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Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: Cover art]
[Illustration: HE WILDLY TORE AT EVERYTHING AND HURLED IT DOWN
ON HIS PURSUERS _Page_ 86 _Frontispiece_]
Mr. Midshipman Glover, R.N.
A Tale of the Royal Navy of To-day
BY
SURGEON REAR-ADMIRAL
T. T. JEANS, C.M.G., R.N.
Author of "John Graham, Sub-Lieutenant, R.N."
"A Naval Venture" &c.
_Illustrated by Edward S. Hodgson_
BLACKIE & SON LIMITED
LONDON AND GLASGOW
1908
By
Surgeon Rear-Admiral
T. T. Jeans
The Gun-runners.
John Graham, Sub-Lieutenant, R.N.
A Naval Venture.
Gunboat and Gun-runner.
Ford of H.M.S. "Vigilant".
On Foreign Service.
Mr. Midshipman Glover, R.N.
_Printed in Great Britain by Blackie & Son, Ltd., Glasgow_
*Preface*
In this story of the modern Royal Navy I have endeavoured, whilst
narrating many adventures both ashore and afloat, to portray the habits
of thought and speech of various types of officers and men of the Senior
Service who live and serve under the White Ensign to-day.
To do this the more graphically I have made some of the leading
characters take up, from each other, the threads of the story and
continue the description of incidents from their own points of view; the
remainder of the tale is written in the third person as by an outside
narrator.
I hope that this method will be found to lend additional | 181.926791 | 800 |
2023-11-16 18:18:48.6399190 | 906 | 146 |
Produced by Douglas L. Alley, III, Chris Curnow, Joseph
Cooper and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
The WONDERFUL
WIZARD
OF
OZ
BY L. Frank Baum
W. W. Denslow.
[Illustration]
Geo. M. Hill Co.
New York.
INTRODUCTION.
Folk lore, legends, myths and fairy tales have followed childhood
through the ages, for every healthy youngster has a wholesome and
instinctive love for stories fantastic, marvelous and manifestly
unreal. The winged fairies of Grimm and Andersen have brought more
happiness to childish hearts than all other human creations.
Yet the old-time fairy tale, having served for generations, may
now be classed as "historical" in the children's library; for the
time has come for a series of newer "wonder tales" in which the
stereotyped genie, dwarf and fairy are eliminated, together with all
the horrible and blood-curdling incident devised by their authors
to point a fearsome moral to each tale. Modern education includes
morality; therefore the modern child seeks only entertainment in its
wonder-tales and gladly dispenses with all disagreeable incident.
[Illustration]
Having this thought in mind, the story of "The Wonderful Wizard of
Oz" was written solely to pleasure children of today. It aspires to
being a modernized fairy tale, in which the wonderment and joy are
retained and the heart-aches and nightmares are left out.
L. FRANK BAUM.
CHICAGO, APRIL, 1900.
[Illustration]
Copyright 1899
By L. Frank Baum
and W. W. Denslow.
All rights reserved
[Illustration]
LIST OF CHAPTERS.
CHAPTER I.--The Cyclone.
CHAPTER II.--The Council with The Munchkins.
CHAPTER III.--How Dorothy Saved the Scarecrow.
CHAPTER IV.--The Road Through the Forest.
CHAPTER V.--The Rescue of the Tin Woodman.
CHAPTER VI.--The Cowardly Lion.
CHAPTER VII.--The Journey to The Great Oz.
CHAPTER VIII.--The Deadly Poppy Field.
CHAPTER IX.--The Queen of the Field Mice.
CHAPTER X.--The Guardian of the Gates.
CHAPTER XI.--The Wonderful Emerald City of Oz.
CHAPTER XII.--The Search for the Wicked Witch.
CHAPTER XIII.--How the Four were Reunited.
CHAPTER XIV.--The Winged Monkeys.
CHAPTER XV.--The Discovery of Oz the Terrible.
CHAPTER XVI.--The Magic Art of the Great Humbug.
CHAPTER XVII.--How the Balloon was Launched.
CHAPTER XVIII.--Away to the South.
CHAPTER XIX.--Attacked by the Fighting Trees.
CHAPTER XX.--The Dainty China Country.
CHAPTER XXI.--The Lion Becomes the King of Beasts.
CHAPTER XXII.--The Country of the Quadlings.
CHAPTER XXIII.--The Good Witch grants Dorothy's Wish.
CHAPTER XXIV.--Home Again.
_This book is dedicated to my
good friend & comrade.
My Wife
L.F.B._
Chapter I.
The Cyclone.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
Dorothy lived in the midst of the great Kansas prairies, with Uncle
Henry, who was a farmer, and Aunt Em, who was the farmer's wife.
Their house was small, for the lumber to build it had to be carried
by wagon many miles. There were four walls, a floor and a roof,
which made one room; and this room contained a rusty looking cooking
stove, a cupboard for the dishes, a table, three or four chairs,
and the beds. Uncle Henry and Aunt Em had a big bed in one corner,
and Dorothy a little bed in another corner. There was no garret at
all, and no cellar--except a small hole, dug in the ground, called a
cyclone cellar, where the family could go in case one of those great
whirlwinds arose, mighty enough to crush | 181.959329 | 801 |
2023-11-16 18:18:48.7249820 | 1,312 | 204 |
Produced by Al Haines
LONDON
IN MODERN TIMES;
Or, Sketches of
THE ENGLISH METROPOLIS
DURING THE
SEVENTEENTH AND EIGHTEENTH CENTURIES.
New York
PUBLISHED BY CARLTON & PORTER,
SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION, 200 MULBERRY-STREET.
1851
CONTENTS.
Chap.
INTRODUCTION
I.--LONDON UNDER THE FIRST TWO MONARCHS OF THE STUART DYNASTY
II.--LONDON DURING THE CIVIL WARS
III.--THE PLAGUE YEAR IN LONDON
IV.--THE FIRE OF LONDON
V.--FROM THE RESTORATION OF THE CITY TO THE CLOSE OF THE CENTURY
VI.--LONDON DURING THE FIRST HALF OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY
VII.--LONDON DURING THE LATTER HALF OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY
LONDON
IN MODERN TIMES.
INTRODUCTION.
This history of an old city opens many views into the realms of the
past, crowded with the picturesque, the romantic, and the
religious--with what is beautiful in intellect, sublime in feeling,
noble in character--and with much, too, the reverse of all this.
Buildings dingy and dilapidated, or tastelessly modernized, in which
great geniuses were born, or lived, or died, become, in connection with
the event, transformed into poetic bowers; and narrow dirty streets,
where they are known often to have walked, change into green alleys,
resounding with richer notes than ever trilled from bird on brake.
Tales of valor and suffering, of heroism and patience, of virtue and
piety, of the patriot's life and the martyr's death, crowd thickly on
the memory. Nor do opposite reminiscences, revealing the footprints of
vice and crime, of evil passions and false principles, fail to arise,
fraught with salutary warnings and cautions. The broad thoroughfare is
a channel, within whose banks there has been rolling for centuries a
river of human life, now tranquil as the sky, now troubled as the
clouds, gliding on in peace, or lashed into storms.
These dwelling-places of man are proofs and expressions of his
ingenuity, skill, and toil, of his social instincts and habits. Their
varied architecture and style, the different circumstances under which
they were built, the various motives and diversified purposes which led
to their erection, are symbols and illustrations of the innumerable
forms, the many hues, the strange gradations of men's
condition, character, habits, tastes, and feelings. Each house has its
own history--a history which in some cases has been running on since an
era when civilization wore a different aspect from what it does now.
What changeful scenes has many a dwelling witnessed!--families have
come and gone, people have been born and have died, obedient to the
great law--"the fashion of this world passeth away." Those rooms have
witnessed the birth and departure of many, the death of the guilty
sinner or pardoned believer, the gay wedding and the gloomy funeral,
the welcome meeting of Christmas groups around the bright fireside, and
the sad parting of loved ones called to separate into widely divergent
paths. Striking contrasts abound between the outward material aspect
and the inward moral scenery of those habitations. In this house,
perhaps, which catches the passenger's eye by its splendor, through
whose windows there flashes the gorgeous light of patrician luxury, at
whose door lines of proud equipages drive up, on whose steps are
marshaled obsequious footmen in gilded liveries, there are hearts
pining away with ambition, envy, jealousy, fear, remorse, and agony.
In that humble cottage-like abode, on the other hand, contentment,
which with godliness is great gain, and piety, better than gold or
rubies, have taken up their home, and transformed it into a terrestrial
heaven.
All this applies to London, and gives interest to our survey of it as
we pass through its numerous streets; it clothes it with a poetic
character in the eyes of all gifted with creative fancy. The poetry of
the city has its own charms as well as the poetry of the country. The
history of London supplies abundant materials of the character now
described; indeed, they are so numerous and diversified that it is
difficult to deal with them. The memorials of the mother city are so
intimately connected with the records of the empire, that to do justice
to the former would be to sketch the outline, and to exhibit most of
the stirring scenes and incidents of the latter. London, too, is
associated closely with many of the distinguished individuals that
England has produced, with the progress of arts, of commerce and
literature, politics and law, religion and civilization; so that, as we
walk about it, we tread on classic ground, rich in a thousand
associations. Its history is the history of our architecture, both
ecclesiastical and civil. The old names and descriptions of its
streets, houses, churches, and other public edifices, aided by the few
vestiges of ancient buildings which have escaped the ravages of fire,
time, and ever-advancing alterations, bring before us a series of
views, exhibiting each order of design, from the Norman to the Tudor
era. In the streets of London, too, may be traced the progress of
domestic building, from the plain single-storied house of the time of
Fitzstephen, to the lofty and many-floored mansion of the fifteenth
century, with its picturesque gables, ornamented front, and twisted
chimneys. Then these melt away before other forms of taste and art.
In the days of Elizabeth, churches and dwellings become Italianized.
The architects under the Stuart dynasty make fresh innovation, till,
during the last century, | 182.044392 | 802 |
2023-11-16 18:18:48.8193570 | 4,076 | 92 |
Produced by Adrian Mastronardi, Jana Srna and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
[ Transcriber's Note:
Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as
possible, including inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation;
changes (corrections of spelling and punctuation) made to the
original text are listed at the end of this file.
Italic text has been marked with _underscores_.
Bold text has been marked with =equals signs=.
Greek text has been transliterated and marked with +plus signs+.
]
THE STORY OF BOOKS
The Useful Knowledge Library
PLANT LIFE. By Grant Allen.
ARCHITECTURE. By P. L. Waterhouse.
THE STARS. By G. F. Chambers, F.R.A.S.
THE SOLAR SYSTEM. By George F. Chambers, F.R.A.S.
FOREST AND STREAM. By James Rodway.
THE MIND. By Prof. J. M. Baldwin.
THE RELIGIONS OF THE WORLD. By the Rev. E. D. Price, F.G.S.
EXTINCT CIVILIZATIONS OF THE EAST. By Robert E. Anderson, M.A., F.A.S.
THE CHEMICAL ELEMENTS. By M. M. Pattison Muir, M.A.
A PIECE OF COAL. By E. A. Martin.
THE EARTH IN PAST AGES. By H. G. Seeley, F.R.S.
BIRD-LIFE. By W. P. Pycraft.
GEOGRAPHICAL DISCOVERY. By Joseph Jacobs.
PRIMITIVE MAN. By Edward Clodd.
THOUGHT AND FEELING. By Frederick Ryland, M.A.
THE BRITISH RACE. By John Munro.
GERM LIFE. By H. W. Conn.
ANIMAL LIFE. By B. Lindsay.
COTTON PLANT. By F. Wilkinson, F.G.S.
ECLIPSES. By G. F. Chambers, F.R.A.S.
ELECTRICITY. By J. Munro.
WEATHER. By G. F. Chambers, F.R.A.S.
WILD FLOWERS. By Rev. Prof. Henslow.
LONDON: HODDER AND STOUGHTON
[Illustration: EARLY PRINTERS AT WORK.]
THE
STORY OF BOOKS
BY
GERTRUDE BURFORD RAWLINGS
Author of "The Story of the British Coinage"
HODDER AND STOUGHTON
PUBLISHERS, LONDON
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. Introductory 9
II. The Preservation of Literature 13
III. Books and Libraries in Classical Times 26
IV. Books in Mediæval Times 36
V. Libraries in Mediæval Times 56
VI. The Beginning of Printing 70
VII. Who Invented Moveable Types? 81
VIII. Gutenberg and the Mentz Press 89
IX. Early Printing 103
X. Early Printing in Italy and some other Countries 110
XI. Early Printing in England 118
XII. Early Printing in Scotland 131
XIII. Early Printing in Ireland 138
XIV. Book Bindings 144
XV. How a Modern Book is Produced 159
Postscript 164
Index 166
ILLUSTRATIONS
Early Printers at Work Frontispiece
PAGE
Page from the Book of Kells 38
Part of Page from the Book of Kells 39
Page from the Lindisfarne Gospels 44
Page from the Biblia Pauperum 76
Type of the Mentz Indulgence 95
Page from the Mazarin Bible 98
Type of the Mazarin Bible 99
Type of the Subiaco Lactantius 111
Type of the Aldine Virgil, 1501 114
Type of Caxton's Dictes or Sayengis of the Philosophres,
Westminster, 1477 123
Boys Learning Grammar 125
Caxton's Device 127
Type of Wynkyn de Worde's Higden's Polychronicon, London, 1495 129
Myllar's Device 132
Title Page of O'Kearney's Irish Alphabet and Catechism 140
Upper Cover of Melissenda's Psalter 149
THE STORY OF BOOKS
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTORY
The book family is a very old and a very noble one, and has rendered
great service to mankind, although, as with other great houses, all its
members are not of equal worth and distinction. But since books are so
common nowadays as to be taken quite as matters of course, probably few
people give any thought to the long chain of events which, reaching from
the dim past up to our own day, has been necessary for their evolution.
Yet if we look round on our bookshelves, whether we measure their
contents by hundreds or by thousands, and consider how mighty is the
power of these inanimate combinations of "rag-paper with black ink on
them," and how all but limitless their field of action, it is but a step
further to wonder what the first books were like. Given the living,
working brain to fashion thoughts and create fancies, to whom did it
first occur to write a book, what language and characters and material
did he use, when did he write, and what did he write about? And although
these questions can never be answered, an attempt to follow them up
will lead the inquirer into many fascinating bye-ways of knowledge. It
is not, however, the purpose of these pages to deal at length with the
ancient history of the _manuscript_ book, but, after briefly noticing
the chief links which connect the volumes of to-day with primeval
records, to present to the reader a few of the many points of interest
offered by the modern history of the _printed_ book.
* * * * *
=The Beginning of Writing.=--Books began with writing, and writing began
at the time when man first bethought himself to make records, so that
the progenitor of the beautiful handwriting and no less beautiful print
of the civilised world is to be looked for in the rude drawing which
primeval man scratched with a pointed flint on a smooth bone, or on a
rock, representing the beast he hunted, or perhaps himself, or one of
his fellows. The exact degree of importance he attached to these
drawings we cannot hope to discover. They may have been cherished from
purely æsthetic motives, or they may have served, at times, a merely
utilitarian end and acted, perhaps, as memoranda. However this may be,
these early drawings are the germs from which sprang writing, the parent
of books, and liberator of literature, that great force of which a book
is but the vehicle. How these drawings were gradually changed into
letters, in other words, the story of the alphabet, has been already
told in this series by Mr Edward Clodd, and therefore we need not deal
further with the subject here.
Writing once learned, and alphabets once formulated, the machinery for
making books, with the human mind as its mainspring, was fairly in
motion. "Certainly the Art of Writing," says Carlyle, "is the most
miraculous of all things man has devised.... With the art of Writing, of
which Printing is a simple, an inevitable and comparatively
insignificant corollary, the true reign of miracles for mankind
commenced." That these words only express the feeling of our far away
ancestors, a cursory glance into the mythology of various peoples will
prove. For wherever there is a tradition respecting writing, that
tradition almost invariably, if not always, connects the great invention
with the gods or with some sacred person. The Egyptians attributed it to
Thoth, the Babylonians and Assyrians to Nebo, the Buddhists to Buddha,
the Greeks to Hermes. The Scandinavians honoured Odin as the first
cutter of the mysterious runes, and the Irish derived their ogham from
the sacred Ogma of the Tuatha de Danaan. And it is noteworthy how, from
time immemorial, writing, and the making of books, have been considered
high and honourable accomplishments, and how closely they have ever been
connected with the holy functions of priesthood.
* * * * *
=Materials for Writing and Books.=--The early forms of books were
various, and, to modern eyes, more or less clumsy. Wood or bark was one
of the oldest substances used to receive writing. Stone was no doubt
older still, but stone inscriptions are outside our subject. The early
Greeks and Romans employed tablets of soft metal, and wooden leaves
coated with wax, when they had anything to write, impressing the
characters with a stilus. Thus Pausanius relates that he saw the
original copy of Hesiod's _Works and Days_ written on leaden tablets.
The wooden leaves, when bound together at one side, foreshadowed the
form of book which is now almost universal, and were called by the
Romans _caudex_, or _codex_ (originally meaning a tree-stump), in
distinction to the _volumen_, which was always a parchment or papyrus
roll. The oldest manuscript in existence, however, is on papyrus, which,
as is well known, was the chief writing-material of the ancient world.
Although the discovery that skins of animals, when properly prepared,
formed a convenient and durable writing-material, was made at a very
early date, the papyrus held its own as the writing-material of literary
Egypt, Greece, and Rome, until about the fourth or fifth century of our
era.
The books of Babylonia and Assyria took the form of thick clay tablets
of various sizes. The wedge-shaped characters they bore were made by
impressing the wet, soft clay with a triangular-pointed instrument of
wood, bone, or metal. The tablet was then baked, and as recent
discoveries prove, rendered exceedingly durable. It is a matter of
conjecture as to whether the form of the original documents of the Old
Testament was that of the Babylonian tablets, or of the Egyptian papyrus
rolls, or of rolls of parchment. Perhaps all three were employed by the
various biblical writers at different times.
It is stretching a point, perhaps, to include among writing materials
the tablets of bamboo bark which bore the earliest Chinese characters,
since the inscriptions were carved. The Chinese, however, soon discarded
such primitive uses, and the paper which is so indispensable to-day was
invented by them at a very early date, though it remained unknown to
Europe until the Arabs introduced it about the tenth century, A.D. One
of the earliest extant writings on paper is an Arabic "Treatise on the
Nourishment of the Human Body," written in 960 A.D., but it seems to
have been printing which really brought paper into fashion, for paper
manuscripts are rare compared with those of parchment and vellum.
CHAPTER II
THE PRESERVATION OF LITERATURE
It is easier to find the beginning of writing than the beginning of
literature. Although we know for certain that the ancient nations of the
world had books and libraries, that they preserved traditions, stored
records and knowledge, and assisted memory by means of their tablets,
their monuments, and their papyri, we shall probably never know when the
art of writing was first applied to strictly literary purposes, and
still less likely is it that we shall ever discover when works of the
imagination were first recorded for the edification of mankind. It is
not very rash, however, to assume that as soon as the art had developed
the ancients put it to much the same uses as we do, except, perhaps,
that they did not vulgarise it, and no one wrote who had not something
to write about. But we are not without specimens of antique literatures.
Egypt has preserved for us many different specimens of her literary
produce of thousands of years ago--historical records, works of religion
and philosophy, fiction, magic, and funeral ritual. Assyria has
bequeathed to us hundreds of the clay books which formed the great royal
library at Nineveh, books of records, mythology, morals, grammar,
astronomy, astrology, magic; books of reference, such as geographical
tables, lists of temples, plants, birds, and other things. In the Old
Testament we have all that now remains of Israelitish writings, and the
early literatures of China and India are also partly known to us. After
these the writings of Greece and Rome are of comparatively recent
origin, and moreover, they are nearer to us in other respects besides
the merely chronological. The literature of Greece, dating from the far
Homeric age, grew up a strong and beautiful factor in Greek life, and
Rome, drawing first her alphabet and then her literature from the land
before which she stooped, even while she conquered it, passed them on as
an everlasting possession to the peoples of the western world. The fact
of the literary pre-eminence of Greece partly helps to explain why Greek
manuscripts form the bulk of the early writings now extant.
In considering how early literature has been preserved, therefore, we
are hardly concerned with Egyptian papyri or cuneiform tablets, but
with the writings of Greece and Rome, or writings produced under Greek
or Roman influence. And it is curious that while the libraries and books
of older nations have survived in comparatively large numbers, there
should be no Greek literary manuscripts older than about 160 B.C., and
even these are very fragmentary and scarce. The earliest Latin document
known is dated 55 A.D., and is an unimportant wax tablet from Pompeii.
For this lack of early documents many causes are responsible, and those
who remember that it is not human beings only who suffer from the
vicissitudes inseparable from existence will wonder, not that we have so
few ancient writings in our present possession, but that we have any.
The evidence of many curious and interesting discoveries of manuscripts
made from time to time goes to show that accident, rather than design,
has worked out their preservation, and that the civilised world owes its
present store of ancient literature more to good luck than good
management, to use a handy colloquialism. It is true, of course, that in
early days there were many who guarded books as very precious things,
but in times of wars and tumults people would naturally give little
thought to such superfluities. Fire and war have been the agencies most
destructive of books, in the opinion of the author of _Philobiblon_, but
carelessness and ignorance, wanton destruction and natural decay, are
also accountable for some part of the great losses which have wasted so
large a share of the literary heritage, and although we are deeply
indebted to monastic work for the transmission of classic lore as well
as of Christian compositions, we can hardly conclude that the monkish
scribes wrote solely for the benefit of posterity. Their immediate
purpose, no doubt, and naturally so, was much narrower, and identified
the service of God with the enrichment of their houses. Besides, they
did not hesitate to erase older writings in order that they might use
the parchment again for their own, whenever it suited them to do so.
Before noting some of the ways by which ancient literature has come down
to the present day, let us for a moment transport ourselves into the
past, and see how a wealthy Roman lover of letters would set about
gathering a collection of books. Having no lack of means, all that is
best in the literary world will be at his service. He will first take
care that the works of every Greek writer which can possibly be
obtained, as well as those of Roman authors, are represented in his
library by well-written papyrus rolls containing good, correct texts. If
he can obtain old manuscripts or original autographs of famous writers,
so much the better; but whereas ordinary volumes will cost him
comparatively little, on these he must expend large sums. If a book on
which he has set his heart is not to be purchased, he may be able to
obtain the loan of it, so that it may be transcribed for him by his
_librarius_ or writing-slave. If he can neither borrow nor purchase what
he desires, he may commission the bookseller to send for it to
Alexandria, where there is an unrivalled store of books and many skilled
scribes ready to make copies of them.
But it is not easy to estimate with any degree of certainty the quantity
of literary material available, say, at the time of the establishment of
the first public library in Rome, which was probably about 39 B.C. Books
were common and booksellers flourished. Greek and Roman writings were
preserved on papyrus, not neglected or lost, and the various parts of
what we now call the Old Testament probably existed in the Hebrew
synagogues. We may, perhaps, assume that the Roman book collector, did
he choose to take the necessary trouble, might add to his collection
some of the writings of ancient Egypt. But no doubt Greek and Latin
authors only are of value in his eyes. At this point it is dangerous to
speculate further, and we must leave the imaginary Roman, and, advancing
to our own time, where we are on surer ground, ask what remnants of old
records and literature have come down to us, and how have they been
preserved?
It will be disappointing news, perhaps, to those to whom the facts are
fresh, that no original manuscript of any classical author, and no
original manuscript of any part of the Bible, Old Testament or New, has
yet come to light. Nothing is known of any of these documents except
through the medium of copies, and in some cases very many copies indeed
intervene between us and the original. For instance, the oldest Homeric
manuscript known, with the exception of one or two fragments, is not
older than the first century B.C., and the most ancient Biblical
manuscript known, a fragment of a Psalter, is assigned to the late third
or early fourth century A.D. The earliest New Testament manuscript
extant, the first leaf of a book of St Matthew's | 182.138767 | 803 |
2023-11-16 18:18:49.2049670 | 1,042 | 373 |
Produced by Denis Pronovost, Suzanne Shell 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.)
FATHERS OF MEN
BOOKS BY E. W. HORNUNG
PUBLISHED BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
_The Raffles Series_
The Amateur Cracksman. 12mo, $1.25
Raffles. Illustrated. 12mo, 1.50
A Thief In the Night. Illustrated, 12mo, 1.50
Mr. Justice Raffles. 12mo, 1.50
Fathers of Men. _net_, 1.30
(postage extra)
The Camera Fiend. Illustrated. 12mo, _net_, 1.25
Stingaree. Illustrated. 12mo, 1.50
No Hero. 12mo, 1.25
At Large. 12mo, 1.50
Some Persons Unknown. 12mo, 1.25
Young Blood. 12mo, 1.25
My Lord Duke. 12mo, 1.25
A Bride from the Bush. 16mo, .75
The Rogue's March. A Romance. 12mo, 1.50
FATHERS OF MEN
BY
E. W. HORNUNG
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1912
COPYRIGHT, 1912, BY
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
Published February, 1912
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. BEHIND THE SCENES 1
II. CHANGE AND CHANCE 11
III. VERY RAW MATERIAL 21
IV. SETTLING IN 33
V. NICKNAMES 43
VI. BOY TO BOY 53
VII. REASSURANCE 62
VIII. LIKES AND DISLIKES 75
IX. CORAM POPULO 90
X. ELEGIACS 105
XI. A MERRY CHRISTMAS 123
XII. THE NEW YEAR 133
XIII. THE HAUNTED HOUSE 146
XIV. "SUMMER-TERM" 163
XV. SPRAWSON'S MASTERPIECE 174
XVI. SIMILIA SIMILIBUS 186
XVII. THE FUN OF THE FAIR 196
XVIII. DARK HORSES 212
XIX. FAME AND FORTUNE 225
XX. THE EVE OF OFFICE 240
XXI. OUT OF FORM 250
XXII. THE OLD BOYS' MATCH 259
XXIII. INTERLUDE IN A STUDY 266
XXIV. THE SECOND MORNING'S PLAY 277
XXV. INTERLUDE IN THE WOOD 290
XXVI. CLOSE OF PLAY 304
XXVII. THE EXTREME PENALTY 317
XXVIII. "LIKE LUCIFER" 328
XXIX. CHIPS AND JAN 336
XXX. HIS LAST FLING 349
XXXI. VALE 360
FATHERS OF MEN
CHAPTER I
BEHIND THE SCENES
The two new boys in Heriot's house had been suitably entertained at his
table, and afterwards in his study with bound volumes of _Punch_.
Incidentally they had been encouraged to talk, with the result that one
boy had talked too much, while the other shut a stubborn mouth tighter
than before. The babbler displayed an exuberant knowledge of
contemporary cricket, a more conscious sense of humour, and other little
qualities which told their tale. He opened the door for Miss Heriot
after dinner, and even thanked her for the evening when it came to an
end. His companion, on the other hand, after brooding over Leech and
Tenniel with a sombre eye, beat a boorish retreat without a word.
Heriot saw the pair to the boys' part of the house. He was filling his
pipe when he returned to the medley of books, papers, photographic
appliances, foxes' masks, alpen-stocks and venerable oak, that made his
study a little room in which it was | 182.524377 | 804 |
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AN AMIABLE CHARLATAN
BY
E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM
(AUTHOR OF "MR. GREX OF MONTE CARLO," "THE DOUBLE TRAITOR", ETC.)
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY WILL GREF
[Illustration:
"No one can be more glad than Mrs. Delaporte and myself
that this little affair has been concluded so amicably."]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I THE MAN AT STEPHANO'S
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by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
ORATION
ON THE
LIFE AND CHARACTER
OF
HENRY WINTER DAVIS,
BY
HON. JOHN A. J. CRESWELL.
Delivered in the Hall of the House of Representatives,
February 22, 1866.
WASHINGTON:
GOVERNMENT PRINTING OFFICE.
1866.
PREFACE.
The death of Hon. HENRY WINTER DAVIS, for many years a distinguished
Representative of one of the Baltimore congressional districts, created
a deep sensation among those who had been associated with him in
national legislation, and they deemed it fitting to pay to his memory
unusual honors. They adopted resolutions expressive of their grief, and
invited Hon. JOHN A. J. CRESWELL, a Senator of the United States from
the State of Maryland, to deliver an oration on his life and character,
in the hall of the House of Representatives, on the 22d of February, a
day the recurrence of which ever gives increased warmth to patriotic
emotions.
The hall of the House was filled by a distinguished audience to listen
to the oration. Before eleven o'clock the galleries were crowded in
every part. The flags above the Speaker's desk were draped in black, and
other insignia of mourning were exhibited. An excellent portrait of the
late Hon. HENRY WINTER DAVIS was visible through the folds of the
national banner above the Speaker's chair. As on the occasion of the
oration on President LINCOLN by Hon. GEORGE BANCROFT, the Marine band
occupied the ante-room of the reporters' gallery, and discoursed
appropriate music.
At twelve o'clock the senators entered, and the judges of the Supreme
Court, preceded by Chief Justice Chase. Of the Cabinet Secretary Stanton
and Secretary McCulloch were present. After prayer by the chaplain, the
Declaration of Independence was read by Hon. EDWARD MCPHERSON, Clerk of
the House. After the reading of the Declaration, followed by the playing
of a dirge by the band, Hon. SCHUYLER COLFAX, Speaker of the House of
Representatives, introduced the orator of the day, Hon. J. A. J.
CRESWELL.
REMARKS
OF
HON. SCHUYLER COLFAX,
SPEAKER OF THE HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES.
Hon. SCHUYLER COLFAX, Speaker of the House of Representatives, said:
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN: The duty has been devolved upon me of introducing
to you the friend and fellow-member, here, of HENRY WINTER DAVIS, and I
shall detain you but a moment from his address, to which you will listen
with saddened interest.
The world always appreciates and honors courage: the courage of
Christianity, which sustained martyrs in the amphitheatre, at the stake,
and on the rack; the courage of Patriotism, which inspired millions in
our own land to realize the historic fable of Curtius, and to fill up
with their own bodies, if need be, the yawning chasm which imperiled the
republic; the courage of Humanity, which is witnessed in the pest-house
and the hospital, at the death-bed of the homeless and the prison-cell
of the convict. But there is a courage of Statesmen, besides; and nobly
was it illustrated by the statesman whose national services we
commemorate to-day. Inflexibly hostile to oppression, whether of slaves
on American soil or of republicans struggling in Mexico against
monarchical invasion, faithful always to principle and liberty,
championing always the cause of the down-trodden, fearless as he was
eloquent in his avowals, he was mourned throughout a continent; and from
the Patapsco to the Gulf the blessings of those who had been ready to
perish followed him to his tomb. It is fitting, therefore, though dying
a private citizen, that the nation should render him such marked and
unusual honors in this hall, the scene of so many of his intellectual
triumphs; and I have great pleasure in introducing to you, as the orator
of the day, Hon. J. A. J. CRESWELL, his colleague in the thirty-eighth
Congress, and now Senator from the State of Maryland.
ORATION
OF
HON. JOHN A. J. CRESWELL.
MY COUNTRYMEN: On the 22d day of February, 1732, God gave to the world
the highest type of humanity, in the person of George Washington.
Combining within himself the better qualities of the soldier, sage,
statesman, and patriot, alike brave, wise, discreet, and incorruptible,
the common consent of mankind has awarded him the | 182.925449 | 806 |
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[Illustration: "I give you back the wedding ring."--_Page 400._]
THE BONDWOMAN
BY
MARAH ELLIS RYAN,
AUTHOR OF
"Told in the Hills," "A Pagan of the Alleghanies," etc.
CHICAGO AND NEW YORK:
RAND, McNALLY & COMPANY, PUBLISHERS.
MDCCCXCIX.
Copyright, 1899, by Rand, McNally & Co.
All rights reserved.
Entered at Stationers' Hall, London.
THE BONDWOMAN
CHAPTER I.
Near Moret, in France, where the Seine is formed and flows northward,
there lives an old lady named Madame Blanc, who can tell much of the
history written here--though it be a history belonging more to
American lives than French. She was of the Caron establishment when
Judithe first came into the family, and has charge of a home for aged
ladies of education and refinement whose means will not allow of them
providing for themselves. It is a memorial founded by her adopted
daughter and is known as the Levigne Pension. The property on which it
is established is the little Levigne estate--the one forming the only
dowery of Judithe Levigne when she married Philip Alain--Marquis de
Caron.
There is also a bright-eyed, still handsome woman of mature years,
who lives in our South and has charge of another memorial--or had
until recently--a private industrial school for girls of her own
selection. She calls herself a creole of San Domingo, and she also
calls herself Madame Trouvelot--she has been married twice since
she was first known by that name, for she was never the woman to live
alone--not she; but while the men in themselves suited her, their
names were uncompromisingly plain--did not attract her at all. She
married them, proved a very good wife, but while one was named
Johnson, and another Tuttle, the good wife persisted in being
called Madame Trouvelot, either through sentiment or a bit of irony
towards the owner of that name. But, despite her vanities, her
coquetries, and certain erratic phases of her life, she was
absolutely faithful to the trust reposed in her by the Marquise; and
who so capable as herself of finding the poor girls who stood most
in need of training and the shelter of charity? She, also, could
add to this history of the woman belonging both to the old world
and the new. There are also official records in evidence of much
that is told here--deeds of land, bills of sale, with dates of
marriages and deaths interwoven, changed as to names and places but--
There are social friends--gay, pleasure-loving people on both sides of
the water--who could speak, and some men who will never forget her.
One of them, Kenneth McVeigh, he was only Lieutenant McVeigh
then!--saw her first in Paris--heard of her first at a musicale in the
salon of Madame Choudey. Madame Choudey was the dear friend of the
Countess Helene Biron, who still lives and delights in recitals of
gossip belonging to the days of the Second Empire. The Countess Helene
and Mrs. McVeigh had been school friends in Paris. Mrs. McVeigh had
been Claire Villanenne, of New Orleans, in those days. At seventeen
she had married a Col. McVeigh, of Carolina. At forty she had been a
widow ten years. Was the mother of a daughter aged twelve, and a
six-foot son of twenty-two, who looked twenty-five, and had just
graduated from West Point.
As he became of special interest to more than one person in this
story, it will be in place to give an idea of him as he appeared in
those early days;--an impetuous boy held in check, somewhat, by
military discipline and his height--he measured six feet at
twenty--and also by the fact that his mother had persisted in looking
on him as the head of the family at an age when most boys are
care-free of such responsibilities.
But the responsibilities had a very good effect in many ways--giving
stability and seriousness to a nature prone, most of all, to
pleasure-loving if left untrammelled. His blue eyes had a slumberous
warmth in them; when he smiled they half closed and looked down on you
caressingly, and their expression proved no bar to favor with the
opposite sex. The fact that he had a little mother who leaned on him
and whom he petted extravagantly, just as he did his sister, gave him
a manner towards women in general that was both protecting and
deferential--a combination productive of very decided results. He was
intelligent without being intellectual, had a very clear appreciation
of the advantages of being born a McVeigh, proud and jealous where
family honor was concerned, a bit of an autocrat through being master
over extensive tracts of land and slaves by the dozen, many of them
the descendents of Africans bought into the family from New England
traders four generations before.
Such was the personality of the young American as he appeared that day
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SONGS OF THE
PRAIRIE
BY
ROBERT J. C. STEAD
Author of "PRAIRIE BORN."
New York
THE PLATT & PECK CO.
Copyright 1912, By
The Platt & Peck Co.
CONTENTS
PAGE
The Prairie 1
The Gramophone 4
The Plow 8
The Mothering 12
Hustlin' in My Jeans 15
The Homesteader 20
Vain Suitors 24
God's Signalman 26
Going Home 32
Just Be Glad 38
The Canadian Rockies 40
A Prairie Heroine 42
The Seer 51
The Son of Marquis Noddle 56
The Prodigals 62
The Squad of One 64
Alkali Hall 70
Prairie Born 76
"A Colonial" 81
Little Tim Trotter 84
The Vortex 86
The Old Guard 91
Kid McCann 93
Who Owns the Land? 99
A Race for Life 103
THE PRAIRIE
The City? Oh, yes, the City
Is a good enough place for a while,
It fawns on the clever and witty,
And welcomes the rich with a smile;
It lavishes money as water,
It boasts of its palace and hall,
But the City is only the daughter--
The Prairie is mother of all!
The City is all artificial,
Its life is a fashion-made fraud,
Its wisdom, though learned and judicial,
Is far from the wisdom of God;
Its hope is the hope of ambition,
Its lust is the lust to acquire,
And the larger it grows, its condition
Sinks lower in pestilent mire.
The City is cramped and congested,
The haunt and the covert of crime;
The Prairie is broad, unmolested,
It points to the high and sublime;
Where only the sky is above you
And only the distance in view,
With no one to jostle or shove you--
It's there a man learns to be true!
Where the breeze whispers over the willows
Or sighs in the dew laden grass,
And the rain clouds, like big, stormy billows,
Besprinkle the land as they pass;
With the smudge-fire alight in the distance,
The wild duck alert on the stream,
Where life is a psalm of existence
And opulence only a dream.
Where wide as the plan of creation
The Prairies stretch ever away,
And beckon a broad invitation
To fly to their bosom, and stay;
The prairie fire smell in the gloaming--
The water-wet wind in the spring--
An empire untrod for the roaming--
Ah, this is a life for a king!
When peaceful and pure as a river
They lie in the light of the moon,
You know that the Infinite Giver
Is stringing your spirit a-tune;
That life is not told in the telling,
That death does not whisper adieu,
And deep in your bosom up-welling,
You know that the Promise is true!
To those who have seen it and smelt it,
To those who have loved it alone
To those who have known it and felt it--
The Prairie is ever their own;
And far though they wander, unwary,
Far, far from the breath of the plain,
A thought of the wind on the Prairie
Will set their blood rushing again.
Then you to the City who want it,
Go, grovel its gain-glutted streets,
Be one of the ciphers that haunt it,
Or sit in its opulent seats;
But for me, where the Prairies are reaching
As far as the vision can scan--
Ah, that is the prayer and the preaching
That goes to the heart of a man!
THE GRAMOPHONE
Where the lonely settler's shanty dots the plain,
And he sighs for friends and comradeship in vain,
Through the silences intense
Comes a sound of eloquence
Shrilling forth in steely, brazen, waxen strain--
The deep, resonant voice of Gladstone calling from the tomb,
Or Ingersoll's deliverance before his brother's bier;
Then a saucy someone singing, "When the daisies are in bloom,"
And the fife and drummers rendering "The British Grenadier."
Back as far into the hills as they could get,
They've a roof that turns the winter and the wet,
They are grizzled but | 183.362202 | 808 |
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THE NE'ER-DO-WELL
By REX BEACH
Author of "THE SILVER HORDE" "THE SPOILERS" "THE IRON TRAIL" Etc.
Illustrated
TO
MY WIFE
CONTENTS
I. VICTORY
II. THE TRAIL DIVIDES
III. A GAP
IV. NEW ACQUAINTANCES
V. A REMEDY IS PROPOSED
VI. IN WHICH KIRK ANTHONY IS GREATLY SURPRISED
VII. THE REWARD OF MERIT
VIII. EL COMANDANTE TAKES A HAND
IX. SPANISH LAW
X. A CHANGE OF PLAN
XI. THE TRUTH ABOUT MRS. CORTLANDT
XII. A NIGHT AT TABOGA
XIII. CHIQUITA
XIV. THE PATH THAT LED NOWHERE
XV. ALIAS JEFFERSON LOCKE
XVI. "8838"
XVII. GARAVEL THE BANKER
XVIII. THE SIEGE OF MARIA TORRES
XIX. "LA TOSCA"
XX. AN AWAKENING
XXI. THE REST OF THE FAMILY
XXII. A CHALLENGE AND A CONFESSION
XXIII. A PLOT AND A SACRIFICE
XXIV. A BUSINESS PROPOSITION
XXV. CHECKMATE!
XXVI. THE CRASH
XXVII. A QUESTION
XXVIII. THE ANSWER
XXIX. A LAST APPEAL
XXX. DARWIN K ANTHONY
THE NE'ER-DO-WELL
I
VICTORY
It was a crisp November night. The artificial brilliance of Broadway
was rivalled by a glorious moonlit sky. The first autumn frost was in
the air, and on the side-streets long rows of taxicabs were standing,
their motors blanketed, their chauffeurs threshing their arms to rout
the cold. A few well-bundled cabbies, perched upon old-style hansoms,
were barking at the stream of hurrying pedestrians. Against a
background of lesser lights myriad points of electric signs flashed
into everchanging shapes, winking like huge, distorted eyes; fanciful
designs of liquid fire ran up and down the walls or blazed forth in
lurid colors. From the city's canons came an incessant clanging roar,
as if a great river of brass and steel were grinding its way toward the
sea.
Crowds began to issue from the theatres, and the lines of waiting
vehicles broke up, filling the streets with the whir of machinery and
the clatter of hoofs. A horde of shrill-voiced urchins pierced the
confusion, waving their papers and screaming the football scores at the
tops of their lusty lungs, while above it all rose the hoarse tones of
carriage callers, the commands of traffic officers, and the din of
street-car gongs.
In the lobby of one of the playhouses a woman paused to adjust her
wraps, and, hearing the cries of the newsboys, petulantly exclaimed:
"I'm absolutely sick of football. That performance during the third act
was enough to disgust one."
Her escort smiled. "Oh, you take it too seriously," he said. "Those
boys don't mean anything. That was merely Youth--irrepressible Youth,
on a tear. You wouldn't spoil the fun?"
"It may have been Youth," returned his companion, "but it sounded more
like the end of the world. It was a little too much!"
A bevy of shop-girls came bustling forth from a gallery exit.
"Rah! rah! rah!" they mimicked, whereupon the cry was answered by a
hundred throats as the doors belched forth the football players and
their friends. Out they came, tumbling, pushing, jostling; greeting
scowls and smiles with grins of insolent good-humor. In their hands
were decorated walking-sticks and flags, ragged and tattered as if from
long use in a heavy gale. Dignified old gentlemen dived among them in
pursuit of top-hats; hysterical matrons hustled daughters into
carriages and slammed the doors.
"Wuxtry! Wuxtry!" shrilled the newsboys. "Full account of the big game!"
A youth with a ridiculous little hat and heliotrope socks dashed into
the street, where, facing the crowd, he led a battle song of his
university. Policemen set their shoulders to the mob, but, though they
met with no open resistance, they might as well have tried to dislodge
a thicket of saplings. To-night football was king.
Out through the crowd came a score of deep-chested young men moving
together as if to resist an attack, whereupon a mighty roar went up.
The cheer-leader increased his antics, and the barking yell changed to
a measured chant, to the time of which the army marched down the street
until the twenty athletes dodged in through the revolving doors of a
cafe, leaving Broadway rocking with the tumult.
All the city was football-mad, it seemed, for no sooner had the
new-comers entered the restaurant than the diners rose to wave napkins
or to cheer. Men stepped upon chairs and craned for a better sight of
them; women raised their voices in eager questioning. A gentleman in
evening dress pointed out the leader of the squad to his companions,
explaining:
"That is Anthony--the big chap. He's Darwin K. Anthony's son. You've
heard about the Anthony bill at Albany?"
"Yes, and I saw this fellow play football four years ago. Say! That was
a game."
"He's a worthless sort of chap, isn't he?" remarked one of the women,
when the squad had disappeared up the stairs.
"Just a rich man's son, that's all. But he certainly could play
football."
"Didn't I read that he had been sent to jail recently?"
"No doubt. He was given thirty days."
"What! in PRISON?" questioned another, in a shocked voice.
"Only for speeding. It was his third offence, and his father let him
take his medicine."
"How cruel!"
"Old man Anthony doesn't care for this sort of thing. He's right, too.
All this young fellow is good for is to spend money."
Up in the banquet-hall, however, it was evident that Kirk Anthony was
more highly esteemed by his mates than by the public at large. He was
their hero, in fact, and in a way he deserved it. For three years
before his graduation he had been the heart and sinew of the university
team, and for the four years following he had coached them, preferring
the life of an athletic trainer to the career his father had offered
him. And he had done his chosen work well.
Only three weeks prior to the hard gruel of the great game the eleven
had received a blow that had left its supporters dazed and despairing.
There had been a scandal, of which the public had heard little and the
students scarcely more, resulting in the expulsion of the five best
players of the team. The crisis might have daunted the most resourceful
of men, yet Anthony had proved equal to it. For twenty-one days he had
labored like a real general, spending his nights alone with diagrams
and little dummies on a miniature gridiron, his days in careful
coaching. He had taken a huge, ungainly Nova Scotian lad named Ringold
for centre; he had placed a square-jawed, tow-headed boy from Duluth in
the line; he had selected a high-strung, unseasoned chap, who for two
years had been eating his heart out on the side-lines, and made him
into a quarter-back.
Then he had driven them all with the cruelty of a Cossack captain; and
when at last the dusk of this November day had settled, new football
history had been made. The world had seen a strange team snatch victory
from defeat, and not one of all the thirty thousand onlookers but knew
to whom the credit belonged. It had been a tremendous spectacle, and
when the final whistle blew for the multitude to come roaring down
across the field, the cohorts had paid homage to Kirk Anthony, the
weary coach to whom they knew the honor belonged.
Of course this fervid enthusiasm and hero-worship was all very
immature, very foolish, as the general public acknowledged after it had
taken time to cool off. Yet there was something appealing about it,
after all. At any rate, the press deemed the public sufficiently
interested in the subject to warrant giving it considerable prominence,
and the name of Darwin K. Anthony's son was published far and wide.
Naturally, the newspapers gave the young man's story as well as a
history of the game. They told of his disagreement with his father; of
the Anthony anti-football bill which the old man in his rage had driven
through the legislature and up to the Governor himself. Some of them
even printed a rehash of the railroad man's famous magazine attack on
the modern college, in which he all but cited his own son as an example
of the havoc wrought by present-day university methods. The elder
Anthony's wealth and position made it good copy. The yellow journals
liked it immensely, and, strangely enough, notwithstanding the
positiveness with which the newspapers spoke, the facts agreed
essentially with their statements. Darwin K. Anthony and his son had
quarrelled, they were estranged; the young man did prefer idleness to
industry. Exactly as the published narratives related, he toiled not at
all, he spun nothing but excuses, he arrayed himself in sartorial
glory, and drove a yellow racing-car beyond the speed limit.
It was all true, only incomplete. Kirk Anthony's father had even better
reasons for his disapproval of the young man's behavior than appeared.
The fact was that Kirk's associates were of a sort to worry any
observant parent, and, moreover, he had acquired a renown in that part
of New York lying immediately west of Broadway and north of
Twenty-sixth Street which, in his father's opinion, added not at all to
the lustre of the family name. In particular, Anthony, Sr., was
prejudiced against a certain Higgins, who, of course, was his son's
boon companion, aid, and abettor. This young gentleman was a lean,
horse-faced senior, whose unbroken solemnity of manner had more than
once led strangers to mistake him for a divinity student, though closer
acquaintance proved him wholly unmoral and rattle-brained. Mr. Higgins
possessed a distorted sense of humor and a crooked outlook upon life;
while, so far as had been discovered, he owned but two ambitions: one
to whip a policeman, the other to write a musical comedy. Neither
seemed likely of realization. As for the first, he was narrow-chested
and gangling, while a brief, disastrous experience on the college paper
had furnished a sad commentary upon the second.
Not to exaggerate, Darwin K. Anthony, the father, saw in the person of
Adelbert Higgins a budding criminal of rare precocity, and a menace to
his son; while to the object of his solicitude the aforesaid criminal
was nothing more than an entertaining companion, whose bizarre
disregard of all established rules of right and wrong matched well with
his own careless temper. Higgins, moreover, was an ardent follower of
athletics, revolving like a satellite about the football stars, and
attaching himself especially to Kirk, who was too good-natured to find
fault with an honest admirer.
It was Higgins this evening who, after the "<DW36>s" had deserted and
the supper party had dwindled to perhaps a dozen, proposed to make a
night of it. It was always Higgins who proposed to make a night of it,
and now, as usual, his words were greeted with enthusiasm.
Having obtained the floor, he gazed owlishly over the flushed faces
around the table and said:
"I wish to announce that, in our little journey to the underworld, we
will visit some places of rare interest and educational value. First we
will go to the House of Seven Turnings."
"No poetry, Hig!" some one cried. "What is it?"
"It is merely a rendezvous of pickpockets and thieves, accessible only
to a chosen few. I feel sure you will enjoy yourselves there, for the
bartender has the secret of a remarkable gin fizz, sweeter than a
maiden's smile, more intoxicating than a kiss."
"Piffle!"
"It is a place where the student of sociology can obtain a world of
valuable information."
"How do we get in?"
"Leave that to old Doctor Higgins," Anthony laughed. "To get out is the
difficulty."
"Oh, I guess we'll get out," said the bulky Ringold.
"After we have concluded our investigations at the House of Seven
Turnings," continued the ceremonious Higgins, "we will go to the Palace
of Ebony, where a full <DW64> orchestra--"
"The police closed that a week ago."
"But it has reopened on a scale larger and grander than ever."
"Let's take in the Austrian Village," offered Ringold.
"Patiently! Patiently, Behemoth! We'll take 'em all in. However, I wish
to request one favor. If by any chance I should become embroiled with a
minion of the law, please, oh please, let me finish him."
"Remember the last time," cautioned Anthony. "You've never come home a
winner."
"Enough! Away with painful memories! All in favor--"
"AYE!" yelled the diners, whereupon a stampede ensued that caused the
waiters in the main dining-room below to cease piling chairs upon the
tables and hastily weight their napkins with salt-cellars.
But the crowd was not combative. They poured out upon the street in the
best possible humor, and even at the House of Seven Turnings, as
Higgins had dubbed the "hide-away" on Thirty-second Street, they made
no disturbance. On the contrary, it was altogether too quiet for most
of them, and they soon sought another scene. But there were deserters
en route to the Palace of Ebony, and when in turn the joys of a full
<DW64> orchestra had palled and a course was set for the Austrian
Village, the number of investigators had dwindled to a choice
half-dozen.
These, however, were kindred spirits, veterans of many a midnight
escapade, composing a flying squadron of exactly the right proportions
for the utmost efficiency and mobility combined.
The hour was now past a respectable bedtime and the Tenderloin had
awakened. The roar of commerce had dwindled away, and the comparative
silence was broken only by the clang of an infrequent trolley. The
streets were empty of vehicles, except for a few cabs that followed the
little group persistently. As yet there was no need of them. The crowd
was made up, for the most part, of healthy, full-blooded boys, fresh
from weeks of training, strong of body, and with stomachs like
galvanized iron. They showed scant evidence of intoxication. As for the
weakest member of the party, it had long been known that one drink made
Higgins drunk, and all further libations merely served to maintain him
in status quo. Exhaustive experiments had proved that he was able to
retain consciousness and the power of locomotion until the first streak
of dawn appeared, after which he usually became a burden. For the
present he was amply able to take care of himself, and now, although
his speech was slightly thick, his demeanor was as didactic and severe
as ever, and, save for the vagrant workings of his mind, he might have
passed for a curate. As a whole, the crowd was in fine fettle.
The Austrian Village is a saloon, dance-hall, and all-night restaurant,
flourishing brazenly within a stone's throw of Broadway, and it is
counted one of the sights of the city. Upon entering, one may pass
through a saloon where white-aproned waiters load trays and wrangle
over checks, then into a ball-room filled with the flotsam and jetsam
of midnight Manhattan. Above and around this room runs a white-and-gold
balcony partitioned into boxes; beneath it are many tables separated
from the waxed floor by a railing. Inside the enclosure men in
street-clothes and smartly gowned girls with enormous hats revolve
nightly to the strains of an orchestra which nearly succeeds in
drowning their voices. From the tables come laughter and snatches of
song; waiters dash hither and yon. It is all very animated and gay on
the surface, and none but the closely observant would note the
weariness beneath the women's smiles, the laughter notes that
occasionally jar, or perceive that the tailored gowns are imitations,
the ermines mainly rabbit-skins.
But the eyes of youth are not analytical, and seen through a rosy haze
the sight was inspiriting. The college men selected a table, and,
shouldering the occupants aside without ceremony, seated themselves and
pounded for a waiter.
Padden, the proprietor, came toward them, and, after greeting Anthony
and Higgins by a shake of his left hand, ducked his round gray head in
acknowledgment of an introduction to the others.
"Excuse my right," said he, displaying a swollen hand criss-crossed
with surgeon's plaster. "A fellow got noisy last night."
"D'jou hit him?" queried Higgins, gazing with interest at the
proprietor's knuckles.
"Yes. I swung for his jaw and went high. Teeth--" Mr. Padden said,
vaguely. He turned a shrewd eye upon Anthony. "I heard about the game
to-day. That was all right."
Kirk grinned boyishly. "I didn't have much to do with it; these are the
fellows."
"Don't believe him," interrupted Ringold.
"Sure! he's too modest," Higgins chimed in. "Fine fellow an' all that,
understand, but he's got two faults--he's modest and he's lazy. He's
caused a lot of uneasiness to his father and me. Father's a fine man,
too." He nodded his long, narrow head solemnly.
"We know who did the trick for us," added Anderson, the straw-haired
half-back.
"Glad you dropped in," Mr | 183.776414 | 809 |
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Produced by Fritz Ohrenschall, Emmanuel Ackerman and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
AVICENA’S OFFERING
_to the_
PRINCE
«E l’anima umana la qual è colla nobiltà della
potenzia ultima, cioè ragione, participa della
divina natura a guisa di sempiterna Intelligenza;
perocchè l’anima è tanto in quella sovrana potenzia
nobilitata, e dinudata da materia, che la divina
luce, come in Angiolo, raggia in quella; e però è
l’uomo divino animale da’ Filosofi chiamato.»[1]
(=Dante=, _Convito_, III, 2.)
STAMPERIA DI NICOLA PADERNO
_S. Salvatore Corte Regia, 10_
VERONA, ITALIA
A
COMPENDIUM
ON THE
SOUL,
BY
_Abû-'Aly al-Husayn Ibn 'Abdallah Ibn Sînâ:_
TRANSLATED, FROM THE ARABIC ORIGINAL,
BY
EDWARD ABBOTT van DYCK,
WITH
Grateful Acknowledgement of the Substantial Help
OBTAINED
From Dr. S. Landauer’s Concise German Translation,
AND FROM
James Middleton
MacDonald’s Literal English Translation;
AND
PRINTED
AT
_VERONA, ITALY, in THE YEAR 1906_,
For the Use of Pupils and Students of Government Schools
IN
_Cairo, Egypt_.
PREFACE
| 183.867361 | 810 |
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Produced by David Widger
MEMOIRS OF JACQUES CASANOVA de SEINGALT 1725-1798
THE ETERNAL QUEST, Volume 3d--SWITZERLAND
THE RARE UNABRIDGED LONDON EDITION OF 1894 TRANSLATED BY ARTHUR MACHEN TO
WHICH HAS BEEN ADDED THE CHAPTERS DISCOVERED BY ARTHUR SYMONS.
THE ETERNAL QUEST
SWITZERLAND
CHAPTER XIII
I Resolve to Become a Monk--I go to Confession--Delay of a
Fortnight--Giustiniani, the Apostle Capuchin--I Alter my Mind; My
Reasons--My Pranks at the Inn--I Dine With the Abbot
The cool way in which the abbot told these cock-and-bull stories gave me
an inclination to laughter, which the holiness of the place and the laws
of politeness had much difficulty in restraining. All the same I listened
with such an attentive air that his reverence was delighted with me and
asked where I was staying.
"Nowhere," said I; "I came from Zurich on foot, and my first visit was to
your church."
I do not know whether I pronounced these words with an air of
compunction, but the abbot joined his hands and lifted them to heaven, as
if to thank God for touching my heart and bringing me there to lay down
the burden of my sins. I have no doubt that these were his thoughts, as I
have always had the look of a great sinner.
The abbot said it was near noon and that he hoped I would do him the
honour of dining with him, and I accepted with pleasure, for I had had
nothing to eat and I knew that there is usually good cheer in such
places. I did not know where I was and I did not care to ask, being
willing to leave him under the impression that I was a pilgrim come to
expiate my sins.
On our way from the church the abbot told me that his monks were fasting,
but that we should eat meat in virtue of a dispensation he had received
from Benedict XIV., which allowed him to eat meat all the year round with
his guests. I replied that I would join him all the more willingly as the
Holy Father had given me a similar dispensation. This seemed to excite
his curiosity about myself, and when we got to his room, which did not
look the cell of a penitent, he hastened to shew me the brief, which he
had framed and glazed and hung up opposite the table so that the curious
and scrupulous might have it in full view.
As the table was only laid for two, a servant in full livery came in and
brought another cover; and the humble abbot then told me that he usually
had his chancellor with him at dinner, "for," said he, "I have a
chancery, since as abbot of Our Lady of Einsiedel I am a prince of the
Holy Roman Empire."
This was a relief to me, as I now knew where I was, and I no longer ran
the risk of shewing my ignorance in the course of conversation.
This monastery (of which I had heard before) was the Loretto of the
Mountains, and was famous for the number of pilgrims who resorted to it.
In the course of dinner the prince--abbot asked me where I came from, if
I were married, if I intended to make a tour of Switzerland, adding that
he should be glad to give me letters of introduction. I replied that I
was a Venetian, a bachelor, and that I should be glad to accept the
letters of introduction he had kindly offered me, after I had had a
private conference with him, in which I desired to take his advice on my
conscience.
Thus, without premeditation, and scarcely knowing what I was saying, I
engaged to confess to the abbot.
This was my way. Whenever I obeyed a spontaneous impulse, whenever I did
anything of a sudden, I thought I was following the laws of my destiny,
and yielding to a supreme will. When I had thus plainly intimated to him
that he was to be my confessor, he felt obliged to speak with religious
fervour, and his discourses seemed tolerable enough during a delicate and
appetising repast, for we had snipe and woodcock; which made me
exclaim,--
"What! game like that at this time of year?"
"It's a secret," said he, with a pleased smile, "which I shall be glad to
communicate to you."
The abbot was a man of taste, for though he affected sobriety he had the
choicest wines and the most delicious dishes on the | 183.997839 | 811 |
2023-11-16 18:18:50.7795180 | 407 | 122 | AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION, VOL. 10, NO. 288, SUPPLEMENTARY NUMBER***
E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram, Terry Gilliland, David Garcia, and the
Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustration.
See 11326-h.htm or 11326-h.zip:
(http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/1/1/3/2/11326/11326-h/11326-h.htm)
or
(http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/1/1/3/2/11326/11326-h.zip)
THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.
VOL. 10, No. 288.] SUPPLEMENTARY NUMBER. [PRICE 2d.
* * * * *
The Return of a Victorious Armament to a Greek City.
[Illustration: The Return of a Victorious Armament to a Greek City.]
SPIRIT OF "THE ANNUALS" FOR 1828.
Our readers have annually anticipated a high treat from this splendid
intellectual banquet, served up by some of the master[1] spirits of
the age.
[1] We hope this epithet will not be considered ungallant--for, to
say the truth, the _ladies_ have contributed the best poetical
portion of the feast. This display of female talent has
increased in brilliancy year after year: and the _Lords_ should
look to it.
We doubt whether the comparison is refined enough for the fair
authoresses; but our fancy has led us to class their contributions to
the present feast as follow:--
_Hock--Champagne_, (_Still and Sparkling_.)
L.E.L.
Hood.
_B | 184.098928 | 812 |
2023-11-16 18:18:50.8285750 | 1,102 | 425 |
Produced by Delphine Lettau and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net
[Illustration: ALFIERI AND THE COUNTESS OF ALBANY
_From the original portrait in the possession of the Marchesa A.
Alfieri de Sostegno_]
THE COUNTESS
OF ALBANY
BY
VERNON LEE
WITH PORTRAITS
LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD
NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY. MCMX
SECOND EDITION
Printed by BALLANTYNE AND CO. LIMITED
Tavistock Street, Covent Garden, London
TO THE MEMORY OF MY FRIEND
MADAME JOHN MEYER,
I DEDICATE THIS VOLUME,
SO OFTEN AND SO LATELY TALKED OVER TOGETHER,
IN GRATEFUL AND AFFECTIONATE REGRET.
PREFACE
In preparing this volume on the Countess of Albany (which I consider as
a kind of completion of my previous studies of eighteenth-century
Italy), I have availed myself largely of Baron Alfred von Reumont's
large work _Die Graefin von Albany_ (published in 1862); and of the
monograph, itself partially founded on the foregoing, of M. St. Rene
Taillandier, entitled _La Comtesse d'Albany_, published in Paris in
1862. Baron von Reumont's two volumes, written twenty years ago and when
the generation which had come into personal contact with the Countess of
Albany had not yet entirely died out; and M. St. Rene Taillandier's
volume, which embodied the result of his researches into the archives of
the Musee Fabre at Montpellier; might naturally be expected to have
exhausted all the information obtainable about the subject of their and
my studies. This has proved to be the case very much less than might
have been anticipated. The publication, by Jacopo Bernardi and Carlo
Milanesi, of a number of letters of Alfieri to Sienese friends, has
afforded me an insight into Alfieri's character and his relations with
the Countess of Albany such as was unattainable to Baron von Reumont and
to M. St. Rene Taillandier. The examination, by myself and my friend
Signor Mario Pratesi, of several hundreds of MS. letters of the Countess
of Albany existing in public and private archives at Siena and at
Milan, has added an important amount of what I may call psychological
detail, overlooked by Baron von Reumont and unguessed by M. St. Rene
Taillandier. I have, therefore, I trust, been able to reconstruct the
Countess of Albany's spiritual likeness during the period--that of her
early connection with Alfieri--which my predecessors have been satisfied
to despatch in comparatively few pages, counterbalancing the thinness of
this portion of their biographies by a degree of detail concerning the
Countess's latter years, and the friends with whom she then corresponded,
which, however interesting, cannot be considered as vital to the real
subject of their works.
Besides the volumes of Baron von Reumont and M. St. Rene Taillandier, I
have depended mainly upon Alfieri's autobiography, edited by Professor
Teza, and supplemented by Bernardi's and Milanesi's _Lettere di Vittorio
Alfieri_, published by Le Monnier in 1862. Among English books that I
have put under contribution, I may mention Klose's _Memoirs of Prince
Charles Edward Stuart_ (Colburn, 1845), Ewald's _Life and Times of
Prince Charles Stuart_ (Chapman and Hall, 1875), and Sir Horace Mann's
_Letters to Walpole_, edited by Dr. Doran. A review, variously
attributed to Lockhart and to Dennistoun, in the _Quarterly_ for 1847,
has been all the more useful to me as I have been unable to procure,
writing in Italy, the _Tales of the Century_, of which that paper gives
a masterly account.
For various details I must refer to Charles Dutens' _Memoires d'un
Voyageur qui se repose_ (Paris, 1806); to Silvagni's _La Corte e la
Societa Romana nel secolo XVIII._; to Foscolo's _Correspondence_, Gino
Capponi's _Ricordi_ and those of d'Azeglio; to Giordani's works and
Benassu Montanari's _Life of Ippolito Pindemonti_, besides the books
quoted by Baron Reumont; and for what I may call the general pervading
historical colouring (if indeed I have succeeded in giving any) of the
background against which I have tried to sketch the Countess of Albany,
Charles Edward and Alfieri, I can only refer generally to what is
now a vague mass of detail accumulated | 184.147985 | 813 |
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Produced by Robert J. Hall
MANUAL FOR NONCOMMISSIONED OFFICERS AND PRIVATES OF INFANTRY OF
THE ARMY OF THE UNITED STATES
1917
To be used by Engineer companies (dismounted) and Coast Artillery
companies for Infantry instruction and training.
WAR DEPARTMENT Document No. 574 OFFICE OF THE ADJUTANT GENERAL
WAR DEPARTMENT,
WASHINGTON, _April_14,_1917._
The following Manual for Noncommissioned Officers and Privates
of Infantry of the Army of the United States is approved and
herewith published for the information and government of all
concerned.
This manual will also be used by Engineer companies (dismounted)
and Coast Artillery companies in connection with Infantry instruction
and training prescribed by the War Department.
By ORDER OF THE SECRETARY OF WAR:
H. L. SCOTT,
_Major_General,_Chief_of_Staff._
OFFICIAL:
H. P. McCAIN.
_The_Adjutant_General._
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. MILITARY DISCIPLINE AND COURTESY
Section 1. Oath of enlistment
Section 2. Obedience
Section 3. Loyalty
Section 4. Discipline
Section 5. Military courtesy
Section 6. Saluting
Section 7. Rules governing saluting
Section 8. Courtesies in conversation
CHAPTER II. ARMS, UNIFORMS, AND EQUIPMENT
Section 1. The rifle
Section 2. Care of the rifle
Section 3. Cleaning the rifle
Section 4. Uniforms
Section 5. The service kit
Section 6. The surplus kit
Section 7. Assembling Infantry equipment
CHAPTER III. RATIONS AND FORAGE
Section 1. The ration
Section 2. Individual cooking
Section 3. The forage ration
CHAPTER IV. PERSONAL HYGIENE AND CARE OF THE FEET
CHAPTER V. EXTRACTS FROM INFANTRY DRILL REGULATIONS, 1911
Section l. Definitions
Section 2. Introduction
Section 3. Orders, commands, and signals
Section 4. School of the soldier
Section 5. School of the squad
Section 6. School of the company
Section 7. Company inspection
Section 8. Manual of tent pitching
Section 9. Manual of the bayonet
CHAPTER VI. FIELD SERVICE
Section 1. Principles of Infantry training
Section 2. Combat
Section 3. Patrolling
Section 4. Advance guards
Section 5. Rear guards
Section 6. Flank guards
Section 7. Outposts
Section 8. Rifle trenches
CHAPTER VII. MARCHING AND CAMPING
Section 1. Breaking camp and preparation for a march
Section 2. Marching
Section 3. Making camp
Section 4. Camp services and duties
CHAPTER VIII. TARGET PRACTICE
Section 1. Preliminary training in marksmanship
Section 2. Sight adjustment
Section 3. Table of sight corrections
Section 4. Aiming
Section 5. Battle sight
Section 6. Trigger squeeze
Section 7. Firing positions
Section 8. Calling the shot
Section 9. Coordination
Section 10. Advice to riflemen
Section 11. The course in small-arms firing
Section 12. Targets
Section 13. Pistol and revolver practice
CHAPTER IX. EXTRACTS PROM MANUAL OF INTERIOR GUARD DUTY
Section 1. Introduction
Section 2. Classification of interior guilds
Section 3. Details and rosters
Section 4. Commander of the guard
Section 5. Sergeant of the guard
Section 6. Corporal of the guard
Section 7. Musicians of the guard
Section 8. Orderlies and color sentinels
Section 9. Privates of the guard
Section 10. Orders for sentinels
Section 11. Countersigns and paroles
Section 12. Guard patrols
Section 13. Watchmen
Section 14. Compliments from guards
Section 15. Prisoners
Section 16. Guarding prisoners
Section 17. Flags
Section 18. Reveille and retreat gun
Section 19. Guard mounting
Section 20. Formal guard mounting for Infantry
Section 21. Informal guard mounting for Infantry
Section 22. Relieving the old guard
CHAPTER X. MAP READING AND SKETCHING
Section 1. Military map reading
Section 2. Sketching
CHAPTER XI. MESSAGE BLANKS
CHAPTER XII. SIGNALS AND CODES
CHAPTER XIII. FIRST-A | 184.327616 | 814 |
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Produced by Darleen Dove, Roger Frank and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
JOAN OF ARC
The Warrior Maid
By Lucy Foster Madison
author of "The Peggy Owen Books"
With Illustrations & Decorations by
Frank E Schoonover
The Penn Publishing Company
Philadelphia
1919
COPYRIGHT 1918 BY
THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY
Joan of Arc
[Illustration: THE WARRIOR MAID]
INTRODUCTION
In presenting this story for the young the writer has endeavored to give
a vivid and accurate life of Jeanne D'Arc (Joan of Arc) as simply told as
possible. There has been no pretence toward keeping to the speech of the
Fifteenth Century, which is too archaic to be rendered literally for
young readers, although for the most part the words of the Maid have been
given verbatim.
The name of this wonderful girl has been variously written. In the
Fifteenth Century the name of the beloved disciple was preferred for
children above all others; so we find numerous Jeans and Jeannes. To
render these holy names more in keeping with the helplessness of little
ones the diminutive forms of Jeannot and Jeannette were given them. So
this girl was named Jeannette, or Jehannette in the old spelling, and so
she was called in her native village. By her own account this was changed
to Jeanne when she came into France. The English translation of Jeanne
D'Arc is Joan of Arc; more properly it should be Joanna. Because it seems
more beautiful to her than the others the writer has retained the name of
Jeanne in her narrative.
It is a mooted question | 184.541003 | 815 |
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Produced by Louise Hope, Feorag Nicbhride and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Transcriber's Note:
Spelling and punctuation are as in the original text, except for clear
typographic errors. These are noted at the end of the e-text, along with
problems in Greek transcription.
Characters that could not be represented in the latin-1 character set
are shown as:
[oe] oe ligature
[e,] "e caudata": equivalent to ae or ae
[~u] [~e] vowel with circumflex (also a and o) = following m or n
Greek has been transliterated and shown between +marks+.]
* * * * *
A
Treatise of Witchcraft.
Wherein sundry Propositions are laid
downe, plainely discouering the wickednesse of that
damnable Art, with diuerse other speciall points
annexed, not impertinent to the same, such as ought
diligently of euery Christian to be considered.
_With a true Narration of the Witch-crafts_
which _Mary Smith_, wife of _Henry Smith_ Glouer,
did practise: Of her contract vocally made between the
Deuill and her, in solemne termes, by whose meanes she hurt
sundry persons whom she enuied: Which is confirmed
by her owne confession, and also from the publique Records
of the Examination of diuerse vpon their oathes: And
_lastly, of her death and execution, for the same;_
_which was on the twelfth day of Ianuarie_
_last past_.
By ALEXANDER ROBERTS B.D. and Preacher of Gods
Word at _Kings-Linne_ in _Norffolke_.
EXOD. 22. 18.
_Thou shalt not suffer a Witch to liue._
Impium est a nos illis esse Remissos, quos c[oe]lestis Pietas,
Non Patitur impunitos: Alarus Rex apud Cassiodorum.
_LONDON_,
Printed by N.O. for SAMVEL MAN, and are to be sold at his
Shop in Pauls Church-yard at the signe of the Ball.
1616.
* * * * *
* * * * *
* * * * *
¶ To the right Worshipful Maister
_Iohn Atkin Maior, the Recorder_
and Aldermen, and to the Common
Counsaile, Burgesses and Inhabitants of
_Kings Linne in Norffolke_,
Grace and Peace.
_Right Worshipfull_:
In these last dayes, and perillous times, among the rest of those
dreadfull euills, which are fore-told should abound[a] in them, a close
& disguised contempt of religion may be iustly accounted as chiefe,
which causeth and bringeth vpon men all disastrous effects, when
although it be shadowed with a beautifull Maske of holines, faire
tongued: yet false-harted,[b] _professing they know God, but in works
deny him_. And among these there be two especiall sorts; the one, who
entertaining a stubborne, and curious rash boldnes, striue by the
iudgem[~e]t of reason, to search ouer-deeply into the knowledge of those
things which are farre aboue the reach of any humane capacitie. And so
making shipwracke in this deep and vnfoundable Sea, ouerwhelme
themselues in the gulfe thereof. The other kind is more sottish, dull,
and of a slow wit, and therefore ouer-credulous, beleeuing euerie thing,
especially when they be carried by the violent tempest of their desires,
and other vngouerned affections; and among these the diuell vsually
spreadeth his netts, as assured of a prey, wayting closely if hee can
espie any, who either grow discontented and desperate, through want and
pouerty, or be exasperated with a wrathfull and vnruly passion of | 184.585381 | 816 |
2023-11-16 18:18:51.3519630 | 395 | 83 |
Transcribed from the 1815 R. Thomas edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
[Picture: Public domain book cover]
THE
_SPEEDY APPEARANCE_
OF
CHRIST
DESIRED BY THE CHURCH.
_BEING THE SUBSTANCE OF A_
Sermon,
PREACHED ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND,
_August_ 27, 1815.
* * * * *
BY J. CHURCH,
MINISTER OF THE GOSPEL, SURREY TABERNACLE.
[Picture: Decorative divider]
It shall be said in that day, lo, we have waited for him, he will
save
us.—_Isaiah_ xxv, 9.
Even so come, LORD JESUS—Rev. xxii, 20.
* * * * *
Southwark:
PRINTED BY R. THOMAS, RED LION STREET, BOROUGH.
* * * * *
A SERMON.
SOL. SONG, 8th Chap. last Verse.
_Make haste_, _my Beloved_, _and be thou like to a Roe_, _or a young_
_Hart upon the Mountains of Spices_.
THIS divine Poem, is designed by the Holy Spirit, to exhibit the love of
God our dear Saviour, to his chosen people, with all the happy
consequences of that eternal affection. The whole book is full of
Christ, as the all in all of the Church, which he has purchased with his
blood—the union subsisting between the elect head and chosen body. What
Christ is to them, and they are to him, is strikingly set forth by many
well-known metaphors. | 184.671373 | 817 |
2023-11-16 18:18:51.4984900 | 1,160 | 392 |
Produced by Martin Adamson. HTML version by Al Haines.
GHOSTS
A Domestic Tragedy in Three Acts
by
Henrik Ibsen
Translated by R. Farquharson Sharp
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
Mrs. Alving (a widow).
Oswald Alving (her son, an artist).
Manders (the Pastor of the parish).
Engstrand (a carpenter).
Regina Engstrand (his daughter, in Mrs Alving's service).
(The action takes place at Mrs Alving's house on one of the larger
fjords of Western Norway.)
GHOSTS
ACT I
(SCENE.--A large room looking upon a garden door in the left-hand wall,
and two in the right. In the middle of the room, a round table with
chairs set about it, and books, magazines and newspapers upon it. In
the foreground on the left, a window, by which is a small sofa with a
work-table in front of it. At the back the room opens into a
conservatory rather smaller than the room. From the right-hand side of
this, a door leads to the garden. Through the large panes of glass that
form the outer wall of the conservatory, a gloomy fjord landscape can
be discerned, half-obscured by steady rain.
ENGSTRAND is standing close to the garden door. His left leg is
slightly deformed, and he wears a boot with a clump of wood under the
sole. REGINA, with an empty garden-syringe in her hand, is trying to
prevent his coming in.)
Regina (below her breath). What is it you want? Stay where you are. The
rain is dripping off you.
Engstrand. God's good rain, my girl.
Regina. The Devil's own rain, that's what it is!
Engstrand. Lord, how you talk, Regina. (Takes a few limping steps
forward.) What I wanted to tell you was this--
Regina. Don't clump about like that, stupid! The young master is lying
asleep upstairs.
Engstrand. Asleep still? In the middle of the day?
Regina. Well, it's no business of yours.
Engstrand. I was out on a spree last night--
Regina. I don't doubt it.
Engstrand. Yes, we are poor weak mortals, my girl--
Regina. We are indeed.
Engstrand. --and the temptations of the world are manifold, you
know--but, for all that, here I was at my work at half-past five this
morning.
Regina. Yes, yes, but make yourself scarce now. I am not going to stand
here as if I had a rendezvous with you.
Engstrand. As if you had a what?
Regina. I am not going to have anyone find you here; so now you know,
and you can go.
Engstrand (coming a few steps nearer). Not a bit of it! Not before we
have had a little chat. This afternoon I shall have finished my job
down at the school house, and I shall be off home to town by tonight's
boat.
Regina (mutters). Pleasant journey to you!
Engstrand. Thanks, my girl. Tomorrow is the opening of the Orphanage,
and I expect there will be a fine kick-up here and plenty of good
strong drink, don't you know. And no one shall say of Jacob Engstrand
that he can't hold off when temptation comes in his way.
Regina. Oho!
Engstrand. Yes, because there will be a lot of fine folk here tomorrow.
Parson Manders is expected from town, too.
Regina: What's more, he's coming today.
Engstrand. There you are! And I'm going to be precious careful he
doesn't have anything to say against me, do you see?
Regina. Oh, that's your game, is it?
Engstrand. What do you mean?
Regina (with a significant look at him). What is it you want to humbug
Mr. Manders out of this time?
Engstrand. Sh! Sh! Are you crazy? Do you suppose I would want to humbug
Mr. Manders? No, no--Mr. Manders has always been too kind a friend for
me to do that. But what I wanted to talk to you about, was my going
back home tonight.
Regina. The sooner you go, the better I shall be pleased.
Engstrand. Yes, only I want to take you with me, Regina.
Regina (open-mouthed). You want to take me--? What did you say?
Engstrand. I want to take you home with me, I said.
Regina (contemptuously). You will never get me home with you.
Engstrand. Ah, we shall see about that.
Regina. Yes, you can be quite certain we shall see about that. I, who
have been brought up by a lady like Mrs. Alving?--I, who have been
treated almost as if I were her own child?--do you suppose I am going
home with you?--to such a house as yours? Not likely!
Engstrand. What the devil do you mean? Are you setting yourself up
against your father, you hussy?
Regina (mutters, without looking at him). You have often told me I was
none of yours | 184.8179 | 818 |
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Produced by Chris Curnow, Katherine Becker, Lindy Walsh
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.]
The children were of gentle birth, too; that was evident from the
quality of their clothes, which were of the finest and best, and | 184.988202 | 819 |
2023-11-16 18:18:51.7592250 | 4,082 | 31 |
Produced by Chris Curnow, Harry Lamé and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive.)
Transcriber’s Notes
Words printed in italics in the original work have been transcribed
between underscores: _text_. Small capitals have been transcribed as
CAPITALS. More transcriber’s notes may be found at the end of this
text.
THE AGONY COLUMN
OF THE “TIMES”
1800-1870
_WITH AN INTRODUCTION_
EDITED BY ALICE CLAY
[Illustration]
London
CHATTO AND WINDUS, PICCADILLY
1881
[_All rights reserved_]
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES.
INTRODUCTION.
THE contents of the little volume now presented to the public have been
taken from the second column (commonly called the “Agony Column”) of the
_Times_ newspaper, from the commencement of the present century to the
end of the year 1870.
Readers of newspapers (more especially of the _Times_) cannot fail to be
struck by the mysterious communications which daily appear, and I
venture to hope my selection of some of the most remarkable may interest
those who peruse these pages.
Most of the advertisements selected show a curious phase of life,
interesting to an observer of human existence and human eccentricities.
They are veiled in an air of mystery, with a view of blinding the
general public, but at the same time give a clue unmistakable to those
for whom they were intended.
At the early period of 1800 the “Agony Column” seems to have been the
chief medium for matrimonial advertisements; but, unfortunately, we are
left considerably in the dark, and our curiosity as to whether the young
nobleman (in advertisement No. 2) eventually married the unknown
“Catholic widow” is not gratified; but we do learn something, namely,
that love at first sight was not so rare in those days as it is supposed
to be in the present unromantic age.
There is little doubt that lovers separated by unfortunate
circumstances, or by angry parents, as well as bachelors meditating
matrimony, have found in the “Agony Column” a safe means of secret
correspondence. With what despair did “One-winged Dove” (advertisement
No. 214) beseech her lover, the “Crane,” to return to her! Sorely must
her patience have been tried as she scanned the paper in vain day after
day for four months. The answer came at last (advertisements No. 234 and
235), but only to kill every hope.
I do not know how this portion of the _Times_ newspaper came to be
called the “Agony Column;” but when we read advertisements like the one
quoted above, and which is only one in a hundred, I think all my readers
will agree that it is an unquestionably appropriate name.
Through our daily walk in life we brush up against millions of
fellow-men, yet of how few amongst them do we know anything? We each
live in a world of our own; we draw a circle, as it were, around us,
within which centre all our interests. How lightly our feelings are
touched by what happens outside our circle is shown by the exclamation
that escapes our lips as we read a fresh tragedy in the daily papers.
The actors in it are unknown to us, and in a moment or two the paper is
laid aside with a smile on our lips--the news that blighted many lives
forgotten! But if it comes within the charmed circle, how different our
feelings!
On the other hand, how very little we know of the inner or deeper life
of even those in our own little world. Romances, stranger than fiction,
happen under our very eyes, and we do not see them. With hearts that are
breaking men and women can go through the duties of every-day life,
wearing calm and even smiling faces. He knew human nature well who
wrote--
“Broken hearts are dumb--or smile.”
What is there to tell us that such smiles are only on the surface?
Nothing. So, is it not possible that the very advertisement that
appealed to our feelings in the day’s paper may have been inserted by
some one living under the same roof with us!
We find some of the pseudonyms used by the advertisers are very
transparent disguises, for instance, “Bocaj” (advertisements No. 355 and
363), read backwards, is simply Jacob. What an insight we get here into
the writer’s character. No one possessing a sly, crafty nature would
have dictated an alias so apparent.
Many others are of the same transparent nature. In some cases numbers
have been substituted for the letters of the alphabet, and are easily
deciphered. Take, for example, advertisement No. 1561, which reads, “Z.
Y. R. Let me send correspondence with rector of college; it will
explain how things stand. I go abroad next month.”
In some advertisements the alphabet is slightly altered. Instead of
reading the letter B as printed, read C. Thus, “head” would read “if
be.” An advertisement of this description is found on June 23rd, 1864
(No. 1387)--“Alexander Rochfort reported dead. I saw you yesterday.
Moate vainly searched ten years.” The same rule applies to advertisement
No. 1454, the meaning of which is, “Bone to first joint taken out
yesterday--chloroform--régimes alone prevented me fulfilling my promise
to you--Myosotis--May 3rd.”
In advertisements No. 1701 and 1705 the alphabet is again altered, and
this time more ingeniously. Instead of the letter written supply the
second following. Thus we read in the first, “Umbrella. Dear Fanny, meet
your distracted friend beneath the willow by the lake. Row under the
stars. Common sea-breezes. Feather-weight. Yours, Bicycle.” The
advertisement preceding it is most intricate, and reads, “Wrote you
to-day. Will the letter ever reach. Love beyond telling, purely and
true. Inraptured (_sic_) with love, darling. No sleep that night.” The
spelling of this is so incorrect that it was most probably inserted by
an illiterate individual. Advertisements No. 1247, 1248, 1249, 1250 are
all from the same source, and the writers have very cleverly transposed
the whole alphabet. My readers will find that they have begun their
alphabet at the letter L. Thus L reads A; M, B; N, C, and so on through
the twenty-six letters. For example, we read in advertisement No. 1247,
“On Tuesday I sent letter to Byrne for you. May I speak fully on all
matters at the interview? It may do good. Trust to my love. I am
miserable. When may I go to Canterbury, if only to look at you?”
In advertisements No. 1650, 1651, 1660, 1666, 1670, 1680, 1681, 1696,
1697, 1698, 1702, and 1703 we go back to the simpler style of disguise,
namely, that of reading the letter that follows the one written.
Advertisement No. 1650 consequently reads, “O. Y. is ill. Do not like to
leave yet. How long notice would you want? Very kind thoughts.”
Frankenstein, in advertisements 1734, 1735, 1739, and 1747, has chosen a
disguise so clever and deep that I do not think his communications would
be easily detected; and for those of my readers who possess only a small
amount of patience and a large amount of curiosity, I give the
translation of the first of them.
“Three, four, five, six, yes to all, be cautious anywhere even in German
in case of seizure or stoppage, omit signature W for the present, twig
for safety any letter to me, safe here, trust me, I will never give you
up, never darling, put plenty of love in your letters.”
No. 1764 and 1765 are very much of the same description--clever, deep,
and remarkable for the same want of method in transposing the alphabet,
and when read are worthy of the cunning nature that devised such a
disguise. As the translation is a very tedious business and would
require a large amount of patience and perseverance I give them both:
No. 1764--“Very vexed at angry part of your letter. Why not take
interest in your appearance? Heiress be damned. Have more trust. Shall
always remain as usual yours only. V.” No. 1765--“On prowl and near
game. Party scrofulous but got the brass. Parker!! Family very soft and
come from Leeds. Make inquiries. Trust is broken reed ready wanted to
swagger withal (_sic_). Help Jones usually. V.”
Advertisement No. 1731 is equally mysterious and clever; the alphabet
commences at the letter N as in advertisement No. 1247, but is rendered
more obscure by the use of capital letters, and after having deciphered
the letters the sentence has to be divided into words; my readers will
then find it reads thus: “You only till death letter for you Sunday
night.”
I think after all the examples I have given that no one will have much
difficulty in deciphering for themselves advertisements No. 1762 and
1767 in which “Nellie” addressed herself to “Darling Alf.” Any
construction might be put on her simple message, but “I will be at the
Great Western Hotel at six on Wednesday” gives one the idea of a runaway
match, and this idea seems to be confirmed in the second advertisement,
No. 1767, in which she says, “Everything sacred as the grave” (query,
did she not mean silent?), and asks for £5 to defray expenses.
We come across a somewhat curious case in advertisements No. 694, 702,
708, 710, 713, and 715: a young lady, evidently in love, and separated
from the object of her affections, wrote to the “Agony Column” under the
name of “Puisque” (No. 694); she received no answer, so advertised again
twice (No. 702 and 708), and was evidently under a strong impression
that her lover was suffering from illness. After a few days an answer
appeared, headed “Puisque” (710), but the writer desired her to
advertise again, addressing her correspondent by his own initials. We
find in advertisement No. 713 that the lady suspected the fraud, and
then her genuine lover advertised (715) to tell her that the former one
(710) had not been inserted by him. There is little doubt that some one
interested in keeping them apart had detected the advertisement, and
under the common impression that “all is fair in love and war” had laid
aside all scruples--if he or she ever possessed any--to serve his or her
own ends. This is not the only case of mistaken identity; we find in
advertisement No. 1065 that the writer was in doubt as to whether the
one he was answering was intended for him or not.
After a very careful investigation I think the romantic pair who
advertised for some time under the disguise of “Does he repent”
(advertisements No. 923, 924, 925, and 926) were either found out or
afraid of detection, as they altered their names twice; the first time
to “Rose” and “Weed,” and again to “Blue bell” and “Lochinvar”
(advertisements No. 962 and 963). “Constantia” also appears to have had
a part in this plot (advertisement No. 969); probably she played the
part of “go-between.” Advertisements No. 1181, 1183, and one or two
others are quite legible when read backwards.
After the number of sentimental advertisements, which certainly form the
greater number in the Agony Column, it is rather a relief to find a few
ludicrous specimens, such as “Jolly to Rummy” (advertisement No. 1166);
“Portmanteau to Pack” (advertisement No. 1180); “Little Silly”
(advertisement No. 1216); “He has sneezed, etc.” (No. 1258); and a
splendid antidote to all sentimentality is expressed in the sarcasm of
advertisement No. 1237: “Fred. All right. I sympathize with your pain,
but why not seek consolation where you cannot find it, and in a way that
pains me? Write as usual. Trust Ever.”
Amongst the number of advertisements that I have passed over in silence
there are many, I have little doubt, that might be classed under the
head of stratagems, that is to say, they are inserted with a view of
deceiving those to whom they are addressed. For instance, how often do
we read nowadays: “John Smith will hear something to his advantage if he
applies in person to Tom Jones, Brown Street.” But in all probability
the same said John Smith will find that if he gratifies his curiosity by
visiting Mr. Jones at the place named, in the hope of finding a fortune
has been left to him, he will find it would have been decidedly more to
his advantage had he suppressed his curiosity and remained at home.
Nor is a hoax by any means an uncommon thing in the “Agony Column.”
There is a story--American, of course--of a man whose wife deserted him;
but instead of running after her and begging her to come back, he
published in the leading daily paper that he had drawn fifty thousand
dollars in the lottery; and the story goes that she returned
immediately. Needless to state that the prize in the lottery only
existed in the ingenious man’s imagination.
Lastly, I must draw the attention of my readers to the two most
remarkable series of advertisements, in my opinion, that have appeared
during the present century, though I feel sure that all who honour my
pages with a careful perusal will not fail to notice them without any
remark of mine.
The first series are those signed with the initials E. W., then E. J.
W., and latterly with the writer’s full address--E. J. Wilson, Ennis,
Ireland. His advertisements are headed by such a variety of names that,
at first sight, we are apt to be misled, and do not think of connecting
the writer of “Rouge et Noir” with that of “Indigo Blue” or “To the
Equator.” Nevertheless they are all from the same source, as well as
those headed “The Writer of the Anonymous Letter,” “Battledore and
Shuttlecock,” “Flybynight,” “Egypte,” “Anchor,” “Circumspice,” “Au
Simulacre,” “Decimals to Cheops,” “To Contre Coup,” “Tribe,” “Two
Hundred Pounds Reward,” “Nicht eine Million,” “Nicht Zwei Millonen,”
“Double Fin,” “Leb! Wohl,” “Poverty and Honour,” “Spurs and Skirts,” “A
La Croix Rouge,” “To the Counterfeit,” “Alpha the First,” “To St.
James,” “The Key,” “The Pillar,” “Honest Alexis,” “Hide and Seek,” “To a
Christian,” “X Cheops X,” “X Tribe X,” “X Blue Eyes X,” “X Gamins X,”
“My dearest Alice,” etc., some of which are signed “Cygne,” others
“Egypte,” and the rest with the initials of name in full. His first
advertisement (No. 245) appeared in 1851, and from that date they
appeared continually during a period of six years. They ceased for a
time, but commenced again in the year 1857. He seems to have been an
unfortunate man, and evidently lost not only his fortune, but his
daughter Alice, and his numerous appeals in the “Agony Column” are a
curious mixture of business complications and entreaties for his lost
child’s return. That his child was not lost by accident, but stolen by
some one of evil intent, cannot fail to be apparent to even the most
careless of my readers. One cannot help feeling an amount of sympathy
with this unfortunate writer as we read advertisements No. 995, 1001,
and 1034, in which we learn what a large share of anxiety and suffering
fell to his lot. The last of his advertisements appeared in 1870 (No.
1753), but unfortunately we cannot learn from its contents whether or
not the tide of misfortune had turned for him at last.
The other remarkable series of advertisements to which I alluded are
those signed “J. de W.” There is little doubt that mankind inherited a
large amount of curiosity from our mother Eve; therefore advertisements,
written in the ordinary intelligent manner, though they may be full of
interest and amusement, do not strike us as forcibly as those couched in
an unintelligible style like the ones to which I am now referring, and
simply from the fact that we are unable to read them. For five years “J.
de W.’s” advertisements appeared on or about the first of every month,
commencing March 1st, 1850; and, as we follow them, we can conjure up
for ourselves the stirring history and romance of a lifetime. It is
somewhat difficult to determine whether or not the advertisements,
written in the same type and signed “A. B. C.,” are answers to the
others. It is quite possible that “J. de W.” might be able to receive
letters without interference, but had no means of sending them without
detection, and was therefore reduced to the medium of the _Times_. It
seems quite impossible that any man, though possessed of unbounded faith
and perseverance, would have struggled against fate so long. Would he
not have given up in despair years before he did? So I think we may
conclude that the messages signed “J. de W.” and “A. B. C.” are answers
one to the other.
I have been able to show so many different ways in which our simple
alphabet can be changed to form a language that will defy a large
majority of the public | 185.078635 | 820 |
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This eBook was produced by Tapio Riikonen
and David Widger
BOOK III.
IN WHICH THE HISTORY PASSES FROM THE KING'S COURT TO THE STUDENT'S
CELL, AND RELATES THE PERILS THAT BEFELL A PHILOSOPHER FOR MEDDLING
WITH THE AFFAIRS OF THE WORLD.
CHAPTER I.
THE SOLITARY SAGE AND THE SOLITARY MAID.
While such the entrance of Marmaduke Nevile into a court, that if far
less intellectual and refined than those of later days, was yet more
calculated to dazzle the fancy, to sharpen the wit, and to charm the
senses,--for round the throne of Edward IV. chivalry was magnificent,
intrigue restless, and pleasure ever on the wing,--Sibyll had ample
leisure in her solitary home to | 185.550642 | 821 |
2023-11-16 18:18:52.3626310 | 91 | 24 |
Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Chuck Greif and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration:
TELLING THE STORY OF LIFE; THE PRESENT DAY IDEA OF SEX INSTRUCTION.
“O, THOU CHILD OF MANY PRAYERS,”]
SELF KNOWLEDGE
AND
GUIDE TO SEX INSTRUCTION
VITAL FACTS OF LIFE FOR | 185.682041 | 822 |
2023-11-16 18:18:52.4425650 | 409 | 125 |
Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by Google Books
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source: Google Books
https://books.google.com/books?id=w8gBAAAAQAAJ
(Oxford University)
KISSING THE ROD.
LONDON:
HOBSON AND SON, GREAT NORTHERN PRINTING WORKS,
PANCRAS ROAD, N.W.
KISSING THE ROD.
A Novel.
BY EDMUND YATES,
AUTHOR OF "BROKEN TO HARNESS," "RUNNING THE GAUNTLET,"
"LAND AT LAST," ETC.
"The heart knoweth its own bitterness."
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
TINSLEY BROTHERS, 18 CATHERINE ST. STRAND.
1866.
[_All rights of translation and reproduction reserved_.]
Inscribed to
THE COUNTESS OF FIFE.
CONTENTS OF VOL. I.
CHAP.
I. DAZZLED.
II. A MORNING CALL.
III. WITHIN THE PALE.
IV. MR. GUYON'S FRIEND.
V. HESTER GOULD.
VI. IN CHAMBERS.
VII. KATHARINE GUYON.
VIII. AMARYLLIS IN A MARQUEE.
IX. INVESTMENTS.
X. STRUGGLE.
XI. LEFT LAMENTING.
XII. VICTORY.
KISSING THE ROD.
CHAPTER I.
DAZZLED.
There was no name on the doorposts, nothing beyond the
number--"48"--to serve as a guide; and yet it may be doubted
whether any firm in the City was better known to the postman, the
bankers'-clerks, and all who had regular business to transact with
them, than that of Streightley and Son | 185.761975 | 823 |
2023-11-16 18:18:52.4626260 | 383 | 58 |
Produced by Christian Boissonnas and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
=By Charles Bradford=
=The Determined Angler=
"Most sensible volume of its kind."--Grover
Cleveland. 12º. illustrated.
By mail, $1.10. $1.00
=The Angler's Secret=
"A modern 'Compleat Angler.'"--N.
Y. Times. 16mo illustrated. By
mail, $1.10 $1.00
=The Angler's Guide=
"A valuable volume of reference for
the Angler."--Dr. Jas. A. Henshall.
200 pgs. By mail, 80 cts. .75
=The Wildfowlers=
A volume of duck shooting. "A
classic."--N. Y. World. 16mo illustrated.
By mail, $1.10 $1.00
=Frank Forester=
Life and Writings of the Father of
American Fishing and Field Sports.
By mail, $1.10 $1.00
[Illustration: A MORNING'S CATCH OF TROUT NEAR SPOKANE, WASHINGTON
"Three times too many for one rod."--_William T. Hornaday_
An object lesson on the too-liberal fish laws. _See page 38_]
The Determined Angler
and the
Brook Trout
An Anthological Volume of Trout Fishing.
Trout Histories, Trout Lore, Trout
Resorts, and Trout Tackle
By
Charles Bradford
Author of "The Wildfowlers," "The Angler's | 185.782036 | 824 |
2023-11-16 18:18:52.5321090 | 1,363 | 363 |
Produced by David Widger
THE CONFESSIONS OF JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU
(In 12 books)
Privately Printed for the Members of the Aldus Society
London, 1903
BOOK IV.
Let any one judge my surprise and grief at not finding her on my arrival.
I now felt regret at having abandoned M. le Maitre, and my uneasiness
increased when I learned the misfortunes that had befallen him. His box
of music, containing all his fortune, that precious box, preserved with
so much care and fatigue, had been seized on at Lyons by means of Count
Dortan, who had received information from the Chapter of our having
absconded with it. In vain did Le Maitre reclaim his property, his means
of existence, the labor of his life; his right to the music in question
was at least subject to litigation, but even that liberty was not allowed
him, the affair being instantly decided on the principal of superior
strength. Thus poor Le Maitre lost the fruit of his talents, the labor
of his youth, and principal dependence for the support of old age.
Nothing was wanting to render the news I had received truly afflicting,
but I was at an age when even the greatest calamities are to be
sustained; accordingly I soon found consolation. I expected shortly
to hear news of Madam de Warrens, though I was ignorant of the address,
and she knew nothing of my return. As to my desertion of Le Maitre (all
things considered) I did not find it so very culpable. I had been
serviceable to him at his retreat; it was not in my power to give him any
further assistance. Had I remained with him in France it would not have
cured his complaint. I could not have saved his music, and should only
have doubled his expense: in this point of view I then saw my conduct;
I see it otherwise now. It frequently happens that a villainous action
does not torment us at the instant we commit it, but on recollection, and
sometimes even after a number of years have elapsed, for the remembrance
of crimes is not to be extinguished.
The only means I had to obtain news of Madam de Warrens was to remain at
Annecy. Where should I seek her in Paris? or how bear the expense of
such a journey? Sooner or later there was no place where I could be so
certain to hear of her as that I was now at; this consideration
determined me to remain there, though my conduct was very indifferent.
I did not go to the bishop, who had already befriended me, and might
continue to do so; my patroness was not present, and I feared his
reprimands on the subject of our flight; neither did I go to the
seminary, M. Graswas no longer there; in short, I went to none of my
acquaintances. I should gladly have visited the intendant's lady, but
did not dare; I did worse, I sought out M. Venture, whom (notwithstanding
my enthusiasm) I had never thought of since my departure. I found him
quite gay, in high spirits, and the universal favorite of the ladies of
Annecy.
This success completed my infatuation; I saw nothing but M. Venture; he
almost made me forget even Madam de Warrens. That I might profit more at
ease by his instructions and example, I proposed to share his lodgings,
to which he readily consented. It was at a shoemaker's; a pleasant,
jovial fellow, who, in his county dialect, called his wife nothing but
trollop; an appellation which she certainly merited. Venture took care
to augment their differences, though under an appearance of doing the
direct contrary, throwing out in a distant manner, and provincial
accents, hints that produced the utmost effect, and furnished such scenes
as were sufficient to make any one die with laughter. Thus the mornings
passed without our thinking of them; at two or three o'clock we took some
refreshment. Venture then went to his various engagements, where he
supped, while I walked alone, meditating on his great merit, coveting and
admiring his rare talents, and cursing my own unlucky stars, that did not
call me to so happy a life. How little did I then know of myself! mine
had been a thousand times more delightful, had I not been such a fool, or
known better how to enjoy it.
Madam de Warrens had taken no one with her but Anet: Merceret, the
chambermaid, whom I have before mentioned, still remained in the house.
Merceret was something older than myself, not pretty, but tolerably
agreeable; good-natured, free from malice, having no fault to my
knowledge but being a little refractory with her mistress. I often went
to see her; she was an old acquaintance, who recalled to my remembrance
one more beloved, and this made her dear to me. She had several friends,
and among others one Mademoiselle Giraud, a Genevese, who, for the
punishment of my sins, took it in her head to have an inclination for me,
always pressing Merceret, when she returned her visits, to bring me with
her. As I liked Merceret, I felt no disinclination to accompany her;
besides I met there with some young people whose company pleased me.
For Mademoiselle Giraud, who offered every kind of enticement, nothing
could increase the aversion I had for her. When she drew near me, with
her dried black snout, smeared with Spanish snuff, it was with the utmost
difficulty that I could refrain from expressing my distaste; but, being
pleased with her visitors, I took patience. Among these were two girls
who (either to pay their court to Mademoiselle Giraud or myself) paid me
every possible attention. I conceived this to be only friendship; but
have since thought it depended only on myself to have discovered
something more, though I did not even think of it at the time | 185.851519 | 825 |
2023-11-16 18:18:52.5385130 | 1,034 | 550 |
Produced by David Widger
THE INSIDE OF THE CUP
By Winston Churchill
Volume 4.
XIII. WINTERBOURNE
XIV. A SATURDAY AFTERNOON
XV. THE CRUCIBLE
XVI. AMID THE ENCIRCLING GLOOM
CHAPTER XIII
WINTERBOURNE
I
Hodder fell asleep from sheer exhaustion, awaking during the night at
occasional intervals to recall chimerical dreams in which the events of
the day before were reflected, but caricatured and distorted. Alison
Parr was talking to the woman in the flat, and both were changed, and yet
he identified both: and on another occasion he saw a familiar figure
surrounded by romping, ragged children--a figure which turned out to be
Eldon Parr's!
Finally he was aroused by what seemed a summons from the unknown--the
prolonged morning whistle of the shoe factory. For a while he lay as one
benumbed, and the gradual realization that ensued might be likened to the
straining of stiffened wounds. Little by little he reconstructed, until
the process became unbearable, and then rose from his bed with one object
in mind,--to go to Horace Bentley. At first--he seized upon the excuse
that Mr. Bentley would wish to hear the verdict of Dr. Jarvis, but
immediately abandoned it as dishonest, acknowledging the true reason,
that in all the--world the presence of this one man alone might assuage
in some degree the terror in his soul. For the first time in his life,
since childhood, he knew a sense of utter dependence upon another human
being. He felt no shame, would make no explanation for his early visit.
He turned up Tower, deliberately avoiding Dalton Street in its lower
part, reached Mr. Bentley's door. The wrinkled, hospitable old <DW54>
actually seemed to radiate something of the personality with which he had
so long been associated, and Hodder was conscious of a surge of relief,
a return of confidence at sight of him. Yes, Mr. Bentley was at home,
in the dining room. The rector said he would wait, and not disturb him.
"He done tole me to bring you out, sah, if you come," said Sam.
"He expects me?" exclaimed Hodder, with a shock of surprise.
"That's what he done tole me, sah, to ax you kindly for to step out when
you come."
The sun was beginning to penetrate into the little back yard, where the
flowers were still glistening with the drops of their morning bath; and
Mr. Bentley sat by the window reading his newspaper, his spectacles on
his nose, and a great grey cat rubbing herself against his legs. He rose
with alacrity.
"Good morning, sir," he said, and his welcome implied that early morning
visits were the most common and natural of occurrences. "Sam, a plate
for Mr. Hodder. I was just hoping you would come and tell me what Dr.
Jarvis had said about the case."
But Hodder was not deceived. He believed that Mr. Bentley understood
perfectly why he had come, and the knowledge of the old gentleman's
comprehension curiously added to his sense of refuge. He found himself
seated once more at the mahogany table, permitting Sam to fill his cup
with coffee.
"Jarvis has given a favourable report, and he is coming this morning
himself, in an automobile, to take the boy out to the hospital."
"That is like Jarvis," was Mr. Bentley's comment. "We will go there,
together, after breakfast, if convenient for you," he added.
"I hoped you would," replied the rector. "And I was going to ask
you a favour. I have a check, given me by a young lady to use at my
discretion, and it occurred to me that Garvin might be willing to accept
some proposal from you." He thought of Nan Ferguson, and of the hope he
lead expressed of finding some one in Dalton Street.
"I have been considering the matter," Mr. Bentley said. "I have a friend
who lives on the trolley line a little beyond the hospital, a widow. It
is like the country there, you know, and I think Mrs. Bledsoe could be
induced to take the Garvins. And then something can be arranged for him.
I will find an opportunity to speak to him this morning."
Hodder sipped his coffee, and looked out at the morning-glories opening
to the sun.
"Mrs. Garvin was alone last night. He had gone out shortly after we
left, and had not waited for the doctor. She was greatly worried."
Hodder found himself discussing these matters on which, an hour before,
| 185.857923 | 826 |
2023-11-16 18:18:52.5459990 | 200 | 174 |
Produced by Sankar Viswanathan and The Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
_The Art of_
ANGLING.
WHEREIN
Are discovered many rare Secrets,
very necessary to be knowne
by all that delight in
that Recreation.
_LONDON,_
Printed in the Yeare 1653.
ONLY ONE HUNDRED COPIES PRINTED.
Reprinted by Inchbold and Gawtress, Leeds.
1817.
* * * * *
_The Art of Angling._
Reader: I will complement, and put a case to you. I met with a man,
and upon our Discourse he fell out with me: this man having a good
weapon, having neither wit, stomack, | 185.865409 | 827 |
2023-11-16 18:18:52.6021970 | 4,083 | 46 |
Produced by Hunter Monroe, Juliet Sutherland and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: GREAT PAGODA WAT CHANG.]
_ILLUSTRATED LIBRARY OF TRAVEL_
SIAM
THE LAND OF THE WHITE ELEPHANT
_AS IT WAS AND IS_
COMPILED AND ARRANGED BY
GEORGE B. BACON
REVISED BY
FREDERICK WELLS WILLIAMS
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1893.
COPYRIGHT, 1881, 1892, BY
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
TROW DIRECTORY
PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY
NEW YORK
REVISER'S NOTE
The present editor's aim in revising this little volume has been to
leave untouched, so far as possible, Mr. Bacon's compilation, omitting
only such portions as were inaccurate or obsolete, and adding rather
sparingly from the narratives of a few recent travellers. The
authoritative history and description of Siam has yet to be written, and
until this work appears the accounts of Pallegoix, of Bowring, and of
Mouhot convey as satisfactory and accurate impressions of the country as
those of later writers. Though the wonderful ruins at Angkor are now
technically within the confines of Siam, their consideration still
belongs to a treatise on Cambodia, and this as a separate country could
not fairly be joined to Siam in carrying out the plan of the series. In
other respects, without attempting to be exhaustive, the reviser's
endeavor has been to neglect no important part or feature of the
kingdom.
The regeneration effected in Siam during the past half century presents
a suggestive contrast to that ebullition of new life which has within an
even briefer period transformed despotic Japan into a free and ambitious
state. Here, as there, the stranger is impressed with those outward
symbols of nineteenth-century life, the agencies of steam, gas, and
electricity that appear in many busy centres in whimsical incongruity
to their Oriental setting; but these are the adjuncts rather than the
essentials of that Western civilization which both countries are
striving to imitate. In Siam, it must be confessed, there is no such
evidence of popular awakening as now directs the world's attention to
the Mikado's empire. The languor and content of life in the tropics
disposes the people to seek new ideals and accept new institutions less
eagerly than under Northern skies. Siam's policy of gradual progress
toward a condition of higher enlightenment is in admirable accordance
with her needs, and promises to achieve its purpose with no such risks
of reaction or shipwreck as beset the course of more ambitious states in
the East.
F. W. W.
CONTENTS PAGE
CHAPTER I. 1
CHAPTER II.
GEOGRAPHY OF SIAM, 10
CHAPTER III.
OLD SIAM--ITS HISTORY, 17
CHAPTER IV.
THE STORIES OF TWO ADVENTURERS, 36
CHAPTER V.
MODERN SIAM, 65
CHAPTER VI.
FIRST IMPRESSIONS, 73
CHAPTER VII.
A ROYAL GENTLEMAN, 86
CHAPTER VIII.
PHRABAT SOMDETCH PHRA PARAMENDR MAHA MONGKUT, 104
CHAPTER IX.
AYUTHIA, 121
CHAPTER X.
PHRABAT AND PATAWI, 130
CHAPTER XI.
FROM BANGKOK TO CHANTABOUN--A MISSIONARY JOURNEY
IN 1835, 146
CHAPTER XII.
CHANTABOUN AND THE GULF, 170
CHAPTER XIII.
MOUHOT IN THE HILL-COUNTRY OF CHANTABOUN, 183
CHAPTER XIV.
PECHABURI OR P'RIPP'REE, 200
CHAPTER XV.
THE TRIBES OF NORTHERN SIAM, 216
CHAPTER XVI.
SIAMESE LIFE AND CUSTOMS, 234
CHAPTER XVII.
NATURAL PRODUCTIONS OF SIAM, 258
CHAPTER XVIII.
CHRISTIAN MISSIONS IN SIAM--THE OUTLOOK FOR THE
FUTURE, 270
CHAPTER XIX.
BANGKOK AND THE NEW SIAM, 277
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
GREAT PAGODA WAT CHANG, _Frontispiece_
INUNDATION OF THE MEINAM, 11
PAGODA AT AYUTHIA, 21
VIEW TAKEN FROM THE CANAL AT AYUTHIA, 31
RUINS OF A PAGODA AT AYUTHIA, 38
GENERAL VIEW OF BANGKOK, 76
THE LATE FIRST KING AND QUEEN, 105
ONE OF THE SONS OF THE LATE FIRST KING, 109
A FEW OF THE CHILDREN OF THE LATE FIRST KING, 120
REMOVAL OF THE TUFT OF A YOUNG SIAMESE, 122
ELEPHANTS IN AN ENCLOSURE OR PARK AT AYUTHIA, 127
PAKNAM ON THE MEINAM, 129
PAGODA AT MOUNT PHRABAT, 130
MOUNTAINS OF KORAT FROM PATAWI, 141
PORT OF CHANTABOUN, 149
MONKEYS PLAYING WITH A CROCODILE, 180
SIAMESE ACTORS, 194
MOUNTAINS OF PECHABURI, 200
SIAMESE WOMEN, 234
SIAMESE ROPE-DANCER, 237
SIAMESE LADIES AT DINNER, 242
BUILDING ERECTED AT FUNERAL OF SIAMESE OF HIGH
RANK, 251
HALL OF AUDIENCE, PALACE OF BANGKOK, 277
PORTICO OF THE AUDIENCE HALL AT BANGKOK, 280
THE PALACE OF THE KING OF SIAM, BANGKOK, 292
SIAM
CHAPTER I.
EARLY INTERCOURSE WITH SIAM--RELATIONS WITH OTHER COUNTRIES
The acquaintance of the Christian world with the kingdom and people of
Siam dates from the beginning of the sixteenth century, and is due to
the adventurous and enterprising spirit of the Portuguese. It is
difficult for us, in these days when Portugal occupies a position so
inconsiderable, and plays a part so insignificant, among the peoples of
the earth, to realize what great achievements were wrought in the
fifteenth and sixteenth centuries by the peaceful victories of the early
navigators and discoverers from that country, or by the military
conquests which not seldom followed in the track of their explorations.
It was while Alphonso d'Albuquerque was occupied with a military
expedition in Malacca, that he seized the occasion to open diplomatic
intercourse with Siam. A lieutenant under his command, who was fitted
for the service by an experience of captivity during which he had
acquired the Malay language, was selected for the mission. He was well
received by the king, and came back to his general, bringing royal
presents and proposals to assist in the siege of Malacca. So cordial a
response to the overtures of the Portuguese led to the more formal
establishment of diplomatic and commercial intercourse. And before the
middle of the sixteenth century a considerable number of Portuguese had
settled, some of them in the neighborhood of the capital (Ayuthia), and
some of them in the provinces of the peninsula of Malacca, at that time
belonging to the kingdom of Siam. One or two adventurers, such as De
Seixas and De Mello, rose to positions of great power and dignity under
the Siamese king. And for almost a century the Portuguese maintained, if
not an exclusive, certainly a pre-eminent, right to the commercial and
diplomatic intercourse which they had inaugurated.
As in other parts of the East Indies, however, the Dutch presently began
to dispute the supremacy of their rivals, and, partly by the injudicious
and presumptuous arrogance of the Portuguese themselves, succeeded in
supplanting them. The cool and mercenary cunning of the greedy
Hollanders was more than a match for the proud temper of the hot-blooded
Dons. And as, in the case of Japan, the story of Simabara lives in
history to witness what shameless and unscrupulous wickedness commercial
rivalry could lead to; so in Siam there is for fifty years a story of
intrigue and greed, over-reaching itself first on one side, and then on
the other. First, the Portuguese were crowded out of their exclusive
privileges. And then in turn the Dutch were obliged to surrender theirs.
To-day there are still visible in the jungle, near the mouth of the
Meinam River, the ruins of the Amsterdam which grew up between the years
1672 and 1725, under the enterprise of the Dutch East India Company,
protected and fostered by the Siamese Government. And to-day, also, the
descendants of the Portuguese, easy to be recognized, notwithstanding
the mixture of blood for many generations, hold insignificant or menial
offices about the capital and court.
As a result of Portuguese intercourse with Siam, there came the
introduction of the Christian religion by Jesuit missionaries, who, as
in China and Japan, were quick to follow in the steps of the first
explorers. No hindrance was put in the way of the unmolested exercise of
religious rites by the foreign settlers. Two churches were built; and
the ecclesiastics in charge of the church at Ayuthia had begun to
acquire some of that political influence which is so irresistible a
temptation to the Roman Catholic missionary, and so dangerous a
possession when he has once acquired it. It is probable enough (although
the evidence does not distinctly appear) that this tendency of religious
zeal toward political intrigue inflamed the animosity of the Dutch
traders, and afforded them a convenient occasion for undermining the
supremacy of their rivals. However this may be, the Christian religion
did not make any great headway among the Siamese people. And while they
conceded to the foreigners religious liberty, they showed no eagerness
to receive from them the gift of a new religion.
In the year 1604 the Siamese king sent an ambassador to the Dutch
colony at Bantam, in the island of Java. And in 1608 the same ambassador
extended his journey to Holland, expressing "much surprise at finding
that the Dutch actually possessed a country of their own, and were not a
nation of pirates, as the Portuguese had always insinuated." The history
of this period of the intercourse between Siam and the European nations,
abundantly proves that shrewdness, enterprise, and diplomatic skill were
not on one side only.
Between Siam and France there was no considerable intercourse until the
reign of Louis XIV., when an embassy of a curiously characteristic sort
was sent out by the French monarch. The embassy was ostentatiously
splendid, and made great profession of a religious purpose no less
important than the conversion of the Siamese king to Christianity. The
origin of the mission was strangely interesting, and the record of it,
even after the lapse of nearly two hundred years, is so lively and
instructive that it deserves to be reproduced, in part, in another
chapter of this volume. The enterprise was a failure. The king refused
to be converted, and was able to give some dignified and substantial
reasons for distrusting the religious interest which his "esteemed
friend, the king of France," had taken "in an affair which seems to
belong to God, and which the Divine Being appears to have left entirely
to our discretion." Commercially and diplomatically, also, as well as
religiously, the embassy was a failure. The Siamese prime minister (a
Greek by birth, a Roman Catholic by religion), at whose instigation the
French king had acted, soon after was deposed from his office, and came
to his death by violence. The Jesuit priests were put under restraint
and detained as hostages, and the military force which accompanied the
mission met with an inglorious fate. A scheme which seemed at first to
promise the establishment of a great dominion tributary to the throne of
France, perished in its very conception.
The Government of Spain had early relations with Siam, through the
Spanish colony in the Philippine Islands; and on one or more occasions
there was an interchange of courtesies and good offices between Manilla
and Ayuthia. But the Spanish never had a foothold in the kingdom, and
the occasional and unimportant intercourse referred to ceased almost
wholly until, during the last fifty years, and even the last twenty, a
new era of commercial activity has brought the nations of Europe and
America into close and familiar relations with the Land of the White
Elephant.
The relations of the kingdom of Siam with its immediate neighbors have
been full of the vicissitudes of peace and war. There still remains some
trace of a remote period of partial vassalage to the Chinese Empire, in
the custom of sending gifts--which were originally understood, by the
recipients at least, if not by the givers, to be tribute to Peking. With
Burmah and Pegu on the one side, and with Cambodia and Cochin China on
the other, there has existed from time immemorial a state of jealous
hostility. The boundaries of Siam, eastward and westward, have
fluctuated with the successes or defeats of the Siamese arms. Southward
the deep gulf shuts off the country from any neighbors, whether good or
bad, and for more than three centuries this has been the highway of a
commerce of unequal importance, sometimes very active and remunerative,
but never wholly interrupted even in the period of the most complete
reactionary seclusion of the kingdom.
The new era in Siam may be properly dated from the year 1854, when the
existing treaties between Siam on the one part, and Great Britain and
the United States on the other part, were successfully negotiated. But
before this time, various influences had been quietly at work to produce
a change of such singular interest and importance. The change is indeed
a part of that great movement by which the whole Oriental world has been
re-discovered in our day; by which China has been started on a new
course of development and progress; by which Japan and Corea have been
made to lay aside their policy of hostile seclusion. It is hard to fix
the precise date of a movement which is the result of tendencies so
various and so numerous, and which is evidently, as yet, only at the
beginning of its history. But the treaty negotiated by Sir John Bowring,
as the ambassador of Great Britain, and that negotiated by the Honorable
Townsend Harris, as the ambassador of the United States, served to call
public attention in those two countries to a land which was previously
almost unheard of except by geographical students. There was no popular
narrative of travel and exploration. Indeed, there had been no travel
and exploration much beyond the walls of Bangkok or the ruins of
Ayuthia. The German, Mandelslohe, is the earliest traveller who has left
a record of what he saw and heard. His visit to Ayuthia, to which he
gave the name which subsequent travellers have agreed in bestowing on
Bangkok, the present capital--"The Venice of the East"--was made in
1537. The Portuguese, Mendez Pinto, whose visit was made in the course
of the same century, has also left a record of his travels, which is
evidently faithful and trustworthy. We have also the records of various
embassies, and the narratives of missionaries (both the Roman Catholic
and, during the present century, the American Protestant missionaries),
who have found time, amid their arduous and discouraging labors, to
furnish to the Christian world much valuable information concerning the
people among whom they have chosen to dwell.
Of these missionary records, by far the most complete and the most
valuable is the work of Bishop Pallegoix (published in French in the
year 1854), entitled "Description du Royaume Thai ou Siam." The long
residence of the excellent Bishop in the country of which he wrote, and
in which, not many years afterward (in 1862) he died, sincerely lamented
and honored, fitted him to speak with intelligent authority; and his
book was of especial value at the time when it was published, because
the Western Powers were engaged that very year in the successful attempt
to renew and to enlarge their treaties with Siam. To Bishop Pallegoix
the English envoy, Sir John Bowring, is largely indebted, as he does not
fail to confess, for a knowledge of the history, manners, and customs
of the realm, which helped to make the work of his embassy more easy,
and also for much of the material which gives the work of Bowring
himself ("The Kingdom and People of Siam," London, 1857) its value.
Since Sir John Bowring's time the interior of Siam has been largely
explored, and especially by one adventurous traveller, Henry Mouhot, who
lost his life in the jungles of Laos while engaged in his work of
exploration. With him begins our real knowledge of the interior of Siam,
and its partly dependent neighbors Laos and Cambodia. The scientific
results of his travel are unfortunately not presented in such orderly
completeness as would have been given to them had Mouhot lived to
arrange and to supplement the details of his fragmentary and outlined
journal. But notwithstanding these necessary defects, Mouhot's book
deserves a high place, as giving the most adventurous exploration of a
country which appears more interesting the more and better it is known.
The great ruins of Angkor (or Angeor) Wat, for example, near the
boundary which separates Siam from Cambodia, were by him for the first
time examined, measured, and reported with some approach to scientific
exactness.
Among more recent and easily accessible works on the country, from some
of which we have borrowed, may be mentioned, F. Vincent's, "Land of the
White Elephant," 1874, A. Grehan's, "Royaume de Siam," fourth edition,
Paris, 1878, "Siam | 185.921607 | 828 |
2023-11-16 18:18:53.0162570 | 4,119 | 36 | Project Gutenberg Etext The Lock and Key Library, Hawthorne, Ed.
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This etext was prepared by Donald Lainson, [email protected].
Please note: This edition does not contain the second chapter of
the first story, "The Haunted House", by Dickens. It can be found
in 3ghst10.txt or 3ghst10.zip, 1998, "Three Ghost Stories by
Charles Dickens."
The Lock and Key Library
Classic Mystery and Detective Stories - Old Time English
Edited by Julian Hawthorne
Table of Contents
CHARLES DICKENS (1812-70)
The Haunted House
No. I Branch Line: The Signal Man
BULWER-LYTTON (1803-73)
The Haunted and the Haunters; or, The House and the Brain
The Incantation
THOMAS DE QUINCEY (1785-1859)
The Avenger
CHARLES ROBERT MATURIN (1782-1824)
Melmoth the Wanderer
LAURENCE STERNE (1713-68)
A Mystery with a Moral
WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY (1811-63)
On Being Found Out
The Notch on the Ax
ANONYMOUS
Bourgonef
The Closed Cabinet
THE HAUNTED HOUSE
IN TWO CHAPTERS
THE MORTALS IN THE HOUSE
Under none of the accredited ghostly circumstances, and environed
by none of the conventional ghostly surroundings, did I first make
acquaintance with the house which is the subject of this Christmas
piece. I saw it in the daylight, with the sun upon it. There was
no wind, no rain, no lightning, no thunder, no awful or unwonted
circumstance, of any kind, to heighten its effect. More than that:
I had come to it direct from a railway station: it was not more
than a mile distant from the railway station; and, as I stood
outside the house, looking back upon the way I had come, I could
see the goods train running smoothly along the embankment in the
valley. I will not say that everything was utterly commonplace,
because I doubt if anything can be that, except to utterly
commonplace people--and there my vanity steps in; but, I will take
it on myself to say that anybody might see the house as I saw it,
any fine autumn morning.
The manner of my lighting on it was this.
I was travelling towards London out of the North, intending to stop
by the way, to look at the house. My health required a temporary
residence in the country; and a friend of mine who knew that, and
who had happened to drive past the house, had written to me to
suggest it as a likely place. I had got into the train at
midnight, and had fallen asleep, and had woke up and had sat
looking out of window at the brilliant Northern Lights in the sky,
and had fallen asleep again, and had woke up again to find the
night gone, with the usual discontented conviction on me that I
hadn't been to sleep at all;--upon which question, in the first
imbecility of that condition, I am ashamed to believe that I would
have done wager by battle with the man who sat opposite me. That
opposite man had had, through the night--as that opposite man
always has--several legs too many, and all of them too long. In
addition to this unreasonable conduct (which was only to be
expected of him), he had had a pencil and a pocket-book, and had
been perpetually listening and taking notes. It had appeared to me
that these aggravating notes related to the jolts and bumps of the
carriage, and I should have resigned myself to his taking them,
under a general supposition that he was in the civil-engineering
way of life, if he had not sat staring straight over my head
whenever he listened. He was a goggle-eyed gentleman of a
perplexed aspect, and his demeanor became unbearable.
It was a cold, dead morning (the sun not being up yet), and when I
had out-watched the paling light of the fires of the iron country,
and the curtain of heavy smoke that hung at once between me and the
stars and between me and the day, I turned to my fellow-traveller
and said:
"I BEG your pardon, sir, but do you observe anything particular in
me?" For, really, he appeared to be taking down, either my
travelling-cap or my hair, with a minuteness that was a liberty.
The goggle-eyed gentleman withdrew his eyes from behind me, as if
the back of the carriage were a hundred miles off, and said, with a
lofty look of compassion for my insignificance:
"In you, sir?--B."
"B, sir?" said I, growing warm.
"I have nothing to do with you, sir," returned the gentleman; "pray
let me listen--O."
He enunciated this vowel after a pause, and noted it down.
At first I was alarmed, for an Express lunatic and no communication
with the guard, is a serious position. The thought came to my
relief that the gentleman might be what is popularly called a
Rapper: one of a sect for (some of) whom I have the highest
respect, but whom I don't believe in. I was going to ask him the
question, when he took the bread out of my mouth.
"You will excuse me," said the gentleman contemptuously, "if I am
too much in advance of common humanity to trouble myself at all
about it. I have passed the night--as indeed I pass the whole of
my time now--in spiritual intercourse."
"O!" said I, somewhat snappishly.
"The conferences of the night began," continued the gentleman,
turning several leaves of his note-book, "with this message: 'Evil
communications corrupt good manners.'"
"Sound," said I; "but, absolutely new?"
"New from spirits," returned the gentleman.
I could only repeat my rather snappish "O!" and ask if I might be
favored with the last communication.
"'A bird in the hand,'" said the gentleman, reading his last entry
with great solemnity, "'is worth two in the Bosh.'"
"Truly I am of the same opinion," said I; "but shouldn't it be
Bush?"
"It came to me, Bosh," returned the gentleman.
The gentleman then informed me that the spirit of Socrates had
delivered this special revelation in the course of the night. "My
friend, I hope you are pretty well. There are two in this railway
carriage. How do you do? There are seventeen thousand four
hundred and seventy-nine spirits here, but you cannot see them.
Pythagoras is here. He is not at liberty to mention it, but hopes
you like travelling." Galileo likewise had dropped in, with this
scientific intelligence. "I am glad to see you, amico. Come sta?
Water will freeze when it is cold enough. Addio!" In the course
of the night, also, the following phenomena had occurred. Bishop
Butler had insisted on spelling his name, "Bubler," for which
offence against orthography and good manners he had been dismissed
as out of temper. John Milton (suspected of wilful mystification)
had repudiated | 186.335667 | 829 |
2023-11-16 18:18:53.1774630 | 998 | 373 |
Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. The University
of Iowa, Iowa Authors Collection graciously researched and
provided scans of missing pages for this book. (This book
was produced from scanned images of public domain material
from the Google Print project.)
THE
YOUNG ALASKANS
ON THE TRAIL
BY
EMERSON HOUGH
AUTHOR OF
"THE YOUNG ALASKANS"
"THE STORY OF THE COWBOY"
ILLUSTRATED
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
MCMXI
BOOKS BY
EMERSON HOUGH
THE YOUNG ALASKANS. Ill'd. Post 8vo $1.25
YOUNG ALASKANS ON THE TRAIL. Ill'd. Post 8vo 1.25
HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK
COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY HARPER & BROTHERS
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
[Illustration: See page 75
AROUND THE CAMP-FIRE]
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. TAKING THE TRAIL 1
II. THE GATE OF THE MOUNTAINS 10
III. STUDYING OUT THE TRAIL 23
IV. THE GREAT DIVIDE 37
V. CROSSING THE HEIGHT OF LAND 43
VI. FOLLOWING MACKENZIE 53
VII. AROUND THE CAMP-FIRE 69
VIII. A HUNT FOR BIGHORN 83
IX. A NIGHT IN THE MOUNTAINS 102
X. HOW THE SPLIT-STONE LAKE WAS NAMED 112
XI. LESSONS IN WILD LIFE 119
XII. WILD COUNTRY AND WILDERNESS WAYS 134
XIII. THE CARIBOU HUNT 143
XIV. EXPLORING THE WILDERNESS 158
XV. IN THE BIG WATERS 168
XVI. THE GRIZZLY HUNT 181
XVII. THE YOUNG ALASKANS' "LOB-STICK" 191
XVIII. BAD LUCK WITH THE "MARY ANN" 200
XIX. NEW PLANS 207
XX. THE GORGE OF THE MOUNTAINS 217
XXI. THE PORTAGE OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS 226
XXII. EAST OF THE ROCKIES 232
XXIII. THE LAND OF PLENTY 236
XXIV. THE WHITE MAN'S COUNTRY 244
XXV. HOW THE ERMINE GOT HIS TAIL BLACK 249
XXVI. TRAILING THE BEAR 254
XVII. THE END OF THE OLD WAR-TRAIL 264
XXVIII. STEAMBOATING IN THE FAR NORTH 274
XXIX. A MOOSE HUNT 286
XXX. FARTHEST NORTH 294
XXXI. HOMEWARD BOUND 307
XXXII. LEAVING THE TRAIL 317
ILLUSTRATIONS
AROUND THE CAMP-FIRE _Frontispiece_
THE BEAR BROKE COVER WITH A SAVAGE ROAR _Facing p._ 186
MOISE AT HOME " 266
THE PORTAGE, VERMILION CHUTES, PEACE RIVER " 302
THE YOUNG ALASKANS
ON THE TRAIL
I
TAKING THE TRAIL
It was a wild and beautiful scene which lay about the little camp
in the far-off mountains of the Northwest. The sun had sunk beyond
the loftier ridges, although even now in the valley there remained
considerable light. One could have seen many miles over the
surrounding country had not, close at hand, where the little white
tent stood, the forest of spruce been very dense and green. At no
great distance beyond its edge was rough and broken country. Farther
on, to the southward, stood white-topped peaks many miles distant,
although from the camp these could not be seen.
It might have seemed a forbidding scene to any one not used to travel
among the mountains. One step aside into the bush, and one would have
fancied that no foot had ever trod here. There was no indication of
road or trail, | 186.496873 | 830 |
2023-11-16 18:18:53.3018730 | 203 | 217 |
Produced by David Reed
TREATISES ON FRIENDSHIP AND OLD AGE
By Marcus Tullius Cicero
Translated by E. S. Shuckburgh
INTRODUCTORY NOTE
MARCUS TULLIUS CICERO, the greatest of Roman orators and the chief
master of Latin prose style, was born at Arpinum, Jan. 3, 106 B.C.
His father, who was a man of property and belonged to the class of
the "Knights," moved to Rome when Cicero was a child; and the future
statesman received an elaborate education in rhetoric, law, and
philosophy, studying and practising under some of the most noted
teachers of the time. He began his career as an advocate at the age of
twenty-five, and almost immediately came to be recognized not only as a
man of brilliant talents but also as a courageous upholder of justice in
the face of grave political danger | 186.621283 | 831 |
2023-11-16 18:18:53.5713290 | 1,317 | 268 |
E-text prepared by Quentin Johnson, Suzanne Shell, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images
generously made available by Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries
(http://www.archive.org/details/toronto)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries. See
http://www.archive.org/details/safetymatch00hayiuoft
A SAFETY MATCH
* * * * *
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._
Crown 8vo, 6s.
A MAN'S MAN.
Fourth Impression.
Crown 8vo, 6s.
THE RIGHT STUFF.
_Fifth Impression._
Popular Edition, Cloth, 1s. net.
Crown 8vo, 6s.
PIP.
_Fourth Impression._
Popular Edition, Cloth, 1s. net.
WILLIAM BLACKWOOD & SONS.
Edinburgh and London.
* * * * *
A SAFETY MATCH
by
IAN HAY
Author of 'The Right Stuff,' 'A Man's Man,' 'Pip,' etc.
Third Impression
William Blackwood and Sons
Edinburgh and London
1911
All Rights Reserved
_TO
H. M. S._
CONTENTS.
BOOK ONE.
THE STRIKING OF THE MATCH.
CHAP. PAGE
I. HAPPY FAMILIES 3
II. WANTED, A MAN 23
III. THE WHEELS OF JUGGERNAUT 36
IV. THE DEVIL A MONK WOULD BE 55
V. A SABBATH DAY'S JOURNEY 76
VI. DAPHNE AS MATCHMAKER 94
VII. THE MATCH IS STRUCK 105
VIII. _MORITURA TE SALUTAT_ 115
BOOK TWO.
FLICKERINGS.
IX. A HORSE TO THE WATER 129
X. A DAY IN THE LIFE OF A SOCIAL SUCCESS 145
XI. _DIES IRAE_ 165
XII. CILLY; OR THE WORLD WELL LOST 184
XIII. THE COUNTERSTROKES 197
XIV. INTERVENTION 219
XV. JIM CARTHEW 232
BOOK THREE.
THE LIGHTING OF THE CANDLE.
XVI. SOME ONE TO CONFIDE IN 243
XVII. THE CANDLE LIT 250
XVIII. _ATHANASIUS CONTRA MUNDUM_ 263
XIX. _LABORARE EST ORARE_ 276
XX. BLACK SUNDAY 284
XXI. _VEILLESSE SAIT_ 289
XXII. HOLD THE FORT! 296
XXIII. THE LAST TO LEAVE 308
XXIV. ANOTHER ALIAS 317
BOOK ONE.
THE STRIKING OF THE MATCH.
CHAPTER ONE.
HAPPY FAMILIES.
"Nicky, please, have you got Mr Pots the Painter?"
"No, Stiffy, but I'll trouble you for Mrs Bones the Butcher's Wife.
_Thank_ you. And Daph, have you got Master Bones the Butcher's Son?
_Thank_ you. Family! One to me!"
And Nicky, triumphantly plucking from her hand four pink-backed cards,
slaps them down upon the table face upwards. They are apparently
family portraits. The first--that of Bones _pere_--depicts a smug
gentleman, with appropriate mutton-chop whiskers, mutilating a
fearsome joint upon a block; the second, Mrs Bones, an ample matron in
apple-green, proffering to an unseen customer a haunch of what looks
like anaemic cab-horse; the third, Miss Bones, engaged in extracting
nourishment from a colossal bone shaped like a dumb-bell; the fourth,
Master Bones (bearing a strong family likeness to his papa), creeping
unwillingly upon an errand, clad in canary trousers and a blue
jacket, with a sirloin of beef nestling against his right ear.
It was Saturday night at the Rectory, and the Vereker family--"those
absurdly handsome Rectory children," as old Lady Curlew, of Hainings,
invariably called them--sat round the dining-room table playing "Happy
Families." The rules which govern this absorbing pastime are simple.
The families are indeed happy. They contain no widows and no orphans,
and each pair of parents possesses one son and one daughter--perhaps
the perfect number, for the sides of the house are equally balanced
both for purposes of companionship and in the event of sex-warfare. As
for procedure, cards are dealt round, and each player endeavours, by
requests based upon observation and deduction, to reunite within his
own hand the members of an entire family,--an enterprise which, while
it fosters in those who undertake it a reverence for the unities of
home life, offers a more material and immediate reward in the shape of
one point for each family collected. We will look over the shoulders
of the players as they sit, and a brief consideration of each hand and
of the tactics of its owner will possibly give us the key to the
respective dispositions of the Vereker family, as well as a useful
lesson in the art of acquiring that priceless possession, a Happy
Family.
Before starting on our tour of the table we may note that one member
of the company is otherwise engaged. This is Master Anthony Cuthbert
Vereker, aged ten years--usually known as Tony. He is the youngest
member of the family, and is one of those fortunate people who are
never bored, and who rarely require either company or assistance in
their amusements. He lives in a world of his own, peopled by folk of
his own creation; | 186.890739 | 832 |
2023-11-16 18:18:53.6144120 | 1,001 | 399 |
Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by
Google Books (Library of Congress)
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source: Google Books
(Library of Congress)
2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
A TRAITOR IN LONDON
BY
FERGUS HUME
Author of
"The Mystery of a Hansom Cab," "Hagar of the Pawn Shop,"
Etc., Etc.
F. M. BUCKLES & COMPANY
9 AND 11 EAST SIXTEENTH STREET, NEW YORK
LONDON--JOHN LONG
COPYRIGHT, 1900
BY
F. M. BUCKLES & COMPANY
_A Traitor in London_
A Traitor in London.
CHAPTER I.
CUPID IN LEADING STRINGS.
"It's an infernal shame!"
"I call it common sense!"
"Call it what you please, Malet. I deny your right to keep back my
money."
"Right? Your father's will gives me every right. If I approve of your
marriage, the money will be paid down on your wedding day."
"But you don't approve, confound you!"
"Certainly not. Brenda Scarse is not the wife for you, Harold."
"That's my business."
"Mine also--under the will. Come, come now; don't lose your temper."
The elder speaker smiled as he proffered this advice, knowing well
that he was provoking his cousin beyond all bounds. Harold Burton was
young, fiery-tempered, and in love. To be thwarted in his love was
something more than exasperating to this impetuous lover. The
irritating request that he should keep his temper caused him to lose
it promptly; and for the next five minutes Mr. Gilbert Malet was
witness of a fine exhibition of unrestrained rage. He trembled for the
furniture, almost for his own personal safety, though he managed to
preserve a duly dignified outward calm. While Harold stamped about the
room, his burly cousin posed before a fireless grate and trimmed his
nails, and waited until the young man should have exhausted this
wholly unnecessary display of violence.
They were in the library of Holt Manor. It was a sombre, monkish room;
almost ascetic in its severity. Bookcases and furniture were of black
oak, carpet and curtains of a deep red color; and windows of stained
glass subdued the light suitably for study and meditation. But on this
occasion the windows were open to the brilliant daylight of an August
afternoon, and shafts of golden sunshine poured into the room. From
the terrace stretching before the house, vast woods sloped toward
Chippingholt village, where red-roofed houses clustered round a
brawling stream, and rose again on the further side to sweep to the
distant hills in unbroken masses of green. Manor and village took
their Teutonic names from these forests, and buried in greenery, might
have passed as the domain of the Sleeping Beauty. Her palace was
undoubtedly girdled by just such a wood.
But this sylvan beauty did not appeal to the pair in the library. The
stout, domineering owner of the Manor who trimmed his nails and smiled
blandly had the stronger position of the two, and he knew it well--so
well that he could afford to ignore the virile wrath of his ward.
Strictly speaking, Captain Burton was not a ward, if that word implies
minority. He was thirty years of age, in a lancer regiment, and
possessed of an income sufficient to emancipate him from the control
of his cousin Gilbert. Still, though possible for one, his income was
certainly not possible for two, and if Gilbert chose he could increase
his capital by twenty thousand pounds. But the stumbling-block was the
condition attached to the disposal of the money. Only if Malet
approved of the prospective bride was he to part with the legacy. As
such he did not approve of Brenda Scarse, so matters were at a
standstill. Nor could Harold well see how he was to move them. Finding
all his rage of no avail, he gradually subsided and had recourse to
methods more pacific.
"Let me understand this matter clearly," he said, taking a seat with a
resolute air. "Independent of my three hundred a year, you hold twenty
thousand pounds of my money."
"To be correct," replied Malet in a genial tone, "I hold forty
thousand pounds, to be equally shared between you and your brother
Wilfred when you marry. The three hundred | 186.933822 | 833 |
2023-11-16 18:18:53.7347540 | 167 | 168 | IV (OF 8)***
E-text prepared by Charlene Taylor, Christine P. Travers, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from
page images generously made available by Internet Archive
(http://www.archive.org) and digitized by Google Books Library Project
(http://books.google.com/intl/en/googlebooks/library.html)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 29340-h.htm or 29340-h.zip:
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Images of the original pages are available
| 187.054164 | 834 |
2023-11-16 18:18:53.8622820 | 1,093 | 429 |
Produced by Emmy, MWS, Keith Edkins and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
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Transcriber's note: Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Page numbers enclosed by curly braces (example: {25}) have been
incorporated to facilitate the use of the Index.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE LARDER.]
[Illustration]
THE
ENGLISH HOUSEKEEPER:
OR,
MANUAL OF DOMESTIC MANAGEMENT:
CONTAINING
ADVICE ON THE CONDUCT OF HOUSEHOLD AFFAIRS, AND
Practical Instructions
CONCERNING
THE STORE-ROOM,
THE PANTRY,
THE LARDER,
THE KITCHEN,
THE CELLAR,
THE DAIRY.
THE WHOLE BEING INTENDED
FOR THE USE OF YOUNG LADIES WHO UNDERTAKE THE SUPERINTENDENCE OF THEIR OWN
HOUSEKEEPING.
_SIXTH EDITION._
(IMPROVED BY THE INTRODUCTION OF MANY NEW RECEIPTS.)
BY ANNE COBBETT.
LONDON: PUBLISHED BY A. COBBETT, 137, STRAND.
1851.
[_Price Six Shillings._]
LONDON:
GEO. PEIRCE, PRINTER, 310, STRAND.
{iii}INTRODUCTION.
"She looketh well to the ways of her _Household_, and eateth not the
bread of idleness. Her children arise up, and call her blessed: her
husband also, and he praiseth her. Many daughters have done virtuously,
but thou excellest them all."--PROVERBS, Chap. xxxi., vs. 27, 28, & 29.
I HAVE taken so much pains to make the following work deserving of the
title it bears, that I could not, without affectation, pretend to
undervalue my own performance, by anticipating doubts of its utility, or by
expressing any fear lest my friends should be disappointed when they look
into it. Every publication of this description is necessarily calculated to
be of some essential service; for it must not only be practical in its
descriptions and directions, but must relate to matters touching the daily
and hourly wants of all mankind; and it will, of course, be approved
according as it may happen to meet those wants.
As a mere Cookery-book, mine must submit to be placed in a lower rank than
some others, because I do not profess to bring to light discoveries in the
culinary art, neither do I design to favour epicurism. I have no pretension
beyond that of advising young ladies who are their own housekeepers; and
the receipts which will be found in my selection, are such as appeared to
me suitable to any family of moderate style in living, and such as may be
easily comprehended and put in practice. These have been carefully
{iv}revised and amended in the present edition, and some others added.
While I am offering advice with respect to the manner of conducting
domestic affairs, I cannot refrain from expressing my regret that so large
a proportion of the young ladies of England are sadly deficient in that
information, and in those practices of economy which are the most
essentially necessary to their welfare as persons of influence and
authority in a house. I am by no means singular in lamenting that the
advantages of a knowledge of housekeeping seem to be so entirely lost sight
of by those who have the responsibility of bringing up either their own or
other people's daughters; and I find it frequently the subject of remark
that the ladies of the present day have become incapable of being so
skilful in the discharge of their domestic duties as the ladies of a former
period were, in proportion as they have become more cultivated and more
accomplished. But is it so? Are there now a greater proportion of women
whose minds are really cultivated than there were formerly? Is there not
rather a greater pretence of learning with less of it in reality? It is
erroneous to suppose that persons of real learning look upon the minor
duties of life with contempt, because of their learning; for, though
learning does not, perhaps, give sense, it surely does not destroy it, and
there is not only a want of sense, but a positive folly, in that
affectation of refinement, and that assumption of superiority, which has
led to the result now complained of. But the system of education which has
prevailed of late years is certainly in fault; a system which assigns the
same species of learning, indiscriminately, to young persons of every rank
and degree, without distinction even as to ability. Such a method of
bringing up has unavoidably been productive of very injurious effects; for,
while it withdraws the daughters of farmers and tradespeople, and others,
during a great part of their youth, from the practice of those homely arts | 187.181692 | 835 |
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Produced by Emmy, Dianna Adair and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
[Transcriber's Note: Bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and italic
text is surrounded by _underscores_.]
TESSA
Our Little Italian Cousin
THE
Little Cousin Series
(TRADE MARK)
Each volume illustrated with six or more full-page plates in
tint. Cloth, 12mo, with decorative cover,
per volume, 60 cents
LIST OF TITLES
BY MARY HAZELTON WADE
(unless otherwise indicated)
=Our Little African Cousin=
=Our Little Alaskan Cousin=
By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
=Our Little Arabian Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little Armenian Cousin=
=Our Little Australian Cousin=
By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
=Our Little Brazilian Cousin=
By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
=Our Little Brown Cousin=
=Our Little Canadian Cousin=
By Elizabeth R. MacDonald
=Our Little Chinese Cousin=
By Isaac Taylor Headland
=Our Little Cuban Cousin=
=Our Little Dutch Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little Egyptian Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little English Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little Eskimo Cousin=
=Our Little French Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little German Cousin=
=Our Little Greek Cousin=
By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
=Our Little Hawaiian Cousin=
=Our Little Hindu Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little Hungarian Cousin=
By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
=Our Little Indian Cousin=
=Our Little Irish Cousin=
=Our Little Italian Cousin=
=Our Little Japanese Cousin=
=Our Little Jewish Cousin=
=Our Little Korean Cousin=
By H. Lee M. Pike
=Our Little Mexican Cousin=
By Edward C. Butler
=Our Little Norwegian Cousin=
=Our Little Panama Cousin=
By H. Lee M. Pike
=Our Little Persian Cousin=
By E. C. Shedd
=Our Little Philippine Cousin=
=Our Little Porto Rican Cousin=
=Our Little Russian Cousin=
=Our Little Scotch Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little Siamese Cousin=
=Our Little Spanish Cousin=
By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
=Our Little Swedish Cousin=
By Claire M. Coburn
=Our Little Swiss Cousin=
=Our Little Turkish Cousin=
L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
New England Building, Boston, Mass.
[Illustration: TESSA]
TESSA
Our Little Italian Cousin
By Mary Hazelton Wade
_Illustrated by_ L. J. Bridgman
[Illustration]
Boston
L. C. Page & Company
_PUBLISHERS_
_Copyright, 1903_
BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
_All rights reserved_
THE LITTLE COUSIN SERIES
(_Trade Mark_)
Published, July, 1903
Fifth Impression, June, 1908
Sixth Impression, November, 1909
Seventh Impression, August, 1910
Preface
MANY people from other lands have crossed the ocean to make a new home
for themselves in America. They love its freedom. They are happy here
under its kindly rule. They suffer less from want and hunger than in the
country of their birthplace.
Their children are blessed with the privilege of attending fine schools
and with the right to learn about this wonderful world, side by side
with the sons and daughters of our most successful and wisest people.
Among these newer-comers to America are the Italians, many of whom will
never again see their own country, of which they are still so justly
proud. They will tell you it is a land of wonderful beauty; that it has
sunsets so glorious that both artists and poets try to picture them for
us again and again; that its history is that of a strong and mighty
people who once held rule over all the civilized world; that thousands
of travellers visit its shores every year to look upon its paintings and
its statues, for it may truly be called the art treasure-house of the
world.
When you meet your little Italian cousins, with their big brown eyes and
olive skins, whether it be in school or on the street, perhaps you will
feel a little nearer and more friendly if you turn your attention for a
while to their home, and the home of the brave and wise Columbus who
left it that he might find for you in the far West your own loved
country, your great, grand, free America.
Contents
PAGE
I. TESSA 9
II. ROME 18
III. THE STORY OF AENEAS 38
IV. CHRISTMAS 52
V. SAINT PETER'S 64
VI. THE CHRISTENING 75
VII. THE TWINS 86
VIII. THE CARNIVAL 101
IX. THE BURIED CITY 115
List of Illustrations
PAGE
TESSA _Frontispiece_
"BEPPO WALKED BY HER SIDE" 19
IN THE PALACE GARDEN 33
IN ST. PETER'S 64
"WERE SOON IN THE MIDST OF A MERRY CROWD" 106
"IT WAS A STRANGE PLACE" 122
TESSA
Our Little Italian Cousin
CHAPTER I.
TESSA
"THERE comes babbo! There comes babbo!" cried Tessa, as she ran down the
narrow street to meet her father, with baby Francesca toddling after
her.
The man was not alone,--Beppo and the donkey were with him. They were
very tired, for it was a hard trip from the little village on the
hilltop to the great city, miles away, and back again. The donkey was
not of much help on the homeward journey, either. Poor little patient
beast! he was getting old now, and he felt that his day's work was done
when he had carried a load of nuts and vegetables to Rome in the
morning. But when he had to bring Beppo back again, he felt a little bit
sulky. So it was no wonder that he stood quite still every few minutes
and did not seem to hear his little master scold.
"Get up, Pietro, get up. We shall be late to supper," Beppo would say,
but the donkey would not move till Beppo's father used the whip. He did
not strike hard enough to hurt the poor creature, though. Oh no, the
kind man would not do that, he was too gentle. But he must make the
donkey know the whip was there, or they would never get home.
When they had crossed the wide plain and reached the foot of the hill,
Beppo got down and walked. It was too hard on Pietro to make him carry
even a little boy now.
They came up the narrow road slowly till they reached the village. And
just as the sunset spread over the sky, and gave a glory even to the
stones, Tessa caught sight of them.
"My darling Tessa," said her father. "My dear little Francesca." Tired
as he was, he took the two children in his arms and hugged them as
though he had been away many days. Yet he had left them at five o'clock
that very morning.
"We have good news for you, Beppo and I," he went on.
Beppo laughed till the high, pointed hat nearly fell off his head.
"Oh, yes, good news," said Beppo. "You cannot think what it is, Tessa.
May I tell her, babbo?"
"Yes, my child," his father answered.
"You are to go to Rome to-morrow with babbo and me. The great artist who
buys our fruit wants to see you. He thinks he may want you for a model.
And me, too, Tessa, he wants me! He will put us both in a picture.
Babbo said you also had long hair, and that we look much alike.
"Only think, Tessa! he will pay babbo for letting him paint us. And
mother shall have a new dress, and you shall have some red ribbons. We
will all have a feast. Say, Tessa, is there a nice chestnut cake waiting
for our supper? I am so hungry."
The boy's great black eyes sparkled as he told the story. His long hair
hung down over his shoulders, under the odd pointed hat. He was a
beautiful child. It was no wonder the American artist wished to put him
in a picture.
But Tessa was beautiful, too. The artist would not be disappointed when
he saw her. Her skin was clear, but like the colour of the olives which
grew on the old tree behind her house. And now there was a faint pink
blush in her cheeks as she listened to Beppo's story.
They were very happy children, but oh, so poor, you would think if you
should visit them in the old house where they have always lived. It is
no wonder they like best to be outdoors.
The house is all of stone, and the floor is made of bricks. It seems
dark and chilly inside after leaving the glorious sunset. The plaster is
blackened with smoke and age. In some places it is broken away from the
wall and is falling down.
But there is a picture of the Christ-child hanging over the rough table,
and the children do not think of the dingy walls. It is home, where a
loving father and mother watch over them and guard them from harm.
See! the table is spread with the simple supper. There are the cakes
made from chestnut flour mixed with olive oil, and of which Beppo is so
fond. And here is milk from Tessa's pet goat. Beppo runs over to the
stone fountain in the middle of the village and fills a copper dish
with fresh water, and the little family sit down to their evening meal.
The mother hears the good news, and claps her hands in delight. But what
shall Tessa wear? It troubles the good soul, for Tessa has no shoes, and
both of her dresses are old and worn.
"Never mind, never mind," says her husband, "don't trouble yourself
about that. The artist says he does not care about the clothes. He was
much pleased with Beppo's cloak, however. He says it will be fine in the
picture. Let Tessa wear her wide straw hat and her old clothes; that is
all he asks."
"But how will she manage to travel so far? The child has never before
gone such a distance from home," continued her mother.
"She is not heavy. She can sit on Pietro's back between the panniers. I
will not load them heavily to-morrow, and then Pietro will not
complain. And when we come home at night, Beppo can walk, I am sure. He
may be tired, but he is a stout lad, my Beppo is. What do you say, my
boy?"
Beppo was sure he could get along. He was only too glad to have Tessa's
company.
"But think, babbo," he exclaimed, "it is not for one day that the artist
wishes us. It is many, many, before the picture will be finished. We can
manage somehow, I am sure. I am nearly twelve years old now, and I am
getting very strong."
"But what will mother do with me away all day long?" said Tessa. "Who
will take care of the baby while she works in the garden? And who will
help her pull the weeds?"
"Bruno shall watch Francesca. He will let no harm come to her, you may
be sure. Besides, she can walk alone so well now, she is little care. As
for the garden, there is not much more to do at present. It almost
takes care of itself," said the mother.
"Yes, Bruno can be trusted," said the father, "he is the best dog I ever
knew."
As he heard his name spoken, the sheep-dog came slowly out of the
chimney-corner. He wagged his tail as though he knew what his master and
mistress had been saying. Beppo threw him his last bit of cake and Bruno
caught it on his nose, from which it was quickly passed into his mouth.
"Dear old Bruno," said Tessa, "you took care of me when I was a baby,
didn't you? Mamma, did Bruno really rock the cradle and keep the flies
off, so I could sleep?"
"Yes, my child; when I was very ill he would watch you all day long. And
when you began to creep, he followed you about. If you got near the edge
of a step, or any other unsafe place, he would lift you by your dress
and bring you to my side. We should thank the good Lord for bringing
Bruno to us."
The mother looked up to the picture of Jesus and made the sign of the
cross on her breast.
An hour later the whole family were sound asleep on their hard beds.
CHAPTER II.
ROME
ABOUT four o'clock the next morning every one was awake and stirring.
There was much to be done. The vegetables and fruits must be gathered;
the donkey fed and saddled; Tessa's hair must | 187.21607 | 836 |
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Transcribed from the 1887 Cassell & Company edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
CASSELL'S NATIONAL LIBRARY
* * * * *
THE HISTORY
OF THE
CALIPH VATHEK
BY
WILLIAM BECKFORD.
[Picture: Printer's mark]
CASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED:
_LONDON_, _PARIS_, _NEW YORK & MELBOURNE_.
1887.
INTRODUCTION
William Beckford, born in 1759, the year before the accession of King
George the Third, was the son of an Alderman who became twice Lord Mayor
of London. His family, originally of Gloucestershire, had thriven by the
plantations in Jamaica; and his father, sent to school in England, and
forming a school friendship at Westminster with Lord Mansfield, began the
world in this country as a merchant, with inheritance of an enormous West
India fortune. William Beckford the elder became Magistrate, Member of
Parliament, Alderman. Four years before the birth of William Beckford
the younger he became one of the Sheriffs of London, and three years
after his son's birth he was Lord Mayor. As Mayor he gave very sumptuous
dinners that made epochs in the lives of feeding men. His son's famous
"History of the Caliph Vathek" looks as if it had been planned for an
Alderman's dream after a very heavy dinner at the Mansion House. There
is devotion in it to the senses, emphasis on heavy dining. Vathek piqued
himself on being the greatest eater alive; but when the Indian | 187.277344 | 837 |
2023-11-16 18:18:53.9893020 | 4,080 | 61 |
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 haughtiness, a
_ter | 187.308712 | 838 |
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* * * * *
Punch, or the London Charivari
Volume 105, November 25th 1893
_edited by Sir Francis Burnand_
* * * * *
POPULAR SONGS RE-SUNG.--"AFTER THE BALL."
[The authors of the various versions of this "popular song"
will not, _Mr. Punch_ is sure, object to its refrain being
used in a far wider sense--being applied, so to speak, to a
more extensive _sphere_--than they contemplated.]
[Illustration]
Man, youth or maiden, amateurs, pros.,
Season of snow-storms, time of the rose,
'Tis the same story all have to tell!
Not even KIPLING'S go half | 187.614788 | 839 |
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[Frontispiece: LOWERED THE CAN CAUTIOUSLY BY A STRING]
NORTHERN DIAMONDS
BY
FRANK LILLIE POLLOCK
_With Illustrations_
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Riverside Press Cambridge
1917
COPYRIGHT, 1914 AND 1915, BY PERRY MASON COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY FRANK LILLIE POLLOCK
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
_Published September 1917_
NOTE
This book has appeared in the _Youth's Companion_ in the form of a
serial and sequel, and my thanks are due to the proprietors of that
periodical for permission to reprint.
FRANK LILLIE POLLOCK
ILLUSTRATIONS
LOWERED THE CAN CAUTIOUSLY BY A STRING...... _Frontispiece_
THE OTHER BOYS HAD BEEN BUSY
"THAT IS OUR CABIN. LET US COME IN, I SAY"
DRAGGED HIM UP, PROTESTING, AND RUBBED SNOW ON HIS EARS
FLUNG THE SACK INTO THE MAN'S LAP
_From drawings by Harry C. Edwards_
NORTHERN DIAMONDS
CHAPTER I
It was nearly eleven o'clock at night when some one knocked at the door
of Fred Osborne's room. He was not in the least expecting any caller
at that hour, and had paid no attention when he had heard the doorbell
of the boarding-house ring downstairs, and the sound of feet ascending
the steps. He hastened to open the door, however, and in the dim
hallway he recognized the dark, handsome face of Maurice Stark, and
behind it the tall, raw-boned form of Peter Macgregor.
Both of them uttered an exclamation of satisfaction at seeing him.
They were both in fur caps and overcoats, for it was a sharp Canadian
December night, and at the first glance Fred observed that their faces
wore an expression of excitement.
"Come in, boys!" he said. "I wasn't going to bed. Here, take your
coats off. What's up? You look as if something was the matter."
"Is Horace in town?" demanded Peter.
Fred shook his head. Horace was his elder brother, a mining engineer
mostly employed in the North Country.
"He's still somewhere in the North Woods. I haven't heard from him
since October, but I'm expecting him to turn up almost any day now.
Why, what's the matter?"
"The matter? Something pretty big," returned Maurice.
Maurice Stark was Fred's most intimate friend in Toronto University,
from which he had himself graduated the summer before. He knew
Macgregor less well, for the big Scotch-Canadian was in the medical
school. His home place was somewhere far up in the North Woods, but he
had a great intercollegiate reputation as a long-distance runner. It
was, in fact, chiefly in a sporting way that Fred had come to know him,
for Fred held an amateur skating championship, and was even then
training for the ice tournament to be held in Toronto in a few weeks.
"It's something big!" Maurice repeated. "I wish Horace were here,
but--could you get a holiday from your office for a week or ten days?"
"I've got it already," said Fred. "I reserved my holidays last summer,
and things aren't busy in a real estate office at this time of year. I
guess I could get two weeks if I wanted it. I'm spending most of my
time now training for the five and ten miles."
"Could you skate a hundred and fifty miles in two days?" demanded
Macgregor.
"I might if I had to--if it was a case of life and death."
"That's just what it is--a case of life and death, and possibly a
fortune into the bargain!" cried Maurice. "You see--but Mac has the
whole story."
The Scottish medical student went to the window, raised the blind and
peered out at the wintry sky.
"No sign of snow yet," he said in a tone of satisfaction.
"What's that got to do with it?" demanded Fred, who was burning with
curiosity by this time. "What's going on, anyway? Hurry up."
"Spoil the skating," said Macgregor briefly. "Well," he went on after
a moment, "this is how I had the story.
"I live away up north of North Bay, you know, at a little place called
Muirhead. I went home for a little visit last week, and the second day
I was there they brought in a sick Indian from Hickson, a little
farther north--sick with smallpox. The Hickson authorities wouldn't
have him at any price, and they had just passed him on to us. The
people at Muirhead didn't want him either. It wasn't such a very bad
case of smallpox, but the poor wretch had suffered a good deal of
exposure, and he was pretty shaky. Everybody was in a panic about him;
they wanted to ship him straight down to North Bay; but finally I got
him fixed up in a sort of isolation camp and looked after him myself."
"Good for you, Mac!" Fred ejaculated.
"Oh, it was good hospital training, and I'd been recently vaccinated,
so I didn't run any danger. It paid me, though, for when I'd pulled
him around a bit he told me the story, and a queer tale it was."
Macgregor paused and went to look out of the window again with anxiety.
Fred was listening breathlessly.
"It seems that last September this Indian, along with a couple of
half-breeds, went up into the woods for the winter trapping, and built
a cabin on one of the branches of the Abitibi River, away up northeast
of Lake Timagami. I know about where it was. I suppose you | 187.832271 | 840 |
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Produced by David Widger
THE WRITINGS OF THOMAS PAINE, VOLUME I.
By Thomas Paine
Collected And Edited By Moncure Daniel Conway
Transcriber's Note:This file posted, on the US President's Day Holiday,
in memory of Thomas Paine, one of our most influential and most
unappreciated patriots.
THE AMERICAN CRISIS
Table of Contents
| 187.860165 | 841 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at DP Europe
http://dp.rastko.net
* * * * *
+-----------------------------------------------------------+
| Transcriber's Note: |
| |
| The author of this ebook makes unusual use of commas and |
| asterisks. |
| |
| The character a with a straight line (macron) above is |
| represented as [=a]. |
| |
| Greek has been transliterated and marked with + marks. |
| |
+-----------------------------------------------------------+
* * * * *
SCARABS.
THE
HISTORY, MANUFACTURE AND RELIGIOUS
SYMBOLISM
OF THE
SCARABAEUS,
IN
ANCIENT EGYPT, PHOENICIA, SARDINIA,
ETRURIA, ETC.
ALSO
REMARKS ON THE LEARNING, PHILOSOPHY, ARTS, ETHICS,
PSYCHOLOGY, IDEAS AS TO THE IMMORTALITY OF
THE SOUL, ETC., OF THE ANCIENT EGYPTIANS,
PHOENICIANS, ETC.
BY
ISAAC MYER, LL.B.
Member of the American Oriental Society. The American Numismatic
and Archaeological Society. The Numismatic and Antiquarian
Society of Philadelphia. La Societe Royale de Numismatique
de Belgique. The Oriental Club of
Philadelphia. The New York Historical
Society Historical Society of
the State of Pennsylvania,
etc.
AUTHOR OF THE QABBALAH. THE PHILOSOPHICAL WRITINGS OF
SOLOMON B. YEHUDAH IBN. GEBIROL, OR AVICEBRON;
THE WATERLOO MEDAL, ETC.
FOR SALE BY
EDWIN W. DAYTON,
NO. 641 MADISON AVENUE,
NEW YORK.
OTTO HARRASSOWITZ,
Querstrasse No. 14,
LEIPZIG.
EMILE BOUILLON,
No. 67, Rue de Richelieu,
PARIS.
1894.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1894, by
ISAAC MYER,
in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
ALL RIGHTS OF TRANSLATION RESERVED.
INTRODUCTION.
The following work is taken in part, from an address delivered by me
before, The American Numismatic and Archaeological Society, at its Hall
in the City of New York, on March 30th, 1893. Since that time I have
been led into a train of thought, having as its basis a more
philosophical treatment of the meaning of the scarabaeus as a symbol,
in the religious metaphysic conception of it by the Ancient Egyptians,
and have added much new matter. I am convinced that at the period when
we first meet with the symbol of the scarabaeus in Egypt, it was
already the symbol and tangible expression of an elevated religious
idea, embracing that of a future life of the human soul, a
resurrection of it from the dead, and most likely, of a reward or
punishment to it in the future life, based on its conduct when in the
terrestrial life.
We know from the inscription on the lid of the coffin of Men-kau-Ra,
king of the IVth, the Memphite Dynasty, (_circa_ 3633-3600 B.C.,) and
builder of the Third Pyramid at Gizeh; that some of the most elevated
conceptions of the _Per-em-hru_, i.e., the so-called, Book of the
Dead, were at that time in existence as accepted facts. The dead one
at this early period became an Osiris, living eternally. We have every
reason to think, that the use of the models of the scarabaeus as the
symbol of the resurrection or new-birth, and the future eternal life
of the triumphant or justified dead, existed as an accepted dogma,
before the earliest historical knowledge we have thus far been able
to acquire of the Ancient Egyptians.
It most probably ante-dated the epoch of Mena, the first historical
Egyptian king. How long before his period it existed, in the present
condition of our knowledge of the ancient history and thought of
Egypt, it is impossible to surmise. Of the aborigines of the land of
Egypt we do not know nor are we very likely to know, anything. Of the
race known to us as the Egyptian we can now assert with much
certainty, that it was a Caucasian people, and likely came from an
original home in Asia. When the invader arrived in the valley of the
Nile, he appears to have been highly civilized and to have had an
elevated form of religious belief.
The oldest stelae known, one of which is now in the Ashmolean Museum at
Oxford, England, and the other in the Museum at Gizeh, Egypt; were
made for the tomb of Shera, who is called on them, "a prophet" and "a
royal relative." He was a priest of the period of Sent, the fifth king
of the IInd Dynasty, who was living about 4000 B.C. The stele is shown
by Lepsius in his _Auswahl_, Plate 9, and is the earliest example of a
hieroglyphic inscription known. These stelae are in the form of a false
door.
Upon these stelae of Shera, is inscribed the Egyptian prayer for the
soul of the dead called, the _Suten-hotep-ta_, from its first words.
The _Suten-hotep-ta_ was supposed to have been delivered by divine
revelation. An old text speaks of, a "_Suten-hotep-ta_ exactly
corresponding to the texts of sacrificial offerings, handed down by
the ancients as proceeding from the mouth of God."[1] This prayer
inscribed on the steles mentioned, asks that there may be granted the
deceased in the other world, funeral oblations, "thousands of oxen,
linen bandages, cakes, vessels of wine, incense, etc." This shows that
at this very early period there was a belief in Egypt of the future
life of the _Ba_, the responsible soul, and of the _Ka_, the vital
soul, of the deceased. The word _Ka_ enters into the names of kings
Ka-kau, Nefer-ka-Ra, and Nefer-ka-seker of the IInd Dynasty (4133-3966
B.C.) In the same Dynasty the word _Ba_, the name of the responsible
soul, and _Baiu_ its plural, enter into the names Neter-Baiu and
Ba-en-neter. _Ab_, i.e., the heart, also enters into the name of
Per-ab-sen of this Dynasty. We also have _Ba_ in the name of
Mer-ba-pen, sixth king of the Ist Dynasty.
It was during the reign of king Sent, that a medical papyrus was
edited which shows it was the result of years of experience. From
what we have just said it is extremely likely, that the body was
mummified in Egypt from the earliest period of which we have
knowledge.
Manetho says that Teta, the second king of the 1st Dynasty, _circa_
4366 B.C., wrote a book on anatomy, and experimented with drugs or
chemicals. Shesh, the mother of this king, invented a hair wash.[2]
We can from the foregoing assume with some certainty, that before the
historical period in Ancient Egypt, a religious belief existed,
funeral ceremonies, and an expectation of an eternal life of the soul
after the death of the body of man on this earth; whether a belief in
rewards or punishments to be suffered or enjoyed by the soul after
such death, for actions done by man in this earthly life, existed at
that time, we cannot as yet, with certainty, affirm; but it is quite
likely it did. In this connection a study of the "Pyramid Texts"
published by Maspero in his _Recueil de Travaux_, is of great value to
the student.
An element of great value to the student of religions is, that the
scarabaeus symbol, is the earliest expression of the most ancient idea
of the immortality of the soul after death that has reached our day,
taking us back however to a period which may be considered as
civilized and enlightened and yet, so encompassed with the mists of
the past, that the mental eye of to-day cannot grasp that past with
much tangibility, and giving us almost cause to think, that the
doctrine of the immortality of the human soul was a remnant of an
early divine revelation, or at least, an advanced instinct of early
humanity; for it is a curious phase of archaic Egyptian thought, that
the further we go back in our investigations of the origins of its
religious ideas, the more ideal and elevated they appear as to the
spiritual powers and the unseen world. Idolatry made its greatest
advance subsequent to the epoch of the Ancient Empire, and progressed
until it finally merged itself into the animalism of the New Empire
and the gross paganism of the Greeks and Romans.
We have not yet many religious texts of the Ancient Empire that have
been fully studied and made known, but those that have been, exhibit
an idealism as to the Supreme Deity and a belief in the immortality of
the soul, based on the pious, ethical and charitable conduct of man,
which speak highly for an early very elevated thought in religious
ideas.
There is however one thought which must strike the student of
religions forcibly, that is the fact, that the idea of the re-birth
and future eternal life of the pious and moral dead, existed among the
Ancient Egyptians as an accepted dogma, long before the period in
which Moses is said to have lived. Moses has been asserted both in the
New Testament (Acts VII., 22), and by the so-called profane writers
Philo and Josephus, to have been learned in all the wisdom and
knowledge of the Egyptians of his time, yet we have not in the pages
of the Pentateuch, which is usually by the theologians ascribed to
him, any direct assertion of the doctrine of a future life or of an
immortality of the human soul, or of a future reward or punishment in
a future state of the soul. Ideas are therein set forth however, of a
separation of the spiritual part of man into different divisions.
It may be, that the doctrine of the immortality of the soul was not
accepted as a religious dogma, by the Hyksos or Shepherd Kings, an
apparently Asiatic race, probably Semitic, of which we have not as yet
very much knowledge. It is likely that it was under the Hyksos that
the Hebrew, Joseph, was advanced to high honors in Egypt, and under
their kings, that the influx and increase of the Hebrew population in
Egypt began and prospered.
It may be advanced with much certainty, that the Hebrew people
residing in Ancient Egypt, must have been acquainted with many of the
Egyptian ideas on the subject of the eternal future life of the soul
of the dead, and the reward or punishment of it in that future life,
for these ideas were undoubtedly widely and generally known by the
Egyptian people, and were too thoroughly formulated in the active and
daily life of the Ancient Egyptian population, not to have been known
by the Hebrews living in daily contact with them, but the Hebrews may
not have accepted them as a verity.
It may have been, that as the idea of the future existence of the soul
in its perfection, was based upon the m | 188.098882 | 842 |
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produced from images made available by the HathiTrust
Digital Library.)
------------------------------------------------------------------------
LOW TIDE ON GRAND PRÉ
LOW TIDE ON GRAND PRÉ:
A BOOK OF LYRICS:
BY
BLISS CARMAN
[Illustration: logo]
CHARLES L. WEBSTER AND COMPANY
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK MDCCCXCIII
COPYRIGHT, 1893,
BY BLISS CARMAN.
(_All rights reserved._)
PRESS OF
JENKINS & MCCOWAN,
NEW YORK.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The poems in this volume have been collected with reference to their
similarity of tone. They are variations on a single theme, more or less
aptly suggested by the title, _Low Tide on Grand Pré_. It seemed better
to bring together between the same covers only those pieces of work
which happened to be in the same key, rather than to publish a larger
book of more uncertain aim.
B. C.
_By Grand Pré, September, 1893._
CONTENTS
PAGE
LOW TIDE ON GRAND PRÉ 11
WHY 15
THE UNRETURNING 18
A WINDFLOWER 19
IN LYRIC SEASON 21
THE PENSIONERS 23
AT THE VOICE OF A BIRD 27
WHEN THE GUELDER ROSES BLOOM 31
SEVEN THINGS 44
A SEA CHILD 47
PULVIS ET UMBRA 48
THROUGH THE TWILIGHT 61
CARNATIONS IN WINTER 63
A NORTHERN VIGIL 65
THE EAVESDROPPER 73
IN APPLE TIME 77
WANDERER 79
AFOOT 89
WAYFARING 94
THE END OF THE TRAIL 103
THE VAGABONDS 111
WHITHER 118
TO
S. M. C.
_Spiritus haeres sit patriae quae tristia nescit._
LOW TIDE ON GRAND PRÉ
The sun goes down, and over all
These barren reaches by the tide
Such unelusive glories fall,
I almost dream they yet will bide
Until the coming of the tide.
And yet I know that not for us,
By any ecstasy of dream,
He lingers to keep luminous
A little while the grievous stream,
Which frets, uncomforted of dream—
A grievous stream, that to and fro
Athrough the fields of Acadie
Goes wandering, as if to know
Why one beloved face should be
So long from home and Acadie.
Was it a year or lives ago
We took the grasses in our hands,
And caught the summer flying low
Over the waving meadow lands,
And held it there between our hands?
The while the river at our feet—
A drowsy inland meadow stream—
At set of sun the after-heat
Made running gold, and in the gleam
We freed our birch upon the stream.
There down along the elms at dusk
We lifted dripping blade to drift,
Through twilight scented fine like musk,
Where night and gloom awhile uplift,
Nor sunder soul and soul adrift.
And that we took into our hands
Spirit of life or subtler thing—
Breathed on us there, and loosed the bands
Of death, and taught us, whispering,
The secret of some wonder-thing.
Then all your face grew light, and seemed
To hold the shadow of the sun;
The evening faltered, and I deemed
That time was ripe, and years had done
Their wheeling underneath the sun.
So all desire and all regret,
And fear and memory, were naught;
One to remember or forget
The keen delight our hands had caught;
Morrow and yesterday were naught.
The night has fallen, and the tide....
Now and again comes drifting home,
Across these aching barrens wide,
A sigh like driven wind or foam:
In grief the flood is bursting home.
WHY
For a name unknown,
Whose fame unblown
Sleeps in the hills
For ever and aye;
For her who hears
The stir of the years
Go by on the wind
By night and day;
And heeds no thing
Of the needs of spring,
Of autumn | 188.103514 | 843 |
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Produced by Jeannie Howse 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)
* * * * *
+-----------------------------------------------------------+
| Transcriber's Note: |
| |
| Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. For |
| a complete list, please see the end of this document. |
| |
+-----------------------------------------------------------+
* * * * *
ATTACK
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK. BOSTON. CHICAGO. DALLAS
ATLANTA. SAN FRANCISCO
MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED
LONDON. BOMBAY. CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE
THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.
TORONTO
ATTACK
AN INFANTRY SUBALTERN'S IMPRESSIONS
OF JULY 1ST, 1916
BY
EDWARD G.D. LIVEING
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY
JOHN MASEFIELD
New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1918
_All rights reserved_
COPYRIGHT, 1918
BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
Set up and electrotyped. Published, April, 1918
TO
THE N.C.O.s
AND
MEN OF No. 5 PLATOON
Of a Battalion of the County of London
Regiment, whom I had the good
fortune to command in France
during | 188.364494 | 844 |
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Produced by Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed
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THE FORMER PHILIPPINES THRU FOREIGN EYES
Edited by Austin Craig
Preface
Among the many wrongs done the Filipinos by Spaniards, to be charged
against their undeniably large debt to Spain, one of the greatest,
if not the most frequently mentioned, was taking from them their
good name.
Spanish writers have never been noted for modesty or historical
accuracy. Back in 1589 the printer of the English translation of Padre
Juan Gonzalez de Mendoza's "History of the Great and Mighty Kingdom of
China" felt it necessary to prefix this warning: * * * the Spaniards
(following their ambitious affections) do usually in all their writings
extoll their own actions, even to the setting forth of many untruthes
and incredible things, as in their descriptions of the conquistes of
the east and west Indies, etc., doth more at large appeare.
Of early Spanish historians Doctor Antonio de Morga seems the single
exception, and perhaps even some of his credit comes by contrast,
but in later years the rule apparently has proved invariable. As
the conditions in the successive periods of Spanish influence were
recognized to be indicative of little progress, if not actually
retrogressive, the practice grew up of correspondingly lowering the
current estimates of the capacity of the Filipinos of the conquest, so
that always an apparent advance appeared. This in the closing period,
in order to fabricate a sufficient showing for over three centuries
of pretended progress, led to the practical denial of human attributes
to the Filipinos found here by Legaspi.
Against this denial to his countrymen of virtues as well as
rights, Doctor | 188.370352 | 845 |
2023-11-16 18:18:55.0753440 | 1,129 | 136 | SCOTT ***
Produced by Al Haines.
*EDINBURGH*
UNDER SIR WALTER SCOTT
BY
W. T. FYFE
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY
R. S. RAIT
LONDON
ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE
AND COMPANY, LTD.
1906
Edinburgh: T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to His Majesty
*INTRODUCTION*
In the end of the eighteenth century and the beginning of the
nineteenth--from, approximately, the death of Samuel Johnson in 1784 to
that of Walter Scott in 1832--Edinburgh, rather than London, was the
intellectual centre of the kingdom. It would, of course, be easy to
show that London has never lacked illustrious men of letters among her
citizens, and, in this very period, the names of Sheridan, Bentham,
Blake, Lamb, and Keats at once occur to memory as evidence against our
thesis. It must also be admitted that Edinburgh shares some of her great
names with London, and that many of the writers of the time are
associated with neither capital. The name of William Cowper recalls the
village of Olney; the English Lakes claim their great poets; and Byron
and Shelley call to mind Greece and Italy, as, in the earlier part of
our period, Gibbon is identified with Lausanne. But the Edinburgh
society which Scott remembered in his youth or met in his prime included
a long series of remarkable men. Some of them, like Robertson the
historian; Hugh Blair; John Home, the author of _Douglas_; Henry
Mackenzie, 'The Man of Feeling'; John Leyden; Dugald Stewart; and John
Wilson, 'Christopher North,' were more or less permanent residents.
Others, like Adam Smith, Thomas Campbell, Lady Nairne, Thomas De
Quincey, Sir James Mackintosh, and Sydney Smith, spent a smaller portion
of their lives in Edinburgh. Not only was the city full of great
writers; it produced also a series of great publishers--the Constables
and the Blackwoods. The influence of the _Edinburgh Review_ can
scarcely be realised in these days of numberless periodicals, and it was
from Edinburgh that its great rival, the _Quarterly_, drew much of its
early support, and one of its great editors, John Gibson Lockhart.
Edinburgh, moreover, was still a national metropolis, for the railway
systems had not yet brought about the real union of England and
Scotland, and it possessed a society not less distinctively Scots than
the Established Church or the code of law. The judges who administered
that law add still further to the interest of the scene. Some were men
of great intellectual force, whose names still live in the history of
English thought. Lord Hailes, the antagonist of Gibbon, and Lord
Monboddo, who, in some sense, anticipated a discovery of Mr. Darwin,
lived on to the close of the eighteenth century, and, in the early
nineteenth, their reputation was sustained by Lord Woodhouselee, Lord
Jeffrey, and Lord Cockburn. Others of the judges were notable for force
of character, like Lord Braxfield, now familiar as 'Weir of Hermiston,'
or for mere eccentricity, like Lord Eskgrove, one of the strangest
beings who ever added to the gaiety of mankind.
The natural centre of this remarkable society is the great figure of Sir
Walter Scott, who dominated Edinburgh during a large portion of the
period, and the story of whose life has made so many Edinburgh names
household words for all time. Lockhart's _Life of Scott_ gives an
interesting, though by no means a complete, picture of this society.
There are many other sources of information: the _Scots Magazine_, the
_Annual Register_, and so forth. Most important of all are the
autobiographies of Alexander Carlyle and Lord Cockburn, two books which
it is becoming more and more difficult to obtain. 'Jupiter' Carlyle of
Inveresk was born in 1722, and lived until 1805. He could thus
recollect the Porteous Mob; he had seen Prince Charlie in Edinburgh,
and, from the garden of his father's manse at Prestonpans, he had
watched the flight of General Cope's defeated troops. He had been the
friend of David Hume, who died just before our period begins, of
Smollett, and of Robertson and Adam Smith. Such a man had much to tell,
and, fortunately for posterity, he chose to tell it. Not less
interesting or important is the volume known as _Memorials of his Time_,
by Henry Cockburn, who, from 1834 to his death in 1854, was a Scottish
judge. He was born in 1779, and had been a member of a famous Edinburgh
debating society--the 'Spec'--along with Henry Brougham, Francis Horner,
Walter Scott, and Francis Jeffrey. He shared Jeffrey's politics, aided
him in defending Radicals | 188.394754 | 846 |
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THE BLACK ROBE
by Wilkie Collins
BEFORE THE STORY.
FIRST SCENE.--BOULOGNE-SUR-MER.--THE DUEL.
I.
THE doctors could do no more for the Dowager Lady Berrick.
When the medical advisers of a lady who has reached seventy years of age
recommend the mild climate of the South of France, they mean in plain
language that they have arrived at the end of their resources. Her
ladyship gave the mild climate a fair trial, and then decided (as
she herself expressed it) to "die at home." Traveling slowly, she had
reached Paris at the date when I last heard of her. It was then the
beginning of November. A week later, I met with her nephew, Lewis
Romayne, at the club.
"What brings you to London at this time of year?" I asked.
"The fatality that pursues me," he answered grimly. "I am one of the
unluckiest men living."
He was thirty years old; he was not married; he was the enviable
possessor of the fine old country seat, called Vange Abbey; he had no
poor relations; and he was one of the handsomest men in England. When I
add that I am, myself, a retired army officer, with a wretched income, a
disagreeable wife, four ugly children, and a burden of fifty years on
my back, no one will be surprised to hear that I answered Romayne, with
bitter sincerity, in these words:
"I wish to heaven I could change places with you!"
"I wish to heaven you could!" he burst out, with equal sincerity on his
side. "Read that | 188.447756 | 847 |
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THE MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS AND SPEECHES OF LORD MACAULAY.
Contributions To The Edinburgh Review
By Thomas Babington Macaulay
VOLUME II.
CONTENTS.
CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE EDINBURGH REVIEW.
John Dryden. (January 1828.)
History. (May 1828.)
Mill on Government. (March 1829.)
Westminster Reviewer's Defence of Mill. (June 1829.)
Utilitarian Theory of Government. (October 1829.)
Sadler's Law of Population. (July 1830.)
Sadler's Refutation Refuted. (January 1831.)
Mirabeau. (July 1832.)
Barere. (April 1844.)
MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS OF LORD MACAULAY.
CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE EDINBURGH REVIEW.
JOHN DRYDEN. (January 1828.)
"The Poetical Works of John Dryden". In 2 volumes.
University Edition. London, 1826.
The public voice has assigned to Dryden the first place in the
second rank of our poets,--no mean station in a table of intellectual
precedency so rich in illustrious names. It is allowed that, even of
the few who were his superiors in genius, none has exercised a more
extensive or permanent influence on the national habits of thought and
expression. His life was commensurate with the period during which
a great revolution in the public taste was effected; and in that
revolution he played the part of Cromwell. By unscrupulously taking the
lead in its wildest excesses, he obtained the absolute guidance of it.
By trampling on laws, he acquired the authority of a legislator. By
signalising himself as the most daring and irreverent of rebels, he
raised himself to the dignity of a recognised prince. He commenced his
career by the most frantic outrages. He terminated it in the repose of
established sovereignty,--the author of a new code, the root of a new
dynasty.
Of Dryden, however, as of almost every man who has been distinguished
either in the literary or in the political world, it may be said that
the course which he pursued, and the effect which he produced, depended
less on his personal qualities than on the circumstances in which he was
placed. Those who have read history with discrimination know the fallacy
of those panegyrics and invectives which represent individuals
as effecting great moral and intellectual revolutions, subverting
established systems, and imprinting a new character on their age. The
difference between one man and another is by no means so great as the
superstitious crowd supposes. But the same feelings which in ancient
Rome produced the apotheosis of a popular emperor, and in modern Rome
the canonisation of a devout prelate, lead men to cherish an illusion
which furnishes them with something to adore. By a law of association,
from the operation of which even minds the most strictly regulated
by reason are not wholly exempt, misery disposes us to hatred, and
happiness to love, although there may be no person to whom our misery
or our happiness can be ascribed. The peevishness of an invalid vents
itself even on those who alleviate his pain. The good humour of a man
elated by success often displays itself towards enemies. In the
same manner, the feelings of pleasure and admiration, to which the
contemplation of great events gives birth, make an object where they
do not find it. Thus, nations descend to the absurdities of Egyptian
idolatry, and worship stocks and reptiles--Sacheverells and Wilkeses.
They even fall prostrate before a deity to which they have themselves
given the form which commands their veneration, and which, unless
fashioned by them, would have remained a shapeless block. They persuade
themselves that they are the creatures of what they have themselves
created. For, in fact, it is the age that forms the man, not the man
that forms the age. Great minds do indeed re-act on the society which
has made them what they are; but they only pay with interest what they
have received. We extol Bacon, and sneer at Aquinas. But, if their
situations had been changed, Bacon might have been the Angelical Doctor,
the most subtle Aristotelian of the schools; the Dominican might have
led forth the sciences from their house of bondage. If Luther had been
born in the tenth century, he would have effected no reformation. If
he had never been born at all, it is evident that the sixteenth century
could not have elapsed without a great schism in the church. Voltaire,
in the days of Louis the Fourteenth, would probably have been, like most
of the literary men of that time, a zealous Jansenist, eminent among the
defenders of efficacious grace, a bitter assailant of the lax morality
of the Jesuits and the unreasonable decisions of the Sorbonne. If Pascal
had entered on his literary career when intelligence was more general,
and abuses at the same time more flagrant, when the church was polluted
by the Iscariot Dubois, the court disgraced by the orgies of Canillac,
and the nation sacrificed to the juggles of Law, if he had lived to see
a dynasty of harlots, an empty treasury and a crowded harem, an army
formidable only to those whom it should have protected, a priesthood
just religious enough to be intolerant, he might possibly, like every
man of genius in France, have imbibed extravagant prejudices against
monarchy and Christianity. The wit which blasted the sophisms of
Escobar--the impassioned eloquence which defended the sisters of Port
Royal--the intellectual hardihood which was not beaten down even by
Papal authority--might have raised him to the Patriarchate of the | 188.610852 | 848 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
A
NEW BANKING SYSTEM:
THE
NEEDFUL CAPITAL FOR REBUILDING
THE BURNT DISTRICT.
BY LYSANDER SPOONER.
BOSTON:
SOLD BY A. WILLIAMS & CO.
135 WASHINGTON STREET.
1873.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873.
BY LYSANDER SPOONER,
in the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
Printed by
WARREN RICHARDSON,
112 Washington St
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.--A New Banking System, 5
CHAPTER II.--Specie Payments, 12
CHAPTER III.--No Inflation of Prices, 21
CHAPTER IV.--Security of the System, 35
CHAPTER V.--The System as a Credit System, 41
CHAPTER VI.--Amount of Currency Needed, 48
CHAPTER VII.--Importance of the System to Massachusetts, 59
CHAPTER VIII.--The True Character of the "National" System, 70
CHAPTER IX.--Amasa Walker's Opinion of the Author's System, 75
The reader will understand that the ideas presented in the following
pages admit of a much more thorough demonstration than can be given in
so small a space. Such demonstration, if it should be necessary, the
author hopes to give at a future time.
_Boston, March, 1873._
CHAPTER I.
A NEW BANKING SYSTEM.
Under the banking system--an outline of which is hereafter given--the
real estate of Boston alone--taken at only three-fourths its value, as
estimated by the State valuation[A]--is capable of furnishing three
hundred millions of dollars of loanable capital.
[A] By the State valuation of May, 1871, the real estate of Boston
is estimated at $395,214,950.
Under the same system, the real estate of Massachusetts--taken at only
three-fourths its estimated value[B]--is capable of furnishing seven
hundred and fifty millions of loanable capital.
[B] By the State valuation of May, 1871, the real estate of the
Commonwealth is estimated at $991,196,803.
The real estate of the Commonwealth, therefore, is capable of furnishing
an amount of loanable capital more than twelve times as great as that
of all the "_National_" Banks in the State[C]; more than twice as
great as that of all the "National" banks of the whole United States
($353,917,470); and equal to the entire amount ($750,000,000, or
thereabouts) both of greenback and "National" bank currency of the
United States.
[C] The amount of circulation now authorized by the present
"National" banks of Massachusetts, is $58,506,686, as appears
by the recent report of the Comptroller of the Currency.
It is capable of furnishing loanable capital equal to one thousand
dollars for every male and female person, of sixteen years of age and
upwards, within the Commonwealth; or two thousand five hundred dollars
for every male adult.
It would scarcely be extravagant to say that it is capable of furnishing
ample capital for every deserving enterprise, and every deserving man
and woman, within the State; and also for all such other enterprises in
other parts of the United States, and in foreign commerce, as
Massachusetts men might desire to engage in.
Unless the same system, or some equivalent one, should be adopted in
other States, the capital thus furnished in this State, could be loaned
at high interest at the West and the South.
If adopted here earlier than in other States, it would enable the
citizens of this State to act as pioneers in the most lucrative
enterprises that are to be found in other parts of the country.
All this capital is now lying dead, so far as being loaned is concerned.
All this capital can be loaned in the form of currency, if so much can
be used.
All the profits of banking, under this system, would be clear profits,
inasmuch as the use of the real estate as banking capital, would not
interfere at all with its use for other purposes.
The use of this real estate as banking capital would break up all
monopolies in banking, and in all other business depending upon bank
loans. It would diffuse credit much more | 188.619275 | 849 |
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The Headsman:
or, The Abbaye des Vignerons.
A Tale
By J. Fenimore Cooper.
"How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds
Makes deeds ill done."
Complete in One Volume.
1860.
Introduction.
Early in October 1832, a travelling-carriage stopped on the summit of that
long descent where the road pitches from the elevated plain of Moudon in
Switzerland to the level of the lake of Geneva, immediately above the
little city of Vevey. The postilion had dismounted to chain a wheel, and
the halt enabled those he conducted to catch a glimpse of the lovely
scenery of that remarkable view.
The travellers were an American family, which had long been wandering
about Europe, and which was now destined it knew not whither, having just
traversed a thousand miles of Germany in its devious course. Four years
before, the same family had halted on the same spot, nearly on the same
day of the month of October, and for precisely the same object. It was
then journeying to Italy, and as its members hung over the view of the
Leman, with its accessories of Chillon, Chatelard, Blonay, Meillerie, the
peaks of Savoy, and the wild ranges of the Alps, they had felt regret that
the fairy scene was so soon to pass away. The case was now different, and
yielding to the charm of a nature so noble and yet so soft, within a few
hours, the carriage was in remise, a house was taken, the baggage
unpacked, and the household gods of the travellers were erected, for the
twentieth time, in a strange land.
Our American (for | 188.620943 | 850 |
2023-11-16 18:18:55.4910020 | 1,191 | 411 |
Produced by KD Weeks, David Edwards 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 Books project.)
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Transcriber’s Note:
This version of the text cannot represent certain typographical effects.
Italics are delimited with the ‘_’ character as _italic_.
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: RALPH FINDS THE STOLEN GUNS.]
_FOREST AND STREAM SERIES._
------------------------------------------------------------------------
SNAGGED AND SUNK;
OR, THE
ADVENTURES OF A CANVAS CANOE.
BY
HARRY CASTLEMON,
AUTHOR OF “GUNBOAT SERIES,” “ROCKY MOUNTAIN
SERIES,” “SPORTSMAN CLUB SERIES,” ETC.
PHILADELPHIA
HENRY T. COATES & CO.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
FAMOUS CASTLEMON BOOKS.
---------------------
=GUNBOAT SERIES.= By HARRY CASTLEMON. 6 vols. 12mo.
FRANK THE YOUNG NATURALIST. FRANK ON A GUNBOAT.
FRANK IN THE WOODS. FRANK BEFORE VICKSBURG.
FRANK ON THE LOWER MISSISSIPPI. FRANK ON THE PRAIRIE.
=ROCKY MOUNTAIN SERIES.= By HARRY CASTLEMON. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth.
FRANK AMONG THE RANCHEROS. FRANK AT DON CARLOS’ RANCH.
FRANK IN THE MOUNTAINS.
=SPORTSMAN’S CLUB SERIES.= By HARRY CASTLEMON. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth.
THE SPORTSMAN’S CLUB IN THE SADDLE. THE SPORTSMAN’S CLUB AMONG THE
TRAPPERS.
THE SPORTSMAN’S CLUB AFLOAT.
=FRANK NELSON SERIES.= By HARRY CASTLEMON. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth.
SNOWED UP. THE BOY TRADERS. FRANK IN THE FORECASTLE.
=BOY TRAPPER SERIES.= By HARRY CASTLEMON. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth.
THE BURIED TREASURE. THE BOY TRAPPER. THE MAIL-CARRIER.
=ROUGHING IT SERIES.= By HARRY CASTLEMON. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth.
GEORGE IN CAMP. GEORGE AT THE WHEEL. GEORGE AT THE FORT.
=ROD AND GUN SERIES.= By HARRY CASTLEMON. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth.
DON GORDON’S SHOOTING BOX. ROD AND GUN CLUB.
THE YOUNG WILD FOWLERS.
=GO-AHEAD SERIES.= By HARRY CASTLEMON. 3 vols. l2mo. Cloth.
TOM NEWCOMBE. GO-AHEAD. NO MOSS.
=FOREST AND STREAM SERIES.= By HARRY CASTLEMON. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth.
JOE WAYRING. SNAGGED AND SUNK. STEEL HORSE.
=WAR SERIES.= By HARRY CASTLEMON. 5 vols. 12mo. Cloth.
TRUE TO HIS COLORS. RODNEY THE PARTISAN.
RODNEY THE OVERSEER. MARCY THE BLOCKADE-RUNNER.
MARCY THE REFUGEE.
_Other Volumes in Preparation._
------------------------------------------------------------------------
COPYRIGHT, 1888, BY PORTER & COATES.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. IN WHICH I BEGIN MY STORY, 5
II. CAPTURED AGAIN, 28
III. IN THE WATCHMAN’S CABIN, 52
IV. A NIGHT ADVENTURE, 74
V. JAKE COYLE’S SILVER MINE, 98
VI. JAKE WORKS HIS MINE, 120
VII. AMONG FRIENDS AGAIN, 142
VIII. JOE WAYRING IN TROUBLE, 166
IX. TOM VISITS THE HATCHERY, 192
X. MORE TROUBLE FOR TOM BIGDEN, 217
XI. SAM ON THE TRAIL, 242
XII. ABOUT VARIOUS THINGS, 265
XIII. JOE WAYRING’S PLUCK, 289
XIV. THE GUIDE “SURROUNDS” MATT’S CAMP, 314
XV. ON THE RIGHT TRACK AT LAST, 338
XVI. AT THE BOTTOM OF THE RIVER, 363
XVII. THE EXPERT COLUMBIA, 381
XVIII. CONCLUSION, 398
------------------------------------------------------------------------
SNAGGED AND SUNK;
OR,
THE ADVENTURES OF A CANVAS CANOE.
CHAPTER I.
IN WHICH I BEGIN MY STORY.
“Beneath a hemlock grim and dark,
Where shrub and vine are intertwining,
Our shanty stands, well roofed with bark,
On which the cheerful blaze is shining.
The smoke ascends in spiral wreath;
With upward curve the sparks are trending;
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THE PATH OF LIFE
By Stijn Streuvels
Translated from the West-Flemish by
Alexander Teixeira De Mattos
TRANSLATOR's NOTE
In introducing this new writer to the English-speaking public, I may be
permitted to give a few particulars of himself and his life. Stijn
Streuvels is accepted not only in Belgium, but also in Holland as the
most distinguished Low-Dutch author of our time: his vogue, in fact, is
even greater in the North Netherlands than in the southern kingdom. And I
will go further and say that I know no greater living writer of
imaginative prose in any land or any language. His medium is the
West-Flemish dialect, which is spoken by perhaps a million people
inhabiting the stretch of country that forms the province of West
Flanders and is comprised within the irregular triangle outlined by the
North Sea on the west, the French frontier of Flanders on the south and a
line drawn at one-third of the distance between Bruges and Ghent on the
east. In addition to Bruges and Ostend, this province of West Flanders
includes such towns as Poperinghe, Ypres and Courtrai; and so subtly
subdivided is the West-Flemish dialect that there are words which a man
of Bruges will use to a man of Poperinghe and not be understood.
It is one of the most interesting dialects known to me, containing
numbers of mighty mediaeval words which survive in daily use; and it is
one of the richest: rich especially--and this is not usual in
dialects--in words expressive of human characteristics and of physical
sensations.
Thus there is a word to describe a man who is not so much a poor wretch,
_un miserable_, as what Tom Hood loved to call "a hapless wight:" one who
is poor and wretched and outcast and out of work, not through any fault
of his own, through idleness or fecklessness, but through sheer ill-luck.
There is a word to describe what we feel when we hear the tearing of silk
or the ripping of calico, a word expressing that sense of angry
irritation which gives a man a gnawing in the muscles of the arms, a word
that tells what we really feel in our hair when we pretend that it
"stands on end." It is a sturdy, manly dialect, moreover, spoken by a
fine, upstanding race of "chaps," "fellows," "mates," "wives," and
"women-persons," for your Fleming rarely talks of "men" or "women." It is
also a very beautiful dialect, having many words that possess a charm all
their own. Thus _monkelen_, the West-Flemish for the verb "to smile," is
prettier and has an archer sound than its Dutch equivalent, _glimlachen_.
And it is a dialect of sufficient importance to boast a special
dictionary (_Westvlaamsch Idiotikon_, by the Rev. L. L. De Bo: Bruges,
1873) of 1,488 small-quarto pages, set in double column.
In translating Streuvels' sketches, I have given a close rendering: to
use a homely phrase, their flavour is very near the knuckle; and I have
been anxious to lose no more of it than must inevitably be lost through
the mere act of translation. I hope that I may be forgiven for one or two
phrases, which, though not existing, so far as I am aware, in any country
or district where the English tongue is spoken, are not entirely foreign
to the genius of that tongue. Here and there, but only where necessary, I
have added an explanatory foot-note.
For those interested in such matters, I may say that Stijn Streuvels'
real name is Frank Lateur. He is a nephew of Guido Gezelle, the
poet-priest, whose statue graces the public square at Courtrai, unless
indeed by this time those shining apostles of civilization, the Germans,
have destroyed it. Until ten years ago, when he began to come into his
own, he lived at Avelghem, in the south-east corner of West Flanders,
hard by Courtrai and the River Lys, and there baked bread for the
peasant-fellows and peasant-wives. For you must know that this foremost
writer of the Netherlands was once a baker and stood daily at sunrise,
bare-chested, before his glowing oven, drawing bread for the folk of his
village. The stories and sketches in the present volume all belong to
that period.
Of their number, _Christmas Night_, _A Pipe or no Pipe_, _On Sundays_ and
_The End_ have appeared in the _Fortnightly Review_, which was the first
to give Stijn Streuvels the hospitality of its pages; _In Early Winter_
and _White Life_ in the _English Review_; _The White Sand-path_ in the
_Illustrated London News_; _An Accident in Everyman_; and _Loafing_ in
the _Lady's Realm_. The remainder are now printed in English for the
first time.
ALEXANDER TEIXEIRA DE MATTOS.
Chelsea, _April_, 1915.
CONTENTS
TRANSLATOR'S NOTE
I. THE WHITE SAND-PATH
II. IN EARLY WINTER.
III. CHRISTMAS NIGHT.
IV. LOAFING
V. SPRING
VI. IN THE SQUALL
VII. A PIPE OR NO PIPE
VIII. ON SUNDAYS
IX. AN ACCIDENT
X. WHITE LIFE
XI. THE END.
THE WHITE SAND-PATH
I. THE WHITE SAND-PATH
I was a devil of a scapegrace in my time. No tree was too high for me, no
water too deep; and, when there was mischief going, I was the ring-leader
of the band. Father racked his head for days together to find a
punishment that I should remember; but it was all no good: he wore out
three or four birch-rods on my back; his hands pained him merely from
hitting my hard head; and bread and water was a welcome change to me from
the everyday monotony of potatoes and bread-and-butter. After a sound
drubbing followed by half a day's fasting, I felt more like laughing than
like crying; and, in half a while, all was forgotten and my wickedness
began afresh and worse than ever.
One summer's evening, I came home in fine fettle. I and ten of my
school-fellows had played truant: we had gone to pick apples in the
priest's orchard; and we had pulled the burgomaster's calf into the brook
to teach it to swim, but the banks were too high and the beast was
drowned. Father, who had heard of these happenings, laid hold of me in a
rage and gave me a furious trouncing with a poker, after which, instead
of turning me into the road, as his custom was, he caught me up fair and
square, carried me to the loft, flung me down on the floor and bolted the
trap-door behind him.
In the loft! Heavenly goodness, in the loft!
Of an evening I never dared think of the place; and in bright sunshine I
went there but seldom and then always in fear.
I lay as dead, pinched my eyes to and pondered on my wretched plight.
'Twas silent all around; I heard nothing, nothing. That lasted pretty
long, till I began to feel that the boards were so hard and that my body,
which had been thrashed black and blue, was hurting me. My back was stiff
and my arms and legs grew cold. And yet I nor wished nor meant to stir:
that was settled in my head. In the end, it became unbearable: I drew in
my right leg, shifted my arm and carefully opened my eyes. 'Twas so
ghastly, oh, so frightfully dark and warm: I could see the warm darkness;
so funny, that steep, slanting tiled roof, crossed by black rafters,
beams and laths, and all that space beyond, which disappeared in the dark
ridgework: 'twas like a deserted, haunted booth at a fair, during the
night. Over my head, like threatening blunderbusses, old trousers and
jackets hung swinging, with empty arms and legs: they looked just like
fellows that had been hanged! And it grew darker, steadily darker.
My eyes stood fixed and I heard my breath come and go. I pondered how
'twould end here. That lasting silence affrighted me; the anxious waiting
for that coming night: to have to spend a long, long night here alone! My
hair itched and pricked on my head. And the rats! I gave a great loud
scream. It rang in anguish through the sloping vault of the loft. I
listened as it died away... and nothing followed. I screamed again and
again and went on, till my throat was torn.
The gruesome thought of those rats and of that long night drove me mad
with fear. I rolled about on the floor, I struck out with my arms and
legs, like one possessed, in violent, childish fury. Then, worn out, I
let my arms and legs rest; at last, tired, swallowed up in my
helplessness, left without will or feeling, I waited for what was to
come. I had terribly wicked thoughts: of escaping from the house, of
setting fire to the house, of _murder_! I was an outcast, I was being
tortured. I should have liked to show them what I could do, who I was; to
see them hunting for me and crying; and then to run away, always farther
away, and never come back again.
Downstairs, the plates and forks were clattering for supper. I was not
hungry; I did not wish nor mean to eat. I heard soft, quiet voices
talking: that made me desperate; they were not speaking of me! They had
no thought nor care for the miscreant; they would liefst have him dead,
out of the way. And I was in the loft!
Later, very much later, I heard my little brother's voice saying evening
prayers--I would not pray--and then I heard nothing more, nothing; and I
lay there, upstairs, lonely and forlorn....
I walked all alone in the forest, through the brushwood. 'Twas half-dark
below; but, above the bushes, the sun was playing as through a green
curtain. I went on and on. The bushes here grew thick now and the tiny
path was lost. After long creeping and stumbling, I leapt across a ditch
and entered the wide drove. It did not seem strange to me that 'twas even
darker here and that the light, instead of from above, came streaming low
down from between the trunks of the trees. The vault was closed
leaf-tight and the trunks hung down from out of it like pillars. 'Twas
silent all around. I went, as I thought that I must see the sun, round
behind the trunks, half anxious at last to get out of that magic forest;
but new trees kept coming up, as though out of the ground, and hid the
sun. I would have liked to run, but felt I know not what in my legs that
made me drag myself on.
Far beyond, on the road-side grass, sat two boys. It was... but no, they
were sitting there too glumly! I went up to them and, after all, knew
them for Sarelke and Lowietje, the village-constable's children. They sat
with their legs in the ditch, their elbows on their knees, earnestly
chatting. I sat down beside them, but they did not even look up, did not
notice me. Those two boys, my schoolmates, the worst two scamps in the
village, sat there like two worn-out old fogies: they did not know me.
This ought to have surprised me, and yet I thought that it must be right
and that it had always been so. They chatted most calmly of the price of
marbles, of the way to tell the best hoops, of buying a new box of tin
soldiers; and they mumbled their words as slowly as the priest in his
pulpit. I became uncomfortable, felt ill at ease in that stifling air,
under that half-dusk of the twilight, where everything was happening so
earnestly, so very slowly and so heavily. I, who was all for sport and
child's-play, now found my own chums so altered; and they no longer knew
me. I would have liked to shout, to grip them hard by the shoulder and
call out that it was I: I, I, I! But I durst not, or could not.
"There--comes--the--keeper," droned Sarelke.
Lowietje looked down the drove with his great glassy eyes. The two boys
stood up and, without speaking, shuffled away. I saw them get smaller and
smaller, till they became two black, hovering little specks that vanished
round the bend.
I was alone again! Alone, with all those trees, in that frightful silence
all around me. And the keeper, where was he? He would come, I knew it;
and I felt afraid of the awful fellow. I must get away from this, I must
hide myself. I lay down, very slowly, deep in the ditch. I now felt that
I had been long, long dead and that I was lying here alone, waiting for I
forget what. That keeper: was there such a person? He now seemed to me an
awesome clod of earth, which came rolling down, slowly but steadily, and
which would fall heavily upon me. Then he turned into a lovely white
ashplant, which stood there waving its boughs in a stately manner. I
would let him go past and then would go away. People were waiting for me,
I had to be somewhere: I tried mightily to remember where, but could not.
The keeper did not come.
The ditch was cold, the bottom was of smooth, worn stone and very hard. I
lay there with gleaming eyes: above my head stood the giant oaks,
silently, and their knotted branches ran up and were lost in the dark
sky.
The keeper came, I heard his coming; and the wind blew fearfully through
the trees. I shivered....
I woke with fright and I was still lying in my loft. The hard bottom of
the ditch was the boarded floor and the tree-trunks were the legs of
father's trousers and the branches ran up and were lost in the darksome
roofwork. Two sharp rays of light beamed through the shut dormer-window.
It must be day then! And this awful night was past! All my dismay was
gone and a bold feeling came over me, something like the feeling of
gladness that follows on a solved problem. I would make Lowietje and
Sarelke and all the boys at school hark to my tale, that I would! I had
slept a whole night alone in the loft! And the rats! And the ghosts! Ooh!
And not a whit afraid!
I got up, but that was such a slow business. I still felt that dream and
that slackness in my limbs. I was so stiff; that heavy gloom, that slow
passing of time still lingered--just as in my dream--in my slow
breathing. I still saw that forest and, shut up as I was, with not a
single touchstone for my thoughts, I began to doubt if my dream was done
and I had to feel the trouser-legs to make sure that they were not really
trees.
Time stood still and there was no getting out of my mind the strange
things seen in that dream-forest, with those earnest, sluggish, elderly
children and that queer keeper. 'Twas as though some one were holding my
arms and legs tight to make them move heavily, deadly heavily; and I felt
myself, within my head, grown quite thirty years older, become suddenly
an old man. I walked about the loft; I wanted to make myself heard, but
my footsteps gave no sound.
I grew awfully hungry. Near the ladder-door, I found my prison fare. I
nibbled greedily at my crust of bread and took a good drink of water.
I now felt better, but this doing nothing wearied me; I became sad and
felt sorry to be sitting alone. If things had gone their usual gait, I
should now be with my mates at school or playing somewhere under the open
sky; and that open sky now first revealed all its delightfulness. The
usual gait, when all was said, was by far the best.... All alone like
this, up here.... Should I go down and beg father's pardon? Then 'twould
all be over and done with....
"No!" said something inside me, "I stay here!"
And I stayed.
I shoved a box under the dormer-window, I pushed open the wooden
shutter... and there! Before me lay the wide stretch in the blazing
sunlight! My eyes were quite blind with it.
'Twas good up here and funny to see everything from so high up, so
endlessly far! And the people were no bigger than tiny tadpoles!
Just under my dormer-window came a path, a white sand-path winding from
behind the house and then running forwards to the horizon in a line
straight as an arrow. It looked like a naked strip of ground, powdered
white and showing up sharply, like a flat snake, in the middle of the
green fields which, broken into their many- squares, lay blinking
in the sun.
This path was deserted, lonely, as though nor man nor beast had ever
trodden it. It lay very near the house and I did not know it from up
here; it looked now like a long strip of drab linen, which lay bleaching
in a boundless meadow. And that again suited my loneliness so well! At
last, I looked and saw nothing more. And that path!...
Slowly, overcome by that silent, restful idleness, I fell a-dreaming; and
that path, that long, white path seemed to me to have become a part of my
own being, something like a life that began over there, far away yonder
in the clear blue, to end | 188.887181 | 852 |
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PERSONAL NARRATIVES
OF THE
BATTLES OF THE REBELLION,
BEING
PAPERS READ BEFORE THE
RHODE ISLAND SOLDIERS AND SAILORS
HISTORICAL SOCIETY.
No. 2.
_"Quaeque ipse miserrima vidi,
Et quorum pars magna fui."_
PROVIDENCE:
SIDNEY S. RIDER
1878.
Copyright by
SIDNEY S. RIDER.
1878.
PRINTED BY PROVIDENCE PRESS COMPANY.
THE RHODE ISLAND ARTILLERY
AT THE
FIRST BATTLE OF BULL RUN.
BY
J. ALBERT MONROE,
(Late Lieutenant-Colonel First Rhode Island Light Artillery.)
PROVIDENCE:
SIDNEY S. RIDER.
1878.
Copyright by
SIDNEY S. RIDER.
1878.
THE RHODE ISLAND ARTILLERY AT THE FIRST BATTLE OF BULL RUN.
When the first call for troops, to serve for the term of three months, was
made by President Lincoln, in 1861, for the purpose of suppressing the
rebellion, which had assumed most dangerous proportions to the National
Government, the Marine Artillery, of this city, responded cheerfully to
the call, and under the command of Captain Charles H. Tompkins, left
Providence, April eighteenth, for the seat of war.
The senior officer of the company, who remained at home, was Captain
William H. Parkhurst, then book | 189.623389 | 853 |
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Kept for
the Master's
Use
By
Frances Ridley
Havergal
Philadelphia
Henry Altemus Company
Copyrighted 1895, by Henry Altemus.
HENRY ALTEMUS, MANUFACTURER,
PHILADELPHIA.
CONTENTS.
I. Our Lives kept for Jesus, 9
II. Our Moments kept for Jesus, 26
III. Our Hands kept for Jesus, 34
IV. Our Feet kept for Jesus, 46
V. Our Voices kept for Jesus, 51
VI. Our Lips kept for Jesus, 66
VII. Our Silver and Gold kept for Jesus, 79
VIII. Our Intellects kept for Jesus, 91
IX. Our Wills kept for Jesus, 96
X. Our Hearts kept for Jesus, 104
XI. Our Love kept for Jesus, 109
XII. Our Selves kept for Jesus, 115
XIII. Christ for us, 122
PREFATORY NOTE.
My beloved sister Frances finished revising the proofs of this book
shortly before her death on Whit Tuesday, June 3, 1879, but its
publication was to be deferred till the Autumn.
In appreciation of the deep and general sympathy flowing in to her
relatives, they wish that its publication should not be withheld. Knowing
her intense desire that Christ should be magnified, whether by her life
or in her death, may it be to His glory that in these pages she, being
dead,
'Yet speaketh!'
MARIA V. G. HAVERGAL.
Oakhampton, Worchestershire.
KEPT
FOR
The Master's Use.
Take my life, and let it be
Consecrated, Lord, to Thee.
Take my moments and my days;
Let them flow in ceaseless praise.
Take my hands, and let them move
At the impulse of Thy love.
Take my feet, and let them be
Swift and 'beautiful' for Thee.
Take my voice, and let me sing
Always, only, for my King.
Take my lips and let them be
Filled with messages from Thee.
Take my silver and my gold;
Not a mite would I withhold.
Take my intellect, and use
Every power as Thou shalt choose.
Take my will and make it Thine;
It shall be no longer mine.
Take my heart; it _is_ Thine own;
It shall be Thy royal throne.
Take my love; my Lord, I pour
At Thy feet its treasure-store.
Take myself, and I will be
Ever, _only_, ALL for Thee.
CHAPTER I.
Our Lives kept for Jesus.
_'Keep my life, that it may be_
_Consecrated, Lord, to Thee.'_
Many a heart has echoed the little song:
'Take my life, and let it be
Consecrated, Lord, to Thee!'
And yet those echoes have not been, in every case and at all times, so
clear, and full, and firm, so continuously glad as we would wish, and
perhaps expected. Some of us have said:
'I launch me forth upon a sea
Of boundless love and tenderness;'
and after a little we have found, or fancied, that there is a hidden leak
in our barque, and though we are doubtless still afloat, yet we are not
sailing with the same free, exultant confidence as at first. What is it
that has dulled and weakened the echo of our consecration song? what is
the little leak that hinders the swift and buoyant course of our
consecrated life? Holy Father, let Thy loving spirit guide the hand that
writes, and strengthen the heart of every one who reads what shall be
written, for Jesus' sake.
While many a sorrowfully varied answer to these questions may, and
probably will, arise from touched and sensitive consciences, each being
shown by God's faithful Spirit the special sin, the special yielding to
temptation which has hindered and spoiled the blessed life which they
sought to enter and enjoy, it seems to me that one or other of two things
has lain at the outset of the failure and disappointment.
First, it may have arisen from want of the simplest belief in the
simplest fact, as well as want of trust in one of the simplest and
plainest words our gracious Master ever uttered! The unbelieved fact
being simply that He hears us; the untrusted word being one of those
plain, broad foundation-stones on which we rested our whole weight, it
may be many years ago, and which we had no idea we ever doubted, or were
in any danger of doubting now,--'Him that cometh to Me I will in no wise
cast out.'
'Take my life!' We have said it or sung it before the Lord, it may be
many times; but if it were only once whispered in His ear with full
purpose of heart, should we not believe that He heard it? And if we know
that He heard it, should we not believe that He has answered it, and
fulfilled this, our heart's desire? For with Him | 189.800568 | 854 |
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Transcriber's Note
A number of typographical errors have been maintained in this version of
this book. They have been marked with a [+] and a description may be
found in the complete list at the end of the text. Irregular and
non-standard spelling has been maintained as printed.
LECTURES
ON
HORSEMANSHIP,
Wherein is Explained
EVERY
NECESSARY INSTRUCTION
FOR BOTH
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,
In the Useful and Polite
ART OF RIDING,
WITH
EASE, ELEGANCE, AND SAFETY,
BY T. S.
Professor of Horsemanship.
_LONDON_:
1793.
LECTURE ON HORSEMANSHIP.
Address to the Audience.
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN.
Permit me to observe that the Horse is an animal, which, from the
earliest ages of the world, has been destined to the pleasure and
services of Man; the various and noble qualities with which nature has
endowed him sufficiently speaking the ends for which he was designed.
Mankind were not long before they were acquainted with them, and found
the means of applying them to the purposes for which they were given:
this is apparent from the Histories and traditions of almost all
nations, even from times the most remote; insomuch that many nations and
tribes, or colonies of people, who were entirely ignorant, or had but
very imperfect notions, of other improvements and arts of life; and even
at | 190.150917 | 855 |
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the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
BARFORD ABBEY,
A NOVEL:
IN A
SERIES of LETTERS.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
Printed for T. CADELL, (Successor to Mr. MILLAR) in the Strand; and J.
PAYNE, in Pasternoster-Row.
MDCCLXVIII.
BARFORD ABBEY.
LETTER I.
Lady MARY SUTTON, at the German Spaw, to Miss WARLEY, in England.
How distressing, how heart-rending, is my dear Fanny's mournful
detail!--It lies before me; I weep over it!--I weep not for the departed
saint: no; it is for you, myself, for all who have experienced her
god-like virtues!--Was she not an honour to her sex? Did she not merit
rewards too great for this world to bestow?--Could the world repay her
innocence, her piety, her resignation? Wipe away, my best love, the mark
of sorrow from your cheek. Perhaps she may be permitted to look down: if
so, will she smile on those that grieve at her entering into the
fullness of joy?--Here a sudden death cannot be called dreadful. A life
like hers wanted not the admonitions of a sick-bed;--her bosom accounts
always clear, always ready for inspection, day by day were they held up
to the throne of mercy.--Apply those beautiful lines in the Spectator to
her; lines you have so often admir'd.--How silent thy passage; how
private thy journey; how glorious thy end! Many have I known more
famous, some more knowing, not one so innocent.--Hope is a noble support
to the drooping head of sorrow.--Though a deceiver, court her, I counsel
you;--she leads to happiness;--we shall bless her deceptions:--baffling
our enjoyments here, she teaches us to look up where every thing is
permanent, even bliss most exquisite.
Mr. Whitmore you never knew, otherwise would have wonder'd how his
amiable wife loiter'd so long behind.--Often she has wish'd to be
reunited to him, but ever avoided the subject in your presence.
Keep not from me her rich bequest:--_rich_ indeed,--her most valuable
treasure.--That I could fold you to my arms!--But hear me at a
distance;--hear me call you my beloved daughter,--and suppose what my
transports will be when I embrace an only child:--yes, you are mine,
till I deliver you up to a superior affection.
Lay aside, I conjure you, your fears of crossing the sea.--Mr. and Mrs.
Smith intend spending part of this winter at Montpelier: trust yourself
with them; I shall be there to receive you at the Hotel de Spence.
The season for the Spaw is almost at an end. My physicians forbid my
return to England till next autumn, else I would fly to comfort,--to
console my dearest Fanny,--We shall be happy together in France:--I can
love you the same in all places.
My banker has orders to remit you three hundred pounds;--but your power
is unlimited; it is impossible to say, my dear, how much I am in your
debt.--I have wrote my housekeeper to get every thing ready for your
reception:--consider her, and all my other servants, as your own.--I
shall be much disappointed if you do not move to the Lodge
immediately.--You shall not,--must not,--continue in a house where every
thing in and about it reminds you of so great a loss.--Miss West, Miss
Gardner, Miss Conway, will, at my request, accompany you thither.--The
Menagerie,--plantations, and other places of amusement, will naturally
draw them out;--you will follow mechanically, and by that means be kept
from indulging melancholy.--Go an-airing every day, unless you intend I
shall find my horses unfit for service:--why have you let them live so
long idle?
I revere honest Jenkings--he is faithful,--he will assist you with his
advice on all occasions.--Can there be a better resource to fly to, than
a heart governed by principles of honour and humanity?
Write, my dear, to Mrs. Smith, and let me know if the time is fixed for
their coming over.--Say you will comply with the request my heart is so
much set on;--say you will be one of the party.
My health and spirits are better:--the latter I support for your
sake;--who else do I live for?--Endeavour to do the same, not only for
me, but _others_, that one day will be as dear to you as you are to
Your truly affectionate,
M. SUTTON.
LETTER II.
Miss WARLEY to Lady MARY SUTTON.
_Barford Abbey_.
BARFORD ABBEY! _Yes_, my dearest Lady,--I date from Barford Abbey: a
house I little thought ever to have seen, when I have listened hours to
a description of it from Mr. Jenkings.--What are houses,--what palaces,
in competition with _that_ honour, _that_ satisfaction, I received by
your Ladyship's last letter!--The honour all must acknowledge;--the
satisfaction is not on the surface,--_it centers in the heart_.--I feel
too much to express any thing.--One moment an orphan; next the adopted
child of Lady Mary Sutton.--What are titles, except ennobled by virtue!
_That_ only makes a coronet fit graceful on the head;--_that_ only is
the true ornament of greatness.
Pardon my disobedience.--Can there be a stronger command than your
request?--But, my Lady, I must have died,--my life _must_ have been the
sacrifice, had I gone to the Lodge.--The windows opposite, the windows
of that little mansion where I spent nineteen happy years with my
angelic benefactress,--could it be borne?--Your Ladyship's absence
too;--what an aggravation;--The young ladies you kindly propose for my
companions, though very amiable, could not have shut my eyes, or
deaden'd my other senses.
Now let me account for being at Barford Abbey.--Was Mr. Jenkings my
father, I think I could not love him more; yet when he press'd me to
return with him to Hampshire, I was doubtful whether to consent, till
your Ladyship's approbation of him was confirmed in so particular a
manner.--His son an only one;--the fine fortune he must possess;--these
were objections not only of _mine_, but, I believe, of my dear,
dear--Oh! my Lady, I cannot yet write her name.--Often has she check'd
Mr. Jenkings, when he has solicited to take me home with him:--her very
looks spoke she had something to fear from such a visit.--She loved
me;--the dear angel loved me with maternal affection, but her partiality
never took place of noble, generous sentiments.--Young people, she has
frequently said, are, by a strict intimacy, endeared to each other.
This, I doubt not, was her motive for keeping me at a distance.--She
well knew my poor expectations were ill suited to his large ones.--I
know what was her opinion, and will steadily adhere to it.
Edmund, to do him common justice, is a desirable youth:--such a one as I
can admire his good qualities, without another with than to imitate
them.--Monday, the tenth, I took my leave of Hillford Down, and, after a
melancholy journey, arrived Tuesday evening at Mr. Jenkings's.--Nothing
did I enjoy on the road;--in spight of my endeavours, tears stream'd
from my eyes incessantly;--even the fine prospects that courted
attention, pass'd unnotic'd.--My good conductor strove to draw me off
from gloomy subjects, but in vain, till we came within a few miles of
his house; then of a sudden I felt a serenity, which, for some time, has
been a stranger to my breast;--a serenity I cannot account for.
_Mrs. Jenkings!_--never shall I forget her humanity. She flew to the
chaise the instant it stopp'd, receiv'd me with open arms, and conducted
me to the parlour, pouring out ten thousand welcomes, intermingled with
fond embraces.--She is, I perceive, one of those worthy creatures, who
make it a point to consider their husbands friends as their own; in my
opinion, the highest mark of conjugal happiness.
Plac'd in a great chair next the fire, every one was busied in something
or other for my refreshment.--One soul,--one voice,--one manner, to be
seen in the father,--mother,--son:--they look not on each other but with
a smile of secret satisfaction. _To me_ their hearts speak the same
expressive language;--their house,--their dress,--their words, plainly
elegant.--Envy never stops at such a dwelling;--nothing there is fit for
her service:--no pomp,--no grandeur,--no ostentation.--I slept sweetly
the whole night;--sweetly!--not one disagreeable idea intruded on my
slumbers.
Coming down in the morning, I found breakfast on the table, linen white
as snow, a large fire,--every thing that speaks cleanliness, content,
and plenty.--The first thing in a house which attracts my notice is the
fire;--I conclude from that, if the hearts of the inhabitants are warm
or cold.--Our conversation was interesting;--it might have lasted, for
aught I know, till dinner, had it not been interrupted by the entrance
of Sir James and Lady Powis.--I knew Mr. Jenkings was their steward, but
never expected they came to his house with such easy freedom.--We arose
as they entered:--I was surprised to see Mr. and Mrs. Jenkings appear
confused;--in my opinion, their visitors accosted them more like
_equals_ than _dependants_.
Your Ladyship cannot imagine how greatly I was prepossessed in their
favour even before they spoke.--In their manner was something that
struck me excessively;--few--very few--can express the nameless beauties
of grace,--never to be seen but in a carriage sweetly humble.
Lady Powis seated herself opposite to me.--We called, said she,
addressing Mr. Jenkings, to inquire what was become of you, fearing your
Oxfordshire friends had stolen you from us;--but you have made up for
your long absence, if this is the young lady, bowing to me, your wife
told us was to return with you.--A politeness so unexpected,--so
deliver'd,--visibly affected me:--I sat silent, listening for the reply
Mr. Jenkings would make.
Pardon me, my Lady! pardon me, Miss Warley! said the good man,--I am a
stranger to punctilio;--I see my error:--I should have acquainted your
Ladyship before with the name of this dear young Lady; I should have
said she is an honour to her friends.--Need I tell Miss Warley, Sir
James and Lady Powis are present:--I hope the deportment of their
_servant_ has confirmed it;--I hope it has.
Sir James kindly took his hand, and, turning to me, said, Don't believe
him, Madam, he is not our servant;--he has been our _friend_ forty
years; we flatter ourselves he deems not _that_ servitude.
Not your _servant!_--not your _dependant!_--not your _servant_, Sir
James!--and was running on when her Ladyship interrupted him.
Don't make me angry, Jenkings;--don't pain me;--hear the favour I have
to ask, and be my advocate:--it is with Miss Warley I want you to be my
advocate.--Then addressing herself to me, Will you, Madam, give me the
pleasure of your company often at the Abbey?--I mean, will you come
there as if it was your home?--Mr. and Mrs. Jenkings have comforts, I
have not,--at least that I can enjoy.--Here she sigh'd deeply;--so deep,
that I declare it pierced through my heart;--I felt as if turn'd into
stone;--what I suppose I was a true emblem of.--The silent friends that
trickled down my cheeks brought me back from that inanimate state,--and
I found myself in the embraces of Lady Powis, tenderly affectionate, as
when in the arms of Mrs. Whitmore.--Judge not, Madam, said I, from my
present stupidity, that I am so wanting in my head or heart, to be
insensible of this undeserv'd goodness.--With Mr. and Mrs. Jenkings's
permission, I am devoted to your Ladyship's service.--_Our_ approbation!
Miss Warley, return'd the former;--_yes, that_ you have:--her Ladyship
cannot conceive how happy she has made us.--Sir James seconded his Lady
with a warmth perfectly condescending:--no excuse would be taken; I must
spend the next day at the Abbey; their coach was to attend me.
Our amiable guests did not move till summoned by the dinner-bell, which
is plainly to be heard there.--I thought I should have shed tears to see
them going.--I long'd to walk part of the way, but was afraid to propose
it, lest I should appear presumptuous.--Her Ladyship perceiv'd my
inclinations,--look'd delighted,--and requested my company; on which Mr.
Jenkings offer'd his service to escort me back.
How was I surpris'd at ascending the hill!--My feet seem'd leading me to
the first garden--the sweet abode of innocence!--Ten thousand beauties
broke on my sight;--ten thousand pleasures, before unknown, danced
through my heart.--Behold me on the summit;--behold me full of
surprise,--full of admiration!--How enchanting the park! how clear the
river that winds through it!--What taste,--what elegance, in the
plantations!--How charmingly are Nature's beauties rang'd by art!--The
trees,--the shrubs,--the flowers,--hold up their heads, as if proud of
the spot they grow on!--Then the noble old structure,--the magnificent
mansion of this ancient family, how does it fire the beholder with
veneration and delight! The very walls seem'd to speak; at least there
was something that inform'd _me_, native dignity, and virtues
hereditary, dwelt within them.
The sight of a chaise and four, standing at the entrance, hurried me
from the charming pair of this paradise, after many good days ecchoed
to me, and thanks respectful return'd them by the same messenger.
Mr. Jenkings, in our return, entertain'd me with an account of the
family for a century past. A few foibles excepted in the character of
Sir James, I find he possesses all the good qualities of his ancestors.
Nothing could be more pleasing than the encomiums bestow'd on Lady
Powis; but she is not exempt from trouble: the _good_ and the _bad_ the
_great_ and the _little_, at some time or other, feel Misfortune's
touch. Happy such a rod hangs over us! Were we to glide on smoothly, our
affections would be fixed here, and here only.
I could love Lady Powis with a warmth not to be express'd;--but--forgive
me, my dear lady--I pine to know why _your_ intimacy was
interrupted.--Of _Lady Mary's_ steadiness and integrity I am
convinc'd;--of _Lady Powis_ I have had only a transitory view.--Heaven
forbid she should be like such people as from my heart I despise, whose
regards are agueish! Appearances promise the reverse;--but what is
appearance? For the generality a mere cheat, a gaudy curtain.
Pardon me, dear Lady Powis--I am distress'd,--I am perplex'd; but I do
not think ill of you;--indeed I cannot,--unless I find--_No_, I cannot
find it neither;--something tells me _Lady Mary_, my dear honour'd Lady
Mary, will acquit you.
We were receiv'd by Mrs. Jenkings, at our return, with a chearful
countenance, and conducted to the dining-parlour, where, during our
comfortable, meal, nothing was talk'd of but Sir James and Lady
Powis:--the kind notice taken of your Fanny mentioned with transport.
Thus honour'd,--thus belov'd,--dare I repine?--Why look on past
enjoyments with such a wistful eye!--Mrs. Whitmore, my dear maternal
Mrs. Whitmore, cannot be recall'd!--Strange perversenss!--why let that
which would give me pleasure fleet away!--why pursue that which I cannot
overtake!--No gratitude to heaven!--Gratitude to you, my dearest Lady,
shall conquer this perverseness;--even now my heart overflows like a
swoln river.
Good night, good night, dear Madam; I am going to repose on the very bed
where, for many years, rested the most deserving of men!--The
housekeeper has been relating many of his virtues;--so many, that I long
to see him, _though only in a dream_.
Was it not before Mr. Powis went abroad, that your ladyship visited at
the Abbey?--Yet, if so, I think I should have heard you mention
him.--Merit like his could never pass unnotic'd in a breast so
similar--Here I drop my pen, lest I grow impertinent.--Once again, good
night,--my more than parent:--to-morrow, at an early hour, I will begin
the recital to your Ladyship of this day's transactions--I go to implore
every blessing on your head, the only return that can be offer'd by
F. WARLEY.
LETTER III.
Miss WARLEY to Lady MARY | 190.509151 | 856 |
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CHESS
GENERALSHIP
BY
FRANKLIN K. YOUNG
_Vol. I._
GRAND RECONNAISSANCE.
“_He who first devised chessplay, made a model of the Art
Militarie, representing therein all the concurrents and
contemplations of War, without omitting any._”
“_Examen de Ingenios._”
_Juan Huarte, 1616._
“_Chess is the deepest of all games; it is constructed to carry
out the principal of a battle, and the whole theory of Chess lies
in that form of action._”
_Emanuel Lasker._
BOSTON
INTERNATIONAL PUBLISHING CO.
1910
_Copyright, 1910_,
BY FRANKLIN K. YOUNG.
_Entered at Stationers’ Hall._
_All rights reserved._
“_Chess is the gymnasium for the mind--it does for the brain what
athletics does for the body._”
_Henry Thomas Buckle._
GEORGE E. CROSBY CO., PRINTERS, BOSTON, MASS.
YOUNG’S CHESS WORKS
MINOR TACTICS OF CHESS $1.00
An eminently attractive treatment of the game of
Chess.--_Scientific American._
MAJOR TACTICS OF CHESS 2.50
In this book one finds the principles of strategy
and logistics applied to Chess in a unique and
scientific way.--_Army and Navy Register._
GRAND | 190.855051 | 857 |
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Produced by John Bickers, and Dagny
EVE AND DAVID
(Lost Illusions Part III)
By Honore De Balzac
Translated By Ellen Marriage
PREPARER'S NOTE
Eve and David is part three of a trilogy. Eve and David's story
begins in part one, Two Poets. Part one also introduces Eve's
brother, Lucien. Part two, A Distinguished Provincial at Paris,
centers on Lucien's life in Paris. For part three the action once
more returns to Eve and David in Angouleme. In many references parts
one and three are combined under the title Lost Illusions and A
Distinguished Provincial at Paris is given its individual title.
Following this trilogy Lucien's story is continued in another book,
Scenes from a Courtesan's Life.
EVE AND DAVID
Lucien had gone to Paris; and David Sechard, with the courage
and intelligence of the ox which painters give the Evangelist for
accompanying symbol, set himself to make the large fortune for which he
had wished that evening down by the Charente, when he sat with Eve by
the weir, and she gave him her hand and her heart. He wanted to make the
money quickly, and less for himself than for Eve's sake and Lucien's. He
would place his wife amid the elegant and comfortable surroundings that
were hers by right, and his strong arm should sustain her brother's
ambitions--this was the programme that he saw before his eyes in letters
of fire.
Journalism and politics, the immense development of the book trade,
of literature and of the sciences; the increase of public interest in
matters touching the various industries in the country; in fact, the
whole social tendency of the epoch following the establishment of the
Restoration produced an enormous increase in the demand for paper. The
supply required was almost ten times as large as the quantity in which
the celebrated Ouvrard speculated at | 190.893843 | 858 |
2023-11-16 18:18:57.7097190 | 313 | 18 | The Project Gutenberg Etext of Rise of the New West, 1819-1829,
by Frederick Jackson Turner, PH.D.,
Volume 14 in the series American Nation: A History.
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Title: Rise of the New West, 1819-1829
Volume 14 in the series American Nation: A History
Author: Frederick Jackson Turner
Release Date: March, 2003 [Etext #3826]
[Yes, we are about one year ahead of schedule]
| 191.029129 | 859 |
2023-11-16 18:18:57.7391160 | 134 | 202 |
Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
THE DAY OF THE DOG
by
GEORGE BARR MCCUTCHEON
Author of "Grauslark"
"The Sherrods etc"
With Illustrations by
Harrison Fisher
and decorations by
Margaret & Helen Maitland Armstrong
New York
1904
ILLUSTRATIONS
SWALLOW (in color) Frontispiece
CROSBY DRIVES TO THE STATION
THE HANDS HAD GONE TO THEIR DINNER
THE BIG RED BARN
THE | 191.058526 | 860 |
2023-11-16 18:18:57.8008100 | 181 | 418 |
Produced by David Edwards, Emmy and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
[Illustration: Cover]
[Transcriber's Note: Bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and italic
text is surrounded by _underscores_.]
OVER THE SEAS FOR UNCLE SAM
[Illustration: "Only the hits count!"]
OVER THE SEAS FOR UNCLE SAM
BY ELAINE STERNE
_Author of "The Road of Ambition," "Sunny Jim" Stories, Etc._
"We're ready _now_!"--Navy slogan.
NEW YORK
BRITTON PUBLISHING COMPANY
Copyright, 1918
BRITTON PUBLISHING COMPANY, | 191.12022 | 861 |
2023-11-16 18:18:58.3866190 | 1,027 | 405 |
Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by Google Books
HAPPY ISLAND
A New “Uncle William” Story
By Jennette Lee
New York The Century Co.
1911
TO
GERALD STANLEY LEE
“To make the young world move—He has eyes,
And ears, and he can read the sun....
In tune with all the children who laugh best
And longest through the sunshine, though far off
Their laughter, and unheard.”
CONTENTS
HAPPY ISLAND
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX
X
XI
XII
XIII
XIV
XV
XVI
XVII
XVIII
XIX
XX
XXI
XXII
XXIII
XXIV
XXV
XXVI
XXVII
XXVIII
HAPPY ISLAND
I
THE sunlight got in Uncle William’s eyes. He looked up from the map
spread on the table before him. Then he got up slowly and crossed to the
window and drew down the turkey-red curtain—a deep glow filled the room.
Juno, on the lounge, stirred a little and stretched her daws, and drew
them in and tucked her head behind them and went on sleeping.
Uncle William returned to his map. His big finger found a dotted line
and followed it slowly up the table with little mumbles of words.... The
room was very still—only the faintest whisper of a breeze came across
the harbor—and Uncle William’s head bent over the map and traveled with
his finger.... “They ’d run in here, like enough, and...”
A shadow crossed the curtain and he looked up.
Andy was in the doorway, grinning—a bunch of lobsters dangling from
his hand, stretching frantic green legs into space. Andy looked down at
them.
Uncle William shook his head. “You ’ll get into trouble, Andy, carryin’
’em that way, right in broad daylight—you can put ’em out there under
the bucket—so ’s ’t the sun won’t hit ’em.”
Andy departed and the scraping of the bucket on the hard rock came
cautiously in the window.... Juno lifted her ear and flicked it and went
on dreaming. Uncle William returned to the map.
“What you huntin’ up?” asked Andy. He was looking in the window.
“‘D you put a stone on top the bucket?”
“Yep—What you lookin’ for?” asked Andy.
“I was just seein’ where they ’d got to..... They must be up along
Battle Harbor way, by this time—”
“You heard from ’em?” said Andy. He came in and sat down.
“We’ve had a letter to-day—me and Benjy—”
“Where’s he gone?” asked Andy.
“He’s up to his place—seein’ about some plans they’re makin’—they bother
him quite a consid’abul.”
Andy’s face showed no concern. “They goin’ to begin working next week?”
he said.
Uncle William pushed back the map a little and took off his
spectacles.... “They don’t just seem to know,” he said slowly, “Benjy
wants it one way, and the man that’s doin’ it—Ordway—he says it can’t be
done—so they’re kind o’ stuck. I wish he ’d have George Manning.” Uncle
William’s face expanded. “George ’d do it—and do it for him good. You
see, Benjy, he wants—”
“He ’ll want money,” said Andy shortly—“unless he looks out—keeping that
contractor and fussing about whether they ’ll have the roof two inches
up or two inches down—or some such matter as that—and Harr’et feedin’
the contractor and getting board money right along whether he works or
don’t work.”
“I guess I’ll do the lobsters for supper,” said Uncle William. “Benjy
likes ’em.” He stirred about, gathering a few bits of kindling and paper
and striking a careful match.
Andy watched him with gloomy eye while he dived under the sink and
brought out a large kettle.
Uncle William lifted the tea kettle a little and drew it forward. “Most
full,” he said contentedly. “That’s good—and it ain’t fairly cooled off
since dinner—I didn’t wash any dishes this noon, you see.”
Andy’s eye roamed about the room.
“They’re tucked under the sink,” said Uncle William, “I don’t like ’em
clutterin’ round. I can’t seem to set so easy if I see ’em.” He opened
the sink door and peered in. “I guess there’s about enough | 191.706029 | 862 |
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THE CENTAUR
ALGERNON BLACKWOOD
1911
I
"We may be in the Universe as dogs and cats are in our libraries, seeing
the books and hearing the conversation, but having no inkling of the
meaning of it all."
--WILLIAM JAMES, _A Pluralistic Universe_
"... A man's vision is the great fact about him. Who cares for Carlyle's
reasons, or Schopenhauer's, or Spencer's? A philosophy is the expression
of a man's intimate character, and all definitions of the Universe are
but the deliberately adopted reactions of human characters upon it."
--Ibid
"There are certain persons who, independently of sex or comeliness,
arouse an instant curiosity concerning themselves. The tribe is small,
but its members unmistakable. They may possess neither fortune, good
looks, nor that adroitness of advance-vision which the stupid name good
luck; yet there is about them this inciting quality which proclaims that
they have overtaken Fate, set a harness about its neck of violence, and
hold bit and bridle in steady hands.
"Most of us, arrested a moment by their presence to snatch the definition
their peculiarity exacts, are aware that on the heels of curiosity
follows--envy. They know the very things that we forever seek in vain.
And this diagnosis, achieved as it were _en passant_, comes near to the
truth, for the hallmark of such persons is that they have found, and
come into, their own. There is a sign upon the face and in the eyes.
Having somehow discovered the 'piece' that makes them free of the whole
amazing puzzle, they know where they belong and, therefore, whither they
are bound: more, they are definitely _en route_. The littlenesses of
existence that plague the majority pass them by.
"For this reason, if for no other," continued O'Malley, "I count my
experience with that man as memorable beyond ordinary. 'If for no other,'
because from the very beginning there was another. Indeed, it was
probably his air of unusual bigness, massiveness rather,--head, face,
eyes, shoulders, especially back and shoulders,--that struck me first
when I caught sight of him lounging there hugely upon my steamer deck at
Marseilles, winning my instant attention before he turned and the
expression on his great face woke more--woke curiosity, interest, envy.
He wore this very look of certainty that knows, yet with a tinge of mild
surprise as though he had only recently known. It was less than
perplexity. A faint astonishment as of a happy child--almost of an
animal--shone in the large brown eyes--"
"You mean that the physical quality caught you first, then the
psychical?" I asked, keeping him to the point, for his Irish imagination
was ever apt to race away at a tangent.
He laughed good-naturedly, acknowledging the check. "I believe that to be
the truth," he replied, his face instantly grave again. "It was the
impression of uncommon bulk that heated my intuition--blessed if I know
how--leading me to the other. The size of his body did not smother, as so
often is the case with big people: rather, it revealed. At the moment I
could conceive no possible connection, of course. Only this overwhelming
attraction of the man's personality caught me and I longed to make
friends. That's the way with me, as you know," he added, tossing the hair
back from his forehead impatiently,"--pretty often. First impressions.
Old man, I tell you, it was like a possession."
"I believe you," I said. For Terence O'Malley all his life had never
understood half measures.
II
"The friendly and flowing savage, who is he? Is he waiting for
civilization, or is he past it, and mastering it?"
--WHITMAN
"We find ourselves today in the midst of a somewhat peculiar state of
society, which we call Civilization, but which even to the most
optimistic among us does not seem altogether desirable. Some of us,
indeed, are inclined to think that it is a kind of disease which the
various races of man have to pass through....
"While History tells us of many nations that have been attacked by it, of
many that have succumbed to it, and of some that are still in the throes
of it, we know of no single case in which a nation has fairly recovered
from and passed through it to a more normal and healthy condition. In
other words, the development of human society has never yet (that we know
of) passed beyond | 191.850345 | 863 |
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Produced by Annie R. McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE]
* * * * *
VOL. III.--NO. 135. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.
Tuesday, May 30, 1882. Copyright, 1882, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50 per
Year, in Advance.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "BOW-WOW!"]
THE BIG BLAST AT THE STONE QUARRY.
BY WILLIAM O. STODDARD.
It was Friday afternoon, right in the middle of May, and it seemed as if
the wide front door of Prome Centre Academy would never get through
letting out just one more squad of boys or girls. It was quite the
customary thing for Felix McCue to have to wait a little later than the
rest.
Miss Eccles was a faithful teacher, and she had often told Felix what an
interest she took in him; but he could have heard it a great deal more
thankfully at any other time than just after school, and when he knew
the other boys were waiting for him. He knew they were, because he had
showed them his slate in the arithmetic class, and they had read on it,
in big letters, "Got something to tell you. Big."
He had printed every word of it, and he was glad he had done so now, for
if he had not he would have been all alone when he at last got outside
of the great door. He did not do that, either, until Miss Eccles had
looked him in the face for ten of the longest minutes, and talked to
him, with a ruler in one | 191.957732 | 864 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
WOODSTOCK
AN HISTORICAL SKETCH
BY
CLARENCE WINTHROP BOWEN, PH.D.
READ AT ROSELAND PARK, WOODSTOCK, CONNECTICUT, AT THE BI-CENTENNIAL
CELEBRATION OF THE TOWN, ON TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 7, 1886
NEW YORK & LONDON
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
The Knickerbocker Press
1886
COPYRIGHT BY
CLARENCE WINTHROP BOWEN
1886
Press of
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
New York
As a full history of Woodstock has been in preparation for several
years and will, it is hoped, be published in the course of another
year, this brief sketch is issued as it was read at the Bi-Centennial
Anniversary of the town.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
I. INTRODUCTION 7
II. THE SETTLEMENT OF MASSACHUSETTS BAY
AND OF ROXBURY 8
III. THE NIPMUCK COUNTRY AND THE VISIT OF
JOHN ELIOT TO THE INDIANS AT WABBAQUASSET,
OR WOODSTOCK 12
IV. THE SETTLEMENT OF NEW ROXBURY, OR
WOODSTOCK 20
V. THE CHANGE OF THE NAME OF NEW ROXBURY
TO WOODSTOCK 28
VI. THE GROWTH OF | 192.135357 | 865 |
2023-11-16 18:18:59.5217170 | 371 | 58 |
Produced by Al Haines
[Illustration: Cover art]
Boy Scout Series Volume 4
The Boy Scout Fire Fighters
OR
Jack Danby's Bravest Deed
BY
Major Robert Maitland
THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY
CHICAGO ---- AKRON, OHIO ---- NEW YORK
Copyright, 1912
By
The Saalfield Publishing Co.
CONTENTS
Chapter
I AT THE EDGE OF THE FIRE
II FIGHTING THE FIRE
III WHAT THE SPY SAW
IV THE DOUBLE HEADER
V TOM BINNS' BAD LUCK
VI THE ATTACK ON THE STATION
VII JACK DANBY'S PERIL
VIII THE RESCUE
IX A SWIMMING PARTY
X THE BURNING LAUNCH
XI THE MYSTERY DEEPENS
XII AN UNGRATEFUL PARENT
XIII THE MOVING PICTURES
XIV A FOOLISH STRIKE
XV THE DYNAMITERS
XVI OFF ON A LONG HIKE
XVII A TIMELY WARNING
[Transcriber's notes:
Two chapters in the source book were misnumbered. Chapters in this
ebook have been renumbered.
The last numbered page in the source book was page 168, but damage to
the book indicates that a number of pages were missing after that
point. Since the original book did not have a table of contents, it is
unknown what may be missing.]
The Boy Scout Fire Fighters
CHAPTER I
AT THE EDGE OF THE FIRE
A pall of smoke, dark, ugly, threatening, hung over a wood | 192.841127 | 866 |
2023-11-16 18:18:59.8639560 | 1,098 | 396 |
Produced by sp1nd, Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed
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produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
WORKHOUSE CHARACTERS
[Illustration: Logo]
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_
IN THE WORKHOUSE
A PLAY IN ONE ACT
The International Suffrage Shop, John St., Strand, W.C.2 (6d.)
Press Notices
"Dull talk none the less offensive because it may have been
life-like."--_Daily Mail._
"The piece though mere talk is strong talk."--_Morning Advertiser._
"The play is clean and cold and humorous. The main value of the piece is
that it is a superb genre picture. One or two of the flashes from this
strange, generally unknown world are positive sparks of
life."--_Sheffield Daily Telegraph._
"I found it interesting and convincing; but then I am prepared to
believe that our laws always will be rotten till lawyers are
disqualified from sitting in Parliament."--_Reynolds'._
"The masculine portion of the audience walked with heads abashed in the
_entr'acte_; such things had been said upon the stage that they were
suffused with blushes."--_Standard._
"Delicate matters were discussed with much knowledge and some
tact."--_Morning Post._
"'In the Workhouse' reminds us forcibly of certain works of M. Brieux,
which plead for reform by painting a terrible, and perhaps overcharged,
picture of things as they are.... The presence of the idiot girl helps
to point another moral in Mrs. Nevinson's arraignment, and is therefore
artistically justifiable; and the more terrible it appears the better
have the author and the actress done their work.... Such is the power of
the dramatic pamphlet, sincerely written and sincerely acted. There is
nothing to approach it in directness and force. It sweeps all mere
prettiness into oblivion."--_Pall Mall Gazette._
"It is one of the strongest indictments of our antiquated laws relating
to married women. A man seated behind the present writer called the play
immoral! and as Mrs. Nevinson says in her preface to the published
edition, the only apology she makes for its realism is that it is
true."--_Christian Commonwealth._
"The whole thing left an unpleasant taste."--_Academy._
NOTE.--Two years after this piece was given by the _Pioneer Players_ the
law was altered.
WORKHOUSE CHARACTERS
AND OTHER SKETCHES OF THE LIFE OF THE POOR
BY
MARGARET WYNNE NEVINSON
L.L.A.
The depth and dream of my desire,
The bitter paths wherein I stray.
Thou knowest Who hast made the Fire,
Thou knowest Who hast made the Clay.
One stone the more swings to her place
In that dread Temple of Thy Worth--
It is enough that through Thy grace
I saw naught common on Thy earth.
RUDYARD KIPLING.
LONDON: GEORGE ALLEN & UNWIN LTD. RUSKIN HOUSE 40 MUSEUM STREET, W.C.1
Almost the whole of these sketches have appeared in the
_Westminster Gazette_; the last two were published in the _Daily
News_, and "Widows Indeed" and "The Runaway" in the _Herald_. It is
by the courtesy of the Editors of the above papers that they are
reproduced in book form.
_First published in 1918_
_(All rights reserved.)_
TO MY SON
C. R. W. NEVINSON
PREFACE
These sketches have been published in various papers during the last
thirteen years. Many of the characters are life portraits, and the wit
and wisdom of the common people have been faithfully recorded in a true
Boswellian spirit; others are _Wahrheit und Dichtung_ (if one may still
quote Goethe), but all have been suggested by actual fact and
experience.
During the last ten years great reforms have been taking place in the
country. In 1908 the Old Age Pensions Act came into force, and the
weekly miracle of 5s. a week (now 7s. 6d.) changed the world for the
aged, giving them the liberty and independence, which ought to be the
right of every decent citizen in the evening of life.
The order by which a pauper husband had the right to detain his wife in
the workhouse by "his marital authority" is now repealed. A case some
years ago of this abominable breach of the law of Habeas Corpus startled
the country, especially the ratepayers, and even the House of Commons
were amazed at their own laws. The order was withdrawn in 1913 on the
precedent of the judgment given in the case of the Queen _v._ Jackson
(1891), when it was decided "that the husband has no right, where his
wife refuses to live with him, to take her person | 193.183366 | 867 |
2023-11-16 18:18:59.9552160 | 1,296 | 398 | BIRDS, SECOND SERIES***
E-text prepared by Chris Curnow 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.
See 41550-h.htm or 41550-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/41550/41550-h/41550-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/41550/41550-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
http://archive.org/details/nestseggsoffamil00adamiala
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
NESTS AND EGGS OF FAMILIAR BRITISH BIRDS,
Described and Illustrated; With an Account of the Haunts and Habits
of the Feathered Architects, and Their Times and Modes of Building;
SECOND SERIES.
by
H. G. ADAMS.
Author of "Favorite Song Birds," "Beautiful Butterflies,"
"Humming Birds," &c., &c.
With Eight Coloured Plates of Eggs,
Containing Thirty-Eight Different Species.
London:
Groombridge and Sons, 5, Paternoster Row.
M DCCC LVII.
INTRODUCTION.
WHAT IS AN EGG?
It may at first strike our young readers that this is a question very
easily answered; if they think so, let them try what sort of an answer
they can give to it, and if they break down in the definition, we will
endeavour to help them, as we are told in the old fable, Jupiter did
the waggoner; but it is best for young people to _try_, and, for that
matter, old people too; let them never believe that they _can't_ do a
thing--"where there's a will there's a way." Many a boy that will take
a deal of pains, and incur no inconsiderable risk of life and limb, to
climb up a tree after a bird's nest, finds it too much trouble to read
and learn about the habits of the creature he is thus ready to deprive
of its warm comfortable home and beautiful eggs. He cannot tell you, if
you ask him, of what the nest is composed, nor how, nor when it was
built, much less can he answer the question which we have just put to
our readers,--
WHAT IS AN EGG?
"Well," we hear some one say, "an Egg is a thing of an oval shape,
large or small, white or coloured and speckled, as the case may be; it
has a shell which breaks if you knock it, because it is brittle; and
inside is a yellow substance called the yolk, surrounded by a white,
clear liquid; if you boil it for a little time it becomes _set_, so
that you can take it up in a spoon, and in this state it is good to
eat. Oh! very good, I like an egg, especially for breakfast, with a
little salt; and then eggs, and other things with them, make custards,
and pancakes, and puddings, and all sorts of nice things; and then I
recollect some such funny '_Stanzas to an Egg by a Spoon_,' which begin,
'Pledge of a feathered pair's affection,
Kidnapped in thy downy nest,
Soon for my breakfast--sad reflection!
Must thou in yon pot be drest.'"
Well, never mind the rest. Now listen to our definition of an Egg. The
word itself, we may observe first of all, is of Saxon origin; that this
is how the ancient dwellers on our island used to write it aeg, you may
call it _aeg_ or _oeg_, which you like. Johnson says the term means,
"That which is laid by feathered and some other animals, from which
their young is produced;" it is also, we are told by the same
authority, "the spawn or sperm of other creatures," as fish, which
are said, you know, not to lay eggs, but to _spawn_. Another
dictionary-maker defines it to be "the _ovum_ of birds," giving us here
the Latin for egg, hence that peculiar shape is called _oval_, and the
science of eggs is sometimes termed
OVOLOGY.
As we have told you in the first volume of this series, _Oology_ is
another term for this science, which has occupied the attention of many
learned men, who have gone deeper into Eggs than ever you or I shall,
and told us such strange things about them, as would scarcely be
believed by the very hens that laid them. Little does the happy mother
think, when she goes cackling about the yard, proclaiming the event,
that she has produced such a wonderful object. It looks a simple affair
enough, one might make a thing very like it with a piece of chalk;
touch it, roll it about; boil it, eat it, or crack it, and let the
inside flow out; there's the yellow, and there's the white; there's
nothing very particular in that, all eggs are so. Well, who made them
so? and of what _are_ they made? and what reason is there for this
peculiar arrangement of the different parts of an Egg? and how is it
that, under certain circumstances, so complete a change should take
place in the nature of its contents--that the fluids should be
gradually absorbed into a solid body, and that, by and by, at the end
of a period which can be calculated to a nicety, the shell should be
burst open, and there should come forth a living creature? Truly this
_is_ wonderful; but we are surrounded by wonders, and only heed them
not because they are so common.
_Common_ is the | 193.274626 | 868 |
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THE SYSTEM OF NATURE;
or,
_THE LAWS_ of the MORAL AND PHYSICAL WORLD.
TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL FRENCH OF M. DE MIRABAUD
VOL. II.
PRODUCTION NOTES: First published in French in 1770 under the pseudonym
of Mirabaud. This e-book based on a facsimile reprint of an English
translation originally published 1820-21. This e-text covers the second
of the original two volumes.
CONTENTS
PART II. | 193.361686 | 869 |
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Produced by David Widger
THE INSIDE OF THE CUP
By Winston Churchill
Volume 7.
XXIII. THE CHOICE
XXIV. THE VESTRY MEETS
XXV. "RISE, CROWNED WITH LIGHT!"
XXVI. THE CURRENT OF LIFE
CHAPTER XXIII
THE CHOICE
I
Pondering over Alison's note, he suddenly recalled and verified some
phrases which had struck him that summer on reading Harnack's celebrated
History of Dogma, and around these he framed his reply. "To act as if
faith in eternal life and in the living Christ was the simplest thing in
the world, or a dogma to which one has to submit, is irreligious...
It is Christian to pray that God would give the Spirit to make us strong
to overcome the feelings and the doubts of nature... Where this
faith, obtained in this way, exists, it has always been supported by the
conviction that the Man lives who brought life and immortality to light.
To hold fast this faith is the goal of life, for only what we consciously
strive for is in this matter our own. What we think we possess is very
soon lost."
"The feelings and the doubts of nature!" The Divine Discontent, the
striving against the doubt that every honest soul experiences and admits.
Thus the contrast between her and these others who accepted and went
their several ways was brought home to him.
He longed to talk to her, but his days were full. Yet the very thought
of her helped to bear him up as his trials, his problems accumulated; nor
would he at any time have exchanged them for the former false peace which
had been bought (he perceived more and more clearly) at the price of
compromise.
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THE JOURNALS
OF
MAJOR-GEN. C. G. GORDON, C.B.,
_AT KARTOUM_.
[Illustration: MAJOR-GEN. C. G. GORDON, C.B.]
THE JOURNALS
OF
MAJOR-GEN. C. G. GORDON, C.B.,
AT KARTOUM.
_PRINTED FROM THE ORIGINAL MSS._
INTRODUCTION AND NOTES
BY
A. EGMONT HAKE,
AUTHOR OF “THE STORY OF CHINESE GORDON,” ETC.
WITH PORTRAIT, TWO MAPS, AND THIRTY ILLUSTRATIONS AFTER SKETCHES
BY GENERAL GORDON.
[Illustration: LOGO]
LONDON:
KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, & CO., 1 PATERNOSTER SQUARE.
1885.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED.
STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.
_The rights of translation and of reproduction are reserved._
PREFACE.
THE work of editing these Journals is at an end; it only remains
now for me to thank one of my oldest and most valued friends, whose
assistance in every way I wish most thoroughly to acknowledge: this
is Mr. Godfrey Thrupp. When it became obvious that the public demand
for the work made its completion in so short a time impossible—as the
conscientious achievement of one man—he generously came forward. His
knowledge of the East and his deep interest in the subject made him an
invaluable colleague.
A. EGMONT HAKE.
_June 11, 1885._
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
PAGE
Editor’s Preface v
Introduction by the Editor ix
General Gordon’s Position at Kartoum. By Sir Henry W.Gordon,
K.C.B. lv
The Mission of Colonel Sir Charles Wilson, R.E. By Sir Henry
W. Gordon, K.C.B. lxi
Description of the Journal. By Sir Henry W. Gordon, K.C.B. lxiv
Position of the Steamers, Dec. 14, 1884 lxvi
Journal, Book I.—Sept. 10 to Sept. 23, 1884 3
Journal, Book II.—Sept. 23 to Sept. 30, 1884 83
Journal, Book III.—Oct. 1 to Oct. 12, 1884 121
Journal, Book IV.—Oct. 12 to Oct. 20, 1884 183
Journal, Book V.—Oct. 20 to Nov. 5, 1884 213
Journal, Book VI.—Nov. 5 to Dec. 14, 1884 279
APPENDICES:—
BOOK I.
APPENDIX
A. Letter from Abdel Kader Ibrahim to General Gordon, and
General Gordon’s reply 399
A². Letters from Abderrahman en Najoomi and Abdullah en Noor
to General Gordon, and his reply 404
B. Letter from George Calamatino to General Gordon, and his
reply 409
D. Letter from the Ulema of Kartoum to the Mahdi 410
E. Letter from Faki Mustapha to Cassim el Moos 420
E¹. Upon the Slave Convention 425
F. Memorandum upon the defeat of Hicks’s army 426
G. Letter from General Gordon to Ibrahim Abdel Kader 428
K. Letter from Abdel Kader to General Gordon 430
L. Letters from Abderrahhman en Najoomi and Abdullah en Noor to
General Gordon 432
M. Letter from General Gordon to Sheikh Abderrahhman en Najoomi,
with his reply 438
N. Letters from Colonel Stewart and M. Herbin to General Gordon 442
BOOK IV.
P. Letter from Abou Gugliz to General Gordon 447
Q. Letters from Fakirs, and from Faki Mustapha, to the
Commandant of Omdurman Fort 447
R. Two letters from Slatin Bey to General Gordon 452
S. Letter from Slatin Bey to the Austrian Consul 455
The Insurrection of the False Prophet, 1881-83 456
BOOK V.
Q. Letters from Saleh Ibrahim of Galabat and Greek Consul at
Adowa to General Gordon and Greek Consul at Kartoum 511
R. Letter from Slatin Bey to General Gordon 519
T. Letter from the Mudir at Sennaar to General Gordon 520
U. Letter from the Mahdi to General Gordon with two enclosures,
with General Gordon’s answer; and letters from General Gordon
to the Mudir of Dongola 522
V. Manifesto of the Mahdi to the inhabitants of Kartoum 539
X. Letter from Major Kitchener to General Gordon, enclosing one
from Herr Roth, and a telegram 546
BOOK VI.
Y. Towfik’s Firman, | 193.602925 | 871 |
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encoding. If the apostrophes and quotation marks appear as garbage,
make sure your text reader’s “character set” or “file encoding” is set
to Unicode (UTF-8). You may also need to change the default font.
THE EXPERT WAITRESS
_A MANUAL FOR THE
PANTRY, KITCHEN, AND DINING-ROOM_
BY
ANNE FRANCES SPRINGSTEED
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1894, by HARPER & BROTHERS.
_All rights reserved._
TO
THE COLUMBIA CLUB
OF
WORKING GIRLS
THIS LITTLE BOOK
Is Dedicated by
THE AUTHOR
PREFACE
The papers entitled “The Expert Waitress” are intended rather as a
working model than as a set of rules from which there is no appeal. It
is recognized that tastes and opinions vary as much as do the various
dining-rooms in which they are expressed. In writing these papers, one
idea has been kept in mind: No rule has been laid down that has not a
good reason for its existence.
Some things, desirable in themselves, have been omitted because they
are not possible to one pair of hands and feet, even when guided by a
well-regulated brain.
CONTENTS
PAGE
BREAKFAST 1
LUNCHEON 14
DINNER 22
SUPPER 32
AFTERNOON TEA 39
PIC-NIC AND TRAVELLING LUNCHEONS 42
CARE OF DINING-ROOM 44
CARE OF PANTRY 49
WASHING DISHES 53
CARE OF SILVER, ETC. 59
LAMPS 61
CARVING 65
CARE OF CARVERS 72
GENERAL RULES 73
MISCELLANEOUS INSTRUCTIONS 77
USEFUL SUGGESTIONS 92
IN THE INVALID’S ROOM 99
TRUTHFULNESS IN THE WAITRESS 106
ADAPTABILITY 113
A SERVANT’S CONTRACT 121
Breakfast 1
_Oranges._
_Pearled Oats with Cream._
_Lamb Chops._ _Creamed Potatoes._
_Bread._ _Hot Muffins._
_Butter._
_Coffee._ _Milk._
_Cream or Hot Milk._
The breakfast given is a usual one in many households. Learn to serve
this properly, and it will be easy to make changes where ideas vary as
to comfort and convenience.
To serve the breakfast given there will be needed: Napkins, tumblers,
salt cups, pepper boxes, salt spoons, butter plate and knife,
bread-and-butter plates, bread plate, bread knife, bread board, muffin
dish, water pitcher, milk pitcher, trays.
2
+-----------+-------------------+---------------+------------------------+
| FRUIT. | Fruit dish. | Fruit knives. | |
| | Finger bowl. | Fruit plates. | Fruit spoons. |
| | Doilies. | | |
|-----------|-------------------|---------------|------------------------|
| PEARLED | Covered dish. | Cereal dishes | Tablespoons. |
| OATS. | Cream jugs. | on plates. | Dessertspoons. |
| | Sugar bowl. | | |
|-----------|-------------------|---------------|------------------------|
| CHOPS AND | Platter. | | Small carver and fork. |
| POTATOES. | Tray for platter. | Breakfast | Two tablespoons. |
| | Covered dish. | plates. | Breakfast knives. |
| | | | Breakfast forks. |
|-----------|-------------------|---------------|------------------------|
| COFFEE. | Hot-water kettle. | | |
| | Coffee pot and | Coffee cups | Sugar tongs. |
| | stand and small | and saucers. | Teaspoons. |
| | strainer. | | Sugarspoons. |
| | Hot-milk pitcher | | |
| | (covered) and | | |
| | stand. | | |
| | Cream jug. | | |
| | Sugar bowl. | | |
| | Slop bowl. | | |
+-----------+-------------------+---------------+------------------------+
The dish of fruit is to stand in the centre of the table. Place a salt
cup, with its spoon, and a pepper box for the use of every two people.
Put for each person a fruit plate, on which is a fruit doily, and a
finger bowl one third full of water. On the plate at the right of the
bowl lay a silver fruit knife, on the left of the plate a fruit spoon.
At the right of each plate place a tumbler for water and another for
milk. At the left put a little plate for bread, butter, and hot
muffins. On the table, at the right of the plates, lay a breakfast 3
knife, with the sharp edge of the blade turned towards the plate, a
silver knife for butter, and a dessertspoon, with bowl turned up. At
the left lay a breakfast fork, with the tines turned up, and a napkin.
If the polished table, without a cloth, is preferred for breakfast, it
will be necessary to take thought about hot dishes, none of which must
come in direct contact with the table. Either they must be served from
a side-table, or the polished table must be in some way protected.
Table mats have been discarded by many ladies because they are so
often merely useful without being ornamental.
Among the handsomest things with which to replace table mats are
hand-painted trays, set in rims of split bamboo. The rim protects the
table, and prevents the platter from sliding. These should be handled
with great care, on account of their value. With one of these trays at
the foot of the table, the fruit in the centre, and the coffee service
at the head, all has a finished appearance when breakfast is served. 4
With the placing of the coffee service at the head of the table the
difficulty of heat again presents itself, and this time cannot be
obviated by the side-table. The hot-water kettle is taken care of by
its own lamp-stand; but the coffee-pot and hot-milk jug still remain.
These must be provided for according to their character. If of silver,
they should rest on silver stands; if of china, then on china stands;
the purpose being to make the stand appear like a part of that which
rests upon it, and so be as unnoticeable as possible.
The expert waitress will arrange her sideboard and side-table with as
much care as she does the table itself. These two accessories should
hold everything that may, can, or shall be needed. The sideboard may
be left uncovered if the table is uncovered. If the table is draped, a
suitable cloth must be laid on the sideboard. A side-table should
always be draped. Use this for hot dishes without stands. The 5
sideboard should hold in readiness extra plates, knives, forks,
spoons, tumblers and napkins, fine sugar for the pearled oats, a
pitcher of water, and a pitcher of milk.
On the side-table should be plenty of space for whatever hot dishes
are to be placed upon it, including the muffin dish, a silver tray for
placing and removing everything that is not soiled; another tray,
either of silver or carved wood, for removing that which is soiled, a
small napkin for taking up quickly anything that may be spilled, and a
large napkin or neat towel to be used in an emergency, such as the
accidental overturning of a glass of milk or a cup of coffee.
When she thinks that all is ready, the waitress should ask and answer
every one of these questions:
Does the table need anything more?
Is the sideboard perfectly arranged?
Is there plenty of room on the side-table?
Are the chairs properly placed?
Are the morning papers where they should be? 6
Are any doors unnecessarily open?
Is there a drawer that is not tightly closed?
Has any dust been overlooked in the dining-room?
Two minutes before the breakfast hour begin to fill the glasses with
water. This will be finished in time, and the water will be cool and
fresh.
As to the time of placing butter upon the table, a waitress must be
guided by her judgment. In winter, when butter is very hard, it may be
put on sooner than in summer, when it should be kept cool until
needed.
Bread must be always freshly cut.
When the family are seated at the table, place the fruit dish on a
tray and hand it to the lady of the house, standing at her left side.
Offer to each person, always at the left.
When the fruit has been served, see if any one has emptied his glass
of water. Never, under any circumstances, let any one ask for a glass 7
of water. Fill it before he can ask. If carafes are used, and each one
fills his own glass, after it has been once emptied, then keep watch
of ice, and offer when it is needed.
When the fruit course is finished, remove everything pertaining to it.
Take first the fruit dish, then, in each hand, a plate with its
finger-bowl, knife, and spoon, and place quietly and quickly in the
pantry until all are removed. If a knife, only, has been used, do not
leave the fruit spoon because it is clean, but take it away with the
other things. If any fruit juice has, by chance, found its way to the
polished table, take it up so deftly with a small napkin that no one
is aware of it.
When the fruit is removed, bring the dish of pearled oats and place on
the tray at the foot of the table. Lay a tablespoon at the right of
the dish. Place before each person a cereal dish on a plate. Remove
the cover of the pearled oats to the side-table. Place the dish on the
tray, put the spoon in the dish, and offer first to the lady of the
house, standing at her left. Offer to each person from the left. Then 8
pass the sugar and cream.
When the cereal course is finished, take the cereal dish, with its
tray, and place it on the side-table. Cover the dish. Take in each
hand a cereal dish and plate, until all are removed to the pantry.
For the meat course see that the plates are warm, but not hot enough
to mar the polish of the table. Where a cloth is used they may be
hotter. Place a tray for the hot platter at the foot of the table, and
stand the platter of chops on it. Lay a small carving-knife and
tablespoon at the right of the platter, and a small carving-fork at
its left. Place a pile of warmed plates in front of the platter.
When a chop has been served, take the plate in the right hand, place
it on the tray, and take it to the lady of the house. Serve, first,
all on one side of the table, then all on the other side. There is no
choice in this service, for the carver asks each one if he may serve
them. Go to the _right_ of the person served and place the plate, instead 9
of having it taken from the tray at the left.
Take the potato dish from the side-table, uncover and place on the
tray; put a tablespoon in the dish and pass. Serve each person from
the left.
Place a platter of plain bread on the table, and then pass the hot
muffins. If any one does not care for hot bread he may decline,
because he knows that the cold bread is at hand.
Pass the butter and the bread.
Watch the water tumblers and fill | 193.86169 | 872 |
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Transcriber's Note:
The dagger symbol is denoted by the [+] sign
The asterism symbol is denoted by **
* * * * *
[Illustration]
A
THOUSAND MILES
IN THE
ROB ROY CANOE
ON RIVERS AND LAKES OF
EUROPE.
BY J. MACGREGOR, M.A.,
TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE;
BARRISTER AT LAW:
With Numerous Illustrations and a Map.
_SIXTH THOUSAND._
LONDON:
SAMPSON LOW, SON, AND MARSTON
MILTON HOUSE, LUDGATE-HILL.
1866.
(_The Right of Translation reserved._)
PREFACE.
The voyage about to be described was made last Autumn in a small Canoe,
with a double paddle and sails, which the writer managed alone.
The route led sometimes over mountains and through forests and plains,
where the boat had to be carried or dragged.
The waters navigated were as follows:--
The Rivers Thames, Sambre, Meuse, Rhine, Main, Danube, Reuss, Aar, Ill,
Moselle, Meurthe, Marne, and Seine.
The Lakes Titisee, Constance, Unter See, Zurich, Zug, and Lucerne,
together with six canals in Belgium and France, and two expeditions in
the open sea of the British Channel.
TEMPLE, LONDON,
_April | 194.012643 | 873 |
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A MANUAL OF SHOEMAKING
[Illustration: An Old-Fashioned Shoemaker. _Frontispiece._]
A MANUAL
OF
SHOEMAKING
AND
LEATHER | 194.195225 | 874 |
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Produced by John Bickers, Bonnie Sala, and Dagny
VENDETTA
By Honore De Balzac
Translated by Katharine Prescott Wormeley
DEDICATION
To Puttinati, Milanese Sculptor.
VENDETTA
CHAPTER I. PROLOGUE
In the year 1800, toward the close of October, a foreigner, accompanied
by a woman and a little girl, was standing for a long time in front of
the palace of the Tuileries, near the ruins of a house recently pulled
down, at the point where in our day the wing begins which was intended
to unite the chateau of Catherine de Medici with the Louvre of the
Valois.
The man stood there with folded arms and a bowed head, which he
sometimes raised to look alternately at the consular palace and at
his wife, who was sitting near him on a stone. Though the woman seemed
wholly occupied with the little girl of nine or ten years of age, whose
long black hair she amused herself by handling, she lost not a single
glance of those her companion cast on her. Some sentiment other than
love united these two beings, and inspired with mutual anxiety their
movements and their thoughts. Misery is, perhaps, the most powerful of
all ties.
The stranger had one of those broad, serious heads, covered with thick
hair, which we see so frequently in the pictures of the Caracci. The jet
black of the hair was streaked with white. Though noble and proud, his
features had a hardness which spoiled them. In spite of his evident
strength, and his straight, erect figure, he looked to be over sixty
years of age. His dilapidated clothes were those of a foreign country.
Though the faded and once beautiful face of the wife betrayed
the deepest sadness, she forced herself to smile, assuming a calm
countenance whenever her husband looked at her.
The little girl was standing, though signs of weariness were on the
youthful face, which was tanned by the sun. She had an Italian cast
of countenance and bearing, large black eyes beneath their well arched
brows, a native nobleness, and candid grace. More than one of those who
passed them felt strongly moved by the mere aspect of this group,
who made no effort to conceal a despair which seemed as deep as the
expression of it was simple. But the flow of this fugitive sympathy,
characteristic of Parisians, was dried immediately; for as soon as the
stranger saw himself the object of attention, he looked at his observer
with so savage an air that the boldest lounger hurried his step as
though he had trod upon a serpent.
After standing for some time undecided, the tall stranger suddenly
passed his hand across his face to brush away, as it were, the thoughts
that were ploughing furrows in it. He must have taken some desperate
resolution. Casting a glance upon his wife and daughter, he drew
a dagger from his breast and gave it to his companion, saying in
Italian:--
"I will see if the Bonapartes remember us."
Then he walked with a slow, determined step toward the entrance of the
palace, where he was, naturally, stopped by a soldier of the consular
guard, with whom he was not permitted a long discussion. Seeing this
man's obstinate determination, the sentinel presented his bayonet in the
form of an ultimatum. Chance willed that the guard was changed at that
moment, and the corporal very obligingly pointed out to the stranger the
spot where the commander of the post was standing.
"Let Bonaparte know that Bartolomeo di Piombo wishes to speak with him,"
said the Italian to the captain on duty.
In vain the officer represented to Bartolomeo that he could not see the
First Consul without having previously requested an audience in writing;
the Italian insisted that the soldier should go to Bonaparte. The
officer stated the rules of the post, and refused to comply with the
order of this singular visitor. Bartolomeo frowned heavily, casting
a terrible look at the captain, as if he made him responsible for the
misfortunes that this refusal might occasion. Then he kept silence,
folded his arms tightly across his breast, and took up his station
under the portico which serves as an avenue of communication between
the garden and the court-yard of the Tuileries. Persons who will things
intensely are very apt to be helped by chance. At the moment when
Bartolomeo di Piombo seated himself on one of the stone posts which
was near the entrance, a carriage drew up, from which Lucien Bonaparte,
minister of the interior, issued.
"Ah, Loucian, it is lucky for me I have met you!" cried the stranger.
These words, said in the Corsican patois, stopped Lucien at the moment
when he was springing under the portico. He looked at his compatriot,
and recognized him. At the first word that Bartolomeo said in his ear,
he took the Corsican away with him.
Murat, Lannes, and Rapp were at that moment in the cabinet of the First
Consul. As Lucien entered, followed by a man so singular in appearance
as Piombo, the conversation ceased. Lucien took Napoleon by the arm and
led him into the recess of a window. After exchanging a few words with
his brother, the First Consul made a sign with his hand, which Murat and
Lannes obeyed by retiring. Rapp pretended not to have seen it, in order
to remain where he was. Bonaparte then spoke to him sharply, and the
aide-de-camp, with evident unwillingness, left the room. The First
Consul, who listened for Rapp's step in the adjoining salon, opened
the door suddenly, and found his aide-de-camp close to the wall of the
cabinet.
"Do you choose not to understand me?" said the First Consul. "I | 194.871441 | 875 |
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[Illustration: JEAN HENRI DUNANT]
_The_ ORIGIN _of_
_the_ RED CROSS
"_Un Souvenir
de Solferino_"
BY
HENRI DUNANT
Translated from the French by
MRS. DAVID H. WRIGHT,
of the Philadelphia Chapter of the American
Red Cross, Independence Hall.
Philadelphia, Pa.
1911
THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO.
PHILADELPHIA, PA.
Copyright, 1911,
By MRS. DAVID H. WRIGHT.
AMERICAN RED CROSS.
WASHINGTON, D. C., November 9, 1910.
Mrs. David H. Wright,
Philadelphia, Pa.
DEAR MRS. WRIGHT:
I appreciate and thank you for your courtesy in dedicating to me, as
President of the American Red Cross, this recent translation of Henri
Dunant's "Un Souvenir de Solferino."
Whoever calls attention of the people to the sufferings and misery
caused by war so that men realizing its results become loath to
undertake it, performs a public service.
[Illustration: handwritten signature of William Howard Taft]
_President American Red Cross._
_EDITOR'S NOTE_
_So far as is known, this book of such far-reaching influence has never
before been translated or published in English._
PREFACE
_Henri Dunant, the famous author of "A Souvenir of Solferino," was born
in Geneva in 1828._
_The instruction and philanthropic principles received by him in his
youth, together with his natural energy and power of organization, were
a good foundation for the unfolding of the ideas and inclinations which
led to his fertile acts._
_In 1859 occurred the event which definitely impelled him to a course
of action which did not discontinue during his whole life. A course of
action for the mitigation of the sufferings caused by war, or from a
broader point of view, for the commencement of the reign of peace._
_This event was the battle of Solferino, when he first organized, in
Castiglione, corps of volunteers to search for and nurse the wounded._
_Having thus started the idea of a permanent organization of these
voluntary bands of compassionate workers, and also of an international
treaty agreement in regard to the wounded, he presented himself to
Marshal MacMahon and afterwards to Napoleon III, who became interested
in the project of Dunant and immediately ordered his army no longer to
make prisoners of the physicians and nurses of the enemy._
_Soon Dunant organized an Aid Committee in Geneva, and shortly
afterwards he published his "Souvenir of Solferino," which was
enthusiastically received and greatly applauded._
_He met, however, opposition and obstacles, principally from the French
Minister of War._
_The philanthropic ideas of this book were received with interest
by many European sovereigns with whom Dunant had intercourse,
either by correspondence or by conversation; he always propagated
persistently his ideas in regard to the organization of a national
permanent committee for the wounded, his International Treaty, and the
neutralization of those injured in war (he developed in separate works
his ideas which were outlined only in the "Souvenir")._
_The Geneva Society of Public Utility created a commission for the
purpose of studying the question. Meanwhile Dunant had the opportunity
to speak with the King of Saxony, and to persuade representatives of
some other countries to take up the question with their respective
sovereigns._
_Dunant interested the governments so much in his project that various
nations sent delegates to the International Conference, which was
held in Geneva, in 1863, when it was decided to establish a National
Committee, and when the desire was expressed that the neutralization
of the physicians, nurses and injured should be provided by treaty,
and for the adoption of a distinctive and uniform international emblem
and flag for the hospital corps, and the unanimous thanks of this
Conference were extended to Dunant._
_To consider this subject, a diplomatic International Congress was held
in 1864, at Geneva, by invitation of the Swiss Federate Counsel. The
treaty there drafted accepted the projects of Dunant and the formation
of Volunteer Aid Societies, later called Red Cross Societies, was
recommended by the Convention to the signatory powers._
_In the further development of the ideas of Dunant The Hague
Conference, in 1899, extended the provisions of the Treaty of Geneva to
naval warfare._
_Thus, a single individual, inspired with the sentiment of kindness
and compassion for his fellow-creatures, by his own untiring energy
attained the realization of his ideas, and aided in the progress of
mankind toward peace._
_Thus, truly all men, and above all, the workers for peace, owe to this
laborer merited and everlasting gratitude and remembrance._
* * * * *
_The recompense, however, arrived late._
_In the zealous propaganda, for which, during four years, he edited
pamphlets and articles in all languages, and traveled continuously
through the whole of Europe, Dunant spent everything that he possessed,
and, for many years, nothing more was heard of the modest and good man,
to whom the approval of his conscience was all sufficient._
_At last, in 1897, he was discovered in the Swiss village of Heiden,
where he was living in misery, in a "Home" for old men, with almost no
means other than a small pension received from the Empress of Russia._
_The Baroness von Suttner sent at that time to the press of the whole
world, and especially to those interested in International Peace,
an appeal to raise a contribution of money to ease his last years.
In 1901, when the Nobel-Peace-Prize, valued at 208,000 francs, was
awarded for the first time, it was divided between Henri Dunant and
Frederick Passy._
_It is true that many peace workers did not approve of this decision
of the Nobel Committee. They said in opposition, that the projects of
Dunant not only were not pacific, but could even have the contrary
effect. To lessen the terrors of war is really, according to them,
to destroy the most effective means of turning men from it, and
consequently tended to prolong the duration of its reign. One of the
chief representatives of this idea, Signor H. H. Fried, said that the
Geneva Convention was only a small concession by the governments to the
new idea that is fighting against war._
_Without doubt, they do not approve of the humane plan of Dunant, on
the contrary, they think that it is not essentially peace-making; that
it should not be recompensed by the first peace prize, and that it is
dangerous to confuse pacification with simple humanitarianism._
_The contrary opinion is shown by the following words, written by
Signor Ruyssin, in the review "Peace by Right," at the time when Dunant
received his prize:_
_"His glory has grown each year in proportion to all the lessening of
suffering which his work has accomplished, to all the lives which it
saves, and to all the self-devotion to which it gives birth._
_"Henri Dunant has decreased the abomination of war; Frederick Passy
fought to make it impossible. One has accomplished more; the other has
created more remote, but brighter hopes. One has harvested already;
the other sows for the future harvest; and so it would be arbitrary
and unjust to compare such dissimilar lines of work, both equally
meritorious. The accomplishment of the wishes of Nobel rightly placed
identical crowns on the heads of two old men who employed their lives
in fighting against war."_
_This disagreement is interesting in that it shows the contrary
judgment to which different zealous peace workers were led in regard to
the project of Dunant._
_Whatever may be the conclusion of the reader, about the relation
between it and the peace propaganda, he will certainly be of the
opinion that "A Souvenir of Solferino," showing the abominations of
war, is a useful instrument of the propaganda, and that the name of
Dunant should be blessed, as that of one of the most self-devoted
benefactors of mankind._
_Henri Dunant died at Heiden, Switzerland, on October the thirty-first,
1910._
THE ORIGIN OF THE RED CROSS
The bloody victory of Magenta opened the gates of Milan to the
French Army, which the towns of Pavia, Lodi and Cremona welcomed
enthusiastically.
The Austrians, abandoning the lines of the Adda, the Oglio, and the
Chiese, gathered their forces on the bank of the River Mincio, at whose
head the young and courageous Emperor Joseph placed himself.
The King of Sardinia, Victor Emmanuel, arrived on the seventeenth
of June, 1859, at Brescia, where, with great joy, the inhabitants
welcomed him, seeing in the son of Charles Albert a saviour and a hero.
During the next day the French Emperor entered the same town amid the
enthusiastic cries of the people, happy to show their gratitude to the
monarch who came to help them gain their independence.
On the twenty-first of June, Napoleon III and Victor Emmanuel II
left Brescia, from which place their armies had departed during the
previous day. On the twenty-second they occupied Lonato, Castenedolo
and Montechiaro. On the evening of the twenty-third Napoleon, who was
commander-in-chief, published strict orders for the army of the King
of Sardinia, encamped at Desenzano, and forming the left flank of the
allied armies, to proceed early the following day to Pozzelengo.
Marshal Baraguey d'Hilliers was ordered to march on Solferino; Marshal
MacMahon, Duke de Magenta, on Cavriana; General Neil was to proceed to
Guidizzolo; Marshal Canrobert to Medole; Marshal Regnaud de Saint-Jean
d'Angley, with the Imperial Guard, to Castiglione.
These united forces amounted to 150,000 men, with 400 cannon.
The Austrian Emperor had at his disposition, in the Lombardo-Venetian
kingdom, nine army corps, amounting in all to 250,000 men, comprising
the garrison of Verona and Mantua. The effective force prepared to
enter the line of battle consisted of seven corps, some 170,000 men,
supported by 500 cannon.
The headquarters of the Emperor Francis Joseph had been moved from
Verona to Villafranca, then to Valeggio. On the evening of the
twenty-third the Austrian troops received the order to recross the
River Mincio during the night to Peschiera, Salionze, Valeggio, Ferri,
Goito and Mantua. The main part of the army took up its position from
Pozzolengo to Guidizzolo, in order to attack the enemy between the
Rivers Mincio and Chiese.
The Austrian forces formed two armies. The first having as
Commander-in-chief Count Wimpffen, under whose orders were the corps
commanded by Field Marshals Prince Edmund Schwarzenberg, Count
Schaffgotsche and Baron Veigl, also the cavalry division of Count
Zeidewitz. This composed the left flank. It was stationed in the
neighborhood of Volta, Guidizzolo, Medole and Castel-Gioffredo.
The second army was commanded by Count Schlick, having under his orders
the Field Marshals Count Clam-Gallas, Count Stadion, Baron Zobel and
Cavalier Benedek, as well as the cavalry division of Count Mensdorf.
This composed the right flank. It occupied Cavriana, Pozzolengo and San
Martino.
Thus, on the morning of the twenty-fourth, the Austrians occupied all
the heights between Pozzolengo, Solferino, Cavriana and Guidizzolo.
They ranged their artillery in series of breastworks, forming the
center of the attacking line, which permitted their right and left
flanks to fall back upon these fortified heights which they believed to
be unconquerable.
The two belligerent armies, although marching one against the other,
did not expect such a sudden meeting. Austria, misinformed, supposed
that only a part of the allied army had crossed the Chiese River. On
their side the confederates did not expect this attack in return, and
did not believe that they would find themselves so soon before the army
of the Austrian Emperor. The reconnoitering, the observations and the
reports of the scouts, and those made from the fire balloons during the
day of the twenty-third showed no signs of such an imminent encounter.
The collision of the armies of Austria and Franco-Sardinia on Friday,
the twenty-fourth of June, 1859, was, therefore, unexpected, although
the combatants on both sides conjectured that a great battle was near.
The Austrian army, already fatigued by the difficult march during the
night of the twenty-third and twenty-fourth, had to support from the
earliest dawn the attack of the enemies' armies and to suffer from the
intensely hot weather as well as from hunger and thirst, for, except
a double ration of brandy, the greater number of the Austrians were
unable to take any food.
The French troops already in movement before daybreak had had nothing
but coffee. Therefore, this exhaustion of the soldiers, and above all,
of the unfortunate wounded, was extreme at the end of this very bloody
battle, which lasted more than fifteen hours.
Both armies are awake.
Three hundred thousand men are standing face to face. The line of
battle is ten miles long.
Already at three o'clock in the morning, corps commanded by Marshals
Baraguey d'Hilliers and MacMahon are commencing to move on Solferino
and Cavriana.
Hardly have the advance columns passed Castiglione when they themselves
are in the presence of the first posts of the Austrians, who dispute
the ground.
On all sides bugles are playing the charges and the drums are sounding.
The Emperor Napoleon who passed the night at Montechiaro hastens
rapidly to Castiglione.
By six o'clock a furious fire has commenced.
The Austrians march in a compact mass in perfect order along the open
roads. In the air are flying their black and yellow standards, on which
are embroidered the ancient Imperial arms.
The day is very clear. The Italian sun makes the brilliant equipments
of the dragoons, the lancers and the cuirassiers of the French army
glitter brightly.
At the commencement of the engagement the Emperor Francis Joseph,
together with his entire staff, leaves headquarters in order to go to
Volta. He is accompanied by the Archdukes of the House of Lorraine,
among whom are the Grand Duke of Tuscany and the Duke of Modena.
In the midst of the difficulties of a field unknown to the French
army the first meeting takes place. It has to make its way through
plantations of mulberry trees, interlaced by climbing vines, which form
almost impassable barriers.
The earth is cut by great dried up trenches which the horses have to
leap, and by long walls with broad foundations which they have to climb.
From the hills the Austrians pour on the enemy a constant hail of shot
and shell. With the smoke of the cannon's continual discharge the
rain of bullets is ploughing up the earth and dust into thousands of
missiles.
The French hurl themselves upon these strongly fortified places in
spite of the firing of the batteries which falls upon the earth with
redoubled force.
During the burning heat of noon the battle everywhere becomes more and
more furious.
Column after column throw themselves one against the other with the
force of a devastating torrent.
A number of French regiments surround masses of Austrian troops, but,
like iron walls, these resist and at first remain unshaken.
Entire divisions throw their knapsacks to the earth in order to rush at
the enemy with fixed bayonets.
If a battalion is driven away another replaces it; each hill, each
height, each rocky eminence becomes a theatre for an obstinate struggle.
On the heights, as well as in the ravines, the dead lie piled up. The
Austrians and the allied armies march one against the other, killing
each other above the blood-covered corpses, butchering with gunshots,
crushing each other's skulls or disemboweling with the sword or
bayonet. No cessation in the conflict, no quarter given. The wounded
are defending themselves to the last. It is butchery by madmen drunk
with blood.
Sometimes the fighting becomes more terrible on account of the arrival
of rushing, galloping cavalry. The horses, more compassionate than
their riders, seek in vain to step over the victims of this butchery,
but their iron hoofs crush the dead and dying. With the neighing of
the horses are mingled blasphemies, cries of rage, shrieks of pain and
despair.
The artillery, at full speed, follows the cavalry which has cut a way
through the corpses and the wounded lying in confusion on the ground.
A jaw-bone of one of these last is torn away; the head of another is
battered in; the breast of a third is crushed. Limbs are broken and
bruised; the field is covered with human remains; the earth is soaked
with blood.
The French troops, with fiery ardor, scale the steep hills and rocky
declivities in spite of shot and shell.
Hardly does some harassed and profusely perspiring company capture
a hill and reach its summit, when it falls like an avalanche on the
Austrians, overthrows, repulses and pursues them to the depths of the
hollows.
But the Austrians regain the advantage. Ambuscaded behind the houses,
the churches and the walls of Medole, Solferino and Cavriana, they
heroically fight on and very nearly win the victory.
The unending combat rages incessantly and in every place with fury.
Nothing stops, nothing interrupts the butchery. They are killing
one another by the hundreds. Every foot of ground is carried at the
bayonet's point, every post disputed foot by foot. From the hands of
the enemy are taken villages, house after house, farm after farm, each
is the theatre of a siege. Doors, | 194.891237 | 876 |
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ON CANADA'S FRONTIER
Sketches
OF HISTORY, SPORT, AND ADVENTURE AND OF THE INDIANS, MISSIONARIES
FUR-TRADERS, AND NEWER SETTLERS OF WESTERN CANADA
BY
JULIAN RALPH
ILLUSTRATED
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE
1892
Copyright, 1892, by Harper & Brothers.
_All rights reserved_.
TO
THE PEOPLE OF CANADA
THIS BOOK IS GRATEFULLY DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOR WHO, DURING MANY LONG
JOURNEYS IN THE CANADIAN WEST WAS ALWAYS AND EVERYWHERE TREATED WITH AN
EXTREME FRIENDLINESS TO WHICH HE HERE TESTIFIES BUT WHICH HE CANNOT
EASILY RETURN IN EQUAL MEASURE
PREFACE
If all those into whose hands this book may fall were as well informed
upon the Dominion of Canada as are the people of the United States,
there would not be needed a word of explanation of the title of this
volume. Yet to those who might otherwise infer that what is here related
applies equally to all parts of Canada, it is necessary to explain that
the work deals solely with scenes and phases of life in the newer, and
mainly the western, parts of that country. The great English colony
which stirs the pages of more than two centuries of history has for its
capitals such proud and notable cities as Montreal, Quebec, Toronto,
Halifax, and many others, to distinguish the progressive civilization of
the region east of Lake Huron--the older provinces. But the Canada of
the geographies of to-day is a land of greater area than the United
States; it is, in fact, the "British America" of old. A great
trans-Canadian railway has joined the ambitious province of the Pacific
<DW72> to the provinces of old Canada with stitches of steel across the
Plains. There the same mixed surplusage of Europe that settled our own
West is elbowing the fur-trader and the Indian out of the way, and is
laying out farms far north, in the smiling Peace River district, where
it was only a little while ago supposed that there were but two seasons,
winter and late spring. It is with that new part of Canada, between the
ancient and well-populated provinces and the sturdy new cities of the
Pacific Coast, that this book deals. Some references to the North are
added in those chapters that treat of hunting and fishing and
fur-trading.
The chapters that compose this book originally formed a series of
papers which recorded journeys and studies made in Canada during the
past three years. The first one to be published was that which describes
a settler's colony in which a few titled foreigners took the lead; the
others were written so recently that they should possess the same
interest and value as if they here first met the public eye. What that
interest and value amount to is for the reader to judge, the author's
position being such that he may only call attention to the fact that he
had access to private papers and documents when he prepared the sketches
of the Hudson Bay Company, and that, in pursuing information about the
great province of British Columbia, he was not able to learn that a
serious and extended study of its resources had ever been made. The
principal studies and sketches were prepared for and published in
Harper's Magazine. The spirit in which they were written was solely that
of one who loves the open air and his fellow-men of every condition and
color, and who has had the good-fortune to witness in newer Canada
something of the old and almost departed life of the plainsmen and
woodsmen, and of the newer forces of nation-building on our continent.
CONTENTS
PAGE
I. Titled Pioneers 1
II. Chartering a Nation 11
III. A Famous Missionary 53
IV. Antoine's Moose-yard 66
V. Big Fishing 115
VI. "A Skin for a Skin" 134
VII. "Talking Musquash" 190
VIII. Canada's El Dorado 214
IX. Dan Dunn's Outfit 290
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
_The Romantic Adventure of Old Sun's Wife_ Frontispiece
_Dr. Rudolph Meyer's Place on the Pipestone_ 2
_Settler's Sod Cabin_ 3
_Whitewood, a Settlement on the Prairie_ 4
_Interior of Sod Cabin on the Frontier_ 5
_Prairie Sod Stable_ 7
_Trained Ox Team_ 9 | 195.05782 | 877 |
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Separation and Service
OR
THOUGHTS ON
NUMBERS VI, VII.
BY
J. HUDSON TAYLOR.
London
MORGAN & SCOTT, 12, PATERNOSTER BUILDINGS, E.C.
CHINA INLAND MISSION, NEWINGTON GREEN, N.
PRINTED BY
WOODFALL AND KINDER, LONG ACRE
LONDON
CONTENTS.
Separation and Service.
PAGE
Introductory 7
PART I.
SEPARATION TO GOD: Numbers vi, 1-21.
Institution of the Order of Nazarites 11
Implicit Obedience 13
Entire Consecration 16
Holiness to the LORD 19
Unwitting Defilement 22
The Heinousness of Sin 23
Cleansing only through Sacrifice 25
Acceptance only in CHRIST 27
The Presentation of the Nazarites 33
The Law of the Offerings 35
The Burnt-Offering 39
The Sin and Peace-Offerings 41
PART II.
THE BLESSING OF GOD: Numbers vi, 22-27.
Why Found Here? 44
The Real Meaning of Blessing 49
The Three-fold Benediction 52
The Blessing of the FATHER 53
The Second Person of the Trinity 60
The Blessing of the SON and BRIDEGROOM 63
The LORD, the SPIRIT 70
The Blessing of the HOLY SPIRIT 73
Sealing with the Name of GOD 80
PART III.
PRINCELY SERVICE: Numbers vii.
The Constraint of Love 89
GOD'S Delight in Love-gifts 90
Free-will Offerings 93
Gladsome Acceptance 96
According to his Service 101
The Dedicatory Offerings 107
The Display of the Gifts 109
The Person of the Offerer 113
The Importance of the Altar 117
Separation and Service.
Numbers vi, vii.
INTRODUCTORY.
For many years these chapters had no special interest to me; but I have
never ceased to be thankful that I was early led to read the Word of GOD
in regular course: it was through this habit that these chapters first
became specially precious to me. I was travelling on a missionary tour
in the province of CHEH-KIANG, and had to pass the night in a very
wicked town. All the inns were dreadful places; and the people seemed to
have their consciences seared, and their hearts sealed against the
Truth. My own heart was oppressed, and could find no relief; and I awoke
the next morning much cast down, and feeling spiritually hungry and
thirsty indeed.
On opening my Bible at the seventh chapter of Numbers, I felt as though
I could not then read that long chapter of repetitions; that I _must_
turn to some chapter that would feed my soul. And yet I was not happy in
leaving my regular portion; so after a little conflict I resolved to
read it, praying to GOD to bless me, even through Numb. vii. I fear
there was not much faith in the prayer; but oh! how abundantly it was
answered, and what a feast GOD gave me! He revealed to me His own great
heart of love, and gave me the key to understand this and the previous
chapter as never before. May GOD make our meditations upon them as
helpful to others as they were then and have ever since continued to be
to myself.
Much is revealed in these chapters in germ which is more fully brought
out in the New Testament. Under the Old Covenant many blessings were
enjoyed in measure and for a season, which in this dispensation are ours
in their fulness and permanence. For instance, the atoning sacrifices of
the seventh month had to be repeated every year; but CHRIST, in offering
Himself once for all, perfected for ever them that are sanctified. The
Psalmist needed to pray, "Take not Thy HOLY SPIRIT from me;" but CHRIST
has given us the COMFORTER to abide with us for ever. In like manner the
Israelite | 195.246245 | 878 |
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BRIDGE AXIOMS AND LAWS
WITH THE CHANGE THE SUIT CALL
REVISED AND EXPLAINED
BY
J. B. ELWELL
_Author of "Elwell on Bridge," "Advanced Bridge," "Bridge Tournament
Hands," "Bridge Lessons," etc._
[Illustration: spade symbol]
NEW YORK
E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY
31 WEST TWENTY-THIRD STREET
1907
_Copyright_, 1907
BY E. P. DUTTON & CO.
_The Plimpton Press Norwood Mass. U.S.A._
[Illustration: Bridge Axioms]
We not for you our ink on axioms spend, They're but harmless barbs
directed at your friend.
BRIDGE AXIOMS
The best Bridge players are undoubtedly those who can draw inferences
quickly and correctly.
* * * * *
Observation is an art enabling one to discover what other people's play
conceals--as well as reveals.
* * * * *
Observation always infers, and one inference will lead to another.
* * * * *
Each card played speaks through its silence, and its language must be
understood.
* * * * *
To converse intelligently through the medium of the cards, each must be
seen as it falls with eyes that grasp its meaning.
* * * * *
Failure to note the play of a card is not lack of memory, but lack of
heed.
* * | 195.398766 | 879 |
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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
Her Royal Highness
A Romance of the Chancelleries of Europe
By William Le Queux
Published by Hodder and Stoughton.
This edition dated 1914.
Her Royal Highness, by William Le Queux.
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
HER ROYAL HIGHNESS, BY WILLIAM LE QUEUX.
CHAPTER ONE.
THE NILE TRAVELLERS.
The mystic hour of the desert afterglow.
A large, square wooden veranda covered by a red and white awning, above
a wide silent sweep of flowing river, whose huge rocks, worn smooth
through a thousand ages, raised their backs about the stream, a glimpse
of green feathery palms and flaming scarlet poinsettias on the island
opposite, and beyond the great drab desert, the illimitable waste of
stony, undulating sands stretching away to the infinite, and bathed in
the blood-red light of the dying day.
On the veranda sat a crowd of chattering English men and women of wealth
and leisure--taking tea. The women were mostly in white muslins, and
many wore white sun-helmets though it was December, while the men were
mostly in clean suits of "ducks." An orchestra from Italy was playing
Musetta's waltz-song from "La Boheme," and the same people one meets at
the opera, at supper at the Savoy or the Ritz, were chattering over tea
and pastries served by silent-footed, dark-faced Nubians in scarlet
fezes and long white caftans.
The Cataract Hotel at Assouan is, at five o'clock, when the Eastern
desert is flooded by the wonderful green and crimson of the fading sun,
the most select yet cosmopolitan circle in all the world, the
meeting-place of those seekers after sunshine who have ascended the Nile
to the spot where rain has never fallen within the memory of man.
The poor old played-out Riviera has still its artificial attractions, it
is true. One can, for once in one's life, enjoy the pasteboard of the
Nice carnival, the irresponsible frolic of the Battle of Flowers, the
night gaiety of Ciro's, breathe the combined odour of perspiration and
perfume in the rooms at Monte, eat the _gateaux_ at Vogarde's, play the
one-franc game of _boule_ at the Casino Municipal, or lunch off the
delicious trout from the tanks at the Reserve at Beaulieu. But the Cote
d'Azur and its habitues, its _demi-mondaines_ and its _escrocs_ soon
pall upon one; hence Society nowadays goes farther afield--to Egypt, the
land of wonders, where there is ever-increasing charm, where the winter
days amid those stupendous monuments of a long-dead civilisation are
rainless, the land where Christmas is as warm as our English August,
where all is silent and dreamy beside the mighty Nile, and where the
brown-faced sons of the desert kneel Mecca-wards at sunset and praise
the name of Allah the One. Allah is just; Allah is merciful. There is
no God but Allah!
Some winter idlers go to Cairo, and there indulge in the gaieties of
Shepheard's, the Savoy, or the Gezireh Palace, or the teas and dances at
Mena House, or the breath of freedom at Heliopolis. But Cairo is not
Egypt. To see and to know Egypt one must ascend the Nile a farther
eight hundred miles to Luxor--the town where once stood ancient Thebes,
the City of a Hundred Gates, or to Assouan, the Aswan of the days of the
Pharaohs.
It is there, on the borders of the glowing desert of Nubia, far removed
from the stress of modern life, that one first begins to experience the
new joy of existence--life in that limitless wilderness of sky and sand,
life amid the relics of a mighty and wonderful age long since bygone and
forgotten.
On that afternoon of early December a merry party of four young people--
two girls and two men--sat at one of the small tables on the veranda.
The gay quartette, waited upon by Ahmed, an erect bronze statue,
picturesque in his white caftan and red sash, were laughing merrily as
the elder of the two men recounted the amusing progress of a party whom
he had accompanied on camels into the desert that afternoon.
Around them everywhere was loud chatter and laughter, while the
orchestra played dreamily, the music floating across the slowly
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NIGHT WATCHES
by W.W. Jacobs
EASY MONEY
A lad of about twenty stepped ashore from the schooner Jane, and joining
a girl, who had been avoiding for some ten minutes the ardent gaze of
the night-watchman, set off arm-in-arm. The watchman rolled his eyes
and shook his head slowly.
Nearly all his money on 'is back, he said, and what little bit 'e's got
over he'll spend on 'er. And three months arter they're married he'll
wonder wot 'e ever saw in her. If a man marries he wishes he 'adn't,
and if he doesn't marry he wishes he 'ad. That's life.
Looking at them two young fools reminds me of a nevy of Sam Small's; a
man I think I've spoke to you of afore. As a rule Sam didn't talk much
about 'is relations, but there was a sister of 'is in the country wot 'e
was rather fond of because 'e 'adn't seen 'er for twenty years. She 'ad
got a boy wot 'ad just got a job in London, and when 'e wrote and told
'er he was keeping company with the handsomest and loveliest and best
'arted gal in the whole wide world, she wrote to Sam about it and asked
'im to give 'is nevy some good advice.
Sam 'ad just got back from China and was living with Peter Russet and
Ginger Dick as usual, and arter reading the letter about seven times and
asking Ginger how 'e spelt "minx," 'e read the letter out loud to them
and asked 'em what they thought about it.
Ginger shook his 'ead, and, arter thinking a bit, Peter shook his too.
"She's caught 'im rather young," ses Ginger.
"They get it bad at that age too," ses Peter. "When I was twenty, there
was a gal as I was fond of, and a regiment couldn't ha' parted us."
"Wot did part you then?" ses Sam.
"Another gal," ses Peter; "a gal I took a fancy to, that's wot did it."
"I was nearly married when I was twenty," ses Ginger, with a far-away
look in his eyes. "She was the most beautiful gal I ever saw in my
life; she 'ad one 'undred pounds a year of 'er own and she couldn't bear
me out of her sight. If a thump acrost the chest would do that cough of
yours any good, Sam--"
"Don't take no notice of 'im, Ginger," ses Peter. "Why didn't you marry
'er?"
"'Cos I was afraid she might think I was arter 'er money," ses Ginger,
getting a little bit closer to Sam.
Peter 'ad another turn then, and him and Ginger kept on talking about
gals whose 'arts they 'ad broke till Sam didn't know what to do with
'imself.
"I'll just step round and see my nevy, while you and Peter are amusing
each other," he ses at last. "I'll ask 'im to come round to-morrow and
then you can give 'im good advice."
The nevy came round next evening. Bright, cheerful young chap 'e was,
and he agreed with everything they said. When Peter said as 'ow all
gals was deceivers, he said he'd known it for years, but they was born
that way and couldn't 'elp it; and when Ginger said that no man ought to
marry afore he was fifty, he corrected 'im and made it fifty-five.
"I'm glad to 'ear you talk like that," ses Ginger.
"So am I," ses Peter.
"He's got his 'ead screwed on right," ses Sam, wot thought his sister
'ad made a mistake.
"I'm surprised when I look round at the wimmen men 'ave married," ses
the nevy; "wot they could 'ave seen in them I can't think. Me and my
young lady often laugh about it."
"Your wot?" ses Sam, pretending to be very surprised.
"My young lady," ses the nevy.
Sam gives a cough. "I didn't know you'd got a young lady," he ses.
"Well, I 'ave," ses his nevy, "and we're going to be married at
Christmas."
"But--but you ain't fifty-five," ses Ginger.
"I'm twenty-one," ses the nevy, "but my case is different. There isn't
another young lady like mine in the world. She's different to all the
others, and it ain't likely I'm going to let 'er be snapped up by
somebody else. Fifty-five! Why, 'ow I'm to wait till Christmas I don't
know. She's the prettiest and handsomest gal in the world; and she's
the cleverest one I ever met. You ought to hear 'er laugh. Like music
it is. You'd never forget it."
"Twenty-one is young," ses Ginger, shaking his 'ead. "'Ave you known
'er long?"
"Three months," ses the nevy. "She lives in the same street as I do.
'Ow it is she ain't been snapped up before, I can't think, but she told
me that she didn't care for men till she saw me."
"They all say that," ses Ginger.
"If I've 'ad it said to me once, I've 'ad it said twenty times," ses
Peter, nodding.
"They do it to flatter," ses old Sam, looking as if 'e knew all about
it. "You wait till you are my age, Joe; then you'll know; why I should
ha' been married dozens o' times if I 'adn't been careful."
"P'r'aps it was a bit on both sides," ses Joe, looking at 'is uncle.
"P'r'aps they was careful too. If you only saw my young lady, you
wouldn't talk like that. She's got the truthfullest eyes in the world.
Large grey eyes like a child's, leastways sometimes they are grey and
sometimes they are blue. It seems to depend on the light somehow; I
'ave seen them when they was a brown-brownish-gold. And she smiles with
'er eyes."
"Hasn't she got a mouth?" ses Ginger, wot was getting a bit tired of
it.
"You've been crossed in love," ses the nevy, staring at 'im. "That's
wot's the matter with you. And looking at you, I don't wonder at it."
Ginger 'arf got up, but Sam gave him a look and 'e sat down agin, and
then they all sat quiet while the nevy went on telling them about 'is
gal.
"I should like to see 'er," ses his uncle at last.
"Call round for me at seven to-morrow night," ses the young 'un, "and
I'll introduce you."
"We might look in on our way," ses Sam, arter Ginger and Peter 'ad both
made eyes at 'im. "We're going out to spend the evening."
"The more the merrier," ses his nevy. "Well, so long; I expect she's
waiting for me."
He got up and said good-bye, and arter he 'ad gorn, Sam and the other
two shook their leads together and said what a pity it was to be twenty-
one. Ginger said it made 'im sad to think of it, and Peter said 'ow any
gal could look at a man under thirty, 'e couldn't think.
They all went round to the nevy's the next evening. They was a little
bit early owing to Ginger's watch 'aving been set right by guess-work,
and they 'ad to sit in a row on the nevy's bed waiting while 'e cleaned
'imself, and changed his clothes. Although it was only Wednesday 'e
changed his collar, and he was so long making up 'is mind about his
necktie that 'is uncle tried to make it up for him. By the time he 'ad
finished Sam said it made 'im think it was Sunday.
Miss Gill was at 'ome when they got there, and all three of 'em was very
much surprised that such a good-looking gal should take up with Sam's
nevy. Ginger nearly said so, but Peter gave 'im a dig in the back just
in time and 'e called him something under 'is breath instead.
"Why shouldn't we all make an evening of it?" ses Ginger, arter they 'ad
been talking for about ten minutes, and the nevy 'ad looked at the clock
three or four times.
"Because two's company," ses Mrs. Gill. "Why you was young yourself
once. Can't you remember?"
"He's young now, mother," ses the gal, giving Ginger a nice smile.
"I tell you wot we might do," ses Mrs. Gill, putting 'er finger to her
forehead and considering. "You and Joe go out and 'ave your evening,
and me and these gentlemen'll go off together somewhere. I shall enjoy
an outing; I ain't 'ad one for a long time."
Ginger said it would be very nice if she thought it wouldn't make 'er
too tired, and afore Sam or Peter could think of anything to say, she
was upstairs putting 'er bonnet on. They thought o' plenty to say while
they was sitting alone with Ginger waiting for 'er.
"My idea was for the gal and your nevy to come too," ses pore Ginger.
"Then I thought we might lose 'im and I would 'ave a little chat with
the gal, and show 'er 'ow foolish she was."
"Well, you've done it now," ses Sam. "Spoilt our evening."
"P'r'aps good will come out of it," ses Ginger. "If the old lady takes
a fancy to us we shall be able to come agin, and then to please you,
Sam, I'll have a go to cut your nevy out."
Sam stared at 'im, and Peter stared too, and then they looked at each
other and began to laugh till Ginger forgot where 'e was and offered to
put Sam through the winder. They was still quarrelling under their
breath and saying wot they'd like to do to each other when Mrs. Gill
came downstairs. Dressed up to the nines she was, and they walked down
the street with a feeling that everybody was looking at em.
One thing that 'elped to spoil the evening was that Mrs. Gill wouldn't
go into public'ouses, but to make up for it she went into sweet-stuff
shops three times and 'ad ices while they stood and watched 'er and
wondered 'ow she could do it. And arter that she stopped at a place
Poplar way, where there was a few swings and roundabouts and things.
She was as skittish as a school-gal, and arter taking pore Sam on the
roundabout till 'e didn't know whether he was on his 'eels or his 'ead,
she got 'im into a boat-swing and swung 'im till he felt like a boy on
'is fust v'y'ge. Arter that she took 'im to the rifle gallery, and
afore he had 'ad three shots the man took the gun away from 'im and
threatened to send for the police.
It was an expensive evening for all of them, but as Ginger said when
they got 'ome they 'ad broken the ice, and he bet Peter Russet 'arf a
dollar that afore two days 'ad passed he'd take the nevy's gal for a
walk. He stepped round by 'imself the next arternoon and made 'imself
agreeable to Mrs. Gill, and the day arter they was both so nice and kind
that 'e plucked up 'is courage and offered to take Miss Gill to the Zoo.
She said "No" at fust, of course, but arter Ginger 'ad pointed out that
Joe was at work all day and couldn't take 'er 'imself, and that 'e was
Joe's uncle's best pal, she began to think better of it.
"Why not?" ses her mother. "Joe wouldn't mind. He wouldn't be so
silly as to be jealous o' Mr. Ginger Dick."
"Of course not," ses the gal. "There's nothing to be jealous of."
She let 'er mother and Ginger persuade 'er arter a time, and then she
went upstairs to clean herself, and put on a little silver brooch that
Ginger said he 'ad picked up coming along.
She took about three-quarters of an hour to get ready, but when she came
down, Ginger felt that it was quite worth it. He couldn't take 'is eyes
off 'er, as the saying goes, and 'e sat by 'er side on the top of the
omnibus like a man in a dream.
"This is better than being at sea," he ses at last.
"Don't you like the sea?" ses the gal. "I should like to go to sea
myself."
"I shouldn't mind the sea if you was there," ses Ginger.
Miss Gill turned her 'ead away. "You mustn't talk to me like that," she
ses in a soft voice. "Still--"
"Still wot?" ses Ginger, arter waiting a long time.
"I mean, if I did go to sea, it would be nice to have a friend on
board," she ses. "I suppose you ain't afraid of storms, are you?"
"I like 'em," ses Ginger.
"You look as if you would," ses the gal, giving 'im a little look under
'er eyelashes. "It must be nice to be a man and be brave. I wish I was
a man."
"I don't," ses Ginger.
"Why not?" ses the gal, turning her 'ead away agin.
Ginger didn't answer, he gave 'er elbow a little squeeze instead. She
took it away at once, and Ginger was just wishing he 'adn't been so
foolish, when it came back agin, and they sat for a long time without
speaking a word.
"The sea is all right for some things," ses Ginger at last, "but suppose
a man married!"
The gal shook her 'ead. "It would be hard on 'is wife," she ses, with
another little look at 'im, "but--but----"
Ginger pinched 'er elbow agin.
"But p'r'aps he could get a job ashore," she ses, "and then he could
take his wife out for a bus-ride every day."
They 'ad to change buses arter a time, and they got on a wrong bus and
went miles out o' their way, but neither of 'em seemed to mind. Ginger
said he was thinking of something else, and the gal said she was too.
They got to the Zoological Gardens at last, and Ginger said he 'ad never
enjoyed himself so much. When the lions roared she squeezed his arm,
and when they 'ad an elephant ride she was holding on to 'im with both
'ands.
"I am enjoying myself," she ses, as Ginger 'elped her down and said
"whoa" to the elephant. "I know it's wicked, but I can't 'elp it, and
wot's more, I'm afraid I don't want to 'elp it."
She let Ginger take 'er arm when she nearly tripped up over a peppermint
ball some kid 'ad dropped; and, arter a little persuasion, she 'ad a
bottle of lemonade and six bath-buns at a refreshment stall for dinner.
She was as nice as she could be to him, but by the time they started for
'ome, she 'ad turned so quiet that Ginger began to think 'e must 'ave
offended 'er in some way.
"Are you tired?" he ses.
"No," ses the gal, shaking her 'ead, "I've enjoyed myself very much."
"I thought you seemed a bit tired," ses Ginger, arter waiting a long
time.
"I'm not tired," ses the gal, giving 'im a sad sort o' little smile,
"but I'm a little bit worried, that's all."
"Worried?" ses Ginger, very tender. "Wot's worrying you?"
"Oh, I can't tell you," ses Miss Gill. "It doesn't matter; I'll try and
cheer up. Wot a lovely day it is, isn't it? I shall remember it all my
life."
"Wot is it worrying you?" ses Ginger, in a determined voice. "Can't
you tell me?"
"No," ses the gal, shaking her 'ead, "I can't tell you because you might
want to 'elp me, and I couldn't allow that."
"Why shouldn't I 'elp you?" ses Ginger. "It's wot we was put 'ere for:
to 'elp one another."
"I couldn't tell you," ses the gal, just dabbing at'er eyes--with a lace
pocket-'ankercher about one and a 'arf times the size of 'er nose.
"Not if I ask you to?" ses Ginger.
Miss Gill shook 'er 'ead, and then she tried her 'ardest to turn the
conversation. She talked about the weather, and the monkey-'ouse, and a
gal in 'er street whose 'air changed from red to black in a single
night; but it was all no good, Ginger wouldn't be put off, and at last
she ses--
"Well," she ses, "if you must know, I'm in a difficulty; I 'ave got to
get three pounds, and where to get it I don't know any more than the man
in the moon. Now let's talk about something else."
"Do you owe it?" ses Ginger.
"I can't tell you any more," ses Miss Gill, "and I wouldn't 'ave told
you that only you asked me, and somehow I feel as though I 'ave to tell
you things, when you want me to."
"Three pounds ain't much," ses pore Ginger, wot 'ad just been paid off
arter a long v'y'ge. "I can let you 'ave it and welcome."
Miss Gill started away from 'im as though she 'ad been stung, and it
took 'im all his time to talk 'er round agin. When he 'ad she begged
'is pardon and said he was the most generous man she 'ad ever met, but | 195.443632 | 881 |
2023-11-16 18:19:02.1689510 | 4,126 | 113 |
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McCLURE'S MAGAZINE
VOL. XXXI AUGUST, 1908 No. 4
_Copyright, 1908, by The S. S. McClure Co. All rights reserved_
Table of Contents
PAGE
A DISCLOSURE OF THE SECRET POLICIES OF RUSSIA. By General
Kuropatkin. 363
TALKS WITH BISMARCK. By Carl Schurz. 367
THE FOREHANDED COLQUHOUNS. By Margaret Wilson. 378
LAST YEARS WITH HENRY IRVING. By Ellen Terry. 386
THE LOST MOTHER. By Blanche M. Kelly. 399
PATSY MORAN. THE BOOK AND ITS COVERS. By Arthur Sullivan
Hoffman. 401
ARCTIC COLOR. By Sterling Heilig. 411
THE TAVERN. By Willa Sibert Cather. 419
A STORY OF HATE. By Gertrude Hall. 420
HIS NEED OF MIS' SIMONS. By Lucy Pratt. 432
PROHIBITION AND SOCIAL PSYCHOLOGY. By Hugo Muensterberg. 438
THE MOVING FINGER WRITES. By Marie Belloc Lowndes. 445
A BUNK-HOUSE AND SOME BUNK-HOUSE MEN. By Alexander Irvine. 455
THE KING OF THE BABOONS. By Perceval Gibbon. 467
ONE HUNDRED CHRISTIAN SCIENCE CURES. By Richard C. Cabot 472
SOUTH STREET. By Francis E. Falkenbury. 476
THE INABILITY TO INTERFERE. By Mary Heaton Vorse. 477
PROHIBITION AND SOCIAL PSYCHOLOGY. By Dr. Muensterberg. 482
Illustrations
General Alexei Nicholaevitch Kuropatkin 363
Kaiser Wilhelm I 369
Prince Otto Von Bismarck 372
Count Hellmuth Von Moltke 373
The Chancellor's Palace on the Wilhelmstrasse 374
The Battle of Koeniggraetz 374
Emperor Napoleon III 376
"Jane and Selina... Looked at Patient and Nurse with
Disapproving Gloom" 378
"She Could Not Help Seeing That Selina Found Some Strange
Pleasure in all These Incidents of a Last Illness" 382
Ellen Terry as Kniertje in "The Good Hope" 387
John Singer Sargent 388
Sir Edward Burne-Jones 388
Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth 389
Peggy, Madame Sans-Gene, Madame Sans-Gene, Cordelia 390
Imogen, Lucy Ashton, Catherine Duval, Lucy Ashton 390
Cardinal Wolsey, Lady Macbeth, Guinevere, Thomas Becket 391
Nancy Oldfield, Hermione, Alice-Sit-by-the-Fire, Lady Cicely,
Wayneflete 391
Miss Ellen Terry 392
Sir Henry Irving 392
Ellen Terry as Queen Katherine in Henry VIII 395
The Book and Its Covers 401
"Pardon Me," He Said, "But What Are You Doing That for?" 402
"Ye'd Better Be Usin' Your Brains to Walk With, and Not
Strainin' Thim Like That" 407
Midnight in the Kara Sea 411
"The Country of the Dead"--A Study of the Kara Sea in August 413
Samoyed Love of Color 414
Painting of a Sledge Set Upon End for the Night, With Skins and
Meat Hung Upon It So as to Be Out of Reach of the Dogs 415
A Study Made in Nova Zembla at the Time of the Complete Eclipse
of the Sun, July 27, 1896 416
Painting of a Church Built by M. Seberjakow 417
In the Midnight Sunshine 418
His Need of Mis' Simons 432
'I Couldn' Git 'Long 'Thout Yer Noways, Could I?' She Say 433
'She Keep on A-Readin', an' I Keep on A-Wukkin' on de Paff' 434
'It's Time Fer You ter Go to Baid, Ain't It, 'Zekiel?' She Say 435
''Tain' Gwine Nobody Else Git--Fru--Dat--Do',' She Say 436
The Bunk-House 459
One Night the Graf Was Prevailed Upon to Tell His Story 461
The Sitting-Room of the Bismarck 462
I Noticed a Profile Silhouetted against the Window 463
St. Francis of the Bunk-House 464
They Sat on Their Rumps Outside the Circle of <DW5>s 467
EDITORIAL ANNOUNCEMENT
FIVE ARTICLES
A DISCLOSURE OF THE SECRET POLICIES OF RUSSIA
BY GENERAL KUROPATKIN
Once in a generation the intimate and vital secrets of a great nation
may be made public through one of the little circle of men to whom
they are entrusted; but rarely, if ever, till the men are dead, and
the times are entirely changed. Beginning next month, McCLURE'S
MAGAZINE will present to the reading world a striking exception to
this rule. It will print for the first time a frank and startling
official revelation of the present political plans and purposes of
Russia--the great nation whose guarded and secret movements have been
the concern of modern European civilization for two centuries.
[Illustration: GENERAL ALEXEI NICHOLAEVITCH KUROPATKIN]
General Kuropatkin--Minister of War and later Commander-in-Chief
of the Russian forces in the great and disastrous Manchurian
campaign--became a target for abuse at the close of the Russo-Japanese
War. He returned to St. Petersburg and constructed, from the
official material accessible to him, an elaborate history of the
war, and a detailed statement of the condition, purposes, and
development of the Russian Empire. Documents and dispatches endorsed
"Strictly Confidential," matters involving the highest officials,
information obviously intended for no eyes but those of the
innermost government circles, are laid forth with the utmost abandon
in this work. No sooner had it been completed, than it was
confiscated by the government. Its manuscript has never been allowed
to pass out of the custody of the Czar's closest advisers.
An authentic copy of this came into the hands of McCLURE'S MAGAZINE
this spring; it is not essential and obviously would not be wise to
state just how. George Kennan, the well-known student of Russian
affairs, now has it in his possession and is engaged in translating
and arranging material taken from it for magazine publication. A
series of five or six articles, constructed from Kuropatkin's 600,000
words, will be issued in McCLURE'S, beginning next month. These will
contain astonishing revelations concerning matters of great
international importance, and accusations that are audacious to the
point of recklessness.
LETTERS TO THE CZAR
Remarkable among these are the letters to the Czar. Kuropatkin's
correspondence with him is given in detail, documents which naturally
would not appear within fifty or a hundred years from the time when
they were written. And upon the letters and reports of the General
appear the comments and marginal notes of the Emperor. The war was
forced against the will of the sovereign and the advice of the War
Department. It was ended, Kuropatkin shows, when Russia was just
beginning to discipline and dispose her great forces, because of the
lack of courage and firmness in the Czar.
Japan certainly would have been crushed, says Kuropatkin, if war had
continued. At the time of the Treaty at Portsmouth, the military
struggle, from Russia's standpoint, had only begun. She was then
receiving ammunition and supplies properly for the first time; her men
were becoming disciplined soldiers; and the railroad, whose service
had increased from three to fourteen military trains a day, had now,
at last, brought the Russian forces into the distant field. For the
first time, just when treaty negotiations were begun, Russia had more
soldiers in her army than Japan. There were a million men, well
equipped and abundantly supplied, under General Linevitch, who
succeeded General Kuropatkin as Commander-in-Chief; and he was about
to take the offensive when peace was declared.
Beyond the individual conflict General Kuropatkin shows the Russian
nation, a huge, unformed giant, groping along its great borders in
every direction to find the sea.
"Can an Empire," he asks, "with such a tremendous population, be
satisfied with its existing frontiers, cut off from free access to the
sea on all sides?"
RUSSIA'S SECRET NATIONAL PROGRAM
There are in existence in the secret archives of the government,
Kuropatkin's work discloses, documents containing the definite program
of Russia, fixed by headquarters years ago, for its future growth and
aggrandizement. Results of campaigns and diplomacy are checked up
according to this great program, and decade after decade Russia is
working secretly and quietly to carry it out. The Japanese War
constituted a great mistake in the development of this national plan.
During the twentieth century, says Kuropatkin, Russia will lose no
fewer than two million men in war, and will place in the field not
fewer than five million. No matter how peaceful and purely defensive
her attitude may be, she will be forced into war along her endless
borders by the conflict with other national interests and the age-long
unsatisfied necessity of her population to reach the sea.
Russia will furnish in this century the advance guard of an inevitable
conflict between the white and yellow races. For within a hundred
years there must be a great struggle in Asia between the Christian and
non-Christian nations. To prepare for this, an understanding between
Russia and England is essential for humanity. Kuropatkin deals with
this necessity at length; and the future relations of Russia with
Japan and China are treated with an impressive grasp.
His exposition of the sensitive and dangerous situation on the
Empire's western border contains matters of consequence to the whole
world. The relations he discloses, between Russia, on the one hand,
and Austria and Germany on the other, are important in the extreme.
Within a fortnight these two latter countries could throw two million
men across the Russian frontier, and a war would result much more
colossal than that just finished with Japan.
KUROPATKIN'S FORTY YEARS OF SERVICE
General Kuropatkin has had an education and a career which eminently
qualify him as a judge and critic of the Russian nation. For forty
years, as an active member of its military establishment, he has
watched its development, from the viewpoint of important posts in St.
Petersburg, Turkey, Central Asia, and the far East.
Kuropatkin was born in 1848 and was educated in the Palovski
Military School and the Nikolaiefski Academy of the general staff
in St. Petersburg. From there he went at once into the army, and, at
the early age of twenty, took part in the march of the Russian
expeditionary force to the central Asian city of Samarkand. He won
distinction in the long and difficult march of General Skobeleff's
army to Khokand. In 1875 he acted as Russia's diplomatic agent in
Chitral, and a year or two later he headed an embassy to Kashgar and
concluded a treaty with Yakub Bek.
When the Russo-Turkish War broke out in 1877, he became General
Skobeleff's chief of staff and took part in the battle of Loftcha and
in many of the attacks on Plevna. While forcing the passage of the
Balkans with Skobeleff's army, on the 25th of December, 1877 (O.S.),
he was so severely wounded that he had to leave the theater of war and
return to St. Petersburg. There, as soon as he recovered, he was put
in charge of the Asiatic Department of the Russian General Staff, and,
at the same time, was made adjunct-professor of military statistics in
the Nikolaiefski Military Academy. In 1879 the rank of General was
conferred upon him and he was appointed to command the Turkestan rifle
brigade in Central Asia. In 1880 he led a Russian expeditionary force
to Kuldja, and when the trouble with the Chinese there had been
adjusted, he was ordered to organize and equip a special force in the
Amu Daria district and march to the assistance of General Skobeleff in
the Akhal-Tekhinski oasis. After conducting this force across seven
hundred versts of nearly waterless desert, he joined General Skobeleff
in front of the Turkoman fortress of Geok Tepe, and in the assault
upon that famous stronghold, a few weeks later, he led the principal
storming column. After the Turkomen had been subdued, he returned to
European Russia, and during the next eight years served on the General
Staff in St. Petersburg, where he was entrusted with important
strategic work. In 1890 he was made Lieutenant-General and was sent to
govern the trans-Caspian region and to command the troops there
stationed.
He occupied this position six or eight years, and then, shortly after
his return to St. Petersburg, was appointed Minister of War. In
1902, while still holding the war portfolio, he was promoted to
Adjutant-General; in 1903 he visited Japan and made the acquaintance
of its political and military leaders; and in 1904, when hostilities
began in the Far East, he took command of the Russian armies in
Manchuria under the general direction of Viceroy Alexeieff.
Besides, he has written and published three important books.
No man perhaps, is better equipped, by education and experience, to
explain Russia's plans and movements in Asia; to tell the true story
of the Japanese war. And probably never, at least in this generation,
has an international matter of this magnitude been treated with such
frankness by a person so thoroughly and eminently qualified to discuss
it.
TALKS WITH BISMARCK
BY CARL SCHURZ
ILLUSTRATED WITH PHOTOGRAPHS
In the autumn of 1867 my family went to Wiesbaden, where my wife was
to spend some time on account of her health, and I joined them there
about Christmas time for a few weeks. Great changes had taken place in
Germany since that dark December night in 1861 when I rushed through
the country from the Belgian frontier to Hamburg on my way from Spain
to America. The period of stupid reaction after the collapse of the
revolutionary movements of 1848 was over. King Frederick William IV.
of Prussia, who had been so deeply convinced and arduous an upholder
of the divine right of kings, had died a helpless lunatic. King
William I., afterwards Emperor William I., his brother and successor,
also a believer in that divine right, but not to the extent of
believing as well in the divine inspiration of kings--in other words,
a man of good sense and capable of recognizing the superior ability of
others--had found in Bismarck a minister of commanding genius. The
sweeping victory of Prussia over Austria in 1866 had resulted in the
establishment of the North German Confederacy under Prussian hegemony,
which was considered a stepping-stone to the unification of all
Germany as a constitutional empire. Several of the revolutionists of
1848 now sat in the Reichstag of the North German Confederacy, and one
of the ablest of them, Lothar Bucher, was Bismarck's confidential
counsellor. The nation was elated with hope, and there was a liberal
wind blowing even in the sphere of the government.
I did not doubt that under these circumstances I might venture into
Germany without danger of being seriously molested; yet, as my
personal case was technically not covered by any of the several
amnesties which had been proclaimed in Prussia from time to time, I
thought that some subordinate officer, either construing his duty with
the strictness of a thorough Prussian, or wishing to distinguish
himself by a conspicuous display of official watchfulness, might give
me annoyance. I did not, indeed, entertain the slightest apprehension
as to my safety, but I might have become involved in sensational
proceedings, which would have been extremely distasteful to me, as
well as unwelcome to the government. I therefore wrote to Mr. George
Bancroft, the American Minister at Berlin, requesting him if possible
to inform himself privately whether the Prussian government had any
objection to my visiting Germany for a few weeks, and to let me have
his answer at Bremerhaven upon the arrival there of the steamer on
which I had taken passage. My intention was, in case the answer were
unfavorable, to sail at once from Bremen to England and to meet my
family there. Mr. Bancroft very kindly complied with my request, and
assured me in his letter which I found at Bremerhaven that the
Prussian government not only had no objection to my visiting Germany,
but that I should be welcome.
After having spent Christmas with my family in Wiesbaden, I went to
Berlin. I wrote a note to Lothar Bucher, whom I had last seen sixteen
years before as a fellow refugee in London, and whom I wished very
much to meet again. Bucher answered promptly that he would be glad
indeed to see me again, and asked if I would not like to make the
acquaintance of "the Minister" (Bismarck), who had expressed a wish to
have a talk with me. I replied, of course, that I should be happy,
etc., whereupon I received within an hour an invitation from Count
Bismarck himself (he was then only a count) to visit him at eight
o'clock that same evening at the Chancellor's palace on the
Wilhelmstrasse. Promptly at the appointed hour I was announced to him,
and he received me at the door of a room of moderate size | 195.488361 | 882 |
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HORTUS VITAE
ESSAYS ON THE GARDENING OF LIFE
BY
VERNON LEE
JOHN LANE: THE BODLEY HEAD
LONDON & NEW YORK. MDCCCCIV
SECOND EDITION.
WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES.
DEDICATION
To MADAME TH: BLANC-BENTZON
MAIANO, NEAR FLORENCE,
June 20, 1903.
MY DEAR MADAME BLANC,
The first copy of this little book was, of course, to have been for
Gabrielle Delzant. I am fulfilling her wish, I think, in giving it,
instead, to you, who were her oldest friend; as I, alas! had time to be
only her latest.
She had read nearly all these essays; and, during those weeks of her
illness which I spent last autumn in Gascony, she had made me rewrite
several among them. She wanted to learn to read English aloud, and it
amused her and delighted me that she should do so on my writings. Her
French pronunciation gave an odd grace to the sentences; the little
hesitation spaced and accentuated their meaning; and I liked what I had
written when she read it. The afternoons at Parays which we spent
together in this way! Prints of _Mere Angelique_ and _Ces Messieurs de
Port Royal_ watching over us in her spacious bedroom, brown and yet
light like the library it had become; and among those Jansenist
worthies, the Turin Pallas Athena, with a sprig of green box as an
offering from our friend. | 195.518164 | 883 |
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Daughters of the Dominion
[Illustration: NELL NURSES THE STRANGER]
=D a u g h t e r s o f t h e=
=D o m i n i o n=
A Story of the Canadian Frontier
BY
=BESSIE MARCHANT=
AUTHOR OF “SISTERS OF SILVER CREEK,” “A HEROINE OF THE SEA,”
“HOPE’S TRYST” ETC.
ILLUSTRATED BY WILLIAM RAINEY, R.I.
TORONTO
T H E M U S S O N B O O K C O M P A N Y
L I M I T E D
CANADA is a great mother; there is room in her heart
not merely for her own children, but for the needy of
every nation. They may all come to her and find a home,
if only they will work to earn it.
CONTENTS
I. THE LONE HOUSE AT BLUE BIRD RIDGE
II. NELL’S DILEMMA
III. THE OLD COAT
IV. WHAT THE NEW DAY BROUGHT
V. SUMMONED HOME
VI. A STRANGE WELCOME
VII. A NEW VOCATION
VIII. MOVED ON
IX. A FRIEND IN NEED
X. TO FILL THE BREACH
XI. THE RECOGNITION OF MRS. NICHOLS
XII. NELL LEARNS HER FAMILY HISTORY
XIII. ON THE LIST
XIV. PROMOTED
XV. THE NEW RESIDENT
XVI. CAMP’S GULCH
XVII. ONE-SIDED CONFIDENCES
XVIII. THE DEAD CHINAMAN
XIX. TO THE RESCUE
XX. FAIRLY CAUGHT
XXI. A PATIENT FOR MRS. NICHOLS
XXII. THE FATE OF THE PRISONER
XXIII. HONOURING THE HEROINE
XXIV. A SISTER BY ADOPTION
XXV. THE HUMOURS OF TRADING
XXVI. A WOMAN OF BUSINESS
XXVII. AN EARLY CUSTOMER
XXVIII. DOSS UMPEY’S EXCUSES
XXIX. THE ARRIVAL
XXX. AN ADVENTURE
XXXI. DIVIDING THE FAMILY
ILLUSTRATIONS
NELL NURSES THE STRANGER
“COME RIGHT IN, WILL YOU, PLEASE, MISS?”
“NELL FOUND THAT SHE WAS BY FAR THE MORE EXPERT ON SNOW-SHOES”
“FOR ME? BUT I DON’T EXPECT ANY PARCEL!”
THE RESCUE-PARTY DISCOVER NELL ON THE RAILWAY TRACK
“I HEARD A LITTLE ABOUT A FRIEND OF YOURS AWAY DOWN IN THE CITY,” HE SAID.
CHAPTER I
The Lone House at Blue Bird Ridge
“NELL, Nell, where are you? I want you to give an eye to the dog; the
creature has had a dreadful mauling,” shouted Doss Umpey, in petulant
tones. He had thrust his head in at the open door, and seemed quite
angry to find that there was no one moving about in the houseplace.
“I’m coming, granfer,” cried a voice, somewhere out of sight. Then there
was a shaking of the rickety ladder which stood in the far corner of the
dark little room, and a thin girl in very shabby clothes came slowly
into view.
No one would have called Nell, otherwise Eleanor Hamblyn, at this period
of her life, a pretty girl. Two good points, however, she possessed: one
a sweet, low voice, that excellent thing in woman; the other a pair of
beautiful luminous eyes, which made those who saw them forget the
defects of her face and figure.
“You never are on hand when you are wanted. What you find to do in that
old loft all the time just about passes my comprehension,” growled the
old man, whose temper was none of the sweetest.
“Well, I ain’t far off when I’m wanted, anyhow,” replied Nell,
good-humouredly. Then she asked in an anxious tone, “What’s the matter
with Pip?”
“Got mauled pretty badly; must have been having a turn with a wolf, I
should say, only it’s early for wolves to be getting troublesome. So
p’r’aps he’s been fighting a wild dog.”
“There ain’t no wild dogs round here,” objected Nell, with a shake of
her head.
“I’m not so sure of that. Last time I was over to Button End, Job Lipton
said he’d seen a buff- beast hunting rabbits on the ridges, and
that there’d been a talk of sheep being killed out Lewisville way,” the
old man said, as he turned from the door. Nell followed him to inspect
the dog, which lay helpless on the edge of the forest.
The house, a wooden one, old and weather-beaten, was perched on a high
woody ridge in the great forests stretching along the American side of
the Canadian frontier. A mighty Valparaiso oak grew on one side of the
house, giving shade in summer and shelter in winter, but the forest had
been pushed back on either side, to make room for a small orchard of
wind-twisted apple-trees.
It was a lovely day in late September, but the fall of the summer could
be seen in the changing hues of the maples, which flamed into crimson
and gold, lighting up the sombre green of the other trees.
Pip was a big deerhound, fierce of aspect, and the creature lay at the
edge of the clearing, where it had fallen, exhausted in its effort to
get home after the fray, in which it had plainly come off second best.
It was covered with blood and wounds, one ear being torn in a ghastly
fashion.
“Oh, you poor dear thing! Good old Pip, you have been having a rough
time!” exclaimed Nell, dropping on her knees beside the dog, and
touching it gently here and there.
The creature wagged its tail feebly, as if it understood and appreciated
her sympathy; then uttered a whining cry.
“Thirsty, are you? I’ll get you drink, and rig up a little curtain to
keep the flies from bothering,” she said in the soothing tone one would
use towards a child that had been injured.
“Couldn’t you help me to carry Pip indoors, granfer? I could look after
it so much better there,” she said, when she had brought the water,
which the creature feebly lapped.
“The dog will be cooler out here, and we can bring it in at nightfall.
I’ve got some work to do down beyond now, and can’t be bothered.”
It was characteristic of Doss Umpey that he had always work to do down
beyond whenever Nell wanted any assistance from him, so she made up her
mind that when he was safely out of the way she would manage somehow to
get poor Pip into more comfortable quarters.
Despite the work he had spoken of, the old man seemed in no hurry to go,
but stood leaning at ease against the bole of a great redwood tree,
talking in the dreamy fashion which always seemed to suit him much
better than hard work.
He was not a really old man, being only about sixty-five, strong and
hearty, but with a constitutional aversion to sustained effort of any
sort.
“There’s no mistake but you are right-down handy at tending critters
that are ill. A first-class nurse you’d make, Nell, if only you’d got
the chance,” he said, watching her active ministrations to the dog with
lazy admiration.
“Why don’t you give me the chance, then?” she retorted quickly. “I’d
love to be a nurse, or to be anything that would help me to get on. Just
look at me, granfer. I’m seventeen to-day, and I’m just good for
nothing. I can’t even keep house properly, because I ain’t got the
things to do it with.”
“I’m a poor man, or maybe I’d have done a better part by you; though, as
folks are always telling me, it isn’t every lone man like me that would
have been bothered with bringing up a child as didn’t really belong to
him,” Doss Umpey said, puffing out his chest with an air of
satisfaction. He always prided himself a great deal on this, the one
charitable act of his life, but it is open to doubt whether Nell would
not have been better off if she had been left to the tender mercies of
some orphan asylum when her father died, than she was in the care of a
grandfather who troubled himself so little about her interests.
“If only I’d crossed the border and settled in Canada when I was a young
man, it would have been a deal better for me all round,” he said,
leaning his head back against the redwood and gazing pensively up into
the sky.
“Why didn’t you?” demanded Nell, as she gently bathed Pip’s torn ear in
cool water.
“Circumstances were against me. Most things have been against me
somehow,” he said, with a reflective sigh.
“Look here, granfer, couldn’t we go now?” she asked eagerly. “We
couldn’t be poorer than we are here, and if we lived where there were
more people, I could get work to do at helping, that would bring in
money.”
“We’ll see about it, girl, in a few weeks, maybe, but it would be an
undertaking, I can tell you, to go such a long way.”
“How far is it to the frontier, granfer?” asked Nell, who as ever was
athirst for information.
“Oh, a good few miles. Why, you can walk for thirty miles on this trail,
without coming to anything bigger than a woodcutter’s hut, and when
you’ve done the thirty miles you are still a goodish distance from the
border. But if anything ever happens to me, you’d best make tracks over
the border as fast as you can go.”
“Why?” she asked, throwing back her head to get a better look at him,
then blinking like an owl, because the sun came into her eyes.
“For ever so many reasons. Canada is a land of promise for young people.
Then, English law, by which, of course, I mean Canadian law, is kinder
to lone women and girls than American. But I must be stirring, or that
bit o’ work down beyond won’t get done by sundown.” And the old man
prepared to shuffle off at a slow, comfortable crawl, which was his
usual rate of travel.
But there was a request Nell had to prefer before he went, and she rose
up hurriedly to intercept his going.
“Granfer, I’m seventeen to-day; mayn’t I have the box of mother’s things
that father left for you to take care of? He said I was to have them
when I was seventeen.”
“So he did, only I’d forgotten all about it, and, now I come to think of
it, I lost the key a good few years back, so you’ll just have to wait
till I come home again, then I’ll get out my tools and prise the lid
open.”
Doss Umpey quickened his pace then, as if anxious not to be recalled,
and was soon out of sight, hidden from view by the trees.
Nell heaved an impatient sigh, but busied herself with the dog; then,
when she had made the poor creature as comfortable as she could, she
went back to her secret avocations in the loft.
This loft was her refuge, the one place where she was secure from
interruption. The roof was open to the shingles, so above, below, and at
the sides it was all bare brown wood, without any attempt at adornment
of any kind. Window proper there was none, but a hinged shutter in the
western gable let in sunshine and fresh air, and, weather permitting,
this stood open night and day.
There were no small prettinesses such as may be found in many a chamber
belonging to girls who are poor. But, all the same, it did not lack
individuality. It was scrupulously clean and well kept, while on a
packing-case, standing near the open shutter, were arranged a small pile
of books, a bigger heap of newspapers, a bottle of ink, a pen, and a few
stumps of pencils.
Here every day Nell did her best to carry on her education, reading
everything she could get hold of, and writing extracts from her scanty
library on the margins of the newspapers, because she had no
writing-paper or exercise books.
She had been hard at work here when her grandfather called her down to
attend to the dog, and she went back to her occupation when he had gone
away, and she had left Pip as comfortable as circumstances permitted.
But now her attention wandered; the talk about Canada had excited her,
while the disappointment about the box was depressing.
Presently she pushed her work aside, and went down the ladder to the
lower room. The box containing the things which had belonged to her dead
mother stood there. It was only a small box, but strongly made and
clamped with iron. Nell had not seen inside it since her father died,
but she knew what it contained. There were frocks and coats belonging to
her mother, a gold watch and chain, a gold bracelet, and some brooches.
The jewelry was of no great value from a monetary point of view, but it
was precious beyond price to the girl, whose memory of her mother grew
every day more faint and indistinct.
“Just to think that granfer should lose the key, when I wanted it so
badly!” she murmured to herself, as she leaned over the box, touching it
with caressing fingers.
At that moment the sound of a deep-drawn sigh caught her ear, and
lifting her head she saw a strange man standing on the threshold and
clinging to the door-frame.
CHAPTER II
Nell’s Dilemma
A TURN in the trail revealed steeply rising ground, which caused Dick
Bronson, spent as he was, to stand still and groan.
It was two days since he had lost his horse in a swamp. The poor
creature had been sucked under by the treacherous mud, and as he was
unable to extricate it, he had shot the animal with his revolver to end
its sufferings.
Since then he had walked and walked, following this mysterious trail
which appeared to lead to nowhere, yet which was sufficiently open and
well defined to make him certain that he must in time arrive at some
habitation, if only he kept on long enough.
But a big forest is an awkward place for a man on foot to get lost in;
and Dick Bronson was well aware that the trail might meander on for
another thirty miles without passing a human habitation, only he had
come to the limit of his endurance, and could go no farther.
As he leaned against the trunk of a mighty cedar, wondering if death
from starvation and exhaustion were a long pain, or whether merciful
stupor would soon claim him, his weary gaze swept earth and sky in mute
farewell.
Then he was suddenly roused to new life and energy by perceiving a thin
column of smoke rising against the clear blue of the sky, immediately on
the top of the high ground, where the trees grew with wide, open spaces
between.
Smoke meant fire, and fire meant people, which in turn meant food of
some sort. And the man who had been fasting so long felt that it
mattered little what kind of food it was, if only it could stay the
gnawing pangs of hunger and give him back his strength once more.
Slowly and painfully he breasted the sharp ascent, only to find that
another and longer <DW72> lay before him. But at the top of this second
hill stood a wooden house in plain view, with a hospitably open door,
and smoke rising from the chimney.
He could not be said to quicken his steps, for he was too worn out for
that. But the sight of the open door and the chimney smoke revived his
flagging hopes and turned his thoughts from death to life again.
As he came nearer to the house he saw something which, at first sight,
he took for a baby’s cradle, with a little awning over it, just at the
edge of the forest. Coming nearer, he saw it was no cradle, but a huge
dog lying under a tent made of muslin or mosquito netting.
The creature lifted its head feebly, and uttered a low, warning growl at
the approach of the stranger; but as it did not move, and was apparently
sick or wounded, Dick Bronson came on without hesitation, and, passing
the little tent, walked with feeble, uncertain steps towards the open
door.
He caught at the door-frame to keep himself from lurching forward into
the house, and then found himself confronted by a tall, thin girl in
nondescript attire, of which the only details he could remember were a
scanty skirt, deplorably shabby, and a man’s holland jacket.
“Will you give me food and shelter for a day or two? I am done up with
wandering, and my horse died the day before yesterday.”
Dick’s voice was shaken and unsteady from all that he had gone through,
and he looked even more an object of pity than he supposed.
The girl’s eyes were mournful, but she only shook her head, answering
regretfully—
“I’m very sorry for you, but this isn’t a hotel, and we don’t cater for
strangers.”
“You will surely let me have some food. I can pay you; and can’t you see
that I am starving?”
His voice was hoarse and urgent now, and again he had to lay fast hold
of the door-frame to keep himself from falling.
“I will give you some food, though I’m afraid you won’t think it is very
nice. But you can’t stop here, because granfer wouldn’t let you. Button
End, where Joe Lipton lives, isn’t more than ten miles away. He’ll take
you in for certain, and make you comfortable too. They often have | 195.890574 | 884 |
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ORATION
ON THE
LIFE AND CHARACTER
OF
HENRY WINTER DAVIS,
BY
HON. JOHN A. J. CRESWELL.
Delivered in the Hall of the House of Representatives,
February 22, 1866.
WASHINGTON:
GOVERNMENT PRINTING OFFICE.
1866.
PREFACE.
The death of Hon. HENRY WINTER DAVIS, for many years a distinguished
Representative of one of the Baltimore congressional districts, created
a deep sensation among those who had been associated with him in
national legislation, and they deemed it fitting to pay to his memory
unusual honors. They adopted resolutions expressive of their grief, and
invited Hon. JOHN A. J. CRESWELL, a Senator of the United States from
the State of Maryland, to deliver an oration on his life and character,
in the hall of the House of Representatives, on the 22d of February, a
day the recurrence of which ever gives increased warmth to patriotic
emotions.
The hall of the House was filled by a distinguished audience to listen
to the oration. Before eleven o'clock the galleries were crowded in
every part. The flags above the Speaker's desk were draped in black, and
other insignia of mourning were exhibited. An excellent portrait of the
late Hon. HENRY WINTER DAVIS was visible through the folds of the
national banner above the Speaker's chair. As on the occasion of the
oration on President LINCOLN by Hon. GEORGE BANCROFT, the Marine band
occupied the ante-room of the reporters' gallery, and discoursed
appropriate music.
At twelve o'clock the senators entered, and the judges of the Supreme
Court, preceded by Chief Justice Chase. Of the Cabinet Secretary Stanton
and Secretary McCulloch were present. After prayer by the chaplain, the
Declaration of Independence was read by Hon. EDWARD MCPHERSON, Clerk of
the House. After the reading of the Declaration, followed by the playing
of a dirge by the band, Hon. SCHUYLER COLFAX, Speaker of the House of
Representatives, introduced the orator of the day, Hon. J. A. J.
CRESWELL.
REMARKS
OF
HON. SCHUYLER COLFAX,
SPEAKER OF THE HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES.
Hon. SCHUYLER COLFAX, Speaker of the House of Representatives, said:
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN: The duty has been devolved upon me of introducing
to you the friend and fellow-member, here, of HENRY WINTER DAVIS, and I
shall detain you but a moment from his address, to which you will listen
with saddened interest.
The world always appreciates and honors courage: the courage of
Christianity, which sustained martyrs in the amphitheatre, at the stake,
and on the rack; the courage of Patriotism, which inspired millions in
our own land to realize the historic fable of Curtius, and to fill up
with their own bodies, if need be, the yawning chasm which imperiled the
republic; the courage of Humanity, which is witnessed in the pest-house
and the hospital, at the death-bed of the homeless and the prison-cell
of the convict. But there is a courage of Statesmen, besides; and nobly
was it illustrated by the statesman whose national services we
commemorate to-day. Inflexibly hostile to oppression, whether of slaves
on American soil or of republicans struggling in Mexico against
monarchical invasion, faithful always to principle and liberty,
championing always the cause of the down-trodden, fearless as he was
eloquent in his avowals, he was mourned throughout a continent; and from
the Patapsco to the Gulf the blessings of those who had been ready to
perish followed him to his tomb. It is fitting, therefore, though dying
a private citizen, that the nation should render him such marked and
unusual honors in this hall, the scene of so many of his intellectual
triumphs; and I have great pleasure in introducing to you, as the orator
of the day, Hon. J. A. J. CRESWELL, his colleague in the thirty-eighth
Congress, and now Senator from the State of Maryland.
ORATION
OF
HON. JOHN A. J. CRESWELL.
MY COUNTRYMEN: On the 22d day of February, 1732, God gave to the world
the highest type of humanity, in the person of George Washington.
Combining within himself the better qualities of the soldier, sage,
statesman, and patriot, alike brave, wise, discreet, and incorruptible,
the common consent of mankind has awarded him the incomparable title of
Father of his Country. Among all nations and in every clime the richest
treasures of language have been exhausted in the effort to transmit to
posterity a faithful record of his deeds. For him unfading laurels are
secure | 196.425513 | 885 |
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[Illustration: John H. Aughey. _Engraved by Samuel Sartain, Phila._]
THE IRON FURNACE:
OR,
SLAVERY AND SECESSION.
BY REV. JOHN H. AUGHEY,
A REFUGEE FROM MISSISSIPPI.
Cursed be the men that obeyeth not the words
of this covenant, which I commanded your
fathers in the day that I brought them forth
out of the land of Egypt, from the _Iron
Furnace_.--Jer. xi. 3, 4. See also, 1 Kings
viii. 51.
PHILADELPHIA:
WILLIAM S. & ALFRED MARTIEN.
606 CHESTNUT STREET.
1863.
Entered, according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1863,
BY WILLIAM S. & ALFRED MARTIEN,
In the office of the Clerk of the District Court for the
Eastern District of Pennsylvania.
TO MY PERSONAL FRIENDS
REV. CHARLES C. BEATTY, D.D., LL.D.,
OF STEUBENVILLE, OHIO,
Moderator of the General Assembly of the (O.S.) Presbyterian
Church in the United States of America,
and long Pastor of the Church in which
my parents were members, and
our family worshippers;
REV. WILLIAM PRATT BREED,
Pastor of the West Spruce Street Presbyterian Church, of
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania;
GEORGE HAY STUART, ESQ.,
OF PHILADELPHIA, PA.,
The Philanthropist, whose virtues are known and
appreciated in both | 196.521171 | 886 |
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Note to the Gutenberg edition: The following system has been used to
transliterate the unusual, non-Latin 1 diacriticals from the original
document:
[A.] Letter with dot below
[.A] Letter with dot above
[=A] Letter with macron above
[.)] Letter with candrabindu above
* * * * *
ON
THE INDIAN SECT
OF
THE JAINAS
BY
JOHANN GEORG BUEHLER C.I.E., LLD., PH.D.
Member of the Imperial Academy of Sciences, Vienna.
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN.
EDITED with an OUTLINE of JAINA MYTHOLOGY
BY
JAS. BURGESS, C.I.E., LL.D., F.R.S.E.
1903.
PREFACE.
* * * * *
The late Dr. Georg Buehler's essay _Ueber die Indische Secte der
Jaina_, read at the anniversary meeting of the Imperial Academy of
Sciences of Vienna on the 26th May 1887, has been for some time out of
print in the separate form. Its value as a succinct account of the
['S]ravaka sect, by a scholar conversant with them and their religious
literature is well known to European scholars; but to nearly all educated
natives of India works published in German and other continental languages
are practically sealed books, and thus the fresh information which they
are well able to contribute is not elicited. It is hoped that the
translation of this small work may meet with their acceptance and that of
Europeans in India and elsewhere to whom the original is either unknown or
who do not find a foreign language so easy to read as their own.
The translation has been prepared under my supervision, and with a few
short footnotes. Professor Buehler's long note on the authenticity of the
Jaina tradition I have transferred to an appendix (p. 48) incorporating
with it a summary of what he subsequently expanded in proof of his thesis.
To Colebrooke's account of the Tirtha[.n]karas reverenced by the Jainas,
but little has been added since its publication in the ninth volume of the
_Asiatic Researches_; and as these are the centre of their worship,
always represented in their temples, and surrounded by attendant
figures,--I have ventured to add a somewhat fuller account of them and a
summary of the general mythology of the sect, which may be useful to the
archaeologist and the student of their iconography.
Edinburgh, April 1903. J. BURGESS.
CONTENTS.
THE INDIAN SECT OF THE JAINAS, by Dr. J. G. BUEHLER.
Appendix:--Epigraphic testimony to the continuity of the Jaina
tradition
SKETCH OF JAINA MYTHOLOGY, by J. BURGESS.
THE INDIAN SECT OF THE JAINAS.
The _Jaina_ sect is a religious society of modern India, at variance
to Brahmanism, and possesses undoubted claims on the interest of all
friends of Indian history. This claim is based partly on the peculiarities
of their doctrines and customs, which present several resemblances to
those of Buddhism, but, above all, on the fact that it was founded in the
same period as the latter.
Larger and smaller communities of _Jainas_ or _Arhata_,--that is
followers of the prophet, who is generally called simply the
_Jina_--'the conqueror of the world',--or the _Arhat_--'the holy
one',--are to be found in almost every important Indian town, particularly
among the merchant class. In some provinces of the West and North-west, in
Gujarat, Rajputana, and the Panjab, as also in the Dravidian districts in
the south,--especially in Kanara,--they are numerous; and, owing to the
influence of their wealth, they take a prominent place. They do not,
however, present a compact mass, but are divided into two rival
branches--the _Digambara_ and _['S]vetambara_ [Footnote: In notes
on the Jainas, one often finds the view expressed, that the _Digambaras_
belong only to the south, and the _['S]vetambaras_ to the north. This is
by no means the case. The former in the Panjab, in eastern Rajputana and
in the North West Provinces, are just as numerous, if not more so, than
the latter, and also appear here and there in western Rajputana and
Gujarat: see _Indian Antiquary_, vol. VII, p. 28.]--each of which is
split up into several subdivisions. The Digambara, that is, "those whose
robe is the atmosphere," owe their name to the circumstance that they
regard absolute nudity as the indispensable sign of holiness, [Footnote:
| 196.782151 | 887 |
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Produced by Adrian Mastronardi, Michael Zeug, Lisa Reigel,
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)
Transcriber's Notes: Variations in spelling and hyphenation have been
left as in the original. Greek words have been transliterated and placed
between +plus signs+. Words in italics in the original are surrounded by
_underscores_. A row of asterisks represents a thought break. Letters
superscripted in the original are surrounded by {braces}. Ellipses match
the original. A complete list of corrections follows the text.
The original has two different kinds of blockquotes: one uses a smaller
font than the main text, and the other has wider margins. In this text,
the blockquotes in a smaller font have wider margins, and the other
blockquotes have two blank lines before and after the quotation. An
explanation of the different kinds of quotations can be found at the end
of the "ADVERTISEMENT".
The Index that was printed at the end of Volume II. of this series has
been included at the end of this Volume for reference purposes.
LIFE AND
CORRESPONDENCE OF
DAVID HUME.
[Illustration: Bust of David Hume]
LIFE
AND
CORRESPONDENCE
OF
DAVID HUME.
FROM THE PAPERS BEQUEATHED BY HIS NEPHEW TO THE
ROYAL SOCIETY OF EDINBURGH; AND OTHER
ORIGINAL SOURCES.
BY JOHN HILL BURTON, ESQ.
ADVOCATE.
VOLUME I.
EDINBURGH:
WILLIAM TAIT, 107, PRINCE'S STREET.
MDCCCXLVI.
EDINBURGH | 197.20197 | 888 |
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Produced by John Bickers; Dagny
ELISSA
OR THE DOOM OF ZIMBABWE
by H. Rider Haggard
DEDICATION
To the Memory of the Child
Nada Burnham,
who "bound all to her" and, while her father cut his way through the
hordes of the Ingobo Regiment, perished of the hardships of war
at Buluwayo on 19th May, 1896, I dedicate these tales--and more
particularly the last, that of a Faith which triumphed over savagery and
death.
H. Rider Haggard.
Ditchingham.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Of the three stories that comprise this volume[*], one, "The Wizard," a
tale of victorious faith, first appeared some years ago as a Christmas
Annual. Another, "Elissa," is an attempt, difficult enough owing to the
scantiness of the material left to us by time, to recreate the life of
the ancient Phoenician Zimbabwe, whose ruins still stand in Rhodesia,
and, with the addition of the necessary love story, to suggest
circumstances such as might have brought about or accompanied its fall
at the hands of the surrounding savage tribes. The third, "Black Heart
and White Heart," is a story of the courtship, trials and final union of
a pair of Zulu lovers in the time of King Cetywayo.
[*] This text was prepared from a volume published in 1900
titled "Black Heart and White Heart, and Other Stories."--
JB.
NOTE
The world is full of ruins, but few of them have an origin so utterly
lost in mystery as those of Zimbabwe in South Central Africa. Who built
them? What purpose did they serve? These are questions that must have
perplexed many generations, and many different races of men.
The researches of Mr. Wilmot prove to us indeed that in the Middle Ages
Zimbabwe or Zimboe was the seat of a barbarous empire, whose ruler was
named the Emperor of Monomotapa, also that for some years the Jesuits
ministered in a Christian church built beneath the shadow of its ancient
towers. But of the original purpose of those towers, and of the
race that reared them, the inhabitants of mediaeval Monomotapa, it is
probable, knew less even than we know to-day. The labours and skilled
observation of the late Mr. Theodore Bent, whose death is so great
a loss to all interested in such matters, have shown almost beyond
question that Zimbabwe was once an inland Phoenician city, or at the
least a city whose inhabitants were of a race which practised Phoenician
customs and worshipped the Phoenician deities. Beyond this all is
conjecture. How it happened that a trading town, protected by vast
fortifications and adorned with temples dedicated to the worship of the
gods of the Sidonians--or rather trading towns, for Zimbabwe is only one
of a group of ruins--were built by civilised men in the heart of Africa
perhaps we shall never learn with certainty, though the discovery of
the burying-places of their inhabitants might throw some light upon the
problem.
But if actual proof is lacking, it is scarcely to be doubted--for the
numerous old workings in Rhodesia tell their own tale--that it was the
presence of payable gold reefs worked by slave labour which tempted the
Phoenician merchants and chapmen, contrary to their custom, to travel
so far from the sea and establish themselves inland. Perhaps the city
Zimboe was the Ophir spoken of in the first Book of Kings. At least, it
is almost certain that its principal industries were the smelting and
the sale of gold, also it seems probable that expeditions travelling by
sea and land would have occupied quite three years of time in reaching
it from Jerusalem and returning thither laden with the gold and precious
stones, the ivory and the almug trees (1 Kings x.). Journeying in
Africa must have been slow in those days; that it was also dangerous is
testified by the ruins of the ancient forts built to protect the route
between the gold towns and the sea.
However these things may be, there remains ample room for speculation
both as to the dim beginnings of the ancient city and its still dimmer
end, whereof we can guess only, when it became weakened by luxury and
the mixture of races, that hordes of invading savages stamped it out
of existence beneath their blood-stained feet, as, in after ages, they
stamped out the Empire of Monomotapa. In the following romantic sketch
the writer has ventured--no easy task--to suggest incidents such as
might have accompanied this first extinction of the Phoenician Zimbabwe.
The pursuit indeed is one in which he can only hope to fill the place
of a humble pioneer, since it is certain that in times to come the
dead fortress-temples of South Africa will occupy the pens of many
generations of the writers of romance who, as he hopes, may have more
ascertained facts to build upon than are available to-day.
ELISSA
CHAPTER I
THE CARAVAN
The sun, which shone upon a day that was gathered to the past some
three thousand years ago, was setting in full glory over the expanses of
south-eastern Africa--the Libya of the ancients. Its last burning rays
fell upon a cavalcade of weary men, who, together with long strings of
camels, asses and oxen, after much toil had struggled to the crest of
a line of stony hills, where they were halted to recover breath. Before
them lay a plain, clothed with sere yellow grass--for the season was
winter--and bounded by mountains of no great height, upon whose <DW72>s
stood the city which they had travelled far to seek. It was the ancient
city of Zimboe, whereof the lonely ruins are known to us moderns as
Zimbabwe.
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INNOCENTS ABROAD
by Mark Twain
[From an 1869--1st Edition]
Part 1.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I.
Popular Talk of the Excursion--Programme of the Trip--Duly Ticketed for
the Excursion--Defection of the Celebrities
CHAPTER II.
Grand Preparations--An Imposing Dignitary--The European Exodus
--Mr. Blucher's Opinion--Stateroom No. 10--The Assembling of the Clans
--At Sea at Last
CHAPTER III.
"Averaging" the Passengers--Far, far at Sea.--Tribulation among the
Patriarchs--Seeking Amusement under Difficulties--Five Captains in the
Ship
CHAPTER IV.
The Pilgrims Becoming Domesticated--Pilgrim Life at Sea
--"Horse-Billiards"--The "Synagogue"--The Writing School--Jack's "Journal"
--The "Q. C. Club"--The Magic Lantern--State Ball on Deck--Mock Trials
--Charades--Pilgrim Solemnity--Slow Music--The Executive Officer Delivers
an Opinion
CHAPTER V.
Summer in Mid-Atlantic--An Eccentric Moon--Mr. Blucher Loses Confidence
--The Mystery of "Ship Time"--The Denizens of the Deep--"Land Hoh"
--The First Landing on a Foreign Shore--Sensation among the Natives
--Something about the Azores Islands--Blucher's Disastrous Dinner
--The Happy Result
CHAPTER VI.
Solid Information--A Fossil Community--Curious Ways and Customs
--JesuitHumbuggery--Fantastic Pilgrimizing--Origin of the Russ Pavement
--Squaring Accounts with the Fossils--At Sea Again
CHAPTER VII.
A Tempest at Night--Spain and Africa on Exhibition--Greeting a Majestic
Stranger--The Pillars of Hercules--The Rock of Gibraltar--Tiresome
Repetition--"The Queen's Chair"--Serenity Conquered--Curiosities of
the Secret Caverns--Personnel of Gibraltar--Some Odd Characters
--A Private Frolic in Africa--Bearding a Moorish Garrison (without loss
of life)--Vanity Rebuked--Disembarking in the Empire of Morocco
CHAPTER VIII.
The Ancient City of Tangier, Morocco--Strange Sights--A Cradle of
Antiquity--We become Wealthy--How they Rob the Mail in Africa--The Danger
of being Opulent in Morocco
CHAPTER IX.
A Pilgrim--in Deadly Peril--How they Mended the Clock--Moorish
Punishments for Crime--Marriage Customs--Looking Several ways for Sunday
--Shrewd, Practice of Mohammedan Pilgrims--Reverence for Cats--Bliss of
being a Consul-General
CHAPTER X.
Fourth of July at Sea--Mediterranean Sunset--The "Oracle" is Delivered
of an Opinion--Celebration Ceremonies--The Captain's Speech--France in
Sight--The Ignorant Native--In Marseilles--Another Blunder--Lost in
the Great City--Found Again--A Frenchy Scene
CHAPTER XI.
Getting used to it--No Soap--Bill of Fare, Table d'hote--"An American
Sir"--A Curious Discovery--The "Pilgrim" Bird--Strange Companionship
--A Grave of the Living--A Long Captivity--Some of Dumas' Heroes--Dungeon
of the Famous "Iron Mask."
CHAPTXR XII.
A Holiday Flight through France--Summer Garb of the Landscape--Abroad
on the Great Plains--Peculiarities of French Cars--French Politeness
American Railway Officials--"Twenty Mnutes to Dinner!"--Why there
are no Accidents--The "Old Travellers"--Still on the Wing--Paris at
Last----French Order and Quiet--Place of the Bastile--Seeing the Sights
--A Barbarous Atrocity--Absurd Billiards
CHAPTER XIII.
More Trouble--Monsieur Billfinger--Re-Christening the Frenchman--In the
Clutches of a Paris Guide--The International Exposition--Fine Military
Review--Glimpse of the Emperor Napoleon and the Sultan of Turkey
CHAPTER XIV.
The Venerable Cathedral of Notre-Dame--Jean Sanspeur's Addition
--Treasures and Sacred Relics--The Legend of the Cross--The Morgue--The
Outrageious 'Can-Can'--Blondin Aflame--The Louvre Palace--The Great Park
--Showy Pageantry--Preservation of Noted Things
CHAPTER XV.
French National Burying--Ground--Among the Great Dead--The Shrine of
Disappointed Love--The Story of Abelard and Heloise--"English Spoken
Here"--"American Drinks Compounded Here"--Imperial Honors to an
American--The Over-estimated Grisette--Departure from Paris--A Deliberate
Opinion Concerning the Comeliness of American Women
CHAPTER XVI.
Versailles--Paradise Regained--A Wonderful Park--Paradise Lost
--Napoleonic Strategy
CHAPTER XVII.
War--The American Forces Victorious--" Home Again"--Italy in Sight
The "City of Palaces"--Beauty of the Genoese Women--The "Stub-Hunters"
--Among the Palaces--Gifted Guide--Church Magnificence--"Women not
Admitted"--How the Genoese Live--Massive Architecture--A Scrap of Ancient
History--Graves for 60,000
CHAPTER XVIII.
Flying Through Italy--Marengo--First Glimpse of the Famous Cathedral
--Description of some of its Wonders--A Horror Carved in Stone----An
Unpleasant Adventure--A Good Man--A Sermon from the Tomb--Tons of Gold
and Silver--Some More Holy Relics--Solomon's Temple
CHAPTER XIX
"Do You Wiz zo Haut can be?"--La Scala--Petrarch and Laura--Lucrezia
Borgia--Ingenious Frescoes--Ancient Roman Amphitheatre--A Clever
Delusion--Distressing Billiards--The Chief Charm of European Life--An
Italian Bath--Wanted: Soap--Crippled French--Mutilated English--The Most
Celebrated Painting in the World--Amateur Raptures--Uninspired Critics
--Anecdote--A Wonderful Echo--A Kiss for a Franc
CHAPTER XX
Rural Italy by Rail--Fumigated, According to Law--The Sorrowing
Englishman--Night by the Lake of Como--The Famous Lake--Its Scenery
--Como compared with Tahoe--Meeting a Shipmate
CHAPTER XXI.
The Pretty Lago di Lecco--A Carriage Drive in the Country--Astonishing
Sociability in a Coachman--Sleepy Land--Bloody Shrines--The Heart and
Home of Priestcraft--A Thrilling Mediaeval Romance--The Birthplace of
Harlequin--Approaching Venice
CHAPTER XXII.
Night in Venice--The "Gay Gondolier"--The Grand Fete by Moonlight
--The Notable Sights of Venice--The Mother of the Republics Desolate
CHANTER XXIII.
The Famous Gondola--The Gondola in an Unromantic Aspect--The Great Square
of St. Mark and the Winged Lion--Snobs, at Home and Abroad--Sepulchres of
the Great Dead--A Tilt at the "Old Masters"--A Contraband Guide
--The Conspiracy--Moving Again
CHAPTER XXIV.
Down Through Italy by Rail--Idling in Florence--Dante and Galileo--An
Ungrateful City--Dazzling Generosity--Wonderful Mosaics--The Historical
Arno--Lost Again--Found Again, but no Fatted Calf Ready--The Leaning
Tower of Pisa--The Ancient Duomo--The Old Original First Pendulum that
Ever Swung--An Enchanting Echo--A New Holy Sepulchre--A Relic of
Antiquity--A Fallen Republic--At Leghorn--At Home Again, and Satisfied,
on Board the Ship--Our Vessel an Object of Grave Suspicion--Garibaldi
Visited--Threats of Quarantine
CHAPTER XXV.
The Works of Bankruptcy--Railway Grandeur--How to Fill an Empty
Treasury--The Sumptuousness of Mother Church--Ecclesiastical Splendor
--Magnificence and Misery--General Execration--More Magnificence
A Good Word for the Priests--Civita Vecchia the Dismal--Off for Rome
CHAPTER XXVI.
The Modern Roman on His Travels--The Grandeur of St. Peter's--Holy Relics
--Grand View from the Dome--The Holy Inquisition--Interesting Old Monkish
Frauds--The Ruined Coliseum--The Coliseum in the Days of its Prime
--Ancient Playbill of a Coliseum Performance--A Roman Newspaper Criticism
1700 Years Old
CHAPTER XXVII.
"Butchered to Make a Roman Holiday"--The Man who Never Complained
--An Exasperating Subject--Asinine Guides--The Roman Catacombs
The Saint Whose Fervor Burst his Ribs--The Miracle of the Bleeding Heart
--The Legend of Ara Coeli
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Picturesque Horrors--The Legend of Brother Thomas--Sorrow Scientifically
Analyzed--A Festive Company of the Dead--The Great Vatican Museum
Artist Sins of Omission--The Rape of the Sabines--Papal Protection of
Art--High Price of "Old Masters"--Improved Scripture--Scale of Rank
of the Holy Personages in Rome--Scale of Honors Accorded Them
--Fossilizing--Away for Naples
CHAPTER XXIX.
Naples--In Quarantine at Last--Annunciation--Ascent of Mount Vesuvius--A
Two Cent Community--The Black Side of Neapolitan Character--Monkish
Miracles--Ascent of Mount Vesuvius Continued--The Stranger and the
Hackman--Night View of Naples from the Mountain-side---Ascent of Mount
Vesuvius Continued
CHAPTER XXX.
Ascent of Mount Vesuvius Continued--Beautiful View at Dawn--Less
Beautiful in the Back Streets--Ascent of Vesuvius Continued--Dwellings a
Hundred Feet High--A Motley Procession--Bill of Fare for a Peddler's
Breakfast--Princely Salaries--Ascent of Vesuvius Continued--An Average of
Prices--The wonderful "Blue Grotto"--Visit to Celebrated Localities in
the Bay of Naples--The Poisoned "Grotto of the Dog"--A Petrified Sea of
Lava--Ascent of Mount Vesuvius Continued--The Summit Reached--Description
of the Crater--Descent of Vesuvius
CHAPTER XXXI.
The Buried City of Pompeii--How Dwellings Appear that have been
Unoccupied for Eighteen hundred years--The Judgment Seat--Desolation--The
Footprints of the Departed--"No Women Admitted"--Theatres, Bakeshops,
Schools--Skeletons preserved by the Ashes and Cinders--The Brave Martyr
to Duty--Rip Van Winkle--The Perishable Nature of Fame
CHAPTER XXXII.
At Sea Once More--The Pilgrims all Well--Superb Stromboli--Sicily by
Moonlight--Scylla and Charybdis--The "Oracle" at Fault--Skirting the
Isles of Greece Ancient Athens--Blockaded by Quarantine and Refused
Permission to Enter--Running the Blockade--A Bloodless Midnight
Adventure--Turning Robbers from Necessity--Attempt to Carry the Acropolis
by Storm--We Fail--Among the Glories of the Past--A World of Ruined
Sculpture--A Fairy Vision--Famous Localities--Retreating in Good Order
--Captured by the Guards--Travelling in Military State--Safe on Board
Again
CHAPTER XXXIII.
Modern Greece--Fallen Greatness--Sailing Through the Archipelago and the
Dardanelles--Footprints of History--The First Shoddy Contractor of whom
History gives any Account--Anchored Before Constantinople--Fantastic
Fashions--The Ingenious Goose-Rancher--Marvelous <DW36>s--The Great
Mosque--The Thousand and One Columns--The Grand Bazaar of Stamboul
CHAPTER XXXIV.
Scarcity of Morals and Whiskey--Slave-Girl Market Report--Commercial
Morality at a Discount--The Slandered Dogs of Constantinople
--Questionable Delights of Newspaperdom in Turkey--Ingenious Italian
Journalism--No More Turkish Lunches Desired--The Turkish Bath Fraud
--The Narghileh Fraud--Jackplaned by a Native--The Turkish Coffee Fraud
CHAPTER XXXV.
Sailing Through the Bosporus and the Black Sea--"Far-Away Moses"
--Melancholy Sebastopol--Hospitably Received in Russia--Pleasant English
People--Desperate Fighting--Relic Hunting--How Travellers Form "Cabinets"
CHAPTER XXXVI.
Nine Thousand Miles East--Imitation American Town in Russia--Gratitude
that Came Too Late--To Visit the Autocrat of All the Russias
CHAPTER XXXVII.
Summer Home of Royalty--Practising for the Dread Ordeal--Committee on
Imperial Address--Reception by the Emperor and Family--Dresses of the
Imperial Party--Concentrated Power--Counting the Spoons--At the Grand
Duke's--A Charming Villa--A Knightly Figure--The Grand Duchess--A Grand
Ducal Breakfast--Baker's Boy, the Famine-Breeder--Theatrical Monarchs a
Fraud--Saved as by Fire--The Governor--General's Visit to the Ship
--Official "Style"--Aristocratic Visitors--"Munchausenizing" with Them
--Closing Ceremonies
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
Return to Constantinople--We Sail for Asia--The Sailors Burlesque the
Imperial Visitors--Ancient Smyrna--The "Oriental Splendor" Fraud
--The "Biblical Crown of Life"--Pilgrim Prophecy-Savans--Sociable
Armenian Girls--A Sweet Reminiscence--"The Camels are Coming, Ha-ha!"
CHAPTER XXXIX.
Smyrna's Lions--The Martyr Polycarp--The "Seven Churches"--Remains of the
Six Smyrnas--Mysterious Oyster Mine Oysters--Seeking Scenery--A Millerite
Tradition--A Railroad Out of its Sphere
CHAPTER XL.
Journeying Toward Ancient Ephesus--Ancient Ayassalook--The Villanous
Donkey--A Fantastic Procession--Bygone Magnificence--Fragments of
History--The Legend of the Seven Sleepers
CHAPTER XLI.
Vandalism Prohibited--Angry Pilgrims--Approaching Holy Land!--The "Shrill
Note of Preparation"--Distress About Dragomans and Transportation
--The "Long Route" Adopted--In Syria--Something about Beirout--A Choice
Specimen of a Greek "Ferguson"--Outfits--Hideous Horseflesh--Pilgrim
"Style"--What of Aladdin's Lamp?
CHAPTER XLII.
"Jacksonville," in the Mountains of Lebanon--Breakfasting above a Grand
Panorama--The Vanished City--The Peculiar Steed, "Jericho"--The Pilgrims
Progress--Bible Scenes--Mount Hermon, Joshua's Battle Fields, etc.
--The Tomb of Noah--A Most Unfortunate People
CHAPTER XLIII.
Patriarchal Customs--Magnificent Baalbec--Description of the Ruins
--Scribbling Smiths and Joneses--Pilgrim Fidelity to the Letter of the Law
--The Revered Fountain of Baalam's Ass
CHAPTER XLIV.
Extracts from Note-Book--Mahomet's Paradise and the Bible's--Beautiful
Damascus the Oldest City on Earth--Oriental Scenes within the Curious Old
City--Damascus Street Car--The Story of St. Paul--The "Street called
Straight"--Mahomet's Tomb and St. George's--The Christian Massacre
--Mohammedan Dread of Pollution--The House of Naaman
--The Horrors of Leprosy
CHAPTER XLV.
The Cholera by way of Variety--Hot--Another Outlandish Procession--Pen
and-Ink Photograph of "Jonesborough," Syria--Tomb of Nimrod, the Mighty
Hunter--The Stateliest Ruin of All--Stepping over the Borders of
Holy-Land--Bathing in the Sources of Jordan--More "Specimen" Hunting
--Ruins of Cesarea--Philippi--"On This Rock Will I Build my Church"--The
People the Disciples Knew--The Noble Steed "Baalbec"--Sentimental Horse
Idolatry of the Arabs
CHAPTER XLVI.
Dan--Bashan--Genessaret--A Notable Panorama--Smallness of Palestine
--Scraps of History--Character of the Country--Bedouin Shepherds--Glimpses
of the Hoary Past--Mr. Grimes's Bedouins--A Battle--Ground of Joshua
--That Soldier's Manner of Fighting--Barak's Battle--The Necessity of
Unlearning Some Things--Desolation
CHAPTER XLVII.
"Jack's Adventure"--Joseph's Pit--The Story of Joseph--Joseph's
Magnanimity and Esau's--The Sacred Lake of Genessaret--Enthusiasm of the
Pilgrims--Why We did not Sail on Galilee--About Capernaum--Concerning the
Saviour's Brothers and Sisters--Journeying toward Magdela
CHAPTER XLVIII.
Curious Specimens of Art and Architecture--Public Reception of the
Pilgrims--Mary Magdalen's House--Tiberias and its Queer Inhabitants
--The Sacred Sea of Galilee--Galilee by Night
CHAPTER XLIX.
The Ancient Baths--Ye Apparition--A Distinguished Panorama--The Last
Battle of the Crusades--The Story of the Lord of Kerak--Mount Tabor
--What one Sees from its Top--Memory of a Wonderful Garden--The House of
Deborah the Prophetess
CHAPTER L.
Toward Nazareth--Bitten By a Camel--Grotto of the Annunciation, Nazareth
--Noted Grottoes in General--Joseph's Workshop--A Sacred Bowlder
--The Fountain of the Virgin--Questionable Female Beauty
-- | 197.46443 | 890 |
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E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Mary Meehan, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH
And Other Stories
BY FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT
1888
CONTENTS
Little Saint Elizabeth
The Story of Prince Fairyfoot
The Proud Little Grain of Wheat
Behind the White Brick
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
FROM DRAWINGS BY REGINALD B. BIRCH
"There she is," they would cry.
It was Aunt Clotilde, who had sunk forward while kneeling at prayer
The villagers did not stand in awe of her
"Uncle Bertrand," said the child, clasping her hands
"Why is it that you cry?" she asked gently
Her strength deserted her--she fell upon her knees in the snow
"Why," exclaimed Fairyfoot, "I'm surprised"
"What's the matter with the swine?" he asked
Almost immediately they found themselves in a beautiful little dell
Fairyfoot loved her in a moment, and he knelt on one knee
"There's the cake," he said
"Eh! Eh!" he said. "What! What! Who's this Tootsicums?"
LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH
She had not been brought up in America at all. She had been born in
France, in a beautiful _chateau_, and she had been born heiress to a
great fortune, but, nevertheless, just now she felt as if she was very
poor, indeed. And yet her home was in one of the most splendid houses in
New York. She had a lovely suite of apartments of her own, though she was
only eleven years old. She had had her own carriage and a saddle horse, a
train of masters, and governesses, and servants, and was regarded by all
the children of the neighborhood as a sort of grand and mysterious little
princess, whose incomings and outgoings were to be watched with the
greatest interest.
"There she is," they would cry, flying to their windows to look at her.
"She is going out in her carriage." "She is dressed all in black velvet
and splendid fur." "That is her own, own, carriage." "She has millions of
money; and she can have anything she wants--Jane says so!" "She is very
pretty, too; but she is so pale and has such big, sorrowful, black eyes.
I should not be sorrowful if I were in her place; but Jane says the
servants say she is always quiet and looks sad." "Her maid says she lived
with her aunt, and her aunt made her too religious."
She rarely lifted her large dark eyes to look at them with any curiosity.
She was not accustomed to the society of children. She had never had a
child companion in her life, and these little Americans, who were so very
rosy and gay, and who went out to walk or drive with groups of brothers
and sisters, and even ran in the street, laughing and playing and
squabbling healthily--these children amazed her.
Poor little Saint Elizabeth! She had not lived a very natural or healthy
life herself, and she knew absolutely nothing of real childish pleasures.
You see, it had occurred in this way: When she was a baby of two years
her young father and mother died, within a week of each other, of a
terrible fever, and the only near relatives the little one had were her
Aunt Clotilde and Uncle Bertrand. Her Aunt Clotilde lived in
Normandy--her Uncle Bertrand in New York. As these two were her only
guardians, and as Bertrand de Rochemont was a gay bachelor, fond of
pleasure and knowing nothing of babies, it was natural that he should be
very willing that his elder sister should undertake the rearing and
education of the child.
"Only," he wrote to Mademoiselle de Rochemont, "don't end by training her
for an abbess, my dear Clotilde."
[Illustration: "THERE SHE IS," THEY WOULD CRY.]
There was a very great difference between these two people--the distance
between the gray stone _chateau_ in Normandy and the brown stone mansion
in New York was not nearly so great as the distance and difference
between the two lives. And yet it was said that in her first youth
Mademoiselle de Rochemont had been as gay and fond of pleasure as either
of her brothers. And then, when her life was at its brightest and
gayest--when she was a beautiful and brilliant young woman--she had had a
great and bitter sorrow, which had changed her for ever. From that time
she had never left the house in which she had been born, and had lived
the life of a nun in everything but being enclosed in convent walls. At
first she had had her parents to take care of, but when | 197.819912 | 891 |
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Produced by Gerard Arthus 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.)
RELIGION AND THEOLOGY
A SERMON FOR THE TIMES
PREACHED IN THE
PARISH CHURCH OF CRATHIE, 5TH SEPTEMBER
AND IN THE
COLLEGE CHURCH, ST ANDREWS
BY
JOHN TULLOCH, D.D.
PRINCIPAL AND PROFESSOR OF THEOLOGY, ST MARY'S COLLEGE, IN THE
UNIVERSITY OF ST ANDREWS, AND ONE OF HER MAJESTY'S
CHAPLAINS IN ORDINARY IN SCOTLAND
SECOND EDITION
WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS
EDINBURGH AND LONDON
MDCCCLXXV
_WORKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR._
I.
HISTORY OF RATIONAL THEOLOGY
AND
CHRISTIAN PHILOSOPHY IN ENGLAND
IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.
Second Edition, 2 vols. 8vo, L1, 8s.
Edinburgh Review.
The pleasure with which Principal Tulloch explores this
comparatively unknown field communicates itself to his readers,
and the academic groves of Oxford and Cambridge are invested
with the freshness of a new glory.
Athenaeum.
It is rich in pregnant and suggestive thought.
Saturday Review.
Here we must take our respectful leave of this large-minded,
lively, and thoughtful work, which deserves to the full the
acceptance it cannot fail to receive.
Spectator.
Every thoughtful and liberal Englishman who reads these volumes
will feel that Principal Tulloch has laid him under obligations
in writing them.
British Quarterly Review.
Ample scholarship, well-disciplined powers, catholic sympathies,
and a masculine eloquence, give it a high place among modern
contributions to theological science.
Nonconformist.
From his lively portraits they will learn to know some of the
finest spirits England has produced; while from his able and
comprehensive summaries of the works they left behind them, any
reader of quick intelligence may acquaint himself with their
leading thoughts.
II.
THEISM:
THE WITNESS OF REASON AND NATURE TO AN ALL-WISE AND BENEFICENT
CREATOR.
Octavo, 10s. 6d.
Christian Remembrancer.
Dr Tulloch's Essay, in its masterly statement of the real nature
and difficulties of the subject, its logical exactness in
distinguishing the illustrative from the suggestive, its lucid
arrangement of the argument, its simplicity of expression, is
quite unequalled by any work we have seen on the subject.
WILLIAM BLACKWOOD & SONS, EDINBURGH AND LONDON.
RELIGION AND THEOLOGY.
2 Cor. xi. 3.--"The simplicity that is in Christ."
There is much talk in the present time of the difficulties of
religion. And no doubt there is a sense in which religion is always
difficult. It is hard to be truly religious--to be humble, good, pure,
and just; to be full of faith, hope, and charity, so that our conduct
may be seen to be like that of Christ, and our light to shine before
men. But when men speak so much nowadays of the difficulties of
religion, they chiefly mean intellectual and not practical
difficulties. Religion is identified with the tenets of a Church
system, or of a theological system; and it is felt that modern
criticism has assailed these tenets in many vulnerable points, and
made it no longer easy for the open and well-informed mind to believe
things that were formerly held, or professed to be held, without
hesitation. Discussions and doubts which were once confined to a
limited circle when they were heard of at all, have penetrated the
modern mind through many avenues, and affected the whole tone of
social intelligence. This is not to be denied. For good or for evil
such a result has come about; and we live in times of unquiet
thought, which form a real and painful trial to many minds. It is not
my intention at present to deplore or to criticise this modern
tendency, but rather to point out how it may be accepted, and yet
religion in the highest sense saved to us, if not without struggle
(for that is always impossible in the nature of religion), yet without
that intellectual conflict for which many minds are entirely unfitted,
and which can never be said in itself to help religion in any minds.
The words which I have taken as my text seem to me to suggest a train
of thought having an immediate bearing on this subject. St Paul has
been speaking of himself in the passage from which the text is taken.
He has been commending himself--a task which is never congenial to
him. But his opponents in the Corinthian Church had forced this upon
him; and now he asks that he may be borne with a little in "his
folly." He is pleased to speak of his conduct in this way, with that
touch of humorous irony not unfamiliar to him when writing under some
excitement. He pleads with his old converts for so much indulgence,
because he is "jealous over them with a godly jealousy." He had won
them to the Lord. "I have espoused you," he says, "to one husband,
that I may present you as a chaste virgin to Christ." This had been
his unselfish work. He had sought nothing for himself, but all for
Christ. That they should belong to Christ--as the bride to the
bridegroom--was his jealous anxiety. But others had come in betwixt
them and him--nay, betwixt them and Christ, as he believed--and
sought to seduce and corrupt their minds by divers doctrines. "I fear,
lest by any means, as the serpent beguiled Eve through his subtilty,
so your minds should be corrupted from _the simplicity that is in
Christ_."
What the special corruptions from Christian simplicity were with which
the minds of St Paul's Corinthian converts were assailed, it is not
necessary for us now to inquire. Their special dangers are not likely
to be ours. What concerns us is the fact, that both St Paul and
Christ--his Master and ours--thought of religion as something simple.
Attachment to Christ was a simple personal reality, illustrated by the
tie which binds the bride, as a chaste virgin, to the bridegroom. It
was not an ingenuity, nor a subtilty, nor a ceremony. It involved no
speculation or argument. Its essence was personal and emotional, and
not intellectual. The true analogy of religion, in short, is that of
simple affection and trust. Subtilty may, in itself, be good or evil.
It may be applied for a religious no less than for an irreligious
purpose, as implied in the text. But it is something entirely
different from the "simplicity that is in Christ."
It is not to be supposed that religion is or can be ever rightly
dissociated from intelligence. An intelligent perception of our own
higher wants, and of a higher power of love that can alone supply
these wants, is of its very nature. There must be knowledge in all
religion--knowledge of ourselves, and knowledge of the Divine. It was
the knowledge of God in Christ communicated by St Paul that had made
the Corinthians Christians. But the knowledge that is essential to
religion is a simple knowledge like that which the loved has of the
person who loves--the bride of the bridegroom, the child of the
parent. It springs from the personal and spiritual, and not from the
cognitive or critical side of our being; from the heart, and not from
the head. Not merely so; but if the heart or spiritual sphere be
really awakened in us--if there be a true stirring of life here, and a
true seeking towards the light--the essence and strength of a true
religion may be ours, although we are unable to answer many questions
that may be asked, or to solve even the difficulties raised by our own
intellect.
The text, in short, suggests that there is a religious sphere,
distinct and intelligible by itself, which is not to be confounded
with the sphere of theology or science. This is the sphere in which
Christ worked, and in which St Paul also, although not so exclusively,
worked after Him. This is the special sphere of Christianity, or at
least of the Christianity of Christ.
And it is this, as it appears to us, important distinction to which we
now propose to direct your attention. Let us try to explain in what
respects the religion of Christ is really apart from those
intellectual and dogmatic difficulties with which it has been so much
mixed up.
I. It is so, first of all, in the comparatively simple order of facts
with which it deals. Nothing can be simpler or more comprehensive than
our Lord's teaching. He knew what was in man. He knew, moreover, what
was in God towards man as a living power of love, who had sent Him
forth "to seek and save the lost;" and beyond these great facts, of a
fallen life to be restored, and of a higher life of divine love and
sacrifice, willing and able to restore and purify this fallen life,
our Lord seldom traversed. Unceasingly He proclaimed the reality of a
spiritual life in man, however obscured by sin, and the reality of a
divine life above him, which had never forsaken him nor left him to
perish in his sin. He held forth the need of man, and the grace and
sacrifice of God on behalf of man. And within this double order of
spiritual facts His teaching may be said to circulate. He dealt, in
other words, with the great ideas of God and the soul, which can alone
live in Him, however it may have sunk away from Him. These were to Him
the realities of all life and all religion. There are those, I know,
in our day, to whom these ideas are mere assumptions--"dogmas of a
tremendous kind," to assume which is to assume everything. But with
this order of thought we have in the meantime nothing to do. The
questions of materialism are outside of Christianity altogether. They
were nothing to Christ, whose whole thought moved in a higher sphere
of personal love, embracing this lower world. The spiritual life was
to Him the life of reality and fact; and so it is to all who live in
Him and know in Him. The soul and God are, if you will, dogmas to
science. They cannot well be anything else to a vision which is
outside of them, and cannot from their very nature ever reach them.
But within the religious sphere they are primary experiences, original
and simple data from which all others come. And our present argument
is, that Christ dealt almost exclusively with these broad and simple
elements of religion, and that He believed the life of religion to
rest within them. He spoke to men and women as having souls to be
saved; and He spoke of Himself and of God as able and willing to save
them. This was the "simplicity" that was in Him.
Everywhere in the Gospels this simplicity is obvious. Our Lord came
forth from no school. There is no traditional scheme of thought lying
behind his words which must be mastered before these words are
understood. But out of the fulness of His own spiritual nature He
spoke to the spiritual natures around Him, broken, helpless, and
worsted in the conflict with evil as He saw them. "The Spirit of the
Lord is upon me," He said at the opening of His Galilean ministry,
"because He hath anointed me to preach the Gospel to the poor, to heal
the broken-hearted, to preach deliverance to the captives, and
recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty them that are
bruised."[1] These were the great realities that confronted Him in
life; and His mission was to restore the divine powers of humanity
thus everywhere impoverished, wounded, and enslaved. He healed the
sick and cured the maimed by His simple word. He forgave sins. He
spoke of good news to the miserable. All who had erred and gone out of
the way--who had fallen under the burthen, or been seduced by the
temptations, of life--He invited to a recovered home of righteousness
and peace. He welcomed the prodigal, rescued the Magdalene, took the
thief with Him to Paradise. And all this He did by His simple word of
grace: "Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I
will give you rest."[2] "If ye then, being evil, know how to give good
gifts unto your children, how much more shall your Father which is in
heaven give good things to them that ask Him!"[3]
This was the Christianity of Christ. This is the Gospel. It is the
essence of all religion--that we feel ourselves in special need or
distress, and that we own a Divine Power willing to give us what we
need, and to save us from our distress. Other questions outside of
this primary range of spiritual experience may be important. They are
not vital. What is the soul? What is the divine nature? What is the
Church? In what way and by what means does divine grace operate? What
is the true meaning of Scripture, and the character of its inspiration
and authority? Whence has man sprung, and what is the character of the
future before him? These are all questions of the greatest interest;
but they are questions of theology and not of religion. I do not say
that they have no bearing upon religion. On the contrary, they have a
significant bearing upon it. And your religion and my religion will be
modified and coloured by the answers we give or find to them. We
cannot separate the life and character of any man from his opinions.
It is nevertheless true that our religious life, or the force of
divine inspiration and peace within us, do not depend upon the answers
we are able to give to such questions.
It is the function of theology, as of other sciences, to ask
questions, whether it can answer them or not. The task of the
theologian is a most important one--whether or not it be, as has been
lately said,[4] "the noblest of all the tasks which it is given to the
human mind to pursue." None but a sciolist will depreciate such a
task; and none but a sceptic will doubt the value of the conclusions
which may be thus reached. But all this is quite consistent with our
position. The welfare of the soul is not involved in such matters as I
have mentioned. A man is not good or bad, spiritual or unspiritual,
according to the view he takes of them. Men may differ widely
regarding them, and not only be equally honest, but equally sharers of
the mind of Christ. And this is peculiarly the case with many
questions of the present day, such as the antiquity of man, the age
and genesis of the earth, the origin and authority of the several
books of Scripture. Not one of these questions, first of all, can be
answered without an amount of special knowledge which few possess; and
secondly, the answer to all of them must be sought in the line of
pure scientific and literary inquiry. Mere authority, if we could find
any such authority, would be of no avail to settle any of them. Modern
theology must work them out by the fair weapons of knowledge and
research, with no eye but an eye to the truth. Within this sphere
there is no light but the dry light of knowledge.
But are our spiritual wants to wait the solution of such questions? Am
I less a sinner, or less weary with the burden of my own weakness and
folly? Is Christ less a Saviour? Is there less strength and peace in
Him whatever be the answer given to such questions? Because I cannot
be sure whether the Pentateuch was written, as long supposed, by
Moses--or whether the fourth Gospel comes as it stands from the
beloved apostle--am I less in need of the divine teaching which both
these Scriptures contain? Surely not. That I am a spiritual being, and
have spiritual needs craving to be satisfied, and that God is a
spiritual power above me, of whom Christ is the revelation, are facts
which I may know or may not know, quite irrespective of such matters.
The one class of facts are intellectual and literary. The other are
spiritual if they exist at all. If I ever know them, I can only know
them through my own spiritual experience; but if I know them--if I
realise myself as a sinner and in darkness, and Christ as my Saviour
and the light of my life--I have within me all the genuine forces of
religious strength and peace. I may not have all the faith of the
Church. I may have many doubts, and may come far short of the
catholic dogma. But faith is a progressive insight, and dogma is a
variable factor. No sane man nowadays has the faith of the
medievalist. No modern Christian can think in many respects as the
Christians of the seventeenth century, or of the twelfth century, or
of the fourth century. No primitive Christian would have fully
understood Athanasius in his contest against the world. It was very
easy at one time to chant the Athanasian hymn--it is easy for some
still; but very hard for others. Are the latter worse or better
Christians on this account? Think, brethren, of St Peter and St Andrew
taken from their boats; of St Matthew as he sat at the receipt of
custom; of the good Samaritan; the devout centurion; of curious
Zaccheus; of the repentant prodigal; of St James, as he wrote that a
man is "justified by works, and not by faith only;"[5] of Apollos,
"mighty in the Scriptures," who "was instructed in the way of the
Lord; and being fervent in the spirit, spake and taught diligently the
things of the Lord," and yet who only knew "the baptism of John;"[6]
of the disciples at Ephesus who had "not so much as heard whether
there be any Holy Ghost;"[7] think of all the poor and simple ones who
have gone to heaven with Christ in their hearts, "the hope of glory,"
and yet who have never known with accuracy any Christian dogma
whatever,--and | 198.084933 | 892 |
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THE RIVER OF LIFE
THE RIVER OF LIFE
AND OTHER STORIES
BY
ALEXANDER KUPRIN
TRANSLATED FROM THE RUSSIAN BY
S. KOTELIANSKY AND J. M. MURRY
JOHN W. LUCE AND COMPANY
BOSTON
1916
INTRODUCTORY NOTE
Alexander Kuprin was born in 1870. He attended the Cadet School and
the Military College at Moscow, and entered the Russian Army as a
lieutenant in 1890. Seven years later he resigned his commission to
devote himself to literature.
He achieved fame by a novel, _The Duel_, in which he described with
a ruthless realism the army life in a garrison town upon the Western
Frontier. The book, which in reality falls into line with the rest of
his work as a severely objective presentation of a life which he has
found vivid and rich, was, fortunately for his success, interpreted
as an indictment of the Russian Army and the ill-starred Manchurian
campaign. He was accepted by the propagandists as one of themselves,
and though he protested vigorously against his unsought reputation, his
position was thenceforward assured.
But the interest of Kuprin’s talent is independent of the accidents
of his material. He is an artist who has found life wide and rich and
inexhaustible. He has been fascinated by the reality itself rather
than by the problems with which it confronts a differently sensitive
mind. Therefore he has not held himself aloof, but plunged into the
riotous waters of the River of Life. He has swum with the stream and
battled against it as the mood turned in him; and he has emerged with
stories of the joy he has found in his own eager acceptance. Thus
Kuprin is alive as none of his contemporaries is alive, and his stories
are stories told for the delight of the telling and of the tale.
They may not be profound with the secrets of the universe; but they
are, within their compass, shaped by the perfect art of one to whom
the telling of a story of life is an exercise of his whole being in
complete harmony with the act of life itself.
J. M. M.
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE RIVER OF LIFE 1
II
CAPTAIN RIBNIKOV 37
III
THE OUTRAGE 99
IV
THE WITCH 127
I
THE RIVER OF LIFE
I
The landlady’s room in the ‘Serbia.’ Yellow wallpaper; two windows
with dirty muslin curtains; between them an oval squinting mirror,
stuck at an angle of forty-five degrees, reflects a painted floor and
chair legs; on the window-sills dusty, pimply cactuses; a cage with
a canary hangs from the ceiling. The room is partitioned off by red
screens of printed calico: the smaller part on the left is the bedroom
of the landlady and her children; that on the right is blocked up with
varied odds and ends of furniture--bedridden, rickety, and lame. In the
corners all kinds of rubbish are in chaotic cobwebbed heaps: a sextant
in a ginger leather case, and with it a tripod and a chain, some old
trunks and boxes, a guitar without strings, hunting boots, a sewing
machine, a ‘Monopan’ musical box, a camera, about five lamps, piles of
books, dresses, bundles of linen, and a great many things besides. All
these things had been detained at various times by the landlady for
rent unpaid, or left behind by runaway lodgers. You cannot move in the
room because of them.
The ‘Serbia’ is a third-rate hotel. Permanent lodgers are a rarity, and
those are prostitutes. Mostly they are casual passengers who float
up to town on the Dnieper: small farmers, Jewish commission agents,
distant provincials, pilgrims, and village priests who come to town to
inform, or are returning home when the information has been lodged.
Rooms in the ‘Serbia’ are also occupied by couples from the town for
the night or a few days.
Spring. About three in the afternoon. The curtains of the open windows
stir gently, and the room smells of kerosene and baked cabbage. It
is the landlady warming up on her stove a _bigoss à la Polonaise_ of
cabbage, pork fat, and sausage, with a great deal of pepper and bay
leaves. She is a widow between thirty-six and forty, a strong, quick,
good-looking woman. The hair that she wears in curls over her forehead
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THE TREASURE
KATHLEEN NORRIS
CHAPTER I
Lizzie, who happened to be the Salisbury's one servant at the time, was
wasteful. It was almost her only fault, in Mrs. Salisbury's eyes, for
such trifles as her habit of becoming excited and "saucy," in moments
of domestic stress, or to ask boldly for other holidays than her
alternate Sunday and Thursday afternoons, or to resent at all times the
intrusion of any person, even her mistress, into her immaculate
kitchen, might have been overlooked. Mrs. Salisbury had been keeping
house in a suburban town for twenty years; she was not considered an
exacting mistress. She was perfectly willing to forgive Lizzie what was
said in the hurried hours before the company dinner or impromptu lunch,
and to let Lizzie slip out for a walk with her sister in the evening,
and to keep out of the kitchen herself as much as was possible. So much
might be conceded to a girl who was honest and clean, industrious,
respectable, and a fair cook.
But the wastefulness was a serious matter. Mrs. Salisbury was a careful
and an experienced manager; she resented waste; indeed, she could not
afford to tolerate it. She liked to go into the kitchen herself every
morning, to eye the contents of icebox and pantry, and decide upon
needed stores. Enough butter, enough cold meat for dinner, enough milk
for a nourishing soup, eggs and salad for luncheon--what about potatoes?
Lizzie deliberately frustrated this house-wifely ambition. She flounced
and muttered when other hands than her own were laid upon her icebox.
She turned on rushing faucets, rattled dishes in her pan. Yet Mrs.
Salisbury felt that she must personally superintend these matters,
because Lizzie was so wasteful. The girl had not been three months in
the Salisbury family before all bills for supplies soared alarmingly.
This was all wrong. Mrs. Salisbury fretted over it a few weeks, then
confided her concern to her husband. But Kane Salisbury would not
listen to the details. He scowled at the introduction of the topic,
glanced restlessly at his paper, murmured that Lizzie might be "fired";
and, when Mrs. Salisbury had resolutely bottled up her seething
discontent inside of herself, she sometimes heard him murmuring,
"Bad--bad--management" as he sat chewing his pipe-stem on the dark
porch or beside the fire.
Alexandra, the eighteen-year-old daughter of the house, was equally
incurious and unreasonable about domestic details.
"But, honestly, Mother, you know you're afraid of Lizzie, and she knows
it," Alexandra would declare gaily; "I can't tell you how I'd manage
her, because she's not my servant, but I know I would do something!"
Beauty and intelligence gave Alexandra, even at eighteen, a certain
serene poise and self-reliance that lifted her above the old-fashioned
topics of "trouble with girls," and housekeeping, and marketing.
Alexandra touched these subjects under the titles of "budgets,"
"domestic science," and "efficiency." Neither she nor her mother
recognized the old, homely subjects under their new names, and so the
daughter felt a lack of interest, and the mother a lack of sympathy,
that kept them from understanding each other. Alexandra, ready to meet
and conquer all the troubles of a badly managed world, felt that one
small home did not present a very terrible problem. Poor Mrs. Salisbury
only knew that it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep a general
servant at all in a family of five, and that her husband's salary, of
something a little less than four thousand dollars a year, did not at
all seem the princely sum that they would have thought it when they
were married on twenty dollars a week.
From the younger members of the family, Fred, who was fifteen, and
Stanford, three years younger, she expected, and got, no sympathy. The
three young Salisburys found money interesting only when they needed it
for new gowns, or matinee tickets, or tennis rackets, or some kindred
purchase. They needed it desperately, asked for it, got it, spent it,
and gave it no further thought. It meant nothing to them that Lizzie
was wasteful. It was only to their mother that the girl's slipshod ways
were becoming an absolute trial.
Lizzie, very neat and respectful, would interfere with Mrs. Salisbury's
plan of a visit to the kitchen by appearing to ask for instructions
before breakfast was fairly over. When the man of the house had gone,
and before the children appeared, Lizzie would inquire:
"Just yourselves for dinner, Mrs. Salisbury?"
"Just ourselves. Let--me--see--" Mrs. Salisbury would lay down her
newspaper, stir her cooling coffee. The memory of last night's
vegetables would rise before her; there must be baked onions left, and
some of the corn.
"There was some lamb left, wasn't there?" she might ask.
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MRS. CLIFF'S YACHT
[Illustration: BURKE DETERMINED TO GET NEAR ENOUGH TO HAIL THE DUNKERY
BEACON]
MRS. CLIFF'S YACHT
BY
FRANK R. STOCKTON
_ILLUSTRATED BY A. FORESTIER_
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1896
COPYRIGHT, 1896, BY
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
NORWOOD PRESS
J. S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith
Norwood Mass. U.S.A.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. ALONE WITH HER WEALTH 1
II. WILLY CROUP DOESN'T KNOW 7
III. MISS NANCY SHOTT 16
IV. A LAUNCH INTO A NEW LIFE 25
V. A FUR-TRIMMED OVERCOAT AND A SILK HAT 36
VI. A TEMPERANCE LARK 45
VII. MR. BURKE ACCEPTS A RESPONSIBILITY 59
VIII. MR. BURKE BEGINS TO MAKE THINGS MOVE IN PLAINTON 68
IX. A MEETING OF HEIRS 80
X. THE INTELLECT OF MISS INCHMAN 92
XI. THE ARRIVAL OF THE NEW DINING-ROOM 99
XII. THE THORPEDYKE SISTERS 109
XIII. MONEY HUNGER 114
XIV. WILLY CROUP AS A PHILANTHROPIC DIPLOMATIST 121
XV. MISS NANCY MAKES A CALL 128
XVI. MR. BURKE MAKES A CALL 135
XVII. MRS. CLIFF'S YACHT 147
XVIII. THE DAWN OF THE GROVE OF THE INCAS 156
XIX. THE "SUMMER SHELTER" 162
XX. THE SYNOD 169
XXI. A TELEGRAM FROM CAPTAIN HORN 173
XXII. THE "SUMMER SHELTER" GOES TO SEA 182
XXIII. WILLY CROUP COMES TO THE FRONT 192
XXIV. CHANGES ON THE "SUMMER SHELTER" 203
XXV. A NOTE FOR CAPTAIN BURKE 218
XXVI. "WE'LL STICK TO SHIRLEY!" 228
XXVII. ON BOARD THE "DUNKERY BEACON" 235
XXVIII. THE PEOPLE ON THE "MONTEREY" 247
XXIX. THE "VITTORIO" FROM GENOA 254
XXX. THE BATTLE OF THE MERCHANT SHIPS 264
XXXI. "SHE BACKED!" 273
XXXII. A HEAD ON THE WATER 279
XXXIII. 11 deg. 30' 19" N. LAT. by 56 deg. 10' 19" W. LONG. 286
XXXIV. PLAINTON, MAINE 298
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
BURKE DETERMINED TO GET NEAR ENOUGH TO HAIL THE
"DUNKERY BEACON" _Frontispiece_
THE GENTLEMAN RAISED HIS HAT AND ASKED IF MRS. CLIFF
LIVED THERE 42
MRS. CLIFF'S INVITATION WAS DISCUSSED WITH LIVELY
APPRECIATION 170
THERE, FASTENED AGAINST THE FORE-MAST, WAS A LARGE
PIECE OF PAPER 194
WHEN SHIRLEY WENT ON DECK HE WAS MUCH PLEASED TO
SEE THE "SUMMER SHELTER" 238
BANKER COULD NOT HOLD BACK 270
HE SEIZED IT AND RAISED IT TO HIS SHOULDER 290
WILLY SAT AND LOOKED AT HIM 312
MRS. CLIFF'S YACHT
CHAPTER I
ALONE WITH HER WEALTH
On a beautiful September afternoon in a handsome room of one of the
grand, up-town hotels in New York sat Mrs. Cliff, widow and millionaire.
Widow of a village merchant, mistress of an unpretending house in the
little town of Plainton, Maine, and, by strange vicissitudes of fortune,
the possessor of great wealth, she was on her way from Paris to the
scene of that quiet domestic life to which for nearly thirty years she
had been accustomed.
She was alone in the hotel; her friends, Captain Horn and his wife Edna,
who had | 198.819406 | 895 |
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THE SON OF A SERVANT
BY
AUGUST STRINDBERG
AUTHOR OF "THE INFERNO," "ZONES OF THE SPIRIT," ETC.
TRANSLATED BY CLAUD FIELD
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY
HENRY VACHER-BURCH
G.P. PUTNAM'S SONS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
The Knickerbocker Press
1913
CONTENTS
I. Fear and Hunger
II. Breaking-In
III. Away from Home
IV. Intercourse with the Lower Classes
V. Contact with the Upper Classes
VI. The School of the Cross
VII. First Love
VIII. The Spring Thaw
IX. With Strangers
X. Character and Destiny
AUGUST STRINDBERG AS NOVELIST
_From the Publication of "The Son of a Servant" to "The Inferno"_
(1886-1896)
A celebrated statesman is said to have described the biography of a
cardinal as being like the Judgment Day. In reading August Strindberg's
autobiographical writings, as, for example, his _Inferno_, and the book
for which this study is a preface, we must remember that he portrays
his own Judgment Day. And as his works have come but lately before the
great British public, it may be well to consider what attitude should
be adopted towards the amazing candour of his self-revelation. In most
provinces of life other than the comprehension of our fellows, the art
of understanding is making great progress. We comprehend new phenomena
without the old strain upon our capacity for readjusting our point of
view. But do we equally well understand our fellow-being whose way of
life is not ours? We are patient towards new phases of philosophy,
new discoveries in science, new sociological facts, observed in other
lands; but in considering an abnormal type of man or woman, hasty
judgment or a too contracted outlook is still liable to cloud the
judgment.
Now, it is obvious that if we would understand any worker who has
accomplished what his contemporaries could only attempt to do, we
must have a sufficiently wide knowledge of his work. Neither the
inconsequent gossip attaching to such a personality, nor the chance
perusal of a problem-play, affords an adequate basis for arriving at
a true estimate of the man. Few writers demand, to the same degree as
August Strindberg, those graces of judgment, patience, and reverence.
And for this reason first of all: most of us live sheltered lives. They
are few who stand in the heart of the storm made by Europe's progress.
Especially is this true in Southern Europe, where tradition holds its
secular sway, where such a moulding energy as constitutional practice
exerts its influence over social life, where the aims and ends of human
attainment are defined and sanctioned by a consciousness developing
with the advancement of civilisation. There is often engendered under
such conditions a nervous impatience towards those who, judged from
behind the sheltered walls of orthodoxy, are more or less exposed to
the criticism of their fellows. The fault lies in yielding to this
impatience. The proof that August Strindberg was of the few who must
stand in the open, and suffer the full force of all the winds that
blow, cannot now be attempted. Our sole aim must be to enable the
reader of _The Son of a Servant_ to take up a sympathetic standpoint.
This book forms _part_ of the autobiography of a most gifted man,
through whose life the fierce winds of Europe's opinions blew into
various expression.
The second reason for the exercise of impartiality, is that
Strindberg's recent death has led to the circulation through Europe of
certain phrases which are liable to displace the balance of judgment
in reviewing his life and work. There are passages in his writings,
and phases of his autobiography, that raise questions of Abnormal
Psychology. Hence pathological terms are used to represent the whole
man and his work. Again, from the jargon of a prevalent Nietzschianism
a doctrine at once like and unlike the teaching of that solitary
thinker descriptions of the Superman are borrowed, and with these
Strindberg is labelled. Or again, certain incidents in his domestic
affairs are seized upon to prove him a decadent libertine. The facts of
this book, _The Son of a Servant_, | 198.822482 | 896 |
2023-11-16 18:19:05.5041670 | 853 | 106 |
Produced by Charles Bowen from page images provided by the
Web Archive and Google Books.
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source:
http://archive.org/details/secretinheritanc01farj
(University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign)
A SECRET INHERITANCE
A
SECRET INHERITANCE
BY
B. L. FARJEON,
AUTHOR OF "GREAT PORTER SQUARE," "IN A SILVER SEA,"
"THE HOUSE OF WHITE SHADOWS," ETC.
_IN THREE VOLUMES_
VOL. I
LONDON
WARD AND DOWNEY
12, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN, W.C.
1887
Richard Clay and Sons,
LONDON AND BUNGAY.
A SECRET INHERITANCE.
* * * * * *
BOOK THE FIRST.
THE RECORD OF GABRIEL CAREW.
VOL. I.
CHAPTER I.
My earliest distinct remembrances are of a mean and common home in
London, in which I lived with my parents and a servant named Fortress.
She was a young woman, her age being twenty-four or five, but her
manners were as sedate as those of a matron who had a distaste for
frivolity and tittle-tattle. She performed her duties quietly and in
silence, and seldom spoke unless she were first addressed. She did not
take the trouble to render herself agreeable to me, or to win my
affection. This was entirely to my liking, as I was of a retired habit
of mind and disposition. It was not unusual for weeks to pass without
our exchanging a word.
We were surrounded by squalid thoroughfares, the residents in which
were persons occupying the lowest stations of life, human bees whose
hives were not over stocked with honey, being indeed, I have no doubt,
frequently bare of it. This was not the result of indolence, for they
toiled early and late. I saw, and observed. Sometimes I wondered,
sometimes I despised, and I always shrank from close contact with
these sordid conditions of existence. If I had possessed a store of
pocket-money it is not unlikely that a portion of it would have been
expended in charity, but I will not affirm that I should have been
impelled to liberality by motives of benevolence. We were, however,
very poor, and my father seldom gave me a penny. I did not complain; I
had no wants which money could gratify. I did not consort with other
children; I did not play or associate with them; when they made
advances towards me I declined to receive them, and I held myself
entirely aloof from their pleasures and occupations. In this respect I
instinctively followed the fashion of our home and the example of my
parents. They had no friends or intimate acquaintances. During the
years we lived thus poorly and meanly, not a man, woman, or child ever
entered our doors to partake of our hospitality, or to impart what
would possibly have been a healthy variety to our days.
Our dwelling consisted of two rooms at the top of a small house. They
were attics; in one my mother and Mrs. Fortress slept; in the other my
father and I. The bed he and I occupied was shut up during the day,
and made an impotent pretence of being a chest of drawers. This room
was our living room, and we took our meals in it.
In speaking of our servant as Mrs. Fortress I do not intend to convey
that she was a married woman. My impression was that she was single,
and I should have scouted the idea of her having a sweetheart; but my
parents always spoke of and to her as Mrs. Fortress.
From the window of our living-room I could see, at an angle, a bit of
the River Thames | 198.823577 | 897 |
2023-11-16 18:19:05.7763550 | 1,198 | 396 |
Produced by Brownfox, Juliet Sutherland and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
_Library Edition_
THE COMPLETE WORKS
OF
JOHN RUSKIN
THE EAGLE'S NEST
LOVE'S MEINIE
ARIADNE FLORENTINA
VAL D'ARNO
PROSERPINA
NATIONAL LIBRARY ASSOCIATION
NEW YORK CHICAGO
ARIADNE FLORENTINA.
SIX LECTURES
ON
WOOD AND METAL ENGRAVING
WITH APPENDIX.
GIVEN BEFORE THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD,
IN MICHAELMAS TERM, 1872.
CONTENTS.
LECTURE I.
PAGE
DEFINITION OF THE ART OF ENGRAVING 1
LECTURE II.
THE RELATION OF ENGRAVING TO OTHER ARTS IN FLORENCE 22
LECTURE III.
THE TECHNICS OF WOOD ENGRAVING 42
LECTURE IV.
THE TECHNICS OF METAL ENGRAVING 61
LECTURE V.
DESIGN IN THE GERMAN SCHOOLS OF ENGRAVING (HOLBEIN AND DUeRER) 81
LECTURE VI.
DESIGN IN THE FLORENTINE SCHOOLS OF ENGRAVING (SANDRO BOTTICELLI) 108
APPENDIX.
ARTICLE
I. NOTES ON THE PRESENT STATE OF ENGRAVING IN ENGLAND 143
II. DETACHED NOTES 157
LIST OF PLATES
Facing Page
Diagram 27
The Last Furrow (Fig. 2). Facsimile from Holbein's woodcut 47
The Two Preachers (Fig. 3). Facsimile from Holbein's woodcut 48
I. Things Celestial and Terrestrial, as apparent to the English mind 56
II. Star of Florence 62
III. "At evening from the top of Fesole" 72
IV. "By the Springs of Parnassus" 77
V. "Heat considered as a Mode of Motion." Florentine Natural
Philosophy 92
VI. Fairness of the Sea and Air. In Venice and Athens 95
The Child's Bedtime (Fig. 5). Facsimile from Holbein's woodcut 103
"He that hath ears to hear let him hear" (Fig. 6). Facsimile from
Holbein's woodcut 105
VII. For a time, and times 130
VIII. The Nymph beloved of Apollo (Michael Angelo) 131
IX. In the Woods of Ida 132
X. Grass of the Desert 135
XI. "Obediente Domino voci hominis" 145
XII. The Coronation in the Garden 158
ARIADNE FLORENTINA.
LECTURE I.
DEFINITION OF THE ART OF ENGRAVING.
1. The entrance on my duty for to-day begins the fourth year of my
official work in Oxford; and I doubt not that some of my audience are
asking themselves, very doubtfully--at all events, I ask myself, very
anxiously--what has been done.
For practical result, I have not much to show. I announced, a fortnight
since, that I would meet, the day before yesterday, any gentleman who
wished to attend this course for purposes of study. My class, so minded,
numbers four, of whom three wish to be artists, and ought not therefore,
by rights, to be at Oxford at all; and the fourth is the last remaining
unit of the class I had last year.
2. Yet I neither in this reproach myself, nor, if I could, would I
reproach the students who are not here. I do not reproach myself; for it
was impossible for me to attend properly to the schools and to write the
grammar for them at the same time; and I do not blame the absent
students for not attending a school from which I have generally been
absent myself. In all this, there is much to be mended, but, in true
light, nothing to be regretted.
I say, I had to write my school grammar. These three volumes of lectures
under my hand,[A] contain, carefully set down, the things I want you
first to know. None of my writings are done fluently; the second volume
of "Modern Painters" was all of it written twice--most of it, four
times,--over; and these lectures have been written, I don't know how
many times. You may think that this was done merely in an author's
vanity, not in a tutor's care. To the vanity I plead guilty,--no man is
more intensely vain than I am; but my vanity is set on having it _known_
of me that I am a good master, not in having it _said_ of me that I am a
smooth author. My vanity is never more wounded than in being called a
fine writer, meaning--that nobody need mind what I say.
3. Well, then, besides this vanity, I have some solicitude for your
progress. You may give me credit for it | 199.095765 | 898 |
2023-11-16 18:19:05.8397820 | 372 | 61 |
Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by Google Books
Transcriber's Note:
Source: Google Books
http://books.google.com/books?id=k6YoAAAAYAAJ
THE WINE-GHOSTS OF BREMEN
_This edition of "The Wine-Ghosts of Bremen" was printed entirely from
type, distributed immediately after printing, and is limited to Five
Hundred Copies, of which this is No._ 485.
Theo. L. DeVinne & Co.
[Illustration: 'IT WAS THE DEVIL']
THE
WINE-GHOSTS OF BREMEN
BY
WILHELM HAUFF
ILLUSTRATED BY FRANK M. GREGORY
NEW-YORK AND LONDON
WHITE AND ALLEN
MDCCCLXXXIX
Copyright 1889, by
WHITE AND ALLEN.
THE
WINE-GHOSTS OF BREMEN
TRANSLATED PROM THE GERMAN OF
W. HAUFF
BY
E. SADLER
AND
C. R. L. FLETCHER
LATE FELLOW OF ALL SOULS COLLEGE
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE.
1. 'IT WAS THE DEVIL' _Frontispiece._
2. THE CELLAR OF BACCHUS 8
3. THE GENTLEMEN OF THE RHINE 24
4. 'TO THE DANCE! TO THE DANCE!' 60
PREFACE.
When Mr. Carlyle endeavoured to introduce Jean Paul Richter to the
English public, it seems to | 199.159192 | 899 |
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