what is it now?"
"Nothing, madame, nothing at all; for no plan could be proposed more in
harmony with the character of an august princess like yourself, and it
could only emanate from your household."
These words caused Madame de Tourville to puff out anew, and brought
back the smile to the lips of Madame la Princesse, who was beginning to
frown.
"But, madame," pursued Lenet, watching the effect of this terrible
_but_ upon the face of his sworn foe, "while I adopt, I will not say
simply without repugnance, but with enthusiasm, this plan, which seems
to me the only available one, I will venture to propose a slight
modification."
Madame de Tourville stiffened up, and prepared for defence. Madame la
Princesse's smile disappeared.
Lenet bowed and made a motion with his hand as if asking permission to
continue.
"My heart is filled with a joy I cannot express," he said, | 233.639048 | 1,111 |
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PSYCHE
By
LOUIS COUPERUS
Translated from the Dutch,
with the author's permission,
By
B. S. Berrington, B.A.
With Twelve Illustrations by Dion Clayton Calthrop
London: Alston Rivers, Ltd.
Brooke Street, Holborn Bars, E.C.
1908
"Cry no more now and go to sleep, and if you cannot sleep,
I will tell you a story, a pretty story of flowers and
gems and birds, of a young prince and a little princess.
... For in the world there is nothing more than a story."
PSYCHE
CHAPTER I
Gigantically massive, with three hundred towers, on the summit of a
rocky mountain, rose the king's castle high into the clouds.
But the summit was broad, and flat as a plateau, and the castle spread
far out, for miles and miles, with ramparts and walls and pinnacles.
And everywhere rose up the towers, lost in the clouds, and the castle
was like a city, built upon a lofty rock of basalt.
Round the castle and far away lay the valleys of the kingdom, receding
into the horizon, one after the other, and ever and ever.
Ever changing was the horizon: now pink, then silver; now blue, then
golden; now grey, then white and misty, and gradually fading away,
and never could the last be seen.
In clear weather there loomed behind the horizon always another
horizon. They circled one another endlessly, they were lost in the
dissolving mists, and suddenly their silhouette became more sharply
defined.
Over the lofty towers stretched away at times an expanse of variegated
clouds, but below rushed a torrent, which fell like a cataract into
a fathomless abyss, that made one dizzy to look at.
So it seemed as if the castle rose up to the highest stars and went
down to the central nave of the earth.
Along the battlements, higher than a man, Psyche often wandered,
wandered round the castle from tower to tower, from wall to wall,
with a dreamy smile on her face, then she looked up and stretched out
her hands to the stars, or gazed below at the dashing water, with
all the colours of the rainbow, till her head grew dizzy, and she
drew back and placed her little hands before her eyes. And long she
would sit in the corner of an embrasure, her eyes looking far away,
a smile on her face, her knees drawn up and her arms entwining them,
and her tiny wings spread out against the mossy stone-work, like a
butterfly that sat motionless.
And she gazed at the horizon, and however much she gazed, she always
saw more.
Close by were the green valleys, dotted with grazing sheep, soft
meadows with fat cattle, waving corn-fields, canals covered with ships,
and the cottage roofs of a village. Farther away were lines of woods,
hill-tops, mountain-ridges, or a mass of angular, rough-hewn basalt.
Still farther off, misty towers with minarets and domes, cupolas and
spires, smoking chimneys, and the outline of a broad river. Beyond,
the horizon became milk-white, or like an opal, but not a line more
was there, only tint, the reflection of the last glow of the sun,
as if lakes were mirrored there; islands rose, low, in the air,
aerial paradises, watery streaks of blue sea, oceans of ether and
light quivering nothingness!...
And Psyche gazed and mused.... She was the third princess, the
youngest daughter of the old king, monarch of the Kingdom of the
Past.... She was always very lonely. Her sisters she seldom saw,
her father only for a moment in the evening, before she went to bed;
and when she had the chance she fled from the mumbling old nurse, and
wandered along the battlements and dreamed, with her eyes far away,
gazing at the vast kingdom, beyond which was nothingness....
Oh, how she longed to go farther than the castle, to the meadows,
the woods, the towns--to go to the shining lakes, the opal islands,
the oceans of ether, and then to that far, far-off nothingness, that
quivered so, like a pale, pale light!... Would she ever be able to pass
out of the gates?--Oh, how she longed to wander, to seek, to fly!... To
fly, oh! to fly, to fly as the sparrows, the doves, the eagles!
And she flapped her weak, little wings.
On her tender shoulders there were two wings, like those of a very
large butterfly, transparent membranes, covered with crimson and soft,
yellow dust, streaked with azure and pink, where they were joined to
her back. And on each wing glowed two eyes, like those on a peacock's
tail, but more beautiful in colour and glistening like jewels, fine
sapphires and emeralds on velvet, and the velvet eye set four times
in the glittering texture of the wings.
Her wings she flapped, but with them she could not fly.
That, that was her great grief--that, that made her think, what were
they for, those wings on her shoulders? And she shook them and flapped
them, but could not rise above the ground; her delicate form did not
ascend into the air, her naked foot remained firm on the ground, and
only her thin, fine veil, that trailed a little round her snow-white
limbs, was slightly raised by the gentle fluttering of her wings.
CHAPTER II
To fly! oh, to fly!
She was so fond of birds. How she envied them! She enticed them with
crumbs of bread, with grains of corn, and once she had rescued a dove
from an eagle. The dove she had hidden under her veil, pressed close
to her bosom, and the eagle she had courageously driven off with her
hand, when in his flight he overshadowed her with his broad wings,
calling out to him to go away and leave her dove unhurt.
Oh, to seek! to seek!
For she was so fond of flowers, and gladly in the woods and meadows,
or farther away still, would she have sought for those that were
unknown. But she cultivated them within the walls, on the rocky ground,
and she had made herself a garden; the buds opened when she looked
at them, the stems grew when she stroked them, and when she kissed
a faded flower it became as fresh again as ever.
To wander, oh, to wander!
Then she wandered along the battlements, down the steps, over the
court-yards and the ramparts, but at the gates stood the guards,
rough and bearded and clad in mail, with loud-sounding horns round
their shoulders.
Then she could go no farther and wandered back into the vaults
and crypts, where sacred spiders wove their webs; and then, if she
became frightened, she hurried away, farther, farther, farther, along
endless galleries, between rows of motionless knights in armour,
till she came again to her nurse, who sat ever at her spinning-wheel.
Oh! to glide through the air!
To glide in a steady wind, to the farthest horizon, to the milk-white
and opal region, which she saw in her dreams, to the uttermost parts
of the earth!
To glide to the seas, and the islands, which yonder, so far, far
away and so unsubstantial, changed every moment, as if a breeze
could alter their form, their tint; so unfirm, that no foot could
tread them, but only a winged being like herself, a bird, a fairy,
could gently hover over them, to see all that beautiful landscape,
to enjoy that atmosphere, that dream of Paradise....
Oh! to fly, to seek, to wander, to soar!...
And for hours together she sat dreaming in an embrasure, her eyes
far off, her arms round her knees, and her wings spread out, like a
little butterfly that sat motionless.
CHAPTER III
Emeralda, that was the name of her eldest sister. Surpassingly
beautiful was Emeralda, dazzling fair as no woman in the kingdom, no
princess in other kingdoms. Exceedingly tall she was, and majestic in
stature; erect she walked, stately and proudly; she was very proud,
for after the death of the king she was to reign on the throne of the
Kingdom of the Past. Jealous of all the power which would be hers,
she rejected all the princes who sued for her hand. She never spoke
but to command, and only to her father did she bow. She always wore
heavy brocade, silver or gold, studded with jewels, and long mantles
of rustling silk, fringed with broad ermine; a diadem of the finest
jewels always glittered on her red golden hair and her eyes also were
jewels; two magnificent green emeralds, in which a black carbuncle
was the pupil; and people whispered secretly that her heart was cut
out of one single, gigantic ruby.
Oh, Psyche was so afraid of her!
When Psyche wandered through the castle and suddenly saw
Emeralda coming, preceded by pages, torches, shield-bearers, and
maids-in-waiting, who bore her train, and a score of halberdiers,
then she was struck with fear, and hastily concealed herself behind a
door, a curtain, no matter where, and then Emeralda rustled by with a
great noise of satin and gold and all the trampling of her retinue, and
Psyche's heart beat loudly like a clock, tick! tick! tick! tick! till
she thought she would faint....
Then she shut her eyes so as not to | 233.900576 | 1,112 |
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Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Small capitals have been rendered in full capitals.
[Illustration: AS THE DEER BOUNCED UP THE | 234.012194 | 1,113 |
2023-11-16 18:19:41.7435840 | 1,060 | 397 |
Produced by Suzanne Shell, Sankar Viswanathan, and the
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Memories of Childhood's
Slavery Days
By
Annie L. Burton
BOSTON
ROSS PUBLISHING COMPANY
1909
RECOLLECTIONS OF A HAPPY LIFE
The memory of my happy, care-free childhood days on the plantation,
with my little white and black companions, is often with me. Neither
master nor mistress nor neighbors had time to bestow a thought upon
us, for the great Civil War was raging. That great event in American
history was a matter wholly outside the realm of our childish
interests. Of course we heard our elders discuss the various events of
the great struggle, but it meant nothing to us.
On the plantation there were ten white children and fourteen <DW52>
children. Our days were spent roaming about from plantation to
plantation, not knowing or caring what things were going on in the
great world outside our little realm. Planting time and harvest time
were happy days for us. How often at the harvest time the planters
discovered cornstalks missing from the ends of the rows, and blamed
the crows! We were called the "little fairy devils." To the sweet
potatoes and peanuts and sugar cane we also helped ourselves.
Those slaves that were not married served the food from the great
house, and about half-past eleven they would send the older children
with food to the workers in the fields. Of course, I followed, and
before we got to the fields, we had eaten the food nearly all up. When
the workers returned home they complained, and we were whipped.
The slaves got their allowance every Monday night of molasses, meat,
corn meal, and a kind of flour called "dredgings" or "shorts." Perhaps
this allowance would be gone before the next Monday night, in which
case the slaves would steal hogs and chickens. Then would come the
whipping-post. Master himself never whipped his slaves; this was left
to the overseer.
We children had no supper, and only a little piece of bread or
something of the kind in the morning. Our dishes consisted of one
wooden bowl, and oyster shells were our spoons. This bowl served for
about fifteen children, and often the dogs and the ducks and the
peafowl had a dip in it. Sometimes we had buttermilk and bread in our
bowl, sometimes greens or bones.
Our clothes were little homespun cotton slips, with short sleeves. I
never knew what shoes were until I got big enough to earn them myself.
If a slave man and woman wished to marry, a party would be arranged
some Saturday night among the slaves. The marriage ceremony consisted
of the pair jumping over a stick. If no children were born within a
year or so, the wife was sold.
At New Year's, if there was any debt or mortgage on the plantation,
the extra slaves were taken to Clayton and sold at the court house. In
this way families were separated.
When they were getting recruits for the war, we were allowed to go to
Clayton to see the soldiers.
I remember, at the beginning of the war, two <DW52> men were hung in
Clayton; one, Caesar King, for killing a blood hound and biting off an
overseer's ear; the other, Dabney Madison, for the murder of his
master. Dabney Madison's master was really shot by a man named
Houston, who was infatuated with Madison's mistress, and who had hired
Madison to make the bullets for him. Houston escaped after the deed,
and the blame fell on Dabney Madison, as he was the only slave of his
master and mistress. The clothes of the two victims were hung on two
pine trees, and no <DW52> person would touch them. Since I have grown
up, I have seen the skeleton of one of these men in the office of a
doctor in Clayton.
After the men were hung, the bones were put in an old deserted house.
Somebody that cared for the bones used to put them in the sun in
bright weather, and back in the house when it rained. Finally the
bones disappeared, although the boxes that had contained them still
remained.
At one time, when they were building barns on the plantation, one of
the big boys got a little brandy and gave us children all a drink,
enough to make us drunk. Four doctors were sent for, but nobody could
tell what was the matter with us, except they thought we had eaten
something poisonous. They wanted to give us some castor oil, but we
refused to take it, because we thought that the oil was made from the
bones of the dead men we had seen. Finally, we told about the big
white boy giving us the brandy, and the mystery was cleared | 235.062994 | 1,114 |
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Produced by Jack Voller
THE OLD ENGLISH BARON
By Clara Reeve
PREFACE
As this Story is of a species which, though not new, is out of
the common track, it has been thought necessary to point out some
circumstances to the reader, which will elucidate the design, and, it is
hoped, will induce him to form a favourable, as well as a right judgment
of the work before him.
This Story is the literary offspring of The Castle of Otranto, written
upon the same plan, with a design to unite the most attractive and
interesting circumstances of the ancient Romance and modern Novel, at
the same time it assumes a character and manner of its own, that differs
from both; it is distinguished by the appellation of a Gothic Story,
being a picture of Gothic times and manners. Fictitious stories have
been the delight of all times and all countries, by oral tradition in
barbarous, by writing in more civilized ones; and although some persons
of wit and learning have condemned them indiscriminately, I would
venture to affirm, that even those who so much affect to despise them
under one form, will receive and embrace them under another.
Thus, for instance, a man shall admire and almost adore the Epic poems
of the Ancients, and yet despise and execrate the ancient Romances,
which are only Epics in prose.
History represents human nature as it is in real life, alas, too often
a melancholy retrospect! Romance displays only the amiable side of the
picture; it shews the pleasing features, and throws a veil over the
blemishes: Mankind are naturally pleased with what gratifies their
vanity; and vanity, like all other passions of the human heart, may be
rendered subservient to good and useful purposes.
I confess that it may be abused, and become an instrument to corrupt the
manners and morals of mankind; so may poetry, so may plays, so may
every kind of composition; but that will prove nothing more than the
old saying lately revived by the philosophers the most in fashion, "that
every earthly thing has two handles."
The business of Romance is, first, to excite the attention; and
secondly, to direct it to some useful, or at least innocent, end: Happy
the writer who attains both these points, like Richardson! and not
unfortunate, or undeserving praise, he who gains only the latter, and
furnishes out an entertainment for the reader!
Having, in some degree, opened my design, I beg leave to conduct my
reader back again, till he comes within view of The Castle of Otranto;
a work which, as already has been observed, is an attempt to unite the
various merits and graces of the ancient Romance and modern Novel.
To attain this end, there is required a sufficient degree of the
marvellous, to excite the attention; enough of the manners of real life,
to give an air of probability to the work; and enough of the pathetic,
to engage the heart in its behalf.
The book we have mentioned is excellent in the two last points, but
has a redundancy in the first; the opening excites the attention
very strongly; the conduct of the story is artful and judicious; the
characters are admirably drawn and supported; the diction polished and
elegant; yet, with all these brilliant advantages, it palls upon the
mind (though it does not upon the ear); and the reason is obvious, the
machinery is so violent, that it destroys the effect it is intended to
excite. Had the story been kept within the utmost verge of probability,
the effect had been preserved, without losing the least circumstance
that excites or detains the attention.
For instance; we can conceive, and allow of, the appearance of a ghost;
we can even dispense with an enchanted sword and helmet; but then they
must keep within certain limits of credibility: A sword so large as
to require an hundred men to lift it; a helmet that by its own weight
forces a passage through a court-yard into an arched vault, big enough
for a man to go through; a picture that walks out of its frame; a
skeleton ghost in a hermit's cowl:--When your expectation is wound up
to the highest pitch, these circumstances take it down with a witness,
destroy the work of imagination, and, instead of attention, excite
laughter. I was both surprised and vexed to find the enchantment
dissolved, which I wished might continue to the end of the book; and
several of its readers have confessed the same disappointment to me: The
beauties are so numerous, that we cannot bear the defects, but want it
to be perfect in all respects.
In the course of my observations upon this singular book, it seemed to
me that it was possible to compose a work upon the same plan, wherein
these defects might be avoided; and the keeping, as in painting, might
be preserved.
But then I began to fear it might happen to me as to certain
translators, and imitators of Shakespeare; the unities may be preserved,
while the spirit is evaporated. However, I ventured to attempt it; I
read the beginning to a circle of friends of approved judgment, and by
their approbation was encouraged to proceed, and to finish it.
THE OLD ENGLISH BARON: A GOTHIC STORY.
In the minority of Henry the Sixth, King of England, when the renowned
John, Duke of Bedford was Regent of France, and Humphrey, the good Duke
of Gloucester, was Protector of England, a worthy knight, called
Sir Philip Harclay, returned from his travels to England, his native
country. He had served under the glorious King Henry the Fifth with
distinguished valour, had acquired an honourable fame, and was no less
esteemed for Christian virtues than for deeds of chivalry. After the
death of his prince, he entered into the service of the Greek emperor,
and distinguished his courage against the encroachments of the Saracens.
In a battle there, he took prisoner a certain gentleman, by name M.
Zadisky, of Greek extraction, but brought up by a Saracen officer; this
man he converted to the Christian faith; after which he bound him to
himself by the ties of friendship and gratitude, and he resolved to
continue with his benefactor. After thirty years travel and warlike
service, he determined to return to his native land, and to spend the
remainder of his life in peace; and, by devoting himself to works of
piety and charity, prepare for a better state hereafter.
This noble knight had, in his early youth, contracted a strict
friendship with the only son of the Lord Lovel, a gentleman of eminent
virtues and accomplishments. During Sir Philip's residence in foreign
countries, he had frequently written to his friend, and had for a time
received answers; the last informed him of the death of old Lord Lovel,
and the marriage of the young one; but from that time he had heard no
more from him. Sir Philip imputed it not to neglect or forgetfulness,
but to the difficulties of intercourse, common at that time to all
travellers and adventurers. When he was returning home, he resolved,
after looking into his family affairs, to visit the Castle of Lovel, and
enquire into the situation of his friend. He landed in Kent, attended by
his Greek friend and two faithful servants, one of which was maimed by
the wounds he had received in the defence of his master.
Sir Philip went to his family seat in Yorkshire. He found his mother
and sister were dead, and his estates sequestered in the hands of
commissioners appointed by the Protector. He was obliged to prove the
reality of his claim, and the identity of his person (by the testimony
of some of the old servants of his family), after which every thing was
restored to him. He took possession of his own house, established his
household, settled the old servants in their former stations, and placed
those he brought home in the upper offices of his family. He then left
his friend to superintend his domestic affairs; and, attended by only
one of his old servants, he set out for the Castle of Lovel, in the west
of England. They travelled by easy journeys; but, towards the evening
of the second day, the servant was so ill and fatigued he could go no
further; he stopped at an inn where he grew worse every hour, and the
next day expired. Sir Philip was under great concern for the loss of his
servant, and some for himself, being alone in a strange place; however
he took courage, ordered his servant's funeral, attended it himself,
and, having shed a tear of humanity over his grave, proceeded alone on
his journey.
As he drew near the estate of his friend, he began to enquire of every
one he met, whether the Lord Lovel resided at the seat of his ancestors?
He was answered by one, he did not know; by another, he could not tell;
by a third, that he never heard of such a person. Sir Philip thought it
strange that a man of Lord Lovel's consequence should be unknown in
his own neighbourhood, and where his ancestors had usually resided. He
ruminated on the uncertainty of human happiness. "This world," said
he, "has nothing for a wise man to depend upon. I have lost all my
relations, and most of my friends; and am even uncertain whether any
are remaining. I will, however, be thankful for the blessings that are
spared to me; and I will endeavour to replace those that I have lost. If
my friend lives, he shall share my fortune with me; his children shall
have the reversion of it; and I will share his comforts in return.
But perhaps my friend may have met with troubles that have made him
disgusted with the world; perhaps he has buried his amiable wife, or
his promising children; and, tired of public life, he is retired into a
monastery. At least, I will know what all this silence means."
When he came within a mile of the Castle of Lovel, he stopped at a
cottage and asked for a draught of water; a peasant, master of the
house, brought it, and asked if his honour would alight and take a
moment's refreshment. Sir Philip accepted his offer, being resolved to
make farther enquiry before he approached the castle. He asked the same
questions of him, that he had before of others.
"Which Lord Lovel," said the man, "does your honour enquire after?"
"The man whom I knew was called Arthur," said Sir Philip.
"Ay," said the Peasant, "he was the only surviving son of Richard, Lord
Lovel, as I think?"
"Very true, friend, he was so."
"Alas, sir," said the man, "he is dead! he survived his father but a
short time."
"Dead! say you? how long since?"
"About fifteen years, to the best of my remembrance."
Sir Philip sighed deeply.
"Alas!" said he, "what do we, by living long, but survive all our
friends! But pray tell me how he died?"
"I will, sir, to the best of my knowledge. An't please your honour,
I heard say, that he attended the King when he went against the Welch
rebels, and he left his lady big with child; and so there was a battle
fought, and the king got the better of the rebels. There came first a
report that none of the officers were killed; but a few days after
there came a messenger with an account very different, that several were
wounded, and that the Lord Lovel was slain; which sad news overset us
all with sorrow, for he was a noble gentleman, a bountiful master, and
the delight of all the neighbourhood."
"He was indeed," said Sir Philip, "all that is amiable and good; he was
my dear and noble friend, and I am inconsolable for his loss. But the
unfortunate lady, what became of her?"
"Why, a'nt please your honour, they said she died of grief for the loss
of her husband; but her death was kept private for a time, and we did
not know it for certain till some weeks afterwards."
"The will of Heaven be obeyed!" said Sir Philip; "but who succeeded to
the title and estate?"
"The next heir," said the peasant, "a kinsman of the deceased, Sir
Walter Lovel by name."
"I have seen him," said Sir Philip, "formerly; but where was he when
these events happened?"
"At the Castle of Lovel, sir; he came there on a visit to the lady, and
waited there to receive my Lord, at his return from Wales; when the news
of his death arrived, Sir Walter did every thing in his power to comfort
her, and some said he was to marry her; but she refused to be comforted,
and took it so to heart that she died."
"And does the present Lord Lovel reside at the castle?"
"No, sir."
"Who then?"
"The Lord Baron Fitz-Owen."
"And how came Sir Walter to leave the seat of his ancestors?"
"Why, sir, he married his sister to this said Lord; and so he sold the
Castle to him, and went away, and built himself a house in the north
country, as far as Northumberland, I think they call it."
"That is very strange!" said Sir Philip.
"So it is, please your honour; but this is all I know about it."
"I thank you, friend, for your intelligence; I have taken a long journey
to no purpose, and have met with nothing but cross accidents. This life
is, indeed, a pilgrimage! Pray direct me the nearest way to the next
monastery."
"Noble sir," said the peasant, "it is full five miles off, the night
is coming on, and the ways are bad; I am but a poor man, and cannot
entertain your honour as you are used to; but if you will enter my poor
cottage, that, and every thing in it, are at your service."
"My honest friend, I thank you heartily," said Sir Philip; "your
kindness and hospitality might shame many of higher birth and breeding;
I will accept your kind offer;--but pray let me know the name of my
host?"
"John Wyatt, sir; an honest man though a poor one, and a Christian man,
though a sinful one."
"Whose cottage is this?"
"It belongs to the Lord Fitz-Owen."
"What family have you?"
"A wife, two sons and a daughter, who will all be proud to wait upon
your honour; let me hold your honour's stirrup whilst you alight."
He seconded these words by the proper action, and having assisted his
guest to dismount, he conducted him into his house, called his wife to
attend him, and then led his horse under a poor shed, that served him
as a stable. Sir Philip was fatigued in body and mind, and was glad to
repose himself anywhere. The courtesy of his host engaged his attention,
and satisfied his wishes. He soon after returned, followed by a youth of
about eighteen years.
"Make haste, John," said the father, "and be sure you say neither more
nor less than what I have told you."
"I will, father," said the lad; and immediately set off, ran like a buck
across the fields, and was out of sight in an instant.
"I hope, friend," said Sir Philip, "you have not sent your son to
provide for my entertainment; I am a soldier, used to lodge and fare
hard; and, if it were otherwise, your courtesy and kindness would give a
relish to the most ordinary food."
"I wish heartily," said Wyatt, "it was in my power to entertain your
honour as you ought to be; but, as I cannot do so, I will, when my son
returns, acquaint you with the errand I sent him on."
After this they conversed together on common subjects, like
fellow-creatures of the same natural form and endowments, though
different kinds of education had given a conscious superiority to the
one, a conscious inferiority to the other; and the due respect was paid
by the latter, without being exacted by the former. In about half an
hour young John returned.
"Thou hast made haste," said the father.
"Not more than good speed," quoth the son.
"Tell us, then, how you speed?"
"Shall I tell all that passed?" said John.
"All," said the father; "I don't want to hide any thing."
John stood with his cap in his hand, and thus told his tale--
"I went straight to the castle as fast as I could run; it was my hap to
light on young Master Edmund first, so I told him just as you had me,
that a noble gentleman was come a long journey from foreign parts to see
the Lord Lovel, his friend; and, having lived abroad many years, he did
not know that he was dead, and that the castle was fallen into
other hands; that upon hearing these tidings he was much grieved and
disappointed, and wanting a night's lodging, to rest himself before
he returned to his own home, he was fain to take up with one at our
cottage; that my father thought my Lord would be angry with him, if he
were not told of the stranger's journey and intentions, especially to
let such a man lie at our cottage, where he could neither be lodged nor
entertained according to his quality."
Here John stopped, and his father exclaimed--
"A good lad! you did your errand very well; and tell us the answer."
John proceeded--
"Master Edmund ordered me some beer, and went to acquaint my Lord of the
message; he stayed a while, and then came back to me.--'John,' said he,
'tell the noble stranger that the Baron Fitz-Owen greets him well, and
desires him to rest assured, that though Lord Lovel is dead, and the
castle fallen into other hands, his friends will always find a welcome
there; and my lord desires that he will accept of a lodging there, while
he remains in this country.'--So I came away directly, and made haste to
deliver my errand."
Sir Philip expressed some dissatisfaction at this mark of old Wyatt's
respect.
"I wish," said he, "that you had acquainted me with your intention
before you sent to inform the Baron I was here. I choose rather to lodge
with you; and I propose to make amends for the trouble I shall give
you."
"Pray, sir, don't mention it," said the | 235.093552 | 1,115 |
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THE SONG OF HIAWATHA
Henry W. Longfellow
CONTENTS
Introductory Note
Introduction
I. The Peace-Pipe
II. The Four Winds
III. Hiawatha's Childhood
IV. Hiawatha and Mudjekeewis
V. Hiawatha's Fasting
VI. Hiawatha's Friends
VII. Hiawatha's Sailing
VIII. Hiawatha's Fishing
IX. Hiawatha and the Pearl-Feather
X. Hiawatha's Wooing
XI. Hiawatha's Wedding-Feast
XII. The Son of the Evening Star
XIII. Blessing the Corn-Fields
XIV. Picture-Writing
XV. Hiawatha's Lamentation
XVI. Pau-Puk-Keewis
XVII. The Hunting of Pau-Puk-Keewis
XVIII. The Death of Kwasind
XIX. The Ghosts
XX. The Famine
XXI. The White Man's Foot
XXII. Hiawatha's Departure
Vocabulary
Introductory Note
The Song of Hiawatha is based on the legends and stories of
many North American Indian tribes, but especially those of the
Ojibway Indians of northern Michigan, Wisconsin, and Minnesota.
They were collected by Henry Rowe Schoolcraft, the reknowned
historian, pioneer explorer, and geologist. He was superintendent
of Indian affairs for Michigan from 1836 to 1841.
Schoolcraft married Jane, O-bah-bahm-wawa-ge-zhe-go-qua (The
Woman of the Sound Which the Stars Make Rushing Through the Sky),
Johnston. Jane was a daughter of John Johnston, an early Irish
fur trader, and O-shau-gus-coday-way-qua (The Woman of the Green
Prairie), who was a daughter of Waub-o-jeeg (The White Fisher),
who was Chief of the Ojibway tribe at La Pointe, Wisconsin.
Jane and her mother are credited with having researched,
authenticated, and compiled much of the material Schoolcraft
included in his Algic Researches (1839) and a revision published
in 1856 as The Myth of Hiawatha. It was this latter revision
that Longfellow used as the basis for The Song of Hiawatha.
Longfellow began Hiawatha on June 25, 1854, he completed it
on March 29, 1855, and it was published November 10, 1855. As
soon as the poem was published its popularity was assured.
However, it also was severely criticized as a plagiary of the
Finnish epic poem Kalevala. Longfellow made no secret of the
fact that he had used the meter of the Kalevala; but as for the
legends, he openly gave credit to Schoolcraft in his notes to the
poem.
I would add a personal note here. My father's roots include
Ojibway Indians: his mother, Margaret Caroline Davenport, was a
daughter of Susan des Carreaux, O-gee-em-a-qua (The Chief Woman),
Davenport whose mother was a daughter of Chief Waub-o-jeeg.
Finally, my mother used to rock me to sleep reading portions of
Hiawatha to me, especially:
"Wah-wah-taysee | 235.422357 | 1,116 |
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Produced by Al Haines
[Frontispiece: "TOM! TOM! STOP!" SCREAMED DICK AND SAM IN UNISON. _The
Rover Boys in Alaska._]
THE ROVER BOYS IN ALASKA
OR
_LOST IN THE FIELDS OF ICE_
BY
ARTHUR M. WINFIELD
(Edward Stratemeyer)
AUTHOR OF THE ROVER BOYS AT SCHOOL, THE
ROVER BOYS ON THE OCEAN, THE PUTNAM
HALL SERIES, ETC.
_ILLUSTRATED_
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
BOOKS BY ARTHUR M. WINFIELD (Edward Stratemeyer)
THE FIRST ROVER BOYS SERIES
THE ROVER BOYS AT SCHOOL
THE ROVER BOYS ON THE OCEAN
THE ROVER BOYS IN THE JUNGLE
THE ROVER BOYS OUT WEST
THE ROVER BOYS ON THE GREAT LAKES
THE ROVER BOYS IN THE MOUNTAINS
THE ROVER BOYS IN CAMP
THE ROVER BOYS ON LAND AND SEA
THE ROVER BOYS ON THE RIVER
THE ROVER BOYS ON THE PLAINS
THE ROVER BOYS IN SOUTHERN WATERS
THE ROVER BOYS ON THE FARM
THE ROVER BOYS ON TREASURE ISLE
THE ROVER BOYS AT COLLEGE
THE ROVER BOYS DOWN EAST
THE ROVER BOYS IN THE AIR
THE ROVER BOYS IN NEW YORK
THE ROVER BOYS IN ALASKA
THE ROVER BOYS IN BUSINESS
THE ROVER BOYS ON A TOUR
THE SECOND ROVER BOYS SERIES
THE ROVER BOYS AT COLBY HALL
THE PUTNAM HALL SERIES
THE PUTNAM HALL CADETS
THE PUTNAM HALL RIVALS
THE PUTNAM HALL CHAMPIONS
THE PUTNAM HALL REBELLION
THE PUTNAM HALL ENCAMPMENT
THE PUTNAM HALL MYSTERY
12mo. Cloth. Illustrated.
GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, New York
COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY
EDWARD STRATEMEYER
_The Rover Boys in Alaska_
INTRODUCTION
MY DEAR BOYS: This book is a complete story in itself, but forms the
eighteenth volume in a line issued under the general title of "The
Rover Boys Series for Young Americans."
As I have mentioned in some of the other volumes, this line was started
with the publication of "The Rover Boys at School," "On the Ocean," and
"In the Jungle." The books were so well received that they were
followed, year after year, by the publication of "The Rover Boys Out
West," "On the Great Lakes," "In Camp," "On Land and Sea," "On the
River," "On the Plains," "In Southern Waters," "On the Farm," "On
Treasure Isle," "At College," "Down East," "In the Air," and then "In
New York," where we last met the lads.
The boys are growing older--as all boys do--and Dick is married, and
helping his father in business. In the present story Sam and Tom
return to college, until something quite out of the ordinary occurs and
the fun-loving Tom disappears most mysteriously. Sam and Dick go in
search of their brother, and the trail leads them to far-away Alaska,
where they encounter many perils in the fields of ice and snow.
The publishers assure me that by the end of the present year the total
of sales on this series of books will have reached _one million and a
half copies_! This is, to me, truly amazing, and I cannot help but
feel profoundly grateful to all the boys and girls, and their parents,
who have taken such an interest in my stories. I trust with all my
heart that the reading of the books will do the young folks good.
Affectionately and sincerely yours,
EDWARD STRATEMEYER
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. TOM AND SAM
II. SOMETHING ABOUT THE PAST
III. TOM'S JOKE
IV. THE OLD WELL HOLE
V. TOM'S QUEER ACTIONS
VI. BOYS AND GIRLS
VII. COLLEGE DAYS
VIII. THE JOKE ON WILLIAM PHILANDER
IX. WILLIAM PHILANDER TURNS THE TABLES
X. IN WHICH TOM DISAPPEARS
XI. WHAT THE GIRLS KNEW
XII. AT HIRAM DUFF'S COTTAGE
XIII. THE WESTERN EXPRESS
XIV. DICK AND SAM IN CHICAGO
XV. BOUND WEST
XVI. THE ROVER BOYS IN SEATTLE
XVII. OFF FOR ALASKA
XVIII. AT JUNEAU AND SKAGWAY
XIX. FROM ONE CLUE TO ANOTHER
XX. IN THE MOUNTAINS OF ALASKA
XXI. AT THE FOOT OF THE CLIFF
XXII. IKE FURNER'S CAMP
XXIII. A SLIDE DOWN THE MOUNTAIN SIDE
XXIV. IN WHICH TOM IS FOUND
XXV. THE SHELTER UNDER THE CLIFF
XXVI. IN THE GRIP OF THE TORNADO
XXVII. LOST IN THE FIELDS OF ICE
XXVIII. AT TONY BINGS'S CABIN
XXIX. TOM'S WILD RIDE
XXX. GOOD-BYE TO ALASKA--CONCLUSION
ILLUSTRATIONS
"TOM! TOM! STOP!" SCREAMED DICK AND SAM IN UNISON.... _Frontispiece_
"THAT MUST SURELY HAVE BEEN TAKEN IN ALASKA," SAID SAM.
"HERE, HOLD MY TORCH," SAID DICK.
THE ROVER BOYS IN ALASKA
CHAPTER I
TOM AND SAM
"Well, here we are again, Tom | 235.787254 | 1,117 |
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Produced by James Rusk and Nicole Apostola
PLAYS BY ANTON CHEKHOV, SECOND SERIES
By Anton Chekhov
Translated, with an Introduction, by Julius West
[The First Series Plays have been previously published
by Project Gutenberg in etext numbers: 1753 through 1756]
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
ON THE HIGH ROAD
THE PROPOSAL
THE WEDDING
THE BEAR
A TRAGEDIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF
THE ANNIVERSARY
THE THREE SISTERS
THE CHERRY ORCHARD
INTRODUCTION
The last few years have seen a large and generally unsystematic mass of
translations from the Russian flung at the heads and hearts of English
readers. The ready acceptance of Chekhov has been one of the few
successful features of this irresponsible output. He has been welcomed
by British critics with something like affection. Bernard Shaw has
several times remarked: "Every time I see a play by Chekhov, I want to
chuck all my own stuff into the fire." Others, having no such valuable
property to sacrifice on the altar of Chekhov, have not hesitated
to place him side by side with Ibsen, and the other established
institutions of the new theatre. For these reasons it is pleasant to
be able to chronicle the fact that, by way of contrast with the casual
treatment normally handed out to Russian authors, the publishers are
issuing the complete dramatic works of this author. In 1912 they brought
out a volume containing four Chekhov plays, translated by Marian Fell.
All the dramatic works not included in her volume are to be found in the
present one. With the exception of Chekhov's masterpiece, "The Cherry
Orchard" (translated by the late Mr. George Calderon in 1912), none of
these plays have been previously published in book form in England or
America.
It is not the business of a translator to attempt to outdo all others in
singing the praises of his raw material. This is a dangerous process and
may well lead, as it led Mr. Calderon, to drawing the reader's
attention to points of beauty not to be found in the original. A few
bibliographical details are equally necessary, and permissible, and the
elementary principles of Chekhov criticism will also be found useful.
The very existence of "The High Road" (1884); probably the earliest
of its author's plays, will be unsuspected by English readers. During
Chekhov's lifetime it a sort of family legend, after his death it became
a family mystery. A copy was finally discovered only last year in the
Censor's office, yielded up, and published. It had been sent in 1885
under the nom-de-plume "A. Chekhonte," and it had failed to pass. The
Censor, of the time being had scrawled his opinion on the manuscript,
"a depressing and dirty piece,--cannot be licensed." The name of the
gentleman who held this view--Kaiser von Kugelgen--gives another reason
for the educated Russian's low opinion of German-sounding institutions.
Baron von Tuzenbach, the satisfactory person in "The Three Sisters,"
it will be noted, finds it as well, while he is trying to secure the
favours of Irina, to declare that his German ancestry is fairly remote.
This is by way of parenthesis. "The High Road," found after thirty
years, is a most interesting document to the lover of Chekhov. Every
play he wrote in later years was either a one-act farce or a four-act
drama. [Note: "The Swan Song" may occur as an exception. This, however,
is more of a Shakespeare recitation than anything else, and so neither
here nor there.]
In "The High Road" we see, in an embryonic form, the whole later method
of the plays--the deliberate contrast between two strong characters
(Bortsov and Merik in this case), the careful individualization of each
person in a fairly large group by way of an introduction to the main
theme, the concealment of the catastrophe, germ-wise, in the actual
character of the characters, and the of a distinctive group-atmosphere.
It need scarcely be stated that "The High Road" is not a "dirty" piece
according to Russian or to German standards; Chekhov was incapable of
writing a dirty play or story. For the rest, this piece differs from the
others in its presentation, not of Chekhov's favourite middle-classes,
but of the moujik, nourishing, in a particularly stuffy atmosphere, an
intense mysticism and an equally intense thirst for vodka.
"The Proposal" (188 | 236.446368 | 1,118 |
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Produced by 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)
_Barbara Weinstock Lectures on The Morals of Trade_
HIGHER EDUCATION AND BUSINESS STANDARDS.
By WILLARD EUGENE HOTCHKISS.
CREATING CAPITAL: MONEY-MAKING AS AN AIM IN BUSINESS.
By FREDERICK L. LIPMAN.
IS CIVILIZATION A DISEASE?
By STANTON COIT.
SOCIAL JUSTICE WITHOUT SOCIALISM.
By JOHN BATES CLARK.
THE CONFLICT BETWEEN PRIVATE MONOPOLY AND GOOD CITIZENSHIP.
By JOHN GRAHAM BROOKS.
COMMERCIALISM AND JOURNALISM.
By HAMILTON HOLT.
THE BUSINESS CAREER IN ITS PUBLIC RELATIONS.
By ALBERT SHAW.
CREATING CAPITAL
MONEY-MAKING AS AN AIM IN BUSINESS
By
FREDERICK L. LIPMAN
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
_The Riverside Press Cambridge_
1918
COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY THE REGENTS OF THE
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
_Published March 1918_
_The Riverside Press_
CAMBRIDGE. MASSACHUSETTS
U. S. A
BARBARA WEINSTOCK
LECTURES ON THE MORALS OF TRADE
This series will contain essays by representative scholars and men of
affairs dealing with the various phases of the moral law in its
bearing on business life under the new economic order, first delivered
at the University of California on the Weinstock foundation.
CREATING CAPITAL
MONEY-MAKING AS AN AIM IN BUSINESS
The object of this paper is to discuss money-making; to examine its
prevalence as an aim among people generally and the moral standards
which obtain among those who consciously seek to make money.
The desire to make money is common to most men. Stronger or weaker, in
some degree it is present in the mind of nearly every one. Now, how
far does this desire grow to be an aim or object in our lives, and to
what extent is such an aim a worthy one?
The typical money-maker as commonly pictured in our imagination is a
narrow, grasping, selfish individual who has chosen to follow lower
rather than higher ideals and who often is tempted, and always may be
tempted, to employ illegitimate means for the attainment of his ends.
The aims he has adopted are made to stand in opposition to the
practice of certain virtues. Thus we contrast profits and patriotism;
enriching one's self and philanthropy; getting all the law allows and
justice; taking advantage of the other fellow and honesty; becoming
engrossed in acquisition and love of family. Now, such contrasts
obviously prove nothing more than that money-making is and would be a
vicious aim if pursued regardless of these virtues, and it could well
be replied that consideration of patriotism, philanthropy, love of
family, etc., must in themselves impel one to earn and to save. "The
love of money is the root of all evil" implies an exclusive devotion
to acquisition that may well be criticized. But aside from this there
is no doubt that amid the confused ideas held on the subject, aiming
to make money is commonly regarded as in some sort of antagonism to
the social virtues.
That there are other sides to the picture is recognized, however, even
by the loose thought of the day. The man who earns his living, for
instance, it views as one who in so far is performing a fundamental
duty. Indeed, the world scorns him who cannot or will not support
himself and his family. But this is only to say that one must work
to-day to meet the expenditures of to-day. Is this the limit? Is it a
virtue for him to work in order to spend, but a vice for him to work
in order to save? What are the considerations to be observed by a man
in deciding whether or not he should adopt money-making--that is, the
acquisition of a surplus beyond his current needs--as one of his
definite aims in life?
One consideration relates to our country. The United States is now
understood to be spending about $25,000,000 per day in carrying on the
war. In the last analysis this amount must be paid out of the past
savings and the savings from current earnings of the people of the
United States. The wealth of the nation consists mainly of the sum of
the wealth of its citizens. We are therefore told to seek increased
earnings and to economize in our expenditures in order to enhance the
national wealth. The duty here is perfectly clear, but even if we did
not have war conditions to teach us as a patriotic responsibility the
necessity of earning and saving a surplus, the obligation would still
be there. We owe a similar debt to our state and to our city or
district. And nearer still comes the duty to one's family and to one's
own future, the duty of providing for the rainy day, for old age. And
it will be observed that money-making in this sense is directed to the
acquisition of _net_ income, it relates to that portion of one's
earnings which is saved from current expenditure and becomes capital.
Then we must also consider the duty to society. As we look out upon the
surrounding evidences of civilization--buildings and railroads and
highly cultivated fields, the machinery of production and distribution,
the shops full of useful commodities--and then cast our thought
backward to a time not very many years ago when all this country was a
natural wilderness, we may begin to realize the magnitude of the
wealth, the capital, that has come into being since then, every
particle of which is due to the earnings and savings of somebody, to
the surplus not consumed by the workers of the past, their unexpended
and unwasted net balances year by year. Universities, churches,
libraries, parks, are included in the wealth thus handed down to us.
Our lives to-day may be richer and broader through this inheritance
created by the industry and abstinence of our forefathers. Their
business careers, now closed, we regard as the more successful in that
they earned and saved a surplus, that they had a _net_ income to show
as the result of their work.
But these savings of the past were accumulated, after all, by
comparatively few of the workers; not by the many, who lived from hand
to mouth, happy-go-lucky, spending and enjoying in time of abundance,
suffering in time of poverty and stress, making no provision even for
their own future, still less recognizing any duty to their country or
to posterity to produce economically and regulate their expenditure
wisely so as to carry forward a surplus. As far as this majority is
concerned we might yet be living among rocks and trees, without
shelter, lacking sure supplies of food, with fig leaves to cover our
nakedness. And to-day the same conditions obtain. How many persons are
to be found among one's acquaintance who feel and act upon any
responsibility for doing their "bit" in the creation of capital? Very
few. Rather than exert himself to work with this in view, on the one
hand, and to abstain from unnecessary consumption, on the other hand,
the ordinary man will make to himself every excuse. He will contemn
money-making as a sordid aim, readily exaggerating itself into a vice;
he will dwell upon the obligations and other considerations of a
higher life, this being defined as something generous and noble, a
something compared with which money-making cannot be regarded as a
worthy object but must be included in the class of unpleasant
necessities, not to say indecencies, which ought to be relegated to
the background of life; he will summon up pictures of extreme poverty,
where any money received must be expended forthwith to meet urgent
needs, as justifying that which in his case is the gratification of
shiftless indulgence. Above all, this typical individual will not
accept and act upon the idea that his affairs, his small income and
expenditure, have any bearing upon the prosperity and progress of his
country. The most he will keep before him is that he should pay his
bills, and perhaps in some few cases, will extend the notion to the
future to include provision for the bills and possible emergencies
then to be met by himself and his family. Nor is this improvident
attitude confined to the young, to the professional and the other
non-business classes. In the business world we see it all around us;
among those who "work for a living," among clerks and employees and
among the so-called laboring classes it appears to be the normal
attitude. People who work for salaries or wages seem characteristically
to use up all their earnings in their current expenditure, to live up
to their incomes without any serious attempt to save. If they pride
themselves upon trying to keep out of debt, it is as much as they
expect of themselves, and among them the man who attempts to go beyond
this in his money affairs is certainly the exception.
One of the effects of a world-wide war is an enormously increased
demand for labor at high and advancing wages, a condition that we
might suppose would be greatly to the advantage of the laborer. But
that will depend upon his own attitude and policy. From England, and
from American towns here and there, we hear stories of the wage-earner
on whom increasing income has had the effect of lessening the effort
to work; who stops during the week when the higher wage scale has paid
him the amount he is accustomed to regard as a week's earnings. Now,
would it not seem natural to expect that any man encountering improved
market conditions for his output, whether of commodity or service,
would seek to turn the situation to advantage by increasing that
output as largely as lay in his power? If, for instance, I can
manufacture shoes to sell for $4.00 a pair and a change in market
conditions is such that I can obtain $5.00 a pair, I would endeavor to
produce more shoes in order to profit by the favorable market; and if
thereafter the price should rise to $6.00 and $7.00 and $8.00 a pair,
at each increment my efforts would be still further intensified. That,
indeed, is the normal economic attitude. Fluctuations in the price
level due to changes in the demand for a commodity are expected to
affect, and do affect, the market supply. At a higher price,
production is stimulated and more units of the commodity are brought
to the market, both from new sources and from old sources. Under
falling prices, on the other hand, the supply offered in the market
would become automatically diminished.
This is an elementary commonplace in economics, yet the laborer to
whom we have just referred does not seem to recognize it. He may find
that he can earn in, say four days, an amount equal to his former
earnings in six days and, therefore, at the end of the fourth day he
quits work for the week. Now, obviously under such increasing wage
scale, he might do one of three things:
He could quit at the end of the fourth day, having received a week's
income.
He could continue working for the six days and use his surplus
earnings for comforts, pleasures, and luxuries which previously he had
been unable to afford.
He might work for the six days and save as much as possible of his
excess earnings.
Now, what is the wise choice for the laborer? Leaving out of account
special cases where he has a large family, or sickness at home, or is
under some other disability which in his individual case would reduce
his earning power or increase his minimum expenses, ought he not to
work for the six days, putting aside all he could of the excess as
savings for the future? It will be generally conceded that this is
self-evident. If, viewing the narrow conditions under which the
workman ordinarily lives, it should be claimed that during a period of
unusual earnings self-gratification would be not only natural but
measurably justifiable, the reply could be made that this is merely
specious, involving assumption not in accord with the facts. Excuses
of this kind we often make for ourselves in the endeavor to justify
our indulgence in present pleasure rather than perform the irksome
duty of self-restraint. The laborer whose ideals are such that he
quits at the end of the fourth day is not the type of man who is going
to spend the two holidays in pursuing higher aims in life; he is going
to pass them in inaction, quite likely at the grog-shop. The man who
fails to take advantage of the security for the future offered him and
his family through the opportunity of saving from extraordinary
earnings is one who is adding to the abnormal demand for such things
as phonographs, jewelry, spirits, and tobacco. And this helps to
explain the tremendous market for luxuries during wartime. Doubtless
there are many workmen who follow a more rational course, who are
reaping and storing the harvest for the comfort and security of
themselves and their families during the winter of life. Could any one
think that this policy involved an aim that was sordid, tending to
draw them down, and away from higher considerations of life? Certainly
a course of careful planning in one's affairs would be in so far a
better course and on a higher plane than indulgence in idleness or
shiftless expenditure of surplus for present luxuries, regardless of
future need.
This case of the workmen under conditions of abnormal wages seems
exceptional; yet the choice so presented to him is not very different
fundamentally from the choice normally presented to all the rest of
us.
The young man starting out in life may be as negligent of his
opportunities as the workman who quits at the end of the fourth day.
Or if he devotes himself properly to his vocation he may consume his
earnings in current self-gratification. If, however, he will both
concentrate on his work and practice self-restraint with the purpose
of creating a saved surplus, all will agree in considering him as so
far headed on the road towards success. In the case of the beginner
this seems clear enough, but, after all, the same considerations apply
to everybody else, whether in business or profession, beginners or
experienced, young or old; to all of us is the same choice presented
daily, and at our peril we must make it wisely. The physician, for
instance, although he cannot afford to pay more attention to
money-making than to the welfare of his patients, to his studies, to
his professional ideals, must not, on the other hand, leave out of
account these business duties and considerations which belong to him
as an economic member of society. He must produce and must consume
with his family, reasonably, decently and thriftily. He must aim at a
surplus to store away for the future. These aims are, as a matter of
course, secondary to his professional ideals, but there need be no
conflict of duty. The point is that there exists a department of his
activity devoted, and to be devoted, by him to his business affairs.
In any event, as a man, a husband, a father, a citizen, he cannot
escape from the responsibility of these business affairs. They must be
conducted in some way. Shall it be well or ill? If he fails herein it
may involve failure in any or all these relations--as a man, husband,
father, citizen. And obviously these same considerations apply to all
other men and women, whatever may be their professions, occupations,
or major interests in life. Why do so many allow themselves to be
dragged along, living from hand-to-mouth, in fear of the knock of the
bill collector at the door? Why do we associate money questions with
that which is unhappy, unfortunate, down-at-the-heel, with fear and
misery? Barring mere accidents, it is because we are careless,
shiftless; because we do not face the problem manfully, practice
reasonable self-restraint, consider the subject in its complexity and
decide upon, and carry out, a constructive programme. Even if one
happens to possess wealth, he is not exempt. Indeed, large wealth
involves still greater necessity for care in the conduct of one's
pecuniary affairs. The rich man is said to have perplexities and
responsibilities which are unknown to those in moderate circumstances.
In fine, everyone must face these money questions or be driven by
them.
Those who live on fixed incomes, whether from salary or investment,
may find it impossible to make any direct attempt to make money; for
them the problem is to be confronted and mastered on its other side,
the side of spending and saving, that the income may be apportioned as
wisely as possible for the purposes of living. But during the last few
years a new factor has entered into the money problems of the
individual, often adding to his trials, often adding to his self-made
excuses, and especially burdensome to the man on fixed income. We
refer to the high cost of living. Here it is, however, that the wage
earner can do something in self-protection, for the level of prices
may be in some measure affected by his policy in handling his
earnings.
A period of high wages is accompanied by and is in some sense an
incident of a high level of prices. Now we recognize high wages,
considered in itself, as beneficial to the community, for it gives
opportunity, at least, for comforts in life and a provision for the
future that otherwise would be lacking. But if prices have advanced as
much as wages, the apparent improvement to the laborer is merely in
nominal wages, while that which alone can benefit him is higher real
wages. Now let us see what the workman could do to advance real wages
as contrasted with nominal wages.
What will be the effect on prices of the use of surplus earnings
during a period of high wages?
If the surplus earnings are expended, they will be used either in
meeting the higher prices of customary commodities, or in meeting
these advanced prices and also in purchasing additional commodities.
The first case will occur only if, and when, the advance in price
equals the advance in wages, for only in that event will the new wages
just cover the new cost of customary commodities. Then this
expenditure of the entire income in customary commodities tends to
keep up the price level and any benefit from higher wages disappears.
In the second case, so far as the worker spends his surplus earnings
in meeting advanced prices for customary commodities, he tends to
maintain prices at | 236.810778 | 1,119 |
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Produced by Annie McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S
YOUNG PEOPLE
AN ILLUSTRATED WEEKLY.]
* * * * *
VOL. I.--NO. 24. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.
Tuesday, April 13, 1880. Copyright, 1880, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50
per Year, in Advance.
* * * * *
[Illustration: MISS NANCY TAKES LEAVE OF THE OFFICERS.]
NANCY HANSON'S PROJECT.
BY HOWARD PYLE.
It was in the old Quaker town of Wilmington, Delaware, and it was the
evening of the day on which the battle of Brandywine had been fought.
The country people were coming into town in sledges, and in heavy low
carts with solid wheels made of slices from great tree trunks, loaded
with butter, eggs, milk, and vegetables; for the following day was
market-day. Market-day came every Fourth-day (Wednesday) and every
Seventh-day (Saturday). Then the carts drew up in a long line in Market
Street, with their tail-boards to the sidewalk, and the farmers sold
their produce to the town people, who jostled each other as they walked
up and down in front of the market carts--a custom of street markets
still carried on in Wilmington.
Friend William Stapler stopped, on his way to market in his cart, at
Elizabeth Hanson's house, in Shipley Street, to leave a dozen eggs and
two pounds of butter, as he did each Tuesday and Friday evening.
Elizabeth came to the door with a basket for half a peck of potatoes.
William Stapler took off | 236.960151 | 1,120 |
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[Illustration: THE GREAT YARMOUTH TOLHOUSE.]
_The
Antiquarian Magazine
& Bibliographer._
EDITED BY
EDWARD WALFORD, M.A.,
_Formerly Scholar of Balliol College, Oxford, and
late Editor of “The Gentleman’s
Magazine,” &c._
“Time doth consecrate,
And what is grey with age becomes religion | 237.26952 | 1,121 |
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Transcribed from the 1864 Chapman and Hall “Tales of All Countries”
edition by David Price, email [email protected]
THE CHÂTEAU OF PRINCE POLIGNAC.
FEW Englishmen or Englishwomen are intimately acquainted with the little
town of Le Puy. It is the capital of the old province of Le Velay, which
also is now but little known, even to French ears, for it is in these
days called by the imperial name of the Department of the Haute Loire.
It is to the south-east of Auvergne, and is nearly in the centre of the
southern half of France.
But few towns, merely as towns, can be better worth visiting. In the
first place, the volcanic formation of the ground on which it stands is
not only singular in the extreme, so as to be interesting to the
geologist, but it is so picturesque as to be equally gratifying to the
general tourist. Within a narrow valley there stand several rocks,
rising up from the ground with absolute abruptness. Round two of these
the town clusters, and a third stands but a mile distant, forming the
centre of a faubourg, or suburb. These rocks appear to be, and I believe
are, the harder particles of volcanic matter, which have not been carried
away through successive ages by the joint agency of water and air.
When the tide of lava ran down between the hills the surface left was no
doubt on a level with the heads of these rocks; but here and there the
deposit became harder than elsewhere, and these harder points have
remained, lifting up their steep heads in a line through the valley.
The highest of these is called the Rocher de Corneille. Round this and
up its steep sides the town stands. On its highest summit there was an
old castle; and there now is, or will be before these pages are printed,
a colossal figure in bronze of the Virgin Mary, made from the cannon
taken at Sebastopol. Half-way down the hill the cathedral is built, a
singularly gloomy edifice,—Romanesque, as it is called, in its style, but
extremely similar in its mode of architecture to what we know of
Byzantine structures. But there has been no surface on the rock side
large enough to form a resting-place for the church, which has therefore
been built out on huge supporting piles, which form a porch below the
west front; so that the approach is by numerous steps laid along the side
of the wall below the church, forming a wondrous flight of stairs. Let
all men who may find themselves stopping at Le Puy visit the top of these
stairs at the time of the setting sun, and look down from thence through
the framework of the porch on the town beneath, and at the hill-side
beyond.
Behind the church is the seminary of the priests, with its beautiful
walks stretching round the Rocher de Corneille, and overlooking the town
and valley below.
Next to this rock, and within a quarter of a mile of it, is the second
peak, called the Rock of the Needle. It rises narrow, sharp, and abrupt
from the valley, allowing of no buildings on its sides. But on its very
point has been erected a church sacred to St. Michael, that lover of rock
summits, accessible by stairs cut from the stone. This, perhaps—this
rock, I mean—is the most wonderful of the wonders which Nature has formed
at La Puy.
Above this, at a mile’s distance, is the rock of Espailly, formed in the
same way, and almost equally precipitous. On its summit is a castle,
having its own legend, and professing to have been the residence of
Charles VII., when little of France belonged to its kings but the
provinces of Berry, Auvergne, and Le Velay. Some three miles farther up
there is another volcanic rock, larger, indeed, but equally sudden in its
spring,—equally remarkable as rising abruptly from the valley,—on which
stands the castle and old family residence of the house of Polignac. It
was lost by them at the Revolution, but was repurchased by the minister
of Charles X., and is still the property of the head of the race.
Le Puy itself is a small, moderate, pleasant French town, in which the
language of the people has not the pure Parisian aroma, nor is the glory
of the boulevards of the capital emulated in its streets. These are
crooked, narrow, steep, and intricate, forming here and there excellent
sketches for a lover of street picturesque beauty; but hurtful to the
feet with their small, round-topped paving stones, and not always as
clean as pedestrian ladies might desire.
And now I would ask my readers to join me at the morning table d’hôte at
the Hotel des Ambassadeurs. It will of course be understood that this
does not mean a breakfast in the ordinary fashion of England, consisting
of tea or coffee, bread and butter, and perhaps a boiled egg. It
comprises all the requisites for a composite dinner, excepting soup; and
as one gets farther south in France, this meal is called dinner. It is,
however, eaten without any prejudice to another similar and somewhat
longer meal at six or seven o’clock, which, when the above name is taken
up by the earlier enterprise, is styled supper.
The déjeûner, or dinner, at the Hôtel des Ambassadeurs, on the morning in
question, though very elaborate, was not a very gay affair. There were
some fourteen persons present, of whom half were residents in the town,
men employed in some official capacity, who found this to be the
| 237.281217 | 1,122 |
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(http://www.freeliterature.org)
THE BORDER RIFLES.
A Tale of the Texan War
by
GUSTAVE AIMARD,
Author of "Trapper's Daughter," "Indian Scout," etc.
London:
Ward and Lock,
158, Fleet Street.
MDCCCLXI.
PREFACE
In the series commencing with the present | 237.57752 | 1,123 |
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Transcribed from the 1903 Chapman and Hall edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
SKETCHES BY BOZ
Illustrative of Every-Day Life
and Every-Day People
* * * * *
By CHARLES DICKENS
* * * * *
_With Illustrations by George Cruickshank and Phiz_
* * * * *
LONDON: CHAPMAN & HALL, LD.
NEW YORK: CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1903
PREFACE
The whole of these Sketches were written and published, one by one, when
I was a very young man. They were collected and republished while I was
still a very young man; and sent into the world with all their
imperfections (a good many) on their heads.
They comprise my first attempts at authorship--with the exception of
certain tragedies achieved at the mature age of eight or ten, and
represented with great applause to overflowing nurseries. I am conscious
of their often being extremely crude and ill-considered, and bearing
obvious marks of haste and inexperience; particularly in that section of
the present volume which is comprised under the general head of Tales.
But as this collection is not originated now, and was very leniently and
favourably received when it was first made, I have not felt it right
either to remodel or expunge, beyond a few words and phrases here and
there.
OUR PARISH
CHAPTER I--THE BEADLE. THE PARISH ENGINE. THE SCHOOLMASTER
How much is conveyed in those two short words--'The Parish!' And with
how many tales of distress and misery, of broken fortune and ruined
hopes, too often of unrelieved wretchedness and successful knavery, are
they associated! A poor man, with small earnings, and a large family,
just manages to live on from hand to mouth, and to procure food from day
to day; he has barely sufficient to satisfy the present cravings of
nature, and can take no heed of the future. His taxes are in arrear,
quarter-day passes by, another quarter-day arrives: he can procure no
more quarter for himself, and is summoned by--the parish. His goods are
distrained, his children are crying with cold and hunger, and the very
bed on which his sick wife is lying, is dragged from beneath her. What
can he do? To whom is he to apply for relief? To private charity? To
benevolent individuals? Certainly not--there is his parish. There are
the parish vestry, the parish infirmary, the parish surgeon, the parish
officers, the parish beadle. Excellent institutions, and gentle,
kind-hearted men. The woman dies--she is buried by the parish. The
children have no protector--they are taken care of by the parish. The
man first neglects, and afterwards cannot obtain, work--he is relieved by
the parish; and when distress and drunkenness have done their work upon
him, he is maintained, a harmless babbling idiot, in the parish asylum.
The parish beadle is one of the most, perhaps _the_ most, important
member of the local administration. He is not so well off as the
churchwardens, certainly, nor is he so learned as the vestry-clerk, nor
does he order things quite so much his own way as either of them. But
his power is very great, notwithstanding; and the dignity of his office
is never impaired by the absence of efforts on his part to maintain it.
The beadle of our parish is a splendid fellow. It is quite delightful to
hear him, as he explains the state of the existing poor laws to the deaf
old women in the board-room passage on business nights; and to hear what
he said to the senior churchwarden, and what the senior churchwarden said
to him; and what 'we' (the beadle and the other gentlemen) came to the
determination of doing. A miserable-looking woman is called into the
boardroom, and represents a case of extreme destitution, affecting
herself--a widow, with six small children. 'Where do you live?' inquires
one of the overseers. 'I rents a two-pair back, gentlemen, at Mrs.
Brown's, Number 3, Little King William's-alley, which has lived there
this fifteen year, and knows me to be very hard-working and industrious,
and when my poor husband was alive, gentlemen, as died in the
hospital'--'Well, well,' interrupts the overseer, taking a note of the
address, 'I'll send Simmons, the beadle, to-morrow morning, to ascertain
whether your story is correct; and if so, I suppose you must have an
order into the House--Simmons, go to this woman's the first thing
to-morrow morning, will you?' Simmons bows assent, and ushers the woman
out. Her previous admiration of 'the board' (who all sit behind great
books, and with their hats on) fades into nothing before her respect for
her lace-trimmed conductor; and her account of what has passed inside,
increases--if that be possible--the marks of respect, shown by the
assembled crowd, to that solemn functionary. As to taking out a summons,
it's quite a hopeless case if Simmons attends it, on behalf of the
parish. He knows all the titles of the Lord Mayor by heart; states the
case without a single stammer: and it is even reported that on one
occasion he ventured to make a joke, which the Lord Mayor's head footman
(who happened to be present) afterwards told an intimate friend,
confidentially, was almost equal to one of Mr. Hobler's.
See him again on Sunday in his state-coat and cocked-hat, with a
large-headed staff for show in his left hand, and a small cane for use in
his right. How pompously he marshals the children into their places! and
how demurely the little urchins look at him askance as he surveys them
when they are all seated, with a glare of the eye peculiar to beadles!
The churchwardens and overseers being duly installed in their curtained
pews, he seats himself on a mahogany bracket, erected expressly for him
at the top of the aisle, and divides his attention between his
prayer-book and the boys. Suddenly, just at the commencement of the
communion service, when the whole congregation is hushed into a profound
silence, broken only by the voice of the officiating clergyman, a penny
is heard to ring on the stone floor of the aisle with astounding
clearness. Observe the generalship of the beadle. His involuntary look
of horror is instantly changed into one of perfect indifference, as if he
were the only person present who had not heard the noise. The artifice
succeeds. After putting forth his right leg now and then, as a feeler,
the victim who dropped the money ventures to make one or two distinct
dives after it; and the beadle, gliding softly round, salutes his little
round head, when it again appears above the seat, with divers double
knocks, administered with the cane before noticed, to the intense delight
of three young men in an adjacent pew, who cough violently at intervals
until the conclusion of the sermon.
Such are a few traits of the importance and gravity of a parish beadle--a
gravity which has never been disturbed in any case that has come under
our observation, except when the services of that particularly useful
machine, a parish fire-engine, are required: then indeed all is bustle.
Two little boys run to the beadle as fast as their legs will carry them,
and report from their own personal observation that some neighbouring
chimney is on fire; the engine is hastily got out, and a plentiful supply
of boys being obtained, and harnessed to it with ropes, away they rattle
over the pavement, the beadle, running--we do not exaggerate--running at
the side, until they arrive at some house, smelling strongly of soot, at
the door of which the beadle knocks with considerable gravity for
half-an-hour. No attention being paid to these manual applications, and
the turn-cock having turned on the water, the engine turns off amidst the
shouts of the boys; it pulls up once more at the work-house, and the
beadle 'pulls up' the unfortunate householder next day, for the amount of
his legal reward. We never saw a parish engine at a regular fire but
once. It came up in gallant style--three miles and a half an hour, at
least; there was a capital supply of water, and it was first on the spot.
Bang went the pumps--the people cheered--the beadle perspired profusely;
but it was unfortunately discovered, just as they were going to put the
fire out, that nobody understood the process by which the engine was
filled with water; and that eighteen boys, and a man, had exhausted
themselves in pumping for twenty minutes, without producing the slightest
effect!
The personages next in importance to the beadle, are the master of the
workhouse and the parish schoolmaster. The vestry-clerk, as everybody
knows, is a short, pudgy little man, in black, with a thick gold
watch-chain of considerable length, terminating in two large seals and a
key. He is an attorney, and generally in a bustle; at no time more so,
than when he is hurrying to some parochial meeting, with his gloves
crumpled up in one hand, and a large red book under the other arm. As to
the churchwardens and overseers, we exclude them altogether, because all
we know of them is, that they are usually respectable tradesmen, who wear
hats with brims inclined to flatness, and who occasionally testify in
gilt letters on a blue ground, in some conspicuous part of the church, to
the important fact of a gallery having being enlarged and beautified, or
an organ rebuilt.
The master of the workhouse is not, in our parish--nor is he usually in
any other--one of that class of men the better part of whose existence
has passed away, and who drag out the remainder in some inferior
situation, with just enough thought of the past, to feel degraded by, and
discontented with the present. We are unable to guess precisely to our
own satisfaction what station the man can have occupied before; we should
think he had been an inferior sort of attorney's clerk, or else the
master of a national school--whatever he was, it is clear his present
position is a change for the better. His income is small certainly, as
the rusty black coat and threadbare velvet collar demonstrate: but then
he lives free of house-rent, has a limited allowance of coals and
candles, and an almost unlimited allowance of authority in his petty
kingdom. He is a tall, thin, bony man; always wears shoes and black
cotton stockings with his surtout; and eyes you, as you pass his
parlour-window, as if he wished you were a pauper, just to give you a
specimen of his power. He is an admirable specimen of a small tyrant:
morose, brutish, and ill-tempered; bullying to his inferiors, cringing to
his superiors, and jealous of the influence and authority of the beadle.
Our schoolmaster is just the very reverse of this amiable official. He
has been one of those men one occasionally hears of, on whom misfortune
seems to have set her mark; nothing he ever did, or was concerned in,
appears to have prospered. A rich old relation who had brought him up,
and openly announced his intention of providing for him, left him
10,000_l._ in his will, and revoked the bequest in a codicil. Thus
unexpectedly reduced to the necessity of providing for himself, he
procured a situation in a public office. The young clerks below him,
died off as if there were a plague among them; but the old fellows over
his head, for the reversion of whose places he was anxiously waiting,
lived on and on, as if they were immortal. He speculated and lost. He
speculated again and won--but never got his money. His talents were
great; his disposition, easy, generous and liberal. His friends profited
by the one, and abused the other. Loss succeeded loss; misfortune
crowded on misfortune; each successive day brought him nearer the verge
of hopeless penury, and the quondam friends who had been warmest in their
professions, grew strangely cold and indifferent. He had children whom
he loved, and a wife on whom he doted. The former turned their backs on
him; the latter died broken-hearted. He went with the stream--it had
ever been his failing, and he had not courage sufficient to bear up
against so many shocks--he had never cared for himself, and the only
being who had cared for him, in his poverty and distress, was spared to
him no longer. It was at this period that he applied for parochial
relief. Some kind-hearted man who had known him in happier times,
chanced to be churchwarden that year, and through his interest he was
appointed to his present situation.
He is an old man now. Of the many who once crowded round him in all the
hollow friendship of boon-companionship, some have died, some have fallen
like himself, some have prospered--all have forgotten him. Time and
misfortune have mercifully been permitted to impair his memory, and use
has habituated him to his present condition. Meek, uncomplaining, and
zealous in the discharge of his duties, he has been allowed to hold his
situation long beyond the usual period; and he will no doubt continue to
hold it, until infirmity renders him incapable, or death releases him.
As the grey-headed old man feebly paces up and down the sunny side of the
little court-yard between school hours, it would be difficult, indeed,
for the most intimate of his former friends to recognise their once gay
and happy associate, in the person of the Pauper Schoolmaster.
CHAPTER II--THE CURATE. THE OLD LADY. THE HALF-PAY CAPTAIN
We commenced our last chapter with the beadle of our parish, because we
are deeply sensible of the importance and dignity of his office. We will
begin the present, with the clergyman. Our curate is a young gentleman
of such prepossessing appearance, and fascinating manners, that within
one month after his first appearance in the parish, half the young-lady
inhabitants were melancholy with religion, and the other half, desponding
with love. Never were so many young ladies seen in our parish church on
Sunday before; and never had the little round angels' faces on Mr.
Tomkins's monument in the side aisle, beheld such devotion on earth as
they all exhibited. He was about five-and-twenty when he first came to
astonish the parishioners. He parted his hair on the centre of his
forehead in the form of a Norman arch, wore a brilliant of the first
water on the fourth finger of his left hand (which he always applied to
his left cheek when he read prayers), and had a deep sepulchral voice of
unusual solemnity. Innumerable were the calls made by prudent mammas on
our new curate, and innumerable the invitations with which he was
assailed, and which, to do him justice, he readily accepted. If his
manner in the pulpit had created an impression in his favour, the
sensation was increased tenfold, by his appearance in private circles.
Pews in the immediate vicinity of the pulpit or reading-desk rose in
value; sittings in the centre aisle were at a premium: an inch of room in
the front row of the gallery could not be procured for love or money; and
some people even went so far as to assert, that the three Miss Browns,
who had an obscure family pew just behind the churchwardens', were
detected, one Sunday, in the free seats by the communion-table, actually
lying in wait for the curate as he passed to the vestry! He began to
preach extempore sermons, and even grave papas caught the infection. He
got out of bed at half-past twelve o'clock one winter's night, to
half-baptise a washerwoman's child in a slop-basin, and the gratitude of
the parishioners knew no bounds--the very churchwardens grew generous,
and insisted on the parish defraying the expense of the watch-box on
wheels, which the new curate had ordered for himself, to perform the
funeral service in, in wet weather. He sent three pints of gruel and a
quarter of a pound of tea to a poor woman who had been brought to bed of
four small children, all at once--the parish were charmed. He got up a
subscription for her--the woman's fortune was made. He spoke for one
hour and twenty-five minutes, at an anti-slavery meeting at the Goat and
Boots--the enthusiasm was at its height. A proposal was set on foot for
presenting the curate with a piece of plate, as a mark of esteem for his
valuable services rendered to the parish. The list of subscriptions was
filled up in no time; the contest was, not who should escape the
contribution, but who should be the foremost to subscribe. A splendid
silver inkstand was made, and engraved with an appropriate inscription;
the curate was invited to a public breakfast, at the before-mentioned
Goat and Boots; the inkstand was presented in a neat speech by Mr.
Gubbins, the ex-churchwarden, and acknowledged by the curate in terms
which drew tears into the eyes of all present--the very waiters were
melted.
One would have supposed that, by this time, the theme of universal
admiration was lifted to the very pinnacle of popularity. No such thing.
The curate began to cough; four fits of coughing one morning between the
Litany and the Epistle, and five in the afternoon service. Here was a
discovery--the curate | 237.579924 | 1,124 |
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Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 40289-h.htm or 40289-h.zip:
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Transcriber's note:
A carat character is used to denote superscription. A
single character following the carat is superscripted
(example: M^r). Multiple superscripted characters are
enclosed by curly brackets (example: Mad^{lle.}).
Unmatched double quotation marks appear as they did in
the original book.
THE VIOLIN:
Some Account of That Leading Instrument, and Its Most
Eminent Professors, from Its Earliest Date to the
Present Time; with Hints to Amateurs, Anecdotes, etc.
by
GEORGE DUBOURG.
FOURTH EDITION,
Revised and Considerably Enlarged.
LONDON:
Robert Cocks and Co.
Publishers to the Queen,
New Burlington Street;
Simpkin, Marshall and Co. Stationers'-Hall Court.
MDCCCLII.
London:
Printed by J. Mallett,
Wardour Street.
PREFACE
TO THE PRE | 237.659859 | 1,125 |
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Transcriber’s Note:
Minor errors in punctuation and formatting have been silently corrected.
Please see the transcriber’s note at the end of this text for details
regarding the handling of any textual issues encountered during its
preparation.
This version of the text cannot represent certain typographical effects.
Italics are delimited with the ‘_’ character as _italic_.
The captions of the full-page illustrations have been indicated, moved
slightly to appear at paragraph breaks.
Footnotes have been resequenced to be unique across the text, and were
moved to the end of each chapter.
------------------
INDIA AND TIBET
------------------
[Illustration: THE DALAI LAMA]
------------------
INDIA AND TIBET
A HISTORY OF THE RELATIONS WHICH HAVE
SUBSISTED BETWEEN THE TWO COUNTRIES
FROM THE TIME OF WARREN HASTINGS TO
1910; WITH A PARTICULAR ACCOUNT OF THE
MISSION TO LHASA OF 1904
BY SIR FRANCIS YOUNGHUSBAND
K.C.I.E.
WITH MAPS AND ILLUSTRATIONS
LONDON
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W.
1910
------------------
TO
MY WIFE,
ON WHOM FELL THE ANXIETY
AND SUSPENSE OF
DISTANTLY AWAITING THE RESULTS OF HIGH ADVENTURE,
I DEDICATE THIS BOOK,
IN THE HOPE THAT
FROM IT MAY COME SOME RECOMPENSE FOR
THE SUFFERING SHE ENDURED
------------------
PREFACE
An apology is needed for the | 237.688753 | 1,126 |
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file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
German Problems and Personalities
BY
CHARLES SAROLEA
LONDON
CHATTO & WINDUS
1917
_All rights reserved_
[Illustration: Charles Sarolea]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
INTRODUCTION 1
I. AN AMERICAN PREFACE 7
II. MY FORECASTS OF 1906 AND 1912 12
III. THE CURSE OF THE HOHENZOLLERN 53
IV. THE GERMAN WAR-TRIUMVIRATE 85
(i.) Nietzsche.
(ii.) Montaigne and Nietzsche.
(iii.) Treitschke.
(iv.) Bernhardi.
V. FREDERICK THE GREAT 136
VI. THE APOTHEOSIS OF GOETHE 142
VII. THE SERVICE OF THE CITY IN GERMANY 148
VIII. THE NEGLECT OF GERMAN 159
IX. MECKLENBURG, THE PARADISE OF PRUSSIAN JUNKERTHUM 164
X. THE GERMAN RACE HERESY AND THE WAR 169
XI. A SLUMP IN GERMAN THEOLOGY 183
XII. THE GERMAN ENIGMA 189
XIII. THE TRAGIC ISOLATION OF GERMANY 196
XIV. RUSSIA AND GERMANY 203
XV. THE PEACEMAKER OF GERMANY: PRINCE VON BUeLOW 218
XVI. THE SILENCE OF HERR VON BETHMANN-HOLLWEG 226
XVII. THE COMING REVOLUTION IN GERMANY 231
XVIII. VIA PACIS 248
APPENDIX: THE PRIVATE MORALITY OF THE PRUSSIAN KINGS 255
GERMAN PROBLEMS AND PERSONALITIES
INTRODUCTION BY THE LITERARY EDITOR OF THE NEW YORK "TIMES"
Three years ago there was one man in Europe who had a political sight
so clear that his words then written seem to-day uncanny in their
wisdom.[1]
[1] One of the most eminent American theologians, Bishop
Brent, wrote in an article on "Speculation and Prophecy": "In
Dr. Sarolea's volume, 'The Anglo-German Problem,' published
in 1912, there is a power of precognition so startling that
one can understand a sceptic of the twenty-first century
raising serious doubts as to whether parts of it were not
late interpolation." Mr. Gilbert Keith Chesterton in his
"Crimes of England" applied to the "Anglo-German Problem" the
epithet "almost magical."
This man saw the present war; he saw that Belgium would be invaded by
Germany; he saw that the Germans hated England with a profound and
bitter hate; that German diplomatic blunders had placed that nation in
almost complete isolation in the world; that the Triple Alliance was
really only a Dual Alliance, popular feeling in Italy becoming
increasingly hostile to Austria and to Prussia; that Germans felt
their culture to be superior to the civilization of the rest of the
world, and themselves to be a superior race, with the right to rule
other peoples; that Prussianism and Junkerism and militarism were in
complete control of the German soul; that Germany had ambitions for
world empire, a recurrence of "the old Napoleonic dream"; that the
danger to European peace lay with Germany and not with England; that
Germans believed war to be essentially moral and the mainspring of
national progress; that the whole German people had become
Bismarckian; that the Germans hoped to obtain by a victory over
England that shadowless place in the sun toward which they began to
leap when they beat France in 1870.
The seer who thus saw is Dr. Charles Sarolea, who recently came to the
United States in the interests of his country, one of the most
distinguished of Belgian scholars, a friend of King Albert, holder of
Belgian decorations and honours from British learned societies, for
the last fourteen years Belgian Consul in Edinburgh, and for the last
twenty-one years head of the French and Romance Department at the
University of Edinburgh. His vision was set out in "The Anglo-German
Problem," written in 1912, now published in an authorized American
edition, perhaps the most accurate forecast which has been penned of
to-day's conflict, and certainly one of the most exact analyses of the
German nation made before the world learned, since last August, to
know it as it is--as Sarolea, master delineator of a nation's
character, drew it. Clear, sane, calm, logical, strong--such is Dr.
Sarolea's book, with its "rare perspicacity" and "remarkable sense of
political realities," in the words of King Albert's appreciation of
the work.
Dr. Sarolea, looking at Germany from the British Isles, where he was
writing, perceived that "war is actually unavoidable" unless a
spiritual miracle was wrought; that Europe was "drifting slowly but
steadily toward an awful catastrophe." Why? Because Germany was
strong, envious, ambitious, conceited, arrogant, unscrupulous, and
dissatisfied. It was in Germany that "the pagan gods of the Nibelungen
are forging their deadly weapons," for Germans believe national
superiority is due to military superiority. Dr. Sarolea named as a war
year this very year[2] in which we now are when he said:
[2] 1915.
"Believing, as they do, that to-day they are rich and prosperous
mainly because in 1870 they beat the French people, why should they
not believe and trust that in 1915 they would become even stronger and
richer if they succeeded in beating the English?"
And the conflict, when it comes, will be "a political and religious
crusade," rather than a mere economic war, for the conflict between
England and Germany "is the old conflict between liberalism and
despotism, between industrialism and militarism, between progress and
reaction, between the masses and the classes."
So many other important points are made in Dr. Sarolea's closely
written book, in which practically every sentence contains a fact, an
idea, or a prophecy, that it is not possible in this review to do more
than present a few of them in the summary which follows. Though the
present tense is used by Dr. Sarolea and the reviewer, it should be
constantly remembered that Dr. Sarolea was thinking in 1912, not since
August, 1914.
Germany is in "tragic moral isolation." The moral and intellectual
influence of German culture is steadily diminishing. Other nations
feel a universal distrust and dislike toward Germany. So great is
this antipathy that the Germans imagine there is a malignant
conspiracy against them. An upstart nation, suddenly wealthy and
powerful, Germany has developed an inordinate self-conceit and
self-assertion. The German glories in being a realist. He thinks only
of political power and colonial expansion. Might is the supreme test
of right. He constantly emphasizes the indelible character of the
German race. Germans are suffering from "acute megalomania." They
think the English decadent, the French doomed to premature extinction,
the Russians "rotten." Germany is the "reactionary force in
international politics."
England believes the building of the German Navy is mainly directed
against her, though Germany says she is building to protect her
colonies and commerce. Yet it is not reasonably possible so to account
for the German fleet.
The greatest danger to England is not invasion of the British Isles,
but invasion of Belgium and France. These countries are the "Achilles
heel of the British Empire." The German strategic railways on the
Belgian frontiers show that Germany is far more likely to invade
Belgium than England, Belgium again becoming the cockpit of Europe.
Germany feels that she has grievances against England; thus her
hatred. She thinks England has checked her commercial expansion. But
this is not true, for English Free Trade has been one of the most
important contributory causes of German prosperity.
Germany thinks England has arrested her colonial expansion; Germany
says every other great nation but herself has been permitted to build
up a colonial empire; thus she is prevented from attaining her natural
growth. But this is not true. England could not have checked her
colonial aspirations, because Germany had no colonial aspirations
until recently. When Germany did start to seek colonies, she met
everywhere conflicting claims of England, but this was because England
was already in possession, having begun her colonial policy years
before Germany entered the race. Bismarck was largely responsible for
Germany's now having so small a colonial territory.
Germany thinks she has another grievance--that England has hemmed her
in with a ring of enemies. But Germany is friendless because of her
mistakes. Bismarck alienated the Russians for ever in 1878 at the
Treaty of Berlin, making a Franco-Russian understanding unavoidable.
The Kruger telegram of 1896, the outburst of anti-British feeling
during the Boer War, the German naval programme, opened England's eyes
to her danger; thus was England forced to seek France and Russia.
The Kaiser is intensely religious, claiming to be "the anointed of the
Lord." Yet he is a materialist, an opportunist, and mainly trusts to
brute force. The navy is his creation. He brandishes the sword, saying
he loves peace. Napoleon III. used to express his love for peace, yet
brought on the most disastrous war of French history; Nicholas II.
started as the peacemaker of Europe, yet brought about the bloodiest
war in Russian history. "Are the Kaiser's pacific protests as futile,
are his sympathies as shallow, as those of a Napoleon or a Nicholas?"
Dr. Sarolea closes his book thus:
"We can only hope that England, which to-day more than any other
country--more, even, than republican France--represents the ideals of
a pacific and industrial democracy, may never be called upon to assert
her supremacy in armed conflict, and to safeguard those ideals against
a wanton attack on the part of the most formidable and most systematic
military power the world has ever seen."
CHAPTER I
AN AMERICAN PREFACE[3]
[3] Preface written for the American Edition of the
"Anglo-German Problem," published by Putnam.
I.
The book of which a new and popular edition is now presented to the
American public has very little in common with the thousand and one
war publications which are distracting the attention of a bewildered
and satiated reader. It was not compiled in feverish haste since the
war began. It was written years before the war, and represents the
outcome of two decades of study and travel in Germany.
The volume was first published in 1912 to dispel the false sense of
security which was blinding European opinion to the imminent perils
ahead, to warn Britain of the appalling catastrophe towards which all
nations were drifting, and to give an accurate estimate of the forces
which were making for war. I attempted to prove that Germany and not
Britain or France or Russia was the storm-centre of international
politics. I attempted to prove that the differences between Germany
and Britain were not due to substantial grievances, but that those
grievances were purely imaginary; that such catch-phrases as taking
Germany's place in the sun were entirely misleading, and that both
the grievances and the catch-phrases were merely diverting the public
mind from the one real issue at stake, the clash and conflict between
two irreconcilable political creeds--the Imperialism of Great Britain,
granting equal rights to all, based on Free Trade, and aiming at a
federation of self-governing communities; and the Imperialism of
Germany, based on despotism and antagonism and aiming at the military
ascendancy of one Power over subject races.
I further attempted to show how the German people were in the grip of
the Prussian military machine, of a reactionary bureaucracy, and of a
Prussian feudal Junkerthum; how behind that military machine and that
feudal Junkerthum there were even more formidable moral and spiritual
forces at work; how the whole German nation were under the spell of a
false political creed; how the Universities, the Churches, the Press,
were all possessed with the same exclusive nationalism; and how, being
misled by its spiritual leaders, the whole nation was honestly and
intensely convinced that in the near future the German Empire must
challenge the world in order to establish its supremacy over the
Continent of Europe.
II.
_Habent sua fata libelli!_ Motley's "Rise of the Dutch Republic" was
refused by the illustrious house of Murray. The now historical
"Foundations" of Chamberlain were rejected for twenty years by English
publishers, until the translation brought a little fortune to Mr. John
Lane. Without in the least suggesting a comparison with those famous
works, I only want to point out that the "Anglo-German Problem" has
passed through as strange literary vicissitudes. A book written by a
sympathetic and devoted student of German literature, and who for
twenty years had been working for the diffusion of German culture, was
denounced as anti-German. A book inspired from the first page to the
last with pacific and democratic ideals was denounced as a militarist
and mischievous production. A temperate judicial analysis was dubbed
as alarmist and sensational and bracketed with the scaremongerings of
the Yellow Press. The radical _Daily News_ of London dismissed my
volume with a contemptuous notice. The Edinburgh reviewer of the
_Scotsman_ pompously declared that such a book could do no good.
To-day both the Press and the public have made ample if belated amends
for the unjust treatment meted out to the "Anglo-German Problem" on
its first appearance. His Majesty King Albert has emphasized the
prophetic character of the book, and has paid it the high compliment
of recommending it to members of his Government. University statesmen
like President Butler, eminent lawyers like Mr. James Beck,
illustrious philosophers like Professor Bergson, have testified to its
fairness, its moderation, and its political insight. Almost unnoticed
on its publication in 1912, the "Anglo-German Problem" is to-day one
of the three books on the war most widely read throughout the British
Empire, and is being translated into the French, Dutch, and Spanish
languages.
III.
Not only have the principles and general conclusions propounded in the
"Anglo-German Problem" received signal confirmation from recent
events, but the forecasts and anticipations have been verified in
every detail. It is the common fate of war books to become very
quickly out of date. After four years, there is not one paragraph
which has been contradicted by actual fact. Even the chapter on the
Baghdad Railway, written in 1906 and published as a separate pamphlet
nine years ago, remains substantially correct. One of the leading
magnates of Wall Street wrote to me: "Events have not only unfolded
themselves in the way you anticipated, but they have happened for the
identical reasons which you indicated." I pointed out the fatal peril
of the Austrian-Serbian differences and of the _Drang nach Osten_
policy, and it is those Serbian-Austrian differences which have
precipitated the war. I prophesied that the invasion of Belgium and
not the invasion of England was the contingency to be dreaded, and
Belgium has become the main theatre of military operations. I
emphasized that the conflict was one of fundamental moral and
political ideals rather than of economic interests, and the war has
developed into a religious crusade. I prophesied that the war would be
long and cruel, and it has proved the most ruthless war of modern
times.
All the forces which I prophesied would make for war have made for
war: the reactionary policy of the Junkerthum, the internal troubles,
the personality of the Kaiser, the propaganda of the Press and of the
Universities. Similarly, the forces which were expected to make for
peace, and which I prophesied would _not_ make for peace, have failed
to work for peace. Few publicists anticipated that the millions of
German Social Democrats would behave as timid henchmen of the Prussian
Junker, and my friend Vandervelde, leader of the International Social
Democracy and now Belgian Minister of State, indignantly repudiated my
reflections on his German comrades. Alas! the Gospel according to St.
Marx has been as ineffectual as the Gospel according to St. Marc. The
Social Democracy which called itself the International (with a capital
I) has proved selfishly nationalist, and the masses which had not the
courage to fight for their rights under Kaiser Bebel are now
slaughtering their French and English brethren, and are meekly
enlisted in the legions of Kaiser William.
The "Anglo-German Problem," written by a writer of Belgian origin who
foresaw the catastrophe threatening his native country, will be
followed up shortly by another book on the "Reconstruction of
Belgium." Belgium has been not only the champion of European freedom;
she has also been the innocent victim of the old order. It is only in
the fitness of things that after the war Belgium shall become the
keystone of the new International Order. The whole of Europe is
ultimately responsible for the Belgian tragedy. The whole of Europe
must therefore be interested in and pledged to the restoration of
Belgium and to the liberation of the Belgian people, now crushed and
bleeding under the heel of the Teutonic invader.
CHAPTER II
MY FORECASTS OF 1906 AND 1912[4]
[4] This chapter is entirely made up of extracts taken from
my pamphlet, "The Baghdad Railway," _published in_ 1906, and
from my book, "The Anglo-German Problem," published in 1912.
I.--WE ARE DRIFTING INTO WAR.
"Europe is drifting slowly but steadily towards an awful catastrophe,
which, if it does happen, will throw back civilization for the coming
generation, as the war of 1870 threw back civilization for the
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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
XI. VALDES AND OCHINO 144
XII. GOING TO LAW 159
XIII. THE CARDINAL TEMPTED 172
XIV. WHAT BEFEL BARBAROSSA 187
XV. MORE ABOUT THE CARDINAL 197
XVI. THE DUCHESS AND THE MARCHIONESS 221
XVII. ISCHIA 233
XVIII. A BETTER LIFE 247
XIX. REST AND PEACE 261
APPENDIX 275
THE DUCHESS OF TRAJETTO.
CHAPTER I.
THE DUCHESS IN DANGER.
It was night--the Duchess was in bed. Her hand shaded her wakeful eyes
from the light of a silver lamp fed with perfumed oil, which shone only
on what was calculated to please the taste, minister to the luxury, and
display the wealth of the owner. Rare paintings of Scriptural and
mythological subjects decorated the walls, the ceiling was richly
moulded and gilt, the floor of polished marble was only partially
covered with fine matting, a few choice statuettes and vases occupied
brackets and niches; the massive toilette service and mirror-frame of
precious metal were shaded by some texture of light silvery tissue;
while half-open cabinets and caskets revealed priceless jewels and
fragrant perfumes. On a velvet cushion lay an illuminated missal and a
rosary.
Here was every outward appliance, one might think, to make a favourite
of fortune happy; but the good and honest face of the Duchess, which
spoke her every thought, did not look so. The night was sultry; she had
tried to sleep, but could not; and now she was feverishly endeavouring
to think of something pleasant, without success.
The deep stone windows of her apartment, which were open, commanded a
small garden sleeping in the moonlight, where terraces were cut on a
declivity; and where Cupid and Psyche, Diana with her hounds, and Apollo
with his bow, gleamed white among orange, lemon, and myrtle. This little
pleasaunce was shut in within the walls of a strong baronial castle;
and beyond them lay the little town of Fondi, consisting of a single
street built on the Appian Way. Beyond it, a lake, a forest, a marsh,
stretching down to the blue brimming Mediterranean. The little town
seemed steeped in sleep: the silence was intense.
All at once, a low, regular sound jarred on the Duchess's quickened ear.
"That's a very unaccountable noise," thought she to herself. "I wonder
what it is. People are about, who ought to be in their beds. If it
continues, I shall ring up the Mother-of-the-maids. Now it has stopped.
I wish I were not so wakeful--how tiresome it is!
"What could induce Isabella to write me that disagreeable letter? I
fancy the Prince of Sulmona had a hand in it. It is very hard, after the
Pope's substantiating my | 238.076786 | 1,128 |
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THE DOCTOR'S CHRISTMAS EVE
[Illustration]
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK. BOSTON. CHICAGO
ATLANTA. SAN FRANCISCO
MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED
LONDON. BOMBAY. CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE
THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.
TORONTO
THE DOCTOR'S CHRISTMAS EVE
_Secretum meum mihi_
FRANCIS OF ASSISI
BY
JAMES LANE ALLEN
AUTHOR | 238.203492 | 1,129 |
2023-11-16 18:19:45.1191660 | 1,031 | 397 | Project Gutenberg' Etext of The Tinker's Wedding by J. M. Synge
#4 in our series by J. M. Synge
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The Tinker's Wedding
by J. M. Synge
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[Illustration]
Scientific American Supplement No. 415
NEW YORK, DECEMBER 15, 1883
Scientific American Supplement. Vol. XVI, No. 415.
Scientific American established 1845
Scientific American Supplement, $5 a year.
Scientific American and Supplement, $7 a year.
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
I. CHEMISTRY AND METALLURGY.--Carbon in Steel.
Heat developed in Forging.
Recent Studies on the Constitution of Alkaloids.--Extract from
a lecture delivered before the Philadelphia College of Pharmacy.
--By SAML.P. SADTLER.
II. ENGINEERING AND MECHANICS.--Apparatus for Extracting
Starch from Potatoes.--With engraving.
A Simple Apparatus for describing Ellipses.--By Prof. E.J.
HALLOCK. 1 figure.
A Novel Propeller Engine.--With full description and numerous
engravings.--By Prof. MACCORD.
The New Russian Torpedo Boat, the Poti.--With engraving.
A New Steamer Propelled by Hydraulic Reaction--Figures showing
plan and side views of the steamer.
A New Form of Flexible Band Dynamometer.--By Prof. W.C.
UNWIN. 4 figures.
III. TECHNOLOGY.--Enlarging on Argentic Paper and Opals.--By
A. GOODALL.
The Manufacture and Characteristics of Photographic Lenses.
Improved Developers for Gelatine Plates.--By DR. EDER.
The Preparation of Lard for Use in Pharmacy.--By Prof. REDWOOD.
Anti-Corrosion Paint.
Manufacture of Charcoal in Kilns.--Different kilns used.
IV. ART, ARCHITECTURE, AND ARCHAEOLOGY | 238.548025 | 1,131 |
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Transcriber's Note:
Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as
possible. Some changes have been made. They are listed at the end of
the text.
The illustration "On Saddle and Pillion" is the frontispiece, but the
list of illustrations has it "Face p. 28".
Italic text has been marked with _underscores_.
Bold text has been marked with =equals signs=.
HORSES PAST AND PRESENT
[Illustration: SADDLE AND PILLION.
(From | 238.971846 | 1,132 |
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American Commonwealths.
EDITED BY
HORACE E. SCUDDER.
[Illustration: (Map of)
VERMONT
TO ACCOMPANY
ROWLAND E. ROBINSON'S
VERMONT in
AMERICAN COMMONWEALTHS
THE MATTHEWS-NORTHRUP CO., BUFFALO, N. Y.]
American Commonwealths
VERMONT
A STUDY OF INDEPENDENCE
BY
ROWLAND E. ROBINSON
[Illustration]
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
The Riverside Press, Cambridge
1892
Copyright, 1892,
BY ROWLAND E. ROBINSON.
_All rights reserved._
_The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A._
Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE HIGHWAY OF WAR 1
II. THE WILDERNESS DURING THE FRENCH AND INDIAN WARS 15
III. OCCUPATION AND SETTLEMENT 47
IV. THE NEW HAMPSHIRE GRANTS 57
V. THE GREEN MOUNTAIN BOYS 68
VI. THE WESTMINSTER MASSACRE 90
VII. TICONDEROGA 100
VIII. GREEN MOUNTAIN BOYS IN CANADA | 239.31336 | 1,133 |
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BELEAGUERED IN
PEKING
THE BOXER’S WAR
AGAINST THE FOREIGNER
BY
ROBERT COLTMAN, JR., M.D.
Professor of Surgery in Imperial University; Professor of Anatomy, the
Imperial Tung Wen Kuan; Surgeon, Imperial Maritime Customs; Surgeon,
Imperial Chinese Railways. Author of “The Chinese, Their Present
and Future: Medical, Political, and Social.”
Illustrated with
Seventy-seven Photo-Engravings
PHILADELPHIA:
F. A. DAVIS COMPANY, PUBLISHERS
1901
COPYRIGHT, 1901
BY F. A. DAVIS COMPANY
Mount Pleasant Printery
J. HORACE MCFARLAND COMPANY
HARRISBURG · PENNSYLVANIA
PREFACE
IN THE following pages I have endeavored to give an accurate and
comprehensive account of the Siege in Peking and of the Boxer movement
that led up to it.
Authentic details furnished by representatives of those legations whose
work has been specially mentioned have made possible a greater detail
in those cases. I regret that others who had promised me accounts of
their work have failed to furnish the promised material.
The siege at Pei Tang or North Cathedral, coincident with that of the
legations and civilians, is not described for the reason that we were
absolutely cut off from them for over sixty days and knew nothing of
their movements. Much detail that might be interesting to many I have
been obliged to omit, as it would make the book too cumbersome.
I make no claim for the book as a literary effort, the object being
to state the facts in the clearest manner possible. The illustrations
are from actual photographs, the authenticity of which is absolutely
proved, and these carefully studied, add much to the information of the
volume.
To my sixteen-year-old son, the youngest soldier to shoulder a rifle
during the siege, I am indebted for much of the diary and great help in
copying. A considerable portion of the book was written with bullets
whistling about us as we sat in the students’ library building of the
English legation.
There are several men whose work entitles them to decorations from
all the countries represented in the siege, and their names will be
indelibly written in our memories even if the powers and ministers
concerned overlook them. I refer to F. A. Gamewell, August Chamot,
Colonel Shiba, and Herbert G. Squiers.
ROBERT COLTMAN, JR., M.D.
PEKING, CHINA, September 10, 1900.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. Riot at Marco Polo Bridge—Men Wounded by Captain
Norregaard—Dr. Coltman Accompanies Governor Hu
as Special Commissioner to Investigate—Anti-Foreign
Feeling Expressed by Generals of Tung Fu’s Army—A
Bargain with Prince Tuan 1
II. Yu Hsien Appointed Governor of Shantung, Removed
by British Demands, Only to be Rewarded—Yuanshih
Kai Succeeds Him—Causes of Hatred of Converts by
People and Boxers—The Boxers and Their Tenets—The
Empress Consults Astrologers 31
III. Cables to America Describing Growth of Boxer Movement
from January to June, 1900 46
IV. Diary of the Author from June 1 to June 20 62
V. Diaries of the Author and His Son from June 20 to End
of Siege 78
VI. Reflections, Incidents, and Memoranda Written During Siege 143
VII. Work During Siege Done by Russians—Work by Americans 167
VIII. Work Done by Staff of Imperial Maritime, Customs, and
British Legation Staff 190
IX. Work Done by Austro—Hungarians—Mr. and Mrs. Chamot 209
X. Edicts Issued by the Empress During Siege, with a Few
Comments Thereon 221
XI. Now What? 245
Beleaguered in Peking
CHAPTER I
_RIOT AT MARCO POLO BRIDGE—MEN WOUNDED BY CAPTAIN NORREGAARD—DR.
COLTMAN ACCOMPANIES GOVERNOR HU AS SPECIAL COMMISSIONER TO
INVESTIGATE—ANTI-FOREIGN FEELING EXPRESSED BY GENERALS OF TUNG FU’S
ARMY—A BARGAIN WITH PRINCE TUAN._
[Illustration: The author in Chinese dress]
IN THE autumn of 1898, in the month of October, very shortly after
the famous _coup d’état_ of the Empress Dowager of China, an event
occurred which may have been the influence that shaped after-events,
or it may be that this occurrence was but the premature explosion of
a mine being prepared by the Empress and her evil advisers, intended
to shake the civilized world at a later date. I refer to the riot at
Lukouch’iao, known to the English-speaking world as Marco Polo bridge,
from its having been accurately described by that early traveler. This
place had curiously enough been chosen as the northern terminus of the
Hangkow-Peking railway, although ten miles west of Peking, and the road
consequently is generally known as the Lu Han railway.
The political history of the struggle between the Russian, French and
British diplomats in Peking, with reference to obtaining the concession
for, and the financing of, this road, is very interesting, and would
fill a book of its own; but there is no reason why it should enter into
this narrative more than to state that finally the Belgians, acting for
Russia and France, obtained the concession to build and finance this
greatest trunk line of China.
To connect this line with the existing Peking-Tientsin railway, a short
track was laid from Fengtai, the second station south of Peking, to
Lukouch’iao, and a fine iron bridge built over the Hum Ho or Muddy
river, a few hundred yards west of the original stone Marco Polo
bridge. This short connecting line is but three miles in length, and is
the property of the Peking-Tientsin railway.
With this prelude, allow me to proceed with the event with which I was
somewhat closely identified, and am able to speak of with knowledge and
accuracy.
[Illustration: MARBLE BRIDGE LEADING TO “FORBIDDEN CITY”
A beautiful bridge, which would be a credit to any city. Marco Polo,
the great traveler, nearly a thousand years ago described a similar
bridge, thus showing how old is Chinese civilization compared with our
own.]
On October 23 I was called to Fengtai to amputate the leg of a poor
coolie, who had been run over by the express train from Tientsin; and
after the operation partook of tiffin at the residence of A. G. Cox,
resident engineer of the Peking section of the Peking-Tientsin railway.
His other guests were Major Radcliffe, of the Indian army service, on
what is known as language-leave in China, and C. W. Campbell, official
interpreter of the British legation.
During the meal the newly completed iron bridge was spoken of by Mr.
Cox, and we were all invited to accompany him after tiffin on a trolley
to inspect the bridge. This I was unable to do, as a professional
engagement in Peking in the afternoon at four o’clock prevented.
The next morning I received the following telegram, which should have
been delivered the night before; but owing to the closing of the city
gates no attempt was made to deliver it:
“COLTMAN, Peking:—Come to Fengtai at once. Cox and Norregaard both
seriously wounded in riot at Lukouch’iao.
“KNOWLES.”
I immediately rode in my cart to Machiapu, the Peking terminus of the
Peking-Tientsin railway, and wired down to Fengtai for an engine to
come and take me down.
In an hour’s time I reached Fengtai, and went at once to the residence
of Mr. Cox, to find both himself and Captain Norregaard, the resident
engineer and builder of the bridge at Lukouch’iao, with bandages about
their heads, and a general appearance of having been roughly used.
Their story of the riot was told me while I removed the dressings,
applied by my assistant, a native medical student of the railway
hospital at Fengtai, the day before.
Mr. Cox stated that he and his two guests had gone shortly after tiffin
on a trolley to Captain Norregaard’s residence, near the bridge, and
having added Norregaard to their party, proceeded on foot to the
bridge. Near the eastern entrance stood a party of Kansu soldiers,
numbering fifty or more, who, upon the approach of the foreigners,
saluted them with offensive epithets, in which the well-known “yang
kuei tzu” or “foreign devil” was frequently repeated.
Mr. Campbell, who spoke Chinese fluently, remonstrated with the men,
and endeavored to have them stand aside and allow the party to cross
the bridge; but they obstinately barred the entrance, and warned the
foreigners back.
At this juncture a military official of low rank appeared on the track,
and Campbell appealed to him to quiet the men, and to allow them to
inspect the bridge. This officer replied that the men were not of his
company and he had no power over them; but Campbell, knowing well
the Chinese nature, at once told him that they should consider him
responsible for any trouble, whether he was their particular officer or
not.
Upon this the officer ordered the men to open a passage for the
foreigners, which they promptly did, and the party of four crossed the
bridge. The officer, after they had entered the bridge, left the men
and disappeared. They remained a quarter of an hour on the farther
side of the bridge and then returned.
As they again neared the eastern side, they saw the same gang of
ruffians awaiting them, with stones in their hands, and, upon their
arriving within range, were saluted with a volley of stones, many of
which took effect. They valiantly charged upon the men, and Cox, being
rather severely hit, and spying out the man who had struck him, chased
him right into the crowd and knocked him down with a terrific blow.
As Cox stands six feet four, and is a remarkably muscular man, this
fellow’s punishment was severe.
The mob, however, turned upon Cox, who was separated from his
companions some thirty odd feet, and, surrounding him, bore him by
sheer weight and number to the ground, not, however, before he had
placed several of them _hors du combat_.
At this moment Captain Norregaard received a severe stone cut just
above his eyes, which severed a small artery and covered his face
with blood. Not knowing how dangerously he was wounded, and believing
Mr. Cox to be in danger of his life, Norregaard drew his revolver and
fired two shots into the mob. The effect was instantaneous. The brutal
cowards dropped Cox at once, and ran away like sheep toward their
encampment, half a mile distant.
After tying a handkerchief around his head, and assisting Cox to get
up, the party hastily ran to the residence of Norregaard and brought
Mrs. Norregaard and her eight-year-old son to the trolley, upon which
the whole party returned to Fengtai.
Cox then sent a command out by wire for all the engineers working
on the Lu Han railway to give up their posts and retire with him to
Tientsin to await the settlement of the riot by the Chinese officials,
as well as to obtain some guaranty of future good conduct on the part
of the government troops, who were yet to arrive from the southwest.
After dressing the wounds of these two gentlemen they took the train
for Tientsin, and the writer returned to Peking.
The next day, or two days after the riot, I received a message from
Hu Chih-fen, the governor of Peking, requesting me to call upon him
at Imbeck’s hotel at once. I found the old gentleman with twenty
retainers awaiting me. He stated that he had been appointed a special
commissioner by the Empress Dowager to proceed to Lukouch’iao and
investigate the circumstances connected with the riot two days
previously, as well as to inquire minutely into the condition of two
wounded soldiers reported by their officers to have been wantonly shot
and dangerously hurt by Captain Norregaard. He desired me to accompany
him into the camp, and examine the wounds as an expert, so that he
could make a proper report to the Empress.
I confess I did not much care to go alone into the camp of the famous
Kansu, haters of foreign, but I was under many obligations to Governor
Hu, and wanted to oblige him. Besides, there was a spice of adventure
about the undertaking that was pleasant to a correspondent. I preferred
to go armed, however, as, although knowing a revolver would be of
no use in a hostile camp for offensive warfare, yet if Governor Hu
remained with me, I reasoned, I could by placing a revolver to his head
and holding him hostage prevent any harm to myself—believing as I did
that the Empress’ special commissioner’s person would be sacred in the
eyes of her generals. The sequel proved how false this belief was, and
that before many hours.
So I requested permission to return home for a moment to obtain a small
instrument I might need, as well as to inform my wife of my leaving the
city, that she might not be anxious if I did not return until after
dark.
[Illustration: MAIN STREET OF PEKING FROM THE CITY WALL
This shows the main street of Peking—its “Market Street,” as
Philadelphians might say, or its “Strand,” from the English point of
view. Although a main street it is scarcely better than a country
road, and busy trading seems to be going on in the foreground in the
open air. Here and there a sign indicates that business is conducted
within, and that unavoidable feature of a Chinese city, the open pool
of stagnant water, is in evidence.]
Governor Hu replied that I could get whatever instrument I needed at
the railway hospital at Fengtai, and that he would send one of his
retainers with a message to my wife. I insisted, however, that a return
home was imperative, and that I would rejoin him in half an hour.
Whereupon he decided to order tiffin in the meantime, and told me to
hurry back, take tiffin with him at the hotel, and we would then
proceed to Machiapu, where a special train would be waiting for us.
I hastened home, obtained my Smith & Wesson six-shooter, and, after a
good tiffin with Governor Hu, rode in a springless cart to Machiapu,
entrained, and was speedily at the station at Lukouch’iao.
Upon our alighting from the cars we were met by a sub-official from the
camps, and were accompanied by him, and about twenty Kansu soldiers,
to the entrance to the railroad bridge, the site of the riot two days
before.
Here Hu ordered the bridge watchmen to be brought before him, and
he interrogated them as to the occurrences described by Cox and
Norregaard. The two watchmen’s stories were the exact counterpart of
the two foreigners’; they agreed in every particular, and placed the
whole blame on the Kansu soldiers.
I was surprised at the fearless testimony of these two poor watchmen,
one of whom was afterward murdered by the soldiers for testifying
against them.
Hu now walked to an inn in the village of Lukou, and told the
sub-official to order the general and colonels of all the regiments
quartered near-by to appear before him at once, as he would hold an
investigation by order of the Empress. He and I drank tea until they
arrived.
The first, a General Chang, appeared in about fifteen minutes. We knew
some one of importance was coming by the hubbub in the courtyard, the
murmur of voices, and the sound of horses’ moving feet. Then a soldier
appeared in the doorway, and announced:
“General Chang, of the Kansu cavalry, has arrived.”
“Ch’ing,” replied Hu, and immediately there stood before us as
ferocious looking a ruffian as the world could well produce. A tall,
weather-beaten man, fifty years of age or more, with rather heavy (for
a Chinaman) yet black mustaches, and a more than ordinarily prominent
nose; dressed in a dark blue gown, satin high-top boots, official hat
with premier button and peacock feather, held at right angles from
the rear of his button by an expensive piece of jade. His eyes were
deep-set and small, and the whole expression of his face was ferocious
and cruel.
He only slightly inclined his head to Hu, took no notice of me, and,
ignoring Chinese ceremony, proceeded at once to the highest seat in the
little room, and seated himself in the intensely stiff attitude of the
god of war one usually sees in a Chinese temple. Hu seemed completely
taken aback at this insolence, and allowed the ruffian to remain in
the seat of honor throughout the interview.
Before Hu had become acquainted, by his polite questions, with the age,
rank, and province of his haughty guest, four other military officers
of the rank of colonel and lieutenant-colonel had arrived, namely,
Chao, Ma, Wang, and Hung.
Finding their general in the head seat, and noting his imperious
bearing, they took their cue from him and maintained throughout
the interview the most lofty manner, and treated Hu more like a
subordinate than a civil officer of the premier rank and a special high
commissioner of Her Majesty the Empress Dowager.
After a few mouthfuls of tea, Hu informed them in most polite and bland
terms that as he was Director-General of imperial railways, as well
as Governor of the metropolitan prefecture of Sh | 239.377274 | 1,134 |
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[Illustration: Copyright, 1891, by A. S. Burbank.
_Frontispiece._ PLYMOUTH IN 1622.]
American Historic Towns
HISTORIC TOWNS
OF
NEW ENGLAND
Edited by
LYMAN P. POWELL
Illustrated
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
NEW YORK & LONDON
The Knickerbocker Press
1898
COPYRIGHT, 1898
BY
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
Entered at Stationers’ Hall, London
The Knickerbocker Press, New York
[Illustration]
PREFACE
In July, 1893, while the first Summer Meeting of the American Society
for the Extension of University Teaching was in session at the
University of Pennsylvania, I conducted the students, in trips taken
from week to week, to historic spots in Philadelphia, the battle-fields
of the Brandywine and of Germantown, and to the site of the winter camp
at Valley Forge. The experiment was brought to the attention of Dr.
Albert Shaw, and at his instance I made a plea through the pages of _The
American Monthly Review of Reviews_, October, 1893, for the revival of
the mediæval pilgrimage, and for its adaptation to educational and
patriotic uses. After pointing out some of the advantages of visits paid
under competent guidance and with reverent spirit to spots made sacred
by high thinking and self-forgetful living, I suggested a ten days’
pilgrimage in the footsteps of George Washington.
The suggestion took root in the public mind. Leading journals commended
the idea. New England people, already acquainted with the thought of
local historical excursions, hailed the proposed pilgrimage with
enthusiasm. Men and women from a score of States avowed their eagerness
to make the experiment; and at the close of the University Extension
Summer Meeting of July, 1894, in which I had lectured on American
history, I found myself conducting for the University Extension Society
a pilgrimage, starting from Philadelphia, to Hartford, Boston,
Cambridge, Lexington, Concord, Salem, Plymouth, Newburg, West Point,
Tarrytown, Tappan, New York, Princeton, and Trenton.
The press contributed with discrimination the publicity essential to
success. Every community visited rendered intelligent and generous
co-operation. And surely no pilgrims, mediæval or modern, ever had such
leadership; for among our cicerones and patriotic orators were: Col. T.
W. Higginson, Drs. Edward Everett Hale and Talcott Williams, Hon.
Hampton L. Carson, Messrs. Charles Dudley Warner, Richard Watson Gilder,
Charles Carlton Coffin, Frank B. Sanborn, Edwin D. Mead, Hezekiah
Butterworth, George P. Morris, Professors W. P. Trent, William M.
Sloane, W. W. Goodwin, E. S. Morse, Brig.-Gen. O. B. Ernst, Major
Marshall H. Bright, and Rev. William E. Barton.
I had planned in the months that followed to publish a souvenir volume
containing the more important addresses made by distinguished men on the
historic significance of the places visited; but as the happy experience
receded into the past a larger thought laid hold of me. Why not sometime
in the infrequent leisure of a busy minister’s life edit a series of
volumes on _American Historic Towns_? Kingsley’s novels were written
amid parish duties, and Dr. McCook has found time, amid exacting
ministerial duties, to make perhaps the most searching study ever made
by an American of the habits of spiders. Medical experts agree
concerning the value of a wholesome avocation to the man who takes his
vocation seriously; and congregations are quick to give ear to the
earnest preacher whose sermons betray a large outlook on life.
A series of illustrated volumes on _American Historic Towns_, edited
with intelligence, would prove a unique and important contribution to
historical literature. To the pious pilgrim to historic shrines the
series would, perhaps, give the perspective that every pilgrim needs,
and furnish information that no guide-book ever offers. To those who
have to stay at home the illustrated volumes would present some
compensation for the sacrifice, and would help to satisfy a recognized
need. The volumes would probably quicken public interest in our historic
past, and contribute to the making of another kind of patriotism than
that Dr. Johnson had in mind when he defined it as the “last refuge of a
scoundrel.”
I foresaw some at least of the serious difficulties that await the
editor of such a series. If all the towns for which antiquarians and
local enthusiasts would fain find room should be included, the series
would be too long. A staff of contributors must be secured, possessing
literary skill, historical insight, the antiquarian’s patience, | 239.426071 | 1,135 |
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Produced by Al Haines.
*THE GREY MAN*
BY
*S. R. Crockett*
_POPULAR EDITION_
LONDON
T. FISHER UNWIN
ADELPHI TERRACE
MCMX
_To
W. R. NICOLL
are affectionately inscribed
these Chronicles of a Stormy Time--
in memory of
unforgotten Days of Peace and Quietness
spent with him and his._
[_All rights reserved_]
*CONTENTS*
I. The Oath of Swords
II. The Lass of the White Tower
III. The Second Taunting of Spurheel
IV. The Inn on the Red Moss
V. The Throwing of the Bloody Dagger
VI. The Crown of the Causeway
VII. My Lady's Favours
VIII. The Laird of Auchendrayne
IX. Cartel of Contumely
X. Sir Thomas of the Top-Knot
XI. Sword and Spit
XII. The Flitting of the Sow
XIII. The Tryst at Midnight
XIV. The Adventure of the Garden
XV. A Midnight Leaguer
XVI. Greybeards and Dimple Chins
XVII. The Corbies at the Eagle's Nest
XVIII. Bairns' Play
XIX. Fighting the Beasts
XX. The Secret of the Caird
XXI. Mine Ancient Sweetheart
XXII. A Marriage made in Hell
XXIII. A Galloway Raid
XXIV. The Slaughter in the Snow
XXV. Marjorie bids her Love Good-night
XXVI. Days of Quiet
XXVII. On the Heartsome Heather
XXVIII. Warm Backs make Braw Bairns
XX | 239.802509 | 1,136 |
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THE
Lives of the Saints
REV. S. BARING-GOULD
_SIXTEEN VOLUMES_
VOLUME THE FIRST
[Illustration: SILVER-GILT MONSTRANCE,
In the Treasury of the Cathedral, Aix-la-Chapelle.]
THE
Lives of the Saints
BY THE
REV. S. BARING-GOULD, M.A.
New Edition in 16 Volumes
Revised with Introduction and Additional Lives of
English Martyrs, Cornish and Welsh Saints,
and a full Index to the Entire Work
_ILLUSTRATED BY OVER 400 ENGRAVINGS_
VOLUME THE FIRST
January
LONDON
JOHN C. NIMMO
14 KING WILLIAM STREET, STRAND
MDCCCXCVII
_Printed by_ BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.
_At the Ballantyne Press_
AUTHOR'S PREFACE
TO FIRST EDITION
(1872)
The Lives of the Saints, which I have begun, is an undertaking, of
whose difficulty few can have any idea. Let it be remembered, that
there were Saints in every century, for eighteen hundred years; that
their Acts are interwoven with the profane history of their times,
and that the history, not of one nation only, but of almost every
nation under the sun; that the records of these lives are sometimes
fragmentary, sometimes mere hints to be culled out of secular history;
that authentic records have sometimes suffered interpolation, and that
some records are forgeries; that the profane history with which the
lives of the Saints is mixed up is often dark and hard to be read; and
then some idea may be formed of the difficulty of this undertaking.
After having had to free the Acts of a martyr from a late accretion of
fable, and to decide whether the passion took place under--say Decius
or Diocletian, Claudius the Elder, or Claudius the younger,--the writer
of a hagiology is hurried into Byzantine politics, and has to collect
the thread of a saintly confessor's life from the tangle of political
and ecclesiastical intrigue, in that chaotic period when emperors
rose and fell, and patriarchs succeeded each other with bewildering
rapidity. And thence he is, by a step, landed in the romance world of
Irish hagiology, where the footing is as insecure as on the dark bogs
of the Emerald Isle. Thence he strides into the midst of the wreck
of Charlemagne's empire, to gather among the splinters of history a
few poor mean notices of those holy ones living then, whose names
have survived, but whose acts are all but lost. And then the scene
changes, and he treads the cool cloister of a mediaeval abbey, to glean
materials for a memoir of some peaceful recluse, which may reflect
the crystalline purity of the life without being wholly colourless of
incident.
And then, maybe, he has to stand in the glare of the great
conflagration of the sixteenth century, and mark some pure soul passing
unscathed through the fire, like the lamp in Abraham's vision.
That one man can do justice to this task is not to be expected. When
Bellarmine heard of the undertaking of Rosweydus, he asked "What is
this man's age? does he expect to live two hundred years?" But for the
work of the Bollandists, it would have been an impossibility for me to
undertake this task. But even with this great storehouse open, the work
to be got through is enormous. Bollandus began January with two folios
in double columns, close print, of 1200 pages each. As he and his
coadjutors proceeded, fresh materials came in, and February occupies
three volumes. May swelled into seven folios, September into eight,
and October into ten. It was begun in 1643, and the fifty-seventh
volume appeared in 1861.
The labour of reading, digesting, and selecting from this library is
enormous. With so much material it is hard to decide what to omit, but
such a decision must be made, for the two volumes of January have to
be crushed into one, not a tenth of the size of one of Bollandus, and
the ten volumes for October must suffer compression to an hundredth
degree, so as to occupy the same dimensions. I had two courses open to
me. One to give a brief outline, bare of incident, of the life of every
Saint; the other to diminish the number of lives, and present them to
the reader in greater fulness, and with | 239.901299 | 1,137 |
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Transcriber’s Note:
###################
This e-text is based on the 1908 edition of the book. Minor
punctuation errors have been tacitly corrected. Inconsistencies
in hyphenation and spelling, such as ‘ale-house’/‘alehouse’ and
‘Mary Wilcocks’/‘Mary Willcocks,’ have been retained. The asterism
symbols in the book catalogue at the end of this text have been
inverted for presentation on electronic media.
The following passage has been corrected:
# p. 126: ‘1852’ → ‘1825’
# p. 685: ‘fro mthe’ → ‘from the’
Italic text has been symbolised by underscores (_italic_); forward
slashes represent small caps (/small caps/). Caret symbols (^)
signify superscript characters; multiple characters have been
grouped inside curly braces: ^{superscript}.
DEVONSHIRE CHARACTERS
AND STRANGE EVENTS
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
YORKSHIRE ODDITIES
TRAGEDY OF THE CÆSARS
CURIOUS MYTHS
LIVES OF THE SAINTS
ETC. ETC.
[Illustration:
_G. Clint, A.R.A., pinxt._ _Thos. Lupton. sculpt._
MARIA FOOTE, AFTERWARDS COUNTESS OF HARRINGTON, AS MARIA DARLINGTON IN
THE FARCE OF “A ROWLAND FOR AN OLIVER” (1824)]
DEVONSHIRE
CHARACTERS
AND STRANGE EVENTS
BY S. BARING-GOULD, /M.A./
WITH 55 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS
REPRODUCED FROM OLD PRINTS, ETC.
O Jupiter!
Hanccine vitam? hoscine mores? hanc dementiam?
/Terence/, _Adelphi_ (Act IV).
LONDON: JOHN LANE THE BODLEY HEAD
NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY MCMVIII
PLYMOUTH: WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON, LIMITED, PRINTERS
PREFACE
In treating of Devonshire Characters, I have had to put aside the chief
Worthies and those Devonians famous in history, as George Duke of
Albemarle, Sir Walter Raleigh, Sir Francis Drake, Sir Joshua Reynolds,
the Coleridges, Sir Stafford Northcote, first Earl of Iddesleigh, and
many another; and to content myself with those who lie on a lower
plane. So also I have had to set aside several remarkable characters,
whose lives I have given elsewhere, as the Herrings of Langstone (whom
I have called Grym or Grymstone) and Madame Drake, George Spurle the
Post-boy, etc. Also I have had to pretermit several great rascals,
as Thomas Gray and Nicholas Horner. But even so, I find an _embarras
de richesses_, and have had to content myself with such as have had
careers of some general interest. Moreover, it has not been possible to
say all that might have been said relative to these, so as to economize
space, and afford room for others.
So also, with regard to strange incidents, some limitation has been
necessary, and such have been selected as are less generally known.
I have to thank the kind help of many Devonshire friends for the
loan of rare pamphlets, portraits, or for information not otherwise
acquirable--as the Earl of Iddesleigh, Lady Rosamond Christie, Mrs.
Chichester of Hall, Mrs. Ford of Pencarrow, Dr. Linnington Ash, Dr.
Brushfield, Capt. Pentecost, Miss M. P. Willcocks, Mr. Andrew Iredale,
Mr. W. H. K. Wright, Mr. A. B. Collier, Mr. Charles T. Harbeck, Mr.
H. Tapley Soper, Miss Lega-Weekes, who has contributed the article
on Richard Weekes; Mrs. G. Radford, Mr. R. Pearse Chope, Mr. Rennie
Manderson, Mr. M. Bawden, the Rev. J. B. Wollocombe, the Rev. W. H.
Thornton, Mr. A. M. Broadley, Mr. Samuel Gillespie Prout, Mr. S. H.
Slade, Mr. W. Fleming, Mrs. A. H. Wilson, Fleet-Surgeon Lloyd Thomas,
the Rev. W. T. Wellacott, Mr. S. Raby, Mr. Samuel Harper, Mr. John
Avery, Mr. Thomas Wainwright, Mr. A. F. Steuart, Mr. S. T. Whiteford,
and last, but not least, Mr. John Lane, the publisher of this volume,
who has taken the liveliest interest in its production.
Also to Messrs. Macmillan for kindly allowing the use of an engraving
of New | 240.184578 | 1,138 |
2023-11-16 18:19:47.1097020 | 385 | 88 |
E-text prepared by Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe, Mary Meehan, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
THE WHARF BY THE DOCKS
A Novel
by
FLORENCE WARDEN
Author of "The Mystery of the Inn by the Shore," etc.
1896
CHAPTER I.
SOMETHING AMISS.
Everybody knows Canterbury, with its Old-World charms and its
ostentatious air of being content to be rather behind the times, of
looking down upon the hurrying Americans who dash through its cathedral
and take snap-shots at its slums, and at all those busy moderns who
cannot afford to take life at its own jog-trot pace.
But everybody does not know the charming old halls and comfortable,
old-fashioned mansions which are dotted about the neighboring country,
either nestling in secluded nooks of the Kentish valleys or holding a
stately stand on the wooded hills.
Of this latter category was The Beeches, a pretty house of warm, red
brick, with a dignified Jacobean front, which stood upon the highest
ground of a prettily wooded park, and commanded one of those soft,
undulating, sleepy landscapes which are so characteristically English,
and of which grazing sheep and ruminating cows form so important a
feature. A little tame, perhaps, but very pleasant, very homely, very
sweet to look upon by the tired eyes that have seen enough of the
active, bustling world.
Mr. George Wedmore, of the firm of Wedmore, Parkinson and Bishop,
merchants of the city of London, had bought back the place, which had
formerly belonged to his family, from the Jews into whose hands it had
fallen, and had settled there to spend in | 240.429112 | 1,139 |
2023-11-16 18:19:47.7313560 | 1,264 | 418 |
Produced by Louise Hope, Taavi Kalju and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
book was produced from scanned images of public domain
material from the Google Print project.)
[This e-text includes characters that require UTF-8 (Unicode) file
encoding:
œ : “oe” ligature
Ȝȝ, ƿ, ſ, ǽ : yogh, wynn, long s, accented æ (only in notes)
These characters, as well as a single Greek phrase, occur only in the
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file instead.
The original book (EETS E.S. 4, 1868, ed. Skeat) exists in at least two
forms. See Errata section at the end of the e-text for details.
In the main text, footnotes are grouped at the end of text sections.
Most headnotes have similarly been moved to the nearest break in the
text. Sidenotes keep their original starting point, but are collected
into full sentences.
_Typography:_
Large initial capitals are shown with a single leading + to avoid
“breaking” the text:
+Herknet to me, gode men
Wiues, maydnes, and alle men...
Italicized letters representing expanded contractions are shown in
br{ac}es. All other italics are shown conventionally with _lines_; this
includes italicized _w_, used by the editor for wynn ƿ. If you find the
braces distracting you may delete them globally; they are not used for
any other purpose.
A few French passages in the Preface use a trailing tilde ~, as in the
word “q~”. In the original, the ~ was attached to the preceding letter,
but not directly above it. Superscript letters are shown with a caret ^.
Square brackets are in the original except those in standard formulas
such as [Footnote] or [Transcriber’s Note].]
THE LAY OF
HAVELOK THE DANE.
Early English Text Society.
Extra Series. No. IV.
1868.
Dublin: William McGee, 18, Nassau Street.
Edinburgh: T. G. Stevenson, 22, South Frederick Street.
Glasgow: Ogle & Co., 1, Royal Exchange Square.
Berlin: Asher & Co., Unter den Linden, 20.
New York: C. Scribner & Co.; Leypoldt & Holt.
Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott & Co.
Boston, U.S.: Dutton & Co.
+The Lay of+
+HAVELOK THE DANE:+
Composed in the Reign of Edward I, about A.D. 1280.
Formerly Edited by Sir F. Madden for the Roxburghe Club,
And now Re-Edited from the Unique Ms. Laud Misc. 108,
in the Bodleian Library, Oxford;
by the
REV. WALTER W. SKEAT, M.A.,
Author of “A Mœso-Gothic Glossary,” Editor of “Piers Plowman,”
“William of Palerne,” &c.
[Illustration: Seal of Great Grimsby]
LONDON:
Published For The Early English Text Society,
By N. Trübner & Co., 60, Paternoster Row.
MDCCCLXVIII.
+Extra Series,+
IV.
John Childs and Son, Printers.
CONTENTS.
TITLEPAGE. The engraving represents the seal of Great Grimsby,
described in § 19 of the Preface, p. xxi.
PREFACE. § 1. The former edition of 1828. § 2. The present
edition. § 3. Plan of this edition. § 4. Notices of the story by
Early Writers: the longer French Version. § 5. The shorter
French Version. § 6. Peter de Langtoft (1307). § 7. Rauf de Boun
(1310). § 8. A Brief Genealogy, Herald’s Coll. MS. (ab. 1310).
§ 9. Metrical Chronicle (ab. 1313). § 10. Robert of Brunne
(1338); ed. Hearne. § 11. Robert of Brunne; Lambeth MS.
§ 12. French Prose “Brute” (1332). § 13. English Prose “Brute,”
MS. Harl. 2279. § 14. Gray’s Scala Cronica (ab. 1360).
§ 15. Eulogium Historiarum (1366). § 16. Henry de Knyghton
(1395); Warner (1586); Webster (1617). § 17. Danish traditions.
§ 18. Lincolnshire traditions. § 19. Seal of Great Grimsby.
§ 20. Sketch of the French “Lai.” § 21. Gaimar’s abridgment.
§ 22. Sketch of the English Lay. § 23. Possible date of
Havelok’s reign. § 24. Story of “Edwin of Deira.” § 25. | 241.050766 | 1,140 |
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made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
THE WHALE AND THE GRASSHOPPER
And Other Fables
By
SEUMAS O'BRIEN
With a frontispiece by
Robert McCaig
Boston
Little, Brown, and Company
1916
To
Edward J. O'Brien
LIST OF FABLES
Page
The Whale and the Grasshopper 1
The House in the Valley 14
Peace and War 26
The Valley of the Dead 36
The King of Montobewlo 51
The Dilemma of Matty the Goat 67
Ham and Eggs 101
The White Horse of Banba 117
Rebellions 136
Kings and Commoners 143
The Folly of Being Foolish 155
The Lady of the Moon 163
A Bargain of Bargains 177
Shauno and the Shah 191
The Mayor of Loughlaurna 212
The Land of Peace and Plenty 230
The Linnet with the Crown of Gold 242
The Man with the Wooden Leg 258
The Hermit of the Grove 278
The King of Goulnaspurra 294
THE WHALE AND THE GRASSHOPPER
When Padna Dan started talking to his friend Micus Pat as they
walked at a leisurely pace towards the town of Castlegregory on a
June morning, what he said was: " | 241.299908 | 1,141 |
2023-11-16 18:19:48.2923810 | 415 | 142 | MARRIAGES***
E-text prepared by Chris Curnow, Brian Wilsden, 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 50730-h.htm or 50730-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/50730/50730-h/50730-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/50730/50730-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/fleetitsriverpri00asht
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
A carat character is used to denote superscription. A
single character following the carat is superscripted
(example: y^e). Multiple superscripted characters are
enclosed by curly brackets (example: w^{ch}).
A letter with a macron accent (straight line over the
letter) is enclosed by square brackets and preceded by
an equal sign; for example, a "d" with a macron is
signified by [=d].
A letter with a tilde character above it is enclosed by
square brackets and preceded by a tilde; for example, an
"m" with a tilde is signified by [~m].
The OE-ligature is represented by [OE].
The letters "u" and "v" are mostly interchanged; as, e.g.,
"in haruest time" and "vnder a bridge".
Some of the spelling is very old, and often phonetic (they
wrote as they heard it spoken | 241.611791 | 1,142 |
2023-11-16 18:19:48.5325240 | 386 | 66 |
Produced by Joseph R. Hauser, Turgut Dincer and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. Music
transcribed by Brian Foley using LilyPond.
_By Lady Gregory_
Irish Folk-History Plays
First Series: The Tragedies
Grania. Kincora. Dervorgilla
Second Series: The Tragic Comedies
The Canavans. The White Cockade. The Deliverer
New Comedies
The Bogie Men. The Full Moon. Coats. Damer's
Gold. McDonough's Wife
Our Irish Theatre
A Chapter of Autobiography
Seven Short Plays
Spreading the News. Hyacinth Halvey. The Rising
of the Moon. The Jackdaw. The Workhouse Ward.
The Travelling Man. The Gaol Gate
The Golden Apple
A Kiltartan Play for Children
Seven Short Plays
By
Lady Gregory
G. P. Putnam's Sons
New York and London
The Knickerbocker Press
1916
COPYRIGHT, 1903, by LADY AUGUSTA GREGORY
COPYRIGHT, 1904, by LADY GREGORY
COPYRIGHT, 1905, by LADY GREGORY
COPYRIGHT, 1906, by LADY GREGORY
COPYRIGHT, 1909, by LADY GREGORY
These plays have been copyrighted and published simultaneously in the
United States and Great Britain.
All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign
languages.
All acting rights, both professional and amateur, are reserved in the
United States, Great Britain, and all countries of the | 241.851934 | 1,143 |
2023-11-16 18:19:48.9704040 | 1,312 | 134 |
E-text prepared by Wayne Hammond 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/philadelphiahous00hodg
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
THE PHILADELPHIA HOUSEWIFE,
Or,
Family Receipt Book.
by
AUNT MARY.
[Illustration]
Philadelphia:
J. B. Lippincott & Co.
1855.
Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1855,
By J. P. Lippincott & Co.,
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court, in and for the
Eastern District of Pennsylvania.
PREFACE.
As the health of a family depends more upon the quality of their
food than upon any other cause whatever, it is a public benefaction
to give good advice upon this subject. That this advice may be most
widely beneficial, it should have reference to the material and the
preparation of food; and in both these respects, regard should be had
to economy. The rich, who are able to provide the most choice and
expensive articles of diet, frequently fail in having them prepared
for the table in an agreeable and healthful manner; and the poor, and
even those in moderate circumstances, are not only not generally well
informed as to healthful and nutritious articles of food, which may be
purchased at moderate expense, but when procured, they more generally
err in the healthful preparation of them, mistaking high seasoning and
rich mixtures for delicious and wholesome food. It is to aid the family
in procuring and preparing their food according to their means, and
with a view to elegance, taste, and health, that the authoress of this
book has been induced to publish these receipts and the accompanying
advice and reflections. She does this at the solicitation of many heads
of families, and with the confidence of knowledge founded on long
personal experience. This is the only source of reliable knowledge on
the subject of procuring and preparing healthful food, in good taste,
and with elegance and economy.
But proper materials may be obtained for food, and the cook may
understand how to prepare them; yet she will fail if she does not have
the kitchen furnished with proper articles for culinary purposes. Each
of these articles should be kept in its proper place, and scrupulously
clean, while every thing should be done with exactness, and at the
proper time.
The authoress has the greatest confidence that the circulation of this
book will promote elegance and comfort in wealthy families, and economy
and health in families of moderate means.
THE
FAMILY RECEIPT BOOK.
TO PREPARE AND TO SELECT BEEF, MUTTON, LAMB, VEAL, AND BACON.
White meats, such as veal, mutton, and lamb, should be washed as
quickly as possible, or the juices of the meat will be extracted by
the water. Fresh beef should never be washed, but well scraped with a
clean knife twice over; any soiled parts which cannot be scraped must
be cut off. If the bones are soiled, saw off the part with the meat
saw. Salted meat should be well washed in three or four waters, and
soaked at least fifteen minutes in cold water, before putting it down
to boil. The pot should be filled with cold water, and boil slowly till
done, according to the size of the meat, or allow a quarter of an hour
for every pound of the meat; quick boiling will make the meat hard and
insipid. Be careful that it does not stop boiling, or the meat will be
injured; remove the scum frequently. People are not generally aware of
the injurious effects from eating the flesh of diseased animals. It
has been my practice to choose beef from the whiteness of the fat, and
always object to it if a dark shade of yellow; let the fat be clear
and thick, and the beef smooth and close; if otherwise, it is old. The
flesh of a young ox should be a good red, and have a smooth and open
grain, and feel tender. Pork may be judged by the thinness of the skin,
and by pinching the lean; if young, it will break. When clammy, it is
not fit for use. Fresh pork will be always cool and smooth. The fat of
mutton should be white and firm, and the lean a good colour. If the
vein in the neck of lamb has a greenish cast, it is stale: it should be
of a bluish hue.
BACON.--The lean should be of a good colour, and tender, and firm on
the bone, the fat should be firm and of a red tinge, and the rind thin.
Try a ham by putting a sharp knife in under the bone. If the smell
is agreeable, the ham is good; if otherwise, and the knife soiled,
reject it. Veal,--The whitest is the most juicy, having been made so
by frequent bleeding: the flesh of a bull calf is firmest, but of a
darker colour. Old and diseased meat will shrink very much in cooking.
Hams and tongues, if they are old and hard, should be put to soak in
warm water the night before they are boiled. A large ham will take from
four to six hours to boil, and a tongue will take nearly as long. They
should be kept constantly boiling, and well skimmed: put them down in
plenty of cold water. Fish should always be boiled in hot water with a
little salt in it: let them boil slowly.
Wild fowls do not require as much cooking as tame. They should be done
before a brisk fire, and be constantly basted. Wild ducks will cook
sufficiently in a quarter of an hour; pheasants in twenty | 242.289814 | 1,144 |
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Online Distributed Proofreading Team
[Illustration Caption: Martha told him that he had always been her
ideal and that she worshipped him.]
HER WEIGHT IN GOLD
By GEORGE BARR McCUTCHEON
NEW YORK
1914
Nearly all of the stories presented in this volume appeared separately
in various magazines. The author desires to acknowledge his thanks to
the publications for courtesies extended by their editors: The National
Magazine, Short Stories, the Saturday Evening Post, The Reader, The
Woman's World, Good Housekeeping and The Illustrated Sunday Magazine.
CONTENTS
HER WEIGHT IN GOLD
THE MAID AND THE BLADE
MR. HAMSHAW'S LOVE AFFAIR
THE GREEN RUBY
THE GLOAMING GHOSTS
WHEN GIRL MEETS GIRL
QUIDDLERS THREE
THE LATE MR. TAYLOR
THE TEN DOLLAR BILL
HER WEIGHT IN GOLD
"Well the question is: how much does she weigh?" asked Eddie Ten Eyck
with satirical good humour.
His somewhat flippant inquiry followed the heated remark of General
Horatio Gamble, who, in desperation, had declared that his
step-daughter, Martha, was worth her weight in gold.
The General was quite a figure in the town of Essex. He was the
president of the Town and Country Club and, besides owning a splendid
stud, was also the possessor of a genuine Gainsborough, picked up at
the shop of an obscure dealer in antiques in New York City for a
ridiculously low price (two hundred dollars, it has been said), and
which, according to a rumour started by himself, was worth a hundred
thousand if it was worth a dollar, although he contrived to keep the
secret from the ears of the county tax collector. He had married late
in life, after accumulating a fortune that no woman could despise, and
of late years had taken to frequenting the Club with a far greater
assiduity than is customary in most presidents.
Young Mr. Ten Eyck's sarcasm was inspired by a mind's-eye picture of
Miss Martha Gamble. To quote Jo Grigsby, she was "so plain that all
comparison began and ended with her." Without desiring to appear
ungallant, I may say that there were many homely young women in Essex;
but each of them had the delicate satisfaction of knowing that Martha
was incomparably her superior in that respect.
"I am not jesting, sir," said the General with asperity. "Martha may
not be as good-looking as--er--some girls that I've seen, but she is a
jewel, just the same. The man who gets her for a wife will be a blamed
sight luckier than the fellows who marry the brainless little fools we
see trotting around like butterflies." (It was the first time that
Eddie had heard of trotting butterflies.)
"She's a fine girl," was his conciliatory remark.
"She is pure gold," said the General with conviction. "Pure gold, sir."
"A nugget," agreed Eddie expansively. "A hundred and eighty pound
nugget, General. Why don't you send her to a refinery?"
The General merely glared at him and subsided into thoughtful silence.
He was in the habit of falling into deep spells of abstraction at such
times as this. For the life of him, he couldn't understand how Martha
came by her excessive plainness. Her mother was looked upon as a
beautiful woman and her father (the General's predecessor) had been a
man worth looking at, even from a successor's point of view. That
Martha should have grown up to such appalling ugliness was a source of
wonder, not only to the General, but to Mrs. Gamble herself.
Young Mr. Ten Eyck was the most impecunious spendthrift in Essex. He
lived by his wits, with which he was more generously endowed than
anything in the shape of gold or precious jewels. His raiment was
accumulative. His spending-money came to him through an allowance that
his grandmother considerately delivered to him at regular periods, but
as is the custom with such young men he was penniless before the
quarter was half over. At all times he was precariously close to being
submerged by his obligations. Yet trouble sat lightly upon his head, if
one were to judge by outward appearances. Beneath a bland, care-free
exterior, however, there lurked in Edward's bosom a perpetual pang of
distress over the financial situation.
What worried him most was the conviction | 242.358181 | 1,145 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Transcriber’s Note:
This version of the text cannot represent certain typographical effects.
Italics are delimited with the ‘_’ character as _italic_.
Footnotes have been moved to follow the paragraphs in which they are
referenced.
Minor errors, attributable to the printer, have been corrected. Please
see the transcriber’s note at the end of this text for details regarding
the handling of any textual issues encountered during its preparation.
[Illustration: THE ATTACK ON WHITEHAVEN.]
THE LIFE
OF
REAR ADMIRAL JOHN PAUL JONES.
BY
JOHN S. C. ABBOTT.
[Illustration]
NEW YORK:
DODD & MEAD, PUBLISHERS,
762 BROADWAY.
_AMERICAN PIONEERS AND PATRIOTS._
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
OF
REAR-ADMIRAL JOHN PAUL JONES,
COMMONLY CALLED
PAUL JONES.
BY
JOHN S. C. ABBOTT.
------------------
ILLUSTRATED.
------------------
NEW YORK:
DODD & MEAD, PUBLISHERS,
762 BROADWAY.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1874, by
DODD & MEAD,
in the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.
TO
THE OFFICERS AND SEAMEN OF THE UNITED STATES NAVY,
THIS VOLUME,
COMMEMORATIVE OF THE HEROIC ACHIEVEMENTS OF ONE OF THE MOST
ILLUSTRIOUS OF THEIR NUMBER, IS RESPECTFULLY
DEDICATED BY
JOHN S. C. ABBOTT.
FAIR HAVEN, CONN., 1874.
PREFACE.
I commenced writing the Life of Paul Jones with the impression, received
from early reading, that he was a reckless adventurer, incapable of
fear, and whose chief merit consisted in performing deeds of desperate
daring. But I rise from the careful examination of what he has written,
said, and done, with the conviction that I had misjudged his character.
I now regard him as one of the purest and most enlightened of patriots,
and one of the noblest of men. His name should be enrolled upon the same
scroll with those of his intimate friends, Washington, Jefferson,
Franklin, and Lafayette.
As this exhibition of the character of Admiral Jones is somewhat
different from that which has been presented in current literature, I
have felt the necessity of sustaining the narrative by the most
unquestionable documentary evidence. Should any one, in glancing over
the pages, see that the admiral is presented in a different light from
that in which he has been accustomed to view him, I must beg him, before
he condemns the narrative, to examine the proof which I think
establishes every statement.
The admiral had his faults. Who has not? But on the whole he was one of
nature’s noblemen. His energies were sincerely and intensely devoted to
the good of humanity. He was ambitious. But it was a noble ambition, to
make his life sublime. He was a man of pure lips and of unblemished
life. His chosen friends were the purest, the most exalted, the best of
men. He had no low vices. Gambling, drinking, carousing, were abhorrent
to his nature. He was a student of science and literature; and in the
most accomplished female society he found his social joy. While forming
the comprehensive views of statesmenship and of strategy, and evincing
bravery unsurpassed by any knight of romance, he was in manners,
thought, and utterance, as unaffected as a child.
JOHN S. C. ABBOTT.
CONTENTS.
--------------
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
_The Early Life of John Paul Jones._
His Birth and Childhood.—Residence and Employments in
Scotland.—His Studious Habits.—First Voyage to
America.—Engaged in the Slave Trade.—Reasons for
Abandoning it.—False Charges against him.—His
Sensitiveness to Obloquy.—Espouses the Cause of the
Colonies.—Developments of Character.—Extracts from his
Letters. 9
CHAPTER II.
_The Infant Navy._
Rescuing the Brigantine.—Commissioned as Captain.—Escape
from the Solway.—Conflict with the Milford.—Adventures at
Canso and Madame.—Return with Prizes.—Expedition to Cape
Breton.—Wise Counsel of Jones.—Brilliant Naval
Campaign.—Saving the Prizes.—Value of the Mellish.—Mission
to France.—Disappointment.—Sails with the Ranger. 32
CHAPTER III.
_Bearding the British Lion._
Aid from France.—Plan for the Destruction of the British
Fleet.—The American Flag Saluted.—Bold Movement of Captain
Jones.—Cruise along the Shores of England.—Capture of
Prizes.—Salutary Lessons given to England.—Operations in
the Frith of Clyde.—At Carrickfergus.—Attempt upon the
Drake.—Burning the Shipping at Whitehaven.—Capture of the
Plate of Lord Selkirk. | 242.362915 | 1,146 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
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by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber’s Notes:
The spelling, punctuation and hyphenation are as the original except
for apparent typographical errors, which have been corrected.
Italic text is denoted _thus_.
Bold text is denoted =thus=.
Bold, sans serif text, representing physical appearance e.g., of a
‘Vee’ shaped thread is denoted thus ^V^.
Subscripts are denoted thus _{1}.
Some page numbers printed in the original ‘Index to Part One’ do not
appear in the body of the book. The transcriber has endeavoured to
make assumptions as to the most appropriate anchor locations. The
appearance of the original index has not been changed.
Examples (possibly relocated, by the author, into Part Two) are:
=Air=, des., composition of, 15, 16
=Air pump=, 13
=Nitrogen=, what part of air, 15
=Oxygen=, what part of air, 15
=Value of Reidler belt-driven pump=, ills. and des., 238-240
changed in the Index to:-
=Valve of Riedler belt-driven pump=, ills. and des., 238-240
All references to ‘Reidler’ pumps have been corrected to ‘Riedler’
(Alois Riedler, 1850-1936, Austrian professor of engineering).
PUMPS
AND
HYDRAULICS.
IN TWO PARTS.
Part One.
“_There are many fingers pointing to the value of a training in
science, as the one thing needful to make the man, who shall rise above
his fellows._”—FRANK ALLEN.
[Illustration: Elephant]
“_The motto marked upon our foreheads, written upon our door-posts,
channeled in the earth, and wafted upon the waves is and must be,
‘Labour is honorable and Idleness is dishonorable.’_”—CARLYLE.
This work is respectfully dedicated to
MAJ. ABRAM B. GARNER,
of Newark, N. J.,
—AND—
ALBERTO H. CAFFEE, ESQ.,
of New York City.
‘Gentlemen without fear and without reproach.’
[Illustration: _Henry R. Worthington_]
“_Thought is the principal factor in all mechanical work; the
mechanical effort is an incident rather than the principal equipment
in any trade or occupation._”
“_Any trade is easily learned by an apt scholar who uses his
reasoning faculties and makes a study of cause and effect._”—CHAS. J.
MASON.
PUMPS
—AND—
HYDRAULICS
—BY—
WILLIAM ROGERS
_Author of “Drawing and Design,” etc._
[Illustration]
_RELATING TO_
HAND PUMPS; POWER PUMPS; PARTS OF PUMPS; ELECTRICALLY DRIVEN
PUMPS; STEAM PUMPS, SINGLE, DUPLEX AND COMPOUND; PUMPING
ENGINES, HIGH DUTY AND TRIPLE EXPANSION; THE STEAM FIRE
ENGINE; UNDERWRITERS’ PUMPS; MINING PUMPS; AIR AND
VACUUM PUMPS; COMPRESSORS; CENTRIFUGAL AND ROTARY
PUMPS; THE PULSOMETER; JET PUMPS AND THE INJECTOR;
UTILITIES AND ACCESSORIES; VALVE SETTING; MANAGEMENT;
CALCULATIONS, RULES AND TABLES.
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS._
_ALSO_
GENERAL CONSIDERATIONS; GLOSSARY OF PUMP TERMS; HISTORICAL
INTRODUCTION, WITH ILLUSTRATIONS; THE ELEMENTS OF HYDRO-MECHANICS,
HYDROSTATICS AND PNEUMATICS; GRAVITY AND FRICTION;
HYDRAULIC MEMORANDA; LAWS GOVERNING FLUIDS; WATER
PRESSURE MACHINES; PUMPS AS HYDRAULIC MACHINES, ETC.
PART ONE.
PUBLISHED BY
THEO. AUDEL & COMPANY
72 FIFTH AVE.,
NEW YORK, U.S.A.
7, IMP | 242.394078 | 1,147 |
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THE
GENTLEMAN AND LADY'S
BOOK OF POLITENESS
AND
PROPRIETY OF DEPORTMENT,
DEDICATED TO THE
YOUTH OF BOTH SEXES.
BY Mme. CELNART.
TRANSLATED FROM THE SIXTH PARIS EDITION,
ENLARGED AND IMPROVED.
BOSTON.
ALLEN AND TICKNOR,
AND
CARTER, HENDEE & CO
1833.
Entered according to Act of Congress, the year 1833, by Allen and
Ticknor, in the Clerk's office of the District Court of the District
of Massachusetts.
BOSTON: Kane and Co. 127 Washington Street.
PREFACE.
The present work has had an extensive circulation in France, the country
which we are accustomed to consider as the genial soil of politeness;
and the publishers have thought it would be rendering a useful service
on this side of the Atlantic to issue a translation of it.
Some foreign visitors in our country, whose own manners have not always
given them a right to be censors of others, have very freely told us
what we ought _not_ to do; and it will be useful to know from
respectable authority, what is done in polished society in Europe, and,
of course, what we _ought to do_, in order to avoid all just censure.
This object, we are confident, will be more effectually accomplished by
the study of the principles and rules contained in the present volume,
than by any other of the kind.
By persons who are deemed competent judges in such a case, this little
work has been pronounced to be one of the most useful and practical
works extant upon the numerous and delicate topics which are discussed
in it. We are aware, that a man can no more acquire the ease and
elegance of a finished gentleman, by any manual of this kind, than in
the fine arts he could become a skilful painter or sculptor by studying
books alone, without practice. It is, however, equally true, that the
_principles_ of Politeness may be studied, as well as the principles of
the arts. At the same time, intercourse with polite society, in other
words, _practice_, as in the case of the arts, must do the rest.
The reader will find in this volume some rules founded on customs and
usages peculiar to France and other countries, where the Roman Catholic
religion is established. But it was thought better to retain them in the
work, than to mutilate it, by making such material alterations as would
have been occasioned by expunging every thing of that description. In
our liberal and tolerant country, these peculiarities will give offence
to none; while to many, their novelty, at least, will be interesting.
The Translator.
_Boston, May 6, 1833._
CONTENTS.
PART I.
Page.
Introduction.
Of Propriety of Deportment, and its Advantages xiii
CHAPTER I.
Of Propriety of Conduct in Relation to Religious Duties 1
Sect. 1. Of respectful Deportment at Church ibid.
2. Of religious Propriety in our Intercourse with
the World 6
CHAPTER II.
Of Propriety of Conduct in Relation to Domestic Duties 9
CHAPTER III.
Of Propriety of Conduct in Conjugal and Domestic Relations 12
CHAPTER IV.
Of Propriety as regards one's self 19
Sect. 1. Of the Toilet ibid.
2. Of Reputation 27
CHAPTER V.
Of Propriety in regard to one's Business or Profession 32
Sect. 1. Politeness of Shopkeepers and Customers ibid.
2. Politeness between Persons in Office and the Public 38
3. Politeness of Lawyers and their Clients 39
4. Politeness of Physicians and their Patients 40
5. Politeness of Artists and Authors, and the deference
due to them 42
6. Politeness of Military Men 46
7. Politeness of Ecclesiastics and Females of Religious
Orders; and the deference due to them 48
PART II.
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COUNTRY NEIGHBORS
by
ALICE BROWN
Boston and New York
Houghton Mifflin Company
The Riverside Press Cambridge 1910
Copyright, 1910, by Alice Brown
All Rights Reserved
Published April 1910
CONTENTS
THE PLAY HOUSE 1
HIS FIRST WIFE 20
A FLOWER OF APRIL 42
THE AUCTION 53
SATURDAY NIGHT 76
A GRIEF DEFERRED 96
THE CHALLENGE 122
PARTNERS 150
FLOWERS OF PARADISE 171
GARDENER JIM 192
THE SILVER TEA-SET 215
THE OTHER MRS. DILL 237
THE ADVOCATE 265
THE MASQUERADE 285
A POETESS IN SPRING 314
THE MASTER MINDS OF HISTORY 341
THE PLAY HOUSE
Amelia Maxwell sat by the front-chamber window of the great house
overlooking the road, and her own "story-an'-a-half" farther toward the
west. Every day she was alone under her own roof, save at the times when
old lady Knowles of the great house summoned her for work at fine sewing
or braiding rags. All Amelia's kin were dead. Now she was used to their
solemn absence, and sufficiently at one with her own humble way of life,
letting her few acres at the halves, and earning a dollar here and there
with her clever fingers. She was but little over forty, yet she was
aware that her life, in its keener phases, was already done. She had had
her romance and striven to forget it; but out of that time pathetic
voices now and then called to her, and old longings awoke, to breathe
for a moment and then sleep again.
Amelia seemed, even to old lady Knowles, who knew her best, a cheerful,
humorous body; but only Amelia saw the road by which her serenity had
come. Chiefly it was through an inexplicable devotion to the great
house. She could not remember a time when it was not wonderful to her.
While she was a little girl, living alone with her mother, she used to
sit on the doorstone with her bread and milk at bedtime, and think of
the great house, how grand it was and large. There was a wonderful way
the sun had of falling, at twilight, across the pillars of its porch
where the elm drooped sweetly, and in the moonlight it was like a fairy
city. But the morning was perhaps the best moment of all. The great
house was painted a pale yellow, and when Amelia awoke with the sun in
her little unshaded chamber, she thought how dark the blinds were there,
with such a solemn richness in their green. The flower-beds in front
were beautiful to her; but the back garden, lying alongside the orchard,
and stretching through tangles of sweet-william and rose, was an
enchanted spot to play in. The child that was, used to wander there and
feel very rich. Now, a woman, she sat in the great house sewing, and
felt rich again. As it happened, for one of the many times it came to
her, she was thinking what the great house had done for her. Old lady
Knowles had, in her stately way, been a kind of patron saint, and in
that summer, years ago, when Amelia's romance died and she had drooped
like a starving plant, Rufus, the old lady's son, had seemed to see her
trouble and stood by her. He did not speak of it. He only took her for
long drives, and made his cheerful presence evident in many ways, and
when he died, with a tragic suddenness, Amelia used selfishly to feel
that he had lived at least long enough to keep her from failing of that
inner blight.
On this day when old lady Knowles had gone with Ann, her faithful help,
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NORTHERN TRAILS
BOOK I
By
William J. Long
_WOOD FOLK SERIES BOOK VI_
1905
PREFACE
In the original preface to "Northern Trails" the author stated that,
with the solitary exception of the salmon's life in the sea after he
vanishes from human sight, every incident recorded here is founded
squarely upon personal and accurate observation of animal life and
habits. I now repeat and emphasize that statement. Even when the
observations are, for the reader's sake, put into the form of a
connected story, there is not one trait or habit mentioned which is not
true to animal life.
Such a statement ought to be enough, especially as I have repeatedly
furnished evidence from reliable eye-witnesses to support every
observation that the critics have challenged; but of late a strenuous
public attack has been made upon the wolf story in this volume by two
men claiming to speak with authority. They take radical exception to my
record of a big white wolf killing a young caribou by snapping at the
chest and heart. They declared this method of killing to be "a
mathematical impossibility" and, by inference, a gross falsehood,
utterly ruinous to true ideas of wolves and of natural history.
As no facts or proofs are given to support this charge, the first thing
which a sensible man naturally does is to examine the fitness of the
critics, in order to ascertain upon what knowledge or experience they
base their dogmatic statements. One of these critics is a man who has no
personal knowledge of wolves or caribou, who asserts that the animal has
no possibility of reason or intelligence, and who has for years publicly
denied the observations of other men which tend to disprove his ancient
theory. It seems hardly worth while to argue about either wolves or men
with such a naturalist, or to point out that Descartes' idea of animals,
as purely mechanical or automatic creatures, has long since been laid
aside and was never considered seriously by any man who had lived close
to either wild or domestic animals. The second critic's knowledge of
wolves consists almost entirely of what he has happened to see when
chasing the creatures with dogs and hunters. Judging by his own nature
books, with their barbaric records of slaughter, his experience of wild
animals was gained while killing them. Such a man will undoubtedly
discover some things about animals, how they fight and hide and escape
their human enemies; but it hardly needs any argument to show that the
man who goes into the woods with dogs and rifles and the desire to kill
can never understand any living animal.
If you examine now any of the little books which he condemns, you will
find a totally different story: no record of chasing and killing, but
only of patient watching, of creeping near to wild animals and winning
their confidence whenever it is possible, of following them day and
night with no motive but the pure love of the thing and no object but to
see exactly what each animal is doing and to understand, so far as a man
can, the mystery of its dumb life.
Naturally a man in this attitude will see many traits of animal life
which are hidden from the game-killer as well as from the scientific
collector of skins. For instance, practically all wild animals are shy
and timid and run away at man's approach. This is the general experience
not only of hunters but of casual observers in the woods. Yet my own
experience has many times shown me exactly the opposite trait: that when
these same shy animals find me unexpectedly close at hand, more than
half the time they show no fear whatever but only an eager curiosity to
know who and what the creature is that sits so quietly near them.
Sometimes, indeed, they seem almost to understand the mental attitude
which has no thought of harm but only of sympathy and friendly interest.
Once I was followed for hours by a young wolf which acted precisely like
a lost dog, too timid to approach and too curious or lonely to run away.
He even wagged his tail when I called to him softly. Had I shot him on
sight, I would probably have foolishly believed that he intended to
attack me when he came trotting along my trail. Three separate times I
have touched a wild deer with my hand; once I touched a moose, once an
eagle, once a bear; and a score of times at least I have had to frighten
these big animals or get out of their way, when their curiosity brought
them too near for perfect comfort.
So much for the personal element, for the general attitude and fitness
of the observer and his critics. But the question is not chiefly a
personal one; it is simply a matter of truth and observation, and the
only honest or scientific method is, first, to go straight to nature and
find out the facts; and then--lest your own eyesight or judgment be at
fault--to consult other observers to find if, perchance, they also have
seen the facts exemplified. This is not so easy as to dogmatize or to
write animal stories; but it is the only safe method, and one which the
nature writer as well as the scientist must follow if his work is to
endure.
Following this good method, when the critics had proclaimed that my
record of a big wolf killing a young caribou by biting into the chest
and heart was an impossibility, I went straight to the big woods and, as
soon as the law allowed, secured photographs and exact measurements of
the first full-grown deer that crossed my trail. These photographs and
measurements show beyond any possibility of honest doubt the following
facts: (1) The lower chest of a deer, between and just behind the
forelegs, is thin and wedge-shaped, exactly as I stated, and the point
of the heart is well down in this narrow wedge. The distance through the
chest and point of the heart from side to side was, in this case,
exactly four and one-half inches. A man's hand, as shown in the
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[Illustration: Fannie Hurst]
EVERY SOUL HATH ITS SONG
BY
FANNIE HURST
AUTHOR OF
_Just Around the Corner_
"_Oh, the melody in the simplest heart_"
BOOKS BY FANNIE HURST
EVERY SOUL HATH ITS SONG
JUST AROUND THE CORNER
Every Soul Hath Its Song
1912, 1916
TO
J.S.D.
CONTENTS
SEA GULLIBLES
ROLLING STOCK
HOCHENHEIMER OF CINCINNATI
IN MEMORIAM
THE NTH COMMANDMENT
T.B.
SUMMER RESOURCES
SOB SISTER
THE NAME AND THE GAME
EVERY SOUL HATH ITS SONG
SEA GULLIBLES
In this age of prose, when men's hearts turn point-blank from blank
verse to the business of chaining two worlds by cable and of daring to
fly with birds; when scholars, ever busy with the dead, are suffering
crick in the neck from looking backward to the good old days when
Romance wore a tin helmet on his head or lace in his sleeves--in such
an age Simon Binswanger first beheld the high-flung torch of Goddess
Liberty from the fore of the steerage deck of a wooden ship, his small
body huddled in the sag of calico skirt between his mother's knees, and
the sky-line and clothes-lines of the lower East Side dawning upon his
uncomprehending eyes.
Some decades later, and with an endurance stroke that far outclassed
classic Leander's, Simon Binswanger had swum the great Hellespont
that surged between the Lower East Side and the Upper West Side, and,
trolling his family after, landed them in one of those stucco-fronted,
elevator-service apartment-houses where home life is lived on the layer,
and the sins of the extension sole and the self-playing piano are
visited upon the neighbor below. Landed them four stories high and dry
in a strictly modern apartment of three dark, square bedrooms, a square
dining-room ventilated by an airshaft, and a square pocket of a kitchen
that looked out upon a zigzag of fire-escape. And last a square
front-room-de-resistance, with a bay of four windows overlooking a
distant segment of Hudson River, an imitation stucco mantelpiece, a
crystal chandelier, and an air of complete detachment from its curtailed
rear.
But even among the false creations of exterior architects and interior
decorators, home can find a way. Despite the square dining-room with
the stag-and-tree wall-paper design above the plate-rack and a gilded
radiator that hissed loudest at mealtime, when Simon Binswanger and his
family relaxed round their after-dinner table, the invisible cricket on
the visible hearth fell to whirring.
With the oldest gesture of the shod age Mrs. Binswanger dived into her
work-basket, withdrew with a sock, inserted her five fingers into the
foot, and fell to scanning it this way and that with a furrow between
her eyes.
"Ray, go in and tell your sister she should come out of her room and
stop that crying nonsense. I tell you it's easier we should all go to
Europe, even if we have to swim across, than every evening we should
have spoilt for us."
Ray Binswanger rose out of her shoulders, her eyes dazed with print,
then collapsed again to the pages of her book.
"Let her cry, mamma."
"It's not so nice, Ray, you should treat your sister like that."
"Can I help it, mamma, that all of a sudden she gets Europe on the
brain? You never heard me even holler for Arverne, much less Europe, as
long as the boats were running for Brighton, did you, mom?"
"She thinks, Ray, in Europe it's a finer education for you both. She
ain't all wrong the way she hates you should run to Brighton with them
little snips."
"Just the same you never heard me nag for trips. The going's too good at
home. Did you, pop, ever hear me nag?"
"Ja, it's a lot your papa worries about what's what! Look at him there
behind his paper, like it was a law he had to read every word! Ray, go
get me my glasses under the clock and call in your sister. Them novels
will keep. Mind me when I talk, Ray!"
Miss Ray Binswanger rose reluctantly, placing the book face downward on
the blue-and-white table coverlet. It was as if seventeen Indian summers
had laid their golden blush upon her. Imperceptibly, too, the lanky,
prankish years were folding back like petals, revealing the first bloom
of her, a suddenly cleared complexion and eyes that had newly learned to
drop upon occasion.
"Honest, mamma, do you think it would hurt Izzy to make a move once in a
while? He was the one made her cry, anyway, guying her about spaghetti
on the brain."
"Sure I did. Wasn't she running down my profesh? She's got to go to
Europe for the summer, because the traveling salesmen she meets at home
ain't good enough for her. Well, of all the nerve!"
"Just look at him, mamma, stretched out on the sofa there like he was a
king!"
Full flung and from a tufted leather couch Isadore Binswanger turned on
his pillow, flashing his dark eyes and white teeth full upon her.
"Go chase yourself, Blackey!"
"Blackey! Let me just tell you, Mr. Smarty, that alongside of you I'm so
blond I'm dizzy."
"Come and give your big brother a French kiss, Blackey."
"Like fun I will!"
"Do what I say or I'll--"
Mrs. Binswanger rapped her darning-ball with a thimbled finger.
"Izzy, stop teasing your sister."
"You just ask me to press your white-flannel pants for you the next time
you want to play Palm Beach with yourself, and see if I do it or not.
You just ask me!"
He made a great feint of lunging after her, and she dodged behind her
mother's rocking-chair, tilting it sharply.
"Children!"
"Mamma, don't you let him touch me!"
"You--you little imp, you!"
"Children!"
"I tell you, ma, that kid's getting too fresh."
"You spoil her, Izzy, more as any one."
"It's those yellow novels, and that gang of drugstore snips you let her
run with will be her ruination. If she was my kid I bet I'd have kept
her in school another year."
"You shut up, Izzy Binswanger, and mind your own business. You never
even went as long as me."
"With a boy it's different."
"You better lay pretty low, Izzy Binswanger, or I can tell a few tales.
I guess I didn't see you the night after you got in from your last trip,
in your white-flannel pants I pressed, dancing on the Brighton boat with
that peroxide queen alrighty."
This time his face darkened with the blood of anger.
"You little imp, I'll--"
"Children! Stop it, do you hear! Ray, go right this minute and call
Miriam and bring me my glasses. Izzy, do you think it's so nice that a
grown man should tease his little sister?"
"I'll be glad when he goes out on his Western trip next week."
"Skidoo, you little imp!"
She tossed her head in high-spirited distemper and flounced through the
doorway. He rose from his mound of pillows, jerking his daring waistcoat
into place, flinging each knee outward to adjust the knifelike trouser
creases, swept backward a black, pomaded forelock and straightened an
accurate and vivid cravat.
"She's getting too fresh, I tell you, ma. If I catch her up round the
White Front drug-store with that fresh crowd of kids I'll slap her face
right there before them."
"Ach, at her age, Izzy, Miriam was just the same way, and now look how
fine a boy has got to be before that girl will look at him. Too fine, I
say!"
"Where's my hat, ma? I laid it here on the sewing-machine. Gee! the only
way for a fellow to keep his hat round this joint is to sit on it!"
A quick frown sprang between Mrs. Binswanger's eyes and she glanced at
her husband, hidden behind his barricade of newspaper. Her brow knotted
and her wide, uncorseted figure half rose toward him.
"Izzy, one night can't you stay at home and--"
"I ain't gone yet, am I, ma? Don't holler before you're hurt. There's a
fellow going to call for me at eight and we're going to a show--a good
fellow for me to know, Irving Shapiro, city salesman for the Empire
Waist Company. I ain't still in bibs, ma, that I got to be bossed where
I go nights."
"Ach, Izzy, for why can't you stay home this evening? Stay home and you
and Miriam and your friend sing songs together, and later I fix for you
some sandwiches--not, Izzy? A young man like Irving Shapiro I bet likes
it if you stay home with him once. Nice it will be for your sister,
too--eh, Izzy?"
Mrs. Binswanger's face, slightly sagging at the mouth from the ravages
of two recently extracted molars, broke into an invitational smile.
"Eh, Izzy?"
He found and withdrew his hat from behind a newspaper-rack and cast a
quick glance toward the form of his father, whose nether half, ending
in a pair of carpet slippers dangling free from his balbriggan heels,
protruded from the barricade of newspaper.
"That's right, just get the old man started on me, ma, too. When a
fellow travels six months out of the year in every two-by-four burg in
the Middle West, nagging like this is just what he needs when he gets
home."
"You know, Izzy, I'm the last one to start something."
"Then don't always ask a fellow where he's going, ma, and get pa started
too."
"You know that not one thing that goes on does papa hear when he reads
his paper, Izzy. Never one word do I say to him how I feel when you go,
only I--I don't like you should run out nights so late, Izzy. Next week
again already you go out on your trip and--"
"Now, ma, just--just you begin if you want to make me sore."
"I tell you, Izzy, I worry enough that you should be on the road so
much. And ain't it natural, Izzy, when you ain't away I--I should like
it that you stay by home a lot? Sit down, anyway, awhile yet till the
Shapiro boy comes."
"Sure I will, ma."
"If I take a trip away from you this summer I worry, Izzy, and if I stay
home I worry. Anyway I fix it I worry."
"Now, ma."
"Only sometimes I feel if your papa feels like he wants to spend the
money--Well, anything is better as that girl should feel so bad that we
don't take her to Europe."
He jingled a handful of loose coins from his pocket to his palm.
"Cheer up, ma; if the old man will raise my salary I'll blow you to a
wheelbarrow trip through Europe myself."
"'Sh-h-h-h, Izzy! Here comes Miriam. I don't want you should tease her
one more word to make her mad. You hear?"
In the frame of the doorway, quiescent as an odalisque and with the
golden tinge of a sunflower lighting her darkness, Miriam Binswanger
held the picture for a moment, her brother greeting her with bow and
banter.
"Well, little red-eyes!"
"Izzy, what did I just tell you!"
His sister flashed him a dark glance, reflexly her hand darting upward
to her face. "You!"
"Now, now, children! Why don't you and Miriam go in the parlor, Izzy,
and sing songs?"
"What you all so cooped up in here for, mamma? Open the window, Ray;
it's as hot as summer outside."
"Say, who was your maid this time last year, Miriam?"
"Mamma, you going to let her talk that way to me?"
"Ray, will it hurt you to put up the window like your sister asks?"
"Well, I'm doing it, ain't I?"
"Now, Miriam, you and Izzy go in the parlor and sing for mamma a
little."
Miriam's small teeth met in a small click, her voice lay under careful
control and as if each nerve was twanging like a plucked violin string.
"Please, mamma, please! I just can't sing to-night!"
She was like a Jacque rose, dark and swaying, her little bosom beneath
the sheer blouse rising higher than its wont.
"Please, mamma!"
"Ach, now, Miriam!"
"Where's those steamship pamphlets, mamma, I left laying here on the
table?"
"Right here where you left them, Miriam."
Mr. Isadore Binswanger executed a two-stride dash for the couch,
plunging into a nest of pillows and piling them high about his head and
ears.
"Go-od night! The subject of Europe is again on the table for the
seventh evening this week. Nix for mine! Good night! Good night!" And he
fell to burrowing his head deeper among the pillows.
"You don't need to listen, Izzy Binswanger. I wasn't talking to you,
anyways."
"No, to your mother you was talking--always to me. I got to hear it."
A sudden vibration darted through Mrs. Binswanger's body, straightening
it. "Always me! I tell you, Simon, with your family you 'ain't got no
troubles. I got 'em all. How he sits there behind his newspaper just
like a boarder and not in the family! I tell you more as once in my life
I have wished there was never a newspaper printed. Right under his nose
he sits with one glued every evening."
"Na, na, old lady!"
"That sweet talk don't make no neverminds with me. 'Na, na,' he says. I
tell you even when my children was babies how they could cry every night
right under his nose and never a hand would that man raise to help me.
I tell you my husband's a grand help to me. 'Such a grand husband,' the
ladies always say to me I got. I wish they should know what I know!"
Mr. Binswanger tossed aside his newspaper and raised his spectacles to
his horseshoe expanse of bald head. His face radiated into a smile
that brought out the whole chirography of fine lines, and his eyes
disappeared in laughter like two raisins poked into dough.
"Na, na, old lady, na, na!" He made to pinch her cheek where it bagged
toward a soft scallop of double chin, but she withdrew querulously.
"I tell you what I been through this winter, with Izzy out in a Middle
West territory where only once in four months I can see him, and my Ray
and her going-ons with them little snips, and now Miriam with her Europe
on the brain. I tell you that if anybody in this family needs Europe
it's me for my health, better as Miriam for her singing and her style.
Such nagging I have got ringing in my ears about it I think it's easier
to go as to stay home with long faces."
Erect on the edge of her chair Miriam inclined toward her parent.
"That's just what I been saying, mamma; all four of us need it. Not only
me and Ray, but--"
"Leave me out, missy!"
"Not only us two for our education, mamma, but a trip like that can make
you and papa ten years younger. Read what the booklet says. It--"
"I'm an old woman and I don't want I should try to look young like on
the streets here up-town you can see the women. What comes natural to me
like gray hairs I don't got to try to hide."
"Hurrah for ma! 'Down with the peroxide and the straight fronts,' she
says."
"Izzy, that ain't so nice neither to talk such things before your
sisters."
"Don't listen to him, mamma. Just let me ask you, mamma, just let me ask
you, papa--papa, listen: did you ever in your life have a real vacation?
What were those two weeks in Arverne for you last summer compared to on
board a ship? You--"
"That's what I need yet--shipboard! I tell you I'm an old man and I'm
glad that I got a home where I can take off my shoes and sit in comfort
with my rheumatism."
"Hannah Levin's father limped ten times worse than you, papa. Didn't he,
mamma? And since he took Hannah over last summer not one stroke has he
had since. And she--Well, you see what she did for herself."
Mrs. Binswanger paused in her stitch. "That's so, Simon; Hannah Levin
should grab for herself a man like Albert Hamburger. She should fall
into the human-hair Hamburger family, a stick like her! At fish-market
when he lived down-town each Friday morning I used to meet old man
Levin, and I should say his knees were worse as yours, papa."
"When my daughter marries a Albert Hamburger, then maybe too we can
afford to take a trip to Europe."
Miss Binswanger raised her eyes, great dark pools glozed over with
tears. "All right then, I'll huck at home. But let me tell you, papa,
since you come right out and mention it, that's where she met Albert
Hamburger, if anybody should ask you, right on board the ship. Those
kind don't lie round Arverne with that cheap crowd of week-end
salesmen."
"There she goes on my profesh again!"
"That's where she met him, since you talk about such things, papa, right
on the ste | 243.437901 | 1,151 |
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OTTO OF THE SILVER HAND
By Howard Pyle
CONTENTS
I. The Dragon's House,
II. How the Baron Went Forth to Shear,
III. How the Baron Came Home Shorn,
IV. The White Cross on the Hill,
V. How Otto Dwelt at St. Michaelsburg,
VI. How Otto Lived in the Dragon's House,
VII. The Red Cock Crows on Drachenhausen,
VIII. In the House of the Dragon Scorner,
IX. How One-eyed Hans Came to Trutz-Drachen,
X. How Hans Brought Terror to the Kitchen,
XI. How Otto was Saved,
XII. A Ride for Life,
XIII. How Baron Conrad Held the Bridge,
XIV. How Otto Saw the Great Emperor,
FOREWORD.
Between the far away past history of the world, and that which lies near
to us; in the time when the wisdom of the ancient times was dead and
had passed away, and our own days of light had not yet come, there lay a
great black gulf in human history, a gulf of ignorance, of superstition,
of cruelty, and of wickedness.
That time we call the dark or middle ages.
Few records remain to us of that dreadful period in our world's history,
and we only know of it through broken and disjointed fragments that have
been handed down to us through the generations.
Yet, though the world's life then was so wicked and black, there yet
remained a few good men and women here and there (mostly in peaceful
and quiet monasteries, far from the thunder and the glare of the worlds
bloody battle), who knew the right and the truth and lived according to
what they knew; who preserved and tenderly cared for the truths that the
dear Christ taught, and lived and died for in Palestine so long ago.
This tale that I am about to tell is of a | 244.025389 | 1,152 |
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and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
GUNPOWDER TREASON AND PLOT.
[Illustration: A MAGNIFICENT RACE. _Page 18._]
GUNPOWDER TREASON
AND PLOT
And Other Stories for Boys
BY
HAROLD AVERY, FRED WHISHAW,
AND
R. B. TOWNSHEND
_WITH FOURTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS_
THOMAS NELSON AND SONS
_London, Edinburgh, and New York_
1901
CONTENTS.
WHEN FRIENDS FALL OUT, 9
TWO HEROES, 42
LOST IN THE SOUDAN, 76
THE WOLFMAN, 106
IN HONOUR BOUND, 130
"GUNPOWDER, TREASON, AND PLOT," 145
THE COCK-HOUSE CUP, 169
GUNPOWDER TREASON AND PLOT.
WHEN FRIENDS FALL OUT.
Old Dan Mudge, fisherman, of Brixham, Devon, saw a curious sight one
afternoon as he walked along the shore between his own village and
another of the name of Churston, in order to see whether the gale of the
preceding night had disturbed his lobster-pots, laid in a symmetrical
line just clear of the rocks that lie to the north of Broad Sands, one
of the many lovely coves in Tor Bay.
A curiously-shaped object floated and bobbed in the still lively sea,
fifty yards from shore, and from the midst of the object there seemed to
rise--yes, he was sure of it--a child's cry.
"I must wade in and see to that matter," thought old Dan. "It isn't deep
where she's floating now."
"She" consisted, as he plainly saw when he had approached a little
nearer, of a most elaborately-made floating nest. Two lifebuoys, held
apart by thick wire zigzags, floated one above the other; and slung upon
the uppermost, hanging between it and the other, was a basket, lined
within and without with thickest oilskin. In the basket, lying securely
fastened among cushions and blankets, were two splendid little boys, one
of whom slept soundly; the other yelled loudly. From their likeness to
each other, it was plain that they were brothers.
Old Dan Mudge was astonished beyond words--so astonished that he omitted
to save the lifebuoys with their ingenious appendage, but simply took
the two children out and carried them ashore, leaving their peculiar
raft to itself and to the mercy of the waves.
"Good Lord, deliver us all!" he exclaimed. "What a splendid pair of
babies! And what in the name of good gracious am I going to do with
them?"
As a preliminary to finding an answer to this question, Dan took the
children to Brixham, and showed them to his wife and to a select company
of neighbours, who had come in to hear the news, having seen Dan walk
through the streets with two babies on his two arms.
"You'll have to advertise 'em," suggested some one. But Dan demurred.
"Can't afford that kind of thing," he said.
"Oh, but we must! Hat round for subscriptions," exclaimed some one, "to
find the owner of these babes!"
The hat went round, and sufficient was soon collected to pay for several
insertions of an advertisement in a London paper of the day; but nothing
was ever heard of any claimant to the privilege of proprietorship of the
two little waifs, and it was concluded that they were sole survivors of
a fine passenger sailing-ship bound for Plymouth, which was known to
have gone down, with all hands, during a gale in the Channel, about the
time of their discovery.
Meanwhile old Dan Mudge was at his wits' end to know what to do with the
bairns. His wife was too old and sickly to care to have the charge of
small children, though she adored the pair of babes as much as any of
the good folk who came to weep over and kiss and admire them during
their stay of a few days under her roof.
[Illustration: "_Dan Mudge was at his wits' end to know what to do with
the bairns._" Page 13.]
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HISTORY OF FRIEDRICH II. OF PRUSSIA
FREDERICK THE GREAT
By Thomas Carlyle
BOOK XX.--FRIEDRICH IS NOT TO BE OVERWHELMED: THE SEVEN-YEARS WAR
GRADUALLY ENDS--25th April, 1760-15th February, 1763.
Chapter I.--FIFTH CAMPAIGN OPENS.
There were yet, to the world's surprise and regret, Three Campaigns
of this War; but the Campaign 1760, which we are now upon, was what
produced or rendered possible the other two;--was the crisis of them,
and is now the only one that can require much narrative from us here.
Ill-luck, which, Friedrich complains, had followed him like his shadow,
in a strange and fateful manner, from the day of Kunersdorf and earlier,
does not yet cease its sad company; but, on the contrary, for long
months to come, is more constant than ever, baffling every effort of
his own, and from the distance sending him news of mere disaster and
discomfiture. It is in this Campaign, though not till far on in it,
that the long lane does prove to have a turning, and the Fortune of War
recovers its old impartial form. After which, things visibly languish:
and the hope of ruining such a Friedrich becomes problematic, the effort
to do it slackens also; the very will abating, on the Austrian part,
year by year, as of course the strength of their resources is still
more steadily doing. To the last, Friedrich, the weaker in material
resources, needs all his talent,--all his | 244.653833 | 1,154 |
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A MODERN WIZARD
BY
RODRIGUES OTTOLENGUI
AUTHOR OF "AN ARTIST IN CRIME," "A CONFLICT OF EVIDENCE," ETC.
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
NEW YORK LONDON
27 WEST TWENTY-THIRD STREET 24 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND
The Knickerbocker Press
1894
COPYRIGHT, 1894
BY
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
Entered at Stationers' Hall, London
Electrotyped, Printed and Bound by
The Knickerbocker Press, New York
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
TO
HON. GEORGE P. ANDREWS
JUSTICE OF THE SUPREME COURT OF
THE STATE OF NEW YORK
WHO IS RECOGNIZED, NOT ONLY AS AN EMINENT JURIST
BUT AS A TYPE OF HUMAN JUSTICE
AND LEGAL INTEGRITY
THIS WORK IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED
CONTENTS.
BOOK FIRST.
CHAPTER PAGE
I.--LAWYER AND CLIENT 1
II.--JACK BARNES INVESTIGATES 17
III.--A WIZARD'S TRICK 32
IV.--DR. MEDJORA SURRENDERS 53
V.--FOR THE PROSECUTION 70
VI.--DAMAGING TESTIMONY 84
VII.--THE PROSECUTION RESTS 101
VIII | 244.789087 | 1,155 |
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by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
IN MY NURSERY.
BY
LAURA E. RICHARDS,
AUTHOR OF
"THE JOYOUS STORY OF TOTO," "TOTO'S MERRY WINTER," ETC.
BOSTON:
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
_Copyright, 1890,_
BY ROBERTS BROTHERS
_All rights reserved._
Printers
S. J. PARKHILL & CO., BOSTON, U.S.A.
To my Mother,
JULIA WARD HOWE.
_Sweet! when first my baby ear
Curled itself and learned to hear,
'Twas your silver-singing voice
Made my baby heart rejoice._
_Hushed upon your tender breast,
Soft you sang me to my rest;
Waking, when I sought my play,
Still your singing led the way._
_Cradle songs, more soft and low
Than the bird croons on the bough;
Olden ballads, grave and gay,
Warrior's chant, and lover's lay._
_So my baby hours went
In a cadence of content,
To the music and the rhyme
Keeping tune and keeping time._
_So you taught me, too, ere long,
All our life should be a song,--
Should a faltering prelude be
To the heavenly harmony;_
_And with gracious words and high,
Bade me look beyond the sky,
To the Glory throned above,
To th' eternal Light and Love._
_Many years have blossomed by:
Far and far from childhood I;
Yet its sunrays on me fall,
Here among my children all._
_So among my babes I go,
Singing high and singing low;
Striving for the silver tone
Which my memory holds alone._
_If I chant my little lays
Tunefully, be yours the praise;
If I fail, 'tis I must rue
Not t' have closelier followed you._
CONTENTS.
Dedication
In my Nursery
The Baby's Future
Baby's Hand
The First Tooth
Johnny's By-low Song
Baby's Valentine
The Rain
The Ballad of the Fairy Spoon
Song of the Little Winds
Good-night Song
Another "Good-night"
"A Bee came tumbling"
Jingle
Little Old Baby
Baby's Journey
The Bumble-bee
The Owl and the Eel and the Warming-pan
Young (one)'s Night Thoughts
Little Sunbeam
Baby's Belongings
Infantry Tactics
Baby Bo
The Difference
Little John Bottlejohn
Jemima Brown
Alice's Supper
Toddlekins
Bobbily Boo and Wollypotump
Sleepyland
Little Brown Bobby
Phil's Secret
A Song for Hal
The Fairies
The Queen of the Orkney Islands
Baby's Ways
Pot and Kettle
Punkydoodle and Jollapin
Mrs. Snipkin and Mrs. Wobblechin
My Sunbeams
In the Closet
Bed-time
Bird-song
Geographi
Higgledy-piggledy
Belinda Blonde
Tommy's Dream; or, The Geography Demon
Polly's Year
What the Robins sing in the Morning
The Eve of the Glorious Fourth
The Dandy Cat
A Party
Jumbo Jee
An Indian Ballad
The Egg
Wouldn't
Will-o'-the-wisp
Nonsense Verses
An Old Rat's Tale
To the Little Girl who wriggles
The Forty little Ducklings
The Mouse
A Valentine
Jamie in the Garden
Somebody's Boy (not mine)
Bogy
The Mermaidens
The Phrisky Phrog
The Ambitious Chicken
The Boy and the Brook
The Shark
The Easter Hen
Pump and Planet
The Postman
Hopsy Upsy
Little Black Monkey
Jippy and Jimmy
Master Jack's Song
Mother Rosebush
The Five Little Princesses
The Hornet and the Bee
The Three Little Chickens who went out to Tea
A Legend of Lake Okeefinokee
Grandpapa's Valentine
Alibazan
The Three Fishers
Peepsy
May Song
Two Little Valentines
A Howl about an Owl
Our Celebration
The Song of the Corn-popper
What Bobby said
Master Jack's Views
Emily Jane
Song of the Mother whose Children are Fond of Drawing
The Seven Little Tigers and the Aged Cook
Agamemnon
The Wedding
Swing Song
The Little Cossack
What a Very Rude Little Bird said to Johnny this Morning
The Monkeys and the Crocodile
Painted Ladies
Some Fishy Nonsense
Lady's Slipper
A Little Song to sing to a Little Maid in a Swing
Betty in Blossom-time
Betty's Song
A Nonsense Tragedy
From New York to Boston
Sandy Godolphin
My Clock
My Uncle Jehoshaphat
Rosy Posy
Sick-room Fancies.
I. My Wall Paper
II. My Japanese Fan
Marjorie's Knitting
He and His Family
Easter-time
Easter
Jacky Frost
Subtraction
Grandfather Dear
Gathering Apples
The Ballad of the Beach
The Boots of a Household
The Palace
Bunker Hill Monument
May
Gregory Griggs
A Nursery Tragedy
The Umbrella Brigade
The Princess in Saturn and the Red Man in Mars
Wiggle and Waggle
Gret Gran'f'ther
Day Dreams
The Battle
The Strange Beast
A Garden Jingle
The Baby goes to Boston
The Flag in the Schoolroom
Johnny Jump-up
The Outlandishman
A Sleigh-ride
The Little Gnome
The Little Dutchess
IN MY NURSERY.
In my nursery as I sit,
To and fro the children flit:
Rosy Alice, eldest born,
Rosalind like summer morn,
Sturdy Hal, as brown as berry,
Little Julia, shy and merry,
John the King, who rules us all,
And the Baby sweet and small.
Flitting, flitting to and fro,
Light they come and light they go:
And their presence fair and young
Still I weave into my song.
Here rings out their merry laughter,
Here their speech comes tripping after:
Here their pranks, their sportive ways,
Flash along the lyric maze,
Till I hardly know, in fine,
What is theirs and what is mine:
Can but say, through wind and weather,
They and I have wrought together.
THE BABY'S FUTURE.
What will the baby be, Mamma,
(With a kick and a crow, and a hushaby-low).
What will the baby be, Mamma,
When he grows up into a man?
Will he always kick, and always crow,
And flourish his arms and his legs about so,
And make up such horrible faces, you know,
As ugly as ever he can?
The baby he may be a soldier, my dear,
With a fife and a drum, and a rum-tiddy-tum!
The baby he may be a soldier, my dear,
When he grows up into a man.
He will draw up his regiment all in a row,
And flourish his sword in the face of the foe,
Who will hie them away on a tremulous toe,
As quickly as ever they can.
The baby he may be a sailor, my dear,
With a fore and an aft, and a tight little craft
The baby he may be a sailor, my dear,
When he grows up into a man.
He will hoist his sails with a "Yo! heave, ho!"
And take in his reefs when it comes on to blow,
And shiver his timbers and so forth, you know,
On a genuine nautical plan.
The baby he may be a doctor, my dear,
With a powder and pill, and a nice little bill.
The baby he may be a doctor, my dear,
When he grows up into a man.
He will dose you with rhubarb, and calomel too,
With draughts that are black and with pills that are blue;
And the chances will be, when he's finished with you,
You'll be worse off than when he began.
The baby he may be a lawyer, my dear,
With a bag and a fee, and a legal decree.
The baby he may be a lawyer, my dear,
When he grows up into a man.
But, oh! dear me, should I tell to you
The terrible things that a lawyer can do,
You would take to your heels when he came into view,
And run from Beersheba to Dan.
BABY'S HAND.
Like a little crumpled roseleaf
It lies on my bosom now,
Like a tiny sunset cloudlet,
Like a flake of rose-tinted snow;
And the pretty, helpless fingers
Are never a moment at rest,
But ever are moving and straying
About on the mother's breast:
Trying to grasp the sunbeam
That streams through the window high;
Trying to catch the white garments
Of the angels hovering by.
And as she pats and caresses
The dear little lovely hand,
The mother's thoughts go forward
Toward the future's shadowy land.
And ever her anxious vision
Strives to pierce each coming year,
With a mother's height of rapture,
With a mother's depth of fear,
As she thinks, "In the years that are coming,
Be they many or be they few,
What work is the good God sending
For this little hand to do?
Will it always be open in giving,
And always strong for the right?
Will it always be ready for labor,
Yet always gentle and light?
Will it wield the brush or the chisel
In the magical realms of Art?
Will it waken the loveliest music
To gladden the weary heart?
Will it smooth the sufferer's pillow,
Bring rest to his aching head?
Will it proffer the cup of cold water?
By it shall the hungry be fed?
Oh! in the years that are coming,
Be they many or be they few,
What now is the good God sending
For this little hand to do?"
Thus the mother's anxious vision
Strives to pierce each coming year,
With a mother's height of rapture,
With a mother's depth of fear.
Ah! whatever may be its fortunes,
Whatever in life its part,
This little wee hand will never loose
Its hold on the mother's heart.
THE FIRST TOOTH.
My own little beautiful Baby,
You're weeping most bitterly, dear!
There'd soon be a lake, if we treasured
Each sweet little silvery tear.
A lake? Nay! an ocean of sorrow
Would murmur and sigh at your feet,
And you would be drowned in your tear-drops,
My own little Baby sweet.
But, darling, as | 244.983981 | 1,156 |
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FROM DAN TO BEERSHEBA
┌────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ │
│ Transcriber’s Notes │
│ │
│ │
│ Punctuation has been standardized. │
│ │
│ Characters in small caps have been replaced by all caps. │
│ │
│ Non-printable characteristics have been given the following │
│ transliteration: │
│ Italic text: --> _text_ │
│ │
│ This book was written in a period when many words had │
│ not become standardized in their spelling. Words may have │
│ multiple spelling variations or inconsistent hyphenation in │
│ the text. These have been left unchanged unless indicated │
│ with a Transcriber’s Note. │
│ │
│ The symbol ‘‡’ indicates the description in parenthesis has │
│ been added to an illustration. This may be needed if there │
│ is no caption or if the caption does not describe the image │
│ adequately. │
│ │
│ Footnotes are identified in the text with a number in │
│ brackets [2] and have been accumulated in a single section │
│ at the end of the text. │
│ │
│ Transcriber’s Notes are used when making corrections to the | 245.180078 | 1,157 |
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by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
THE
FRANCO-GERMAN WAR
OF
1870--71
BY
FIELD-MARSHAL
COUNT HELMUTH VON MOLTKE
TRANSLATION REVISED BY
ARCHIBALD FORBES
_WITH A MAP, NOTES, AND ORDERS OF BATTLE_
LONDON
JAMES R. OSGOOD, McILVAINE & CO.
45, ALBEMARLE STREET, W.
1893
[_All rights reserved_]
NOTE.
The translation has been thoroughly revised for the sense as well as in
regard to technical military terms and expressions. To the name of every
German general officer mentioned in the text has been affixed, within
brackets, his specific command, a liberty which the reader will perhaps
not resent, since the interpolation is intended to facilitate his
clearer understanding of a narrative condensed by the author with
extreme severity.
In further aid of elucidation there has been occasionally inserted, also
within brackets, a date, a figure, or a word.
A few footnotes will be found, which may perhaps be excused as not
wholly irrelevant. In the Appendix have been inserted the "Orders of
Battle" of both sides, as in the first period of the war.
A. F.
PREFACE.
Field-Marshal von Moltke began this history of the War of 1870--1 in the
spring of the year 1887, and during his residence at Creisau he worked
at it for about three hours every morning. On his return to Berlin in
the autumn of that year, the work was not quite finished, but he
completed it by January, 1888, at Berlin, placed it in my hands, and
never again alluded to the subject.
The origin of the book was as follows. I had several times entreated
him, but in vain, to make use of his leisure hours at Creisau in noting
down some of his rich store of reminiscences. He always objected, in the
same words: "Everything official that I have had occasion to write, or
that is worth remembering, is to be seen in the Archives of the Staff
Corps. My personal experiences had better be buried with me." He had a
dislike to memoirs in general, which he was at no pains to conceal,
saying that they only served to gratify the writer's vanity, and often
contributed to distort important historical events by the subjective
views of an individual, and the intrusion of trivial details. It might
easily happen that a particular character which in history stood forth
in noble simplicity should be hideously disfigured by the narrative of
some personal experiences, and the ideal halo which had surrounded it be
destroyed. And highly characteristic of Moltke's magnanimity are the
words he once uttered on such an occasion, and which I noted at the
time: "Whatever is published in a military history is always dressed for
effect: yet it is a duty of piety and patriotism never to impair the
prestige which identifies the glory of our Army with personages of lofty
position."
Not long after our arrival at Creisau, early in 1887, I repeated my
suggestion. In reply to my request that he would write an account of the
Campaign of 1870--1, he said: "You have the official history of the war.
That contains everything. I admit," he added, "that it is too full of
detail for the general type of readers, and far too technical. An
abridgment must be made some day." I asked him whether he would allow me
to lay the work on his table, and next morning he began the narrative
contained in this volume, and comparing it as he went on with the
official history, carried it through to the end.
His purpose was to give a concise account of the war. But, while keeping
this in view, he involuntarily--as was unavoidable in his
position--regarded the undertaking from his own standpoint as Chief of
the General Staff, and marshalled results so as to agree as a whole with
the plan of campaign which was known only to the higher military
authorities. Thus this work, which was undertaken in all simplicity of
purpose, as a popular history, is practically from beginning to end the
expression of a private opinion of the war by the Field-Marshal himself.
The Appendix: "On a pretended Council of War in the Wars of William I.
of Prussia," was written in 1881. In a book by Fedor von Koppen, "Maenner
und Thaten, vaterlaendische Balladen" (_Men and Deeds: Patriotic Songs_),
which | 245.411238 | 1,158 |
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Note: Numbers enclosed in square brackets are page numbers.
HOME UNIVERSITY LIBRARY
OF MODERN KNOWLEDGE
No. 69
Editors:
HERBERT FISHER, M.A., F.B.A.
Prof. GILBERT MURRAY, Litt.D., LL.D., F.B.A.
Prof. J. ARTHUR THOMSON, M.A.
Prof. WILLIAM T. BREWSTER, M.A.
A HISTORY OF FREEDOM OF THOUGHT
BY
J. B. BURY, M.A., F.B.A
HON. D.LITT. OF OXFORD, DURHAM, AND DUBLIN, AND HON. LL.D. OF EDINBURGH,
GLASGOW, AND ABERDEEN UNIVERSITIES; REGIUS PROFESSOR OF MODERN HISTORY,
CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY
AUTHOR OF "HISTORY OF THE LATTER ROMAN EMPIRE," "HISTORY OF GREECE,"
"HISTORY OF THE EASTERN ROMAN EMPIRE," ETC.
[IV]
1913,
[V]
CONTENTS
CHAP.
I Introductory
II Reason Free (Greece And Rome)
III Reason in Prison (The Middle Ages)
IV Prospect of Deliverance (The Renaissance and the Reformation)
V Religious Toleration
VI The Growth of Rationalism (Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries)
VII The Progress of Rationalism (Nineteenth Century)
VIII The Justification of Liberty of Thought
Bibliography
Index
[7] A HISTORY OF FREEDOM OF THOUGHT
CHAPTER I
FREEDOM OF THOUGHT AND THE FORCES AGAINST IT
(INTRODUCTORY)
IT is a common saying that thought is free. A man can never be hindered
| 245.779285 | 1,159 |
2023-11-16 18:19:52.5444200 | 396 | 105 | VOL. 98, APRIL 5, 1890***
E-text prepared by Neville Allen,Malcolm Farmer, and the Project Gutenberg
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Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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See 30492-h.htm or 30492-h.zip:
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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI
VOLUME 98
APRIL 5, 1890.
MR. PUNCH'S DICTIONARY OF PHRASES.
JOURNALISTIC.
"_The Prisoner, who was fashionably attired, and of genteel
appearance_;" _i.e._, An ill-got-up swell-mobsman.
"_A powerful-looking fellow_;" _i.e._, An awful ruffian.
"_A rumour has reached us_"--(in the well-nigh impenetrable recesses
wherein, as journalists, we habitually conceal ourselves).
"_Nothing fresh has transpired_;" _i.e._, The local Reporter's invention
is at last exhausted.
"_The Prisoner seemed fully alive to the very serious position in which
he was placed_;" _i.e._, He occasionally wiped his mouth on his
knuckles.
"_The proceedings were kept up until an advanced hour_;" _i.e._, The
Reporter left early.
SOCIAL.
"_I'm so sorry I've forgotten to bring my Music_;" _i.e._, I'm not going
to throw away my singing on these people.
"_Dear me, this is a surprise to meet you here! I didn't, you see, know
you | 245.86383 | 1,160 |
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Produced by Jake Jaqua. HTML version by Al Haines.
Lectures of Col. R. G. Ingersoll--Latest
Contents
Thomas Paine
Liberty of Man, Woman and Child
Orthodoxy
Blasphemy
Some Reasons Why
Intellectual Development
Human Rights
Talmagian Theology (Second Lecture)
Talmagian Theology (Third Lecture)
Religious Intolerance
Hereafter
Review of His Reviewers
How the Gods Grow
The Religion of our Day
Heretics And Heresies
The Bible
Voltaire
Myth and Miracle
Ingersoll's Letter, on The Chinese God
Ingersoll's Letter, Is Suicide a Sin?
Ingersoll's Letter, The Right To One's Life
Ingersoll's Lecture on Thomas Paine--Delivered in Central Music Hall,
Chicago, January 29, 1880 (From the Chicago Times, Verbatim Report)
Ladies and Gentlemen:--It so happened that the first speech--the very
first public speech I ever made--took occasion to defend the memory of
Thomas Paine.
I did it because I had read a little something of the history of my
country. I did it because I felt indebted to him for the liberty I
then enjoyed--and whatever religion may be true, ingratitude is the
blackest of crimes. And whether there is any God or not, in every star
that shines, gratitude is a virtue.
The man who will tell the truth about the dead is a good man, and for
one, about this man, I intend to tell just as near the truth as I can.
Most history consists in giving the details of things that never
happened--most biography is usually the lie coming from the mouth of
flattery, or the slander coming from the lips of malice, and whoever
attacks the religion of a country will, in his turn, be attacked.
Whoever attacks a superstition will find that superstition defended by
all the meanness of ingenuity. Whoever attacks a superstition will
find that there is still one weapon left in the arsenal of
Jehovah--slander.
I was reading, yesterday, a poem called the "Light of Asia," and I read
in that how a Boodh seeing a tigress perishing of thirst, with her
mouth upon the dry stone of a stream, with her two cubs sucking at her
dry and empty dugs, this Boodh took pity upon this wild and famishing
beast, and, throwing from himself the Yellowrobe of his order, and
stepping naked before this tigress, said: "Here is meat for you and
your cubs." In one moment the crooked daggers of her claws ran riot in
his flesh, and in another he was devoured. Such, during nearly all the
history of this world, has been the history of every man who has stood
in front of superstition.
Thomas Paine, as has been so eloquently said by the gentleman who
introduced me, was a friend of man, and whoever is a friend of man is
also a friend of God--if there is one. But God has had many friends
who were the enemies of their fellow-men. There is but one test by
which to measure any man who has lived. Did he leave this world better
than he found it? Did he leave in this world more liberty? Did he
leave in this world more goodness, more humanity, than when he was
born? That is the test. And whatever may have been the faults of
Thomas Paine, no American who appreciates liberty, no American who
believes in true democracy and pure republicanism, should ever breathe
one word against his name. Every American, with the divine mantle of
charity, should cover all his faults, and with a never-tiring tongue
should recount his virtues.
He was a common man. He did not belong to the aristocracy. Upon the
head of his father God had never poured the divine petroleum of
authority. He had not the misfortune to belong to the upper classes.
He had the fortune to be born among the poor and to feel against his
great heart the throb of the toiling and suffering masses. Neither was
it his misfortune to have been educated at Oxford. What little sense
he had was not squeezed out at Westminster. He got his education from
books. He got his education from contact with fellow-men, and he
thought, and a man is worth just what nature impresses upon him. A man
standing by the sea, or in a forest, or looking at a flower, or hearing
a poem, or looking in the eyes of the woman he loves, receives all that
he is capable of receiving--and if he is a great man the impression is
great, and he uses it for the purpose of benefiting his fellow-man.
Thomas Paine was not rich, he was poor, and his father before him was
poor, and he was raised a sailmaker, a very lowly profession, and yet
that man became one of the mainstays of liberty in this world. At one
time he was an excise man, like Burns. Burns was once--speak it
softly--a gauger--and yet he wrote poems that will wet the cheek of
humanity with tears as long as the world travels in its orb around the
sun.
Poverty was his brother, necessity his master. He had more brains than
books; more courage than politeness; more strength than polish. He had
no veneration for old mistakes, no admiration for ancient lies. He
loved the truth for truth's sake and for man's sake. He saw oppression
on every hand, injustice everywhere, hypocrisy at the altar, venality
on the bench, tyranny on the throne, and with a splendid courage he
espoused the cause of the weak against the strong, of the enslaved many
against the titled few.
In England he was nothing. He belonged to the lower classes--that is,
the useful people. England depended for her prosperity upon her
mechanics and her thinkers, her sailors and her workers, and they are
the only men in Europe who are not gentlemen. The only obstacles in
the way of progress in Europe were the nobility and the priests, and
they are the only gentlemen.
This, and his native genius, constituted his entire capital, and he
needed no more. He found the colonies clamoring for justice; whining
about their grievances; upon their knees at the foot of the throne,
imploring that mixture of idiocy and insanity, George III., by the
grace of God, for a restoration of their ancient privileges. They were
not endeavoring to become free men, but were trying to soften the heart
of their master. They were perfectly willing to make brick if Pharaoh
would furnish the straw. The colonists wished for, hoped for, and
prayed for reconciliation. They did not dream of independence.
Paine gave to the world his "Common Sense." It was the first argument
for separation; the first assault upon the British form of government;
the first blow for a republic, and it aroused our fathers like a
trumpet's blast. He was the first to perceive the destiny of the new
world. No other pamphlet ever accomplished such wonderful results. It
was filled with arguments, reasons, persuasions, and unanswerable
logic. It opened a new world. It filled the present with hope and the
future with honor. Everywhere the people responded, and in a few months
the Continental Congress declared the colonies free and independent
states. A new nation was born.
It is simple justice to say that Paine did more to cause the
Declaration of Independence than any other man. Neither should it be
forgotten that his attacks upon Great Britain were also attacks upon
monarchy, and while he convinced the people that the colonies ought to
separate from the mother country, he also proved to them that a free
government is the best that can be instituted among men.
In my judgment Thomas Paine was the best political writer that ever
lived. "What he wrote was pure nature, and his soul and his pen ever
went together." Ceremony, pageantry, and all the paraphernalia of
power had no effect upon him. He examined into the why and wherefore
of things. He was perfectly radical in his mode of thought. Nothing
short of the bed-rock satisfied him. His enthusiasm for what he
believed to be right knew no bounds. During all the dark scenes of the
revolution never for a moment did he despair. Year after year his
brave words were ringing through the land, and by the bivouac fires the
weary soldiers read the inspiring words of "Common Sense," filled with
ideas sharper than their swords, and consecrated themselves anew to the
cause of freedom.
Paine was not content with having aroused the spirit of independence,
but he gave every energy of his soul to keep that spirit alive. He was
with the army. He shared its defeats, its dangers, and its glory.
When the situation became desperate, when gloom settled upon all, he
gave them the "Crisis." It was a cloud by day and a pillar of fire
by night, leading the way to freedom, honor, and glory. He shouted to
them "These are the times that try men's souls." The summer soldier
and the sunshine patriot, will, in this crisis, shrink from the service
of his country; but he that stands it now deserves the love and thanks
of man and woman.
To those who wished to put the war off to some future day, with a lofty
and touching spirit of self-sacrifice, he said: "Every generous parent
should say: 'If there must be war, let it be in my day, that my child
may have peace'." To the cry that Americans were rebels, he replied:
"He that rebels against reason is a real rebel; but he that in defense
of reason rebels against tyranny, has a better title to 'Defender of
the Faith' than George III."
Some said it was to the interest of the colonies to be free. Paine
answered this by saying: "To know whether it be the interest of the
continent to be independent, we need ask only this simple, easy
question: 'Is it the interest of man to be a boy all his life?"' He
found many who would listen to nothing, and to them he said: "That to
argue with a man who has renounced his reason is like giving medicine
to the dead." This sentiment ought to adorn the walls of every
orthodox church.
There is a world of political wisdom in this: "England lost her liberty
in a long chain of right reasoning from wrong principles;" and there
is real discrimination in saying: "The Greeks and Romans were strongly
possessed of the spirit of liberty, but not the principles, for at the
time they were determined not to be slaves themselves, they employed
their power to enslave the rest of mankind."
In his letter to the British people, in which he tried to convince them
that war was not to their interest, occurs the following passage
brimful of common sense: "War never can be the interest of a trading
nation any more than quarreling can be profitable to a man in business.
But to make war with those who trade with us is like setting a bull-dog
upon a customer at the shop door."
The Writings of Paine fairly glitter with simple, compact, logical
statements that carry conviction to the dullest and most prejudicial.
He had the happiest possible way of putting the case, in asking
questions in such a way that they answer themselves, and in stating his
premises so clearly that the deduction could not be avoided.
Day and night he labored for America. Month after month, year after
year, he gave himself to the great cause, until there was "a government
of the people and for the people," and until the banner of the stars
floated over a continent redeemed and consecrated to the happiness of
mankind.
At the close of the Revolution no one stood higher in America than
Thomas Paine. The best, the wisest, the most patriotic were his
friends and admirers; and had he been thinking only of his own good he
might have rested from his toils and spent the remainder of his life in
comfort and in ease. He could have been what the world is pleased to
call "respectable." He would have died surrounded by clergymen,
warriors, and statesmen, and at his death there would have been an
imposing funeral, miles of carriages, civic societies, salvos of
artillery, a Nation in mourning, and, above all, a splendid monument
covered with lies. He choose rather to benefit mankind. At that time
the seeds sown by the great infidels were beginning to bear fruit in
France. The eighteenth century was crowning its gray hairs with the
wreath of progress.
On every hand science was bearing testimony against the church.
Voltaire had filled Europe with light. D'Holbach was giving to the
elite of Paris the principles contained in his "System of Nature." The
encyclopaedists had attacked superstition with information for the
masses. The foundation of things began to be examined. A few had the
courage to keep their shoes on and let the bush burn. Miracles began
to get scarce. Everywhere the people began to inquire. America had
set an example to the world. The word liberty was in the mouths of
men, and they began to wipe the dust from their superstitious knees.
The dawn of a new day had appeared. Thomas Paine went to France.
Into the new movement he threw all his energies. His fame had gone
before him, and he was welcomed as a friend of the human race and as a
champion of free government.
He had never relinquished his intention of pointing out to his
countrymen the defects, absurdities, and abuse of the English
government. For this purpose; he composed and published his greatest
political work. "The Rights of Man." This work should be read by every
man and woman. It is concise, accurate, rational, convincing, and
unanswerable. It shows great thought, an intimate knowledge of the
various forms of government, deep insight into the very springs of
human action, and a courage that compels respect and admiration. The
most difficult political problems are solved in a few sentences. The
venerable arguments in favor of wrong are refuted with a
question--answered with a word. For forcible illustration, apt
comparison, accuracy and clearness of statement, and absolute
thoroughness, it has never been excelled.
The fears of the administration were aroused, and Paine was prosecuted
for libel, and found guilty; and yet there is not a sentiment in the
entire work that will not challenge the admiration of every civilized
man. It is a magazine of political wisdom, an arsenal of ideas, and an
honor not only to Thomas Paine, but to nature itself. It could have
been written only by the man who had the generosity, the exalted
patriotism, the goodness to say: "The world is my country, and to do
good my religion."
There is in all the utterances of the world no grander, no sublimer
sentiment. There is no creed that can be compared with it for a
moment. It should be wrought in gold, adorned with jewels, and
impressed upon every human heart: "The world is my country, and to do
good my religion."
In 1792, Paine was elected by the department of Calais as their
representative in the National Assembly. So great was his popularity
in France, that he was selected about the same time by the people of no
less than four departments.
Upon taking his place in the assembly, he was appointed as one of a
committee to draft a constitution for France. Had the French people
taken the advice of Thomas Paine, there would have been no "reign of
terror." The streets of Paris would not have been filled with blood in
that reign of terror. There were killed in the City of Paris not less,
I think, than seventeen thousand people--and on one night, in the
massacre of St. Bartholomew, there were killed, by assassination, over
sixty thousand souls--men, women, and children. The revolution would
have been the grandest success of the world. The truth is that Paine
was too conservative to suit the leaders of the French revolution.
They, to a great extent, were carried away by hatred and a desire to
destroy. They had suffered so long, they had borne so much, that it was
impossible for them to be moderate in the hour of victory.
Besides all this, the French people had been so robbed by the
government, so degraded by the church, that they were not fit material
with which to construct a republic. Many of the leaders longed to
establish a beneficent and just government, but the people asked for
revenge. Paine was filled with a real love for mankind. His
philanthropy was boundless. He wished to destroy monarchy--not the
monarch. He voted for the destruction of tyranny, and against the
death of the tyrant. He wished to establish a government on a new
basis--one that would forget the past; one that would give privileges
to none, and protection to all.
In the assembly, where all were demanding the execution of the
king,--where to differ with the majority was to be suspected, and where
to be suspected was almost certain death--Thomas Paine had the courage,
the goodness, and the justice to vote against death. To vote against
the execution of the king was a vote against his own life. This was
the sublimity of devotion to principle. For this he was arrested,
imprisoned, and doomed to death. There is not a theologian who has
ever maligned Thomas Paine that has the courage to do this thing. When
Louis Capet was on trial for his life before the French convention,
Thomas Paine had the courage to speak and vote against the sentence of
death. In his speech I find the following splendid sentiments:
"My contempt and hatred for monarchical governments are sufficiently
well known, and my compassion for the unfortunate, friends or enemies,
is equally profound.
I have voted to put Louis Capet upon trial, because it | 246.574073 | 1,161 |
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Produced by Sean Pobuda
The Air Ship Boys
or
The Quest of the Aztec Treasure
By H. L. Sayler
CONTENTS
I THE DEPARTURE OF THE OVERLAND LIMITED
II NED'S MEETING WITH MAJOR BALDWIN HONEYWELL
III THE RELATION OF MIGUEL VASQUEZ
IV THE CONTRACT, AND LIQUID HYDROGEN
V A DINNER PARTY ON THE PLACIDA
VI BOB RUSSELL OF THE KANSAS CITY COMET
VII THE MAKING OF A NEWSPAPER STORY
VIII THE HOSPITALITY OF NEW MEXICO
IX "CALIFORNY KID" GETS A JOB
X AN ERROR IN CALCULATION
XI A DISGUISE PENETRATED
XII NED TO BOB RUSSELL'S RESCUE
XIII | 246.617127 | 1,162 |
2023-11-16 18:19:53.5510260 | 1,136 | 401 |
Produced by Al Haines
[Frontispiece: W. S. B. MATHEWS.]
THE
MASTERS AND THEIR MUSIC
A SERIES OF ILLUSTRATIVE PROGRAMS, WITH
BIOGRAPHICAL, ESTHETICAL, AND
CRITICAL ANNOTATIONS
DESIGNED AS AN INTRODUCTION TO
MUSIC AS LITERATURE
FOR THE USE OF CLUBS, CLASSES, AND
PRIVATE STUDY
BY
W. S. B. MATHEWS
Author of "How to Understand Music," "A Popular History of Music,"
"Music: Its Ideals and Methods," "Studies in Phrasing," "Standard
Grades," Etc., Etc.
Philadelphia
Theodore Presser
1708 Chestnut Str.
COPYRIGHT, 1898, BY THEO. PRESSER
PREFACE.
When a musical student begins to think of music as a literature and to
inquire about individualities of style and musical expression, it is
necessary for him to come as soon as possible to the fountainheads of
this literature in the works of a few great masters who have set the
pace and established the limits for all the rest. In the line of
purely instrumental music this has been done by Bach, Haydn, Mozart,
Beethoven, Mendelssohn, Schumann, Chopin, Liszt, and Wagner. The
latter, who exercised a vast influence upon the manner of developing a
musical thought and in the selection of the orchestral colors in which
it can be expressed advantageously, powerfully stimulated all composers
later than himself, nevertheless exerted this influence at second-hand,
so to say, never having written purely instrumental movements, but
merely dramatic accompaniments of one intensity or another. Hence, for
our present purposes we may leave Wagner out altogether. Practically,
down to about the year 1875, everything in instrumental music is
original with the masters already mentioned, or was derived from them
or suggested by them. Hence, in order to understand instrumental music
we have, first of all, to make a beginning with the peculiarities,
individualities, beauty, and mastership of these great writers. Such
is the design of the following programs and explanatory matter.
My first intention has been to provide for the regular study of a
musical club, in which the playing is to be contributed by active
members designated in advance, the accessory explanations to be read
from these pages. I have thought that the playing might be divided
between several members, through which means the labor for each would
be reduced, and, on the whole, an intimate familiarity with the music
be more widely extended in the club. This method will have the
disadvantage of leaving a part of every program less well interpreted
than the others, whereby it will sometimes happen that valuable parts
will not be properly appreciated. The advantages of this method,
however, will outweigh the defects, since the awakening influence of a
course of study of this character will greatly depend upon having as
many members as possible practically interested in it.
While designed primarily for the use of a club, this course is equally
well adapted to serve as a manual for individual study, in which case
the individual himself will necessarily study every composition upon
the list, and advance to a new program only after having completely
mastered each and understood its relation to the remainder of the
course. The only exception to this rule will be in the case where
several programs of increasing difficulty are given. In this case the
player should take the easiest; after mastering this, let him go on to
the next most difficult, and, having succeeded with this, if possible
let him attack the most difficult given. In case the latter should be
impracticable for his technical resources, let him at least familiarize
himself with the general features of all of the pieces mentioned, and
get into their meaning and beauty as much as he can.
The course is also well adapted for use as a text-book in female
seminaries and the like. In this case the forms of a musical club or
definite musical organization had better be observed, and the meetings
conducted weekly or bi-weekly. The teacher should remember that all
the most important works, in which the maturity and mastership of the
composer come to their fullest expression, should be studied by the
most advanced members of the class, according to their ability, and
afterward played by the teacher himself, should he happen to possess
the necessary technical qualifications. When the maturity of the
teacher comes in to supplement the immaturity of the pupil, after the
latter has done his best, the best results will be produced.
It will be noticed, and with disappointment to some, that the analyses
and comments are free from so-called "poetry," and gush of every kind.
Particularly are they free from attempts to connect each piece with a
story or poetic idea. In the opinion of the writer, the first step
toward musical growth lies in learning to appreciate music, as music.
In instrumental music the development of a musical idea, the creation
of musical symmetries, figures, and arabesques, and the legitimate
building up of musical climaxes upon purely harmonic and rhythmic
grounds are the phases of thought | 246.870436 | 1,163 |
2023-11-16 18:19:54.1465130 | 206 | 183 |
Produced by Al Haines
[Illustration: Cover art]
[Frontispiece: ALONE IN THE VAST SOLITUDE.]
A CLAIM ON KLONDIKE
A Romance
OF
THE ARCTIC EL DORADO
BY
EDWARD ROPER, F.R.G.S.
AUTHOR OF
'BY TRACK AND TRAIL THROUGH CANADA,' ETC., ETC.
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS_
WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS
EDINBURGH AND LONDON
MDCCCXCIX
_All Rights reserved_
ILLUSTRATIONS.
ALONE IN THE VAST SOLITUDE...... _Frontispiece_
SHOOTING MYLES CANYON
LAKE LA BARGE
FIVE FINGERS RAPIDS
ON THE YUKON AT THE MOUTH OF THE KLONDYKE RIVER
OUR DUG-OUT, OUR TUNNEL, AND OUR SLUICE
"WH | 247.465923 | 1,164 |
2023-11-16 18:19:54.1672380 | 203 | 162 |
Produced by Jana Srna, Jane Robins, Bryan Ness and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
+-----------------------------------------------------------------+
| |
| Note: |
| |
| Equals signs are used to surround =bold text=; |
| underscores to surround _italic text_. |
| |
| Transcriber notes can be found at the end of the file |
| |
+-----------------------------------------------------------------+
Fabian Tract No. 45.
THE IMPOSSIBILITIES OF
ANARCHISM.
BY
BERNARD SHAW
PUBLISHED BY
THE FABIAN SOCIETY
PRICE TWOPENCE
LONDON
TO BE OBTAINED OF THE FABIAN SOCIETY, 276 STR | 247.486648 | 1,165 |
2023-11-16 18:19:54.4395510 | 1,025 | 414 |
Produced by Audrey Longhurst, Irma Spehar and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
MY AUTOBIOGRAPHY
[Illustration: _F. Max Mueller Aged 4._]
MY AUTOBIOGRAPHY
A FRAGMENT
BY THE
RT. HON. PROFESSOR F. MAX MUeLLER, K.M.
_WITH PORTRAITS_
New York
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1901
COPYRIGHT, 1901, BY
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
TROW DIRECTORY
PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY
NEW YORK
PREFACE
For some years past my father had, in the intervals of more serious
work, occupied his leisure moments in jotting down reminiscences of
his early life. In 1898 and 1899 he issued the two volumes of _Auld
Lang Syne_, which contained recollections of his friends, but very
little about his own life and career. In the Introductory Chapter to
the Autobiography he explains fully the reasons which led him, at his
advanced age, to undertake the task of writing his own Life, and he
began, but alas! too late, to gather together the fragments that he
had written at different times. But even during the last two years of
his life, and after the first attack of the illness which finally
proved fatal, he would not devote himself entirely to what he
considered mere recreation, as can be seen from such a work as his
_Six Systems of Indian Philosophy_ published in May, 1889, and from
the numerous articles which continued to appear up to the very time of
his death.
During the last weeks of his life, when we all knew that the end could
not be far off, the Autobiography was constantly in his thoughts, and
his great desire was to leave as much as possible ready for
publication. Even when he was lying in bed far too weak to sit up in a
chair, he continued to work at the manuscript with me. I would read
portions aloud to him, and he would suggest alterations and dictate
additions. I see that we were actually at work on this up to the 19th
of October, and on the 28th he was taken to his well-earned rest. One
of the last letters that I read to him was a letter from Messrs.
Longmans, his lifelong publishers, urging the publication of the
fragments of the Autobiography that he had then written.
My father's object in writing his Autobiography was twofold: firstly,
to show what he considered to have been his mission in life, to lay
bare the thread that connected all his labours; and secondly, to
encourage young struggling scholars by letting them see how it had
been possible for one of themselves, without fortune, a stranger in a
strange land, to arrive at the position to which he attained, without
ever sacrificing his independence, or abandoning the unprofitable and
not very popular subjects to which he had determined to devote his
life.
Unfortunately the last chapter takes us but little beyond the
threshold of his career. There is enough, however, to enable us to see
how from his earliest student days his leanings were philosophical and
religious rather than classical; how the study of Herbart's philosophy
encouraged him in the work in which he was engaged as a mere student,
the Science of Language and Etymology; how his desire to know
something special, that no other philosopher would know, led him to
explore the virgin fields of Oriental literature and religions. With
this motive he began the study of Arabic, Persian, and finally
Sanskrit, devoting himself more especially to the latter under
Brockhaus and Rueckert, and subsequently under Burnouf, who persuaded
him to undertake the colossal work of editing the Rig-veda.
The Autobiography breaks off before the end of the period during which
he devoted himself exclusively to Sanskrit. It is idle to speculate
what course his life's work might have taken, had he been elected to
the Boden Professorship of Sanskrit; but he lived long enough to
realize that his rejection for that chair in 1860, which was so hard
to bear at the time, was really a blessing in disguise, as it enabled
him to turn his attention to more general subjects, and devote himself
to those philological, philosophical, religious and mythological
studies, which found their expression in a series of works commencing
with his _Lectures on the Science of Language_, 1861, and terminating
with his _Contributions to the Science of Mythology_, 1897,--"the
thread that connects the origin of thought and language | 247.758961 | 1,166 |
2023-11-16 18:19:54.5646080 | 2,516 | 75 |
Produced by David Edwards, Martin Pettit and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
book was produced from scanned images of public domain
material from the Google Print project.)
A TRAMP'S NOTE-BOOK
BY
MORLEY ROBERTS
AUTHOR OF
"RACHEL MARE," "BIANCA'S CAPRICE," "THE PROMOTION OF THE ADMIRAL."
LONDON
F. V. WHITE & CO. LTD.
14 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND, W.C.
1904
CONTENTS
PAGE
A WATCH-NIGHT SERVICE IN SAN FRANCISCO 1
SOME PORTUGUESE SKETCHES 16
A PONDICHERRY BOY 40
A GRADUATE BEYOND SEAS 51
MY FRIEND EL TORO 61
BOOKS IN THE GREAT WEST 71
A VISIT TO R. L. STEVENSON 79
IN CAPETOWN 88
VELDT, PLAIN AND PRAIRIE 95
NEAR MAFEKING 101
BY THE FRASER RIVER 110
OLD AND NEW DAYS IN BRITISH COLUMBIA 118
A TALK WITH KRUGER 128
TROUT FISHING IN BRITISH COLUMBIA AND CALIFORNIA 136
ROUND THE WORLD IN HASTE 142
BLUE JAYS AND ALMONDS 162
IN CORSICA 167
ON THE MATTERHORN 176
AN INTERNATIONAL SOCIALIST CONGRESS 186
AT LAS PALMAS 194
THE TERRACINA ROAD 204
A SNOW-GRIND 216
ACROSS THE BIDASSOA 230
ON A VOLCANIC PEAK 238
SHEEP AND SHEEP HERDING 244
RAILROAD WARS 256
AMERICAN SHIPMASTERS 263
TRAMPS 267
TEXAS ANIMALS 275
IN A SAILORS' HOME 282
THE GLORY OF THE MORNING 293
A Tramp's Note-Book
A WATCH-NIGHT SERVICE IN SAN FRANCISCO
How much bitter experience a man keeps to himself, let the experienced
say, for they only know. For my own part I am conscious that it rarely
occurs to me to mention some things which happened either in England or
out of it, and that if I do, it is only to pass them over casually as
mere facts that had no profound effect upon me. But the importance of
any hardship cannot be estimated at once; it has either psychological or
physiological sequelae, or both. The attack of malaria passes, but in
long years after it returns anew and devouring the red blood, it breaks
down a man's cheerfulness; a night in a miasmic forest may make him for
ever a slave in a dismal swamp of pessimism. It is so with starvation,
and all things physical. It is so with things mental, with
degradations, with desolation; the scars and more than scars remain:
there is outward healing, it may be, but we often flinch at mere
remembrance.
But time is the vehicle of philosophy; as the years pass we learn that
in all our misfortunes was something not without value. And what was of
worth grows more precious as our harsher memories fade. Then we may bear
to speak of the days in which we were more than outcasts; when we
recognised ourselves as such, and in strange calm and with a broken
spirit made no claim on Society. For this is to be an outcast indeed.
I came to San Francisco in the winter of 1885 and remained in that city
for some six months. What happened to me on broad lines I have written
in the last chapter of _The Western Avernus_. But nowadays I know that
in that chapter I have told nothing. It is a bare recital of events with
no more than indications of deeper miseries, and some day it may chance
to be rewritten in full. That I was of poor health was nothing, that I
could obtain no employment was little, that I came to depend on help was
more. But the mental side underlying was the worst, for the iron
entered into my soul. I lost energy. I went dreaming. I was divorced
from humanity.
America is a hard place, for it has been made by hard men. People who
would not be crushed in the East have gone to the West. The Puritan
element has little softness in it, and in some places even now gives
rise to phenomena of an excessive and religious brutality which tortures
without pity, without sympathy. But not only is the Puritan hard; all
other elements in America are hard too. The rougher emigrant, the
unconquerable rebel, the natural adventurer, the desperado seeking a
lawless realm, men who were iron and men with the fierce courage which
carries its vices with its virtues, have made the United States. The
rude individualist of Europe who felt the slow pressure of social atoms
which precedes their welding, the beginning of socialism, is the father
of America. He has little pity, little tolerance, little charity. In
what States in America is there any poor law? Only an emigration agent,
hungry for steamship percentages, will declare there are no poor there
now. The survival of the fit is the survival of the strong; every man
for himself and the devil take the hindmost might replace the legend on
the silver dollar and the golden eagle, without any American denying it
in his heart.
But if America as a whole is the dumping ground and Eldorado combined of
the harder extruded elements of Europe, the same law of selection holds
good there as well. With every degree of West longitude the fibre of the
American grows harder. The Dustman Destiny sifting his cinders has his
biggest mesh over the Pacific States. If charity and sympathy be to seek
in the East, it is at a greater discount on the <DW72>. The only
poor-house is the House of Correction. Perhaps San Francisco is one of
the hardest, if not _the_ hardest city in the world. Speaking from my
own experience, and out of the experience gathered from a thousand
miserable bedfellows in the streets, I can say I think it is, not even
excepting Portland in Oregon. But let it be borne in mind that this is
the verdict of the unsuccessful. Had I been lucky it might have seemed
different.
I came into the city with a quarter of a dollar, two bits, or one
shilling and a halfpenny in my possession. Starvation and sleeping on
boards when I was by no means well broke me down and at the same time
embittered me. On the third day I saw some of my equal outcasts
inspecting a bill on a telegraph pole in Kearny Street, and on reading
it I found it a religious advertisement of some services to be held in a
street running out of Kearny, I believe in Upper California Street. At
the bottom of the bill was a notice that men out of work and starving
who attended the meeting would be given a meal. Having been starving
only some twenty-four hours I sneered and walked on. My agnosticism was
bitter in those days, bitter and polemic.
But I got no work. The streets were full of idle men. They stood in
melancholy groups at corners, sheltering from the rain. I knew no one
but a few of my equals. I could get no ship; the city was full of
sailors. I starved another twenty-four hours, and I went to the service.
I said I went for the warmth of the room, for I was ill-clad and wet. I
found the place half full of out-o'-works, and sat down by the door. The
preacher was a man of a type especially disagreeable to me; he looked
like a business man who had cultivated an aspect of goodness and
benevolence and piety on business principles. Without being able to say
he was a hypocrite, he struck me as being one. He was not bad-looking,
and about thirty-five; he had a band of adoring girls and women about
him. I was desolate and disliked him and went away.
But I returned.
I went up to him and told him brutally that I disbelieved in him and in
everything he believed in, explaining that I wanted nothing on false
pretences. My attitude surprised him, but he was kind (still with that
insufferable air of being a really first-class good man), and he bade me
have something to eat. I took it and went, feeling that I had no place
on the earth.
But a little later I met an old friend from British Columbia. He was by
way of being a religious man, and he had a hankering to convert me.
Failing personally, he cast about for some other means, and selected
this very preacher as his instrument. Having asked me to eat with him at
a ten-cent hash house, he inveigled me to an evening service, and for
the warmth I went with him. I became curious about these religious
types, and attended a series of services. I was interested half in a
morbid way, half psychologically. Scott, my friend, found me hard, but
my interest made him hope. He took me, not at all unwilling, to hear a
well-known revivalist who combined religion with anecdotes. He told
stories well, and filled a church every night for ten days. During
these days I heard him attentively, as I might have listened to any
well-told lecture on any pseudo-science. But my intellect was
unconvinced, my conscience untouched, and Scott gave me up. I attended a
number of services by myself; I was lonely, poor, hopeless, living an
inward life. The subjective became real at times, the objective faded. I
had a little occasional work, and expected some money to reach me early
in the year. But I had no energy, I divided my time between the Free
Library and churches. And it drew on to Christmas.
It was a miserable time of rain, and Christmas Day found me hopeless of
a meal. But by chance I came across a man whom I had fed, and he
returned my hospitality by dining me for fifteen cents at the "What
Cheer House," a well-known poor restaurant in San Francisco. Then
followed some days of more than semi-starvation, and I grew rather
light-headed. The last day of the year dawned and I spent it foodless,
friendless, solitary. But after a long evening's aimless wandering about
the city I came back to California Street, and at ten o'clock went to
the Watch-Night Service in the room of the first preacher I had heard.
The hall was a big square one, capable of seating some three hundred
people. There was a raised platform at the end; a broad passage way all
round the room had seats on both sides of it, and made a small square of
seats in the centre. I sat down in the middle of this middle square, and
the room was soon nearly full. The service began with a hymn. I neither
sang nor rose, and I noticed numbers who did not. In peculiar isolation
of mind my heart warmed to these, and I was conscious of rising
hostility for the creatures of praise. There was one strong young fellow
about three places from me | 247.884018 | 1,167 |
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ABOVE THE SNOW LINE
LONDON: PRINTED BY
SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE
AND PARLIAMENT STREET
[Illustration: THE BIETSCHHORN. FROM THE PETERSGRAT]
ABOVE THE SNOW LINE
MOUNTAINEERING SKETCHES
BETWEEN 1870 AND 1880
BY
CLINTON DENT
VICE-PRESIDENT OF THE ALPINE CLUB
"_Celui qui n'a jamais ses heures_
_de folie est moins sage qu'il ne le_
_pense_"--LA BRUYERE
WITH TWO ENGRAVINGS BY EDWARD WHYMPER AND
AN ILLUSTRATION BY PERCY MACQUOID
LONDON
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
1885
_All rights reserved_
THESE SKETCHES OF MOUNTAINEERING
I DEDICATE TO
T. I. D.
IN THE HOPE THAT A BOOK WITHOUT A HEROINE
MAY, AT LEAST, ACQUIRE SOME FEMININE INTEREST
PREFACE
Some of the following sketches do not now appear for the first time; but
such as have been before published in other form have been entirely
re-written, and, in great measure, recast.
To the writer the work has afforded an occasional distraction from more
serious professional work, and he cannot wish better than that it should
serve the same purpose to the reader.
CORTINA DI AMPEZZO:
_September 1884_.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I.
AN EXPEDITION IN THE OLDEN STYLE
PAGE
Buried records--_Litera scripta manet_--The survival of the unfit--A 1
literary octopus--Sybaritic mountaineering--On mountain
"form"--Lessons to be learned in the Alps--The growth and spread of
the climbing craze--Variations of the art--A tropical day in the
valley--A deserted hostelry--The hotel staff appears in several
characters--Ascent of the Balfrinhorn--Our baggage train and
transport department--A well-ventilated shelter--On sleeping out:
its advantages on the present occasion--The Mischabelhoerner family
group--A plea for Saas and the Fee plateau--We attack the
Suedlenzspitz--The art of detecting hidden crevasses--Plans for the
future--Sentiment on a summit--The feast is spread--The
Alphubeljoch--We meet our warmest welcome at an inn
CHAPTER II.
THE ROTHHORN (MOMING) FROM ZERMATT
The Alpine dramatis personae--Mountaineering fact and romance--The 31
thirst for novelty and its symptoms--The first ascent of the
Moming--Preliminaries are observed--Rock _v._ snow mountains--The
amateur and the guide on rocks and on snow--The programme is made
out--Franz Andermatten--Falling stones in the gully--We smooth away
the difficulties--The psychological effects of reaching mountain
summits--A rock bombardment and a narrow escape--The youthful
tourist and his baggage--Hotel trials--We are interviewed--The
gushers
CHAPTER III.
EARLY ATTEMPTS ON THE AIGUILLE DU DRU
The Alps and the early mountaineers--The last peaks to 56
surrender--The Aiguille du Dru--Messrs. Kennedy and Pendlebury's
attempt on the peak--One-day expeditions in the Alps and thoughts
on huts and sleeping out--The Chamouni guide system--A word on
guides, past and present--The somnolent landlord and his
peculiarities--Some of the party see a chamois--Doubts as to the
peak and the way--The duplicity of the Aiguille deceives
us--Telescopic observations--An ill-arranged glacier--Franz and his
mighty axe--A start on the rocks in the wrong direction--Progress
reported--An adjournment--The rocks of the lower peak of the
Aiguille du Dru--Our first failure--The expedition resumed--A new
line of ascent--We reach the sticking point--Beaten back--The
results gained | 248.021688 | 1,168 |
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Transcribed from the 1897 Welsh National Press Company edition by David
Price, email [email protected]
[Picture: Book cover]
[Picture: Glasynys, The Birthplace of Ellis Wynne]
THE VISIONS
OF THE
SLEEPING BARD
BEING
ELLIS WYNNE’S
“_Gweledigaetheu y Bardd Cwsc_”
TRANSLATED BY
ROBERT GWYNEDDON DAVIES
* * * * *
LONDON: SIMPKIN, MARHSALL & CO., LIMITED.
CARNARVON: THE WELSH NATIONAL PRESS COMPANY, LIMITED
* * * * *
MDCCCXCVII
* * * * *
TO
PROFESSOR JOHN RHŶS, M.A., LL.D.
PRINCIPAL OF JESUS COLLEGE, OXFORD
AND
VICE-PRESIDENT OF THE UNIVERSITY COLLEGE
OF NORTH WALES,
IN TOKEN OF
HIS DISTINGUISHED SCHOLARSHIP AND UNRIVALLED
SERVICES
TO
CELTIC LITERATURE
THIS TRANSLATION
IS
RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED
PREFACE
AT the National Eisteddfod of 1893, a prize was offered by Mr. Lascelles
Carr, of the _Western Mail_, for the best translation of Ellis Wynne’s
_Vision of Hell_. The Adjudicators (Dean Howell and the Rev. G. Hartwell
Jones, M.A.), awarded the prize for the translation which is comprised in
the present volume. The remaining Visions were subsequently rendered
into English, and the complete work is now published in the hope that it
may prove useful to those readers, who, being unacquainted with the Welsh
language, yet desire to obtain some knowledge of its literature.
My best thanks are due to the Rev. J. W. Wynne Jones, M.A., Vicar of
Carnarvon, for much help and valuable criticism; to the Rev. R Jones,
MA., Rector of Llanfair-juxta-Harlech, through whose courtesy I am
enabled to produce (from a photograph by Owen, Barmouth) a page of the
register of that parish, containing entries in Ellis Wynne’s handwriting;
and to Mr. Isaac Foulkes, Liverpool, for the frontispiece, which appeared
in his last edition of the _Bardd Cwsc_.
R. GWYNEDDON DAVIES.
_Caernarvon_,
_1st July_, _1897_.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
Frontispiece
Genealogical Tables xii
Introduction:—
I. The Author’s Life xv
II. The Text xx
III. The Summary xxiv
Facsimile of Ellis Wynne’s Handwriting
Vision of the World 3
Vision of Death 43
Vision of Hell 67
Notes 123
GENEALOGICAL TABLES. {0}
ELLIS WYNNE’S PEDIGREE.
*** (_I am indebted to E. H. Owen_, _Esqr._, _F.S.A._, _Tycoch_,
_Carnarvon_, _for most of the information compiled in the following
tables_.)
[Picture: Ellis Wynne’s Pedigree]
THE RELATION BETWEEN ELLIS WYNNE & BISHOP HUMPHREYS.
[Picture: The Relation between Ellis Wynne & Bishop Humphreys]
INTRODUCTION.
I.—THE AUTHOR’S LIFE.
ELLIS WYNNE was born in 1671 at Glasynys, near Harlech; his father,
Edward Wynne, came of the family of Glyn Cywarch (mentioned in the second
Vision), his mother, whose name is not known, was heiress of Glasynys.
It will be seen from the accompanying table that he was descended from
some of the best families in his native county, and through _Osborn
Wyddel_, from the Desmonds of Ireland. His birth-place, which still
stands, and is shown in the frontispiece hereto, is situate about a mile
and a half from the town of Harlech, in the beautiful Vale of Ardudwy.
The natural scenery amidst which he was brought up, cannot have failed to
leave a deep impression upon his mind; and in the Visions we come across
unmistakeable descriptions of scenes and places around his home.
Mountain and sea furnished him with many a graphic picture; the
precipitous heights and dark ravines of Hell, its caverns and its cliffs,
are all evidently drawn from nature. The neighbourhood is also rich in
romantic lore and historic associations; Harlech Castle, some twenty-five
years before his birth, had been the scene of many a fray between
Roundheads and Cavaliers, and of the last stand made by the Welsh for
King Charles. These events were fresh in the memory of his elders, whom
he had, no doubt, often heard speaking of those stirring times; members
of his own family had, perhaps, fought in the ranks of the rival parties;
his father’s grand-uncle, Col. John Jones, was one of those “who
erstwhile drank of royal blood.”
It is not known where he received his early education, and it has been
generally stated by his biographers that he was not known to have entered
either of the Universities; but, as the following notice proves, he at
least matriculated at Oxford: | 248.129361 | 1,169 |
2023-11-16 18:19:55.0825960 | 1,211 | 368 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
THE
COMIC ALMANACK.
1ST SERIES, 1835-1843.
_NOTICE._
A SECOND SERIES of "_THE COMIC ALMANACK_," embracing the years 1844—53,
a ten years' gathering of the BEST HUMOUR, the WITTIEST SAYINGS, the
Drollest Quips, and the Best Things of THACKERAY, MAYHEW, ALBERT SMITH,
A'BECKETT, ROBERT BROUGH, with nearly one thousand Woodcuts and Steel
Engravings by the inimitable CRUIKSHANK, HINE, LANDELLS—
may also be had of the Publishers of this volume, and uniform
with it, nearly 600 pages, price 7_s._ 6_d._
[Illustration:
The Cold Water Cure
]
THE
COMIC ALMANACK
AN EPHEMERIS IN JEST AND EARNEST, CONTAINING
MERRY TALES, HUMOROUS POETRY,
QUIPS, AND ODDITIES.
BY
THACKERAY, ALBERT SMITH, GILBERT A. BECKETT,
THE BROTHERS MAYHEW.
[Illustration:
"FULL INSIDE, SIR, BUT PLENTY OF ROOM ON THE ROOF."
]
=With many Hundred Illustrations=
BY GEORGE CRUIKSHANK
AND OTHER ARTISTS.
_FIRST SERIES, 1835-1843._
=London:=
CHATTO AND WINDUS, PICCADILLY.
CONTENTS
NOTICE
PRELIMINARY
THE COMIC ALMANACK FOR 1835.
THE COMIC ALMANACK FOR 1836.
THE COMIC ALMANACK FOR 1837.
THE COMIC ALMANACK FOR 1838.
THE COMIC ALMANACK FOR 1839.
THE COMIC ALMANACK FOR 1840.
THE COMIC ALMANACK FOR 1841.
THE COMIC ALMANACK FOR 1842.
THE COMIC ALMANACK FOR 1843.
PRELIMINARY
THE "Comic Almanacks" of George Cruikshank have long been regarded by
admirers of this inimitable artist as among his finest, most
characteristic productions. Extending over a period of nineteen years,
from 1835 to 1853, inclusive, they embrace the best period of his
artistic career, and show the varied excellences of his marvellous
power.
The late Mr. Tilt, of Fleet Street, first conceived the idea of the
"Comic Almanack," and at various times there were engaged upon it such
writers as Thackeray, Albert Smith, the Brothers Mayhew, the late Robert
Brough, Gilbert A'Beckett, and it has been asserted, Tom Hood, the
elder. Thackeray's stories of "Stubbs' Calendar, or the Fatal Boots,"
which subsequently appeared as "Stubbs' Diary;" and "Barber Cox, or the
Cutting of his Comb," formed the leading attractions in the numbers for
1839 and 1840. The Almanack was published at 2_s._ 6_d._, but in 1848-9
the size was reduced and the price altered to 1_s._ The change did not
produce the increased circulation expected, and in 1850 it was again
enlarged and published at 2_s._ 6_d._ In this year some very spiritedly
designed folding plates were added, and this feature continued until
1853, when Mr. Tilt's partner, the late Mr. Bogue, thought proper to
discontinue the work.
For many years past, sets of the Almanack have been eagerly sought after
by collectors, and as much as 6_l._ and 7_l._ have been given for good
copies.
THE
COMIC ALMANACK
FOR 1835.
PRELUDIUM.
SCENE.—_An Apartment in the House of_ FRANCIS MOORE, _in which that
renowned Physician and Astrologer is discovered, lying at the
point of death_. _The_ NURSE _is holding up his head, while a
skilful_ MEDICINER _is dispensing a potion_. _Sundry_ OLD WOMEN
_surround his couch, in an agony of grief_. _The_ ASTROLOGER
_starteth up in a paroxysm of rage_.
_Moore._ "Throw physic to the dogs," I'll gulp no more.
I'm done for: my prophetic life is o'er.
Who are these hags? and wherefore come they here?
_Old Women._ Alack! he raves, and knows us not, poor dear!
To think he should his _only friends_ forget!
Who've fostered him, and made him quite a pet.
_Moore._ Begone, ye beldames! wherefore do ye howl?
_Old Women._ We've come to comfort your unhappy sowl.
_Nurse._ 'Tis the Old Women,—pr'ythee, do not scare 'em,—
Who to the last have bought your VOX STELLARUM;
They're sorely griev | 248.402006 | 1,170 |
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Produced by Greg Bergquist, Diane Monico, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
IN THE OPEN
INTIMATE STUDIES
AND APPRECIATIONS OF
NATURE BY
STANTON DAVIS KIRKHAM
AUTHOR OF
"WHERE DWELLS THE SOUL SERENE"
"THE MINISTRY OF BEAUTY"
"_Over and above a healthy
curiosity, or any scientific
acquaintance, it is the
companionship of the woods
and fields which counts--
a real friendship for birds
and bees and flowers._"
PAUL ELDER & COMPANY
SAN FRANCISCO AND NEW YORK
_Copyright, 1908
by_ PAUL ELDER AND COMPANY
TO MY WIFE
MARY WILLIAMS KIRKHAM
THIS BOOK IS
AFFECTIONATELY
DEDICATED
PREFACE
_There is an estate on which we pay no tax and which is not susceptible
of improvement. It is of indefinite extent and is to be reached by
taking the road to the nearest woods and fields. While this is quite as
valuable as any property we may possess, as a matter of fact few assert
their title to it._
_Nature is in herself a perpetual invitation to come into the open. The
woods are an unfailing resource; the mountains and the sea,
companionable. To count among one's friends, the birds and flowers and
trees is surely worth while; for to come upon a new flower is then in
the nature of an agreeable event, and a chance meeting with a bird may
lend a pleasant flavor to the day._
CONTENTS
PREFACE v
THE POINT OF VIEW 1
SIGNS OF SPRING 11
BIRD LIFE 22
SONGS OF THE WOODS 40
WILD GARDENS 56
WEEDS 69
INSECT LORE 78
THE WAYS OF THE ANT 94
AUTUMN STUDIES 113
PASTURE STONES 127
NEIGHBORS 136
THE WINTER WOODS 153
LAUGHING WATERS 164
THE MOUNTAINS 173
THE FOREST 185
THE SEA 196
INDEX 209
_A flock of wild geese on the wing is no less than an
inspiration. When that strong-voiced, stout-hearted company
of pioneers pass overhead, our thoughts ascend and sail with
them over the roofs of the world. As band after band come
into the field of vision--minute glittering specks in the
distant blue--to cross the golden sea of the sunset and
disappear in the northern twilight, their faint melodious
honk is an Orphean strain drawing irresistibly._
AFTER THE PAINTING BY
LOUIS AGASSIZ FUERTES
[Illustration]
THE POINT OF VIEW
Nature is in herself a perpetual invitation: the birds call, the trees
beckon and the winds whisper to us. After the unfeeling pavements, the
yielding springy turf of the fields has a sympathy with the feet and
invites us to walk. It is good to hear again the fine long-drawn note
of the meadow-lark--voice of the early year,--the first bluebird's
warble, the field-sparrow's trill, the untamed melody of the kinglet--a
magic flute in the wilderness--and to see the ruby crown of the beloved
sprite. It is good to inhale the mint crushed underfoot and to roll
between the fingers the new leaves of the sweetbrier; to see again the
first anemones--the wind-children,--the mandrake's canopies, the
nestling erythronium and the spring beauty, like a delicate carpet; or
to seek the clintonia in its secluded haunts, and to feel the old
childlike joy at sight of lady's-slippers.
It is worth while to be out-of-doors all of one day, now and then, and
to really _know_ what is morning and what evening; to observe the
progress of the day as one might attend a spectacle, though this
requires leisure and a free mind. The spirit of the woods will not lend
itself to a mere fair-weather devotion. You must cast in your lot with
the wild and take such weather as befalls. If you do not now and then
spend a day in the snow, you miss some impressions that no fair weather
can give. When you have walked for a time in the spring shower, you
have a new and larger sympathy with the fields. The shining leaves,
glistening twigs, jeweled cobwebs and the gentle cadence of the falling
rain all tell you it is no time to stay indoors.
Life in the woods sharpens the nose, the eyes, the ears. There are
nose-feasts, eye-feasts, ear-feasts. What if the frost-grapes are
sour--they are fair to look at. Some things are for the palate and some
for the eye. The fragrance of blackberries is as delicate as the
flavor, a spicy aroma, a woodsy bouquet, and to eat without seeing or
smelling is to lose much. Clustered cherries, so lustrous | 248.453662 | 1,171 |
2023-11-16 18:19:55.1950620 | 408 | 129 | WORCESTER FIRE SOCIETY***
E-text prepared by Charlene Taylor, ellinora, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made
available by Internet Archive/American Libraries
(https://archive.org/details/americana)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
https://archive.org/details/sketchesoffiftee00davi
Transcriber’s note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
SKETCHES OF FIFTEEN MEMBERS OF WORCESTER FIRE SOCIETY,
by
ISAAC DAVIS.
Worcester:
Printed by Charles Hamilton,
Palladium Office.
1874.
ADDRESS BY HON. ISAAC DAVIS,
AT THE QUARTERLY MEETING, APRIL, 1874.
The history of the Worcester Fire Society is intimately connected with
the history of Worcester, of Massachusetts, and the United States. Ten
of its members have been Mayors of Worcester, three have been Governors
of the State, three have been Speakers of the House of Representatives,
and many have been Councillors, Senators and Representatives. Five have
been judges of the Supreme Judicial Court, five have been judges of the
Superior Court or Court of Common Pleas, ten have been Members of
Congress, and many have held office under the United States Government,
and one has been a Foreign Minister.
This Fire Society, organized in 1793, was precisely like one formed by
Benjamin Franklin, in the city of Philadelphia, in 1735:—The number of
members limited to thirty, the same equipments, the same rules and
regulations. No person could be admitted under thirty years of age, and
none over sixty. The Fire Society in Philadelphia was in existence when
this was formed.
Governor Lincoln gave his | 248.514472 | 1,172 |
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Produced by This etext was produced by P. K.Pehtla <[email protected]>
The Hound of the Baskervilles
by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
CONTENTS
Chapter 1--Mr. Sherlock Holmes
Chapter 2--The Curse of the Baskervilles
Chapter 3--The Problem
Chapter 4--Sir Henry Baskerville
Chapter 5--Three Broken Threads
Chapter 6--Baskerville Hall
Chapter 7--The Stapletons of Merripit House
Chapter 8--First Report of Dr. Watson
Chapter 9--The Light Upon The Moor
Chapter 10--Extract from the Diary of Dr. Watson
Chapter 11--The Man on the Tor
Chapter 12--Death on the Moor
Chapter 13--Fixing the Nets
Chapter 14--The Hound of the Baskervilles
Chapter 15--A Retrospection
Chapter 1
Mr. Sherlock Holmes
Mr. Sherlock Holmes, who was usually very late in the mornings,
save upon those not infrequent occasions when he was up all
night, was seated at the breakfast table. I stood upon the
hearth-rug and picked up the stick which our visitor had left
behind him the night before. It was a fine, thick piece of wood,
bulbous-headed, of the sort which is known as a "Penang lawyer."
Just under the head was a broad silver band nearly an inch
across. "To James Mortimer, M.R.C.S., from his friends of the
C.C.H.," was engraved upon it, with the date "1884." It was just
such a stick as the old-fashioned family practitioner used to
carry--dignified, solid, and reassuring.
"Well, Watson, what do you make of it?"
Holmes was sitting with his back to me, and I had given him no
sign of my occupation.
"How did you know what I was doing? I believe you have eyes in
the back of your head."
"I have, at least, a well-polished, silver-plated coffee-pot in
front of me," said he. "But, tell me, Watson, what do you make of
our visitor's stick? Since we have been so unfortunate as to miss
him and have no notion of his errand, this accidental souvenir
becomes of importance. Let me hear you reconstruct the man by an
examination of it."
"I think," said I, following as far as I could the methods of my
companion, "that Dr. Mortimer is a successful, elderly medical
man, well-esteemed since those who know him give him this mark of
their appreciation."
"Good!" said Holmes. "Excellent!"
"I think also that the probability is in favour of his being a
country practitioner who does a great deal of his visiting on
foot."
"Why so?"
"Because this stick, though originally a very handsome one has
been so knocked about that I can hardly imagine a town
practitioner carrying it. The thick-iron ferrule is worn down, so
it is evident that he has done a great amount of walking with
it."
"Perfectly sound!" said Holmes.
"And then again, there is the 'friends of the C.C.H.' I should
guess that to be the Something Hunt, the local hunt to whose
members he has possibly given some surgical assistance, and which
has made him a small presentation in return."
"Really, Watson, you excel yourself," said Holmes, pushing back
his chair and lighting a cigarette. "I am bound to say that in
all the accounts which you have been so good as to give of my own
small achievements you have habitually underrated your own
abilities. It may be that you are not yourself luminous, but you
are a conductor of light. Some people without possessing genius
have a remarkable power of stimulating it. I confess, my dear
fellow, that I am very much in your debt."
He had never said as much before, and I must admit that his words
gave me keen pleasure, for I had often been piqued by his
indifference to my admiration and to the attempts which I had
made to give publicity to his methods. I was proud, too, to think
that I had so far mastered his system as to apply it in a way
which earned his approval. He now took the stick from my hands
and examined it for a few minutes with his naked eyes. Then with
an expression of interest he laid down his cigarette, and
carrying the cane to the window, he looked over it again with a
convex lens.
"Interesting, though elementary," said he as he returned to his
favourite corner of the settee. "There are certainly one or two
indications upon the stick. It gives us the basis for several
deductions."
"Has anything escaped me?" I asked with some self-importance. "I
trust that there is nothing of consequence which I have
overlooked?"
"I am afraid, my dear Watson, that most of your conclusions were
erroneous. When I said that you stimulated me I meant, to be
frank, that in noting your fallacies I was occasionally guided
towards the truth. Not that you are entirely wrong in this | 248.848072 | 1,173 |
2023-11-16 18:19:55.7150250 | 419 | 130 | Project Gutenberg's The Principles of Philosophy, by Rene Descartes
#2 in our series by Rene Descartes
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Produced by Les Bowler
Smoke Bellew
Contents
THE TASTE OF THE MEAT
THE MEAT
THE STAMPEDE TO SQUAW CREEK
SHORTY DREAMS
THE MAN ON THE OTHER BANK
THE RACE FOR NUMBER ONE
THE TASTE OF THE MEAT.
I.
In the beginning he was Christopher Bellew. By the time he was at
college he had become Chris Bellew. Later, in the Bohemian crowd of
San Francisco, he was called Kit Bellew. And in the end he was known
by no other name than Smoke Bellew. And this history of the evolution
of his name is the history of his evolution. Nor would it have
happened had he not had a fond mother and an iron uncle, and had he not
received a letter from Gillet Bellamy.
"I have just seen a copy of the Billow," Gillet wrote from Paris. "Of
course O'Hara will succeed with it. But he's missing some plays."
(Here followed details in the improvement of the budding society
weekly.) "Go down and see him. Let him think they're your own
suggestions. Don't let him know they're from me. If he does, he'll
make me Paris correspondent, which I can't afford, because I'm getting
real money for my stuff from the big magazines. Above all, don't
forget to make him fire that dub who's doing the musical and art
criticism. Another thing, San Francisco has always had a literature of
her own. But she hasn't any now. Tell him to kick around and get some
gink to turn out a live serial, and to put into it the real romance and
glamour and colour of San Francisco."
And down to the office of the Billow went Kit Bellew faithfully to
instruct. O'Hara listened. O'Hara debated. O'Hara agreed. O'Hara
fired the dub who wrote criticism. Further, O'Hara had a way with
him--the very way that was feared by Gillet in distant Paris. When
O'Hara wanted anything, no friend could deny him. He was sweetly and
compellingly irresistible. Before Kit Bellew could escape from the
office he had become an associate editor, had agreed to write weekly
columns of criticism till some decent pen was found, and had pledged
himself to write a weekly instalment of ten thousand words on the San
Francisco serial--and all this without pay. The Billow wasn't paying
yet, O'Hara explained; and just as convincingly had he exposited that
there was only one man in San Francisco capable of writing the serial,
and that man Kit Bellew.
"Oh, Lord, I'm the gink!" Kit had groaned to himself afterwards on the
narrow stairway.
And thereat had begun his servitude to O'Hara and the insatiable
columns of the Billow. Week after week he held down an office chair,
stood off creditors, wrangled with printers, and turned out twenty-five
thousand words of all sorts weekly. Nor did his labours lighten. The
Billow was ambitious. It went in for illustration. The processes were
expensive. It never had any money to pay Kit Bellew, and by the same
token it was unable to pay for any additions to the office staff.
"This is what comes of being a good fellow," Kit grumbled one day.
"Thank God for good fellows then," O'Hara cried, with tears in his eyes
as he gripped Kit's hand. "You're all that's saved me, Kit. But for
you I'd have gone bust. Just a little longer, old man, and things will
be easier."
"Never," was Kit's plaint. "I see my fate clearly. I shall be here
always."
A little later he thought he saw his way out. Watching his chance, in
O'Hara's presence, he fell over a chair. A few minutes afterwards he
bumped into the corner of the desk, and, with fumbling fingers,
capsized a paste pot.
"Out late?" O'Hara queried.
Kit brushed his eyes with his hands and peered about him anxiously
before replying.
"No, it's not that. It's my eyes. They seem to be going back on me,
that's all."
For several days he continued to fall over and bump into the office
furniture. But O'Hara's heart was not softened.
"I tell you what, Kit," he said one day, "you've got to see an oculist.
There's Doctor Hassdapple. He's a crackerjack. And it won't cost you
anything. We can get it for advertizing. I'll see him myself."
And, true to his word, he dispatched Kit to the oculist.
"There's nothing the matter with your eyes," was the doctor's verdict,
after a lengthy examination. "In fact, your eyes are magnificent--a
pair in a million."
"Don't tell O'Hara," Kit pleaded. "And give me a pair of black
glasses."
The result of this was that O'Hara sympathized and talked glowingly of
the time when the Billow would be on its feet.
Luckily for Kit Bellew, he had his own income. Small it was, compared
with some, yet it was large enough to enable | 249.076617 | 1,175 |
2023-11-16 18:19:55.9149020 | 30 | 164 |
Produced by Annie R. McGuire. This book was produced from
scanned images of public domain material from the Google
Print archive | 249.234312 | 1,176 |
2023-11-16 18:19:56.0083350 | 1,008 | 373 | The Project Gutenberg Etext of Best Historical Novels and Tales
by Jonathan Nield
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A Guide to the Best Historical Novels and Tales
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Produced by Tapio Riikonen and David Widger
THE ADVENTURES OF FERDINAND COUNT FATHOM
by Tobias Smollett
COMPLETE IN TWO PARTS
PART I.
With the Author's Preface, and an Introduction by G. H. Maynadier, Ph.D.
Department of English, Harvard University.
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
PREFATORY ADDRESS
CHAPTER
I Some sage Observations that naturally introduce our important
History
II A superficial View of our Hero's Infancy
III He is initiated in a Military Life, and has the good Fortune
to acquire a generous Patron
IV His Mother's Prowess and Death; together with some Instances
of his own Sagacity
V A brief Detail of his Education
VI He meditates Schemes of Importance
VII Engages in Partnership with a female Associate, in order to
put his Talents in Action
VIII Their first Attempt; with a Digression which some Readers
may think impertinent
IX The Confederates change their Battery, and achieve a remarkable
Adventure
X They proceed to levy Contributions with great Success, until
our Hero sets out with the young Count for Vienna, where he
enters into League with another Adventurer
XI Fathom makes various Efforts in the World of Gallantry
XII He effects a Lodgment in the House of a rich Jeweller
XIII He is exposed to a most perilous Incident in the Course of his
Intrigue with the Daughter
XIV He is reduced to a dreadful Dilemma, in consequence of an
Assignation with the Wife
XV But at length succeeds in his Attempt upon both
XVI His Success begets a blind Security, by which he is once again
well-nigh entrapped in his Dulcinea's Apartment
XVII The Step-dame's Suspicions being awakened, she lays a Snare
for our Adventurer, from which he is delivered by the
Interposition of his Good Genius
XVIII Our Hero departs from Vienna, and quits the Domain of Venus
for the rough Field of Mars
XIX He puts himself under the Guidance of his Associate, and
stumbles upon the French Camp, where he finishes his
Military Career
XX He prepares a Stratagem, but finds himself countermined--
Proceeds on his Journey, and is overtaken by a terrible
Tempest
XXI He falls upon Scylla, seeking to avoid Charybdis.
XXII He arrives at Paris, and is pleased with his Reception
XXIII Acquits himself with Address in a Nocturnal Riot
XXIV He overlooks the Advances of his Friends, and smarts severely
for his Neglect
XXV He bears his Fate like a Philosopher; and contracts
acquaintance with a very remarkable Personage
XXVI The History of the Noble Castilian
XXVII A flagrant Instance of Fathom's Virtue, in the Manner of his
Retreat to England
XXVIII Some Account of his Fellow-Travellers
XXIX Another providential Deliverance from the Effects of the
Smuggler's ingenious Conjecture
XXX The singular Manner of Fathom's Attack and Triumph over the
Virtue of the fair Elenor
XXXI He by accident encounters his old Friend, with whom he holds
a Conference, and renews a Treaty
XXXII He appears in the great World with universal Applause and
Admiration
XXXIII He attracts the Envy and Ill Offices of the minor Knights of
his own Order, over whom he obtains a complete Victory
XXXIV He performs another Exploit, that conveys a true Idea of his
Gratitude and Honour
XXXV He repairs to Bristol Spring, where he reigns paramount during
the whole Season
XXXVI He is smitten with the Charms of a Female Adventurer, whose
Allurements subject him to a new Vicissitude of Fortune
XXXVII Fresh Cause for exerting his Equanimity and Fortitude
XXXVIII The Biter is Bit
INTRODUCTION
The Adventures of Ferdinand Count Fathom, Smollett's third novel, was
given to the world in 1753. Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, writing to her
daughter, the Countess of Bute, over a year later [January 1st, 1755],
remarked that "my friend Smollett. . . has certainly a talent for
invention, though I think it flags a little in his last work." Lady Mary
was both right and wrong. The inventive power which we commonly think of
as Smollett's was the ability to work over his own experience into
realistic fiction. Of this, Ferdinand Count Fathom shows comparatively
little. It shows relatively little, too, of Smollett's vigorous
personality, which in his earlier works was present to give life and
interest to almost every chapter, were it to describe a street brawl, a
l | 249.441135 | 1,178 |
2023-11-16 18:19:56.1577470 | 2,584 | 135 |
Produced by Sandra Laythorpe
THE DAISY CHAIN, OR ASPIRATIONS
By Charlotte Yonge
PREFACE.
No one can be more sensible than is the Author that the present is an
overgrown book of a nondescript class, neither the "tale" for the young,
nor the novel for their elders, but a mixture of both.
Begun as a series of conversational sketches, the story outran both
the original intention and the limits of the periodical in which it was
commenced; and, such as it has become, it is here presented to those who
have already made acquaintance with the May family, and may be willing
to see more of them. It would beg to be considered merely as what it
calls itself, a Family Chronicle--a domestic record of home events,
large and small, during those years of early life when the character
is chiefly formed, and as an endeavour to trace the effects of those
aspirations which are a part of every youthful nature. That the young
should take one hint, to think whether their hopes and upward-breathings
are truly upwards, and founded in lowliness, may be called the moral of
the tale.
For those who may deem the story too long, and the characters too
numerous, the Author can only beg their pardon for any tedium that they
may have undergone before giving it up. Feb. 22nd, 1856.
THE DAISY CHAIN
PART 1.
CHAPTER I.
Si douce est la Marguerite.--CHAUCER.
"Miss Winter, are you busy? Do you want this afternoon? Can you take a
good long walk?"
"Ethel, my dear, how often have I told you of your impetuosity--you have
forgotten."
"Very well"--with an impatient twist--"I beg your pardon. Good-morning,
Miss Winter," said a thin, lank, angular, sallow girl, just fifteen,
trembling from head to foot with restrained eagerness, as she tried to
curb her tone into the requisite civility.
"Good-morning, Ethel, good-morning, Flora," said the prim, middle-aged
daily governess, taking off her bonnet, and arranging the stiff little
rolls of curl at the long, narrow looking-glass, the border of which
distorted the countenance.
"Good-morning," properly responded Flora, a pretty, fair girl, nearly
two years older than her sister.
"Will you--" began to burst from Etheldred's lips again, but was stifled
by Miss Winter's inquiry, "Is your mamma pretty well to-day?"
"Oh! very well," said both at once; "she is coming to the reading." And
Flora added, "Papa is going to drive her out to-day."
"I am very glad. And the baby?"
"I do believe she does it on purpose!" whispered Ethel to herself,
wriggling fearfully on the wide window-seat on which she had
precipitated herself, and kicking at the bar of the table, by which
manifestation she of course succeeded in deferring her hopes, by a
reproof which caused her to draw herself into a rigid, melancholy
attitude, a sort of penance of decorum, but a rapid motion of the
eyelids, a tendency to crack the joints of the fingers, and an
unquietness at the ends of her shoes, betraying the restlessness of the
digits therein contained.
It was such a room as is often to be found in old country town houses,
the two large windows looking out on a broad old-fashioned street,
through heavy framework, and panes of glass scratched with various names
and initials. The walls were painted blue, the skirting almost a third
of the height, and so wide at the top as to form a narrow shelf. The
fireplace, constructed in the days when fires were made to give as
little heat as possible, was ornamented with blue and white Dutch
tiles bearing marvellous representations of Scripture history, and was
protected by a very tall green guard; the chairs were much of the same
date, solid and heavy, the seats in faded carpet-work, but there was a
sprinkling of lesser ones and of stools; a piano; a globe; a large table
in the middle of the room, with three desks on it; a small one, and a
light cane chair by each window; and loaded book-cases. Flora began, "If
you don't want this afternoon to yourself--"
Ethel was on her feet, and open-mouthed. "Oh, Miss Winter, if you would
be so kind as to walk to Cocksmoor with us!"
"To Cocksmoor, my dear!" exclaimed the governess in dismay.
"Yes, yes, but hear," cried Ethel. "It is not for nothing. Yesterday--"
"No, the day before," interposed Flora.
"There was a poor man brought into the hospital. He had been terribly
hurt in the quarry, and papa says he'll die. He was in great distress,
for his wife has just got twins, and there were lots of children before.
They want everything--food and clothes--and we want to walk and take
it."
"We had a collection of clothes ready, luckily," said Flora; "and we
have a blanket, and some tea and some arrowroot, and a bit of bacon, and
mamma says she does not think it too far for us to walk, if you will be
so kind as to go with us."
Miss Winter looked perplexed. "How could you carry the blanket, my
dear?"
"Oh, we have settled that," said Ethel, "we mean to make the donkey a
sumpter-mule, so, if you are tired, you may ride home on her."
"But, my dear, has your mamma considered? They are such a set of wild
people at Cocksmoor; I don't think we could walk there alone."
"It is Saturday," said Ethel, "we can get the boys."
"If you would reflect a little! They would be no protection. Harry would
be getting into scrapes, and you and Mary running wild."
"I wish Richard was at home!" said Flora.
"I know!" cried Ethel. "Mr. Ernescliffe will come. I am sure he can walk
so far now. I'll ask him."
Ethel had clapped after her the heavy door with its shining brass lock,
before Miss Winter well knew what she was about, and the governess
seemed annoyed. "Ethel does not consider," said she. "I don't think your
mamma will be pleased."
"Why not?" said Flora.
"My dear--a gentleman walking with you, especially if Margaret is
going!"
"I don't think he is strong enough," said Flora; "but I can't think
why there should be any harm. Papa took us all out walking with him
yesterday--little Aubrey and all, and Mr. Ernescliffe went."
"But, my dear--"
She was interrupted by the entrance of a fine tall blooming girl
of eighteen, holding in her hand a pretty little maid of five.
"Good-morning. Miss Winter. I suppose Flora has told you the request we
have to make to you?"
"Yes, my dear Margaret, but did your mamma consider what a lawless place
Cocksmoor is?"
"That was the doubt," said Margaret, "but papa said he would answer for
it nothing would happen to us, and mamma said if you would be so kind."
"It is unlucky," began the governess, but stopped at the incursion of
some new-comers, nearly tumbling over each other, Ethel at the head
of them. "Oh, Harry!" as the gathers of her frock gave way in the
rude grasp of a twelve-year-old boy. "Miss Winter, 'tis all right--Mr.
Ernescliffe says he is quite up to the walk, and will like it very much,
and he will undertake to defend you from the quarrymen."
"Is Miss Winter afraid of the quarrymen?" hallooed Harry. "Shall I take
a club?"
"I'll take my gun and shoot them," valiantly exclaimed Tom; and while
threats were passing among the boys, Margaret asked, in a low voice,
"Did you ask him to come with us?"
"Yes, he said he should like it of all things. Papa was there, and said
it was not too far for him--besides, there's the donkey. Papa says it,
so we must go, Miss Winter."
Miss Winter glanced unutterable things at Margaret, and Ethel began to
perceive she had done something wrong. Flora was going to speak, when
Margaret, trying to appear unconscious of a certain deepening colour in
her own cheeks, pressed a hand on her shoulder, and whispering, "I'll
see about it. Don't say any more, please," glided out of the room.
"What's in the wind?" said Harry. "Are many of your reefs out there,
Ethel?"
"Harry can talk nothing but sailors' language," said Flora, "and I am
sure he did not learn that of Mr. Ernescliffe. You never hear slang from
him."
"But aren't we going to Cocksmoor?" asked Mary, a blunt downright girl
of ten.
"We shall know soon," said Ethel. "I suppose I had better wait till
after the reading to mend that horrid frock?"
"I think so, since we are so nearly collected," said Miss Winter; and
Ethel, seating herself on the corner of the window-seat, with one leg
doubled under her, took up a Shakespeare, holding it close to her
eyes, and her brother Norman, who, in age, came between her and Flora,
kneeling on one knee on the window-seat, and supporting himself with one
arm against the shutter, leaned over her, reading it too, disregarding a
tumultuous skirmish going on in that division of the family collectively
termed "the boys," namely, Harry, Mary, and Tom, until Tom was suddenly
pushed down, and tumbled over into Ethel's lap, thereby upsetting
her and Norman together, and there was a general downfall, and a loud
scream, "The sphynx!"
"You've crushed it," cried Harry, dealing out thumps indiscriminately.
"No, here 'tis," said Mary, rushing among them, and bringing out a green
sphynx caterpillar on her finger--"'tis not hurt."
"Pax! Pax!" cried Norman, over all, with the voice of an authority,
as he leaped up lightly and set Tom on his legs again. "Harry! you had
better do that again," he added warningly. "Be off, out of this window,
and let Ethel and me read in peace."
"Here's the place," said Ethel--"Crispin, Crispian's day. How I do like
Henry V."
"It is no use to try to keep those boys in order!" sighed Miss Winter.
"Saturnalia, as papa calls Saturday," replied Flora.
"Is not your eldest brother coming home to-day?" said Miss Winter in a
low voice to Flora, who shook her head, and said confidentially, "He
is not coming till he has passed that examination. He thinks it better
not."
Here entered, with a baby in her arms, a lady with a beautiful
countenance of calm sweetness, looking almost too young to be the mother
of the tall Margaret, who followed her. There was a general hush as she
greeted Miss Winter, the girls crowding round to look at their little
sister, not quite six weeks old.
"Now, Margaret, will you take her up to the nursery?" said the
mother, while the impatient speech was repeated, "Mamma, can we go to
Cocksmoor?"
"You don't think it will be too | 249.477157 | 1,179 |
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THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S.
CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY
TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY
MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW
AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE
(Unabridged)
WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES
EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY
HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A.
DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS.
AUGUST & SEPTEMBER
1660
August 1st. Up very early, and by water to Whitehall to my Lord's, and
there up to my Lord's lodging (Win. Howe being now ill of the gout at Mr.
Pierce's), and there talked with him about the affairs of the Navy, and
how I was now to wait today at the Privy Seal. Commissioner Pett went
with me, whom I desired to make my excuse at the office for my absence
this day. Hence to the Privy Seal Office, where I got (by Mr. Mathews'
means) possession of the books and table, but with some expectation of
Baron's bringing of a warrant from the King to have this month. Nothing
done this morning, Baron having spoke to Mr. Woodson and Groome (clerks to
Mr. Trumbull of the Signet) to keep all work in their hands till the
afternoon, at which time he expected to have his warrant from the King for
this month.--[The clerks of the Privy Seal took the duty of attendance for
a month by turns.]--I took at noon Mr. Harper to the Leg in King Street,
and did give him his dinner, who did still advise me much to act wholly
myself at the Privy Seal, but I told him that I could not, because I had
other business to take up my time. In the afternoon at, the office again,
where we had many things to sign; and I went to the Council Chamber, and
there got my Lord to sign the first bill, and the rest all myself; but
received no money today. After I had signed all, I went with Dick Scobell
and Luellin to drink at a bottle beer house in the Strand, and after
staying there a while (had sent W. Hewer home before), I took boat and
homewards went, and in Fish Street bought a Lobster, and as I had bought
it I met with Winter and Mr. Delabarr, and there with a piece of sturgeon
of theirs we went to the Sun Tavern in the street and ate them. Late home
and to bed.
2d. To Westminster by water with Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen (our
servants in another boat) to the Admiralty; and from thence I went to my
Lord's to fetch him thither, where we stayed in the morning about ordering
of money for the victuailers, and advising how to get a sum of money to
carry on the business of the Navy. From thence dined with Mr. Blackburne
at his house with his friends (his wife being in the country and just upon
her return to London), where we were very well treated and merry. From
thence W. Hewer and I to the office of Privy Seal, where I stayed all the
afternoon, and received about L40 for yesterday and to-day, at which my
heart rejoiced for God's blessing to me, to give me this advantage by
chance, there being of this L40 about L10 due to me for this day's work.
So great is the present profit of this office, above what it was in the
King's time; there being the last month about 300 bills; whereas in the
late King's time it was much to have 40. With my money home by coach, it,
being the first time that I could get home before our gates were shut
since I came to the Navy office. When I came home I found my wife not
very well of her old pain.. . . which she had when we were married
first. I went and cast up the expense that I laid out upon my former
house (because there are so many that are desirous of it, and I am, in my
mind, loth to let it go out of my hands, for | 249.594468 | 1,180 |
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(http://digital.library.villanova.edu/))
No. 1252. 25 Cents.
[Illustration: Lovell's
Library.
A TRI-WEEKLY
PUBLICATION OF THE BEST
CURRENT & STANDARD
LITERATURE]
Annual Subscription, $30. Entered at the Post Office, New York, as second
class matter, Oct. 16, 1838.
COUNTESS
VERA
BY
MRS. ALEX. McVEIGH MILLER,
AUTHOR OF "A DREADFUL TEMPTATION," "QUEENIE'S TERRIBLE
SECRET," ETC., ETC.
_NEW YORK
JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY
14 & 16 VESEY STREET_
[Illustration: PEARLINE.]
Is better than any soap; handier, finer, more effective, more of it,
more for the money, and in the form of a powder, for your convenience.
Takes, as it were, the fabric in one hand, the dirt in the other, and
lays them apart--comparatively speaking, washing with little work.
As it saves the worst of the work, so it saves the worst of the wear.
It isn't the use of clothes that makes them old before their time; it
is rubbing and straining, getting the dirt out by main strength.
For scrubbing, house-cleaning, washing dishes, windows and glassware,
Pearline has no equal.
Beware of imitations, prize packages and peddlers.
JAMES PYLE, New York.
LYDIA E. PINKHAM'S
VEGETABLE COMPOUND
IS A POSITIVE CURE
_For all those painful Complaints and Weaknesses so common to our best
female population._
[Illustration]
It will cure entirely the worst form of Female Complaints, all Ovarian
troubles, Inflammation, Ulceration, Falling and Displacements of the
Womb and the consequent Spinal Weakness, and is particularly adapted to
the Change of Life.
It will dissolve and expel Tumors from the uterus in an early stage
of development. The tendency to cancerous humors there is checked
very speedily by its use. It removes faintness, flatulency, destroys
all craving for stimulants, and relieves weakness of the stomach. It
cures Bloating, Headaches, Nervous Prostration, General Debility,
Sleeplessness, Depression, and Indigestion.
That feeling of bearing down, causing pain, weight and backache, is
always permanently cured by its use.
It will at all times and under all circumstances act in harmony
with the laws that govern the female system. For the cure of Kidney
Complaints of either sex, this Compound is unsurpassed.
Lydia E. Pinkham's Vegetable Compound is prepared at Lynn, Mass. Price,
$1.00. Six bottles for $5.00. Sent by mail in the form of Pills, also
in the form of Lozenges, on receipt of price, $1.00 per box, for
either. Send for pamphlet. All letters of inquiry promptly answered.
Address as above.
COPYRIGHTED 1883.
COUNTESS VERA;
OR,
_The Oath of Vengeance_.
By MRS. ALEX. McVEIGH MILLER.
CONTENTS
COUNTESS VERA.
CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VIII.
CHAPTER IX.
CHAPTER X.
CHAPTER XI.
CHAPTER XII.
CHAPTER XIII.
CHAPTER XIV.
CHAPTER XV.
CHAPTER XVI.
CHAPTER XVII.
CHAPTER XVIII.
CHAPTER XIX.
CHAPTER XX.
CHAPTER XXI.
CHAPTER XXII.
CHAPTER XXIII.
CHAPTER XXIV.
CHAPTER XXV.
CHAPTER XXVI.
CHAPTER XXVII.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
CHAPTER XXIX.
CHAPTER XXX.
CHAPTER XXXI.
CHAPTER XXXII.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
CHAPTER XXXV.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
CHAPTER XL.
CHAPTER XLI.
CHAPTER XLII.
CHAPTER XLIII.
CHAPTER XLIV.
CHAPTER XLV.
CHAPTER XLVI.
CHAPTER XLVII.
CHAPTER XLVIII.
CHAPTER XLIX.
THE MYSTERIOUS BEAUTY.
CHAPTER I.
"Dead!"
Leslie Noble reels backward, stunned by the shuddering horror of that
one word--"_Dead_!" The stiff, girlish characters of the open letter
in his hand waver up and down before his dazed vision, so that he can
scarcely read the pathetic words, _so_ pathetic now when the little
hand that penned them lies cold in death.
"Dear Leslie," it says, "when you come to bid me good-bye in the
morning I shall be dead. That is best. You see, I did not know till
to-night my sad story, and that you did not love me. Poor mamma was
wrong to bind you so. I am very sorry, Leslie. There is nothing I can
do but _die_."
There is no signature to the sad little letter--none--but they have
taken it from the hand of his girl-wife, found dead in her bed this
morning--his bride of two days | 249.966077 | 1,181 |
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THE ERRAND BOY;
OR, HOW PHIL BRENT WON SUCCESS.
By Horatio Alger, Jr.,
Author of:
"Joe's Luck," "Frank Fowler, the Cash Boy," "Tom Temple's Career," "Tom
Thatcher's Fortune," "Ragged Dick," "Tattered Tom," "Luck and Pluck,"
etc., etc.
Contents:
The Errand Boy.
Fred Sargent's Revenge.
The Smuggler's Trap.
THE ERRAND BOY.
CHAPTER I.
PHIL HAS A LITTLE DIFFICULTY.
Phil Brent was plodding through the snow in the direction of the house
where he lived with his step-mother and her son, when a snow-ball, moist
and hard, struck him just below his ear with stinging emphasis. The pain
was considerable, and Phil's anger rose.
He turned suddenly, his eyes flashing fiercely, intent upon discovering
who had committed this outrage, for he had no doubt that it was
intentional.
He looked in all directions, but saw no one except a mild old gentleman
in spectacles, who appeared to have some difficulty in making his way
through the obstructed street.
Phil did not need to be told that it was not the old gentleman who had
taken such an unwarrantable liberty with him. So he looked farther, but
his ears gave him the first clew.
He heard a chuckling laugh, which seemed to proceed from behind the
stone wall that ran along the roadside.
"I will see who it is," he decided, and plunging through the snow he
surmounted the wall, in time to see a boy of about his own age running
away across the fields as fast as the deep snow would allow.
"So it's you, Jonas!" he shouted wrathfully. "I thought it was some
sneaking fellow like you."
Jonas Webb, his step-brother, his freckled face showing a degree of
dismay, for he had not calculated on discovery, ran the faster, but
while fear winged his steps, anger proved the more effectual spur, and
Phil overtook him after a brief run, from the effects of which both boys
panted.
"What made you throw that snow-ball?" demanded Phil angrily, as he
seized Jonas by the collar and shook him.
"You let me alone!" said Jonas, struggling ineffectually in his grasp.
"Answer me! What made you throw that snowball?" demanded Phil, in a tone
that showed he did not intend to be trifled with.
"Because I chose to," answered Jonas, his spite getting the better of
his prudence. "Did it hurt you?" he continued, his eyes gleaming with
malice.
"I should think it might. It was about as hard as a cannon-ball,"
returned Phil grimly. "Is that all you've got to say about it?"
"I did it in fun," said Jonas, beginning to see that he had need to be
prudent.
"Very well! I don't like your idea of fun. Perhaps you won't like mine,"
said Phil, as he forcibly drew Jonas back till he lay upon the snow, and
then kneeling by his side, rubbed his face briskly with snow.
"What are you doin'? Goin' to murder me?" shrieked Jonas, in anger and
dismay.
"I am going to wash your face," said Phil, continuing the operation
vigorously.
"I say, you quit that! I'll tell my mother," ejaculated Jonas,
struggling furiously.
"If you do, tell her why I did it," said Phil.
Jonas shrieked and struggled, but in vain. Phil gave his face an
effectual scrubbing, and did not desist until he thought he had avenged
the bad treatment he had suffered.
"There, get up!" said he at length.
Jonas scrambled to his feet, his mean features working convulsively with
anger.
"You'll suffer for this!" he shouted.
"You won't make me!" said Phil contemptuously.
"You're the meanest boy in the village."
"I am willing to leave that to the opinion of all who know me."
"I'll tell my mother!"
"Go home and tell her!"
Jonas started for home, and Phil did not attempt to stop him.
As he saw Jonas reach the street and plod angrily homeward, he said to
himself:
"I suppose I shall be in hot water for this; but I can't help it. Mrs.
Brent always stands up for her precious son, who is as like her as can
be. Well, it won't make matters much worse than they have been."
Phil concluded not to go home at once, but to allow a little time for
the storm to spend its force after Jonas had told his story. So he
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Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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See 41497-h.htm or 41497-h.zip:
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Images of the original pages are available through
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Masterpieces in Colour
Edited by--T. Leman Hare
REYNOLDS
1723-1792
* * * * *
IN THE SAME SERIES
ARTIST. AUTHOR.
| 250.265211 | 1,183 |
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(This file was produced from images generously made
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_CONSCIENCE AND SIN._
Conscience and Sin.
DAILY MEDITATIONS FOR LENT,
INCLUDING WEEK-DAYS AND SUNDAYS.
BY THE REV.
_S. BARING-GOULD, M.A._,
AUTHOR OF "THE MYSTERY OF SUFFERING,"
"THE VILLAGE PULPIT," ETC.
London:
SKEFFINGTON & SON, 163, PICCADILLY, W.
1890.
Preface.
It is advisable that all should have a clear understanding as to the
nature of Conscience, the dangers to which Conscience is liable, the
Nature of Sin, and the Effects of Sin. Too many people go on easily
from day to day making no spiritual advance, because they do not know
what ails their Consciences, do not even suspect that their Consciences
are ailing, and so make no effort to escape from their unsatisfactory
condition. It is hoped that this little book of meditations may be of
use to such.
Contents.
PAGE
Ash Wednesday--
ON CONSCIENCE 1
First Thursday in Lent--
THE NATURE OF CONSCIENCE 4
First Friday in Lent--
THE NATURE OF CONSCIENCE--_continued_ 6
First Saturday in Lent--
THE OBLIGATIONS OF CONSCIENCE 9
First Sunday in Lent--
CAUSES OF DIFFERENT KINDS OF CONSCIENCE 12
First Monday in Lent--
CAUSES OF DIFFERENT KINDS OF CONSCIENCE | 250.368295 | 1,184 |
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THE SILVER LINING
_A GUERNSEY STORY._
BY
JOHN ROUSSEL.
Guernsey:
FREDERICK BLONDEL GUERIN,
"THE SUN" OFFICE, HIGH STREET.
1894.
INDEX.
CHAPTER I.--THE RESULTS OF DISOBEDIENCE 3
II.--A LITTLE GIRL'S CHANGE OF LIFE 15
III.--THE BOARDING SCHOOL 24
IV.--THE INFLUENCES OF A GOOD HOME 33
V.--THE REWARD OF INORDINATE AMBITION 45
VI.--NEW ACQUAINTANCES 54
VII.--AN ABRUPT DISMISSAL 62
VIII.--AN UNPLEASANT VISIT 72
IX.--DECEPTIONS 79
X.--'TWIXT LOVE AND DUTY 84
XI.--BUSINESS 91
XII.--A STRANGE MEETING 96
XIII.--SUPERSTITION 102
XIV.--FAILURE 107
XV.--DARK DAYS 115
XVI.--SHADOW AND SUNSHINE 125
XVII.--THE EFFECTS OF A SERMON 130
XVIII.--SUCCESS AFTER SUCCESS 135
XIX.--TOM'S INTERVIEW WITH MRS. VIDOUX 143
XX.--TOM'S VISIT TO HIS UNCLE 148
XXI.--THE ENCOUNTER 153
XXII.--FATHER AND DAUGHTER 159
XXIII.--A SECRET CORRESPONDENCE 163
XXIV.--MR. ROUGEANT GOES TO CHURCH 169
XXV.--LOVE TRIUMPHS 173
XXVI.--WEDDED 183
XXVII.--RECONCILIATION 189
XXVIII.--A SAD END OF A MISPENT LIFE 197
XXIX.--DOMESTIC HAPPINESS 205
THE SILVER LINING.
A GUERNSEY STORY.
CHAPTER I.
THE RESULTS OF DISOBEDIENCE.
One fine summer afternoon--it was the month of June--the sea was
calm, the air was still, and the sun was warm.
The mackerel boats from Cobo (a bay in the island of Guernsey) were
setting sail; an old woman was detaching limpets from the rocks, and
slowly, but steadily, filling up her basket. On the west side of the
bay, two air-starved Londoners were sitting on the sand, basking in
the sunshine, determined to return home, if not invigorated, at
least bronzed by the sea air. On the east side, a few little boys
were bathing. A middle-aged man, engaged in searching for sand-eels,
completed the picture.
A little boy, who might have been nine years of age, was standing in
the road gazing upon this scene. The way in which he was clothed,
betokened that he was not one of the lads that lived in the vicinity
of that bay. He was dressed in a well-fitting knickerbocker suit,
and his polished boots, his well combed hair, denoted that he was an
object of especial care at home. He possessed a very intelligent
air, a fine forehead, rather large eyes which were full of
expression, and his frowning look, the way in which he stamped his
little foot, denoted that he was of an impulsive temperament. This
little fellow had some very good ideas. He had determined to be
good, and unselfish; and he tried to learn as much as he possibly
could. His mother had told him that later on this would help him in
life.
Once, an inquisitive pedlar, noticing his intelligence, and his
garrulous disposition, asked him jokingly if he ever intended to
marry. Upon which Frank Mathers (this was the boy's name) assumed a
serious air, and giving his head a little toss he answered, "I do
not know yet, there are so many beautiful little girls everywhere,
one does not know which one to choose."
A physiognomist might easily have seen that in this little boy's
soul a struggle was going on. "Shall I go?" he was saying to
himself; "shall I go and amuse myself?" His conscience had a great
power over him; but the beautiful sea was tempting, each wave as it
fell produced a sound which was sweeter to his ears than the
sweetest music.
"Your mother has forbidden you to go;" said his conscience; "you
must obey her."
He continued to remain undecided between pleasure and duty, the
strife going on meanwhile within him. All at once, he espied on his
extreme left four small boys about his size, who were coming out of
the water. How they laughed; how joyful they seemed to be; how they
made the water splash and foam around them. Frank immediately began
to run at full speed towards them, and covered the space of sand
which separated him from the little boys in two minutes. He arrived
breathless near the group of children who were dressing themselves.
He looked at them, and was asking himself if he must go nearer to
them, when one of the group looked at him with a surly air. Little
Frank translated this into: "What business have you here?" and
retreated.
He | 250.742071 | 1,185 |
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CONTENTS
PAGE
LET DAD AND SON BEWARE! 2
ADVENTS AND PUBLIC PLUNDERERS. 3
THE MAYOR AND CHARLEY. 6
LIFE OF STEPHEN H. BRANCH. 8
[Illustration: STEPHEN H. BRANCH’S ALLIGATOR.
Volume I.—No. 4.] SATURDAY, MAY 15, 1858. [Price 2 Cents.]
STEPHEN H. BRANCH’S ALLIGATOR.
Let Dad and Son Beware!
Peter Cooper and Mayor Tiemann are old and sacred friends of George
W. Matsell, who are more familiar with each other than they are
with the Bible, or morning and evening prayers. Mayor Tiemann was
elected with the express condition that Matsell should be restored
to his old position, and Peter Cooper and Mayor Tiemann, and James
W. Gerard, and Ambrose C. Kingsland are at work for their lives to
effect the restoration of Matsell, and all impends on the election of
a Commissioner in place of the noble Perrit. Matsell was in the city
at the last Mayoralty election, conspiring against Wood, who saved him
from the scaffold, after we convicted him of alienage and perjury,
and the dastard and sacrilegious abjuration of his country. And at
the late election, he stabbed his benefactor down in the dust, in the
assassin’s darkness, and did not play Brutus for the public virtue, but
to consummate his restoration to an office (he had always degraded)
which was in the contract between himself and Cooper, Tiemann, Gerard,
and Kingsland, and other slavish friends. We know them all and the
rendezvous of all their kindred Diavolos, whose names would fill the
jaws of the _Alligator_. Matsell professed to enter the city from
Iowa with flags and music on the day after Tiemann’s election, but he
was in the city long before, and concealed in as dark a cavern as the
odious Cataline, while conspiring to foil the patriotic Cicero, and
consign the eternal city to a million thieves. And we now warn Cooper,
Tiemann, Gerard, and Kingsland to beware. For if they foist Matsell on
the city through the purchase of Nye or Bowen with Mayoralty, Street
Commissioner, or the pap of the Mayor’s Executive vassals, we will make
disclosures that will make them stare like affrighted cats, (Gerard _a
la_ he-cat, and the others _a la_ she-cats,) and rock the city to its
carbonic entrails. Talmadge must remain, although he annoyed his nurse
and mother when a brat, and so did we; and in boyhood and early manhood
we both had worms, and raised Sancho Panza,
And we rambled around the town,
And saw perhaps Miss Julia Brown,
as we may develop in the publication of our funny reminiscences;
but we are both growing old, and told our experience at the recent
revival, and asked admission as pious pilgrims, when the deacons said
that we should both be put on five year’s trial, but we begged so hard
they let us in. Talmadge joined the Presbyterians, and he looks pale
and pensive, but we joined the noisy Methodists, and look mighty
cheerful, and sing and dance, and scream like the devil in delirium
tremens, and nervous neighbors murmur at our thundering methodistic
demonstrations. Talmadge as Recorder was too kind and lenient, but he
erred on the side of humanity, which is preferable to err on the side
of a pale and icy and bloodless liver, though we should steer between
the heart and liver, and consign the culprits to the pits and gulches
of the navel, where the voracious worms could soon devour them. The
valor of Talmadge conquered the ruffians of Astor Place, and he has a
Roman and Spartan nature, and is as generous and magnanimous as Clay
or Webster, whom he loved as his own big heart. No man ever had a more
genial or sympathising bosom, than Frederick A. Talmadge. And William
Curtis Noyes married his favorite daughter, and while, the spotless
Noyes walks the velvet earth, and his father-in-law is | 250.746404 | 1,186 |
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No. 77
Bound-to-Win Library
[Illustration: Cover.]
AHEAD OF THE SHOW
Or
The Adventures of Al Allston, Advance Agent
By
FRED THORPE,
Author of "Blind Luck," "The Boy in Black,"
"Chris, the Comedian," "Git Up and Git,"
"Walt, the Wonder Worker," etc....
[Illustration]
Street and Smith, Publishers
238 William Street, New York
Copyright, 1897
By Norman L. Munro
Ahead of the Show
CONTENTS
I. AL MAKES APPLICATION. 5
II. AL TALKS BUSINESS. 12
III. AL'S SCHEME. 17
IV. AL TO THE RESCUE. 24
V. AL CLAIMS HIS REWARD. 29
VI. ANOTHER ROCK AHEAD. 35
VII. THE DEBUT. 41
VIII. A STARTLING SITUATION. 47
IX. A CLOSE CALL. 53
X. AN INTERVIEW WITH THE MAYOR. 61
XI. IN PERIL. 67
XII. INTERVIEWED. 73
XIII. A STROKE OF LUCK. 80
XIV. AL'S AD. 87
XV. SAVED BY A SHADOW. 91
XVI. A LESSON IN JOURNALISM. 97
XVII. "I WANT YOU." 103
XVIII. MR. MARMADUKE MERRY. 109
XIX. A STARTLING ACKNOWLEDGMENT. 115
XX. THE LOCKET. 121
XXI. BROTHER AND SISTER. 127
XXII. AN AWFUL CATASTROPHE. 133
XXIII. AN EVENTFUL NIGHT. 139
XXIV. A CLEW. 145
XXV. ON THE TRACK. 151
XXVI. "DR. FERGUSON." 157
XXVII. AN UNLUCKY ERROR. 163
XXVIII. AN EXCITING INTERVIEW. 169
XXIX. A DANGEROUS JOB AHEAD. 175
XXX. HARD LUCK. 181
XXXI. A WOMAN'S VENGEANCE. 187
XXXII. AND LAST. 193
AHEAD OF THE SHOW.
CHAPTER I.
AL MAKES APPLICATION.
"If I had that fellow here I'd make him wish he'd never heard the name
of Augustus Wattles. And I'll do it some day, too."
The manager and proprietor of Wattles' New York Comedy Company was very,
very "mad." His naturally florid face was redder than usual, and his
fists were clinched in a manner that augured no good to the "fellow"
referred to, had that individual chanced to appear upon the scene at
this precise moment.
He stood at the door of the Boomville Opera House, in company with the
local manager, Mr. Cyrus Perley, who seemed in some degree to share his
discomfiture and anger.
A group of stragglers listened in silence to their conversation, gazing
at them with that peculiar and unaccountable reverence that many people
feel for members of the theatrical profession.
"It's pretty tough," said Mr. Perley, "but it isn't my fault."
"I know it isn't. Well, this is the last time that loafer will play that
trick on me. He thinks that because I have been easy with him in the
past there is no end to my patience. I'll show him that he is making the
mistake of his life."
"Of course, you will discharge him?"
"You had better believe I will. A healthy sort of advance agent he is!
Think of my bringing my company to a town of the importance of
Boomville, to find that absolutely no advance | 250.81018 | 1,187 |
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THE CATTLE-BARON'S DAUGHTER
by
HAROLD BINDLOSS
Author of "Alton of Somasco," etc.
[Illustration: A FIERCE WHITE FROTHING ABOUT HIM.--Page 335.]
New York
Frederick A. Stokes Company
Publishers
Copyright, 1906, by
Frederick A. Stokes Company
This Edition published in September, 1906
All rights reserved
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I The Portent 1
II Hetty Takes Heed 12
III The Cattle-Barons 26
IV Muller Stands Fast 39
V Hetty Comes Home 50
VI The Incendiary 62
VII Larry Proves Intractable 72
VIII The Sheriff 85
IX The Prisoner 96
X On the Trail 110
XI Larry's Acquittal 122
XII The Sprouting of the Seed 134
XIII Under Fire 144
XIV Torrance's Warning 155
XV Hetty's Bounty 165
XVI Larry Solves the Difficulty 177
XVII Larry's Peril 189
XVIII A Futile Pursuit 201
XIX Torrance Asks a Question 212
XX Hetty's Obstinacy 224
XXI Clavering Appears Ridiculous 238
XXII The Cavalry Officer 250
XXIII Hetty's Avowal 262
XXIV The Stock Train 272
XXV Cheyne Relieves His Feelings 286
XXVI Larry's Reward 296
XXVII Clavering's Last Card 309
XXVIII Larry Rides to Cedar 321
XXIX Hetty Decides 331
XXX Larry's Wedding Day 343
XXXI Torrance Rides Away 355
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
"Come Down!" _Facing page_ 48
"She'll shoot me before she means to." 66
A white face and shadowy head, from which
the fur cap had fallen. 114
"Aren't you a trifle late?" 160
There was a note in her voice that set the man's
heart beating furiously. 268
A fierce white frothing about him. _Frontispiece_
THE CATTLE-BARON'S DAUGHTER
I
THE PORTENT
The hot weather had come suddenly, at least a month earlier than usual,
and New York lay baking under a scorching sun when Miss Hetty Torrance sat
in the coolest corner of the Grand Central Depot she could find. It was by
her own wish she had spent the afternoon in the city unattended, for Miss
Torrance was a self-reliant young woman; but it was fate and the
irregularity of the little gold watch, which had been her dead mother's
gift, that brought her to the depot at least a quarter of an hour too
soon. But she was not wholly sorry, for she had desired more solitude and
time for reflection than she found in the noisy city, where a visit to an
eminent modiste had occupied most of her leisure. There was, she had
reasons for surmising, a decision of some moment to be made that night,
and as yet she was no nearer arriving at it than she had been when the
little note then in her pocket had been handed her.
Still, it was not the note she took out when she found a seat apart from
the hurrying crowd, but a letter from her father, Torrance, the
Cattle-Baron, of Cedar Range. It was terse and to the point, as usual, and
a little smile crept into the girl's face as she read.
"Your letter to hand, and so long as you have a good time don't worry
about the bills. You'll find another five hundred dollars at the bank when
you want them. Thank God, I can give my daughter what her mother should
have had. Two years since I've seen my little girl, and now it seems that
somebody else is wanting her! Well, we were made men and women, and if you
had been meant to live alone dabbling in music you wouldn't have been
given your mother's face. Now, I don't often express myself this way, but
I've had a letter from Captain Jackson Cheyne, U. S. Cavalry, which reads
as straight as I've found the man to be. Nothing wrong with that family,
and they've dollars to spare; but if you like the man I can put down two
for every one of his. Well, I might write a | 251.652253 | 1,188 |
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Produced by Keith G. Richardson
Free _and_ Impartial
THOUGHTS,
ON THE
Sovereignty _of_ God,
THE
DOCTRINES
OF
Election, Reprobation,
AND
Original Sin:
Humbly Addressed
To all who Believe and Profess those
DOCTRINES.
The Second Edition, Corrected and Enlarged.
_LONDON:_
Printed for J. ROBINSON, at the _Golden-Lion_, in _Ludgate-Street._
M.DCC.XLV.
THE
PREFACE
_I Cannot find, upon the most impartial Retrospection of the
Argument, any Reason to alter my Sentiments concerning it; and as it
is a Matter of the greatest Importance, 'tis hoped that those who
maintain the Doctrines of_ Election, &_c. will afford it all the
Weight and Consideration it deserves. But, if there be any among
them, who will hear no Reason or Argument whatever, and are_ sure,
only because they are sure, _I Have_ little _or_ no Hopes _to
prevail with them, to give me a fair Hearing, or to think_ candidly
_and_ impartially _about it. But as there are among them, some, who
no doubt will allow the_ Possibility _of their being in an Error; to
all such I address my self, and beseech them, as much as possible to
lay aside Prejudice and Partiality; wisely considering, that many of
their Fore-fathers maintained some erroneous Doctrines, with as much
Zeal, and Integrity, as they their Descendants now do the Doctrines
of_ Election, &_c. and yet saw Occasion to renounce them
afterwards._
_There is Reason to fear, the just Liberty | 252.055469 | 1,189 |
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[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 | 252.078919 | 1,190 |
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THE BROCHURE SERIES
Japanese Gardens
FEBRUARY, 1900
[Illustration: PLATE XI DAIMIO'S GARDEN AT SHINJIKU]
THE
BROCHURE SERIES
OF ARCHITECTURAL ILLUSTRATION.
1900. FEBRUARY No. 2.
JAPANESE GARDENS.
The Japanese garden is not a flower garden, neither is it made for
the purpose of cultivating plants. In nine cases out of ten there
is nothing in it resembling a flower-bed. Some gardens may contain
scarcely a sprig of green; some (although these are exceptional) have
nothing green at all and consist entirely of rocks, pebbles and sand.
Neither does the Japanese garden require any fixed allowance of space;
it may cover one or many acres, it may be only ten feet square; it
may, in extreme cases, be much less, and be contained in a curiously
shaped, shallow, carved box set in a veranda, in which are created tiny
hills, microscopic ponds and rivulets spanned by tiny humped bridges,
while queer wee plants represent trees, and curiously formed pebbles
stand for rocks. But on whatever scale, all true Japanese gardening is
landscape gardening; that is to say, it is a living model of an actual
Japanese landscape.
But, though modelled upon an actual landscape, the Japanese garden
is far more than a mere naturalistic imitation. To the artist every
natural view may be said to convey, in its varying aspects, some
particular mental impression or mood, such as the impression of
peacefulness, of wildness, of solitude, or of desolation; and the
Japanese gardener intends not only to present in his model the features
of the veritable landscape, but also to make it express, even more
saliently than the original, a dominant sentimental mood, so that
it may become not only a picture, but a poem. In other words, a
Japanese garden of the best type is, like any true work of art, the
representation of nature as expressed through an individual artistic
temperament.
Through long accumulation of traditional methods, the representation
of natural features in a garden model has come to be a highly
conventional expression, like all Japanese art; and the Japanese garden
bears somewhat the same relation to an actual landscape that a painting
of a view of Fuji-yama by the wonderful Hokusai does to the actual
scene--it is a representation based upon actual and natural forms, but
so modified to accord with accepted canons of Japanese art, so full
of mysterious symbolism only to be understood by the initiated, so
expressed, in a word, in terms of the national artistic conventions,
that it costs the Western mind long study to learn to appreciate its
full beauty and significance. Suppose, to take a specific example,
that in the actual landscape upon which the Japanese gardener chose
to model his design, a pine tree grew upon the side of a hill. Upon
the side of the corresponding artificial hill in his garden he would
therefore plant a pine, but he would not clip and trim its branches
to imitate the shape of the original, but rather, satisfied that by
so placing it he had gone far enough toward the imitation of nature,
he would clip his garden pine to make it correspond, as closely as
circumstances might permit, with a conventional ideal pine tree shape
(such a typical ideal pine tree is shown in the little drawing on
page 25), a shape recognized as the model for a beautiful pine by
the artistic conventions of Japan for centuries, and one familiar to
every Japanese of any pretensions to culture whatsoever. And, as there
are recognized ideal pine tree shapes, there are also ideal mountain
shapes, ideal lake shapes, ideal water-fall shapes, ideal stone shapes,
and innumerable other such ideal shapes.
[Illustration: PLATE XII "RIVER VIEW," KORAKU-EN, KOISHIKAWA]
In like manner in working out his design the gardener must take
cognizance of a multitude of religious and ethical conventions. The
flow of his streams must, for instance, follow certain cardinal
directions; in the number and disposition of his principal rocks he
must symbolize the nine spirits of the Buddhist pantheon. Some
tree and stone combinations are regarded as fortunate, and should
be introduced if possible; while other combinations are considered
unlucky, and are to be as carefully avoided.
[Illustration: MODEL P | 252.284139 | 1,191 |
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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI
Volume 93, October 8th 1887
_edited by Sir Francis Burnand_
[Illustration: OUR AMERICAN COUSIN AGAIN TO THE FRONT.]
* * * * *
THE BATTLE OF THE WAY.
_A Lay of Lake-land._
"Now, Lake-men, claim your right of way, and see the business done,
Come with your crowbar, spade, and pick;--and sure the battle's won,
For bolts and bars show SPEDDING'S race that you don't care a fig,
And prove that right's no match for might when rallied round Latrigg."
So shouted ROUTH-FITZPATRICK, and Lake-men with a cheer,
To Fawe Park Gates from Keswick's peaceful <DW72>s were drawing near,
When high upon the topmost wall as if to break the spell,
There uprose the Solicitor of Mrs. SPENCER BELL.
He spoke and as his voice he raised his arms he waved around,
"Beware," he cried, "what you're about, for this is private ground.
With sundry pains and penalties you'll surely be repaid,
Who dare to-day set hand to move this lawful barricade!"
But ROUTH-FITZPATRICK heeded not his protest, nor replied;
So Mrs. BELL'S Solicitor, he promptly stood aside,
And watched the next proceedings with a disapproving frown,
For up went crow-bar, pick, and axe, and gate and bar went down.
Yes, 'neath the sturdy Lake-men's blows the barriers gave way,
And lo! in rushed the joyous thronging crowd without delay;
And some on foot, and some in drags, and some in waggons stowed,
Held on their way triumphantly down the disputed road.
So onward towards Silver Hill advanced the active host,
And cleared each wire fence away, and levelled every post;
And when with crowbar, pick, and axe, they'd made their purpose plain,
To Nichol Ending they returned in triumph once again.
Then Secretary JENKINSON uprose and spoke a word,
And said how by the sights that day his manly breast was stirred,
And how that, if on Saturday as they had now begun
They held their own, they might regard the fight already won.
And then a telegram from Mr. PLIMSOLL he read out,
The which the Lake-men greeted with a hearty answering shout;
And Mrs. BELL'S Solicitor retired from the field,
But with an ugly look that seemed to say, "We'll never yield!"
And so commenced the fray that day, and though we know, of course,
As everybody tells us, there's no remedy in force,
Still, if the Lake-men's pick and axe this matter sets at rest,
We must admit how ills to cure at Keswick they know best.
But which side wins or loses in the still impending fight,
Whether force of public freedom, or trick of legal right,
The eager world on-looking may have watched a deadlier fray,
But none more keen in contest than the Battle of the Way!
* * * * *
PARNELLITE PROVERB (_applied to the Baleful Balfour_).--Give him an
inch (of law) and he'll take a (National) League.
* * * * *
THE MORNING'S REFLECTIONS.
SCENE--_Breakfast-table of an Illustrious Statesman of stalwart
proportions and "Gladstonian" politics. Illustrious Statesman
discovered, admiringly perusing three closely-printed columns of
leading Morning Paper._
[Illustration]
_I. S._ (_soliloquising_). Hah! Really reads very well, _very_ well
indeed. Points neatly put, hits smartly delivered! They shan't call me
the "Champion Slugger" for nothing. American pugilist, named SULLIVAN,
original bearer of that honorific title, I believe. Should like to see
SULLIVAN. A fellow-feeling makes us wondrous--curious. _Not_ kind,
always, or JOSEPH and WILLIAM--but no matter.
Hm--m--m! Hm--m--m--m! Excellent! Sparklers calculated to illuminate
Lewes, startle Sussex, electrify the country. Slugging and sparkling
my specialities. One or two decent speakers about; "our | 252.551964 | 1,192 |
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TRAVELLING SKETCHES.
BY
ANTHONY TROLLOPE.
[REPRINTED FROM THE "PALL MALL GAZETTE."]
LONDON:
CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY.
1866.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
THE FAMILY THAT GOES ABROAD BECAUSE IT'S THE
THING TO DO 1
THE MAN WHO TRAVELS ALONE 15
THE UNPROTECTED FEMALE TOURIST 29
THE UNITED ENGLISHMEN WHO TRAVEL FOR FUN 43
THE ART TOURIST 57
THE TOURIST IN SEARCH OF KNOWLEDGE 71
THE ALPINE CLUB MAN 84
TOURISTS WHO DON'T LIKE THEIR TRAVELS 98
TRAVELLING SKETCHES.
THE FAMILY THAT GOES ABROAD BECAUSE IT'S THE THING TO DO.
That men and women should leave their homes at the end of summer and go
somewhere,--though it be only to Margate,--has become a thing so fixed
that incomes the most limited are made to stretch themselves to fit the
rule, and habits the most domestic allow themselves to be interrupted
and set at naught. That we gain much in health there can be no doubt.
Our ancestors, with their wives and children, could do without their
autumn tour; but our ancestors did not work so hard as we work. And we
gain much also in general knowledge, though such knowledge is for | 252.60841 | 1,193 |
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[Illustration]
THE
GREY FAIRY BOOK
[Illustration: The Dervish drowning the Pigs]
THE
Grey Fairy Book
EDITED BY
ANDREW LANG
[Illustration: The Goblin Pony]
_WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS BY H. J. FORD_
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
91 AND 93 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK
LONDON AND BOMBAY
1905
All rights reserved
Copyright 1900
by
Longmans, Green, and Co.
First Edition, October 1900.
Reprinted, September, 1901.
Reprinted, August, 1905.
University Press
John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, U.S.A.
_PREFACE_
The tales in the Grey Fairy Book are derived from many
countries--Lithuania, various parts of Africa, Germany, France, Greece,
and other regions of the world. They have been translated and adapted by
Mrs. Dent, Mrs. Lang, Miss Eleanor Sellar, Miss Blackley, and Miss Lang.
'The Three Sons of Hali' is from the last century 'Cabinet des Fees,' a
very large collection. The French author may have had some Oriental
original before him in parts; at all events he copied the Eastern method
of putting tale within tale, like the Eastern balls of carved ivory. The
stories, as usual, illustrate the method of popular fiction. A certain
number of incidents are shaken into many varying combinations, like the
fragments of glass in the kaleidoscope. Probably the possible
combinations, like possible musical combinations, are not unlimited in
number, but children may be less sensitive in the matter of fairies than
Mr. John Stuart Mill was as regards music.
_CONTENTS_
PAGE
_Donkey Skin_ 1
_The Goblin Pony_ 16
_An Impossible Enchantment_ 19
_The Story of Dschemil and Dschemila_ 38
_Janni and the Draken_ 61
_The Partnership of the Thief and the Liar_ 67
_Fortunatus and his Purse_ 74
_The Goat-faced Girl_ 84
_What came of picking Flowers_ 93
_The Story of Bensurdatu_ 103
_The Magician's Horse_ 116
_The Little Gray Man_ 129
_Herr Lazarus and the Draken_ 136
_The Story of the Queen of the Flowery Isles_ 141
_Udea and her Seven Brothers_ 153
_The White Wolf_ 168
_Mohammed with the Magic Finger_ 178
_Bobino_ 197
_The Dog and the Sparrow_ 205
_The Story of the Three Sons of Hali_ 210
_The Story of the Fair Circassians_ 245
_The Jackal and the Spring_ 265
_The Bear_ 269
_The Sunchild_ 275
_The Daughter of Buk Ettemsuch_ 280
_Laughing Eye and Weeping Eye, or the Limping Fox_ 293
_The Unlooked-for Prince_ 300
_The Simpleton_ 309
_The Street Musicians_ 317
_The Twin Brothers_ 322
_Cannetella_ 332
_The Ogre_ 344
_A Fairy's Blunder_ 353
_Long, Broad, and Quickeye_ 366
_Prunella_ 382
_ILLUSTRATIONS_
_PLATES_
_The Dervish drowning the Pigs Frontispiece_
_The Fairy, the Princess, and the Donkey's Skin to face p._ 4
_The King sees Princess Mutinosa out Hunting_ " 20
_The Fairy-car arrives_ " 34
_Dschemila outwits the Ogre_ " 46
_Dschem | 252.822076 | 1,194 |
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FIUE HUNDRED POINTES
OF
GOOD HUSBANDRIE.
BY
THOMAS TUSSER.
THE EDITION OF 1580 COLLATED WITH THOSE OF 1573 AND 1577.
TOGETHER WITH A REPRINT, FROM THE UNIQUE COPY IN THE BRITISH
MUSEUM, OF "A HUNDRETH GOOD POINTES OF HUSBANDRIE," 1557.
EDITED (WITH INTRODUCTION, NOTES, AND GLOSSARY) BY
W. PAYNE, ESQ., AND SIDNEY J. HERRTAGE, ESQ., B.A.
LONDON:
PUBLISHED FOR THE ENGLISH DIALECT SOCIETY
BY TRÜBNER & CO., 57 AND 59, LUDGATE HILL.
1878.
PREFACE.
While for all who take an interest in the customs and life of our
ancestors Tusser's writings must always possess considerable interest,
to the Members of the English Dialect Society they are especially
valuable for the large number of dialectic words and forms which they
contain. The Glossary has therefore been made very full, possibly,
in the opinion of some, too full; but as this is the most important
portion of the work to the Society, I have thought it better to err, if
at all, on the right side.
With regard to the preparation of this Edition a few words may be
necessary. As the Members of the Society are aware, the task was
originally undertaken by Mr. W. Payne. Ill-health unfortunately
prevented him from carrying the work to a completion, but to him the
Society is indebted for the supervision of the reprint of the Edition
of 1580, which he collated most carefully with the editions of 1557 and
1577, and to which he added several pieces from those editions, thus
making the present reprint more complete than any yet published. Mr.
Payne also compiled a very complete Index of Words, which has been of
great assistance to me for purposes of reference, and in preparing the
Glossary. The notes also from Tusser Redivivus (marked T.R.) were for
the most part extracted by Mr. Payne.
A reprint of the First Edition of 1557 was not included in the original
programme, but after the work came into my hands an opportunity was
presented through the kindness of Mr. F. J. Furnivall, who lent for the
purpose his copy of the reprint of 1810, of exhibiting the work in its
original form of "One hundreth Points" side by side with the extended
edition of 1580, the last which had the benefit of the author's
supervision. The proof-sheets have been collated with the unique copy
in the British Museum by Miss Toulmin-Smith, to whom I return my thanks
for her kindness, and the correctness of the reprint may consequently
be relied on. From Mr. F. J. Furnivall I have received numerous hints,
and much valuable help, while to Mr. J. Britten, F.L.S., I am indebted
for his kindness in revising and supplementing the notes on the Plants
named in Tusser. But my chief obligations are due to the Rev. W. W.
Skeat, whose uniform kindness has considerably lightened my labours,
and from whom both directly and indirectly (through the notes in his
numerous publications), but more particularly in his noble edition of
Piers Plowman, I have derived the greatest assistance.
S. J. H.
May 14th, 1878.
[Transcriber's note: The original print edition has both page footnotes
and an end section of 'Notes and Illustrations.' In this digital edition,
the page footnotes are grouped at the end of each chapter and renumbered
accordingly: [1], [[2], etc. References to the endnotes are numbered [E1],
[E2], etc. The html version also links words in the main text to their
reference points in the Glossary.
The 'Erratum' on p. | 253.012861 | 1,195 |
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[Illustration: Cover]
THE SYRIAN CHRIST
BY
ABRAHAM MITRIE RIHBANY
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Riverside Press Cambridge
1916
COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY ABRAHAM MITRIE RIHBANY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
_Published October 1916_
{v}
PREFACE
This little volume is sent forth in the confident hope that it may
throw fresh light on the life and teachings of Christ, and facilitate
for the general public the understanding of the Bible. As may be
readily seen, from its perusal, the present work is not intended to be
a commentary on the Bible, nor even an exhaustive study of the subject
with which it deals. That it leaves many things to be desired is very
evident to the author, who fears that his book will be remembered by
its readers more by the things it lacks than by the things it contains.
Yet, from the cordial reception with which the opening chapters of this
publication (which made their first appearance in the _Atlantic
Monthly_) met from readers, of various religious affiliations, the
author has been encouraged to believe that his aim has not only been
clearly {vi} discerned, but thoroughly approved. The books which
undertake the systematic "expounding of the Scriptures" are a host
which no man can number, nor is there any lack of "spiritual lessons
drawn from the Bible." Therefore, as one of the Master's fellow
countrymen, and one who has enjoyed about twenty years of service in
the American pulpit, I have for several years entertained the growing
conviction that such a book as this was really needed. Not, however,
as one more commentary, but as an Oriental guide to afford Occidental
readers of the Bible a more intimate view of the original intellectual
and social environment of this sacred literature. So what I have to
offer here is a series of suggestions, and not of technically wrought
Bible lessons.
The need of the Western readers of the Bible is, in my judgment, to
enter sympathetically and intelligently into the atmosphere in which
the books of the Scriptures first took form: to have real intellectual,
as well as spiritual, fellowship with those Orientals who sought {vii}
earnestly in their own way to give tangible form to those great
spiritual truths which have been, and ever shall be, humanity's most
precious heritage.
My task has not been a light one. It is comparatively easy to take
isolated Bible texts and explain them, treating each passage as a
detached unit. But when one undertakes to group a large number of
passages which never were intended to be gathered together and treated
as the kindred thoughts of an essay, the task becomes rather difficult.
How far I have succeeded in my effort to relate the passages I have
treated in this book to one another according to their intellectual and
social affinities, the reader is in a better position to judge than I
am.
It may not be absolutely necessary for me to say that infallibility
cannot justly be ascribed to any author, nor claimed by him, even when
writing of his own experiences, and the social environment in which he
was born and brought up.
However, in Yankee, not in Oriental, {viii} fashion, I will say that
_to the best of my knowledge_ the statements contained in this book are
correct.
Finally, I deem it necessary before I bring this preface to a close to
sound a note of warning. So I will say that the Orientals' extensive
use of figurative speech should by no means be allowed to carry the
idea that _all_ Oriental speech is figurative. This manner of speech,
which is common to all races of men, is only _more extensively_ used by
Orientals than by Occidentals. I could wish, however, that the learned
theologians had suspected more strongly the literal accuracy of
Oriental utterances, and had thus been saved at times from founding a
huge doctrinal structure on a figure of speech.
Notwithstanding all this, the Gospel and the Christian faith still live
and bless and cheer the hearts and minds of men. As an Oriental by
birth, and as an American from choice, I feel profoundly grateful that
I have been enabled to render this modest service to the Churches of
{ix} | 253.297981 | 1,196 |
2023-11-16 18:20:00.0961180 | 1,083 | 397 |
Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by Google Books
THE GOLDEN FLOOD
By Edwin Lefevre
Illustrated By W. R. Leigh
New York
McClure, Phillips & Co.
1905
TO
DANIEL GRAY REID
PART ONE: THE FLOOD
The president looked up from the underwriters’ plan of the latest
“Industrial” consolidation capital stock, $100,000,000; assets, for
publication, $100,000,000 which the syndicate’s lawyers had pronounced
perfectly legal. Judiciously advertised, the stock probably would be
oversubscribed. The profits ought to be enormous. He was one of the
underwriters.
“What is it?” he asked. He did not frown, but his voice was as though
hung with icicles. The assistant cashier, an imaginative man in the
wrong place, shivered.
“This gentleman,” he said, giving a card to the president, “wishes to
make a deposit of one hundred thousand dollars.”
The president looked at the card. He read on it:
_MR. GEORGE KITCHELL GRINELL_
“Who sent him to us?” he asked.
“I don’t know, sir. He said he had a letter of introduction to you,”
answered the assistant cashier, disclaiming all responsibility in the
matter.
The president read the card a second time. The name was unfamiliar.
“Grinnell?” he muttered. “Grinnell? Never heard of him.” Perhaps he felt
it was poor policy to show ignorance on any matter whatever. When he
spoke again, it was in a voice overflowing with a dignity that was a
subtle rebuke to all assistant cashiers:
“I will see him.”
He busied himself once more with the typewritten documents before him,
lost in its alluring possibilities, until he became conscious of a
presence near him. He still waited, purposely, before looking up. He was
a very busy man, and all the world must know it. At length he raised his
head majestically, and turned--an animated fragment of a glacier--until
his eyes rested on the stranger’s.
“Good-morning, sir,” he said politely.
“Good-morning, Mr. Dawson,” said the stranger. He was a young man,
conceivably under thirty, of medium height, square of shoulders,
clean-shaven, and clear-skinned. He had brown hair and brown eyes.
His dress hinted at careful habits rather than at fashionable tailors.
Gold-rimmed spectacles gave him a studious air, which disappeared
whenever he spoke. As if at the sound of his own voice, his eyes took on
a look of alert self-confidence which interested the bank president.
Mr. Dawson was deeply prejudiced against the look of extreme astuteness,
blended with the desire to create a favourable impression, so familiar
to him as the president of the richest bank in Wall Street.
“You are Mr.----” The president looked at the stranger’s card as though
he had left it unread until he had finished far more important business.
It really was unnecessary; but it had become a habit, which he lost only
when speaking to his equals or his superiors in wealth.
“Grinnell,” prompted the stranger, very calmly. He was so unimpressed by
the president that the president was impressed by him.
“Ah, yes. Mr. Williams tells me you wish to become one of our
depositors?”
“Yes, sir. I have here,” taking a slip of paper from his pocket-book,
“an Assay Office check on the Sub-Treasury. It is for a trifle over a
hundred thousand dollars.”
Even the greatest bank in Wall Street must have a kindly feeling toward
depositors of a hundred thousand dollars. Mr. Dawson permitted himself
to smile graciously.
“I am sure we shall be glad to have your account, Mr. Grinnell,” he
said. “You are in business in----” The slight arching of his eyebrows,
rather than the inflection of his voice, made his words a delicate
interrogation. He was a small, slender man, greyhaired and
grey-moustached, with an air of polite aloofness from trivialities. His
manners were what you might expect of a man whose grandfather had been
Minister to France, and had never forgotten it; nor had his children.
His self-possession was so great that it was not noticeable.
“I am not in any business, Mr. Dawson, unless,” said the young man
with a smile that deprived his voice of any semblance of pertness or of
premeditated discourtesy, “it is the business of depositing $103,648.67
with the Metropolitan National Bank. My friend, Professor Willetts, of
Columbia, gave me a letter of introduction. Here it is. I may say,
Mr. Dawson, that I haven’t the slightest intention of disturbing this
account, as far as I know now, for an indefinite period.” The president
read the letter. It was from the | 253.415528 | 1,197 |
2023-11-16 18:20:00.1129950 | 1,076 | 51 |
E-text prepared by Larry B. Harrison, David Edwards, 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/cu31924027805864
EVENING TALES
Done into English from the French of
FRÉDÉRIC ORTOLI
by
Joel Chandler Harris
Author of "Uncle Remus"
Authorized Edition
New York
Charles Scribner's Sons
1919
Copyright, 1893, by
Charles Scribner's Sons
CONTENTS
I PAGE
A FRENCH TAR-BABY, 1
II
TEENCHY DUCK, 13
III
MR. SNAIL AND BROTHER WOLF, 34
IV
THE LION'S SECRET, 39
V
THE KING AND THE LAPWINGS, 64
VI
THE ROOSTER, THE CAT, AND THE REAP-HOOK, 75
VII
THE MYSTERIOUS ISLAND, 101
VIII
BROTHER TIGER AND DADDY SHEEP, 109
IX
"JUMP IN MY SACK!" 128
X
A SEARCH FOR A FRIEND, 155
XI
A CHILD OF THE ROSES, 163
XII
THE KING OF THE LIONS, 189
XIII
THE VIZIER, THE MONKEY, THE LION, AND
THE SERPENT, 198
XIV
THE ENCHANTED PRINCESS, 222
XV
<DW38> JOHN, 261
INTRODUCTION
Once upon a time Mr. Wendell P. Garrison, the literary editor of _The
Nation_, sent me a picture he had found in a catalogue of French books.
It represented a very interesting scene. There were the Tar-Baby and
Brother Rabbit as natural as life; but Brother Fox was missing. His
place had been supplied by Brother Billy Goat, whose formidable horns
and fierce beard seemed to add to the old episode a new danger for poor
Brother Rabbit.
The picture was an advertisement of _Les Contes de la Veillée_, by
Frédéric Ortoli. After a while the book itself came to hand, forwarded
no doubt by some thoughtful American tourist who had been interested
in the Tar-Baby in French. The volume was examined, and in some sort
relished, laid aside for future reference, and then forgotten.
But one night after supper the children of the household were suddenly
missing. There was no romping going on in the hall. There were no
voices to be heard on the lawn. There was no rippit taking place in the
bedrooms. What could the matter be? Had the storm-centre moved in the
direction of our innocent neighbors? The silence was so unusual that it
created a sudden sense of loneliness.
But the investigation that followed showed that the youngsters had
merely made a temporary surrender of their privileges. Their mother
was reading to them some of the stories in M. Ortoli's book, and they
were listening with an interest that childhood can neither affect nor
disguise. I begged permission to make one of the audience.
"But you have writing to do," said one of the lads.
"It will disturb you," said one of the girls.
Nevertheless, the lady, who was and is the centre of this family
circle, graciously made room for one more listener; and thus it happens
that this little volume of M. Ortoli's stories is in the nature of a
family affair. The lady, for the benefit of the intruder, was pleased
to go over the stories again, and to read them more slowly, and thus
they were put in their present form. Most frequently I have preserved
the swift and piquant rendering, the fluent interpretation that fell
from the lady's lips.
My apologies are perhaps due to M. Ortoli for a certain freedom of
treatment that has been deemed necessary in some of the stories. I
trust this has not been carried too far; but in some instances it has
been necessary to English the characters and incidents as well as the
text. Nevertheless, an effort has been made to preserve something of
the individuality of M. Ortoli, and I think that at least the flavor of
it will be found in the stories that follow.
J. C. H.
WEST END, ATLANTA, GA.
EVENING TALES
I
A FRENCH TAR-BABY
In the time when there were hobgoblins and fairies, Brother Goat and
Brother Rabbit lived in the same neighborhood, not far from each other.
Proud of his long beard and sharp horns, Brother Goat looked on Brother | 253.432405 | 1,198 |
2023-11-16 18:20:00.1570860 | 1,195 | 507 | Project Gutenberg's Heroes Every Child Should Know, by Hamilton Wright Mabie
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