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bathroom | Where is John? | Now if in very truth, Agesias, thy mother's ancestors dwelling by the
borders of Kyllene did piously and oft offer up prayer and sacrifice
to Hermes, herald of the gods, who hath to his keeping the strife and
appointment of games, and doeth honour to Arcadia the nurse of goodly
men,--then surely he, O son of Sostratos, with his loud-thundering
sire, is the accomplisher of this thy bliss.Methinks I have upon my tongue a whetstone of loud sounding speech,
which to harmonious breath constraineth me nothing loth.Mother of my
mother was Stymphalian Metope[11] of fair flowers, for she bare Thebe
the charioteer, whose pleasant fountain I will drink, while I weave
for warriors the changes of my song.Now rouse thy fellows, Aineas, first to proclaim the name of
maiden[12] Hera, and next to know for sure whether we are escaped from
the ancient reproach that spake truly of Boeotian swine.For thou art
a true messenger, a writing-tally[13] of the Muses goodly-haired, a
bowl wherein to mix high-sounding songs.And bid them make mention of Syracuse and of Ortygia, which Hieron
ruleth with righteous sceptre devising true counsels, and doth honour
to Demeter whose footsteps make red the corn, and to the feast of her
daughter with white steeds, and to the might of Aetnaean Zeus.Also he
is well known of the sweet voices of the song and lute.Let not the
on-coming time break his good fortune.And with joyful welcome may
he receive this triumphal song, which travelleth from home to home,
leaving Stymphalos' walls, the mother-city of Arcadia, rich in flocks.Good in a stormy night are two anchors let fall from a swift ship.May
friendly gods grant to both peoples[14] an illustrious lot: and thou
O lord and ruler of the sea, husband of Amphitrite of the golden
distaff, grant this my friend straight voyage and unharmed, and bless
the joyous flower of my song.[Footnote 1: Agesias is so called because an Iamid ancestor of his had
gone with Archias when he planted the Corinthian colony of Syracuse.][Footnote 3: Phintis was Agesias' charioteer.][Footnote 4: I. e. the nymph who gave her name to the place.][Footnote 7: Iamos, from [Greek: ion]: the iris was considered a
symbol of immortality.]It is a copy of the Gospels printed by John Day, and is
the dedication copy, as is stated in a MS.note on the
title-page--"Presented to the Queen's own hands by Mr.A copy, printed in London in 1575, of Grant's _Graecae Linguae Spicilegium_
is covered in brown calf, and was bound for the queen.It has large
corners stamped in gold from set stamps.In the centre it bears a fine
stamp of the royal coat-of-arms, crowned, and surrounded by the Garter,
and decorated with Elizabethan scrolls.The remainder of the groundwork is
covered with a semee of small roses.Among the old royal manuscripts is a
curious book, _Scholarum Etonensis ovatio de adventu Reginae Elizabethae_,
1563, covered in white vellum and stamped in gold.It bears in the centre
the royal coat-of-arms enclosed in an oval ornamented border, and has
large corner-pieces impressed from a set stamp, the field having a semee
of small stars.The work upon this binding is of a curiously unfinished
character, and it is probably the work of some unskilled local workman.The gilt edges are gauffred in a floral design, with some white colour
here and there.Anne Boleyn bore, as one of her many devices, a very decorative one of a
crowned falcon holding a sceptre, standing on a pedestal, out of which is
growing a rose-bush bearing white and red blossoms (Fig.This badge
occurs first in an illuminated initial letter to her patent of the
Marquisate of Pembroke, and at her coronation, in a pageant at Whitehall,
an image of the falcon played a prominent part.The origin of it is not
very clear, but it may have been derived from the crest of Ormond, a white
falcon, which is placed under the head of the Earl of Wiltshire, Queen
Anne's father, on his tomb.It was in turn adopted by Queen Elizabeth, and
was exhibited on the occasion of her visit to Norwich, in 1578, as her own
badge; and it occurs also on the iron railing on her tomb in Henry VII.The queen bore it on several of her simpler bindings impressed in
the centre of each board, with usually a small acorn spray at each corner.There are several books ornamented like this in the library of Westminster
Abbey, and there are examples at Windsor.The British Museum possesses
few, the best example being a copy of Justinus' _Trogi Pompeii Historiarum
Philippicarum epitoma_, etc., printed at Paris in 1581.It originally had
two ties at the front edge.At Windsor a few bindings of Elizabeth's are
still preserved; among them, a copy of Paynell's _Conspiracie of Catiline_
is bound in white leather, and bears the royal arms within a decorative
border.It has large corners impressed by a set stamp, and has a semee of
small flowers.A copy of Spenser's _Faerie Queene_, printed in London in
1590, also in the Windsor Library, bears in the centre a crowned double
rose, in the centre of which is a portcullis, and E. B. at each side of
it.The crowned rose was a favourite design with Elizabethan bookbinders;
but unless there be corroborative evidence of royal possession, I do not
think that the existence of this stamp is of itself a sufficient proof of
such exalted ownership.Andrew Tuer, in his admirable _History of the Horn-Book_, gives a
figure of one which was exhibited in the Tudor Exhibition in 1890, where
it was described as the _Horn-Book of Queen Elizabeth_.It is said to have
been given by the queen to Lord Chancellor Egerton of Tatton, and it has
been preserved in his family ever since.The letterpress is covered with a
sheet of talc, and the back and handle are ornamented with graceful silver
filigree work, that on the back being underlaid with red silk.Tuer
thinks that the type used on this _Horn-Book_ resembles some used by John
Day, the printer already mentioned; and if so, it is not altogether
unlikely that Archbishop Parker himself may have presented this beautiful
toy to the queen, as well as the more serious works in velvet and inlaid
leather.14.--_Centre stamp from Trogi Pompeii Historiarum
Philippicarum epitoma.Parisiis, 1581._]
Although Mary Queen of Scots was not directly one of the sovereigns of
England, yet she is so intimately connected with them, both by her
ancestry, her own history, and her descendants, that the few bindings
remaining that belonged to her may well be included among these I am now
describing.Daniel moved to the hallway.The bindings that were done for her when she was Dauphiness,
or Queen, of France, are, like the Scottish ones, of great rarity.These
French bindings are always bound in black, and very often have black
edges; and the only two bindings known to me that belonged to her when
Queen of Scotland are in such dark calf that it is almost black also.The
first and finest of these volumes is a copy of the _Black Acts_, printed
at Edinburgh, 1576.It is called _Black Acts_ from the character of the
type, and is a collection of the Acts and Constitutions of Scotland in
force during the reigns of the Jameses and Mary herself.The outer border
on each side of the book is impressed in gold, and consists of a broad
arabesque design.Within this border is a representation of the full
coat-of-arms of Scotland--a lion rampant, within a tressure flory
counter-flory.The tressure should be double, but in this instance it is
single.The lion and the tressure are red.Dependent from the
shield is the collar and badge of the Order of St.A royal helmet,
crowned, is placed above the shield, and has a handsome mantling,
yellow.On the crown is the crest of Scotland--a crowned lion sejant,
holding in one paw a sceptre and in the other a sword.The ancient supporters of Scotland, two white unicorns, are
at each side of the shield; each bears a collar shaped like a coronet,
with a long chain.Two standards are supported behind the shield; one
bears the coat-of-arms of Scotland, and the other St.Andrew's Cross, both
being in their proper colours.Across the top of these standards is a
white scroll bearing the words "IN DEFENSE," and on similar scrolls just
above the heads of the unicorns are the words "MARIA REGINA."There are a
few thistles in outline scattered about.The workmanship of this piece of
decoration is unlike that on any other book I know.It is what is called
all "made up" by a series of impressions from small stamps, curves, and
lines, and in places it seems to be done by hand by means of some sort of
style drawn along on the leather, the mark being afterwards gilded.The
appearance, indeed, is that of a drawing in gold-outline on the leather.The colour, which is freely used, is some sort of enamel, most of which
has now chipped off, but enough of it is left to show what it has been
originally.The book came to the Museum by gift from George IV.The edges
are gauffred, with a little colour upon them.The other book that belonged to Mary Queen of Scots was, in 1882, in the
library of Sir James Gibson Craig.It is a folio copy of Paradin's
_Chronique de Savoye_, printed at Lyons in 1552, and in Edinburgh Castle
there is a list of treasures belonging to James VI., and "his hienes
deerest moder," dated 1578, in which this book is mentioned.It is bound
in dark calf, decorated in blind and gold.Each board has a broad border
in blind nearly resembling that on the _Black Acts_.In the centre of
each side is the royal coat-of-arms of Scotland in gold, crowned.John travelled to the bedroom.Above,
below, and on each side of it is a crowned "M."The crowned "M" is also
impressed in gold at the outer corners of each board, and it is also in
each of the seven panels of the back.[Illustration: [Greek: BASILIKON DORON].Written for Prince Henry, by
King James VI.of Scotland, whatever may have been his faults, certainly had
the merit of knowing how to advise his son.In 1559 he wrote the curious
_Basilicon Doron_ for his "Dearest son Henry, the Prince."He writes as
for a Prince of Scotland, and about the Scottish people, and when it was
first issued there were many doubts as to its authorship.The original
manuscript of this work is now part of the old royal library in the
British Museum; and although a study of this most interesting manuscript
will amply repay anybody who cares to read it, it is as well specially
interesting because of the beautiful binding with which it is covered
(Plate IV.)We know from documents that in 1580 John Gibson had been
appointed binder to the King of Scotland, and that when he came to London
this office was granted to John and Abraham Bateman; and, although no
binding is certainly known to have been executed by either of these, I
think it very probable that the binding of the _Basilicon Doron_ may, for
the present at all events, be attributed to John Gibson.It is covered in
deep purple velvet, and the ornaments upon it are cut out in thin gold,
and finished with engraved work.The design on each board is the royal
coat-of-arms of Scotland, with supporters, crowned, and enclosed within
the collar of the Order of the Thistle, dependent from which is the badge
with St.The supporters are the two unicorns standing upon a
ribbon, on which is the legend, "IN MY DEFENSE.Above the
crown are two large letters, J. R. The corners and two clasps of the book
are made in the form of thistles, with leaves and scrolls.Unluckily much
of this gold work is gone, but in the figure I have restored it where
necessary.The decoration altogether has a most rich and beautiful effect,
and I know of no other book decorated in the same way.Indeed, books of
any sort bound for James when he was king of Scotland are of the greatest
rarity, and it is quite possible that this is the only existing specimen;
although when he came to England a very large quantity of books were bound
for him, the majority of which still remain.CHAPTER III
JAMES I.--HENRY PRINCE OF WALES--CHARLES I.--CHARLES II.--JAMES
II.--WILLIAM AND MARY--ANNE
Up to the present, as far as bookbinding is concerned, I have only
recorded one change in the royal coat of England, when Henry VIII., in
1528, altered his supporters, but on the accession of James I. to the
throne of England a much greater and more important change took place.Not
only was the shield of Scotland added, but also that of Ireland, which,
although Elizabeth seems to have used it sometimes, was never before
officially adopted.The harp of "Apollo Grian" has, equally with the
Scottish coat, remained an integral part of our royal shield ever since.The coats of France and England were now quartered and placed in the first
and fourth quarters, the coat of Scotland in the second quarter, and the
coat of Ireland in the third.With minor changes and additions, this coat
remained the same until the reign of George III., who, in 1801, finally
omitted the coat of France.As to the supporters, James I. retained the
crowned lion of Henry VIII., and substituted one of his white unicorns for
the red dragon of Cadwallader; and these supporters remain unaltered to
the present day.The fashion of stamping in gold on velvet, one example of which I have
already described as having been done for Edward VI.or Elizabeth, was
practised to a considerable extent for James I., and there are several
examples of it.James evidently thought much of the Tudor descent, by
virtue of which he held his English throne; and he used the Tudor emblems
freely.One large stamp was cut for him with the coat-of-arms just
described within a crowned Garter, all enclosed in an ornamental oval
border, in which are included the falcon badge of Queen Elizabeth, the
double rose, portcullis, and fleur-de-lis of the Tudors, and the plume of
the Prince of Wales.This stamp commonly occurs on leather bindings, but
it also occurs, used with great effect, stamped in gold or velvet.A very
charming specimen of this is on a copy of _Bogusz_, [Greek: DIASKEPSIS]
_Metaphysica_, printed on satin at Sedan, 1605, which is bound in crimson
velvet, and has two blue silk ties at the front edge.At each of the four
corners of the large stamp are four small decorative stamps.John journeyed to the bathroom.Daniel travelled to the bedroom.It is a
presentation copy to James I., and has an autograph of Henry Prince of
Wales inside the cover.In the Manuscript Department of the British
Museum, belonging also to the old royal library, is a small book bound in
dark green velvet, in the centre of which is stamped, in gold, the royal
coat-of-arms within an ornamental border, into which is introduced the
design of a thistle.An outer border of gold lines has decorative stamps
at each corner.The manuscript is about the introduction of Christianity
into England.These two designs, or amplifications of them, are the only
ones that I have met with on stamped velvet bindings done for James.There are a considerable number of books still remaining that belonged to
James, bearing the royal coat-of-arms with supporters and initials, bound
in leather.They often bear upon them rich semees, which form of
ornamentation was used for James |
bathroom | Where is John? | The
semees generally consist of small lions passant, thistles, tridents,
fleurs-de-lis, stars, or flowers.Books of this kind, with heavy
corner-pieces, are so widely known that detailed description of them is
hardly necessary; but there are modifications, some of which render the
bindings of greater interest.One of these is a calf binding on _Ortelius,
Theatrum Orbis Terrarum_, printed in London in 1606 (Plate V.)It measures
23 inches by 14, and when in its original state, was doubtless one of the
finest bindings done for James I. The full coat-of-arms, with small inlays
of red leather, is further by hand, and is enclosed within a
rectangular border.Between this and the corner-pieces is a very elaborate
and graceful design of twining stems, leaves, and arabesques.The binding
has been largely repaired, but the new stamps have been accurately copied
from the old ones; and, except the outer border which is new, the design
upon it is probably in all material points the same as it was originally.Daniel moved to the hallway.Another instance of a departure from King James's stereotyped pattern
occurs on Thevet's _Vies des hommes illustres_, printed at Paris, 1584.The crowned coat-of-arms in the centre, with the initials J. R., have
inlays of red leather in the proper places, and the remainder of the board
is so closely and intricately, with an ornamental design of dotted
strap-work, interlaced with arabesques that no description can give much
idea of it.The volume measures 15-1/2 x 10-1/2 inches, and it is in
perfect condition.Some doubt has been thrown upon the nationality of this
most beautiful work, but Mr.Fletcher, in his splendid volume of _English
Bookbindings in the British Museum_, has included it in his list.So
perhaps in the future we may claim it as our own.There is one little
point about it which, I think, may be considered as a reason for thinking
it English work, and that is that the lions on the English coats are full
face.On all the French bindings I know that were done for English
sovereigns the lions are always shown side face.A volume in the Manuscript Department of the British Museum, containing
English and Italian songs with music, is bound in dark blue morocco, with
unusually good corners, and the field adorned with large and beautiful
stars.Large stars used in the field also occur on a vellum binding of the
Abbot of Salisbury's _De Gratia et perve verantia Sanctorum_, printed in
London, 1618.It is without the usual corner-stamps, and is in a most
wonderful brilliant condition.A little volume of King James's _Meditations on the Lord's Prayer_,
London, 1619, is covered in deep purple velvet, with silver centre-piece,
corners, and clasps.On the corners are engraved designs of the cross
patee, thistle, harp, and fleurs-de-lis, all crowned.The corner with the
crowned harp is, I believe, the first instance of this badge occurring on
a book.The clasps are in the form of portcullises.The centre oval
medallion has the royal coat-of-arms, Garter, and crown engraved upon it.At the Burlington Fine Arts Club a fine specimen of binding for King James
I. was exhibited by Mr.It is bound in white vellum, stamped
in gold.In the centre are the royal arms, and it has large corner-stamps
of unusual design, containing a sun with rays and an eagle, the ground
being thickly covered with a semee of ermine spots.The border seems to be
imitated from one of the old rolls of sporting subjects, which are mostly
found on blind-tooled books at a much earlier period.It has squirrels,
birds, snails, dogs, and insects.At Windsor there are a good many
specimens of Jacobean bindings, all of them similar in character to one or
other of the British Museum specimens that I have described at length.Anne of Denmark, the queen of James I., does not appear to have possessed
many books.There are only two in the British Museum that belonged to her,
both of which are bound in vellum.The larger of the two, _Tansillo, Le
Lagrime di San Pietro_, Vinegia, 1606, has a gold-line border with small
floral corners, and in the centre the queen's paternal arms with many
quarterings, the most important of which are Denmark, Norway, and Sweden.The coat is crowned, and above it are the letters "A."; and the queen's
own motto, "La mia grandezza viene dal eccelso," is contained on a ribbon
half enclosing the coat.John travelled to the bedroom.Prince Henry, the eldest son of James I., showed more taste for literary
matters than any of his predecessors, although he was much addicted to all
manly exercises.John journeyed to the bathroom.He not only took great interest in the books he already
found in his father's library, but he materially added to it by further
collections of his own.In 1609 he purchased the library of Lord Lumley,
who had been his tutor, and which was the finest then in England, except
that of Sir Robert Cotton.This library had originally belonged to Henry
Fitz-Alan, Earl of Arundel, Lord Lumley's father-in-law, and it had been
largely increased since his death.Prince Henry only possessed the library
for three years, as he died in 1612, but during this time he made many
important additions to it.Not many of the original bindings remain upon
the Earl of Arundel's books, and those that do are usually simple.There
is one specimen in the British Museum that is especially good; it bears a
"cameo" of a white horse, galloping, with an oak spray in his mouth, in an
oval medallion, and if there were many others like it, Prince Henry
destroyed much beautiful work when he had them rebound.It must be supposed that the bindings of both Lord Arundel's and Lord
Lumley's collection were in a bad state when Prince Henry acquired them,
as they now are almost invariably in bindings that were made for him after
1610, when he was made Prince of Wales.On the Prince's death, his
library, which was then kept at St.James's, reverted to the king, and
served largely to augment the old royal library, which had not been very
carefully kept up to the present time, and which, even afterwards,
suffered various losses.The majority of Prince Henry's rebindings are designed in a fashion which
has been very adversely criticised, but nevertheless they are not all
without interest.Daniel travelled to the bedroom.The commonest decoration found upon them consists of a
large royal coat-of-arms of England within a scroll border with thistles,
stamped in gold, having the label of the eldest son in silver.At the
corners are very large stamps, either crowned double roses, fleurs-de-lis,
lions rampant, all in gold, or the Prince of Wales' feathers in silver.Books bearing this design are more frequently met with outside the large
royal collections than any others, as at one time or another many examples
have become separated from the rest.But there are other books bound for
the Prince the designs on which are often original and effective.Perhaps
the best of these is on a copy of Livy's _Romana Historia_, Avreliae
Allobrogvm, 1609 (Fig.Mary journeyed to the kitchen.In this instance the Prince of Wales' feathers
form the central design, impressed in silver and gold, and with the
initials H. P. at the sides of it, all enclosed in a border composed of a
dotted ribbon arranged in right angles and segments of circles, enriched
at the corners with ornamental arabesques.This design is particularly
pleasing, and it is likely that it was executed by the same binder who
bound the edition of Thevet's _Vies des hommes illustres_, described
above, for James I., the peculiar design of the dotted ribbon appearing in
both instances._Petrus de Crescentiis, De omnibus agriculturae partibus_, Basileae, 1548,
has the Prince of Wales' feathers in silver, with H. P. at the sides, and
on two upright labels the words "O et presidium | Dulce decus meum."It
has very heavy corner-stamps.A little book of _Commentaries_ of Messer.Blaise de Monluc, Bordeaux,
1592, has a small Prince of Wales' feathers in the centre, and very pretty
angle-stamps of sprays of foliage, the feathers still being in silver._Rivault, Les Clemens d' Artillery_, Paris, 1608, is remarkably pretty.It
is a small book bound in olive morocco, and has a tiny Prince of Wales'
feathers in an oval in the centre, stamped in gold and silver, within a
broad border of sprays of foliage.There are large angle-pieces of the
same sprays, all enclosed in a border stamped in gold.A common design is
the coat-of-arms, with label within an ornamental border, ensigned with
a prince's crown, enclosed in a single line rectangle, at the corners of
which are small stamps of the Prince of Wales' feathers, crowned roses,
crowned fleurs-de-lis, and crowned thistles.There are several examples of
this design, both in the British Museum and at Windsor.Avreliae Allobrogvm,
1609.Henry, Prince of Wales._]
_Pandulphi Collenucii Pisaurensis Apologus cui titulus Agenoria_ and other
tracts in one collection was dedicated to Henry VIII., and originally his
property (Fig.It afterwards belonged to Magdalen College, Oxford,
and they presented it to Prince Henry, for whom it was enclosed in a
magnificent cover of crimson velvet, thickly embroidered with an elaborate
design in gold and pearls.Daniel went to the bathroom.The edges of the cover project freely beyond
the boards of the book, and have a rich gold fringe.The Prince of Wales'
feathers, thickly worked in pearls, forms the centre of the design.The
coronet is of gold, and the motto is in gold letters on a blue silk
ground.The very beautiful broad border contains a rich arabesque design
with flowers thickly worked in seed pearls, and the inner angles have
sprays in gold and pearls.There are innumerable single pearls dotted
about.Both for beauty of design and richness of execution, this cover is
certainly one of the finest specimens of late embroidery work in England.With the exception of a few pearls missing, and some gold braid about the
motto, it may be considered to be in a very fair condition.Another crimson velvet book, _Becano Baculus Salcolbrigiensis_, Oppenheim,
1611, was bound for Prince Henry.It has the Prince of Wales' feathers in
the centre, impressed in gold and silver, with a simple gold line round
the edge.It is much faded, and the velvet is now more orange than
crimson, but it is interesting as being the only instance in the British
Museum of a stamped velvet book done for Prince Henry.Prince Charles used two of the stamps which were first used by his brother
Henry--the large coat-of-arms, with silver label, and the Prince of Wales'
feathers.Each of these is usually flanked by the letters C. P., and the
Prince of Wales' feathers are always stamped in gold instead of silver.In
cases where Charles has used the coat-of-arms, the corners are filled with
a full arrangement of leaf sprays and arabesques.A fine example of this
style, bound in olive morocco, occurs on a binding of Dallington's
_Aphorismes, Civill and Militarie_, London, 1613, now in the British
Museum.An example of the Prince of Wales' feathers used alone on dark
blue morocco is in the library at Windsor.During the reign of Charles I.
several small, thin books were bound in vellum, stamped in gold (Plate
VII.).Some of them were done for him both as prince and as king.A very
good example covers a collection of Almanacks, dated 1624.In the centre
is an ornament composed of four Prince of Wales' feathers arranged as a
star, the corners are filled with large stamps, the remainder of the
boards are filled with semees of flaming hearts.This particular book was
probably a favourite one of the Prince's, as it contains his signature and
other writings.16.--_Collection of Miscellaneous Tracts in MS.Henry
Prince of Wales._]
The styles of ornamentation used on large books for James I. were
generally followed by his son, but often the outer borders are of a
broader and more decorative kind.An instance of this is found on the dark
morocco binding of Raderus's _Theological Biography_, printed at Munich in
1628, a large book with a broad decorative border, corner-pieces,
coat-of-arms, and semee of thistles, roses, and fleurs-de-lis.A small
book with coat-of-arms in the centre, within the Garter, crowned, and
bearing on each cover the legend "TIBI SOLI O REX CHARISSIME," is in the
Manuscript Department of the British Museum, on a collection of treatises
presented to the king.There is a handsome border round the book, the
ground of which is covered with a semee of crosses, and the letters C. R.
are on either side of the coat-of-arms.The book has two silver clasps, on
one of which is engraved the Scottish crest, and on the other three
crowns.The panels joining the clasps to the book are engraved with
emblematic figures.A copy of _Hippocratis et Galeni opera_, Paris, 1639, in several volumes,
bears in the centre of each board the full royal coat-of-arms and
supporters, enclosed in an octagonal border, within a rectangle, in the
inner corners of which is a handsome stamp of floral sprays, and at the
outer corners the crowned monogram of King Charles and his wife Henrietta
Maria.They are large books, measuring 17 x 11 inches.A very decorative little book is covered in red velvet, with silver
mounts.It is a copy of the New Testament, printed in London, 1643.On
each side, in the centre, are medallion portraits of the king and his
queen, in pierced and repousse silver, within ornamental borders.On the
panels of the clasps are engraved figures emblematic of the elements, and
on the corner clasps emblematic figures of Charity, Justice, Hope,
Fortitude, Prudence, Patience, Faith, and Temperance.Although embroidered books were largely produced during the reign of
Charles I., not many of them were made for himself.One exists in the
British Museum, on a manuscript of Montenay's _Emblemes Chrestiens_, which
is written by Esther Inglis, who was a calligraphist of great repute from
the time of Queen Elizabeth to that of Prince Charles.She is said to have
been nurse to Prince Henry; and it is probable that she worked the binding
of the manuscript.It is covered in crimson satin, and embroidered in gold
and silver cord with a few pearls.In the centre is the Prince of Wales'
feathers enclosed in a laurel wreath, and round it a very handsome border,
with arabesques at the inner corners.A copy of the Psalms, printed in London in 1643, is covered in white satin
and embroidered.It may have belonged to King Charles, and was purchased
by the British Museum in 1888.In the centre, in an oval medallion, is a
minute portrait of the king, wearing a crown with miniver cape and red
robe, with the jewel of the Garter flanked by the letters C. R. Enclosing
this is an arrangement of arabesques and flowers, worked respectively in
silver or gold guimp and silks.There is no record with the book,
but it is quite possible that it was worked for the king.It is one of the
smallest embroidered books existing, measuring little more than 3 inches
by 2.At Windsor there is a copy of the Book of Common Prayer, printed in 1638.It is bound in blue |
kitchen | Where is Mary? | In the
centre are the Prince of Wales' feathers, enclosed within a circular
Garter, and surmounted by a prince's coronet, with C. P. on either side of
it.A rich outer border of arabesques
encloses the central design.Her Majesty lent this book to the Burlington
Fine Arts Club in 1891.It was figured in the _Queen_ of August 15, in the
same year.Daniel moved to the hallway.There are several other bindings at Windsor that belonged to
Charles; among them a particularly charming specimen covers a copy of
_Ecphrasis Paraphraseos, G. Buchanani in Psalmos_, 1620.It is a small
book, and bears the Prince of Wales' feathers in the centre, within a
border of crosses, patee, and fleurs-de-lis, surrounded by the Garter.It
has large corner-stamps and a semee of fleurs-de-lis.The other bindings
made for Charles I. in the same library generally bear the royal
coat-of-arms and large corner-stamps, and dates often occur upon them.Aphorismes, Civill and Militarie.Charles Prince of Wales._]
Charles himself certainly took very considerable interest in bookbinding,
and abundant evidence of this is found in the history of Nicholas
Ferrar's establishment at Little Gidding, in Huntingdonshire, the
beginning and ending of which was synchronous with Charles's reign.The
king visited Little Gidding more than once, and always evinced the
liveliest interest in its work, a very important part of which was
bookbinding.The most remarkable feature about these Little Gidding
bindings, which were the work of amateur hands, was the stamped work on
velvet, which actually reached its highest development under the auspices,
and probably by the hands, of some of the Collet family, nieces of
Nicholas Ferrar.They bound books for Charles and for both his sons; but,
unfortunately, no specimen of their finer stamped work done for either of
these princes is in the British Museum.The copy of the _Harmony of the Four Gospels_, known as "[Greek:
MONOTESSARON]," which was given to Charles when Prince of Wales in 1640,
is now in the library of the Earl of Normanton.It measures 24-1/2 x 16
inches, and is bound in green velvet, stamped elaborately in gold.A
_Concordance of the Four Evangelists_, which was probably made for James,
Duke of York, about 1640, is now the property of the Marquis of Salisbury,
and is kept at Hatfield.It measures 20 x 14 inches, and is bound in
purple velvet.Among the small stamps upon it is one of a fleur-de-lis.John travelled to the bedroom._The Whole Law of God, as it is delivered in the Five Books of Moses_, is
another Little Gidding harmony, which was probably made for Prince
Charles.It measures 29 x 20 inches, and is bound in purple velvet, and
decorated with gold stamp-work of a similar kind.It was probably made
about 1642, and now belongs to Captain Gaussen.The whole history of
Little Gidding is most interesting; and, from a binding point of view, its
existence during the reign of Charles I., and his kindly appreciation and
patronage of it in the midst of all his own troubles, will always mark his
reign as an important epoch in English bookbinding.Illustrations of many
of the Little Gidding bindings are given in _Bibliographica_, part vi.No particular binding seems to have been made during the period of the
Commonwealth, at all events I have never been able to discover one in any
of our large libraries; but, to make up for this, during the reign of
Charles II.we have a profusion of royal bindings, many of which are of
considerable beauty.The appointment of Samuel Mearne as royal
bookbinder to Charles II.was in force from 1660 to 1683, and no doubt
long before this Mearne was well known as a fine binder.There is a good
deal of documentary evidence concerning Mearne, chiefly relating to
bindings of Bibles and Prayer Books bound for the royal chapels, and
others for the royal library at St.He decorated his bindings in
three styles, easily distinguishable from each other.Books bound in the
first, or simplest, style are always covered with red morocco, and have a
rectangular panel of gold lines stamped on each side, having at the outer
corners fleurons, or the device of two C's, adosses, crowned, and partly
enclosed within two laurel sprays.This device occurs commonly on Mearne's
books.John journeyed to the bathroom.The backs of these volumes are often richly stamped with masses of
small floral designs, and the lettering is remarkably clear and good.There are numbers of examples, both in our royal libraries and in the
hands of private owners.Although they cannot be called very ornamental,
they nevertheless are of excellent workmanship, and are always in good
taste.Daniel travelled to the bedroom.Charles II._]
The second division are bound in red or dark morocco, the boards being
decorated with what is known as the "Cottage" design, usually having the
crowned monogram in the centre, the remaining spaces being more or less
filled with masses of small stamped work.The fillets and many of the
flowers and ornaments are often picked out with black stain.The third division are bound in red or black morocco, ornamented with
mosaic work of leathers--red, yellow, green, and white.Many of
these books are so intricate in their design that they deserve special
mention; but it may be said, generally, that the leading motive upon them
is a modification or elaboration of the cottage design, so called because
its leading motive is in the shape of the gable of a cottage roof.One of the earliest bindings done for Charles is a copy of the Bible and
Prayer Book, printed at Cambridge, 1660.It is a large book covered in red
morocco, and has a rectangular panel and border, with the royal
coat-of-arms in the centre, all richly decorated with small gold
stamp-work.The binding is not very characteristic of Mearne, although it
is often considered to be his work, and bears some of his stamps.Neither
the crowned monogram which is used upon it, nor the crowned dove bearing
an olive branch, is found on any other bindings by Mearne.The stamp of
the dove with the olive branch is of course symbolical of Charles's return
to the throne of his ancestors.The book may have been bound for special
presentation to Charles on his accession to the throne.In the royal library at Windsor are several specimens of Charles II.One of them is bound in dark blue morocco, with large royal coat-of-arms
and supporters, crest and crown.Mary journeyed to the kitchen.Another in olive morocco is delicately
stamped with arabesques, and the crowned initials C. R.; it has two silver
clasps, with medallion portraits of Charles I. Another is bound in calf,
having in the centre of each board a decorative portrait medallion of
Charles I. in silver, within an ornamental border of figures and
arabesques, having also engraved silver corner-pieces on the two front
corners.In the same library a copy of the Bible, 1660, and Taylor's _Rule of
Conscience_, 1676, are bound respectively in black and red morocco, and
are brilliant specimens of Samuel Mearne's work.The boards are covered
with many irregular small panels, each closely filled with small stamped
work.The Bible was lent to the Burlington Fine Arts Club in 1891, and is
figured both in their Catalogue and in Mr.Holmes's book of the
bookbindings at Windsor.A copy of the works of Charles I., 1662, now at
Windsor, is a beautiful example of Samuel Mearne's inlaid work.It is
bound in deep red morocco, with an inner panel marked with white leather.In the centre is the royal coat, with supporters and crest; and the
remainder of the boards, especially the corners, are ornamented with
elaborate inlays of green and yellow leather, and richly stamped in gold.The British Museum is also rich in Charles II.The Common
Prayer, printed in London in 1622, measuring 17-1/4 x 11-1/2 inches, was
bound for him in black morocco, elaborately inlaid, and stamped in gold
(Fig.A broad, yellow, rectangular panel encloses at the present time
a stamp of the coat-of-arms of one of the Georges.This, of course, is a
subsequent addition, and it is impossible to say for certain whether there
was originally any stamp in the centre of the book or not; but probably
there was a crowned initial.The inner sides and corners of this panel are
ornamented with mosaics of white, red, and yellow leather, with gilded
sprays and small stamps.The outer edges of the panel have at the top
and bottom a cottage arrangement, filled in with small dotted scale
ornament, and further decorated with red mosaic inlays, having gold stamps
and sprays.A somewhat similar arrangement at the sides has scale patterns
and red mosaics, and the crowned initials of the king are impressed at the
roof angles.The gilt front edges of this volume are decorated with
paintings of incidents chosen from the life of Christ, executed under the
gold, and only visible when held in a certain position.19.--_A short View of the late Troubles in England,
etc.The Great Steep's Garden is musked today:
The spices of Araby over it lay,
For Love's handmaiden has passed this way,
Forget-me-nots tressed in her hair.[Illustration: Indian Paint Brush]
Indian Paint Brush.Brave bold warrior, standing afar
On the summit place where the wind-torn pine
At the battle front of the timberline
Knows never an end of the harrowing war
Of Life on Death!--and there arrayed
In the trappings of battle and unafraid,
Painted and feathered in hostile design,
Indian chief on the marching line![Illustration: Arctic Gentian]
Arctic Gentian.Beyond the reach of the timberline,
The long trail lifting, lifting,
Past wizened gardens of low gaunt pine,
Crouching out of the great storm's path:
The last tree flees from the arctic wrath,
But on is the white trail lifting.Cities and rivers and fields beseem
A fantasy, fading, fading,
Lost away in the myth of a dream:
And the wide land reaches beyond our eyes,
A Navajo carpet of strange soft dyes:
Patterned with cities the great web lies,
Woven with fantasies, fading.Rolls in the tide and the cloud waves toss,
The reach of the long land merging:
Where the still white surges part and cross
The quivering vistas seem to be
Of a lost land under the waves of a sea.O summit flower, what strange waves toss
Below in the long, long surging![Illustration: Alpine Primrose]
Alpine Primrose.Happy Heart coming home from the far, far hills,
How the primrose flamed in the arctic chills!And you heard the flutes of the summit birds:
You will keep forever their sky-lost words,
Happy Heart coming home from the hills.Transcriber's Note
The handwritten image captions were, in some cases, very difficult to
make out.Following are transcriptions, with [notes] where there was
any doubt about content.Colorado Columbine (1/2 actual size)
Aquilegia coerulea
Cather Springs, June 27
Small-leaved Saxifrage (1/3 actual size)
Saxifraga parvifolia
Pikes Peak, Aug.Altitude
Alpine Forget-me-not (natural size)
Mertensia alpina
Pikes Peak, 12,500 ft.altitude
Indian Paint Brush (natural size)
[rest of caption unreadable, possibly Castilleja pruinosa]
Arctic Gentian (natural size)
[unreadable]
Pikes Peak
Alpine Primrose
[rest of caption unreadable]
The first illustration had no caption; the one here in {braces} has
been added for descriptive purposes.IV
In 1841 Douglass entered upon that epoch of his life which brought the
hitherto obscure refugee prominently before the public, and in which
his services as anti-slavery orator and reformer constitute his chief
claim to enduring recollection.Millions of <DW64>s whose lives had
been far less bright than Douglass's had lived and died in slavery.Thousands of fugitives under assumed names were winning a precarious
livelihood in the free States and trembling in constant fear of the
slave-catcher.Some of these were doing noble work in assisting others
to escape from bondage.Siebert, in his _Underground Railroad_,
mentions one fugitive slave, John Mason by name, who assisted thirteen
hundred others to escape from Kentucky.Another picturesque fugitive
was Harriet Tubman, who devoted her life to this work with a courage,
skill, and success that won her a wide reputation among the friends
of freedom.A number of free <DW52> men in the North, a few of them
wealthy and cultivated, lent their time and their means to this cause.But it was reserved for Douglass, by virtue of his marvellous gift of
oratory, to become pre-eminently the personal representative of his
people for a generation.Daniel went to the bathroom.In 1841 the Massachusetts Anti-slavery Society, which had been for
some little time weakened by faction, arranged its differences, and
entered upon a campaign of unusual activity, which found expression in
numerous meetings throughout the free States, mainly in New
England.On August 15 of that year a meeting was held at Nantucket,
Massachusetts.The meeting was conducted by John A. Collins, at that
time general agent of the society, and was addressed by William Lloyd
Garrison and other leading abolitionists.Douglass had taken a holiday
and come from New Bedford to attend this convention, without the
remotest thought of taking part except as a spectator.The proceedings
were interesting, and aroused the audience to a high state of feeling.There was present in the meeting a certain abolitionist, by name
William C. Coffin, who had heard Douglass speak in the little <DW64>
Sunday-school at New Bedford, and who knew of his recent escape from
slavery.To him came the happy inspiration to ask Douglass to speak
a few words to the convention by way of personal testimony.Collins
introduced the speaker as "a graduate from slavery, with his diploma
written upon his back."Douglass himself speaks very modestly about this, his first public
appearance.He seems, from his own account, to have suffered somewhat
from stage fright, which was apparently his chief memory concerning
it.The impressions of others, however, allowing a little for the
enthusiasm of the moment, are a safer guide as to the effect of
Douglass's first speech.Parker Pillsbury reported that, "though it
was late in the evening when the young man closed his remarks, none
seemed to know or care for the hour.... The crowded congregation had
been wrought up almost to enchantment during the whole long evening,
particularly by some of the utterances of the last speaker [Douglass],
as he turned over the terrible apocalypse of his experience in
slavery."Garrison bore testimony to "the extraordinary emotion it
exerted on his own mind and to the powerful impression it exerted upon
a crowded auditory.""Patrick Henry," he declared, "had never made a
more eloquent speech than the one they had just listened to from the
lips of the hunted fugitive."Daniel went back to the office.Upon Douglass and his speech as a text
Mr.Garrison delivered one of the sublimest and most masterly efforts
of his life; and then and there beganDaniel moved to the kitchen. |
kitchen | Where is Daniel? | At Garrison's instance Collins offered Douglass employment as lecturer
for the Anti-slavery Society, though the idea of thus engaging him
doubtless occurred to more than one of the abolition leaders who heard
his Nantucket speech.Daniel moved to the hallway.Douglass was distrustful of his own powers.Only
three years out of slavery, with little learning and no experience
as a public speaker, painfully aware of the prejudice which must be
encountered by men of his color, fearful too of the publicity that
might reveal his whereabouts to his legal owner, who might reclaim his
property wherever found, he yielded only reluctantly to Mr.Collins's
proposition, and agreed at first upon only a three months' term of
service.Most of the abolitionists were, or meant to be, consistent in their
practice of what they preached; and so, when Douglass was enrolled as
one of the little band of apostles, they treated him literally as a
man and a brother.Their homes, their hearts, and their often none too
well-filled purses were open to him.In this new atmosphere his mind
expanded, his spirit took on high courage, and he read and studied
diligently, that he might make himself worthy of his opportunity to do
something for his people.During the remainder of 1841 Douglass travelled and lectured in
Eastern Massachusetts with George Foster, in the interest of the
two leading abolition journals, the _Anti-slavery Standard_ and the
_Liberator_, and also lectured in Rhode Island against the proposed
Dorr constitution, which sought to limit the right of suffrage to
white male citizens only, thus disfranchising <DW52> men who had
theretofore voted.With Foster and Pillsbury and Parker[1] and
Monroe[2] and Abby Kelly [Kelley][3] he labored to defeat the Dorr
constitution and at the same time promote the abolition gospel.The
proposed constitution was defeated, and <DW52> men who could meet the
Rhode Island property qualification were left in possession of the
right to vote.[Footnote 1: Editor's Note to Dover Edition: Reverend Theodore Parker
(1810-1860) was a Unitarian minister who graduated from the Harvard
Divinity School and was active in the Boston area.][Footnote 2: Editor's Note to Dover Edition: James Monroe (1821-1898),
a New Englander with a Quaker mother; in 1839 he became an
Abolitionist lecturer instead of enrolling in college.][Footnote 3: Editor's Note to Dover Edition: Abigail Kelley Foster
(1811-1887), who married another Abolitionist, Stephen Foster, in
1845, was a Quaker orator and organizer on behalf of the abolition of
slavery and for women's right to vote.]John travelled to the bedroom.Douglass had plunged into this new work, after the first embarrassment
wore off, with all the enthusiasm of youth and hope.But, except among
the little band of Garrisonians and their sympathizers, his position
did not relieve him from the disabilities attaching to his color.The feeling toward the <DW64> in New England in 1841 was but little
different from that in the State of Georgia to-day.Men of color were
regarded and treated as belonging to a distinctly inferior order of
creation.At hotels and places of public resort they were refused
entertainment.On railroads and steamboats they were herded off by
themselves in mean and uncomfortable cars.If welcomed in churches
at all, they were carefully restricted to the <DW64> pew.As in the
Southern States to-day, no distinction was made among them in these
respects by virtue of dress or manners or culture or means; but all
were alike discriminated against because of their dark skins.Some
of Douglass's abolition friends, among whom he especially mentions
Wendell Phillips and two others of lesser note, won their way to his
heart by at all times refusing to accept privileges that were denied
to their swarthy companion.Douglass resented proscription wherever
met with, and resisted it with force when the odds were not too
overwhelming.More than once he was beaten and maltreated by railroad
conductors and brakemen.For a time the Eastern Railroad ran its cars
through Lynn, Massachusetts, without stopping, because Douglass, who
resided at that time in Lynn, insisted on riding in the white people's
car, and made trouble when interfered with.Often it was impossible
for the abolitionists to secure a meeting-place; and in several
instances Douglass paraded the streets with a bell, like a town crier,
to announce that he would lecture in the open air.Some of Douglass's friends, it must be admitted, were at times rather
extreme in their language, and perhaps stirred up feelings that a
more temperate vocabulary would not have aroused.None of them ever
hesitated to call a spade a spade, and some of them denounced slavery
and all its sympathizers with the vigor and picturesqueness of a
Muggletonian or Fifth Monarchy man of Cromwell's time execrating his
religious adversaries.And, while it was true enough that the Church
and the State were, generally speaking, the obsequious tools of
slavery, it was not easy for an abolitionist to say so in vehement
language without incurring the charge of treason or blasphemy,--an old
trick of bigotry and tyranny to curb freedom of thought and freedom of
speech.The little personal idiosyncrasies which some of the reformers
affected, such as long hair in the men and short hair in the
women,--there is surely some psychological reason why reformers run
to such things,--served as convenient excuses for gibes and unseemly
interruptions at their public meetings.On one memorable occasion,
at Syracuse, New York, in November, 1842, Douglass and his fellows
narrowly escaped tar and feathers.John journeyed to the bathroom.But, although Douglass was
vehemently denunciatory of slavery in all its aspects, his twenty
years of training in that hard school had developed in him a vein of
prudence that saved him from these verbal excesses,--perhaps there was
also some element of taste involved,--and thus made his arguments more
effective than if he had alienated his audiences by indiscriminate
attacks on all the institutions of society.No one could justly
accuse Frederick Douglass of cowardice or self-seeking; yet he was
opportunist enough to sacrifice the immaterial for the essential, and
to use the best means at hand to promote the ultimate object sought,
although the means thus offered might not be the ideal instrument.It
was doubtless this trait that led Douglass, after he separated from
his abolitionist friends, to modify his views upon the subject
of disunion and the constitutionality of slavery, and to support
political parties whose platforms by no means expressed the full
measure of his convictions.In 1843 the New England Anti-slavery Society resolved, at its annual
meeting in the spring, to stir the Northern heart and rouse the
national conscience by a series of one hundred conventions in New
Hampshire, Vermont, New York, Ohio, Indiana, and Pennsylvania.Douglass was assigned as one of the agents for the conduct of this
undertaking.Among those associated in this work, which extended over
five months, were John A. Collins, the president of the society, who
mapped out the campaign; James Monroe; George Bradburn; William A.
White; Charles L. Remond, a orator, born in Massachusetts, who
rendered effective service in the abolition cause; and Sidney Howard
Gay, at that time managing editor of the _National Anti-slavery
Standard_ and later of the New York _Tribune_ and the New York
_Evening Post._
The campaign upon which this little band of missionaries set out was
no inconsiderable one.They were not going forth to face enthusiastic
crowds of supporters, who would meet them with brass bands and shouts
of welcome.They were more likely to be greeted with hisses and
cat-calls, sticks and stones, stale eggs and decayed cabbages, hoots
and yells of derision, and decorations of tar and feathers.In some towns of Vermont slanderous reports were made in advance of
their arrival, their characters were assailed, and their aims and
objects misrepresented.In Syracuse, afterward distinguished for its
strong anti-slavery sentiment, the abolitionists were compelled to
hold their meetings in the public park, from inability to procure a
house in which to speak; and only after their convention was well
under way were they offered the shelter of a dilapidated and abandoned
church.In Rochester they met with a more hospitable reception.The
indifference of Buffalo so disgusted Douglass's companions that they
shook the dust of the city from their feet, and left Douglass, who was
accustomed to coldness and therefore undaunted by it, to tread the
wine-press alone.He spoke in an old post-office for nearly a week,
to such good purpose that a church was thrown open to him; and on
a certain Sunday, in the public park, he held and thrilled by his
eloquence an audience of five thousand people.On leaving Buffalo, Douglass joined the other speakers, and went
with them to Clinton County, Ohio, where, under a large tent, a mass
meeting was held of abolitionists who had come from widely scattered
points.Daniel travelled to the bedroom.During an excursion made about this time to Pennsylvania to
attend a convention at Norristown, an attempt was made to lynch him at
Manayunk; but his usual good fortune served him, and he lived to be
threatened by higher powers than a pro-slavery mob.When the party of reformers reached Indiana, where the pro-slavery
spirit was always strong, the State having been settled largely by
Southerners, their campaign of education became a running fight, in
which Douglass, whose dark skin attracted most attention, often got
more than his share.His strength and address brought him safely
out of many an encounter; but in a struggle with a mob at Richmond,
Indiana, he was badly beaten and left unconscious on the ground.A
good Quaker took him home in his wagon, his wife bound up Douglass's
wounds and nursed him tenderly,--the Quakers were ever the consistent
friends of freedom,--but for the lack of proper setting he carried to
the grave a stiff hand as the result of this affray.He had often been
introduced to audiences as "a graduate from slavery with his diploma
written upon his back": from Indiana he received the distinction of a
post-graduate degree.V.
It can easily be understood that such a man as Douglass, thrown thus
into stimulating daily intercourse with some of the brightest minds
of his generation, all animated by a high and noble enthusiasm for
liberty and humanity,--such men as Garrison and Phillips and Gay
and Monroe and many others,--should have developed with remarkable
rapidity those reserves of character and intellect which slavery had
kept in repression.Mary journeyed to the kitchen.And yet, while aware of his wonderful talent for
oratory, he never for a moment let this knowledge turn his head or
obscure the consciousness that he had brought with him out of slavery
of some of the disabilities of that status.Daniel went to the bathroom.Naturally, his expanding
intelligence sought a wider range of expression; and his simple
narrative of the wrongs of slavery gave way sometimes to a discussion
of its philosophy.His abolitionist friends would have preferred
him to stick a little more closely to the old line,--to furnish the
experience while they provided the argument.But the strong will that
slavery had not been able to break was not always amenable to politic
suggestion.Douglass's style and vocabulary and logic improved so
rapidly that people began to question his having been a slave.His appearance, speech, and manner differed so little in material
particulars from those of his excellent exemplars that many people
were sceptical of his antecedents.Daniel went back to the office.Douglass had, since his escape from
slavery, carefully kept silent about the place he came from and his
master's name and the manner of his escape, for the very good
reason that their revelation would have informed his master of his
whereabouts and rendered his freedom precarious; for the fugitive
slave law was in force, and only here and there could local public
sentiment have prevented its operation.Confronted with the
probability of losing his usefulness, as the "awful example," Douglass
took the bold step of publishing in the spring of 1845 the narrative
of his experience as a slave, giving names of people and places, and
dates as nearly as he could recall them.His abolitionist friends
doubted the expediency of this step; and Wendell Phillips advised him
to throw the manuscript into the fire, declaring that the government
of Massachusetts had neither the power nor the will to protect him
from the consequences of his daring.Daniel moved to the kitchen.It was written in a style of graphic
simplicity, and was such an _expose_ of slavery as exasperated its
jealous supporters and beneficiaries.Douglass soon had excellent
reasons to fear that he would be recaptured by force or guile and
returned to slavery or a worse fate.The prospect was not an alluring
one; and hence, to avoid an involuntary visit to the scenes of his
childhood, he sought liberty beyond the sea, where men of his color
have always enjoyed a larger freedom than in their native land.In 1845 Douglass set sail for England on board the _Cambria_, of the
Cunard Line, accompanied by James N. Buffum, a prominent abolitionist
of Lynn, Massachusetts.On the same steamer were the Hutchinson
family, who lent their sweet songs to the anti-slavery crusade.Douglass's color rendered him ineligible for cabin passage, and he was
relegated to the steerage.Nevertheless, he became quite the lion of
the vessel, made the steerage fashionable, was given the freedom
of the ship, and invited to lecture on slavery.This he did to the
satisfaction of all the passengers except a few young men from New
Orleans and Georgia, who, true to the instincts of their caste, made
his strictures on the South a personal matter, and threatened to throw
him overboard.Their zeal was diminished by an order of the captain to
put them in irons.They sulked in their cabins, however, and rushed
into print when they reached Liverpool, thus giving Douglass the very
introduction he needed to the British public, which was promptly
informed, by himself and others, of the true facts in regard to the
steamer speech and the speaker.Mary moved to the hallway.The two years Douglass spent in Great Britain upon this visit were
active and fruitful ones, and did much to bring him to that full
measure of development scarcely possible for him in slave-ridden
America.For while the English government had fostered slavery prior
to the Revolution, and had only a few years before Douglass's visit
abolished it in its own colonies, this wretched system had never
fastened its clutches upon the home islands.Slaves had been brought
to England, it is true, and carried away; but, when the right to
remove them was questioned in court, Lord Chief Justice Mansfield,
with an abundance of argument and precedent to support a position
similar to that of Justice Taney in the Dred Scott case, had taken the
contrary view, and declared that the air of England was free, and the
slave who breathed it but once ceased thereby to be a slave.History
and humanity have delivered their verdict on these two decisions, and
time is not likely to disturb it.John went back to the kitchen.A few days after landing at Liverpool, Douglass went to Ireland, where
the agitation for the repeal of the union between Great Britain and
Ireland was in full swing, under the leadership of Daniel O'Connell,
the great Irish orator.O'Connell had denounced slavery in words
of burning eloquence.The Garrisonian abolitionists advocated the
separation of the free and slave States as the only means of securing
some part of the United States to freedom.The American and Irish
disunionists were united by a strong bond of sympathy.Douglass was
soon referred to as "the black O'Connell," and lectured on slavery and
on temperance to large and enthusiastic audiences.He was introduced
to O'Connell, and exchanged compliments with him.A public breakfast
was given him at Cork, and a soiree by Father Matthew, the eminent
leader of the great temperance crusade which at that time shared with
the repeal agitation the public interest of Ireland.A reception to
Douglass and his friend Buffum was held in St.Patricks Temperance
Hall, where they were greeted with a special song of welcome, written
for the occasion.On January 6, 1846, a public breakfast was given
Douglass at Belfast, at which the local branch of the British and
Foreign Anti-slavery Society presented him with a Bible bound in gold.After four months in Ireland, where he delivered more than |
office | Where is Mary? | It
was an epoch of rebellion against the established order of things.The disruption movement in the
Established Church of Scotland, led by the famous Dr.Chalmers, had
culminated in 1843 in the withdrawal of four hundred and seventy
ministers, who gave up the shelter and security of the Establishment
for the principle that a congregation should choose its own pastor,
and organized themselves into the Free Protesting Church, commonly
called the Free Kirk.Mary journeyed to the office.An appeal had been issued to the Presbyterian
churches of the world for aid to establish a sustentation fund for the
use of the new church.Among the contributions from the United States
was one from a Presbyterian church in Charleston, South Carolina.Just
before this contribution arrived a South Carolina judge had condemned
a Northern man to death for aiding the escape of a female slave.This
incident had aroused horror and indignation throughout Great Britain.Lord Brougham had commented on it in the House of Lords, and Lord
Chief Justice Denham had characterized it "in the name of all the
judges of England" as a "horrible iniquity."O'Connell had rejected
profferred contributions from the Southern States, and an effort was
made in Scotland to have the South Carolina money sent back.The
attempt failed ultimately; but the agitation on the subject was for a
time very fierce, and gave Douglass and his friends the opportunity to
strike many telling blows at slavery.He had never minced his words in
the United States, and he now handled without gloves the government
whose laws had driven him from its borders.From Scotland Douglass went to England, where he found still another
great reform movement nearing a triumphant conclusion.The Anti-corn
Law League, after many years of labor, under the leadership of Richard
Cobden and John Bright, for the abolition of the protective tariff on
wheat and other kinds of grain for food, had brought its agitation to
a successful issue; and on June 26, 1846, the Corn Laws were repealed.The generous enthusiasm for reform of one kind or another that
pervaded the British Islands gave ready sympathy and support to the
abolitionists in their mission.The abolition of slavery in the
colonies had been decreed by Parliament in 1833, but the old leaders
in that reform had not lost their zeal for liberty.George Thompson,
who with Clarkson and Wilberforce had led the British abolitionists,
invited Garrison over to help reorganize the anti-slavery sentiment of
Great Britain against American slavery; and in August, 1846, Garrison
went to England, in that year evidently a paradise of reformers.During the week beginning May 17, 1846, Douglass addressed
respectively the annual meeting of the British and Foreign
Anti-slavery Society, a peace convention, a suffrage extension
meeting, and a temperance convention, and spoke also at a reception
where efforts were made to induce him to remain in England, and money
subscribed to bring over his family.As will be seen hereafter, he
chose the alternative of returning to the United States.On August 7, 1846, Douglass addressed the World's Temperance
Convention, held at Covent Garden Theatre, London.There were many
speakers, and the time allotted to each was brief; but Douglass never
lost an opportunity to attack slavery, and he did so on this occasion
over the shoulder of temperance.He stated that he was not a delegate
to the convention, because those whom he might have represented were
placed beyond the pale of American temperance societies either by
slavery or by an inveterate prejudice against their color.He referred
to the mobbing of a procession of temperance societies in
Philadelphia several years before, the burning of one of their
churches, and the wrecking of their best temperance hall.These
remarks brought out loud protests and calls for order from the
American delegates present, who manifested the usual American
sensitiveness to criticism, especially on the subject of slavery; but
the house sustained Douglass, and demanded that he go on.Douglass was
denounced for this in a letter to the New York papers by Rev.Cox,
one of the American delegates.Douglass's reply to this letter gave him the better of the
controversy.He sometimes expressed the belief, founded on long
experience, that doctors of divinity were, as a rule, among the most
ardent supporters of slavery.Cox, who seems at least to have met
the description, was also a delegate to the Evangelical Alliance,
which met in London, August 19, 1846, with a membership of one
thousand delegates from fifty different evangelical sects throughout
the world.The question was raised in the convention whether or not
fellowship should be held with slaveholders.Cox and the other
Americans held that it should, and their views ultimately prevailed.Douglass made some telling speeches at Anti-slavery League meetings,
in denunciation of the cowardice of the Alliance, and won a wide
popularity.Not only did this visit give
him a great opportunity to influence British public opinion against
slavery, but the material benefits to himself were inestimable.Sandra travelled to the hallway.He
had left the United States a slave before the law, denied every civil
right and every social privilege, literally a man without a country,
and forced to cross the Atlantic among the cattle in the steerage of
the steamboat.During his sojourn in Great Britain an English lady,
Mrs.Ellen Richardson, of Newcastle, had raised seven hundred and
fifty dollars, which was paid over to Hugh Auld, of Maryland, to secure
Douglass's legal manumission; and, not content with this generous
work, the same large-hearted lady had raised by subscription about
two thousand five hundred dollars, which Douglass carried back to the
United States as a free gift, and used to start his newspaper.He had
met in Europe, as he said in a farewell speech, men quite as white as
he had ever seen in the United States and of quite as noble exterior,
and had seen in their faces no scorn of his complexion.He had
travelled over the four kingdoms, and had encountered no sign of
disrespect.He had been lionized in London, had spoken every night of
his last month there, and had declined as many more invitations.He had
shaken hands with the venerable Clarkson, and had breakfasted with the
philosopher Combe, the author of _The Constitution of Man_.He had won
the friendship of John Bright, had broken bread with Sir John Bowring,
had been introduced to Lord Brougham, the brilliant leader of the
Liberal party, and had listened to his wonderful eloquence.He had met
Douglas Jerrold, the famous wit, and had been entertained by the poet
William Howitt, who made a farewell speech in his honor.Everywhere he
had denounced slavery, everywhere hospitable doors had opened wide to
receive him, everywhere he had made friends for himself and his cause.A slave and an outcast at home, he had been made to feel himself a
gentleman, had been the companion of great men and good women.Urged
to remain in this land of freedom, and offered aid to establish
himself in life there, his heart bled for his less fortunate brethren
in captivity; and, with the God-speed of his English friends ringing
in his ears, he went back to America,--to scorn, to obloquy, to
ostracism, but after all to the work to which he had been ordained,
and which he was so well qualified to perform.He returned to the United States
with the intention of publishing the newspaper for which his English
friends had so kindly furnished the means; but his plan meeting with
opposition from his abolitionist friends, who thought the platform
offered him a better field for usefulness, he deferred the enterprise
until near the end of the year.In the mean time he plunged again into
the thick of the anti-slavery agitation.We find him lecturing in
May in the Broadway Tabernacle, New York, and writing letters to the
anti-slavery papers.In June he was elected president of the New
England Anti-slavery Convention.In August and September he went on a
lecturing tour with Garrison and others through Pennsylvania and Ohio.On this tour the party attended the commencement exercises of Oberlin
College, famous for its anti-slavery principles and practice, and
spoke to immense meetings at various places in Ohio and New York.Their cause was growing in popular favor; and, in places where
formerly they had spoken out of doors because of the difficulty of
securing a place of meeting, they were now compelled to speak in the
open air, because the churches and halls would not contain their
audiences.On December 3, 1847, the first number of the _North Star_ appeared.Douglass's abolitionist friends had not yet become reconciled to this
project, and his persistence in it resulted in a temporary coldness
between them.They very naturally expected him to be guided by their
advice.They had found him on the wharf at New Bedford, and given him
his chance in life; and they may easily be pardoned for finding it
presumptuous in him to disregard their advice and adopt a new line of
conduct without consulting them.Garrison wrote in a letter to his
wife from Cleveland, "It will also greatly surprise our friends in
Boston to hear that in regard to his prospect of establishing a paper
here, to be called the North Star, he never opened his lips to me
on the subject nor asked my advice in any particular whatever."But
Samuel May Jr., in a letter written to one of Douglass's English
friends, in which he mentions this charge of Garrison, adds, "It is
only common justice to Frederick Douglass to inform you that this is a
mistake; that, on the contrary, he did speak to Mr.Garrison about it,
just before he was taken ill at Cleveland."The probability is that
Douglass had his mind made up, and did not seek advice, and that Mr.Garrison did not attach much importance to any casual remark Douglass
may have made upon the subject.In a foot-note to the _Life and Times
of Garrison_ it is stated:--
"This enterprise was not regarded with favor by the leading
abolitionists, who knew only too well the precarious support which a
fifth anti-slavery paper, edited by a <DW52> man, must have, and who
appreciated to the full Douglass's unrivalled powers as a lecturer
in the field... As anticipated, it nearly proved the ruin of its
projector; but by extraordinary exertions it was kept alive, not,
however, on the platform of Garrisonian abolitionism.The necessary
support could only be secured by a change of principles in accordance
with Mr.Douglass's immediate (political abolition) environment."Douglass's own statement does not differ very widely from this,
except that he does not admit the mercenary motive for his change
of principles.It was in deference, however, to the feelings of his
former associates that the _North Star_ was established at Rochester
instead of in the East, where the field for anti-slavery papers was
already fully occupied.In Rochester, then as now the centre of a
thrifty, liberal, and progressive population, Douglass gradually won
the sympathy and support which such an enterprise demanded.The _North Star_, in size, typography, and interest, compared
favorably with the other weeklies of the day, and lived for seventeen
years.It had, however, its "ups and downs."At one time the editor
had mortgaged his house to pay the running expenses; but friends came
to his aid, his debts were paid, and the circulation of the paper
doubled.In _My Bondage and My Freedom_ Douglass gives the names of
numerous persons who helped him in these earlier years of editorial
effort, among whom were a dozen of the most distinguished public men
of his day.After the _North Star_ had been in existence several
years, its name was changed to _Frederick Douglass's Paper_, to give
it a more distinctive designation, the newspaper firmament already
scintillating with many other "Stars."In later years Douglass speaks of this newspaper enterprise as one of
the wisest things he ever undertook.To paraphrase Lord Bacon's famous
maxim, much reading of life and of books had made him a full man, and
much speaking had made him a ready man.The attempt to put facts
and arguments into literary form tended to make him more logical
in reasoning and more exact in statement.One of the effects of
Douglass's editorial responsibility and the influences brought to bear
upon him by reason of it, was a change in his political views.Until
he began the publication of the _North Star_ and for several years
thereafter, he was, with the rest of the Garrisonians, a pronounced
disunionist.He held to the Garrisonian doctrine that the pro-slavery
Constitution of the United States was a "league with death and a
covenant with hell," maintained that anti-slavery men should not vote
under it, and advocated the separation of the free States as the
only means of preventing the utter extinction of freedom by the
ever-advancing encroachments of the slave power.In Rochester he found
himself in the region where the Liberty party, under the leadership of
James G. Birney, Salmon P. Chase, Gerrit Smith, and others, had its
largest support.The Liberty party maintained that slavery could be
fought best with political weapons, that by the power of the ballot
slavery could be confined strictly within its constitutional limits
and prevented from invading new territory, and that it could be
extinguished by the respective States whenever the growth of public
opinion demanded it.One wing of the party took the more extreme
ground that slavery was contrary to the true intent and meaning of
the Constitution, and demanded that the country should return to the
principles of liberty upon which it was founded.Though the more
radical abolitionists were for a time bitterly opposed to these views,
yet the Liberty party was the natural outgrowth of the abolition
agitation.Garrison and Phillips and Douglass and the rest had
planted, Birney and Gerrit Smith and Chase and the rest watered, and
the Union party, led by the great emancipator, garnered the grain
after a bloody harvest.Several influences must have co-operated to modify Douglass's
political views.The moral support and occasional financial aid given
his paper by members of the Liberty party undoubtedly predisposed
him favorably to their opinions.His retirement as agent of the
Anti-slavery Society and the coolness resulting therefrom had taken
him out of the close personal contact with those fervent spirits who
had led the van in the struggle for liberty.Their zeal had been more
disinterested, perhaps, than Douglass's own; for, after all, they had
no personal stake in the outcome, while to Douglass and his people the
abolition of slavery was a matter of life and death.Serene in the
high altitude of their convictions, the Garrisonians would accept no
halfway measures, would compromise no principles, and, if their right
arm offended them, would cut it off with sublime fortitude and cast it
into the fire.They wanted a free country, where the fleeing victim of
slavery could find a refuge.Douglass perceived the immense advantage
these swarming millions would gain through being free in the States
where they already were.He had always been minded to do the best
thing possible.When a slave, he had postponed his escape until it
seemed entirely feasible.When denied cabin passage on steamboats,
he had gone in the steerage or on deck.When he had been refused
accommodation in a hotel, he had sought it under any humble roof that
offered.It would have been a fine thing in the abstract to refuse the
half-loaf, but in that event we should have had no Frederick Douglass.It was this very vein of prudence, keeping always in view the object
to be attained, and in a broad, non-Jesuitical sense subordinating the
means to the end, that enabled Douglass to prolong his usefulness a
generation after the abolition of slavery.Douglass in his _Life and
Times_ states his own case as follows:
"After a time, a careful reconsideration of the subject convinced
me that there was no necessity for dissolving the union between the
Northern and Southern States; that to seek this dissolution was no
part of my duty as an abolitionist; that to abstain from voting was
to refuse to exercise a legitimate and powerful means for abolishing
slavery; and that the Constitution of the United States not only
contained no guarantees in favor of slavery, but, on the contrary, was
in its letter and spirit an anti-slavery instrument, demanding the
abolition of slavery as a condition of its own existence, as the
supreme law of the land."Occasionally,
however, there is found a man whose plans conform to such ideals as
those first named.As with the construction of a house, so it is in some measure with the
building of a character |
office | Where is Mary? | Some lives apparently are constructed to look
at; that is, with the thought that outer adornment and a mere appearance
of worth and beauty constitute the essential qualities.Other lives are,
in a sense, made to sell.Not infrequently parents are found developing
their boys and girls as if the chief purpose were to place them
somewhere or other in the best possible money market.A life is worth
only as much as it will bring in dollars and cents, is apparently the
predominating thought of such persons.And then, occasionally, a life is
built to _live in_; that is, with the idea that intrinsic worth
constitutes the essential nature of the ideal character.And why is not this precisely the question
for all parents to ask themselves at the time they begin the development
of the lives of their own boys and girls?Assuming a fairly sound
physical and mental inheritance on the part of the child and the given
environment as the raw materials of construction, what ideals should
parents have uppermost in mind before undertaking the tremendously
important and interesting duties of constructing worthy manhood and
womanhood out of the inherent natures of their children?_Good health._--It is a difficult task to develop a sound, efficient
life without the fundamental quality of good health.So it may be well
to remind parents of this fact and to urge them especially to avoid in
the lives of the children, first, the beginnings of those lighter
ailments which frequently grow into menacing habits--for example, the
diseases that become chronic as a result of unnecessary exposure to the
weather--and second, those various contagious diseases which so often
permanently deplete the health of children, such as scarlet fever and
whooping cough.It is now held by medical authority that every
reasonable effort should be made to prevent children from taking such
infectious ailments--that the so-called diseases of children can and
should be practically all avoided._Usefulness._--The newer ideals of character-building call for the
early training of all children as if they were to enter permanently upon
some bread-winning pursuit.Such training is a most direct means of
culture and refinement, provided it be correlated with the proper amount
of book learning and play and recreation.Such uniform and
character-building discipline tends to preserve the solidarity of the
race, and to acquaint all the young with the thoughts and feeling of the
great productive classes.It may be this is now regarded as both a
direct means of culture and of leading the young mind into an intimate
acquaintance with the lives of the masses.Such training is regarded
also as one of the best means of preserving our social democracy.Therefore, although on account of inherited wealth the child may
apparently be destined for a life of comparative ease, even then there
is every justification for teaching him early how to work as if he must
do so to earn his own living.Much more will be said about this point
later._Moral strength._--In the construction of a good life, moral strength
must be estimated as one of the important foundation stones.But this
quality is not so much a gift of nature or an inheritance as it is an
acquisition.It cannot be bought or acquired through merely hearing
about it, but it must come as a result of a large number of experiences
of trial and error.The child acquires moral self-reliance from the
practice of overcoming temptation in proportion to his strength, the
test being made heavier as fast as his ability to withstand temptation
increases.As will be shown later, it proves weakening to the character
of the growing child to keep him entirely free from temptation and the
possible contamination of his character in order that he may grow up
"good."_Social efficiency._--The good life is not merely self-sustaining in
an economic way, but it is also trained in the performance of altruistic
deeds.In building up the lives of the young it will be necessary and
most helpful to think of the matter of social efficiency.Therefore, it
will be seen to that the child have practice in assuming the leadership
among his fellows, in taking the initiative on many little occasions,
and in some instances to the extent of standing out against the combined
sentiment of his young associates.Of course, during all this time he
will be backed strongly by the advice and the insistent direction of his
parents, the idea being to induce him to think out his own social
problems and to carry forward any suitable plans of a social nature that
he may devise._Religious interest._--Few parents will deny that religious
instruction is just as essential to the development of a good society as
is intellectual instruction.Indeed, there is much evidence to bear out
the conviction that religion is a deep and permanent instinct in all
normal human beings.This being the case, it is fair to say that such an
instinct should have some form of awakening and indulgence in the life
of the child.However, there is no thought or intention of prescribing
any particular form of religious faith.He might at least be sent to
Sunday school and to church regularly where he may be led to do a small
amount of religious thinking on his own account._Happiness._--The good life is a happy life.But nearly all the
students of human problems seem to think that happiness eludes the grasp
of the one who seeks it in a direct way."I want my children to be happy
and enjoy life," is often the remark of well-meaning parents.They then
proceed as if joy and happiness could be had for money.It is true that
during his early years of indifference to any serious concern or
personal responsibility, the child may be made extremely happy by giving
him practically everything his childish appetites may call for and
allowing him to grow up in idleness.But there comes a time when the
normal individual begins to question his own personal and intrinsic
worth.The instincts and desires of mature life come on and if there be
not available the means for the realization of the better instinctive
ambitions, then bitterness and woe are likely to become one's permanent
portion.However, it may be put down as a certainty that happiness and
contentment will naturally come in full measure into the life that has
been well built during the years of childhood and youth.If the good
health has been conserved, a life of usefulness and service prepared
for, moral strength built into the character, social efficiency looked
after continuously, and something of religious experience not
neglected--it will most certainly follow as the day follows the night
that the wholesome enjoyments and the durable satisfactions of living
will come to such an individual.2.--These Canadian lads are enjoying their first lessons in
live-stock management.We call their conduct play, but surely no one
was ever more in earnest than they.]IS THE HUMAN STOCK COMPARATIVELY SOUND?There are now among the students of the home problems many who are
seriously interested in the matter of breeding a better human stock.Many noteworthy conclusions have already been reached, and ample proofs
have been produced to show that the human animal follows the same
general lines of evolution as do the lower animal orders.It is shown in
general, for example, that little or nothing that man has learned or
acquired during his life is transmitted to his offspring.That is, even
though a man devote many years to the intensive study of music or
mathematics or the languages, such study will not affect the ability of
his child in the study of the specialized subject.The same unaffected
result obtains in respect to any other form of expertness of the merely
acquired sort.For example, the fact that a man through long practice
becomes expert in the use of the typewriter does not affect the
character of the child in respect to such ability.Mary journeyed to the office.It is a no less
difficult task for the child to learn to master the use of the
typewriter keyboard.On the other hand, it is shown very conclusively that physical and
mental characters inborn in the life of a parent tend at all times to be
transmitted to the child, although many traits are known to be wanting
in the first generation of children and to appear in the second or
successive generations.According to the law of Mendel, the traits of
the parents are transmitted to the child about as follows: one-half of
the elements of one's physical and mental natures are inherited from his
parents, one-fourth from his grandparents, one-eighth from his
great-grandparents, and so on.In any given case, however, there might
be great variation from this rule of the averages, just as actual men
and women vary more or less widely from the average human height of so
many feet and inches.There is no thought here of discussing the intricate problems of
eugenics.The purpose of this brief dogmatic sketch is that of
attempting to induce parents to believe that the great mass of our
American-born children are comparatively sound in their physical and
mental inheritances.The pathologists profess to be able to prove that
nature is most kind to the new-born child in respect to inheritance of
disease.In fact, it is shown that very few diseases are directly
transmitted through the blood, and that many once so regarded are now
found to be infectious in their natures.There is considerable
indication, however, that the children of the diseased--tuberculous
parents, for example,--inherit a weakened power of resistance for such
disease.But this matter is somewhat foreign to our present discussion.Best of all, for our present consideration, is the great mass of
evidence sustaining the theory that about ninety-nine per cent of our
new-born infants are potentially good in an economic and moral sense.That is to say, this great majority of the young humanity have latent
within their natures at the beginning of life the possibilities of
development into sound, self-reliant manhood and womanhood.So, the writer of these lines would gladly lead rural parents to the
point of being very courageous and optimistic about their infant
children.He would have them see in the latter all the possibilities of
good and efficiency that they may care to attempt to bring out by
thoughtful and conscientious training.Sandra travelled to the hallway.For that matter, it can be shown
that many of the leaders of men are constantly springing up out of the
ranks of the common masses and from those of humble parentage.Some of
these great leaders, it is true, are what may be called accidental
geniuses in respect to their native strength and their persistent life
purposes.But many others, and perhaps the majority of them, are merely
men and women who have been reasonably sound at birth and who have been
trained from childhood to maturity in a manner that best served to build
up strong, efficient character.REFERENCES
The references given at the close of each chapter are meant
to direct the reader to specific treatment of the topics
named.It is thought that nearly every chapter or book
referred to will be found helpful and instructive to such
persons as may naturally become interested in this volume.In
some instances a line of comment is given to make clearer the
contents of the reference._Ladies' Home
Journal_, April, 1910._Dietetic and Hygienic Gazette._ Gazette Publishing Company,
New York.J. H. Kellogg, M.D.Good Health
Publishing Company, Battle Creek, Mich.363-388, "How to be Strong."_The Independent_,
February._American
Journal of Sociology_, February, 1908.Treats the ethical problems of the home.Chapter 1,
"Usefulness."Chapter IX, "Keeping the Boy on the Farm."Chapter XII, "Moral and Religious
Training."Chapter VI, "Social
Interests."Chapter II, "The Criminal
Natures of Boys."Chapter II, "The
Child born Centuries Too Late."M. Solis-Cohen, M.D.Chapter I, "The
Preservation of Health."Penn Publishing Company,
Philadelphia.Chapter IV,
"Observing the Child.The
Macmillan Company._The Independent_,
July 1, 1909.Relation of the Physical Nature of the Child to His Mental
and Moral Development.Sandra went back to the kitchen._Annual Report
National Educational Association_, 1909, p.CHAPTER II
_THE TIME TO BUILD_
We shall continue to assume that the reader, if a parent, is thinking of
his child as being in the position of one whose character requires
constant attention in order that it may be built up through the right
sort of training and the right sort of practices.Just as certainly as
there is a best time in the season to plow corn and also a time not to
plow, as there is a time to plow deep and another time to plow shallow,
so there is unquestionably a best time to give the child any particular
form of training or to withhold it.In general, it may be said that the
most effective training in respect to the human young is that which
centers most closely around the childish interests and instincts.WHAT OF THE HUMAN INSTINCTS
By observing critically for a few days the conduct of an infant child,
one may notice two or three pronounced instincts at work producing
helpful results in the little life.There is the instinct to nurse, which is so fundamental in securing
the food with which to sustain and build up the body.There is the accessory instinct of crying, also often necessary as
nature's signal for another intake of the food supply.Associated with
these two instincts are a number of reflexes which take care of the
important organic processes, such as digestion, assimilation, and
excretion.Now, we have practically all there is to the "character" of
the human infant.He has, as yet, no instinct for fighting, for sexual
love, or for business.And any effort to arouse and make use of the
last-named dormant qualities would be futile as well as ridiculous.In
respect to a vast majority of the things to be learned, the child is a
mere bundle of potentialities, all of which must bide their time for an
awakening.In short, wise parents soon learn that the center of life in
the infant child is in the stomach, and that if he be fed rightly, kept
much in the open air, clothed comfortably, and bathed frequently, the
body-building processes will usually go on in a satisfactory manner.John moved to the kitchen.Although the little life seems so tiny and the daily round of
infantile activities so simple and monotonous, the character-developing
processes are already making their subtle beginnings.For example, the
first lessons in habit are being inculcated through the comparative
rhythm in the infant's life.It will be found both conducive to good
health and helpful to character-development to attend to all the
infant's needs with strict regularity.Let us follow the new-born child
around his little cycle and see what happens.First, he is given a
hearty meal, which is followed at once by perhaps two hours of profound
sleep.Then, there is a gradual waking, the body writhes and wiggles
slightly, and then more, and then still more, until a loud cry is set
up.Under healthy conditions the crying should go on for a very few
minutes, as it helps to send the good blood through every part of the
body, purifying and building up the parts and carrying out the effete
matter.The function of excretion is not only thus much aided, but the
nervous equilibrium is completely restored.The little life has now
swung completely round to the beginning point of two hours previously
and it is ready to start on another journey with the intake of another
hearty meal.It will be found that the life circle described above continues with
slight variations for the first few weeks, the child sleeping probably
twenty to twenty-two hours out of twenty-four, if it be in a natural
state of health.But slowly the conduct of the infant will become more
complex, and that in response to the growths and changes taking place
within his body.It will be found that he can take a heartier meal, can
stay awake longer, kick harder, wriggle more, and cry louder as the days
multiply.In a month or so his eyes will be seen following some
brilliant or attractive moving body, while the impulsive movements of
the hands will begin to suggest some slight definition of their conduct.Not long thereafter, the baby smile will break out in a reflex fashion
and the hands will likewise grasp objects placed in the little palms.Coordinate with these new activities, nature is at work storing up new
nerve structures and cells, especially in the region of the spinal cord
and the cranial centers.As yet, there is little for the
caretaker to do other than to feed the infant with exceeding care and
regularity, and to enjoy the awakening of the new infant activities.In
four to six months, the young learner will lead a much more complex
life,--sitting |
hallway | Where is Sandra? | But it must be understood that he still hears and sees very few
things in a definite way.Then, in the next two or three months he will
first creep,--he should in time be induced to do so if possible for the
sake of his health,--at length he will stand upright, and finally walk.Mary journeyed to the office.None of these processes must be hastened, although they may be aided
when the inner prompting and strength warrant such conduct.During the second year there will probably break out with sudden and
surprising strength the new instinct of anger.It has been latent there
all the time, but the low degree of intelligence and of nerve structure
has not given it proper support and indulgence.But on an occasion there
is perhaps taken from the child some cherished plaything, when he
suddenly flies into a rage, yelling, screaming, kicking, and growing red
in the face.This outburst of rage is a most interesting and enjoyable
aspect to the parent who rightly understands children, although some
ignorantly make it a matter of deep concern, regarding it as significant
of a vicious character in the coming boy and man.The purpose of this present discussion is to illustrate how the human
instincts come into their functions at various times during the life of
the growing child.And the further purpose is to urge that such thing be
_watched for and met with just the sort of training necessary for
permanent and helpful results_.Now, let the little child fly into a rage two or three times and have
his anger appeased through indulgence in the thing he cries for, and he
has acquired his first lesson in the management of the parent or nurse.He has learned that if he wants a thing, all he needs to do is to squall
or yell and the desired results will be forthcoming.But this childish
rage really furnishes the occasion for the beginning of some
disciplinary lessons."Should I give the child everything he cries for,
or withhold the desired object until he quits?"Neither rule is necessarily the right one, and yet both, on occasions,
may be correct.Suppose, instead of the infant you have a five-year-old
boy who cries for a loaded revolver he happens to see in your hand.Would you give it to him to stop his crying, or withhold it?Suppose
again he should cry for the return of his own plaything which some one
unjustly snatched from him.Would you return his plaything to stop his
crying, or let him cry it out?Now, here is implied the correct answer
in dealing with the outburst of anger in the infant.It is all a matter
of justice and fairness.If some agency, human or otherwise, snatches
his food from his mouth, and the child squalls for its return, indulge
the infant at once.If he has been well fed, comfortably clad and
bathed, and under every proper consideration should lie still and behave
himself, then do not run and take him up because he happens to be trying
your patience with his squalling.Sandra travelled to the hallway.Hold him to it and let him bawl it
out.There is really nothing better coming to him if you are thinking of
the development of his character--and your own.Sandra went back to the kitchen.So, somewhat later on you will find this same instinct of anger
showing itself in the various forms of fighting and quarreling.The
parent who understands the true natures of healthy children will not
worry for a moment because the children show natural dispositions for
contention and combativeness.On the other hand, it will be understood
that these very tendencies furnish the occasion of many a lesson in
social ethics.How can the child ever learn to be just and fair to his
mates or square and considerate in his dealings with adults unless it be
through the give-and-take experiences that come from attempting to get
more than his share,--and failing much of the time,--and from attempting
to over-ride the rights and privileges of others, and having such
attempts properly thwarted?Indeed, it may be regarded as a great
misfortune to the child if he has to grow up as the only one in a home
and is denied the daily companionship of those of his own age from whom
he may learn justice and fairness as a result of his attempts to get
more than is just and fair for himself.The watchful parents will observe that perhaps some time during the
second half year, and with some pronounced repetitions later, there will
be clear manifestations of the instinct of fear on the part of the
child.Again, there is nothing for deep concern other than to meet this
instinct in a general way as has been observed for the others named and
to give the proper training.Fear must have been a human necessity
during many years of savagery and barbarism.It still has its positive
and negative values in the development of character.It serves as a
deterrent from dangerous and criminal acts.It is also found to deter
the growing infant from doing many a thing which he ought to be learning
to do.Fear shows its most interesting aspects in the form of what has
been called social sensitiveness; that is, bashfulness, shyness,
reticence, and the like.Parents should by all means watch closely the various childish and
youthful tendencies to fear, allowing those fears which promise to be
helpful to remain in the life or to die out slowly through counteracting
conduct; and eliminating those other forms which would seem to serve no
useful purpose.Examples of the latter sort would be the fear of
ferocious animals and of murderers.Such mortal enemies are so uncommon
in this civilized land that fear of them will probably be of no service
to life.On the other hand, it may stunt and deter the development of
courage.Especially do such fears tend to induce the habit of
unnecessary concern and deep worry, thus destroying the peace and
happiness and cutting off the length of years of many members of our
society.There is no questioning the value of social sensitiveness in respect
to the development of character in the young.Some degree of bashfulness
and embarrassment in dealing with people, especially those regarded by
him as of superior worth, may be considered an actual asset in the life
of the growing boy.This bashfulness will give him a rich inner
experience of doubts and fears, and of hopes and triumphs.Slowly, under
proper guidance and direction, the sensitiveness wears away through
repeated experience of a contrary sort, and such qualities as create a
self-reliance take its place.On the other hand, it is doubtless a misfortune, especially for the boy,
to become blase--indifferent and unembarrassed in the presence of people
of all ranks and conditions--while he is yet a mere lad.John moved to the kitchen.Under our
present organization of society, the boy who would win the life race
must have much experience of trial and error, of failure and success,
and of tribulation and triumph; and all that for the sake of a
self-reliant character.Now, the boy who has lost all sense of
embarrassment in the presence of others is likely to be denied the
stirring inner experiences just named, and to settle down in an
indifferent, self-satisfied attitude toward the big problems of human
conduct.It may be counted, therefore, as an indication of much promise
and advantage that the country youth and the country maiden continue to
be comparatively "green" and bashful during the period of their
adolescence.The instinct of sexual love will manifest itself at the proper time
and age.Before so doing, certain organic changes and inner nerve
developments must take place.Parents may learn some lessons from
observation of this instinct that will apply to practically all the
others.For example, there should be no attempt to hurry the
manifestation and the functioning of the instinct, nor should the
training necessary for its development and refinement be denied or
withheld.Of all the many inner awakenings that come to the developing
human being, there is probably none that quite matches the surging
energy of sexual love in healthy young manhood and womanhood.And to an
extraordinary degree, opportunities for instruction and development of
the character become present at this time.First of all, parents need to be reminded of the naturalness and
wholesomeness of the sex instincts in adolescent boys and girls.They
must be urged to provide carefully for its natural growth through the
proper commingling of the sexes in a social way, and yet there must be
preserved in the young lives just enough strangeness and mystery about
the sex matters as to indulge the poetic and the romantic aspects of the
unfolding natures.It need not, therefore, be a matter of worry and
unusual concern to parents if their fifteen-year-old son and a
neighbor's thirteen-year-old daughter show pronounced tendencies to be
"crazy in love" with each other.However, this situation furnishes most
fitting opportunities for teaching the boy courtly manners, gallantry,
consideration for women of all ages; and that through and by means of
his own personal experience.In fact, this stirring period of sex-love
opens up in the mind of the boy reflections that tend to run out into
every possible avenue of his future life.That same little girl who shortly ago hated boys and
declared she would never have anything to do with them is now
manifesting much interest in the youth of her acquaintance.This thing
cannot be laughed to scorn, or scolded away, or whipped out of the life
of either boy or girl.Its roots are in the sex organs as well as in the
heart.This first love period furnishes the rarest opportunities for
teaching the girl proper lessons in respect to her comeliness, her
purity of thought, and the sweetness of her own personal character.If
during this time she be withheld entirely from wholesome association
with boys and young men, there is a probability that she may become a
drone or a mope, and especially that she may lose valuable training in
the acquisition of those winsome ways so helpful to young women in the
matter of their obtaining suitable life companions.Sandra went back to the hallway.Perhaps less need be said in respect to giving the growing son those
forms of social training which make it possible for him to win to his
side an attractive helpmate.But beyond the question of a doubt there
can and should be much done by way of training the daughter in this
respect.In addition to her good health, her moral self-reliance, and
those other desirable qualities illustrated in a preceding paragraph,
the young woman who is thoroughly prepared for meeting successfully the
issues of life has had careful training in all the practices that refine
and beautify her character.This duty of rural parents to the growing daughter is no less imperative
than in the case of city parents.It may be considered as an excellent
way of planning for the future happiness and well-being, not merely for
one, but doubtless for an entire family, if the growing girl be indulged
and directed reasonably in social matters during this period of
greatest strength of her natural sex instinct.This thing cannot be
safely put off a few years with the thought that the family will move to
town and then the girl may have her proper opportunities of training.After such procrastination and neglect, it becomes too late ever to
correct the many faults of omission.There develops somewhat late in the lives of young men and young
women what might be called the "homing" instinct, which amounts to
nothing other than a deep and pronounced prompting from within to set
definitely about the matter of getting into a home of one's own and
providing for and building it up.This is different from the mere sex
instinct named above, although perhaps an outgrowth of it.It must be
noted in passing that this homing instinct, when at its strongest,
furnishes the proper occasion for instruction in respect to the home and
the home-building affairs.Happy indeed is the young man or the young
woman who, after a period of such instruction, may have the opportunity
of settling down in a suitable dwelling place and there beginning the
establishment of the ideal family life.Unquestionably there dawns in the life of normal young men--and
perhaps to a milder degree in respect to young women--a pronounced
instinct of a business and economic sort.This inner prompting is
doubtless associated with the two last named.It may be observed by any
person who knows how to study the lives of children and young people
that some particular youth who a few months ago was a spendthrift,
indifferent of his future needs and welfare, is now heard to declare
emphatically again and again that he must get into business, must save
and invest his means and provide for his future needs.So, there is not
a little evidence in effect that we have here another inner development
of the nerve mechanism.And the time is most fit and opportune for the
parents to exhaust every reasonable effort to discover what the youth is
best suited for as a life practice and to guide him on toward the
realization of that purpose.Much more will be said in another chapter
in respect to the choice of a vocation.REFERENCES
Rural parents who develop an intensive interest in the
child-training problems will find it most profitable to read
somewhat extensively in the texts that are not too direct but
that give a careful treatment of the fundamental principles
of child psychology.King's and O'Shea's books listed below
are of this special character.For a fuller list, see Chapter
VI.The Child: A Study in the Evolution of Man.John went back to the office.A. F.
Chamberlain.Chapter I, "The Awakening";
Chapter II, "Am I a Genius?"Chapter V, "Motive: The
Beginnings of Morality."Review Publishing Company,
Baltimore.Chapter XVI, "The Important Human
Instincts."Chapter X,
"Instinct."Rural parents will find this entire
text a non-technical and fundamental help.Chapter XII, "The
Critical Period."Chapter on
"Instinct."Your Boy: His Nature and Nurture.Hodder & Stoughton, New
York.Chapter XII,
"The Instincts of Children"; Chapter XIII, "Instincts and
Habit."Chapter I, "The
Instinct of Activity."_Annals American Academy_,
March, 1909.Are we spoiling our Boys who have the Best Chances in Life?SCRIBNER'S MAGAZINE._Mind
and Body_, June, 1911.CHAPTER III
_THE RURAL HOME AND CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT_
That the farm home is an ideal place in which to build up the lives of
growing boys and girls has become almost a trite saying.But that rural
parents are yet failing to realize the child-nurturing possibilities of
such a place may be exemplified in thousands of instances.When we point
to the farm home as being the best possible place for rearing children,
we mean that it contains all the crude materials for such work, and that
there must be in charge of that work some one who is conscious of the
many aspects of the problem.So we hope to show the fathers and mothers
of the farm community, not what they might do if they were differently
situated, but as specifically as possible what there is in the present
rural home situation that can be made directly available in the
construction of the lives of their children.WHAT AGENCIES BUILD UP CHARACTER?First of all, we must ask, What are the ordinary forces which need to be
brought into service in the development of children?At the head of the
list, we should name play, as furnishing a great variety of instructive
activities; then, work and industry; after that, the recreation that
comes properly after the performance of work.So, we have with all their
implied meanings the three great child-developing agencies: play, work,
recreation.Now the question naturally presents itself, Can the ordinary
farm life be made to furnish in right amount and proportion these three
essential elements of character development?_Play._--The necessity of indulging and training properly the play
instinct of the child is becoming so fully appreciated of late that many
of the state legislatures, and even the national Congress, have seen fit
to make it a matter of deep concern.In order that all children may have
full exercise of the divine, inherent right to play and to learn through
play, many so-called child labor laws have been passed.These enactments
have prescribed conditions under which children will be permitted to
work at gainful occupations, and in the majority of cases they have
strictly forbidden such child labor below the ages of fourteen to
sixteen.But the foregoing efforts in behalf of the young have been of a somewhat
negative sort, merely guaranteeing the child the right to play.On the
positive side, much is also being done.The scientific students of child
life have been pointing to the great benefits of play and to the
|
bedroom | Where is John? | As an outcome of all this research and
public agitation, there is now in progress a general movement which
looks to the placing at the disposal of children everywhere the
equipment and apparatus necessary for building up the character by means
of play experience.The large cities are expending millions of dollars
on municipal playgrounds, and the towns and rural communities are
catching the spirit also.It has been shown beyond a question that adult life can be prepared for
and enriched in many ways by means of scientifically provided play
during childhood.Two or three results are especially sought through the
playground training: (1) better physical health and increased power to
resist disease; (2) enlarged opportunities for the outlet of the
spontaneous activities through the use of the hands and other parts of
the body; (3) the provision of a powerful deterrent of evil thought and
deed and of juvenile crime; (4) the manifold opportunities for learning
how to get along with one's fellows and to treat them in fairness and
justice.3.--This beautiful Kansas home, with its large orchard and many
shade trees adjoining, was constructed "away out on the barren plains
where no tree will grow."In this place an excellent family of nine
children grew up.]It has already been urged that sound health constitutes one of the
foundation stones of good character.Her father was pacing the deck, and so near that he took her hand the
moment she appeared.Good-morning, daughter mine," he said in
tender tones as he bent down and bestowed upon her the caress she never
failed to receive from him when first they met at the beginning of a
new day.Mary journeyed to the office."Good-morning, dear, dear papa, yesterday's saver of my life," she
returned, in moved tones, putting her arms about his neck and pressing
her lips to his again and again."Oh, father, surely I belong to you
more than ever now!""You are my very own, one of my chief treasures," he said, in response
to that."God bless my darling and have her ever in His kind care and
keeping!"He clasped her hand tenderly in his as he spoke, and for a
while they paced the deck together."Oh, where are we, papa?"she asked, gazing from side to side in eager
curiosity."This wide expanse of water cannot be the Welland Canal?""No, we passed through that in the night, and are now in Lake Ontario.""Oh, I am glad we are so far on our journey," she said, "and the water
is so quiet that it seems a very suitable place in which to spend this
sweet Sabbath day.""I think so, if only we try to spend it aright.""And we shall have our usual service
in the morning; we younger ones a Bible lesson with papa in the
afternoon, won't we?""I certainly expect to give my own children a
Bible lesson, and we will not shut out any who may choose to take a
part in it.That would be very selfish, would it not?"I think so, for you always make a Bible lesson
very interesting as well as instructive.""I am glad my daughter finds it so," he said, smiling down upon her.They moved silently back and forth for a few minutes, Lucilla
apparently in deep thought, her father watching with keen and loving
interest the changeful expression of her features."About the narrow escape of yesterday, papa," she answered, lifting to
his a face full of solemn awe."I was asking myself, as I have many
times since my narrow escape of yesterday morning, Was I ready for
heaven?Sandra travelled to the hallway.Would I have gone there if I had been drowned without time to
think and prepare to meet my Judge?Oh, father, can anyone be saved
without time to think and repent of every wrong thought and feeling,
and asking God's forgiveness for it?And how would it be possible to do
all that while struggling for your life?""Daughter," he said in tender tones, "are you not forgetting these
sweet words of Holy Writ: 'He that believeth on the Son hath
everlasting life?'Take notice, it is not shall have, but _hath_.It is
not only the sins already committed which God forgives for Jesus' sake
when He adopts us for His own, but those also which in His omniscience
He sees that we will be guilty of before the work of sanctification is
finished.If we are truly His, they are all forgiven in advance.He
says: 'I give unto them eternal life; and they shall never perish,
neither shall any man pluck them out of my hand.My Father which gave
them me is greater than all; and no man is able to pluck them out of
my Father's hand.In another place he says,
'Verily, verily, I say unto you, He that heareth my word and believeth
on Him that sent me _hath_ everlasting life and shall not come into
condemnation; but _is passed from death unto life_.'The one important
question is, are we really His?Have we accepted His offered salvation
and given ourselves entirely to Him?If that be so we have no cause
for anxiety or fear; for the Lord knoweth them that are His, and will
never suffer any real evil to befall them.Death will be but going home
to Him, and that with all the sin taken away and we made perfect in
holiness, no want of conformity to His holy will left in us.""Yes, papa, but----"
"But what, daughter?"Sandra went back to the kitchen."Oh, if I should be mistaken in thinking that I really belong to Him!"Have you any doubt that you are mine?""No, indeed, papa, not the slightest.""Because you have told me so again and again; and besides, I have only
to look in the glass to see that I have your features, that I resemble
you about as much in looks as a young girl can resemble a----"
"Middle-aged man," he added, finishing the sentence for her as she
paused with an earnest, loving look up into his face."And the Bible tells us," he continued, "that 'Whom He did foreknow He
also did predestinate to be conformed to the image of His Son.'If we
are really His, we will, in a greater or less degree, resemble Him and
will be changed into the same image from glory to glory.""Do you see anything of His image in me, papa?"she asked anxiously,
humbly."I am glad, very glad to be able to say that I think I do, daughter,"
he replied joyously, tenderly."For years past I have watched you very
closely, constantly praying God to bless my efforts to train you up in
the way you should go, and bring you to Him, and I am very happy to say
that for a long while now I have seen that you were striving earnestly
to overcome your faults and live as a true disciple of Christ.And had
you been snatched from me in that sudden way, while the loss of my
dear child would have been terrible to me, I should not have mourned
as those without hope; but should now be looking forward to a happy
meeting with you in that blessed land where sin and sorrow and death
are unknown.""Thank you, dear papa, oh, thank you very much!""If I am a Christian it is because you have taken almost
infinite pains to make me such, to point me to Christ and lead the way;
the way that you made plainer to me than anyone else ever did.""Give all the glory and praise to God, my darling," he responded, in
moved tones."It has been my daily, earnest prayer, that He would give
me wisdom for the work of bringing my children to Him and bless my
efforts, and I think my petition has been granted.When you see a work
laid to your hands for which you feel incompetent, ask help from on
high, remembering and pleading His gracious promise--'If any of you
lack wisdom let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally and
upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.But let him ask in faith,
nothing wavering.'God knows the heart,
and it will be useless for us to plead with Him a promise which we do
not really believe.""Yes, papa; surely that would be insulting to even a human creature.Oh, pray for me, that I may have strong faith and never, never doubt
one word of God's promises, or threats either, and that I may be always
ready for whatever He sends.Oh, I can never thank Him enough for
giving me such a good, kind, praying, Christian father!""And I have great reason for gratitude for the dear children he has
bestowed upon me," her father responded, pressing the hand he held,
"and for the hope that we will spend a blessed eternity together in
that land where sin and sorrow are unknown.""Yes, papa, what a delightful thought that is!and yet I cannot help
feeling glad to stay a little longer here in this world.Oh, this is
such a lovely morning and the view is as new to me as it is enchanting,
for, as you know, in going to Chicago we passed over this part of the
route in the night, so that I saw nothing of the scenery."John moved to the kitchen."Well, I think you may enjoy it to the full to-day," he returned, "and
that some time in the afternoon you will get a sight of the Thousand
Islands; though, by the way, counting all, big and little, there are
fifteen hundred or more.""Then we won't stop at all of them?""Hardly," he answered with a smile."They fill the river for
twenty-seven miles along its course.Most of them are mere rocky
islets, covered generally with stunted hemlocks and cedar trees down
to the water's edge.Some are square miles in extent and others only a
few yards.""And how wide is the river where they are, papa?""It varies from two to nine miles in width.Canoes and small boats may
pass safely among all the islands, and there is a deep channel for
steamboats and large vessels which, having a rocky bottom, never varies
in depth or position.""Do they belong to our country or to Canada, papa?I ought to know,
but, if I ever did, I have forgotten.""The boundary line, which was determined in 1818, passes among them.Grindstone, Carleton, and Wells are the names of the largest of those
belonging to the United States, and Grand and Howe of those belonging
to Canada.""And there are a good many stories connected with them, are there not,
papa?""Yes; perhaps one of these days we will hunt them up; for I know that
my children--to say nothing of older people--are fond of stories.""Especially when told by our father, who is sure to make them
interesting," she said, with an upward glance into his face that spoke
volumes of love and admiration."Ah, such, it seems, is the opinion of my partial eldest daughter, who
can see nothing in her father but what is good and admirable.""A weakness equally shared by his wife," remarked a clear, sweet voice
in their rear.They turned quickly at the sound, the captain exclaiming, as he let
go his daughter's hand, put an arm about Violet, bent down and kissed
her tenderly, "This is a most agreeable surprise, my dearest, for I
left you, at least, so I thought, fast asleep.I moved as quietly as I
could, not wishing to disturb your slumbers.""As you always do move on such occasions, my best and dearest of
husbands," she responded, returning his caresses."You made no noise,
but somehow I happened to wake just as you closed the door, and
thinking I would secure for myself the rare treat of an early walk with
my--better half, I left my berth promptly and began my toilet.So here
I am, to spoil Lu's private morning interview with the almost idolized
father she considers her peculiar property at this hour of the day."he returned laughingly, "I put it the other way.She is my
property, yet hardly more so than my lovely young wife."Sandra went back to the hallway."Yes; you and I belong to each other, and Lu can say the same to you,"
laughed Violet.John went back to the office."So I think, Mamma Vi," returned Lucilla, "and though probably you are
nearer and dearer to him than I, you cannot say as I can, that you have
his blood in your veins and have belonged to him ever since you were
born.""No," acknowledged Violet, "but I can say I belong to him of choice,
you only of necessity."laughed Lucilla; "since if I had the
privilege of choosing, I should be all the same his very, very own.That is, if he would have me," she added, with a look of ardent
affection up into her father's face, and laying her hand upon his
shoulder."There is no question about that, dear child," he said, putting his arm
round her waist again."Since the day I first heard of your birth there
has not been one in which I have not thanked God for this good gift of
His to me," he concluded, with a fond caress."So you see you have no need to be jealous even of me, Lu," Violet
said, with pleased look and smile."No, I am not, Mamma Vi, not in the least; for I would far rather be
papa's daughter than his wife.But, I suppose, you would rather have
him to yourself for a while now, so I will go down----"
"No, no, Lu dear, stay here with us," interrupted Violet, while the
captain drew his daughter a little closer, saying, "Stay where you are.Cannot I have and enjoy you both at once?""Oh, I'm glad enough to be allowed to stay, if you both want me,"
exclaimed Lucilla, with a pleased little laugh."But I thought I had
had my turn and was afraid I'd be in the way now.""When I find you in the way I shall not hesitate to give you an order
to go below," her father said, with a look of amusement.Then, taking her hand in his and giving the other arm to Violet, he
resumed the interrupted promenade of the deck till they were joined by
the children and older members of the family party.All were in excellent
spirits, greatly enjoying the pleasant change from yesterday's storm to
the lovely weather of to-day.John went to the bedroom.Most of the day was spent upon the deck
holding the Sabbath services usual with them there, then in reading
and conversation suited to the sacred time, or in gazing out over
the waters, watching the passing vessels, and as they steamed from
the lake into the St.Lawrence River and pursued their way among the
islands there, gazing upon them with interest and curiosity."Are we going to stop at any of them, papa?""We are in some haste to reach Montreal, as
we hope to find letters there from the home folks.""Yes," said Grandma Elsie, "I am hoping to hear from my boys--Harold
and Herbert--that they have arrived safely at home; also for some news
from all the other dear ones in that vicinity.""And we hope it will be all good news," added Captain Raymond cheerily."And we will send despatches and letters to some of them, that all may
be apprised of our safety thus far," added his wife."By the way, I wonder where our bride and
groom are by this time?I wish we might come across them and persuade
them to travel in the _Dolphin_ again.We would only have to crowd a
little as before, to make room for them.""And none of us would object to that, I think," remarked Rose."I, for one, am decidedly of the opinion that it would pay," said
Lucilla.Daniel travelled to the office."Yes; I have always found their society enjoyable," Captain Raymond
replied to that."And I hope they have found ours agreeable enough to
need but little urging to accept our invitation.""Perhaps we may come upon them in Montreal," remarked Grace."Papa, is
it not the largest city of Lower Canada?""On the left bank of this--the St.Lawrence River, 200 miles below Lake
Ontario; 160 above Quebec, which will be our next stopping place.""Will we get there to-day, papa?""To-day is nearly gone, daughter.See, the sun is
setting, and you and Neddie will be going presently to your beds, to
have a good night's sleep, I hope, and be ready to enjoy to-morrow's
visit to Montreal."CHAPTER X. |
office | Where is Daniel? | "Oh, we must be anchored at Montreal, and it's raining," she said
to herself."There will not be much sight-seeing for us to-day, I'm
afraid.I hope we won't have to hurry away without seeing
anything.Though in that case, perhaps papa will bring us here again
next year."She did not linger long over her toilet, and was soon with her father
on the deck.she exclaimed, after the usual morning greetings had been
exchanged, "aren't you sorry it has turned out a rainy day?""A bright one would seem pleasanter to us, as we had planned to do some
sight-seeing," he replied, "but let us remember who sends the changes
of the weather, that He knows what is best for us, and that we may
safely trust in His knowledge, power, and love for us?""Yes, papa, that is how I ought to feel about it, and I will try to,"
she said, a sweet smile replacing the slight frown that had marred the
beauty of her face for the moment."I think," he went on presently, "that it is not going to be a lasting
rain.Probably showery for some hours, which we can spend with
advantage in a short review of the history of Montreal, and considering
what parts of it are most worthy of our attention; for we cannot take
time to visit every locality.""Oh, what a nice idea, papa!she cried, looking
up into his face with a bright, glad smile, "I do think I have just the
very best, kindest, wisest father----"
"There, there!he said, stopping her flow of words with
a kiss full upon her lips."I am afraid my eldest daughter is a decided
flatterer.""Oh, papa, the truth isn't flattery, is it?"she asked with a roguish
look up into his eyes.but silly young things, like my daughter Lucilla, oftentimes have
vivid imaginations.But to change the subject, Montreal, you know, is
historic ground.""Yes, sir; I remember that the first white man who visited it was
Jacques Quartier or Cartier, a French navigator.Mary journeyed to the office.And didn't he discover
the Gulf and River St."Yes; and named the place here Mount Royal--in honor of his king,
Francis I. The city is built upon an island thirty miles long and
twelve wide, and upon the site of a noted Indian village called
Hochelaga.Cartier's visit was paid in 1535.In 1640 a white settlement
was gathered there.The Indians, friendly at first, afterward became
jealous, then hostile.The whites at first defended their town with a
stockade and slight bastions, but later with a strong wall of masonry
fifteen feet high, with battlements and six gates.""What an old, old town it is!""Did it become a
large city very quickly, papa?""No; its growth was gradual, but when in the middle of the last century
hostilities were begun between the French and English colonies,
Montreal was an important frontier town.It was threatened by the
English under Amherst in 1759, and in the autumn of the next year
passed out of the possession of the French into that of the English.""Yes; though our people invaded it in 1775, after the capture of Forts
St."The first attack was under Ethan Allen, and was made a month earlier
than the taking of those forts," replied the captain."Montgomery had
sent him to arouse the people in favor of the rebellion, as our cause
was then styled by our foes.Allen was active and brave, and soon had
gathered 250 Canadians to his standard.He wrote, Lossing tells us, to
Montgomery, that within three days he would join him, with at least 500
armed Canadians, in laying siege to St."He was marching up the east side of the St.Lawrence when he fell in
with Major Brown, at the head of an advanced party of Americans and
Canadians, and Brown proposed that they should make a joint attack upon
Montreal; telling Allen it was weak and defenceless.Sandra travelled to the hallway.Allen was to get canoes and cross the
river below the city with his troops, while Brown was to cross above
with 200 men, and they were to attack the city simultaneously.Sandra went back to the kitchen."But for some unexplained reason Brown failed to keep his part of the
agreement, and Allen's party made the attack alone.John moved to the kitchen."It was at night, a rough, windy night, that they, 80 Canadians and 30
Americans, crossed the river, and they had so few canoes that three
crossings were necessary to carry the whole party over.That was
safely accomplished by daylight, at which time Allen expected to hear
Brown's signal, telling him that he too had crossed with his men.But
the signal was waited for in vain."Allen would have retreated if the boats could have carried all over
at once; as it was, he placed guards on the roads to prevent people
from carrying the news of his presence into the city.But in spite of
that precaution the inhabitants somehow became aware of it, and soon
troops were seen issuing from the gates.They consisted of a force of
40 British regulars, 200 Canadians, and a few Indians."Two to one of the Americans, if not more!""Yes," said her father, "but so brave were our men that they fought
for an hour and three-quarters before they would surrender.At last,
however, they all deserted but 28, 7 of whom were wounded, and Allen
agreed to surrender upon being promised honorable terms."Sandra went back to the hallway."The prisoners were marched to Montreal and well treated until General
Prescott got them in his custody, when he behaved toward them in the
most brutal manner.Learning that Allen was the man who captured
Ticonderoga, he flew into a rage, threatened him with a halter, and
ordered him to be bound hand and foot in irons and placed on board the
war schooner _Gaspee_.A bar of iron eight feet long was attached to
his fetters, his fellow-prisoners were fastened together in pairs with
handcuffs, and all were thrust into the lowest part of the ship, where
they were allowed neither bed nor seat."what a monster of cruelty that Prescott must have been!""Was he not the same Prescott who had command of the
British troops in Rhode Island some two years later?""The very same; a most unfit man for such a position as he held then
and there.A cowardly wretch, a petty tyrant, with a callous heart, a
narrow mind, and utterly destitute of benevolence or charity.""But what became of Allen finally, papa?If I ever knew, I have
forgotten.""He was kept for five weeks in that deplorable condition, at Montreal,
on board the _Gaspee_; then the vessel was sent down to Quebec, and he
was put on board of another vessel, where he was treated humanely.John went back to the office.He
was sent to England to be tried for treason, and landed at Falmouth,
where his grotesque garb attracted a great deal of attention.He was
afterward sent to Halifax, Nova Scotia, and thence to New York, where,
in May 1778, he was exchanged for Colonel Campbell.""There is not nearly so much to be seen here as in Quebec, is there,
papa?""No," he replied, "and we will not stay very long here, but will spend
more of our time there.""Oh, papa, didn't General Montgomery come to Montreal some time after
the events you have been telling of?"Carleton knew the place was weak,
and at once retreated on board of one of a number of small vessels
lying in the river, as did General Prescott, several officers, and
120 private soldiers.John went to the bedroom.But Montgomery, as soon as he was aware that
they were trying to flee, sent Colonel Baston with continental troops,
cannon, and armed gondolas to the mouth of the Sorel, where they were
posted so advantageously that the British fleet could not pass, so were
compelled to surrender.But Carleton escaped, in a boat with muffled
oars, past the American post to Three Rivers, from which place he soon
reached Quebec in safety."I wish the Americans had been more watchful!"Daniel travelled to the office."They were watchful in their guard boats," replied her father, "but
a dark night and secret way were in Carleton's favor.They secured
Prescott, who certainly richly deserved to be made prisoner and treated
far worse than he was, but that was by no means the loss to the British
that the taking of Carleton would have been, for Prescott's conduct on
many occasions made him a disgrace to their army.But we have had a
long talk, and there is the call to breakfast."In spite of the drip and splash of the rain outside the faces that
surrounded the breakfast table were bright and cheery."There will be no going ashore to-day, I presume," remarked Grandma
Elsie, when the blessing had been asked, and the filling of plates and
coffee cups had begun."I do not despair of it, mother," returned the captain, in cheerful
tones."It does not seem to me like a settled rain.I think it will
clear by noon, and that then we can go about the city and its environs
in carriages."Dinsmore, "though our own are beyond reach at present,
it is altogether likely the city, in the persons of some of its
inhabitants, supplies vehicles for those willing to pay for their use.""No doubt of it," said the captain.queried Violet, noticing that the boy's seat
was unoccupied.I fear he has overslept himself," replied her mother."No, mother," said the captain; "he was early on deck and begged
permission of me to go into the city in quest of our mail.Ah, here
he comes," as a blithe boyish voice was heard at the head of the
companion-way.In another moment the lad entered, looking rosy and exultant.Sandra moved to the office."Mail for us all, not to speak of telegrams," he said, in lively tones,
emptying his pockets as he spoke, and handing letters and papers to one
and another."Mamma, your share is a large one, as it ought to be; the
telegram, from my brothers, I presume, to announce their safe arrival
at home; it is the one at the top of the pile, as you may see," handing
her a number of missives."Yes; and most satisfactory," she said, with a smile and a sigh of
relief, as she opened and read it at a glance.Ah, what cause for gratitude to
the Giver of all good!""There have
been so many accidents, yet we and our dear ones have escaped them all.""It is indeed a cause for gratitude," responded her father."We will
trust in Him and not be afraid; for wherever we go we are under His
kind care and protection.""A most comforting and cheering thought," said the captain.Grandma Elsie was opening a letter post-marked Newport, R. I."Ah, this is from our dear Molly!""She dates 'Paradise
Valley.'"It is on the island of Rhode Island, a few miles out from the City of
Newport," replied the captain."Ah, yes; so she tells me," responded Mrs.Travilla, her eyes still
upon the letter.John went back to the garden."They have taken a furnished house for some months,
there is another within a few yards of it, now empty, and they want us
all to come there, help fill the two, and have a pleasant time for a
few days, or weeks, enjoying the lovely scenery, the sea breeze, and
each other's society."I think we might spend a short time as pleasantly there as anywhere
else," said Mr."I only wish I could be of the party," sighed Walter, assuming a very
depressed expression of countenance; "but my college duties will claim
my attention before that.""For which you may be very thankful, laddie," said his sister Rose."Remember it is not every boy--or young man--who attains to the
blessing of a college education, without having to earn it by hard
work.""I expect and intend to do hard work," returned Walter, stirring his
coffee, for he had seated himself and was beginning a hearty breakfast."On which side is your vote to be cast, Violet, my dear?"asked the
captain in his pleasant tones, turning inquiringly to his young wife."I think a brief visit there, on our homeward route, might be very
enjoyable," she replied; "but if my husband prefers to go directly home
I shall be entirely content."I do not see any need of excessive haste in
returning home, and it shall be just as you say, whether we accept
Cousin Molly's invitation or decline it.""Then suppose we leave it to Lu and Gracie to say what shall be done,
so far as our immediate family is concerned.""Speak freely, daughters, in regard to your
preferences for accepting this invitation or going directly home after
visiting Quebec.""I shall be perfectly satisfied with my father's decision," said
Lucilla, with a smiling look up into his face."I have no doubt the
little visit to Paradise Valley would prove very enjoyable, yet home is
to me the sweetest place on earth, and we have been away from it a good
many weeks already."Captain Raymond looked not ill pleased with her reply, but turned
inquiringly to Grace."I can echo my sister's sentiments, father dear," she said, with her
own sweet smile; "keep me with you and I shall be content and happy
wherever that may be."The captain's answering smile seemed to say he thought no other man had
daughters quite equal to his, but turning to Evelyn he asked what were
her wishes in regard to the matter."I have no doubt a visit to Paradise Valley would be very enjoyable,
captain," she replied, with a smile, "that is, if the place is at all
suggestive of the name, but like your daughters, I shall be perfectly
contented whether we stop there for a time or go on directly home."exclaimed Rosie, "were ever such accommodating girls seen
before?Now, Brother Levis, when I am asked that question I shall give
a different reply, if only to furnish a trifle of the spice of variety.""Consider it asked then, my dear young sister," he returned, with
assumed gravity, but a twinkle of fun in his eye."I do, and my answer is, that I am decidedly in favor of accepting
Cousin Molly's invitation.I have a great desire to see Paradise, since
the thing may be so easily accomplished, and nobody seems to have any
objection to going there.""Then we will consider the question decided in the affirmative," said
the captain, "and make our arrangements accordingly.""Not allowing among them an avoidance of Quebec, I trust," said Walter;
"for I own that I very much want to see that old city.""Set your mind at rest on that point, my boy," said the captain
pleasantly; "I hardly think there is one of us who would willingly miss
that visit.""I am glad to hear you say that, captain," said Evelyn, "for I, for
one, am looking forward to our visit there with a great deal of
interest."The little ones now asked to be excused, and went away to their plays,
but the others sat about the table reading their letters--now and then
a few sentences aloud, for the benefit of the company--until Walter
had finished his meal, when they all gathered in the saloon for their
regular morning service of prayer, Bible reading, and sacred song.When that duty had been duly attended to, the gentlemen and some of
the ladies went upon deck for a time.Rain was still falling, but less
heavily than in the earlier hours, and Captain Raymond and Mr.Dinsmore
decided to pay a visit to the city, promising to return in an hour
or two, bringing vehicles for a drive, in case the weather should so
improve that a little excursion might be taken with safety and pleasure.Travilla, Violet, and the young girls and Walter stood upon the
deck, watching their departure."I hope they may enjoy themselves, but I shouldn't like to walk out in
this drizzle," sighed Grace.Then in a lower, livelier tone, "Mamma, are
you not proud of your husband?I think he is very handsome, even in
that unbecoming waterproof coat.""And I am decidedly of the opinion that everything becomes him,"
returned Violet, with a low, pleased laugh." |
office | Where is Sandra? | It really seems to me that the saloon is
more inviting and comfortable at present than the deck."The others agreed with her, and all went below, where they found the
two little ones begging Grandma Rose for a story to while away the
time."Ah," she said, "here comes your Grandma Elsie, who is far better than
I am at that business."Grandma, won't you please tell us now
about things that have happened at Montreal and Quebec?""Yes, dear; I promised you, and there will be no better time than this
for the telling of the story," Mrs.Travilla answered pleasantly, as
she seated herself and took up her fancy work, while the children drew
their chairs to her side, each young face full of eager expectancy.Grandma Elsie took a moment to collect her thoughts, then gave
the little ones very much the same story of the settlement and
after-history of Montreal that Lucilla had heard from their father
earlier in the day.From that she went on to give a similar account of
Quebec."The city," she said, "is built upon a steep promontory, where two
rivers, the St.Lawrence, on which we now are, and the St.There was formerly an Indian village there called Stadacona.Jacques Cartier, the same person I have been telling you about as
the first white man who visited this spot where Montreal now stands,
discovered that Indian village in the same year.But the city of Quebec
was not founded until 1608; and not by Cartier, but by another man
named Champlain, who on the third day of July of that year raised over
it a white flag.Soon afterward rude cottages were built, a few acres
of ground cleared, and one or two gardens were planted.""Is that all of it there is now, grandma?"there is a city with a very strong fortress; there
are colleges and churches; there is a building yard for vessels, where
thirty or forty are built every year.Quebec has a very fine harbor,
where many vessels can ride at anchor at the same time, and I have read
that from fourteen hundred to two thousand come in every year from the
ocean."asked Neddie, with grave earnestness.Then he wondered why grandma smiled at his query and everybody else
laughed.Travilla replied, "but to trade.They bring goods
to the people--silk, cotton, woolen; salt too, coal, and hardware.And
they carry away what the folks in Canada have to sell, which is mostly
timber.""Did you say French folks live there, grandma?""Yes; it was built by the French in the first place, but taken from
them by the English in 1759.""That was before our Revolution, wasn't it, grandma?""There was war at that time between England and France," she said,
"and, for that reason, war between the English and French colonies
of America.The French built a strong fortress on the island of Cape
Breton, which is at the mouth of this, the St.Lawrence River; they
began also to build forts along the lakes and the Ohio and Mississippi
Rivers.Fleets and armies came over from Europe, and the English and
French colonists, on this side of the ocean, formed armies and engaged
Indians to help them fight each other.The English attacked the French
fortress of Louisburgh on Cape Breton Island, and took it.Then Wolfe,
who was in command, put his troops on board of vessels, and went on up
the river as far as the island of Orleans, a few miles below Quebec.There they built batteries for guns, intending to fire upon Quebec,
where was the French general, Montcalm, with an army of 13,000 men;
some of them regulars, the rest Canadians and Indians."But I will not go into all the particulars, as you two little ones
could hardly understand them well enough to be much interested.""Oh, yes, grandma, please go on," exclaimed Elsie."The English were unsuccessful at first, if I remember right, mamma?""It was nearly night when their divisions
joined, and the grenadiers were so impatient that they charged madly
upon the works of the French before the other troops had time to form
and be ready to sustain them.As a natural consequence they were driven
back to the beach with severe loss, where they sought shelter behind a
redoubt abandoned by the French."A storm was brewing, and the French kept up a galling fire, until it
burst upon their foes with great fury.The tide from the ocean came
roaring up against the current of the river with unusual strength,
and the British were obliged to retreat to their camp across the
Montmorency, to avoid being caught in the raging waters and drowned."Wolfe, who was not a strong, healthy man, was so distressed over the
calamity that he became really ill.Of course he was much fatigued, and
that, joined to distress of mind, brought on a fever and other illness
that nearly cost him his life.It was almost a month before he was able
to resume command."When sufficiently recovered to write a letter, he sent an almost
despairing one to Pitt, but at its close said he would do his best.Then he and Admiral Saunders contrived their plan for scaling the
Heights of Abraham, and so getting possession of the elevated plateau
at the back of the city, where the fortifications were weakest, the
French engineers having trusted for their defence to the precipices and
the river below."Montcalm and his men saw that the English camp was broken up, and
that the troops were conveyed across to Point Levi, then some distance
up the river, by a part of their fleet, while the rest of it remained
behind to feign an attack upon the intrenchment at Beauport.Montcalm,
though he saw these movements, was at a loss to understand them; so
he remained in his camp, while another officer was stationed a little
above the Plains of Abraham, to watch that part of the English fleet
that had sailed up the river."At night the troops were all embarked in flat boats and proceeded
up the river with the tide.The French saw them, and marched up the
shore to prevent them from landing.Toward daylight the boats moved
cautiously down the river, with muffled oars, passing the French
without being perceived, and the troops landed safely in a cove below."Then the light infantry scrambled up the precipice and dispersed a
French guard stationed there, while the rest of the army climbed up
a winding and steep ravine.Operator's Handbook of
WIRELESS TELEGRAPHY
A Simple Treatise upon the Theory and Working
of Commercial Wireless Telegraphy for the
Assistance of Intending Wireless
Operators
BY
C. K. P. EDEN, B.Sc., etc._Consulting Engineer for Wireless Telegraphy Installations
also Electrotherapeutic and Radiography Specialist._
_In the Press._
CONTENTS.Detectors--Transmitters--Tuning Apparatus--Wireless Station
Equipment--Aerials and Earths--Small Power Experimental
Apparatus.[Illustration]
WIRING HOUSES
FOR
THE ELECTRIC LIGHT
BY
NORMAN H. SCHNEIDER
_With 44 Illustrations and 86 pages of Text_
No.[Illustration]
LOW VOLTAGE
ELECTRIC LIGHTING
WITH THE
STORAGE BATTERY
SPECIALLY APPLICABLE TO COUNTRY HOUSES,
FARMS, SMALL SETTLEMENTS, YACHTS, ETC.BY
NORMAN H. SCHNEIDER
_23 Illustrations and 85 pages of Text_
[Illustration]
No.PRACTICAL
SILO CONSTRUCTION
A TREATISE
_Illustrating and Explaining the most Simple and Easiest
Practical Methods of Constructing Concrete Silos of
all types; with Unpatented Forms and Molds.The Data,
Information and Working Drawings given in this book will
enable the Concrete Builder to successfully construct any
of the most practical types of Concrete Silos in use to-day_
BY
A. A. HOUGHTON
Author of "Concrete from Sand Molds," "Ornamental Concrete
Without Molds," etc., etc.18 FULL PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS
New York
THE NORMAN W. HENLEY PUBLISHING CO.& F. N. SPON, LTD., 57 HAYMARKET
1911
No.MOLDING CONCRETE CHIMNEYS
SLATE & ROOF TILES
A PRACTICAL TREATISE
_Explanatory of the Construction of Block and Monolithic Types
of Concrete Chimneys, with easily constructed Molds for
same.The Construction of Monolithic Concrete
Roofs, also the Molding of Concrete Slate,
Roof Tiles and Slabs, are fully
treated_
BY
A. A. HOUGHTON
Author of "Concrete from Sand Molds," "Ornamental Concrete
Without Molds," etc., etc.15 FULL PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS
New York
THE NORMAN W. HENLEY PUBLISHING CO.& F. N. SPON, LTD., 57 HAYMARKET
1911
No.MOLDING & CURING
ORNAMENTAL CONCRETE
A PRACTICAL TREATISE
_Covering the Various Methods of Preparing the Molds and
Filling with the Concrete Mixture; Remedying Defects
in the Cast; Surface Treatment for various effects;
the proper Proportions and Preparation of the
Concrete, and the best Methods of thoroughly
Curing the Work_
BY
A. A. HOUGHTON
Author of "Concrete from Sand Molds," "Ornamental Concrete
Without Molds," etc., etc.5 FULL PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS
New York
THE NORMAN W. HENLEY PUBLISHING CO.Sandra went to the hallway.& F. N. SPON, LTD., 57 HAYMARKET
1911
No.CONCRETE WALL FORMS
A PRACTICAL TREATISE
_Explanatory of the Construction of all types of Wall
Forms, Clamps, Separators and Spacers for Reinforcement.Full Details and Working Drawings of an Automatic Wall
Clamp are given, with the operation of same on all styles
of Walls.Foundations, Retaining Walls, Placing Floor
Joints, Molding Water Tables and Window Ledges, as well as
Molding Fire-proof Floors and Preparing Foundations for
Concrete Walls, are also fully treated_
BY
A. A. HOUGHTON
Author of "Concrete from Sand Molds," "Ornamental Concrete
Without Molds," etc., etc.16 FULL PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS
New York
THE NORMAN W. HENLEY PUBLISHING CO.& F. N. SPON, LTD., 57 HAYMARKET
1911
No.CONCRETE MONUMENTS
MAUSOLEUMS
AND BURIAL VAULTS
A PRACTICAL TREATISE
_Explanatory of the Molding of various types of Concrete
Monuments, with the Construction of Molds for same.Lettering and Ornamental Effects, with simple methods of
securing the desired results, are fully treated.Plans and
Designs for Mausoleums and Burial Vaults are given, with
complete Details of Construction_
BY
A. A. HOUGHTON
Author of "Concrete from Sand Molds," "Ornamental Concrete
Without Molds," etc., etc.18 FULL PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS
New York
THE NORMAN W. HENLEY PUBLISHING CO.& F. N. SPON, LTD., 57 HAYMARKET
1911
No.CONCRETE
FLOORS & SIDEWALKS
A PRACTICAL TREATISE
_Explaining the Molding of Concrete Floor and Sidewalk
Units with Plain and Ornamental Surfaces, also the
Construction of Plain and Reinforced Monolithic Floors and
Sidewalks.Complete Instructions are given for all classes
of this work, with Illustrations of the easily constructed
Molds for Diamond, Hexagonal and Octagonal Floor Tile_
BY
A. A. HOUGHTON
Author of "Concrete from Sand Molds," "Ornamental Concrete
Without Molds," etc., etc.8 FULL PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS
New York
THE NORMAN W. HENLEY PUBLISHING CO.& F. N. SPON, LTD., 57 HAYMARKET
1911
No.MOLDING CONCRETE
BATH TUBS, AQUARIUMS AND
NATATORIUMS
A PRACTICAL TREATISE
_Explaining the Molding in Concrete of Various Styles of
Bath Tubs, Laundry Trays, etc., with Easily Constructed
Molds for the purpose.The Molding of Aquariums and
Natatoriums, as well as the Water-proofing Methods used for
same, are fully treated_
BY
A. A. HOUGHTON
16 FULL PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS
New York
THE NORMAN W. HENLEY PUBLISHING CO.& F. N. SPON, LTD., 57 HAYMARKET
1911
No.NATURAL STABILITY
AND
THE PARACHUTE PRINCIPLE
IN
AEROPLANES
BY
W. LEMAITRE
_Hon.Sec., Aeroplane Building and Flying Society_
_With 34 Illustrations and 48 pages of Text_
[Illustration]
Preface--The Importance of Stability--Speed as a Means
of Stability--The Low Centre of Gravity--Short Span and
Area--Variable Speed and the Parachute Principle--The
Design which fulfils the Conditions.BUILDERS' QUANTITIES
BY
HORACE M. LEWIS
_Associate Institution of Municipal and County Engineers_
_Member of Royal Sanitary Institute_
_Lecturer on Builders' Quantities, Poole School of Technology_
CONTENTS
=General Introduction=--=How to Measure Areas,
with worked Examples=--=Methods of Measurement=:
Excavator--Sewers and House Drains--Bricklayer--Reinforced
Concrete--Mason--Slater--Slate Mason--Tiler--Stone,
Tiling and Slating--Plasterer--Carpenter--Joiner and
Ironmonger--Smith and Founder--Hot Water System---
Lighting-Bells--Plumber--Painter, Glazier and
Paperhanger--=Examples of Billing=.With 6 Illustrations and 54 pages of Text
This work is intended to give an elementary knowledge of
the subject of Builders' Quantities, and to meet the want
for a cheap yet reliable handbook, within the reach of
every building student and all engaged in the Building
Trade.With this work any one connected with the Trade can
measure up efficiently according to the customary methods
of measurement, in the "London Standard."& C. SERIES
Uniform, in cloth, Price 1s.=Modern Primary Batteries.= By N. H. SCHNEIDER.=How to Install Electric Bells, Annunciators and Alarms.= By N. H.
SCHNEIDER.=Electrical Circuits and Diagrams, Part I.= By N. H. SCHNEIDER.=Electrical Circuits and Diagrams, Part II.= By N. H. SCHNEIDER.=Experimenting with Induction Coils.= By N. H. SCHNEIDER
(_H.=The Study of Electricity for Beginners.= By N. H. SCHNEIDER.Sandra journeyed to the office.=Dry Batteries, how to make and Use them.= By A DRY BATTERY EXPERT.=Electric Gas Lighting.= By N. H. SCHNEIDER.=Model Steam Engine Design.= By R. M. DE VIGNIER.=Inventions, how to Protect, Sell and Buy Them.= By F. B. WRIGHT.=Making Wireless Outfits.= By N. HARRISON.=Wireless Telephone Construction.= By N. HARRISON.=Practical Electrics; a Universal Handy Book on Everyday
Electrical Matters.=
14.=How to Build |
office | Where is Sandra? | =The Model Vaudeville Theatre.= By N. H. SCHNEIDER.=The Fireman's Guide; a Handbook on the Care of Boilers.= By K. P.
DAHLSTROM.of the Steam Engine, with a Description of the Automatic
Governor.= By J. P. LISK.=Simple Soldering, both Hard and Soft.= By E. THATCHER.=Ignition Accumulators, their Care and Management.= By H. H. U.
CROSS.=Key to Linear Perspective.= By C. W. DYMOND, F.S.A.=Elements of Telephony.= By ARTHUR CROTCH.Sandra went to the hallway.=Experimental Study of the Gyroscope.= By V. E. JOHNSON, M.A.=The Corliss Engine.= By J. T. HENTHORN.=Wireless Telegraphy for Intending Operators.= By C. K. P. EDEN.=Wiring Houses for the Electric Light.= By N. H. SCHNEIDER.=Low Voltage Electric Lighting with the Storage Battery.= By N. H.
SCHNEIDER.=Practical Silo Construction in Concrete.= By A. A. HOUGHTON.=Molding Concrete Chimneys, Slate and Roof Tiles.= By A. A.
HOUGHTON.=Molding and Curing Ornamental Concrete.= By A. A. HOUGHTON.=Concrete Wall Forms.= By A. A. HOUGHTON.=Concrete Monuments, Mausoleums and Burial Vaults.= By A. A.
HOUGHTON.=Concrete Floors and Sidewalks.= By A. A. HOUGHTON.=Molding Concrete Bath Tubs, Aquariums and Natatoriums.= By A. A.
HOUGHTON._Works on Concrete Structures, by A. A. Houghton,
and now in the Press._
39.=Natural Stability and the Parachute Principle in Aeroplanes.= By
W. LEMAITRE.=Builders' Quantities.= By H. M. LEWIS.& F. N. SPON, Ltd., LONDON.End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Complete List of the S.& C. Series
of Books by E.Towards high water it had a very grand and wonderful appearance.Waves
of considerable magnitude rose as high as the solid or level of the
entrance-door, which, being open to the south-west, was fortunately to
the leeward; but on the windward side, the sprays flew like lightning
up the sloping sides of the building; and although the walls were now
elevated 64 feet above the Rock, and about 52 feet from high-water
mark, yet the artificers were nevertheless wetted, and occasionally
interrupted in their operations on the top of the walls.These
appearances were in a great measure new at the Bell Rock, there having
till of late been no building to conduct the seas, or object to compare
them with.Although, from the description of the Edystone Light-house,
the mind was prepared for such effects, yet they were not expected to
the present extent, in the summer season; the sea being most awful
to-day, whether observed from the Beacon or the Building.To windward,
the sprays fell from the height above noticed, in the most wonderful
cascades, and streamed down the walls of the building in froth as white
as snow.To leeward of the Light-house, the collision or meeting of
the waves produced a pure white kind of _drift_, which is attempted
to be represented in the Frontispiece to this work: it rose about 30
feet in height, like a fine downy mist, which, in its fall, felt upon
the face and hands more like a dry powder than a liquid substance.The effects of these seas, as they ranged among the beams, and dashed
upon the higher parts of the Beacon, produced a temporary tremulous
motion throughout the whole fabric, which to a stranger must have been
frightful.[Sidenote: Saturday, 30th.][Sidenote: Mr John Reid’s Report on the Floating-light.]The artificers laid the Sixty-fifth course to-day, forming the
fourth or bed-room floor.They had, however, no extra hours’ work, a
circumstance which had not occurred for several weeks before.Although,
from the rapid progress which was now making with the Building, there
was every prospect that it would be finished in the course of this
year; yet, as the Light-room and its apparatus were very critical parts
of the operation, which would necessarily fall to be transported to
the Rock at a late period of the season, and were, consequently, liable
to many casualties, it was proper to make provision for continuing the
Floating-light for another winter, in case the light should not be
exhibited from the Light-house.This vessel had now been on her station
for three years; and as she lay at anchor in 19 fathoms water, it had,
consequently, been impossible thoroughly to examine her bottom.What
rendered her state more uncertain, was the condition of the logs of
timber employed for supporting the temporary Railways on the Rock for
nearly a similar period.These logs were of the common Norway-fir, and
when laid down measured about ten inches upon each side; but after
lying about three years on the Rock, they were so much wasted by the
small insect formerly mentioned, that they would not now square to more
than 7 inches, without leaving traces of the ravages of this animal,
having thereby lost at the rate of about one-half inch on each side
of sound timber per annum.Directions had been given to Mr John Reid,
who, during the summer months, had the command of the Floating-light,
and who was also professionally a ship-carpenter, to take a convenient
opportunity of trimming the vessel, in such a manner as to give her a
_list_ first to one side and then to the other, so as to get her bottom
as fully examined as possible.This having been done, Mr Reid intimated
that he considered her in a sound state.The writer accordingly left
the Beacon-house to-day, accompanied by the landing-master, to see
some of the side-planks which had been _dubbed_ or dressed with a
carpenter’s adze, and, on examination, he had the satisfaction to
find that they appeared perfectly fresh.This was a matter of some
consequence to the work, as it must have been attended with great
inconvenience, to have removed such a vessel as the Floating-light,
and put another in her place, even for a short period.After this
inspection, the writer returned to the Rock, having previously
requested of Mr Reid to make a report in writing, which he did in the
following terms:
“_Pharos Floating-Light, off the Bell Rock,
30th June 1810._
“SIR,
“According to your orders, I have, on several occasions, during this
month, _careened_ the Float, and inspected her bottom as much as
possible while the vessel is at anchor; but I can see no appearance
of the wood-worm in any part of it.There is indeed plenty of
sea-weed, mussels, and red-worms (creatures with many feet), but it
is not this kind of worm that perforates the planks of shipping;
and as this destructive animal generally makes its appearance
between wind and water, I am apt to believe that the Pharos’
bottom is perfectly sound and healthy.With regard to the beam and
knee observed to be _working_ a little, I will send a note of the
scantling of the timber that will be necessary for securing it, to Mr
Dickie, the carpenter, at Arbroath.I, for one, have no objections
to another winter on board, without further repairs; for though she
rolls heavily in the trough of the sea, yet she has, upon the whole,
been a very kindly ship to me.--I am, Sir, your most obedient servant,
“To Mr Stevenson.JOHN REID, _Carpenter_.”
[Sidenote: 1810, July.][Sidenote: Narrow escape of one of the Masons.]While William Kennedy, one of the masons, was stepping off the bridge
into the entrance-door of the Light-house, one of the cast-iron slips
of the balance-weight of the crane, weighing about 70 lb., fell from
the top of the building and grazed his left shoulder, but, fortunately,
in so gentle a manner, that it hardly ruffled the skin; a few inches
nearer, it would have carried away his arm or killed him on the spot.[Sidenote: Sunday, 1st.][Sidenote: Writer describes his Cabin.]The artificers laid 12 stones to-day, and the seamen landed no fewer
than 34 blocks.--The writer had now been at the Bell Rock since the
latter end of May, or about six weeks, during four of which he had
been a constant inhabitant of the Beacon, without having been once off
the Rock.Sandra journeyed to the office.After witnessing the laying of the Sixty-seventh or second
Course of the bed-room apartment, he left the Rock with the Tender, and
went ashore, as some arrangements were to make for the future conduct
of the works at Arbroath, which were soon to be brought to a close;
the landing-master’s crew having, in the mean time, shifted on board
of the Patriot.In leaving the Rock, the writer kept his eyes fixed
upon the Light-house, which had recently got into the form of a house,
having several tiers or storeys of windows.Nor was he unmindful of
his habitation in the Beacon, now far overtoped by the masonry; where
he had spent several weeks in a kind of active retirement, making
practical experiment of the fewness of the positive wants of man.His
cabin measured not more than 4 feet 3 inches in breadth on the floor;
and though, from the oblique direction of the beams of the Beacon, it
widened towards the top, yet it did not admit of the full extension of
his arms when he stood on the floor; while its length was little more
than sufficient for suspending a cot-bed during the night, calculated
for being triced up to the roof through the day, which left free
room for the admission of occasional visitants.His folding-table
was attached with hinges, immediately under the small window of the
apartment, and his books, barometer, thermometer, portmanteau, and
two or three camp-stools, formed the bulk of his moveables.His diet
being plain, the paraphernalia of the table were proportionally simple;
though every thing had the appearance of comfort, and even of neatness,
the walls being covered with green cloth, formed into pannels with
red tape, and his bed festooned with curtains of yellow cotton-stuff.If, in speculating upon the abstract wants of man in such a state
of exclusion, one were reduced to a single book, the Sacred Volume,
whether considered for the striking diversity of its story,--the
morality of its doctrine,--or the important truths of its Gospel, would
have proved by far the greatest treasure.[Sidenote: Monday, 2d.][Sidenote: Case of George Dall, an impressed seaman.]In walking over the work-yard at Arbroath this morning, the writer
found that the stones of the course immediately under the cornice were
all in hand, and that a week’s work would now finish the whole; while
the intermediate courses lay ready numbered and marked for shipping
to the Rock.Among other subjects which had occupied his attention
to-day, was a visit from some of the relations of George Dall, a young
man who had been impressed near Dundee in the month of February last:
A dispute had arisen between the Magistrates of that borough and the
Regulating Officer as to his right of impressing Dall, who was _bona
fide_ one of the protected seamen in the Bell Rock service.In the
mean time, the poor lad was detained, and ultimately committed to the
prison of Dundee, to remain until the question should be tried before
the Court of Session.John journeyed to the kitchen.His friends were naturally very desirous to
have him relieved upon bail.But as this was only to be done by the
judgment of the Court, all that could be said was, that his pay and
allowances should be continued in the same manner as if he had been
upon the sick-list.The circumstances of Dall’s case, were briefly
these.He had gone to see some of his friends in the neighbourhood
of Dundee, in winter, while the works were suspended, having got
leave of absence from Mr Taylor, who commanded the Bell Rock Tender,
and had in his possession one of the Protection Medals, represented
in Plate XII., and alluded to at page 209.Unfortunately, however,
for Dall, the Regulating-Officer thought proper to disregard these
documents, as, according to the strict and literal interpretation of
the Admiralty regulations, a seaman does not stand protected unless
he is actually on board of his ship, or in a boat belonging to her,
or has the Admiralty-protection in his possession.This order of the
Board, however, cannot be rigidly followed in practice; and therefore,
when the matter is satisfactorily stated to the Regulating-Officer,
the impressed man is generally liberated.But in Dall’s case this
was peremptorily refused, and he was retained at the instance of
the Magistrates.The writer having brought the matter under the
consideration of the Commissioners of the Northern Light-houses, they
authorised it to be tried on the part of the Light-house Board, as one
of extreme hardship.The Court, upon the first hearing, ordered Dall to
be liberated from prison; and the proceedings never went further.[Sidenote: Tuesday, 3rd.][Sidenote: Magistrates of Arbroath visit the Bell Rock.]During the three years in which the operations of the Bell Rock
Light-house had been in progress, the Magistrates of the Royal Burgh
of Arbroath, where the work-yard was established, had shewn the
utmost attention in forwarding the works, by every means in their
power.In particular, a free or peculiar birth had been given to the
vessels of the Light-house service, where a crane was permitted to
be erected; and the building materials were allowed to be reshipped
for the Light-house, without any additional charge for shore-dues.Indeed, the whole community of this town seemed to view the work, and
those concerned with the operations, in a very favourable manner.The
writer was therefore happy, at this time, in having an opportunity of
giving effect to an arrangement long talked of, with the Magistrates
and some of their friends, of taking a sail to the Bell Rock, to see
the progress of the works.This having been accordingly intimated to
Provost Airth, he gladly embarked in the Tender, along with two of
the former Chief-Magistrates, Balfour and Milne, and Bailies Duncan,
Fleming, Anson, Wightman, and Kid, together with Mr John Colville,
Town-Clerk, Messrs Bruce, Bell, Balfour, Johnston, Christie and
Lindsay, &c. in all sixteen.The vessel sailed from Arbroath at an
early hour, but the weather became thick and foggy, with the wind at
S.E., and it was 2 o’clock P. M., before she reached her moorings at
the Rock, which being then covered with water, the party had to wait
till about 6 before a landing could be made.During these four hours,
the vessel had a very unpleasant rolling motion: the party cast many a
weary look towards the Rock for its appearance; and, on landing, much
satisfaction was expressed at getting a firm footing upon the railways.The party soon began to clamber up to the Beacon, and, after examining
all its parts, crossed the bridge, but only a few ventured to the top
of Light-house, from the narrowness of the passages, and difficult
position of the ladders.After spending fully three hours upon the
Rock, the water began to rise upon the Railways, when the gentlemenJohn travelled to the bathroom. |
garden | Where is John? | The
wind being fair, and the weather pleasant, the Tender soon reached
Arbroath, when the party landed, much delighted with their trip, while
the writer was not a little pleased at having thus had an opportunity
of gratifying so many of his friends.[Sidenote: Wednesday, 3d.]Sandra went to the hallway.Sandra journeyed to the office.[Sidenote: Number of Artificers on the Rock reduced to 22.]The artificers had yesterday laid the Sixty-eighth course of the
building, consisting of 16 stones, of which 10 had also been landed.The Tender having returned from Arbroath this afternoon, the
landing-master’s crew left the Patriot, and took up their quarters
again on board of the Tender.The artificers lodged in the Beacon
had of late varied from twenty-six to thirty-one in number; but the
Railways being finished, the work now admitted of their being reduced
to twenty-two.During the time that the Rock was covered with water,
and materials could not be landed, the masons were employed in dressing
off and repolishing any inequalities which appeared on the interior
walls of the different apartments.John journeyed to the kitchen.The raising of stones from the
waggons on the Rock to the top of the building, now about 80 feet
in height, had become rather a tedious operation.The lift with the
balance-crane in particular being upwards of 45 feet, it required some
precaution and trouble in coiling such a length of chain upon the
barrel.It therefore became necessary to lessen this operation, by
placing a winch-machine on the store-room floor, and projecting a beam
from the western window, to form a stage in taking up the stones, as
will be understood by examining the third year’s work of Plate IX., and
the general view of the operations at the Rock represented in Plate
XVIII.[Sidenote: Narrow escape of the Smeaton at the Bell Rock.Advantage of
Alarm-bells.]Being now within twelve courses of being ready for building the
cornice, measures were taken for getting the stones of it and the
parapet-wall of the Light-room brought from Edinburgh, where, as before
noticed, they had been prepared, and were in readiness for shipping.The honour of conveying the upper part of the Light-house, and of
landing the last stone of the building on the Rock, was considered
to belong to Captain Pool of the Smeaton, who had been longer in the
service than the master of the Patriot.The Smeaton was therefore now
partly loaded with old iron, consisting of broken railways and other
lumber, which had been lying about the Rock.After landing these at
Arbroath, she took on board James Craw, with his horse and cart,
which could now be spared at the work-yard, to be employed in carting
the stones from Edinburgh to Leith.Alexander Davidson and William
Kennedy, two careful masons, were also sent to take charge of the
loading of the stones at Greenside, and stowing them on board of the
vessel at Leith.The writer also went on board, with a view to call
at the Bell Rock, and to take his passage up the Firth of Forth.The
wind, however, coming to blow very fresh from the eastward, with thick
and foggy weather, it became necessary to reef the mainsail, and set
the second-jib.John travelled to the bathroom.When in the act of making a tack towards the Tender,
the sailors who worked the head sheets were all of a sudden alarmed
with the sound of the smith’s hammer and anvil on the Beacon, and had
just time to put the ship about to save her from running ashore on the
north western point of the Rock, marked “James Craw’s horse,” in Plate
VI.On looking towards the direction from whence the sound came, the
Building and Beacon-house were seen, with consternation, while the ship
was hailed by those on the Rock, who were no less confounded at seeing
the near approach of the Smeaton, and, just as the vessel cleared
the danger, the smith and those in the mortar-galley made signs in
token of their happiness at our fortunate escape.From this occurrence
the writer had an experimental proof of the utility of the large
Bells which were in preparation to be rung by the machinery of the
Revolving-light; for, had it not been the sound of the smith’s anvil,
the Smeaton, in all probability, would have been wrecked upon the Rock.In case the vessel had struck, those on board might have been safe,
having now the Beacon-house as a place of refuge; but the vessel, which
was going at a great velocity, must have suffered severely, and it was
more than probable that the horse would have been drowned, there being
no means of getting him out of the vessel.Of this valuable animal and
his master, both delineated in Plate X., we shall take an opportunity
of saying more in another part of the work.[Sidenote: The Artificers on the Beacon greatly alarmed.]The weather cleared up in the course of the night, but the wind shifted
to the N.E., and blew very fresh: and it was with difficulty that a
communication could be made with the Tender, after which the Smeaton
bore away for Leith about 7 A. M. At 9 she was abreast of Fifeness, and
at half-past 1 P. M. got safely into Leith harbour, after a passage
of about six hours, which was fully the quickest which the writer
had made from the Bell Rock to Leith, a distance of about 88 miles.From the force of the wind, being now the period of spring-tides, a
very heavy swell was experienced at the Rock: at 2 o’clock on the
following morning, the people on the Beacon were in a state of great
alarm about their safety, as the sea had broke up part of the floor
of the mortar-gallery, which was thus cleared of the lime-casks, and
other buoyant articles; and the alarm-bell being rung, all hands were
called to render what assistance was in their power for the safety of
themselves and the materials.At this time, some would willingly have
left the Beacon and gone into the Building: the sea, however, ran so
high, that there was no passage along the bridge of communication;
and when the interior of the Light-house came to be examined in the
morning, it appeared that great quantities of water had come over the
walls, now 80 feet in height, and had run down through the several
apartments, and out at the entrance-door.From this state of things the
work was stopped for two days, in the course of which the joiners got
the mortar-gallery refitted, and the landing-master’s crew supplied it
with a fresh stock of materials for making mortar.Notwithstanding this
state of the sea upon the Rock, the Tender and Patriot still kept at
their moorings.Such, indeed, was the practice of the seamen, in this
kind of life, that, unless when the wind blew from N.W., or in such a
direction as made the vessels ride with their sterns towards the Rock,
they never thought of moving from their moorings, unless the vessels
were deeply loaded.[Sidenote: Progress of the Light-room works.]On reaching Edinburgh, the writer found the Light-room and
Reflecting-apparatus in considerable forwardness at the Greenside
Company’s works.He had also received advice from Prescot, that the
plate-glass for the windows would soon be in a state of readiness; and
Messrs Meirs and Son of London intimated, that they would cast the
Bells at any time, on receiving a week or ten days notice.The only
article connected with the light-room, regarding which there was a
doubt, was the glass for distinguishing the light, which had
long since been commissioned from Mr Okey of London, who, though a very
ingenious artist, was rather an irregular correspondent.[Sidenote: Works at Arbroath completed.]The upper course of the Light-house at the work-yard of Arbroath, was
completed on the 6th, and the whole of the stones were therefore now
ready for being shipped to the Rock.The operations of the hewers
or stone-cutters were thus brought very nearly to a close: only the
23 steps of the stone staircase of the Light-house remained to be
dressed; and this piece of work was reserved for some of the principal
masons, on their return from the Rock, as the steps could not be
conveniently built until the balance-crane and other bulky apparatus
were removed from the building.From the present state of the works,
it was impossible that the two squads of artificers at Arbroath and
the Bell Rock could meet together at this period; and as, in public
works of this kind, which had continued for a series of years, it is
not customary to allow the men to separate without what is termed
a “Finishing-pint,” five guineas were for this purpose placed at
the disposal of Mr David Logan, clerk of works.With this sum the
stone-cutters at Arbroath had a merry-meeting in their barrack,
collected their sweethearts and friends, and concluded their labours
with a dance.It was remarked, however, that their happiness on this
occasion was not without alloy.The consideration of parting, and
leaving a steady and regular employment, to go in quest of work, and
mix with other society, after having been harmoniously lodged for years
together in one large “Guildhall or Barrack,” was rather painful.The completion of this part of the work at Arbroath was felt as an
era in the Light-house affairs, by admitting of the discharge of so
considerable a number of the artificers.Mr David Logan, by this means
also, got off to the Bell Rock, having been hitherto chiefly confined
to the operations ashore.[Sidenote: Mr Smeaton’s daughter visits the Light-house works at
Edinburgh.]While the writer was at Edinburgh, he was fortunate enough to meet
with Mrs Dickson, only daughter of the late celebrated Mr Smeaton,
whose works at the Edystone Light-house had been of such essential
consequence to the operations at the Bell Rock.Even her own elegant
accomplishments are identified with her father’s work, she having
herself made the drawing of the vignette on the title-page of the
Narrative of the Edystone Light-house.Every admirer of the works of
that singularly eminent man, must also feel an obligation to her for
the very comprehensive and distinct account given of his life, which
is attached to his Reports, published in three volumes quarto, by the
Society of Civil Engineers.Mrs Dickson being, at this time, returning
from a tour to the Hebrides and Western Highlands of Scotland, had
heard of the Bell Rock works, and from their similarity to those of
the Edystone, was strongly impressed with the desire of visiting the
spot.But, on inquiring for the writer at Edinburgh, and finding
from him that the upper part of the Light-house, consisting of nine
courses, might be seen in the immediate vicinity, and also, that one
of the vessels which, in compliment to her father’s memory, had been
named “The Smeaton,” might also now be seen in Leith,--she considered
herself extremely fortunate; and having first visited the works at
Greenside, she afterwards went to Leith to see “The Smeaton,” then
loading for the Bell Rock.On stepping on board, Mrs Dickson seemed
to be quite overcome with so many concurrent circumstances, tending
in a peculiar manner to revive and enliven the memory of her departed
father; and, on leaving the vessel, she would not be restrained from
presenting the crew with a piece of money.“The Smeaton” had been named
spontaneously, from a sense of the obligation which a public work of
the description of the Bell Rock owed to the labours and the abilities
of Mr Smeaton.The writer certainly never could have anticipated the
satisfaction which he this day felt, in witnessing the pleasure it
afforded to the only representative of this great man’s family.Mrs
Dickson’s stay in Edinburgh was short, as, in seeing so much of the
Bell Rock works, she had accomplished the chief object which brought
her to this side of the country.On her return to the neighbourhood
of Kendal, the place of her residence, she had the kindness to send
the writer a portrait of her father, together with the vignette of the
Edystone Light-house.[Sidenote: Mr David Logan joins the Works at the Rock.]At the Bell Rock, Mr Peter Logan, foreman builder, was reinforced
by the able and active exertions of his son Mr David Logan, who was
now relieved from attendance at the work-yard of Arbroath, where the
stone-cutters had just completed their operations.In the mean time,
the walls of the Light-house were progressively rising, and, on Friday
the 6th, the artificers laid the Seventy-first course, consisting of 16
stones, and shifted the foot of the Balance-crane from the kitchen to
the bed-room, about 42 feet above the bridge.A considerable time was,
therefore, occupied in raising a stone from thence to the top of the
building.To remedy this, as formerly alluded to, a beam was projected
from the western window of the light-room store, where a winch-machine
and apparatus were placed, with which the stones were raised from the
bridge to the level of the window-sill.The chain of the balance-crane
was then lowered, and hooked into the Lewis-bat of the stone, which
was thus hoisted up, and laid in its place on the building, as will be
fully understood by examining the progress of the work in Plate IX.This additional tackle from the store-room window gave a wonderful
facility to the operation of raising the stones; for, though the time
of working upon the walls of the building was now extended to the whole
day, yet the period of landing the materials upon the Rock was still
unavoidably confined to the few hours during which it was left by the
tide at low-water.[Sidenote: Saturday, 7th.][Sidenote: The Patriot is seven days in being cleared of a cargo.]The landing-master’s crew commenced at 4 o’clock this morning, and
transported 24 blocks of stone and 8 dove-tailed joggles to the Rock
in the course of the day, which cleared the Patriot of her cargo,
when she sailed for Arbroath, having now been no less than 7 days on
the birth.This was, therefore, the most tedious trip since the first
cargo of this season, which, as before noticed, had been on board of
the Smeaton for 11 days.The stones landed to-day could not be raised
to the top of the building, as the joiners had possession of the upper
apartment, where they were fixing the framing used for supporting the
floor-stones, while building.The stones were, in the mean time, left
chiefly on the Rock, though a few were laid upon the bridge.Mary journeyed to the garden.[Sidenote: Saturday, 8th.][Sidenote: Progress of raising the Stones.]To-day the Seventy-second course was laid.The mill-wrights, in the
mean time, made preparations for fitting up another winch-apparatus
on the bed-room floor, similar to that already described for the
store-room, by projecting a beam from its western window, which was to
form another stage for lifting the materials.John travelled to the garden.When, therefore, a stone
was landed on the Rock, and conveyed along the Railways, within reach
of the winch-apparatus upon the bridge, and raised to its level, it was
next hooked by the chain of the winch on the store-room floor: having
attained that height, it was laid hold of by the chain of the machinery
on the bed-room floor; and last of all, it was hooked to the chain of
the balance-crane, by which it was raised to the top of the walls and
laid in its place.The series of machinery now in motion on the Bell
Rock, was very complete, and gave great facility to the landing of the
materials.A set of tackle was at work at the landing-cranes on the
eastern and western side of the Rock, for lifting the stones from on
board of the Praam-boats, and laying them on the waggons: from thence
they were wheeled |
kitchen | Where is John? | [Sidenote: Monday, 9th.][Sidenote: Last cargo of stone shipped at Arbroath.]At Arbroath, the Patriot had now loaded the last cargo of building
materials from that port, consisting of 65 pieces of stone, 4
dove-tailed joggles, 18 casks of pozzolano, lime, sand, and cement,
with three cart-loads of timber, and the necessary supplies of
provisions for the Tender and Beacon-house.From the interest which
the inhabitants of Arbroath took in all that concerned the Bell Rock
Light-house, it soon became generally known that the last cargo from
the work-yard was loading.Upon this occasion, the ships in the harbour
hoisted their colours, in compliment to the approaching termination of
the works; and, at 7 P. M., a great concourse of people collected on
the quays, who united in giving three hearty cheers, as the Patriot
sailed from the harbour.At the Bell Rock, the building-artificers
were at a stand to-day for want of materials, and were employed in
dressing off and polishing the interior of the building, while the
landing-master’s crew were removing lumber from the Rock, which,
for the present, was put on board of the Tender.The joiners and
mill-wrights were occupied in framing a centre for building the
dome-roof of the library.[Sidenote: Tuesday, 10th.]The Patriot reached her moorings this morning, but it was then blowing
a fresh gale from W.S.W., and the Tender’s boat had much difficulty in
getting her hawser _reeved_ through the eye-bolt of the floating-buoy.No materials could be landed on the Rock to-day.[Sidenote: Wednesday, 11th.]The weather being moderate, with the wind at S.E., the landing-master’s
crew proceeded this morning to discharge the Patriot at the early hour
of 3 o’clock; and in the course of the day, 30 blocks and 2 dove-tailed
joggles of stone, and 7 casks of pozzolano, lime, and sand, were
landed, besides some timber, which occupied them till 8 o’clock P. M.,
with little intermission.During this time also, the artificers laid
the Seventy-third course, consisting of 16 stones.[Sidenote: Thursday, 12th.]The building-artificers laid the Seventy-fourth course to-day, being
the floor of the library or strangers’ room, which, like the others,
consisted altogether of 18 stones; but of the floor courses, as before
noticed, only sixteen stones were laid in the first instance, the
centre and the stone connected with the man-hole being left for the
conveniency of moving the machinery as the building advanced in height.The seamen landed 25 blocks of stone, and the remaining 2 dove-tailed
joggles which discharged the Patriot; and at 2 P. M. she sailed for
Leith, to load a cargo of the upper courses of the Light-house, which
had been worked at Edinburgh.The artificers on the Rock were now
reduced to 22, there having been 6 of their number sent ashore at this
time.The Smeaton having loaded 48 stones at Leith, with sundry other
materials, arrived to-day at the Bell Rock; but the praams were still
at their moorings, loaded with part of the former cargo, which the
builders could not yet receive.[Sidenote: Friday, 13th.]To-day the building-artificers laid the Seventy-fifth and Seventy-sixth
courses, consisting each of 12 stones, and the seamen landed 11 stones,
being the remainder of the Patriot’s cargo.Sandra went to the hallway.[Sidenote: Saturday, 14th.]The Seventy-seventh and Seventy-eighth courses were laid to-day: the
landing-master’s crew discharged 26 blocks of stone, and 20 dove-tailed
joggles from the Smeaton, and landed them on the Rock.As it blew very
fresh from the S.W., it was a hard day’s work for the seamen, who
commenced this morning as early as 2 o’clock to load the praam-boats,
and it was between 7 and 8 in the evening before the boats returned on
board of the Tender for the night.[Sidenote: Sunday, 15th.]The artificers laid the Seventy-ninth and Eightieth courses to-day,
consisting of 12 stones each, and had no less than seven and a half
hours of extra time, having been at work from 4 o’clock this morning
till 9 in the evening, owing to some difficulty which occurred in
laying the course, in which the upper storm-hinge cases occurred.[Sidenote: Monday, 16th.][Sidenote: Ring-bar course laid.]The artificers laid the Eighty-first course, consisting of 12 stones
from Craigleith Quarry, being one of these worked at Edinburgh, in
which a groove, for an iron-ring, was cut, as an additional security
for the superincumbent weight of the cornice.In the First course of
the Dome of St Paul’s of London, a continuous chain had been sunk
into a groove, in order to bind the haunches of the arch more firmly
together.Mr Smeaton, alluding to this in his Narrative, also inserted
a chain into each of his floor-courses at the Edystone Light-house.Being of an arched form, these chains inserted into grooves, cut in the
haunch-courses of arches, have a tendency to counteract their pressure
outwards.At the Bell Rock, the writer, however, designed the floors in
such a manner that each projected from the outward wall of the building
towards the centre, and the whole being grooved in a lateral direction,
in the joints, like the deals of a common floor, became as one stone,
having a perpendicular pressure upon the walls.Even in the dome-roof
of the library, though it has a spherical appearance within, yet the
stones are all laid upon horizontal beds, the dome being formed by
hollowing the under beds, and making them overlap or project inward
beyond each other, the pressure being still perpendicular upon the
walls, instead of thrusting outwards, as in the case of an arch.[Sidenote: Description of the Ring-bar.]Instead of a continuous chain, as at the Edystone arches, the
writer here introduced a flat-bar of the best Swedish iron into the
Eighty-first course, having been previously connected in three pieces
with _scarf-joints_ and screwed bolts, with nuts.This bar was set
on edge in the building: it measured 3 inches in depth, 1 inch in
thickness, and was in weight about 400 lb.This bar
was fitted into a groove 3 inches in width, and 4 inches in depth,
cut in the upper bed of the course.The bar having been heated as
nearly as might be to the temperature of about 150 or 160 degrees of
Fahrenheit, it was floated or run up flush with lead, in a very careful
and complete manner by Mr John Gibson, plumber of Leith, who entered
so much into the spirit of this work, that he attended the operation
himself: no pains was, therefore, spared in having this body of melted
lead properly connected with the circular bar of iron.By this means
the iron was preserved from the accession of moisture, and, being much
stronger than copper, it was preferred to that more ductile metal.The
stones of this course were soon laid, but the artificers were occupied
so long with the application of the ring-bar, that they had been at
work from 4 in the morning till 8 in the evening.The Smeaton being
discharged, sailed again for Leith, to take on board the last cargo
of stones for the Light-house.The artificers could only receive 7
blocks of stone and 7 joggles to-day: the Hedderwick Praam-boat was
accordingly left at her moorings with the remainder of the Smeaton’s
cargo still on board.[Sidenote: Tuesday, 17th.][Sidenote: The Dome course occupies much time in laying.]The seamen landed 2 casks of pozzolano and lime, 4 joggles and 6 blocks
of stone, which discharged the praam-boats.The artificers laid 8
stones of the Eighty-second course, forming part of the dome-roof of
the library.This course consisted of 16 stones, which were attended
with much more difficulty than those of the ordinary courses: from
their projecting into the apartment, and being also more easily
injured, they required more precaution in laying and in the fitting of
the joggles.The artificers were therefore at work to-day from 4 in the
morning till half-past 8 in the evening, in laying one-half of this
course.From the prevalence of S. W. winds, the Patriot only reached
Leith at one P. M. yesterday, and commenced loading this morning, when
she took on board 32 pieces of stone.The Smeaton having also arrived
at Leith this afternoon, both vessels were now off the station, and
it was found necessary to dispatch one of the Floating-light’s boats
to Arbroath, for a supply of pozzolano, lime, and sand, and also for
provisions for the people at the Rock.[Sidenote: Wednesday, 18th.][Sidenote: Landing-master’s crew reduced in number.]The building-artificers laid the remaining 8 stones of the
Eighty-second course to-day, and had three and a half hours of extra
time.'But I suppose that is forbidden ground just at present?'Sandra journeyed to the office.he went on,
as I imagined answering my very thoughts.'Yes,' I whispered stupidly; shy of talking about my love affair to
him, yet a little ashamed of my shyness, as more befitting a young
romantic girl than myself.'I will obey'--glancing down at me with grave pleasantness--'if you
will consent that some limit shall be put to the restraint.He really did know then; even to the time Philip was
expected.I did not like to ask him how he had gained the knowledge,
as that might lead to more talk upon the subject than I cared to enter
into.In fact I was completely taken by surprise, and not quite equal
to the occasion.But I soon contrived to account for his knowledge of my secret.John journeyed to the kitchen.My
engagement was well known to Philip's brother and the latter's friends;
and it was quite possible that Robert Wentworth might know some of
them.But however he had found it out, I was quite content that he
should have done so.It would be all the easier to pave the way towards
a friendship between Philip and him, by-and-by.John travelled to the bathroom.For the present I
quietly returned to the subject which I believed to be most interesting
to him, and we talked over Lilian's prospects hopefully if a little
gravely, as we walked slowly on down the lane.'You think there are really some grounds for hoping that she may forget
him?''I should not judge hers to be a changeable
mind.'No; if she had really loved Arthur Trafford, as she
fancied she did, there would be indeed no hope.'Mary journeyed to the garden.'Yes; I firmly believe it _was_ fancy.She never loved the real Arthur
Trafford; she is only just beginning to know him as he is.''Well, I suppose it is all right, so far as she is concerned; and
yet--constancy in love and friendship is part of my religion.One does
not like to have that faith disturbed?'--with what I fancied was a
questioning look.'You forget that Lilian was almost a child when the acquaintance
commenced; barely sixteen.Though I hold that she will be constant to
her love, in even ceasing to care for Arthur Trafford.Do not you see
that she has never known the real man until now--that in fact she has
been in love with an ideal?'I replied, under the impression that he
was putting the questions which he wished to be combated, and willing
to indulge him so far.'It must be rather hard upon a man to discover, after a long
engagement, that he does not accord with his lady-love's ideal--all
the harder if the discovery _does_ not happen to be made until after
marriage,' he said; '_and_ I think you will have to acknowledge that
the ideal you talk about ought to preserve a woman from falling in love
with the counterfeit, rather than lead her to it.''You are talking about a woman, and I a girl.''You must not forget that she was old enough to engage herself to him.How if she had continued in her blindness until too late--how if she
had become his wife?''If she had become his wife before her eyes were opened, Lilian would
in time have recognised her own weakness in the matter, and blamed no
one else.Moreover, she would have made a good wife.''Yes; I suppose it would have been patched up that way; by the slow
heart-breaking process of smiling at grief and all the rest of it.And
of course you mean to imply that her fate would have its use, in the
way of serving as a warning to incautious youth against being in love
with ideals?''Of course I meant no such thing, and you know that I did not,' I
replied, laughing outright.'I should think there is need for a great
deal of the ideal in all love, to keep it alive.''Ah, now we are getting on to fresh ground,' he said enjoyably.'Let me
see, the proposition is that love needs a great deal of the ideal to
keep it alive; and yet'----
But I was not going to indulge him with a disquisition upon love;
giving him a Roland for an Oliver, in my own fashion: 'No one is more
glad that Lilian's has turned out to be only an ideal love, than
yourself.''Ah, that is not spoken with your usual accuracy of statement.Should
you not rather have said that no one could be more sorry than I that
her ideal did not preserve her from'----
'She _is_ preserved; and that is what you care most about.'John travelled to the garden.When we arrived at the turn in the lane leading to the cottage, he took
leave of me.I did not invite him to go in with me, and I think he
quite understood my motive for not doing so, this first evening of our
entrance upon a new life.But he responded as heartily as I could wish,
when I expressed a hope that he would come as frequently as he could
to the cottage; adding that we should expect a great deal from him now
that he had shewn us how helpful he could be in times of emergency.'Besides, it will be good for us, I suppose, to occasionally see one of
the lords of creation, lest we should come to forget that we are but
women.''Yes; you at least require to be occasionally taken down.''You must consider me very amiable to say that in my presence.''Did you hurt your hand when you struck it upon the seat the other day?From the violence of the blow, I was afraid you would suffer a little
afterwards.''Surely you did not call that temper?''O dear, no; I did not venture to call it anything.John journeyed to the hallway.Then if I have cause to be angry with
a person, it is righteous indignation to attack his friend, and enforce
my arguments by blows upon a piece of wood?''You are worse than usual to-night; but come soon to see Mrs Tipper and
Lilian,' I said, smiling.I stood looking after him a moment, as he walked away in the twilight
with the long, easy, swinging motion natural to one of a powerfully
built frame.Moreover I knew that his mental power was at least in
equal proportion to his physical strength, and had no fears as to
Lilian's happiness, by-and-by.John journeyed to the kitchen.The only drawback to her happiness would
be the remembrance of past weakness, and that may not be the worst kind
of drawback one could have in the time of prosperity.As we sat that night by the open window, the May moon flooding the
lovely scene outside, resting, as I persuaded myself, tenderly on _my_
house by the hill-side, nearly facing us, from the other side of the
village, we told each other that some people were not intended for a
life of luxury and grandeur, and that we were of their kind; heartily
agreeing that we were now in our proper sphere. |
bathroom | Where is John? | Dear little Mrs Tipper was a bright example of content and happiness.Never had I seen her at such advantage as at present.Energetic and
cheerful, company manners packed away with her best dresses, she
was a happy little woman again, bustling about her small domain in
a print-dress and large apron, and finding a new pleasure every ten
minutes.There was not even the drawback of anxiety about Lilian in her
mind.Sandra went to the hallway.She had confided to me that she had never felt quite satisfied with
Arthur Trafford as a husband for her niece, though she had been
afraid to trust to her own judgment in the matter, lest her want of
appreciation might arise from her ignorance of society and its ways.But she quite shared my opinion as to the probability of Lilian's
getting healthily over her disappointment.There was nothing to prevent
her giving expression to her real sentiments about the change in her
life, and Lilian had the pleasure of knowing that auntie at least could
not be said to be suffering from reverses.'It does me real good to do it, my dear; it does indeed!'she
ejaculated, when I offered to wash the tea-things for her.'It all
comes so natural and handy again.Sandra journeyed to the office.Little did I think, when I packed up
these and a few other things and brought them to brother's unbeknown,
that I should have the pleasure of washing them again.I couldn't
bear to sell them, because they were father's present to me on my
wedding-day, and nobody has ever washed them but me.You wouldn't
believe how fond I came to be of this one with the little chip in it,
washing it every day for thirty years.John, he used to be sitting
there by the fire with his pipe,' she went on, pointing to a corner,
and evidently seeing in her mind's eye the old cottage home, 'and
telling me how things had been going on at the office in the day; and
the news out of the papers--very fond of the papers, John was; and he
had the reading of them when the gentlemen had done with them.And I
standing here washing up the tea-things, and saying a word now and then
to shew him I was listening.--It all comes back so plain--doesn't it?'she added, apostrophising the cup with tearful eyes.'I can almost hear
the cuckoo clock ticking against the wall.'It was time to put in a word, which I did as gently as possible, and
she was presently smiling cheerily again.'You mustn't think I'm low-spirited, dear; no, indeed.There was
nothing in those old times to make me sad; and John's in heaven.All
this only reminded me, you see.''That I shall, dear; she's so handy and knows about things so much,
more than you might expect.John journeyed to the kitchen.It would never have done to have a fine
lady, afraid of spoiling her hands, for a servant here, you know.'Stopping a moment to open the door and call out to Becky, at work
in the little scullery at the back: 'You won't forget to order the
currants and candied peel for the cake to-morrow, Becky.It must not
be said we hadn't a bit of home-made cake when there's dripping in the
house.A good thing I thought of ordering tins; but that's what I said
to the young man; leave it to me to know what is wanted in the kitchen.''I won't forget, ma'am,' called out Becky in return.'And, Becky'--trotting to the door again--'there's bedroom candles and
soap to be thought of when the grocer comes in the morning.There would
be no sense in having to send into the town when we could have it all
brought.Don't forget to look at the little slate, if I'm up-stairs, to
see if there's anything else wanted.'And so on, and so on, until Lilian and I at last got her up to her
bedroom, fairly tired out, but as happy as a queen.I was rejoiced to see how much good it did Lilian to find that the dear
little woman took so kindly to cottage ways.'How much worse things might have been, Mary.'Yes; I think you ought, dearie.'She and I stood for a few moments at my bedroom window, gazing at the
peaceful scene without.My room, as they already called it, was at
the back of the cottage; and the window commanded a view of the woods
on the one side, and the beautiful open country on the other.But we
tacitly agreed to avoid sentiment; we were not strong enough for that
yet.We just let the outside peace and quiet steal into our hearts,
as we stood there together for a few minutes, my arm about her, and
her cheek resting on my shoulder, and then bade each other good-night
without any demonstration.THREE WONDERFUL RAILWAYS.The 'Three Wonderful Railways' which we propose to notice are the
Brenner, the Semmering, and the Rigi lines.The Brenner line, which lies between Innsbruck and Botzen, and
constitutes a portion of the railway connecting Bavaria and Italy,
although it passes through tunnel after tunnel, until the weary
traveller is prone to abandon all hope of obtaining any view of the
scenery, nevertheless is not content with getting _through_ the pass,
but proudly mounts to the top and passes over the summit level before
beginning the descent.The pass is a low one, indeed one of the lowest
over the main Alps; but then it must be borne in mind that this 'low'
Alpine pass is four thousand seven hundred and seventy-five feet
high; no mean altitude for a railway.Neither is it merely for its
height that the writer is induced to describe it, nor for its pretty
scenery (it can scarcely be called grand), but for the extraordinary
engineering difficulties which the making of the line presented, and
which have been so ably and ingeniously overcome.Some of the more
ordinary difficulties of the district traversed by the line may be
gathered from the fact that the ascent from Innsbruck involves no fewer
than thirteen tunnels, while in the descent there are ten.The line,
clinging to the side of the mountain, has to penetrate projecting rocks
so frequently that it strongly resembles, except in the lovely peeps
obtained in the momentary intervals, the Metropolitan District Railway;
which is dignified by the name of the 'Daylight Route,' because it is
not always underground.In its course up the valley the railway on one
side sometimes rises above the level of the carriage-road on the other,
sometimes finds itself considerably below it.In climbing the pass, the
rail of course never ceases to ascend; while the more humble road bows
to the obstacles it encounters, and rises and falls according to the
nature of the ground.At last, Nature seems determined to put a stop
to the encroachments of steam, and the railroad finds itself directly
facing a lateral valley, the bottom of which lies far below it.Now how to get over this valley and pursue the direct course up the
main valley, seems a problem.The road would descend to mount again;
not so the rail.The difficulty and its solution may be well realised
by imagining a railway cut in the face of a long row of houses (which
must be supposed to represent one side of the main valley).This
railway, starting from one end of the row at the basement level,
gradually rises, in order to pass over the roofs (that is, the head of
the pass) of another row of houses at right angles to and at the end of
the first row.In its course it encounters a side-street (the lateral
valley) with no outlet at the other end, and which is too broad to
be spanned with a bridge.Now the line at this point has reached the
second floor; and to get to the opposite houses and pursue its course,
it turns a sharp corner, runs along one side of the blind street,
crosses it at the further or blind end by merely clinging still to the
houses, returns along the other side, rounds the corner into the main
street, and resumes its course.During this detour the ascent has been
continued uninterruptedly, so that on the return of the line to the
desired opposite corner it has mounted to the third floor.Applying
this illustration, the reader will perceive the ingenious yet simple
solution of the difficulty.The effect on reaching the first corner of the lateral valley is most
remarkable.The line is seen at the opposite corner far above the
traveller's head entering a tunnel; and how he is going to get there
is a puzzle which he hardly solves before he finds himself on the spot
looking down on the corner he has just left, wondering how he ever came
from there.But even this striking instance of engineering triumphs is eclipsed
by a portion of the line on the other side of the pass.Pursuing the
direction he has already come, the traveller has stopped in the descent
at Schelleberg, a small station perched at an enormous height above an
expansive valley, when he perceives a village five hundred feet almost
perpendicularly below him, which he is informed is the next station.It would not take long to reach this village (Gossensass) in a lift,
but in a train he has to run far past it, always descending, then turn
completely round, and run back again in the direction he has come
from, but now on a level with Gossensass.But at the point where this
evolution has to be made occurs another lateral valley, much longer
than the first alluded to; and this time one which it is not desired to
cross, as Gossensass lies as it were on the basement of the house on
the third floor of which is Schelleberg.The train proceeds, therefore,
to turn the corner into the side-street as before; but without pursuing
the street to its end, it suddenly dives into one of the houses,
makes a complete circuit of its interior, and emerges in the opposite
direction; returning to the corner whence it started by means of the
same houses, but on a lower floor.The appearance of this engineering
feat is quite bewildering; and after tunnelling into the hill on the
sharp curve, and then finding himself proceeding back towards the
place he has just come from, the traveller experiences a difficulty in
believing that the line parallel with him, but almost over his head,
is the one he has just been passing over.John travelled to the bathroom.Shortly after Gossensass has
been left behind, the train passes close under and almost into the
gigantic and formidable-looking fort of Franzensfeste; and then after
a few more tunnels, gradually leaves the Alps behind, and descends by
Botzen into the Italian plains with all their luxuriant foliage.It
should be added that the Brenner line was completed in the year 1867,
and that its numerous engineering difficulties entailed an average cost
of about twenty-eight thousand pounds per mile.The Semmering line, which lies south of Vienna, on the way thence to
Trieste, and which, until the completion of the Brenner, was unique in
the boldness of its conception and execution, as also for the height
to which it attained, is now eclipsed as to altitude in more than one
instance; but as a magnificent engineering achievement it can hold its
own against any railway at present constructed.While resembling the
Brenner in many particulars, it differs from it in some important
points.Among these differences is the fact, that whereas the Brenner
line actually surmounts the pass, the Semmering, on reaching a height
of two thousand eight hundred and ninety-three feet, or about four
hundred feet short of the summit, suddenly, as if tired of so much
climbing, plunges into the ground, and only emerges again nearly a
mile off, and on the other side of the pass, which it then proceeds to
descend.It is thus that it may be said to have been the prototype of
its great successor, the Mont Cenis.Mary journeyed to the garden.The Semmering further differs from the Brenner in what may perhaps be
considered its most remarkable feature--namely, its viaducts.For while
the latter avoids many a yawning abyss by some ingenious curve, the
former seems almost to seek the opportunity for a magnificent display
of span.These viaducts occur frequently, being as many as fifteen in
number; and in many instances are formed of a double row of arches, one
standing on the other in the manner sometimes adopted by the Romans
in the construction of their aqueducts.John travelled to the garden.To realise the grandeur of
these viaducts, they should not be seen merely from a train, but the
traveller should contrive to view them from below.The finest is over
the Kalte Rinne, and consists of five arches below and ten above.John journeyed to the hallway.The
line also in places requires to be protected from avalanches of stone
or of snow, and this is effected by means of covered galleries, such as
may be seen on so many Alpine roads.The tunnels too are as numerous as
the viaducts.In fact the train no sooner emerges from a tunnel than it
finds itself skimming over a viaduct, only to plunge once more into a
tunnel or a gallery.The device for crossing a lateral valley described
above in the case of the Brenner is also resorted to here, and need not
be further alluded to.The proportionate cost of the Semmering railway was more than double
that of the Brenner, being about sixty thousand pounds per mile.This may be accounted for partly by the fact, that the former was
constructed and opened thirteen years prior to the latter; by which the
latter was enabled to reap the benefit of the engineering experience
acquired in the progress of its predecessor.John journeyed to the kitchen.But the chief cause of
this enormous difference in the cost of construction lies in the
different modes adopted for overcoming obstacles; and the vast viaducts
of the Semmering entailed an expense which was wisely and ingeniously
avoided in the construction of the Brenner.The gradients, as may be supposed, are very steep on both these
railways, and the rate of speed not great.On the Semmering a long
train has to be divided into two or three portions, to enable it to
surmount these steep <DW72>s, which frequently are as rapid as one in
forty, even on the viaducts and in the tunnels.The reader has only to
notice the numbers on the gradient indicators by the side of an English
railway, to be able to judge what an incline of _one in forty_ is like.But if one in forty seems steep, what shall be said of one in four,
which is the gradient of a large part of the Rigi railway?No doubt
the ascent of the Rigi has come to be regarded much as the Londoner
regards the ascent of Primrose Hill; though in the latter case the
hardy traveller has to use the means of locomotion with which Nature
has provided him in order to reach the summit; while in the former
he merely seats himself in a railway carriage at the base of the
mountain, and is deposited without the smallest exertion on his part at
or nearly at the top.Steam here, as elsewhere, has almost entirely superseded the old means
of travel.But as if it were not a sufficiently stupendous undertaking
to have one railway to the top of a mountain, two have here been
constructed, one having its base at Art on the Lake of Zug, the other
at Vitznau on the Lake of Lucerne.Taking the latter, which was first
accomplished, the height to be scaled is four thousand four hundred
and seventy-two feet from the level of the Lake of Lucerne, the total
altitude of the mountain being five thousand nine hundred and five
feet above the level of the sea.Of this four thousand four hundred
and seventy-two feet, the rail accomplishes all but one hundred feet
or so.To do this, an excessively steep gradient must be constantly
maintained, as the formation of the mountain does not admit of wide
sweeps, detours, or zigzags; but the course pursued is round the
shoulder, then along the ridge which communicates with the topmost
heights, and finally up those heights themselves, a distance of not
more than eight miles.John went back to the bathroom.It is thus that a gradient of one in four
becomes a necessity.Let the reader mark out a distance of four feet,
and at one end place a foot-rule perpendicularly.A line drawn from
one end of this distance to the top of the rule at the other end will
indicate the gradient of one in four.It is a steeper incline than
hDaniel travelled to the kitchen. |
office | Where is John? | The rate of speed is of
course not high, one hour twenty minutes being occupied in the ascent,
and a slightly less time in the descent.It consists of an engine
with small tender and but one carriage.An ordinary locomotive would
be powerless on such steep gradients, therefore one of peculiar
construction is used, which is of itself an extraordinary object.On
level ground it appears as if it had completely broken down and lost
two of its wheels.This arises from the fact that, being expressly
intended to work on an incline, it is built in such a way as to
compensate for the incline and maintain the boiler in a vertical
position.This boiler in appearance resembles nothing so much as a
large beer bottle standing upright when the train is ascending or
descending, but very much out of the perpendicular when on level
ground.The small tender is of course constructed so as to have its
floor level when on the incline.Its sides are of wire-work, and
are made thus with the object of reducing the weight as much as
possible; an object which is also carried out both in the engine and
in the carriage, which are as light as they can be made, it not being
necessary to prevent the wheels jumping from the rails by the pressure
of great weight as on ordinary lines, where a high rate of speed is
attained.This tender, in addition to its usual functions, performs the
office of carrying surplus passengers on an emergency.The carriage is an open car, rather resembling a block of low pews
taken from a church, placed on wheels, and surmounted by an awning,
with curtains to let down at the sides, as a protection against
the weather.The seats, which are nine in number, and accommodate
six persons each, all face one way--namely, downhill; and a fixed
footstool serves to keep the passengers from sliding off their seats.Contrary to the usual order, the carriage on this line precedes the
locomotive in the ascent, and is pushed instead of being pulled up
the incline.In the descent the locomotive takes the first place, and
exercises merely a retarding force.It will be seen, therefore, that
the two portions of the train are necessarily in close connection when
in motion, and for this reason, as well as for purposes of safety,
couplings are dispensed with.Each portion is provided with its own
brake-power, so that in the event of the engine getting beyond control,
the carriage can be stopped and rendered entirely independent, since
it is not coupled to the engine.The brake is of course of a totally
different kind from that in ordinary use, which would be of no service
whatever on such inclines, as the wheels, even if the brake were so
powerful as to stop their revolution, would slide down the hill by
the mere force of gravity.Here, however, the brake consists in an
ingenious adaptation of the means which are employed in driving the
engine.The roadway is laid with three rails, the outer ones being of the
usual kind, while the central one is a long-toothed rack, of which the
teeth are perpendicular.Into this rack fit the teeth of the pinions
or cogged-wheels with which both engine and carriage are provided.Now it is apparent that if these wheels are put in motion they will
pull the train along the rack; and if stopped and held firmly in one
position, they will prevent any onward motion by the mere clinching of
the teeth, to use a common expression.One of the cogged-wheels, then,
which are attached to the engine is the driving-wheel, and forms the
special means of locomotion, while the other cogged-wheels of course
merely revolve without exercising any traction.But immediately a halt
is required, all these wheels become of equal importance, and supply a
prompt and most efficient brake, since directly they are locked, the
train is brought to a stand-still, and held as in a vice even on the
steepest inclines.Other brake-power is also applied; but this would
seem to be the efficient means of control in case of accident.It will be seen, therefore, that the danger of the train running away
is carefully provided against; and no less care has been bestowed on
the means for preventing the train leaving the rails, a danger fully
as alarming as the other on a line which, for the greater part of its
course, runs on the brink of a fearful precipice.Along each side of
the central or rack rail, which is raised some inches from the ground,
runs a projecting edge; and the engine and carriage are provided with
two strong rods, the ends of which are bent in such a manner as to pass
under these projections.Any jerk or jump of the train, therefore,
would be resisted by the pressure of these bent ends against the under
surface of the projections.It is not within the province of this paper to speak of the hotels
which form such huge excrescences on the mountains' sides and top
(by no means an improvement on nature), or to allude to the hundreds
of tourists who daily swarm in these hotels, or to the hundreds of
others who take the journey for the sake of a 'new sensation.'It may,
however, be mentioned that from one of the stations (Rigi Staffel)
runs a branch-line which communicates with the Rigi Scheideck, where
is situated one of the largest of the hotels; and that the line from
Art joins the Vitznau line near the summit.It will thus be seen that
the Rigi is traversed in all directions by railways; and according to
the opinion of an intelligent Swiss with whom the writer conversed,
these railways owe their origin to the fact that the Germans, who have
now become such a travelling nation, will not penetrate in any numbers
where they cannot travel by horse, by carriage, or by steam; and he
further indicated his opinion of Germans by adding, that no doubt ere
long, a lift would be constructed to work up and down the perpendicular
face of the Matterhorn for their benefit.Who shall say that such a
thing is impossible?CHAPTER VII.--ISAAC IS TOUCHED.Isaac allowed a few days to elapse before he paid his promised visit;
and then one evening, after an early chop, he sallied forth in search
of the address on Miss Faithful's card, No.He found the house without much difficulty; and a snug little house
it was.His three friends were at home, and appeared very pleased to
see him; that is to say, the two younger members of the party appeared
pleased, the elder lady being in a more or less somnolent state in the
arm-chair, and to some extent unconscious of his presence.The first
greetings and the general remarks upon the weather being ended, Herbert
proposed some music.Angela turned to their visitor, and asked him his
favourite songs.If she had asked him his favourite Greek plays, poor
Isaac could hardly have been more nonplussed.He was not much assisted
either by the cursory examination he gave a music-case containing a
number of her songs, which she considerately handed to him; so he was
fain to acknowledge that he did not know any tunes for certain, except
a few hymns he had heard in church, _God Save the Queen_, and a few
popular melodies he had heard the boys whistle in the streets.So
Herbert came to the rescue, and picked out one or two of his favourites
for her to sing.She did so; and then Isaac's mind, which had to a
great extent resumed its original state of reserve, reopened again to
the genial sunshine of her manner and the beauty of her voice; for
there was something irresistible to him in this singing of hers; he
could not account for it even to himself; but it was the 'open sesame'
to his heart and confidence.She sang several songs and a couple of duets with her brother; and
then, as the evening closed in, the three sat at the open window
chatting--Miss Faithful meanwhile being peacefully asleep in her chair.Isaac, under the influence of the spell, experienced a nearer approach
to delight than he had ever done before, and quite unbosomed himself to
his new friends.He gave them an account of his parentage, of his home,
or rather lodging, at Dambourne End, of his cottages and garden-ground,
and of his resources and prospects generally.They listened with
evident interest, and with a few judicious questions, obtained the
complete biography of their visitor.John went back to the office.At length the gas was lighted, supper was brought in, and aunt aroused
from her doze.After the meal, Angela went up-stairs with her, and
Isaac and Herbert were left to themselves.But there was not much to
be got from the former in the way of conversation, now the spell was
removed; and as he was in the habit of retiring to bed early (to save
lights), and as he had partaken of an unaccustomed meal in the form of
supper, he soon grew very drowsy, so arose to say good-night.Herbert
called his sister down-stairs to go through this salutation, and said
he would accompany Isaac on his walk to the coffee-house and smoke
his cigar by the way.At parting, he said he should look Isaac up one
evening, and if agreeable to him, they would go together to some place
of amusement.But in the meantime he was to stand upon no ceremony, but
to come and see them whenever he would.About a week after Isaac had paid his first visit to New West Road, he
was one evening finishing his solitary meal, when Mr Herbert Faithful
was announced.'I am come to take you back with me,' he said, 'for
Angela has threatened me with an evening to myself, as she is very
busy trying on a dress for a ball to which we are going; and _I_ can't
stand loneliness if _you_ can; so come with me, and we'll have a cigar
together.''I will go with you,' said Isaac; 'but I cannot smoke; I never tried.'So in a few minutes they were on their way to Miss Faithful's house,
and the conversation turned on the coming ball.'I quite imagine it will be rather a showy affair,' said Herbert; 'and
I more than half suspect that it is arranged for a special purpose.It
is given by a Mrs Ashton, an old friend of my mother, and her son is
an old sweetheart of Angela.He has never proposed exactly, as he was
considered too young; but this ball is to be given on his birthday, and
I expect Angela will come home an engaged girl.She is a dear girl,'
he continued with a sigh; 'but it is only reasonable that she should be
getting married before long.'Isaac's heart gave a great bound, but he answered nothing.His
companion was silent also after this, and in a few minutes they reached
his aunt's house.To her brother's apparent surprise, Angela was in the hall to welcome
them.'It is all very fine, Master Herbert,' she said, 'for you to run
off as soon as I promise you an evening to yourself down-stairs; but do
not think you are to monopolise Mr Webb's company.''Oh, that did not take long, for it fits beautifully.But somehow or
other I do not care so much about the ball as I did.''Perhaps you are afraid you will
have to sit down a good part of the evening, for want of a partner.If
you are asked to be any one's partner, be careful to ascertain that it
is for the dance _only_, and not for anything beyond that.''Be quiet, Herbert, do,' said his sister, colouring.'Don't be angry, dear, for a little fraternal solicitude.But come,
suppose you give us a rehearsal of the songs you intend to sing.Mind
there is nothing about love in them.''Herbert, you are incorrigible; you don't deserve a song.--What do
_you_ think, Mr Webb?'Mr Webb coughed,, stammered, and finally said he 'hoped she'd
sing one.''Well, it would be a shame to punish the innocent with the guilty, so
I consent; but you must stop your ears, Herbert.'With these words,
Angela looked out one or two songs, opened the piano, and once again
wove the spell around Isaac's mind and heart; so much so, that though
he was not of a jealous nature, he yet could not bear the thought that
she would sing these same songs, and captivate the ear of the man who
would in all probability ask her to be his wife.No; the idea was
horrible; and as he listened, and the spell wrought its power around
him and within him, his heart throbbed bolder and bolder, and he
resolved to make a rush and forestall his hopeful rival.Yes; he would
offer his cottages, his garden-ground, and his heart; and would not,
moreover, risk his chance by waiting until this hateful ball was over.No; he would
not; so determined he would act that very evening.He would have felt but little doubt had
there been no rival, or only a weak one, to forestall; and even as
it was, he did not consider his case was bad, much less desperate.It was scarcely likely that Angela would throw away a certain chance
for an uncertain one, especially when that chance was Isaac Webb--a
deep shrewd young fellow, and backed moreover by the cottages and
garden-ground.So when the evening had worn itself away, and it was
time for him to take his departure, Isaac requested Herbert to walk
part of the way home with him, as he had something he wanted to say to
him.'Do you think,' he asked Herbert, when they were on the road, 'that
your sister has made up her mind to accept Mr Ashton?''I do not know that he will ask her,' Herbert answered; 'but if he were
to do so, I had no doubt she would until just lately; but now I am not
quite so sure about it.But excuse me; why do you ask such a question?''Because,' returned Isaac, 'I--I have been thinking of taking a wife,
and--well, I--I think I should like to have _her_.''Well, you _do_ astonish me,' said Herbert.'And yet,' he continued,
after a pause, 'perhaps I can now account for my doubt as to her
affection for young Ashton.But you had better ask her point-blank
whether she will have you; that is, if you have really made up your
mind about it.''That is just what I want _you_ to do,' exclaimed Isaac.'I want you to
ask her for me.''Excuse me, my dear fellow; but it is rather a delicate subject for
me--her brother--to put before her'----
'So much the better,' interrupted Isaac.'It will come better from you,
and with more weight than from me.''But people would say directly that I had somehow caused you to do it.''People need not know anything at all about it,' answered Isaac.'But you have known her such a little while,' urged Herbert; 'and you
may not fully have made up your mind; or you may alter it.''I have made up my mind enough, and
I would rather you ask her than me.I should not know quite what to
say.'A similar practice prevails at
the coronation of European sovereigns generally.It also runs back to
the days of the early Roman emperors, and of Alexander the Great.[145]
That a ring, or a circlet, worn around a thumb, or a finger, or an
arm, in token of an endless covenant between its giver and receiver,
has been looked upon, in all ages, as the symbol of an inter-union
of the lives thereby brought together, is unmistakable; whether the
covenanting life-blood be drawn for such inter-commingling, directly
from the member so encircled, or not.The very covenant itself, or its
binding force, has been sometimes thought to depend on the circlet
representing it; as if the life which was pledged passed into the token
of its pledging.Sandra moved to the hallway.Thus Lord Bacon says: “It is supposed [to be] a help
to the continuance of love, to wear a ring or bracelet of the person
beloved;”[146] and he suggests that “a trial should be made by two
persons, of the effect of compact and agreement; that a ring should
be put on for each other’s sake, to try whether, if one should break
his promise the other would have any feeling of it in his absence.”
In other words, that the test should be made, to see whether the
inter-union of lives symbolized by the covenant-token be a reality.On this idea it is, |
hallway | Where is Sandra? | [147]
It is not improbable, indeed, that the armlets, or bracelets, which
were found on the arms of Oriental kings, and of Oriental divinities
as well, were intended to indicate, or to symbolize, the personal
inter-union claimed to exist between those kings and divinities.Thus
an armlet, worn by Thotmes III., is preserved in the museum at Leyden.It bears the cartouche of the King, having on it his sacred name, with
its reference to his inter-union with his god.It was much the same in
Nineveh.[148] Lane says, that upon the seal ring commonly worn by the
modern Egyptian “is engraved the wearer’s name,” and that this name
“is usually accompanied by the words ‘His servant’ (signifying ‘the
servant, or worshiper of God’), and often by other words expressive of
the person’s trust in God.”[149]
As the token of the blood-covenant is sometimes fastened about the
_arm_, and sometimes about the _neck_; so the encircling necklace, as
well as the encircling armlet, is sometimes counted the symbol of a
covenant of very life.This is peculiarly the case in India; where the
bracelet-brotherhood has been shown to be an apparent equivalent of
the blood-brotherhood.Among the folk-lore stories of India, it is a
common thing to hear of a necklace which holds the soul of the wearer.That necklace restored, the
wearer lives again.“Sodewa Bai was born with a golden necklace about
her neck, concerning which also her parents consulted astrologers, who
said, ‘This is no common child; the necklace of gold about her neck
contains your daughter’s soul; let it therefore be guarded with the
utmost care; for if it were taken off, and worn by another person, she
would die.’” On that necklace of life, the story hangs.John went back to the office.The necklace
was stolen by a servant, and Sodewa Bai died.Being placed in a
canopied tomb, she revived, night by night, when the servant laid off
the stolen necklace which contained the soul of Sodewa Bai.The loss
was at last discovered by her husband; the necklace was restored to
her, and she lived again.[150] And this is but one story of many.In the Brahman marriage ceremony the bridegroom receives his bride by
binding a covenanting necklace about her neck.“A small ornament of
gold, called _tahly_, which is the sign of their being actually in the
state of marriage,... is fastened by a short string dyed yellow with
_saffron_.”[151] And a Sanskrit word for “saffron” is also a word for
“blood.”[152]
The importance of this symbolism of the token of the blood-covenant,
in its bearing on the root-idea of an inter-union of natures by an
inter-commingling of blood, will be more clearly shown, by and by.THE RITE AND ITS TOKEN IN EGYPT.Going back, now, to the world’s most ancient records, in the
monuments of Egypt, we find evidence of the existence of the covenant
of blood, in those early days.Even then, it seems to have been a
custom to covenant by tasting the blood from another’s arm; and this
inter-transference of blood was supposed to carry an inter-commingling,
or an inter-merging, of natures.Sandra moved to the hallway.So far was this symbolic thought
carried, that the ancient Egyptians spoke of the departed spirit, as
having entered into the nature, and, indeed, into the very being, of
the gods, by the rite of tasting blood from the divine arm.Mary travelled to the office.“The Book of the Dead,” as it is commonly called, or “The Book of
the Going Forth into Day,”--(“The path of the just is as the shining
light, that shineth more and more unto the perfect day,”[153])--is
a group, or series, of ancient Egyptian writings, representing the
state and the needs and the progress of the soul after death.[154]
A copy of this Funereal Ritual, as it is sometimes called, “more or
less complete, according to the fortune of the deceased, was deposited
in the case of every mummy.”[155] “As the Book of the Dead is the
most ancient, so it is undoubtedly the most important of the sacred
books of the Egyptians;”[156] it is, in fact, “according to Egyptian
notions, essentially an inspired work;”[157] hence its contents have an
exceptional dogmatic value.In this Book of the Dead, there are several
obvious references to the rite of blood-covenanting.Some of these are
in a chapter of the Ritual which was found transcribed in a coffin of
the Eleventh Dynasty; thus carrying it back to a period prior to the
days of Abraham.[158]
“Give me your arm; I am made as ye,” says the departed soul, speaking
to the gods.[159] Then, in explanation of this statement, the
pre-historic gloss of the Ritual goes on to say: “The blood is that
which proceeds from the member of the Sun, after he goes along cutting
himself;”[160] the covenant blood which unites the soul and the god is
drawn from the flesh of Rā, when he has cut himself in the rite of that
covenant.By this covenant-cutting, the deceased becomes one with the
covenanting gods.Again, the departed soul, speaking as Osiris,--or
as the Osirian, which every mummy represents,[161]--says: “I am the
soul in his two halves.” Once more there follows the explanation:
“The soul in his two halves is the soul of the Sun [of Rā], and the
soul of Osiris [of the deceased].” Here is substantially the proverb
of friendship cited by Aristotle, “One soul in two bodies,” at least
two thousand years before the days of the Greek philosopher.How much
earlier it was recognized, does not yet appear.Again, when the deceased comes to the gateway of light, he speaks
of himself as linked with the great god Seb; as one “who loves his
arm,”[162] and who is, therefore, sure of admittance to him, within
the gates.By the covenant of the blood-giving arm, “the Osiris opens
the turning door; he has opened the turning door.” Through oneness of
blood, he has come into oneness of life, with the gods; there is no
longer the barrier of a door between them.An added indication that the covenant of blood-friendship furnished
the ancient Egyptians with their highest conception of a union with
the divine nature through an interflowing of the divine blood--as the
divine life--is found in the amulet of this covenant; corresponding
with the token of the covenant of blood-friendship, which, as fastened
to the arm, or about the neck, is deemed so sacred and so precious,
in the primitive East to-day.The hieroglyphic word, _tat_, _tet_, or
_tot_, ([Illustration]) translated “arm,” is also translated “bracelet,”
or “armlet,” ([Illustration])[163] as if in suggestion of the truth,
already referred to,[164] that the blood-furnishing arm was represented
by the token of the arm-encircling, or of the neck-encircling, bond,
in the covenant of blood.Moreover, a “red talisman,” or red amulet,
stained with “the blood of Isis,” and containing a record of the
covenant, was placed at the neck of the mummy as an assurance of safety
to his soul.[165] “When this book [this amulet-record] has been made,”
says the Ritual, “it causes Isis to protect him [the Osirian], and
Horus he rejoices to see him.” “If this book [this covenant-token] is
known,” says Horus, “he [the deceased] is in the service of Osiris....
His name is like that of the gods.”
There are various other references to this rite, or other indications
of its existence, than those already cited, in the Book of the Dead.“I have welcomed Thoth (or the king) with blood; taking the gore from
the blessed of Seb,”[166] is one of these gleams.Again, there are
incidental mentions of the tasting of blood, by gods and by men;[167]
and of the proffering, or the uplifting, of the blood-filled arm, in
covenant with the gods.[168]
On a recently deciphered stéle of the days of Rameses IV., of the
Twentieth Dynasty, about twelve centuries before Christ, there is
an apparent reference to this blood-covenanting, and to its amulet
record.The inscription is a specimen of a funereal ritual, not unlike
some portions of the Book of the Dead.The deceased is represented
as saying, according to the translation of Piehl[169]: “I am become
familiar with Thoth, by his writings, on the day when he spat upon his
arm.” The Egyptian word, _khenmes_, here translated “familiar,” means
“united with,” or “joined with.” The word here rendered “writings,” is
_hetepoo_; which, in the singular, _hetep_, in the Book of Dead, stands
for the record of the covenant on the blood-stained amulet.[170] The
word _peqas_ ([Illustration]) rendered “spat,” by Piehl, is an obscure
term, variously rendered “moistened,” “washed,” “wiped,” “healed.”[171]
It is clear therefore that this passage may fairly be read: “I am
become united with Thoth, by the covenant-record, on the day when he
moistened, or healed his arm”; and if the arm were healed, it had
been cut, and so moistened.Indeed it is quite probable that this word
_peqas_ has a root connection with _peq_, _peqa_, _peqau_, “a gap,”
“an opening,” “to divide”; and even with _penqu_, ([Illustration]) “to
bleed.” Apparently, the unfamiliarity of Egyptologists with this rite
of blood-covenanting, by the cutting of the arm, has hindered the
recognition of the full force of many of the terms involved.Ebers, in his “Uarda,” has incidentally given an illustration of the
custom of blood-covenanting in ancient Egypt.It is when the surgeon
Nebsecht has saved the life of Uarda, and her soldier-father, Kaschta,
would show his gratitude, and would pledge his life-long fidelity in
return.“‘If at any time thou dost want help, call me, and I will protect thee
against twenty enemies.Daniel went back to the kitchen.I sign myself thy blood-ally--there!’
“With these words he drew his poniard, out of his girdle.He scratched
his arm, and let a few drops of his blood run down on a stone at the
feet of Nebsecht.“‘Look!’ he said.Kaschta has signed himself thine;
and thou canst dispose of my life as of thine own.What I have said, I
have said.’”[172]
9.In this last cited illustration, from Uarda, there would, at first
glance, seem to be the covenant proffered, rather than the covenant
entered into; the covenant all on one side, instead of the mutual
covenant.But this is, if it were possible, only a more unselfish
and a more trustful mode than the other, of covenanting by blood; of
pledging the life, by pledging the blood, to one who is already trusted
absolutely.And this mode of proffering the covenant of blood, or of
pledging one’s self in devotedness by the giving of one’s blood, is
still a custom in the East; as it has been in both the East and the
West, from time immemorial.For example, in a series of illustrations of Oriental manners,
prepared under the direction of the French ambassador to Turkey, at
the beginning of the eighteenth century, there appears a Turkish lover
gashing his arm in the presence of his lady-love, as a proof of his
loving attachment to her; and the accompanying statement is made,
that the relative flow of blood thus devoted indicates the measure of
affection--or of affectionate devotedness.[173]
A custom akin to this was found in Otaheite, when the South Sea Islands
were first visited by English missionaries.The measure of love, in
time of joy or in time of grief, was indicated by the measure of blood
drawn from the person of the loving one.Particularly was this the case
with the women; perhaps because they, in Otaheite as elsewhere, are
more loving in their nature, and readier to give of their very life in
love.“When a woman takes a husband,” says a historian of the first
missionary work in Otaheite, “she immediately provides herself with
a shark’s tooth, which is fixed, with the bread-fruit gum, on an
instrument that leaves about a quarter of an inch of the tooth bare,
for the purpose of wounding the head, like a lancet.Some of these have
two or three teeth, and struck forcibly they bring blood in copious
streams; _according to the love they bear the party_, and the violence
of their grief, _the strokes are repeated on the head_; and this has
been known to bring on fever, and terminate in madness.If any accident
happen to the husband, [to] his relations, or friends, or their child,
the shark’s tooth goes to work; and even if the child only fall down
and hurt itself, the blood and tears mingle together.... They have a
very similar way of expressing their joy as well as sorrow; for whether
a relation dies, or a dear friend returns from a journey, the shark’s
tooth instrument... is again employed, and the blood streams down....
When a person of eminence dies... the relatives and friends...
repeat before it [the corpse] some of the tender scenes which happened
during their life time, and wiping the blood which the shark’s teeth
has drawn, deposit the cloth on the tupapow as the proof of their
affection.”[174]
In illustration of this custom, the same writer says, in the course of
his narrative: “When we had got within a short mile of the Isthmus,
in passing a few houses, an aged woman, mother to the young man who
carried my linen, met us, and to express her joy at seeing her son,
struck herself several times on the head with a shark’s tooth, till
the blood flowed plentifully down her breast and shoulders, whilst the
son beheld it with entire insensibility [He saw in it only the common
proof of his mother’s devoted love].... The son seeing that I was not
pleased with what was done, observed coolly, that it was the custom of
Otaheite.”[175]
This custom is again referred to by Mr.Ellis, as observed by him in
the Georgian and the Society Islands, a generation later than the
authority above cited.He speaks of the shark’s tooth blood-letter, as
employed by men, as well as by women; although more commonly by the
latter.He adds another illustration of the truth, that it is _the
blood itself_, and not any suffering caused by its flowing, that is
counted the proof of affection; by its representing the outpoured
life, in pledge of covenant fidelity.Describing the scenes of blood-giving grief, over the dead bodies
of the mourned loved ones, he says: “The females on these occasions
sometimes put on a kind of short a |
hallway | Where is Mary? | In this apron they caught the blood that flowed from these
grief-inflicted wounds, until it [the apron] was almost saturated.It was then dried in the sun, and given to the nearest surviving
relatives, as a proof of the affection of the donor, and was preserved
by the bereaved family as a token of the estimation in which the
departed had been held.”[176] There is even more of vividness in this
memorial, than in that suggested by the Psalmist, when he says:
“Put thou my tears into thy bottle.”[177]
There would seem to be a suggestion of this same idea in one of Grimm’s
folk-lore fairy tales of the North.A queen’s daughter is going away
from her home, attended by a single servant.Her loving mother would
fain watch and guard her in her absence.Accordingly, “as soon as the
hour of departure had arrived, the mother took her daughter into a
chamber, and there, with a knife, she cut her [own] finger with it, so
that it bled.Then, she held her napkin beneath, and let three drops
of blood fall into it; which she gave to her daughter, saying: ‘Dear
child, preserve this well, and it will help you out of trouble.’”[178]
That blood represented the mother’s very life.It was accustomed to
speak out in words of counsel and warning to the daughter.But by and
by the napkin which held it was lost, and then the power of the young
princess over her mother’s servant was gone, and the poor princess was
alone in the wide world, at the mercy of strangers.John went back to the office.Sandra moved to the hallway.Acting on the symbolism of this covenanting with another by the loving
proffer of one’s blood, men have reached out toward God, or toward the
gods, in desire for a covenant of union, and in expression of fidelity
of devotedness, by the giving of their blood God-ward.This, also, has
been in the East and in the West, in ancient days and until to-day.There was a gleam of this, in the Canaanitish worship of Baal, in the
contest between his priests and the prophet Elijah, before King Ahab,
at Mount Carmel.First, those priests shed the blood of the substitute
bullock, at the altar of their god, and “called on the name of Baal
from morning even until noon, saying, O Baal hear us!But there was no
voice, nor any that answered.” Then they grew more earnest in their
supplications, and more demonstrative in their proofs of devotedness.“They leaped [or, limped] about the altar which was made.... And they
cried aloud, and cut themselves after their manner with knives and
lances, till the blood gushed out upon them.”[179] Similar methods of
showing love for God are in vogue among the natives of Armenia, to-day.Describing a scene of worship by religious devotees in that region,
Dr.Van Lennep says: “One of them cuts his forehead with a sword, so
that ‘the blood gushes out.’ He wears a sheet in front, to protect his
clothes, and his face is covered with clots of blood.”[180] Clearly,
in this case, as in many others elsewhere, it is not as a means of
self-torture, but as a proof of self-devotedness, that the blood is
poured out--the life is proffered--by the devotee, toward God.Among the primitive peoples of North and of South America, it was the
custom of priests and people, to draw blood from their own bodies, from
their tongues, their ears, their noses, their limbs and members, when
they went into their temples to worship, and to anoint with that blood
the images of their gods.[181] The thorns of the maguey--a species of
aloe--were, in many regions, kept ready at places of sacrifice, for
convenient use in this covenant blood-letting.[182] A careful student
of these early American customs has said of the obvious purpose of this
yielding of one’s blood in worship, that it “might be regarded as an
act of individual devotion, a gift made to the gods by the worshiper
himself, out of his own very substance [of his very life, as in the
blood-covenant].... The priests in particular owed it to their special
character [in their covenant relation to the divinities], to draw their
blood for the benefit of the gods [in renewed pledge to the gods]; and
nothing could be stranger than the refined methods they adopted to
accomplish this end.For instance, they would pass strings or splinters
through their lips or ears, and so draw a little blood.But then a
fresh string, or a fresh splinter, must be added every day, and so it
might go on indefinitely; for the more there were, the more meritorious
was the act;”[183] precisely as is the standard of love-showing by
blood-letting among Turkish lovers and Otaheitan wives and mothers, in
modern times.A similar giving of blood, in proof of devotedness, and in outreaching
for inter-communion with the gods through blood, is reported in
India, in recent times.Bishop Caldwell, of Madras, referred to it,
a generation ago, in his description of the “Devil Dance” among
the Tinnevelly Shawars.[184] The devotee, in this dance, “cuts and
lacerates himself till the blood flows, lashes himself with a huge
whip, presses a burning torch to his breast, drinks the blood which
flows from his own wounds, or drains the blood of the sacrifice;
putting the throat of a decapitated goat to his mouth.” Hereby he has
given of his own blood to the gods, or to the devils, and has drunk of
the substitute blood of the divinities--in the consecrated sacrifice;
as if in consummation of the blood-covenant with the supernal powers.“Then as if he had acquired new life [through inter-union with the
object of his worship], he begins to brandish his staff of bells,
and to dance with a quick but wild unsteady step.Suddenly the
afflatus descends; there is no mistaking that glare or those frantic
leaps.He snorts, he swears, he gyrates.The demon has now taken
bodily possession of him.The two natures are
intermingled].... The devil-dancer is now worshiped as a present deity,
and every bystander consults him respecting his diseases, his wants,
the welfare of his absent relations, the offerings to be made for
the accomplishments of his wishes, and in short everything for which
superhuman knowledge is supposed to be available.” In this instance,
the _mutual_ covenant is represented; the devotee both giving and
receiving blood, as a means of union.On this idea of giving one’s self to another, by giving of one’s blood,
it is, that the popular tradition was based, that witches and sorcerers
covenanted with Satan by signing a compact in their own blood.And again it was in recognition of the idea that two natures were
inter-united in such a covenant, that the compact was sometimes said to
be signed in Satan’s blood.Among the many women charged with witchcraft in England, by the famous
Matthew Hopkins, the “witch-finder” in the middle of the Seventeenth
century, was one, at Yarmouth, of whom it is reported, that her first
temptation came to her when she went home from her place of employment,
discouraged and exasperated by her trials.“That night when she was in
bed, she heard a knock at the door, and going to her window, she saw
(it being moonlight) a tall black man there: and asked what he would
have?He told her that she was discontented, because she could not get
work; and that he would put her into a way that she should never want
anything.On this she let him in, and asked him what he had to say to
her.He told her he must first see her hand; and taking out something
like a penknife, he gave it a little scratch, so that a little blood
followed; a scar being still visible when she told the story.Then he
took some of the blood in a pen, and pulling a book out of his pocket,
bid her write her name; and when she said she could not, he said he
would guide her hand.When this was done, he bid her now ask what she
would have.”[185] In signing with her own blood, she had pledged her
very life to the “tall black man.”
Cotton Mather, in his “Wonders of the Invisible World,” cites a Swedish
trial for witchcraft, where the possessed children, who were witnesses,
said that the witches, at the trysting-place where they were observed,
were compelled “to give themselves unto the devil, and vow that they
would serve him.Hereupon they cut their fingers, and with blood writ
their names in his book.” In some cases “the mark of the cut finger was
[still] to be found.” Moreover the devil gave meat and drink both to
the witches and to the children they brought with them.Again, Mather
cites the testimony of a witness who had been invited to covenant with
the Devil, by signing the Devil’s book.Mary travelled to the office.“Once, with the book, there
was a pen offered him, and an inkhorn with liquor in it that looked
like blood.”[186] Another New England writer on witchcraft says that
“the witch as a slave binds herself by vow, to believe in the Devil,
and to give him either body or soul, or both, under his handwriting, or
some part of _his_ blood.”[187]
It is, evidently, on this popular tradition, that Goethe’s Faust
covenants in blood with Mephistopheles.“But one thing!--accidents may happen; hence
A line or two in writing grant, I pray.”
FAUST.Brass, marble, parchment, paper, dost desire?Shall I with chisel, pen, or graver, write?Thy choice is free; to me ’tis all the same.”
MEPHISTOPHELES.Daniel went back to the kitchen.“A scrap is for our compact good.Thou under-signest merely with a drop of blood.”
.“Blood is a juice of very special kind.”[188]
Even “within modern memory in Europe,” there have been traces of the
primitive rite of covenanting with God by the proffer of one’s blood.In the Russian province of Esthonia, he who would observe this rite,
“had to draw drops of blood from his fore finger,” and at the same
time to pledge himself in solemn covenant with God.“I name thee [I
invoke thee] with my blood, and [I] betroth thee [I entrust myself to
thee] with my blood,”--was the form of his covenanting.Then he who had
given of his blood in self-surrendering devotedness, made his confident
supplications to God with whom he had thus covenanted; and his prayer
in behalf of all his possessions was: “Let them be blessed through my
blood and thy might.”[189]
Thus, in ancient Egypt, in ancient Canaan, in ancient Mexico, in modern
Turkey, in modern Russia, in modern India, and in modern Otaheite; in
Africa, in Asia, in America, in Europe, and in Oceanica: Blood-giving
was life-giving.Love-showing was a
heart-yearning after union in love and in life and in blood and in very
being.That was the primitive thought in the primitive religions of all
the world.FOOTNOTES:
[1] Of the possibility of a covenant between those of different
religions, Lane says (_Arab.-Eng._’Ahd_): “Hence
عهد ذو (_dho ’ahd_) an appellation given to a Christian and a Jew (and a
Sabean, who is a subject of a Muslim government) meaning one between
whom and the Muslims a compact, or covenant exists, whereby the latter
are responsible for his security and freedom and toleration as long
as he lives agreeably to the compact.” And the Blood Covenant is more
sacred and more binding than any other compact.Mary travelled to the hallway.[4] See Lane’s _Lex._ s. v.“Hejâb.”
[5] Eccl.[6] See Freytag, and Catafago, s. v.[7] See “Brothers of the Covenant,” p.[8] _Sprachliches aus den Zeltlagern der syrischen Wüste_, p.[9] See Redhouse’s Turkish and English Dictionary, s. vv._sood_ and
_soot_.[10] See Lane, and Freytag, s. vv._rada’a_, and _thady_.[11] See reference to Ibn Hishâm, 125, in Prof.W. Robertson Smith’s
_Old Test.[12] See Lane, and Freytag, s. v._sahama_; also Smith’s _Old Test.in
Jewish Church_, Notes to Lect.[13] See Livingstone’s _Travels and Res.[14] _Ibid._, p.[15] See Livingstone’s _Travels and Res.[16] See Livingstone’s _Travels and Res.John went to the hallway.[17] _Ibid._, p.[18] Cameron’s _Across Africa_, I., 333.[19] _Ibid._, I., 333 f.[20] _Across Africa_, I., 369.[21] See page 9, _supra_.[22] _Through the Dark Continent_, I., 107, 130 f.[23] _Ibid._, I., 492.[24] _Ibid._, I., 52, 492.[25] _How I found Livingstone_, pp.Dark Cont._, I., 489 f.[27] _Ibid._, I., 130.[28] _Ibid._, I., 487-492.[30] _Ibid._, I., 493 f.[32] _Ibid._, I., 227-237.[34] _Ibid._, II., 144-146.[38] _Ibid._, II., 315.Dark Cont._, II., 330-332.Dark Cont._, II., 402-408.[41] _The Congo_, I., 304-312.Dark Cont._, II., 281-283.[44] See pages 26-28, _supra_.[45] “Bula Matari,” or “Rock Breaker,” or Road Maker, was a name given
to Stanley by the natives.[46] _The Congo_, I., 383-385.[47] See page 7 f., _supra_.[48] _The Congo_, II., 21-24.[49] _Ibid._, II., 38.[50] _The Congo_, II., 48.[51] _Ibid._, II., 68.[52] _Ibid._, II., 79.[53] _Ibid._, II., 109.[54] _Ibid._, II., 118.[55] _Ibid._, II., 132.[56] _Ibid._, II., 171.[57] _Ibid._, II., 177.Dark Cont._, II., 297-302.[59] _The Congo_, II., 79-90.[60] _Ibid._, II., 104 f.[61] Aristotle’s _Ethics_, IX., 8, 3.This is not made as an original
statement, by Aristotle, but as the citation of one of the well-known
“proverbs” of friendship.[62] See _Nouveau Dictionnaire de Médecine et de Chirurgie Pratiques_,
(ed.“Transfusion.”
|
kitchen | Where is John? | [64] See Carlyle’s _Heroes and Hero-Worship_, Lect.I.; also Anderson’s
_Norse Mythology_, pp.John went back to the office.[65] See Anderson’s _Norse Mythol._, pp.[66] See Wilkinson’s _Ancient Egyptians_, III., 142; Renouf’s _The
Religion of Ancient Egypt_, p.118 f.; Ebers’s _Picturesque Egypt_, I.,
100 f.[67] See De Wette’s _Biblische Dogmatik_, § 79.[68] See Carlyle’s _Hero Worship_, Lect.[69] Odin “is the author of war.” He is called “Valfather (Father of
the slain), because he chooses for his sons all who fall in combat.”
Anderson’s _Norse Mythol._, p.[70] Mills’s _History of Chivalry_, chap.[72] Anderson’s _Viking Tales of the North_, p.[73] _Ibid._, p.[74] Apparently these articles form a “heap of witness,” or are
the aggregated symbolic witnesses of the transaction; as something
answering to this usage is found in connection with the rite in various
parts of the world.[75] He who would be true in friendship must be true in all things.[76] See Job 3 : 2-9.[77] Here is the idea of an absolute inter-merging of natures, by this
rite.[79] Here is an indication of the witness-bearing nature of these
accessories of the rite.[80] Compare these blessings and cursings with those under the Mosaic
laws: Deut.27 : 9-26; 28 : 1-68.[82] “This is a natural, simple, and beautiful allusion in common use
among the Malagasy, to denote an inseparable association.The rice is
planted in water, grows in water, is boiled in water, and water is the
universal beverage taken with it when eaten.”
[83] Ellis’s _Hist.of Madagascar_, I., 187-190.[84] Cited in Ellis’s _Hist.of Mad._, I., 191, note.John’s _Life in the Forests of the Far East_, I., 116 f.[86] In “The Century Magazine” for July, 1885, p.[87] Forbes’s _A Naturalist’s Wanderings in the Eastern Archipelago_,
p.[88] Peter Martyr’s _De Rebus Oceanicis et Novo Orbe_, p.338; cited in
Spencer’s _Des.[89] See Bancroft’s _Native Races of the Pacific Coast_, I., 741.[90] See page 10, _supra_.[91] Southey’s _Brazil_, I., 240.Sandra moved to the hallway.[92] Lynd’s _History of the Dakotas_, p.[93] Burton’s _City of the Saints_, p.[94] See page 54, _supra_.[96] See page 10, _supra_.[97] See page 54, _supra_.[98] See page 55 f., _supra_.[99] _Opera_, p.[100] _Toxaris_, chap.[101] See references to arms as accessories to the rite, in Africa, and
in Madagascar, and in Timor, at pages 16, 32, 35 f., 45 f., 53, _supra_.[102] _Annales_, XII., 47.[103] See page 11, _supra_.[104] _Arcanum_; literally “mysterious,”--not in the sense of secret,
or occult, but with reference to its sacred and supernatural origin and
sanction.[106] _Catilina_, cap.[107] _Historiæ_, IV., 1, 4.[108] _Apologet._, cap.[110] _Hist._, IV., 70.[111] See note (footnote 101), at page 59, _supra_.[112] See the references to imprecatory invokings, in connection with
the observance of the rite in Syria, in Central Africa, in Madagascar,
and in Timor, at pages 9, 20, 31, 46 f., 53, _supra_.[113] _Hist._, III., 8.[114] See page 45 _supra_, note (footnote 74).[115] See references to the welcoming of new friends by the natives of
Africa and of Borneo, at the celebration of this rite, at pages 36 f.,
51, _supra_.[116] Sextus Pompeius Festus, whose chief work, in the third or fourth
Christian century, was an epitome, with added notes and criticisms, of
an unpreserved work of M. Verrius Flaccus, on the Latin language and
antiquities.[117] See Rosenmüller’s _Scholia in Vet.[118] See Scheller’s, and Harpers’, _Latin Dictionary_, s. v.“Assiratum.”
[119] See Curtius’s _Griechische Etymologie_, s. v., ἔαρ (_ear_).[120] See Gesenius, and Fuerst, _s.vv._
[121] Deut.[122] See Lane, and Freytag, _s.vv._
[123] See Delitzsch’s _Assyrische Lesestücke_, The Syllabary, p.20;
and Sayce’s _Assyrian Grammar_, The Syllabary.[124] See Castellus’s _Lexicon Syriacum_, s. v.Mary travelled to the office.[125] See page 7, _supra_.[126] Cited from “Tod’s Travels, Journal Indian Archipelago, Vol.12,” in Balfour’s _Cycl.of India_, s. v., “Brother.”
[127] See Elliott and Roberts’s _Views in India_, II., 64.[128] _Ayeen Akbery_, II., 453.[129] See citation from Wetzstein, at page 9 f., _supra_.[130] See Anderson’s _Norse Mythol._, p.149; his _Viking Tales_,
pp.184, 237, 272 f.; Wood’s _Wedding Day in all Ages and Countries_,
p.[131] Lettsom’s _Nibelungen Lied_, pp.Daniel went back to the kitchen.[133] Esther 3 : 10-12; 8 : 2.[135] See Wood’s _Wedding Day_; also Jones’s _Finger Ring Lore_.[136] Cited in Jones’s _Finger Ring Lore_, p.[137] See _Ibid._, pp.[138] _Persian- und Ost-Indische Reise_, II., 196.[140] See Godwyn’s _Romanæ Historiæ_, p.69; Brewer’s _Dict.of Phrase
and Fable_, s. vv.“Ring,” “Ring Finger”; Jones’s _Finger Ring Lore_,
p.[141] Lane’s _Mod.[142] See Bock’s _Head Hunters of Borneo_, p.[143] _Finger Ring Lore_, p.[144] See page 63 f., _supra_.[145] See _Finger Ring Lore_, pp.[146] Cited in Jones’s _Credulities Past and Present_, p.[148] See Wilkinson’s _Anc.Egypt._, II., 340-343; Layard’s _Nineveh
and its Remains_, II., 250, 358; also 2 Sam.[149] _Modern Egyptians_, I., 39.[150] Frere’s _Old Deccan Days_, pp.[151] Dubois’s _Des.[154] See Lepsius’s _Todtenbuch_; Bunsen’s _Egypt’s Place in Universal
History_, V., 125-133; Renouf’s _The Religion of Ancient Egypt_, pp.[155] See Lenormant and Chevallier’s _Ancient History of the East_,
I., 308.[156] Renouf’s _The Religion of Ancient Egypt_, p.[157] Bunsen’s _Egypt’s Place_, V., 133.[158] See _Egypt’s Place_, V., 127.[159] _Ibid._, V., 174 f.[160] This is the rendering of Birch.Ebers has looked for an
explanation of this gloss, in the rite of circumcision (_Ægypten u.
d. Bücher Mose’s_, p.); but the primary reference to the “arm”
of the god, and to the union secured through the interflowing blood,
point to the blood-covenant as the employed figure of speech; although
circumcision, as will be seen presently, was likewise a symbol of the
blood-covenant--for one’s self and for one’s seed.Brugsch also sees a
similar meaning, to that suggested by Ebers, in this reference to the
blood.His rendering of the original text is: “Reach me your hands.I
have become that which ye are” (_Religion u. Mythol.Ægypt._,
I., 219).Le Page Renouf, looking for the symbolisms of _material_
nature in all these statements, would find here “the crimson of a
sunset” in the “blood which flows from the Sun-god Rā, as he hastens
to his suicide” (_Trans.Mary travelled to the hallway.This, however, does not conflict with the _spiritual_
symbolism of oneness of nature through oneness of blood.And no one of
these last three suggested meanings accounts for the oneness with the
gods through blood, which the deceased claims, unless the symbolism
of blood-covenanting be recognized in the terminology.John went to the hallway.That symbolism
being recognized, the precise source of the flowing blood becomes a
minor matter.[161] See Wilkinson’s _Anc.Egypt._, III., 473; Renouf’s _Relig.Death is not terrible in itself; it is sin
that makes it fearful.If we were pure and holy, we should be happy
here, or in another world, just where God thought best to place us; but
we are sinful, and we need pardon and redemption from sin, before we can
look calmly and fearlessly upon the grave.Jesus Christ has told us how
ready he is to forgive sin; how much he has suffered that we might be
forgiven, and to every human being, even to the youngest who reads this
page, he is saying, "Come unto me ye that are weary and heavy laden and
I will give you rest."Return, my soul, unto thy rest,
From vain pursuits and maddening cares;
From lonely woes that wring thy breast,
The world's allurements, toils and snares.Return unto thy rest, my soul,
From all the wanderings of thy thought;
From sickness unto death made whole,
Safe through a thousand perils brought.Then to thy rest, my soul, return,
From passions every hour at strife;
Sin's works, and ways, and wages spurn,
Lay hold upon eternal life.God is thy rest;--with heart inclined
To keep his word, that word believe;
Christ is thy rest;--with lowly mind,
His light and easy yoke receive."I didn't know--I didn't think----"
Mr.Tapster finished the sentence for her: "You didn't think," he
observed impressively, "that I should ever find you out."Then there came over him a morbid wish to discover--to learn from her
own lips--why Flossy had done such a shameful and extraordinary thing as
to be unfaithful to her marriage vow."I wasn't unkind
to you, was I?You had a nice, comfortable home, hadn't you?""I was mad," she answered, with a touch of sharp weariness."I don't
suppose I could ever make you understand; and yet,"--she looked at him
deprecatingly,--"I suppose, James, that you too were young once,
and--and--mad?"Of
course he had been young once; for the matter of that, he didn't feel
old--not to say _old_--even now.But he had always been perfectly
sane--she knew that well enough!As for her calling herself mad, that
was a mere figure of speech.Of course, in a sense, she had been mad to
do what she had done, and he was glad that she now understood this; but
her saying so simply begged the whole question, and left him no wiser
than he was before.There was a long, tense silence between them.Tapster slowly
rose from his arm-chair and faced his wife."I see," he said, "that William was right.I mean, I suppose I may take
it that that young fellow has gone and left you?""Yes," she said, with a curious indifference, "he has gone and left me.Mary moved to the kitchen.His father made him take a job out in Brazil just after the case was
through.""And what have you been doing since then?""His father gives me a pound a week."Flossy still spoke with that
curious indifference."I tried to get something to do"--she hesitated,
then offered the lame explanation--"just to have something to do, for
I've been awfully lonely and miserable, James; but I don't seem to be
able to get anything."Greenfield or to William, they would have
told you that I had arranged for you to have an allowance," he said, and
then again he fell into silence....
Mr.Tapster was seeing a vision of himself, magnanimous,
forgiving--taking the peccant Flossy back to his heart and becoming once
more, in a material sense, comfortable!If he acceded to her wish, if he
made up his mind to forgive her, he would have to begin life all over
again, move away from Cumberland Crescent to some distant place where
the story was not known--perhaps to Clapham, where he had spent his
boyhood.John went back to the kitchen.How about the very considerable
expense to which he had been put in connection with the divorce
proceedings?Tapster suddenly saw
the whole of his little world rising up in judgment, smiling pityingly
at his folly and weakness.During the whole of a long and of what had
been, till this last year, a very prosperous life, Mr.Tapster had
always steered his safe course by what may be called the compass of
public opinion, and now, when navigating an unknown sea, he could not
afford to throw that compass overboard, so----
"No," he said; "no, Flossy.It would not be right for me to take you
back._It wouldn't do._"
"Wouldn't it?""Oh, James, don't say no like that,
all at once!I don't ask you to
be as kind to me as you were before--only to let me come home and see
after the children!"He
noticed, even now, that she didn't say a word of wanting to come back to
_him_; and yet, he had been such a kind, nay, if Maud were to be
believed, such a foolishly indulgent husband.And then, Flossy looked so different.Tapster felt as if a stranger
were standing there before him.Had she looked well and prosperous, he would have felt injured, and yet
her pinched face and shabby clothes certainly repelled him.So again he
shook his head, and there came into his face a look which Flossy had
always known in old days to spell finality, and when he again spoke she
saw that her knowledge had not |
kitchen | Where is John? | "I don't want to be unkind," he said ponderously."If you will only go
to William, or write to him if you would rather not go to the
office,"--Mr.Tapster did not like to think that any one once closely
connected with him should "look like that" in his brother's office,--"he
will tell you what you had better do.I'm quite ready to make you a
handsome allowance--in fact, it is all arranged.You need not have
anything more to do with that fellow's father--an army colonel, isn't
he?--and his pound a week; but William thinks, and I must say I agree,
that you ought to go back to your maiden name, Flossy, as being more
fair to me.""And am I never to see the children again?""No; it wouldn't be right for me to let you do so."He hesitated, then
added, "They don't miss you any more now"; with no unkindly intent he
concluded, "soon they'll have forgotten you altogether."Tapster was hesitating, seeking for a suitable and
not unkindly sentence of farewell, he saw a very strange, almost a
desperate look come over Flossy's face, and, to his surprise, she
suddenly turned and left the room, closing the door very carefully
behind her.And what a
strange look had come over her face!He could not help feeling hurt that
she had not thanked him for what he knew to be a very generous and
unusual provision on the part of an injured husband.... Mr.Tapster took
a silk handkerchief out of his pocket and passed it twice over his face,
then once more he sought and sank into the arm-chair by the fire.Even now he still felt keenly conscious of Flossy's nearness.Then he straightened himself and listened; yes, it was as
he feared; she had gone up-stairs--up-stairs to look at the children,
for now he could hear her coming down again.How obstinate she was, how
obstinate and ungrateful!Tapster wished he had the courage to go
out into the hall and face her, in order to tell her how wrong her
conduct was.Why, she had actually kept the keys--those keys that were
his property!Suddenly he heard her light footsteps hurrying down the hall; now she
was opening the front door--it slammed, and again Mr.Tapster felt
pained to think how strangely indifferent Flossie was to his interests.Why, what would the servants think, hearing the front door slam like
that?But still, now that it was over, he was glad the interview had taken
place, for henceforth--or so, at least, Mr.Tapster believed--the Flossy
of the past, the bright, pretty, prosperous Flossy of whom he had been
so proud, would cease to haunt him.He remembered, with a feeling of
relief, that she was going to his brother William; of course, she would
then, among greater renunciations, be compelled to return the two
keys--for they, that is, his brother and himself, would have her in
their power.They would not behave unkindly to her--far from it; in
fact, they would arrange for her to live with some quiet, religious lady
in a country town a few hours from London.[Illustration: "HE SAW THAT WHICH RATHER SURPRISED HIM, AND MADE HIM
FEEL ACTIVELY INDIGNANT"]
Then Mr.Tapster began going over each incident of the strange little
interview, for he wanted to tell his brother William exactly what had
taken place.His conscience was quite clear, except with regard to one matter, and
that, after all, needn't be mentioned to William.John went back to the office.He felt rather ashamed
of having asked the question which had provoked so strange and wild an
answer--so unexpected a retort.What had Flossy meant by asking him
if he had ever been mad?Sandra moved to the hallway.No one had ever used the word in connection
with James Tapster before--save once.Oddly enough, that occasion also
had been in a way connected with Flossy, for it had happened when he had
gone to tell William and Maud of his engagement.Mary travelled to the office.It was on a fine day nine years ago come this May, and he had found
William and William's wife walking in their little garden on Havenstock
Hill.His kind brother, as always, had been most sympathetic, and had
even made a suitable joke--Mr.Tapster remembered it very sadly
to-night--concerning the spring and a young man's fancy; but Maud had
been really disagreeable.She had said, "It's no use talking to you,
James, for you're mad, quite mad!"Strange that he should remember all this to-night, for, after all, it
had nothing to do with the present state of affairs.Tapster felt rather shaken and nervous; he pulled out his repeater
watch, but, alas!it was still very early--only ten minutes to nine.He
couldn't go to bed yet.Perhaps he would do well to join a club.He had
always thought rather poorly of men who belonged to clubs--most of them
were idle, lazy fellows; but still, circumstances alter cases.Suddenly he began to wish that Flossy had remained a little longer.Daniel went back to the kitchen.He
thought of all sorts of things--improving, kindly remarks--he would have
liked to say to her.Mary travelled to the hallway.He blamed himself for not having offered her any
refreshment; she would probably have refused to take anything, but
still, it was wrong on his part not to have thought of it.Why, his own
household bills, exclusive of wine or beer, had worked out, since he had
had this new expensive housekeeper, at something like fifteen shillings
a head, a fact which he had managed to conceal from Maud, who "did" her
William so well on exactly ten shillings and ninepence all round!* * * * *
It struck nine from the neighboring church, where Mr.Tapster had
sittings,--but where he seldom was able to go on Sunday mornings, for he
was proud of being among those old-fashioned folk who still regard
Sunday as essentially a day of rest,--and there came a sudden sound of
hoarse shouting from the road outside.Though he was glad of anything
that broke the oppressive silence with which he felt encompassed, Mr.Tapster found time to tell himself that it was disgraceful that vulgar
street brawlers should invade so quiet a residential thoroughfare as
Cumberland Crescent.But order would soon be restored, for the sound of
a policeman's whistle cut sharply through the air.The noise, however, continued; he could hear the tramp of feet hurrying
past his house and then leaving the pavement for the other side of the
road.Something very exciting must be going on
just opposite his front door, that is, close to the Inclosure railings.Tapster got up from his chair, and walked in a leisurely way to the
wide window.He drew aside the thick red rep curtains, and lifted a
corner of the blind.Then, through the slightly foggy haze, he saw that
which rather surprised him and made him feel actively indignant; for a
string of people, men, women, and boys, were hurrying into the Inclosure
Garden--that sacred place set apart for the exclusive use of the
nobility and gentry who lived in Cumberland Crescent and the adjoining
terraces.Why, the grass would all be trampled down; and
these dirty people, these slum folk, who seem to spring out of the earth
when anything of a disagreeable or shameful nature is taking place,--a
fire, for instance, or a brawl,--might easily bring infectious diseases
on to those gravel paths where the little Tapsters and their like run
about, playing their innocent games.Some careless person had evidently
left the gate unlocked, and the fight, or whatever it was, must be
taking place inside the Inclosure!Tapster tried in vain to see what was going on inside the railings,
but everything beyond the brightly lighted road was wrapped in gray
darkness.Some one suddenly held up high a flaming torch, and the
watcher at the window saw that the shadowy crowd which had managed to
force its way into the Park hung together, like bees swarming, on the
farther lawn through which flowed the Serpentine.With the gleaming of
the yellow, wavering light there had fallen a sudden hush and silence,
and Mr.Tapster wondered uneasily what those people were doing there,
and what it was they were pressing forward so eagerly to see.[Illustration: "HE... TURNED TO SEE HIS HALL INVADED BY A STRANGE AND
SINISTER QUARTET"]
Then he realized that it must have been a fight, after all, for now the
crowd was parting in two, and down the lane so formed Mr.Tapster saw
coming toward the gate, and so in a sense toward himself, a rather
pitiful little procession.Some one had evidently been injured, and that
seriously; for four men, bearing a sheep-hurdle on which lay a huddled
mass, were walking slowly toward the gate, and he heard distinctly the
gruffly uttered words: "Stand back, please--back, there!The now large crowd suddenly swayed forward; indeed,
to Mr.Tapster's astonished eyes, they seemed to be actually making a
rush for his house, and a moment later they were pressing around his
area-railings.Looking down on the upturned faces below him, Mr.Tapster was very glad
that a stout pane of glass stood between himself and the
sinister-looking men and women who seemed to be staring up at him, or
rather at his windows, with faces full of cruel, wolfish curiosity.His interest in the vulgar, sordid scene
had suddenly died down; the drama was now over; in a moment the crowd
would disperse, the human vermin (but Mr.Tapster would never have used,
even to himself, so coarse an expression) would be on their way back to
their burrows.But before he had even time to rearrange the curtains in
their right folds, there came a sudden loud, persistent knocking at his
front door.Tapster turned around sharply, feeling justly incensed.Of course,
he knew what it was--some good-for-nothing urchin finding a vent for his
excited feelings.His parlor-maid, who was never in any hurry to open
the door,--she had once kept him waiting ten minutes when he had
forgotten his latch-key,--would certainly take no notice of this
unseemly noise, but he, James Tapster, would himself hurry out and try
to catch the delinquent, take his name and address, and thoroughly
frighten him.As he reached the door of the dining-room, Mr.Tapster heard the front
door open--open, too,--and this was certainly very surprising,--from the
outside!In the hall he saw that it was a policeman--in fact, the
officer on point duty close by--who had opened his front door, and
apparently with a latch-key.The constable spoke, as constables always do to the Mr.Tapsters of this
world, in respectful and subdued tones:
"Can I just come in and speak to you, sir?There's been a sad
accident--your lady fallen in the water; we found these keys in her
pocket, and then some one said she was Mrs.Tapster"; and the policeman
held out the two keys which had played a not unimportant part in Mr."A man on the bridge saw her go in,"
went on the policeman, "so she wasn't in the water long,--something like
a quarter of an hour,--for we soon found her.I suppose you would like
her taken up-stairs, sir?""No, no," stammered Mr.Tapster, "not up-stairs; the children are
up-stairs."Tapster's round, prominent eyes were shadowed with a great horror
and an even greater surprise.He stood staring at the man before him,
his hands clasped in a wholly unconscious gesture of supplication.The constable gradually edged himself backward into the dining-room.Realizing that he must take on himself the onus of decision, he gave a
quiet look round."If that's the case," he said firmly, "we had better bring her in here;
that sofa that you have there, sir, will do nicely for her to be laid
upon while they try to bring her round.Tapster bent his head; he was too much bewildered to propose any
other plan; and then he turned, turned to see his hall invaded by a
strange and sinister quartet.It was composed of two policemen and of
two of those loafers of whom he so greatly disapproved.They were
carrying a hurdle from which Mr.But,
though he was able to shut out the sight he feared to see, he could not
prevent himself from hearing certain sounds, those, for instance, made
by the two loafers, who breathed with ostentatious difficulty as if to
show they were unaccustomed to bearing even so comparatively light a
burden as Flossy drowned.John went to the hallway.Mary moved to the kitchen.There came a sudden short whisper-filled delay.The doorway of the
dining-room was found to be too narrow, and the hurdle was perforce left
in the hall.An urgent voice, full of wholly unconscious irony, muttered in Mr.Tapster's ear: "Of course, you would like to see her, sir," and he felt
himself being propelled forward.Making an effort to bear himself so
that he should not feel afterward ashamed of his lack of nerve, he
forced himself to stare with dread-filled yet fascinated eyes at that
which had just been laid upon the leather sofa.Flossy's hat, the shabby hat which had shocked Mr.Tapster's sense of
what was seemly, was gone; her fair hair had all come down, and hung in
pale-gold wisps about the face already fixed in the soft dignity which
seems so soon to drape the features of those who die by drowning.Her
widely opened eyes were now wholly emptied of the anguish with which
they had gazed on Mr.Tapster in this very room less than an hour ago.Her mean brown serge gown, from which the water was still dripping,
clung closely to her limbs, revealing the slender body which had four
times endured, on behalf of Mr.John went back to the kitchen.Tapster, the greatest of woman's natural
ordeals.But that thought, it is scarcely necessary to say, did not come
to add an extra pang to those which that unfortunate man was now
suffering, for Mr.Tapster naturally thought maternity was in every
married woman's day's work--and pleasure.* * * * *
It might have been a moment, for all that he knew, or it might have been
an hour, when at last something came to relieve the unbearable tension
of Mr.He had been standing aside, helpless, aware
of and yet not watching the efforts made to restore Flossy to
consciousness.The doctor raised himself and straightened his cramped shoulders and
tired arms.With a look of great concern on his face, he approached the
bereaved husband."I'm afraid it's no good," he said; "the shock of the plunge in the cold
water probably killed her.She was evidently in poor health, and--and
ill-nourished; but, of course, we shall go on for some time longer,
and----"
But whatever he had meant to say remained unspoken, for a telegraph-boy,
with the impudence natural to his kind, was forcing his way into and
through the crowded room.he cried in a high,
childish treble.The master of the house held out his hand mechanically.Daniel went to the office.He took the buff
envelop and stared down at it, sufficiently master of himself to
perceive that some fool had apparently imagined Cumberland Crescent to
be in South London; before his eyes swam the line, "Delayed in
transmission."Mary journeyed to the bathroom.Then, opening the envelop, he saw the message for which
he had now been waiting so eagerly for some days; but it was with
indifference that he read the words,
"_The Decree has been made Absolute._"
PRESIDENT JOHNSON AND HIS WAR ON CONGRESS
BY
CARL SCHURZ
ILLUSTRATED WITH PHOTOGRAPHS
I was on the point of returning to |
garden | Where is Mary? | Greeley were
tempting, I was disinclined to accept, because I doubted whether the
work would be congenial to me, and because it would keep me in the East.Greeley, as well as some of my friends in Congress, persuaded me
that, since I had studied the condition of things in the South and could
give reliable information concerning it, my presence in Washington might
be useful while the Southern question was under debate.This determined
me to assent, with the understanding, however, that I should not
consider myself bound beyond the pending session of Congress.My most agreeable experience
consisted in my association with other members of the craft.I found
among the correspondents of the press a number of gentlemen of uncommon
ability and high principle--genuine gentlemen, who loved truth for its
own sake, who heartily detested sham and false pretense, and whose sense
of honor was of the finest.This was the rule, to which, as to all
rules, there were of course some exceptions; but they were rare.My more
or less intimate contact with public men high and low was not so
uniformly gratifying.I enjoyed, indeed, the privilege of meeting
statesmen of high purpose, of well-stored minds, of unselfish
patriotism, and of the courage of their convictions.But disgustingly
large was, on the other hand, the number of small, selfish politicians I
ran against--men who seemed to know no higher end than the advantage of
their party, which involved their own; who were always nervously
sniffing for the popular breeze; whose most demonstrative ebullitions of
virtue consisted in the most violent denunciations of the opposition;
whose moral courage quaked at the appearance of the slightest danger to
their own or their party's fortunes; and whose littlenesses exposed them
sometimes with involuntary frankness to the newspaper correspondent whom
they approached to beg for a "favorable notice" or for the suppression
of an unwelcome news item.They were by no means in all instances men of
small parts.On the contrary, there were men of marked ability and large
acquirements among them.But never until then had I known how great a
moral coward a member of Congress may be.There were few places in the United
States where the public men appearing on the national stage were judged
as fairly and accurately as they were in Newspaper Row in Washington.[Illustration: HORACE GREELEY
AT WHOSE REQUEST CARL SCHURZ BECAME THE CHIEF WASHINGTON CORRESPONDENT
OF THE NEW YORK TRIBUNE IN 1865]
I remained at the head of the _Tribune_ office in Washington, according
to my promise to Mr.Greeley, to the end of the winter season, and then
accepted the chief-editorship of the Detroit _Post_, a new journal
established at Detroit, Michigan, which was offered to me--I might
almost say urged upon me--by Senator Zachariah Chandler.In the meantime
I had occasion to witness the beginning of the political war between the
executive and the legislative power concerning the reconstruction of the
"States lately in rebellion."_The Beginnings of the Struggle_
I am sure I do not exaggerate when I say that this political war has
been one of the most unfortunate events in the history of this Republic,
for it made the most important problem of the time, a problem of
extraordinary complexity, which required the calmest and most delicate
and circumspect treatment, the foot-ball of a personal and party brawl
which was in the highest degree apt to inflame the passions and to
obscure the judgment of everybody concerned in it.Mary went back to the garden.Since my return from
the South, the evil effects of Mr.Johnson's conduct in encouraging the
reactionary spirit prevalent among the Southern whites had become more
and more evident and alarming from day to day.Charles Sumner told me
that his personal experience with the President had been very much like
mine.When Sumner left Washington in the spring, he had received from
Mr.Johnson at repeated intervals the most emphatic assurances that he
would do nothing to precipitate the restoration of the "States lately in
rebellion" to the full exercise of self-governing functions, and even
that he favored the extension of the suffrage to the freedmen.The two
men had parted with all the appearance of a perfect friendly
understanding.But when the Senator returned to Washington in the late
autumn that understanding seemed to have entirely vanished from the
President's mind and to have given place to an irritated temper and a
certain acerbity of tone in the assertion of the "President's policy."From various other members of Congress I heard the same story.Johnson, strikingly unlike Abraham Lincoln, evidently belonged to that
unfortunate class of men with whom a difference of opinion on any
important matter will at once cause personal ill feeling and a
disturbance of friendly intercourse.Johnson was
regarded as one who had broken faith, and the memory of the disgraceful
exhibition of himself in a drunken state at the inauguration ceremonies,
which under ordinary circumstances everybody would have been glad to
forget, was revived, so as to make him appear as a person of
ungentlemanly character.All these things combined to impart to the
controversies which followed a flavor of reckless defiance and rancorous
bitterness, the outbursts of which were sometimes almost ferocious.[Illustration: TWO PORTRAITS OF CHARLES SUMNER]
The first gun of the political war between the President and Congress,
which was to rage four years, was fired by Thaddeus Stevens in the House
of Representatives by the introduction, even before the hearing of the
President's Message, of the resolution already mentioned, which
substantially proclaimed that the reconstruction of the late rebel
States was the business, not of the President alone, but of Congress.This theory, which was constitutionally correct, was readily supported
by the Republican majority, and thus the war was declared.Of
Republican dissenters who openly took the President's part, there were
but few--in the Senate, Doolittle of Wisconsin, Dixon of Connecticut,
Norton of Minnesota, Cowan of Pennsylvania, and, for a short period,
Morgan of New York, as the personal friend of Mr.Raymond of New York, the famous founder of the
New York _Times_, acted as the principal Republican champion of the
"President's policy."[Illustration: PRESIDENT ANDREW JOHNSON
WHOSE RECONSTRUCTION POLICY LED TO THE FOUR YEARS' WAR BETWEEN HIMSELF
AND CONGRESS]
_Stevens the Dominating Figure of the Struggle_
Thaddeus Stevens was the acknowledged leader of the Republicans in the
House.Few historic characters have ever been more differently judged
from different points of view.A Southern writer of fiction has painted
him as the fiend incarnate; others have spoken of him as a great leader
of his time, far-sighted, a man of uncompromising convictions,
intellectually honest, of unflinching courage and energy.I had come
into personal contact with him in the Presidential campaigns of 1860 and
1864, when he seemed to be pleased with my efforts.I had once heard him
make a stump speech which was evidently inspired by intense hatred of
slavery, and remarkable for argumentative pith and sarcastic wit.But
the impression his personality made upon me was not sympathetic: his
face, long and pallid, topped with an ample dark-brown wig which was at
the first glance recognized as such; beetling brows overhanging keen
eyes of uncertain color which sometimes seemed to scintillate with a
sudden gleam; the under lip defiantly protruding; the whole expression
usually stern.His figure would have looked stalwart but for a deformed
foot which made him bend and limp.His conversation, carried on in a
hollow voice devoid of music, easily disclosed a well-informed mind, but
also a certain absolutism of opinion, with contemptuous scorn for
adverse argument.He belonged to the fierce class of anti-slavery men
who were inspired by humane sympathy with the slave and righteous
abhorrence of slavery, but also by hatred of the slaveholder.What he
himself seemed to enjoy most in his talk was his sardonic humor, which
he made play upon men and things like lurid freaks of lightning.He shot
out such sallies with a fearfully serious mien, or at least he
accompanied them with a grim smile which was not at all like Abraham
Lincoln's hearty laugh at his own jests.[Illustration: _From the collection of P. H. Meserve_
JOHN SHERMAN
WHO TRIED TO HEAL THE BREACH BETWEEN PRESIDENT JOHNSON AND THE SENATE]
[Illustration: THADDEUS STEVENS
THE LEADING OPPONENT OF THE MOVEMENT TO RESTORE SLAVERY, AND THE MOST
BITTER OF PRESIDENT JOHNSON'S ANTAGONISTS]
Thus Mr.Stevens' discourse was apt to make him appear a hardened cynic,
inaccessible to the finer feelings, and indifferent whether he gave pain
or pleasure.But now and then a remark escaped him--I say "escaped him,"
because he evidently preferred to wear the acrid tendencies of his
character on the outside--which indicated that there was behind his
cynicism a rich fund of human kindness and sympathy.And this was
strongly confirmed by his neighbors at Lancaster, Pennsylvania, his
home, where on one of my campaigning tours I once spent a day and a
night.With them, even with many of his political opponents, "old
Thad," as they called him, appeared to be eminently popular.They had no
end of stories to tell about the protection he had given to fugitive
slaves, sometimes at much risk and sacrifice to himself, and of the many
benefactions he had bestowed with a lavish hand upon the widows and
orphans and other persons in need, and of his generous fidelity to his
friends.They did not, indeed, revere him as a model of virtue, but of
the occasional lapses of his bachelor life from correct moral standards,
which seemed to be well known and freely talked about, they spoke with
affectionate lenity of judgment.When I saw him again in Washington at the opening of the Thirty-ninth
Congress, in December, 1865, he looked very much aged since our last
meeting, and infirm in health.In repose his face was like a death-mask,
and he was carried in a chair to his seat in the House by two stalwart
young <DW64>s.There is good authority for the story that once when they
had set him down, he said to them, with his grim humor: "Thank you, my
good fellows.What shall I do when you are dead and gone?"Daniel journeyed to the garden.But his eyes
glowed from under his bushy brows with the old keen sparkle, and his
mind was as alert as ever.It may be that his age--he was then
seventy-four--and his physical infirmities, admonishing him that at best
he would have only a few years more to live, served to inspire him with
an impatient craving and a fierce determination to make the best of his
time, and thus to intensify the activity of his mental energies.To
compass the abolition of slavery had been the passion of his life.He
had hailed the Civil War as the great opportunity.He had never been
quite satisfied with Lincoln, whose policy seemed to him too dilatory.He demanded quick, sharp, and decisive blows.[Illustration: WILLIAM PITT FESSENDEN
HEAD OF THE JOINT COMMITTEE ON RECONSTRUCTION, WHICH WAS DENOUNCED BY
PRESIDENT JOHNSON AS AN "IRRESPONSIBLE CENTRAL DIRECTORY"]
Now that the abolition of slavery was actually decreed, he saw President
Johnson follow a policy which, in his view, threatened to undo the great
work.His scornful anger at Andrew Johnson was equaled only by his
contempt for the Republicans who sided with the President.He was bound
to defeat this reactionary attempt and to see slavery thoroughly killed
beyond the possibility of resurrection, at any cost.As to the means to
be employed, he scrupled little.He wanted the largest possible
Republican majority in Congress, and to this end he would have expelled
any number of Democrats from their seats, by hook or crook.When my old
friend and quondam law partner, General Halbert E. Paine, who was
chairman of the Committee on Elections in the House, told him that, in a
certain contested election case to be voted upon, both contestants were
rascals, Stevens simply asked: "Well, which is _our_ rascal?"He said
this, not in jest, but with perfect seriousness.He would have seated
Beelzebub in preference to the angel Gabriel, had he believed Beelzebub
to be more certain than Gabriel to aid him in beating the President's
reconstruction policy.His speeches were short, peremptory, and
commanding.He bluntly avowed his purposes, however extreme they seemed
to be.He disdained to make them more palatable by any art of
persuasion, or to soften the asperity of his attacks by charitable
circumlocution.There was no hypocrisy, no cant in his utterances.With
inexorable intellectual honesty, he drew all the logical conclusions
from his premises.Whenever provoked, he
brought his batteries of merciless sarcasm into play with deadly effect.Not seldom, a single sentence sufficed to lay a daring antagonist
sprawling on the ground amid the roaring laughter of the House, the
luckless victim feeling as if he had heedlessly touched a heavily
charged electric wire.No wonder that even the readiest and boldest
debaters were cautious in approaching old Thaddeus Stevens too closely,
lest something stunning and sudden happen to them.Thus the fear he
inspired became a distinct element of power in his leadership--not a
wholesome element, indeed, at the time of a great problem which required
the most circumspect and dispassionate treatment._William Pitt Fessenden_
A statesman of a very different stamp was Senator Fessenden of Maine,
who, being at the head of the senatorial part of the joint Committee on
Reconstruction, presided over that important body.William Pitt
Fessenden was a man who might easily have been overlooked in a crowd.There was nothing in his slight figure, his thin face framed in spare
gray hair and side whiskers, and his quiet demeanor, to attract
particular notice.Neither did his appearance in the Senate Chamber
impress one at first sight as that of a great power in that important
assembly.I saw him more than once there walk with slow steps up and
down in the open space behind the seats, with his hands in his trousers
pockets, with seeming listlessness, while another senator was speaking,
and then ask to be heard, and, without changing his attitude, make an
argument in a calm conversational tone, unmixed with the slightest
oratorical flourish, so solid and complete that little more remained to
be said on the subject in question.He gave the impression of having at
his disposal a rich and perfectly ordered store of thought and knowledge
upon which he could draw with perfect ease and assurance.When I was
first introduced to him, he appeared to be rather distant in manner than
inviting friendly approach.But I was told that ill health had made him
unsociable and somewhat morose and testy, and, indeed, there was often
the trace of suffering and weariness in his face.It was also remarked
in the Senate that at times he was ill-tempered and inclined to indulge
in biting sarcasms and to administer unkind lectures to other senators,
which in some instances disturbed his personal intercourse with his
colleagues.But there was not one of them who did not hold him in the
highest esteem as a statesman of commanding ability and of lofty ideals,
as a gentleman of truth and conscience, as a great jurist and an eminent
constitutional lawyer, as a party man of most honorable principles and
methods, and as a patriot of noblest ambition for his country.[Illustration: WENDELL PHILLIPS
WHOM PRESIDENT JOHNSON NAMED AS ONE OF THE ENEMIES OF THE REPUBLIC IN
HIS SPEECH OF FEBRUARY 22]
Being a man also of conservative instincts, averse to unnecessary
conflicts, and always disinclined to go to extremes, in action as well
as in language, he was expected to exert a moderating influence in his
committee; and this expectation was not disappointed so far as his
efforts to prevent a final breach between the President and the
Republican majority in Congress were concerned.But regarding the main
question whether the "States lately in rebellion" should be fully
restored to their self-governing functions and to full participation in
the government of the Republic without having given reasonable
guaranties for the maintenance of the "legitimate results of the war,"
he was in |
bedroom | Where is John? | _The President's Logic_
It must be admitted that, if we accept his premises, Mr.Johnson made in
point of logic a pretty plausible case.My cousin, the sperm whale, lives in the warm part of the ocean.Your
nice white candles are made from spermaceti.It is taken from the head
of the sperm whale.He also gives you "ambergris," out of which fine
perfume is made.The dolphin and the porpoise are smaller whale-like animals.[Illustration: (whale)]
BY THE OYSTER
Do you like oysters?In the
summer months, when I am busy laying eggs I am not good to eat.We lay
about two million eggs each season.My children are full grown when
they are three years old.You are little more than a baby at that age.[Illustration: (oyster)]
I am called "fashionable" because I am not cheap like herring.I am
considered quite a dainty.My house is a hard shell made of two valves joined together by a hinge.Of course you know that pearls come from oysters.Often men risk their
lives in diving to the bottom of the ocean to get these precious gems.Sharks are great enemies of the pearl divers.The mother of pearl is
the lining of the pearl oyster shell.Have any of you little chaps
knives with handles made of mother of pearl?BY THE SARDINE
We are called sardines because we are caught on the coast of a country
called Sardinia.[Illustration: (sardines)]
We are considered beautiful, graceful little swimmers.Most of us are
about three or four inches long.Our color is bright green above and
silvery white below.We live in the deep sea and only come to the
surface to lay our eggs.Along the coasts where we are caught there are many sardine factories.Ask your mother to buy a box of sardines for supper tonight.Then tell
her all you know about us.It is the same game whether it is match or medal play, and the same
whether you are merely engaged in friendly rivalry with an old friend,
with half a crown or nothing at all but the good game itself at stake,
or testing your skill and giving rein to your ambition in a club or open
tournament with gold medals and much distinction for the final victors.But, same game as it is, how convinced have we all been at times that it
is a very hard thing to play it always in the same way.How regularly
does an evil fate seem to pursue us on those days when we are most
desirous of doing ourselves full justice.Five times in a week will a
golfer go round the course and beat bogey, reckoning after each
performance that he has only to repeat it on Saturday to win the prize
which he covets, with several strokes to spare.Then Saturday comes, and
a sad falling off is there.By the time the sixth or seventh hole is
reached, the all-important card has perhaps been torn up into little
pieces and flung contemptuously into a convenient ditch.Of course much of this sort of thing is due to nervousness, and there
is no game in which full control of the nerves and extreme coolness are
more necessary than in golf.Let the player be as keen as he likes--the
keener the better--but if he is apt to become too anxious at the
critical stage of a round or match, he is not the man who will ever win
prizes in great competitions.He who is the most composed when in
difficulties and when the game is going against him, and who treats each
fresh trouble as it comes along as a part of the ordinary day's work to
be surmounted in the best manner possible, is the player who will most
frequently come out the conqueror.In many cases the tendency to fall
into a highly nervous state at the smallest provocation will disappear
with time and lengthening experience.Each year of golf should bring
increasing steadiness, and the steadier a golfer becomes the more
frequently will he do his best scores when they are most wanted.And so
I must leave it to time and practice and the proper cultivation of the
best methods to bring the ambitious beginner along into the front rank
of his contemporaries.But still there are some useful hints which I may
offer him and which may facilitate his progress towards the acquisition
of medals and cups.To begin with, there is a little sermon to be preached on that torn
card."Nil desperandum" should always be the motto of the competition
player, and it is a motto that will probably pay better in golf than in
any other game.I think it is very likely that some scores of monthly
medals have been lost through a too precipitate destruction of the
scoring card when everything seemed to be going the wrong way.Every
player should remember that it is indeed a perfect card that is without
a blemish, and that on the other hand there are few rounds played by a
man who knows anything about the game that are bad all through.But some
men, because they have the misfortune to be debited with a couple of 8's
in the first four or five holes, forthwith give up the ghost and rend
their cards into small pieces with many and varied expressions of
disgust.Thereafter they play well, and at the conclusion of the match
are inclined to think that they were rather in too much of a hurry to be
out of the competition in its early stages.If they had made a fine card
for fourteen or fifteen holes from the beginning, they might have taken
two 8's towards the end much less seriously to heart.They would have
said to themselves that at all events there were many very fine holes,
and the misfortunes which came later were not sufficient to spoil their
chances of success.Well, then, when these annoyances happen near the
beginning, why not take a philosophical view of them and say that as
they had to come it was best that they should come quickly and be done
with, and then go on playing hole after hole coolly and properly until
at the end it is found that the early misfortunes have been amply
retrieved?I am aware that this is very simple advice, and that it
appears like a string of platitudes, but it is extremely sound and yet
it is ignored on every medal day.Never, never tear up your card, for
golf is indeed a funny game, and no man knows what is going to happen
when it is being played.There are numberless historic instances to
support this counsel, but I will quote only one which came under my
personal observation recently, and which to my mind is one of the most
remarkable of all.Six players were left
in the final round for a cup competition, and the conditions of playing
in this final were that a medal round should be played on two different
Saturdays.On the first Saturday three of the players tore up their
cards, and so only three remained to fight out the issue on the second
Saturday.On this occasion one of the remaining three tore up his card
very early, and soon afterwards a second did so, each being unaware of
the other's action, the third player being likewise ignorant of the fact
that his rivals had disappeared from the contest, and that now, being
the only man left in, he could make any return he liked and become the
possessor of the cup.Presently he also fell into grievous
difficulties, and was on the point of tearing up his card like the
others, when the player who was marking for him stayed his hand.He had
some idea of what had happened, and, bad score as his man's was, he
insisted on its being completed, with the result of course that he was
hailed as the winner of the tournament.He at all events would for the
rest of his golfing days respect the moral which I have here endeavoured
to convey; and what must have been the reflections of the other
competitors who threw up the sponge, when they discovered afterwards
that if they had kept plodding along they would still have had an
excellent chance!Similarly in match-play competitions, do not get into the way of
thinking that your chance is hopeless just because your opponent becomes
two or three up on you, or even more than that, early in the game; and,
above all, do not alter your style of play in consequence.Nothing pays
like your own best and steadiest game and a stolid indifference to all
the brilliant things that your opponent is doing.It is unlikely that he
will keep on doing them all through the game, and when the reaction
comes you will speedily make up the leeway.There are many ups and downs
in a game of golf; and when the players are at all evenly matched, and
neither has lost his head, early differences have a way of regulating
themselves before the game is very far advanced.No doubt it is
disconcerting to be three down after only three have been played; but
are there not fifteen still to come?But it often appears that an even
greater danger awaits the inexperienced golfer than that of funk when
things are going against him, in that he is too frequently apt to become
careless when he has obtained a trifling advantage.Never slacken your
efforts when you are two or three holes up, but continue to play with
all your might and with an extreme of cautiousness until at last you are
one more up than there are holes still to play, for not until then are
you sure of victory.When a man has once held a good lead, but by
playing carelessly has allowed his opponent to get on level terms with
him again, the moral effect upon him is usually extremely bad.When this
has happened he is inclined to regard himself not as still on equal
terms with his opponent, but as having suffered a great loss and being
in grave danger of defeat.And this feeling is the prelude to actual
defeat and the bitter self-accusations that must inevitably follow.I
may have seemed to labour these simple points, but every old golfer will
bear me out in saying that a proper regard for the essence of this
advice is the first necessity for the man who covets honours in the
golfing world.I say that all golf is the same, and no matter whether it is match or
medal play, the simple object is to hole out each time in the fewest
number of strokes; but the fact that a single bad hole counts far more
heavily against you in a medal round, where all the strokes are added
together at the finish, than in match play, where the bad hole is simply
one of eighteen, and in which there is only one man to be beaten, of
whose performances you are a spectator, instead of an invisible
field--this difference generally calls for a change in tactics,
particularly on the part of the player who knows to a nicety his own
capabilities and limitations.Score play is not, of course, so generally
interesting as match play, and for this reason will never be so popular;
but from my point of view it is the best golf and the best test of golf;
indeed, in these respects I think there is really no comparison between
the two systems.Score play tests the qualities of both the golfer and
the sportsman.If he makes a bad hole and drops two or three to bogey,
he must not lose his temper, which proceeding is both useless and fatal,
but must screw up his determination, and realise that if he can snatch a
stroke from bogey at the next two or three holes, all will be just as
well as ever.If we never made a bad hole,
were never set any difficult task, always did just what we tried to
do--well, what then would be the use of playing golf?We should very
soon ask ourselves this question, and as there would be no satisfactory
answer to it, we should cease to play.Mary went back to the garden.The difficulties and the
annoyances of golf are after all the things that make the game so
attractive and render it so subtly fascinating.But all the same, when you are playing a medal round in a competition,
give due consideration beforehand to this overwhelming fact, that bad
holes do tell more heavily against you than in match play, and that when
they are made they are not over and done with, but are on permanent
record as faults to be atoned for before the round is completed.When
the score player sends his ball into a bunker, takes two to escape, and
holes out in eight strokes instead of in five, his punishment is not
completed at this stage, as in match play.The case is held over in view
of what his future conduct may be.He is, in fact, ordered to come up
for judgment if called upon.Now, to avoid the pain and anxiety of all
this, I suggest to the player who takes out a card in a score
competition, that he should make up his mind at the beginning of the
round that from the first hole to the finish he will be more than
usually cautious.Daniel journeyed to the garden.By this I do not mean to say that he should always
play the strict safety game, for the man who invariably plays for safety
and nothing else will soon find his card running up very high.Certain
risks must be taken; but do not accept the very doubtful risks.In match
play, I say always play the bold game.If there is a bunker somewhere about the limit of your best possible
carry, go for it.If you have a long putt for the hole, give the hole a
chance, and either be in or beyond.But I do not suggest that these
things should also be done in score-play competitions.If the hole is
guarded by a bunker, and you have reason to fear that you cannot carry
that bunker, it is in these circumstances a thousand times better to
play short than to take the risk of putting your ball into it and
making a serious blot upon your card.Similarly, when on the putting
green, and there is a long distance between your ball and the hole,
bring your mind to realise that it is really of less importance that you
should hole out in one stroke than that you should do so in not more
than two, and therefore concentrate your whole energies on placing
yourself dead for the second putt.Therefore I say, accept a risk now
and then when there is a fairly good prospect of success, and when the
reward for it will be commensurate with the danger that was incurred.The course should be studied hole
by hole for medal play, and the competitor should come to an exact
understanding with himself as to the things that must be done and what
things need not be done.Thus it frequently happens that a player,
seeing a bunker some distance in front of him but yet not quite out of
his range, goes for it as a matter of course.Obviously he must incur a
certain amount of risk, and it may happen that even if he carries it in
safety he may not be better off at all than if he were ten or fifteen
yards on the playing side.In either case it may be an easy shot to the
green, and it may even happen that of the two the longer one would be
the easier for this particular golfer.But it is quite likely that he
never took any account of that when taking the risk of the bunker.Now
this man is to be remonstrated with, for, with the best intentions, he
has displayed not courage but folly.He must realise that all bunkers
are not of necessity to be carried with long shots.If all golfers
played the same game, and always their best game, and, moreover, if all
bunkers were placed in the proper places for bunkers, then it would be
their duty to go for them every time.But either through the very good
or the very bad shots that have gone before, we find that these carries
vary very much, and, besides, the bunkers on all courses are certainly
not placed exactly where they ought to be, and so for reckoning up the
proper mode of play in order that the hole may be captured in the
fewest possible number of strokes, they can sometimes for all practical
purposes be disregarded.A golfer is often in an anxious state of mind when the day of a
competition in which he wishes to do well arrives, and he is painfully
conscious that he is completely off his play with one or other of his
clubs, and has an abiding fear that it will bring him to grief.When he
feels like this about the club, it will probably do so.Now the question
is, whether at this crisis he shall take out a new one with which he is
entirely unfamiliar and trust to luck with it, or put his faith once
more in the instrument which of late has repeatedly spoilt his game.John journeyed to the bedroom.He
is usually advised that in such circumstances he should not indulge in
any risky experiments, and that it is madness to take a new and untried
club out with him when it is more or less imperative that he should play
one of his best rounds.But I am not by any means sure that this advice
is well founded.Daniel travelled to the hallway.No golfer plays well with a club in which he has
completely lost |
hallway | Where is Daniel? | It may not be the fault of the club at all;
but there is the fact.On the other hand, the player is always possessed
of a certain amount of hope when he takes a new implement in his hands.He has convinced himself beforehand, or at least ought to have done,
that its points are just what he most admires, and that he is likely to
do well with it.And so he probably will, even if it is only for a round
or two.What I suggest, therefore, is
that when this grave uncertainty exists about the kind of performance
that will probably be made with one of the articles in the bag, and
there is a new and good substitute ready at hand, the latter should not
be disregarded because of a kind of instinct that in a big fight it is
best to stick to the old weapons.Take the new one out with you, but do
not call it into service for the first hole or two.During this
preliminary stage give the old but disappointing favourite another
chance to show that it will not desert you in the hour of need; but if
it fails to rise to the occasion and you blunder with it during the play
at the first and second holes, pass sentence upon it forthwith and
relegate it finally to your bag.Then at the third hole let the new one
have its trial.Over and over again have I found this method succeed
most wonderfully, and I am a particular believer in it in connection
with putters.A golfer may have been putting badly for a long time, but
directly he takes a new putter in his hand he feels that a great change
for the better has been effected, and forthwith he begins to astonish
himself by holing out from almost anywhere, or at least always getting
his ball dead the first time.But there they are, and no doubt it will be
agreed that a medal or a cup is worth a new putter any time.I do not believe in any sort of training for important golf matches.It
is not necessary, and it generally upsets the man and throws him off his
game.Mary went back to the garden.If he is a smoker let him smoke all the time, and if he likes an
occasional glass of wine let him take it as usual.A sudden stoppage of
these luxuries causes a feeling of irritation, and that is not good for
golf.Daniel journeyed to the garden.The game does not seem the same to you as it was before.For my
part I am neither a non-smoker nor an abstainer, and I never feel so
much at ease on the links and so fully capable of doing justice to
myself as when smoking.John journeyed to the bedroom.But at the same time I believe in the most
complete moderation.Only by the constant exercise of such moderation
can that sureness of hand and eye be guaranteed which are absolutely
necessary to the playing of good golf.On one occasion when I had a
championship in view I stopped the tobacco for a short period
beforehand, and I am bound to confess that the results seemed excellent,
and perhaps some day I may repeat the experiment.But there was nothing
sudden about the abstinence in this case, and by the time the big days
came round I had become thoroughly accustomed to the new order of
things, and the irritation had passed away.However, these are matters
which every man may be left to decide for himself according to his own
good common sense, and the only object I had in introducing them was to
counsel the avoidance of sudden whims and freaks, which are never good
for golf.Another question is how much or how little golf should be played
beforehand when a man desires to give himself the best chance of playing
his best game on a certain specified day.That depends largely upon how
much golf he is in the habit of playing in the ordinary course.If he is
a man who plays regularly, almost every day when it is fine, I think he
will generally do far better for himself by abstaining altogether for a
day or two before the competition.Then, when he goes out to play in it,
he will experience a zest and keenness which will be very much in his
favour.There is no danger that in this brief period of rest he will
have forgotten anything that he knew before, but, on the other hand, he
will have a greatly improved capacity for taking pains, and every stroke
will be easy to him.If he continues
to play his round or two rounds every day right up to the date of the
competition, he will undoubtedly be "over-golfed," will have a great
tendency to fall into errors, and will be generally careless.But if the
would-be prize-winner is a man who has usually to content himself with
week-end golf, it would be all in his favour if he could put in a day or
two of practice before taking part in the big event.There will be no
possibility of his becoming stale by so doing.When a competitor has the choice of playing his round either in the
morning or the afternoon, I strongly advise him to select the former and
get the thing over as soon as possible.I am positive that his chances
of success are usually greater when he does so, especially if, in case
of his electing to play in the afternoon, he has nothing particularly to
occupy his mind and attention in the interval except his prospects in
the forthcoming contest.Golfers are freshest and keenest in the
morning, their bodies and limbs are most vigorous and anxious for work,
and--a very important consideration--their eyes are most to be depended
upon.And it is not an unimportant consideration that there is no
indigestible lunch to interfere with the perfect ease of mind and body
which are necessary to the making of a good card.But often, particularly in the case of important open competitions, the
times of starting are decided by lot, and the competitor, on arriving at
the course, finds that he has to accept the disadvantages of a late
draw, and must endure a period of waiting for his turn to tee up.It is
best to dispose of these wearisome periods not in hanging about the tee
or in the vicinity of the club-house, but by going out with one of the
early couples, watching their methods, and making note of the exact
manner in which their best holes are played.If the course is a strange
one, the information which the watcher thus derives will be invaluable
to him when he comes to play his own round, for he will now be possessed
of the most excellent hints as to difficulties which demand special
efforts to avoid, and of particular strokes which it is in the highest
degree necessary to play well.Not until he has watched the play of
others in this manner will the enormous significance of the position of
a particular bunker be made clear to him; he will discover the great
danger of being short with certain strokes, and of overrunning the green
at various holes.By thus watching other competitors' play he will
probably learn more about the nature and peculiarities of the course and
the way it is playing on this particular occasion, than if he were doing
a round with his own clubs.Therefore, if there is time to be killed,
this is most decidedly the way in which to kill it, and I may add that
it is the method which I myself adopt on every possible occasion.I know
that in championships and tournaments I have reaped great advantage in
watching closely the play of my fellow-competitors, their triumphs and
their failures, while waiting for my own turn to begin.CHAPTER XVII
ON FOURSOMES
The four-ball foursome--Its inferiority to the old-fashioned
game--The case of the long-handicap man--Confusion on the
greens--The man who drives last--The old-fashioned two-ball
foursome--Against too many foursomes--Partners and each
other--Fitting in their different games--The man to oblige--The
policy of the long-handicap partner--How he drove and missed in the
good old days--On laying your partner a stymie--A preliminary
consideration of the round--Handicapping in foursomes--A too
delicate reckoning of strokes given and received--A good foursome
and the excitement thereof--A caddie killed and a hole lost--A
compliment to a golfer.I think it is to be regretted that the old-fashioned foursome, in which
the respective partners play together with the same ball, has so
completely lost favour of late, and that it has been superseded to a
large extent by the four-ball foursome.To my mind the old foursome
provided a much more interesting and enjoyable game than its successor,
and tended much more to the cultivation of good qualities in a golfer.It seems to me that this new four-ball game is a kind of mongrel
mixture.It is played, I presume, because men feel that they would like
to have a game of partners and yet are unwilling to sacrifice half the
strokes of a round, as they do in the old game, and also because the man
who is on his game desires all his power and brilliancy to count, and
that they may not be interfered with by the possibly erratic procedure
of his partner.But this is a selfish spirit, and quite opposed to that
which should properly animate the men who play in combination.When a
golfer is thus anxious for the display of his skill, surely an ordinary
single-ball match is the proper thing for him.The four-ball foursome,
I admit, has much to recommend it when the partners are equally matched,
when both are really good players--more likely to do a hole in bogey
than not--and when the course is clear and there is no prospect of their
protracted game interfering with other players who may be coming up
behind.When a short-handicap man is mated with a long one, the place of
the latter in a foursome of the new kind is to my thinking not worth
having.Is it calculated to improve his golf, or to afford him
satisfaction of any kind whatever, if he plays his ball round in what is
for him very good form, and yet only contributes the halving of a single
hole as his share of the victory of the combination?Very likely after
such a game he will feel that he must fall back once more on that old
excuse of the golfer for a disappointing day, that at all events he has
had the fresh air and the exercise.The tasting of the pure atmosphere
and the working of limb and muscle are splendid things, enough to
justify any day and any game, but no golfer is heard to put them in the
forefront of the advantages he has derived from his day's participation
in the game unless the golf he has played has been miserably
disappointing.This new foursome is also a selfish game, because it is
generally played with too little regard for the convenience and feelings
of other golfers on the links.It is very slow, and couples coming up
behind, who do not always care to ask to be allowed to go through, are
often irritated beyond measure as they wait while four balls are played
through the green in front of them, and eight putts are taken on the
putting green.The constant waiting puts them off their game and spoils
their day.Another objection that I urge against this kind of game is, that even
when there is nobody pressing behind and there is no particular reason
for hurry, there is a natural tendency on the part of each player to
make haste so that he shall not delay the other three.This is the case
all the way through the green, and particularly when the hole is
reached and the putters are taken out.Then everybody's ball seems to be
in the way of the others, there is continual lifting and replacing, more
hurrying, and then, to make matters worse, there is a doubt as to what a
man should do in order to help his side--whether he should hole out in
one or two, or whether there is any use in holing out at all.Consequently his mind is in a confused state of reckoning and doubt when
he makes his putt, and poor putt it is likely to be in such
circumstances.Frequently, when a blind hole is being played, it needs a
few minutes' close examination to decide which ball is which after the
drive, unless each has been carefully marked to distinguish it from the
others.As a final indictment against this species of golf, I would say
that even when the partners are equally matched and both good players,
there is still a tendency for their individual play to be spoiled,
inasmuch as there is the feeling constantly present in the mind of each,
that even if he does happen to do a bad hole it will not matter very
much after all, as the other man is sure to come to the rescue.When it
happens that just the same thought enters the brain of that other man, a
lost hole is likely to be the result.Decidedly this is not the sort of
game to improve the golfer's play.The four-ball foursome is so very like two single matches that there is
little special advice to offer concerning the playing of it.One of the
few special points to be observed by the player who is taking part in
such a match is that, without being unduly selfish and grasping, he
should as frequently as possible avoid being the last man of the four to
make his drive from the tee.Daniel travelled to the hallway.The man who drives last is at a very
obvious disadvantage.In the first place, if he has seen the other three
make really good drives, he is too much tempted to try to beat them all,
and the usual result of such temptation is a bad stroke.On the other
hand, if he has seen two or three foozles, it is quite possible that he
will follow the bad example that has been set him.Thus, whatever has
happened before, the last man has no real encouragement offered to him.In addition to these objections, when three men have driven from the tee
they are somewhat impatient to be moving on and playing their second
shots, and in this mood they have little care for what happens to the
last drive.The fourth
man is quite conscious of this impatience on their part, even though it
may not be openly expressed by the smallest sign.So he is in a hurry to
oblige, and his effort is then disappointing.I seldom hit my best ball
when I am driving fourth in a four-ball foursome.Of course somebody
must drive last, but not necessarily the same man every time.All that I
wish to suggest is, that a player should not be too self-sacrificing,
and should not, with too much modesty about his own prowess on the tee,
always volunteer to drive after his partner.Mary travelled to the office.John went to the bathroom.The old-fashioned or two-ball foursome makes a really fine and enjoyable
game.It brings golfers together on even more intimate and friendly
relations than usual.Partners in a foursome see very deep down into the
human nature of each other.They are overwhelmingly conscious of each
other's faults and weaknesses.At the same time I do not think that even this kind of foursome
is the best thing in the world for the improvement of a man's game, and
I advise the young player to resist the temptation to take part in too
many foursomes, to the neglect of ordinary match play in singles.For
one thing, the partners, of course, only get half as much golf as they
would if they were playing a round in a single match, and for another,
they are too constantly anxious to play their best game.The sense of
responsibility is frequently a little too much for their nerves, and you
often see a man, a most dogged and persistent player in an ordinary
match, who is a consistent failure in foursomes, and who in this style
of game ought to be rated at six strokes higher handicap than his
allowance for ordinary purposes.One feels in a foursome that one must
be so very careful, and take so much extra pains, and when that feeling
is uppermost in the mind while the stroke is being made, the result is
often disastrous.It is unwise to interfere unduly with a partner's system of play while a
match is in progress.He may be missing his drive because his stance is
wrong or his swing is faulty, but the state of affairs would probably be
worse than ever if an attempt were made to put him right while the game
is going on.The hint will be more useful when the match is over.And if
he has a particular fancy for playing his brassy, when experience tells
you that an iron club should be taken, it will not generally pay to make
the suggestion at the time.The man naturally takes the club with which
he has most confidence and with which he believes he can make the shot
that is wanted.It is fatal to interfere with confidence of this kind,
and to substitute for it the hesitation and |
kitchen | Where is Daniel? | Let each man
play the various strokes that have to be made in a foursome in his own
way without interference, for nothing but chaos and a lost match can
follow upon the enforcement upon each other of individual ideas and
methods.This, of course, is not saying that each man should not play his game so
that it may fit as well as possible into that of his partner.He may
play with the club he particularly fancies, and play it in his own way,
but there should be some sort of a general understanding about what he
is going to do and the exact effect which his performance is likely to
have upon the way the hole is played if everything happens according to
programme.This makes it very desirable that the partners in a foursome
match to which any importance is attached, should have more than a
passing knowledge of each other's play, and of individual weaknesses and
excellences.One partner may be particularly good at making a fairly
full iron shot, but shaky indeed when it comes to a little pitch with
the mashie over the bunker that guards the green.It is clear, on
reflection, that the chief part in this playing up to each other's game
should be taken by the man who has the longer handicap, and is therefore
the weaker all-round player.The scratch man, being a wise and
experienced golfer, will naturally place his nervous 18-handicap friend
in as few difficulties as he can, and will constantly exert himself to
leave him a comparatively simple shot which he may be depended upon with
some certainty to accomplish in a workmanlike fashion.But the junior
player must remember that it behoves him to be the most careful and
considerate in matters of this kind, for in an emergency it is generally
the senior who must be depended upon to win the hole or pull the match
out of the fire.Let him, therefore, impose upon himself a considerable
measure of self-sacrifice, playing up to his partner for all he is
worth, contented in the knowledge that he is doing the proper thing, and
that, though he is sinking his own individuality and doing much of what
can only be described as donkey work, he is being considerably honoured
by being invited to play in such superior company.It is not always the
place of the junior partner to take risks; that is the prerogative of
the senior.There may be a particular carry on the course which the
young player is always doubtful about, but which when playing alone he
constantly makes an attempt to accomplish, and very properly so.But if
his effort is as often as not a failure--with the result that he is
badly bunkered and the hole is lost--it would be madness for him to
attempt the carry when he is playing in a foursome with a far better man
than himself as his partner.Mary went back to the garden.He must depart from his usual custom, and
play short for safety.It will be a great relief to his partner.Not
lately, but in the early years of my experience, I have seen this
principle carried to a curious excess.When there was a difficult carry
from the tee, and an inferior player and short driver had the turn to
make the stroke, I have seen his partner instruct him to miss the ball
altogether--not tap it off the tee, but miss it.Thus the other man,
presumably a good driver, had the ball left teed for him.These men
reckoned between them that on an average it would prove of more
advantage to be well over the far hazard in two strokes, than to take
the risk of being short with the tee shot and possibly not getting over
with the second or even the third.However, there is no doubt that
performances of this kind were a violation of the spirit of golf.It is
the game to hit the ball, and it is unsportsmanlike to try to miss it.Daniel journeyed to the garden.Nowadays the golfing world quite realises that this is the case.In the same way, in playing through the green and in putting, it must be
the constant object of the junior to play the safety game and to feed
his skilful partner with as many as possible of those strokes at which
he is best.Do not let him try for a desperately long second, emulating
the example which his partner set him on the tee, in the hope that he
may land the ball on the green.He is not expected to do anything of the
kind.John journeyed to the bedroom.If he should happen to be successful, his partner would know that
it was not his usual custom, that he had played beyond himself, and that
therefore there was something of the fluke in the stroke after all.He
would be much more likely to fail and foozle, and then what a miserable
golfer would he be!His obvious duty is to play a simple, easy stroke
which will be practically certain of placing the ball in such a position
that his partner will have no difficulty in getting on the green with
his third.And on the putting green, when anything over ten feet
distance intervenes between the ball and the hole, while always giving
the latter a chance, he should remember that his first duty is to lay
the ball dead.If he holes out, well and good, but his partner insists
first of all that the ball should be laid dead.At this crisis, also, he
should be particularly careful that he never commits the unpardonable
sin of laying himself, or rather his partner, a stymie.Of all the
stymies in the world, that which has been laid you by your own partner
in a foursome is the most exasperating.Of course, for the proper blending of each partner's game with that of
the other, it is advisable, or rather necessary, that before the first
stroke in the match is taken there should be some kind of general
understanding about the policy that is to be pursued.Daniel travelled to the hallway.First
consideration is given to the turn in which the tee shots are to be
taken, and the drives are so arranged that the better player takes them
at a majority of the tees where good drives are most wanted.But it
seems to me that very often an arrangement of this sort is arrived at
without sufficient consideration.For example, it frequently happens
that a long-handicap man is a very good driver indeed, better in fact
than the man who is his partner and has a handicap of many strokes less.And in the same way it commonly occurs that a short-handicap man may be
decidedly weak with his short approaches.On the average of the play
from the tee to the hole the senior player may be fully so much better
than the other as the difference in their handicaps suggests, but it by
no means follows that in particular features of the game there is the
same difference.We do not accuse the wealthy members of society, as a class, with
indifference to the wants of the poor: we but refer to a contrast between
_their_ security against the intrusion of mendicants, and the defenceless
state of the labouring classes--a contrast which doubtless must have been
ever present to the mind of the poor working man: and we do this to show
how much the wealthy will gain by a law which provides safe means for its
application in relieving poverty.The expense, then, which we are now incurring, is not a new charge, but
a wise and equitable distribution of one heretofore borne by portions
of the community in very disproportionate shares, without having any
tendency to obviate the mendicancy by which it was created, but, on the
contrary, having a direct tendency to foster and increase that most
demoralizing of all the conditions in life.Be the expense what it may, it cannot tend to induce a more extensive
reliance on the public provision than mendicancy has encouraged: nay,
we maintain, that when the law shall have been for a short time in full
and general operation, the number of unemployed and dependent poor
will gradually decline.But expectation must have a little patience:
the machinery for sustaining in orderly and decent comfort upwards of
one hundred thousand human beings, cannot be created otherwise than by
a very gradual process.This is not a clime in which men and families
can be encamped: when they are to be lodged, durable structures must be
provided, and for this work much time is necessary.We are sure that no
time has been lost; nay, we regard the progress made as among the most
accelerated public labours of this or any other country.In the mean time, the law is not without working out much good for the
labouring classes.Workmen of every grade have been busily employed in
the construction of workhouses since the spring of 1839, for which object
government has advanced upwards of a million of money, free of interest,
for ten years after the commencement of relief in each Union.We are, however, reasoning without having an argument opposed to us; for
any thing like argument against the law we have not heard.In Dublin it
is merely complained, that although houses are open and rates levied, the
mendicants still throng the streets.But it is not shown that any thing
like the same number of apparently deserving objects of relief are to
be seen; they on the contrary are in the workhouses, maintained by the
rates; and were it not for the poor children whom the mendicants drag
along with them, the imposture would soon be stopped by its own want of
success.The policy of the law contemplates the repression of beggary and
vagrancy, and all those disorders and crimes which accompany or have
their origin in those habits--the encouragement of a more productive
industry--the more universal recognition of the identity of interest
amongst all classes affected by the law--and with the cordial
co-operation of all the intelligent classes of society which it has
hitherto received, and will probably receive yet further hereafter--there
cannot be a doubt but that the law, when in full operation, will realize
all this, and more.To those who wish for an exemplification of the favourable working of the
law, we recommend the perusal of a little work lately published under the
title of “Benevola,” in which the English and Irish systems of relief are
well contrasted, and the tendency of the Irish provision is ingeniously
exemplified.To those who will not be satisfied without a practical
exemplification, we can only recommend patience; but we will say--Do not
in the mean time forget the cost and other deplorable evils of Irish
mendicancy.[1] As the principle on which the tenant is entitled to make deductions
from rent, on account of the poor rate, is not clearly understood by
many, the following explanation is given:--
This tax being imposed on the _annual_ value of each tenement, say a rate
of 5d.on £50, £60, or whatever the valuation may amount to, the tenant
is to deduct one-half of _the rate_, say 2½d., from every pound in _the
year’s_ rent.Mary travelled to the office.The rate is imposed _for a year_; it may happen that no
further rate will be necessary in the year, or it may occur that three
or four rates will be necessary; still each rate is for the year, and is
either the whole amount required or an instalment.In any event it is
levied on a year’s value; and landlords are to allow their tenants one
half of each rate of 5d., 6d., or whatever it may be, out of _every pound
in THE YEAR’S rent_, when receiving either a half year’s, quarter’s,
month’s, or week’s gale.Suppose the _annual_ value is £50, the rent being also £50, the rate of
5d.10d., and in paying a half year’s rent of £25,
the tenant must deduct _fifty_ times 2½d., or 10s.5d., being half the
tax paid.John went to the bathroom.If the year’s rent be _greater_ than the annual value, the tenant will
deduct more than half _the amount_ of the tax.Daniel went back to the bedroom.on an
_annual value_ of £50, being, as already stated, £1.10d., if the
_annual rent_ be £80, the tenant will deduct from the first gale falling
due _after_ the rate is declared by the Guardians, _eighty_ times 2½d.On the other hand, if the annual rent be _less_ than the value,
say £40, the deduction will be only _forty_ times 2½d., or 8s.The tenant and landlord become liable to the rate at the same moment;
therefore a rate declared in April 1840 attaches to rent _then accruing_,
but not to a gale previously due.THE PILGRIM AT THE WELL.The fountain is gleaming in morning light,
But there kneels beside it a child of night;
For to her the summers no sunshine bring;
Oh!what doth she seek at that blessed spring?The home of her youth she has left afar,
And the promise of light was her spirit’s star;
But her perils and pilgrimage all are past,
And that hallowed fount she hath found at last.For they said that a spell in its waters lay,
To banish the blight of her life away.And the prayer of her faith it grows fervent now,
While signing the cross upon breast and brow.Oh stranger of darkness, kneel not there,
Tho’ the fountain with freshness fills the air,
And its waters are sweet as the summer rain,
But they cannot give thee the day again.Yet, tell us, ye searching ones and wise,
Oh!whence did these ancient dreams arise
Of the holy and hidden things, which still
Were mighty to heal all human ill?They were stars that blest in their hour of might,
And gems that shone with a saving light;
They were trees of life in the trackless wilds,
And the sea had its own immortal isles;
And through all her changes, the world’s hope clings
To the healing power of her sacred springs;
For around them the faith of nations hung,
And sages have trusted, and poets sung,
And pilgrims have sought them by night and day,
Over mountain and desert far away;
But they sought in vain in the earth or seas,
Oh, tell us whence are such dreams as these!Say, are they of some far deathless clime,
Thus casting its shadows of hope on time;
Or voices of promise, sent before
The day when earth’s curse shall be no more?We know not but life hath the cloud and pall,
And woe for the heart’s hope, more than all,
For its precious seed in the fruitless ground,
And its bread on the waters never found.is there not many a weary heart,
That hath seen the greenness of life depart,
Yet muted in vain in a powerless spell,
Like her who knelt by the Holy Well!F. B.
NATURE’S WONDERS.The study of natural history is one which, independent of the charm
it possesses to the inquisitive and contemplative mind, in affording
food for the cultivation of the highest qualities of the intellect, is
also beneficial in a moral point of view, as it insensibly brings the
cultivator of it to contemplate the power and goodness of his Creator.It leads his thoughts from the petty affairs of life, and, making him
look with admiration and a feeling of love on every manifestation of
the Divine power which surrounds him, instils into his mind one of the
strongest principles of action desired by the Almighty--a feeling of
universal benevolence.There cannot be a better illustration of this latter effect which I have
mentioned the study of natural history produces on the mind, than that
afforded us by the history of the birth and after life of the insect I
have headed this article with--“the Gadfly.” Strange and wonderful though
the transformations be to which the butterfly and many other individuals
of the insect world are subject, those of this little creature far
surpass them all.Many of my readers are well acquainted with that fly which in the latter
part of summer is seen to be so annoying to the horse, buzzing about
him, and every now and then dashing itself with some degree of violence
against his sides and legs.This motion, to all appearance, is without
design; but a closer studyDaniel travelled to the kitchen. |
kitchen | Where is Daniel? | If attentively observed, it will be found that it is the female of this
fly alone who resorts to this peculiar motion; this she does to deposit
her eggs in the hair of the horse, to which they at once become attached
by a gelatinous fluid surrounding them; by this mucus they are enabled
to retain their hold for a few days, during which time they are fitted
to be hatched, and the slightest touch will liberate a little worm they
contain.The horse, in resorting to the common practice of licking
himself, breaks the egg, and the small worm contained in it adhering to
the tongue of the animal, is conveyed with the food into the stomach;
there it clings by means of hooks placed at either side of its mouth,
and its hold is so tenacious that it will be broken before it can be
detached.Here, in this strange abode, changing as it were its nature
in becoming a parasite, it remains for the whole of the winter, feeding
on the mucus of the stomach.At the end of the ensuing spring, having
reached its full perfection in this secondary state, led by that instinct
which regulates all the animated creation, from man to a monad, it
detaches itself from the cuticular coat, and is carried into the vilous
portion of the stomach with the food, passes out of it with the chyme,
and is at length evacuated with the feces.The larva or maggot, now a
second time changing its nature, seeks shelter in the ground, and after
some time becomes a chrysalis; in that helpless state it lies for some
weeks, when, bursting from its deathlike sleep, it wakes into life and
activity in the form of a perfect fly.There is hardly a parallel to this wonderful chain of causes and effects,
and effects and causes, to be met with in all the varied and mysterious
workings of nature; scarcely one which exhibits so many acts apparently
so unconnected with the ultimate results.Mary went back to the garden.V.
IRISH ODDITIES--No.His family, his property,
his early education, entitled him to that dignity.Jack was not a
gentleman; with perverted views of ambition he spurned the distinction,
and gloried in the well-merited title of knave.Many loftier and nobler
minds have been reduced to even a lower point of moral degradation by
early indulgence in gross licentious habits.Immoderate sensual gratification ranked not in the catalogue
of his crimes.He was no toper; was a married man at twenty, and a
faithful husband all his life.Yet, Jack was an acknowledged, nay, more,
a professed knave, though neither a lover of money nor a spendthrift.Shakspeare it is said, ransacked all nature, and left almost no character
untouched; yet neither in his historical portraits, the etchings of his
own times, nor his prophetic creations, has he given us a picture that at
all resembled _Snap Rivers_, the faithfully expressive soubriquet assumed
by our hero.Nature, whimsical nature, must have been in her drollest
mood--must have been actually studying _the picturesque_ when she cast
his nativity.He certainly was a model for an artist in that line,
for he stood six feet six inches by military standard, was extremely
slender, rejoiced in the possession of a hatchet face ornamented with
the most splendid Roman nose imaginable, illumined by two small ferret
eyes, squinting fiercely inwards, which gave to his countenance the most
sinister expression possible.Quite aware of the value of these natural
advantages, Jack’s genius and striking taste in dress added considerably
to their effect.Daniel journeyed to the garden.It was his invariable custom through life to wrap his
outer man in a long blue cloak, a garment little used in his day.Summer
and winter, a pair of blue rib-and-fur woollen stockings encased his
spindle legs, gartered above the knee beneath a pair of gun-mouthed
unmentionables; a red nightcap ever maintained its conspicuous place on
his elevated poll, while an immense fire-shovel or clerical hat gave a
finish to his unique and matchless appearance.He possessed one other
accomplishment: he was afflicted--poh!--blessed with a most inveterate
stammer in his speech: a word in speaking he could not utter without the
most frightful contortion of countenance, and unintelligible splutter,
splutter, splutter.Yet, no one of his attributes did he turn to such
beneficial effect as this; for when he either wished to gain time, or
baffle an opponent, forth came a torrent of manting sounds in all their
horrific grandeur, and he who could quell the feelings of pity could
rarely resist the ready propensity to laugh at the ludicrous exhibition;
so Jack was generally successful.But, notwithstanding this great natural
defect, whenever he pleased he could make himself well understood, by
falling back upon a species of recitative, or musical method of speaking,
peculiar to himself, and always commencing with a loud “ho!ho!” which
gave timely warning to all his acquaintances that he was about to
favour them with his own sentiments in his own style.One circumstance
of his early life must be mentioned, as it may have given a bent to his
mind in after years.At the early age of seventeen he had deserted his
respectable and happy home, and found himself a private in a dragoon
regiment.The act broke his father’s heart.So, having spent three years
in that admirable school of morality, Jack purchased out, and returned to
his young wife, as well as to the possession of a snug £400 a-year, which
fell into his hands by hereditary descent.Constituted as his mind then was, his principles soon began to develope
themselves, and to afford a strong contrast to those which had governed
the actions of his father.That he shortly became dreaded by all his
neighbours, may be admitted; that he would and did overreach every
man with whom he had business transactions, was an admitted fact,
because it was his own proud boast; and when checked by his friends for
those admissions, he would boldly reply, “Ho!woo-ood you have me
tit-tit-too put my lil-lighted ca-handle under a bu-hushal?” But that
he was hated, or even disrespected in consequence of his acts, has
no foundation in reality.There was nothing mean or grovelling about
his knavery--all was above-board, done in clear day-light.John journeyed to the bedroom.Daniel travelled to the hallway.There was
nothing selfish or avaricious about him; the glory of the deed was all
he aimed at, for every body knew he would prefer gaining a pound by open
imposition, to the receipt of ten by honourable means.He never used a
soothing phrase to human being.He seemed to court the hostility of his
species, yet that would not come; for notwithstanding his profane and
coarse salutations, he had a humane heart, and a short time sufficed to
unmask it.The poor never went hungry from his door, and a distressed
acquaintance had a certain resource while there was a penny in the purse
of _Snap Rivers_.He was as welcome to his cash as to his bitterest
malediction, and that was ever ready for either friend or foe.But the
insolent great man, or the would-be important, who aped a dignity to
which he had no fair claim, was the object of his deep immitigable hate;
with such he could hold no terms; and did such ever cross his path, he
would plot for months till he would circumvent him in some shape.Did
ever Shakspeare light on such a character?Yet, notwithstanding all these
seeming contradictions, a single trait has not been here placed to his
account that was not in a degree beyond description truly his.On one occasion Jack was invited to an evening party in the house of
his brother-in-law, a plain honest man, an extensive farmer, wealthy
and respectable, in every point the very antithesis of his eccentric
relative.The district was remarkable for the peace and harmony which
prevailed throughout its entire population.Party strife and sectarian
animosity were here totally unknown, while intermarriages among all
sects cemented a union and fostered a spirit of Christian charity and
forbearance, which, while it ameliorated the heart and breathed peace
around it, shed also a lustre on the humble community beyond the dignity
which vain pomp confers on the fleeting distinctions which gorgeous
wealth creates.Mary travelled to the office.But Jack was an invited guest; so was his own amiable minister, the
virtuous and respected Protestant rector, Mr B----; so was Dr D----, a
pretty tolerable wag; and so was the Rev.Mr K----, the parish priest,
between whom and the rector there existed a sincere unfeigned friendship.John went to the bathroom.The priest had studied in France; was a man of high attainments, polished
manners, possessed a vast fund of sparkling wit, with as ready and
as happy an expression as ever distinguished man; but his brilliant
qualities were ever under the control of strict decorum, and, further,
restrained by a lofty sense of that dignity which should inhedge the
minister of religion.He was consequently an especial favourite with all
classes, and an honoured guest at every social board.No man revered him
more than Snap Rivers, and none was more anxious, or better knew how, to
draw out his conversational powers.The party was all assembled with the exception of our hero, and as his
presence and pungent remarks always contributed to the hilarity of his
friends, the kind-hearted host was not half satisfied with his absence.“What the devil’s keeping Jack?” had just escaped from Mr Anderson’s
tongue, as the door opened, and the head and shoulders of Snap Rivers
made their welcome appearance.When he had fairly entered the room,
he raised himself to his full height, stared deliberately around him,
pulled off his hat with some attempt at grace, and exclaimed in his
own fashion, “Ho!a goo-hoodly company, by Ju-hupiter!the
bla-hack-coats!” Then casting up his eyes in the most fervent manner, he
added--
“From daw-hocters and praw-hoctors, lil-lawyers and cla-hargymen, good
Lord deliver us!”
“Early in the attack, Mr Rivers,” said the priest.Mr Lil-long-tongue, sure you nee-heedn’t care; you’re
always prepared.I wo-wo-wish your brother co-co-corbie there would
bib-bib-bib-borrow some of your chin-whack.”
“Listen to him noo,” said the host; “he’s begun, an’ the diel would na
stop his tongue; we’ll a’ get a wipe in our turn.”
“Never mind,” said the rector.“Mr Rivers, I am happy to perceive, is
charitably inclined to-night.He wishes to increase my usefulness for the
benefit of his neighbours, as he never condescends to occupy his seat in
church.”
“And never will, Mr Modesty, till you think fit to change your tune.”
“Pray inform me how I shall accommodate myself to your taste, Mr Rivers.”
“There are tit-two mim-methods open to you.Either you shall pra-hactise
what you pre-heach, or pre-heach what you pra-hactise!”
“You are pleased to speak in riddles, Mr Rivers; be kind enough to
explain.”
“Ho!tha-hat is mim-more than I intended.Daniel went back to the bedroom.Fu-hoo men blame me for
con-ce-ling my thoughts.You pre-heach
cha-harity, and you pra-hactise rir-rir-robbery.Daniel travelled to the kitchen.Now, I am a knave; and how lies the difference?In my fif-favour
to be sure, for I give the world fif-fair play--every body knows my
cha-haracter.”
“Your character _is_ generally known,” interposed the priest; “and, as
you admire candour, allow me to add, as generally execrated.”
“And what is that yoo-hoore affair, Mr Law-long-tongue.Why meddle in
other men’s fif-fif-feuds?”
“You mistake, Mr Rivers; he who interrupts the harmony of society is
accountable to every member.You have rudely burst the bounds of decorum
to-night; you have unfeelingly assailed a mild and amiable gentleman;
your charge is as unjust as your manner is coarse and vulgar, and both
are as execrable as any thing, save the malice that prompted the attack.”
“Ho!Sandra moved to the kitchen.I might as well have rir-roused a hive of hornets.You
black-coats fight among you-yourselves like cat and dog, but you will not
allow others to interfere with the claw-hoth, I perceive.”
“The deevil stop your tongue, but it’s gleg the nicht, Jack Rivers,” said
the host; “can you no gie us peace?--sure nae ither man would insult the
rector.”
“Ho!but you’re in a wonderful pucker, Mr Numskull.Let the rector
defend himself.”
“Mr B---- is too gentle a character to manage you,” said the priest.“Your greatest enemy wo-on’t brand you with _that_ crime,” replied
Rivers, “for you ride rough-shod over all that come in your way.”
“Nothing gives me greater pleasure, I admit, when I meet such characters
as you; for history furnishes no likeness of you, and among living men we
would seek in vain for your fellow.”
“Ho!your French politeness is less polished than stringent to-night,
I think.I would rather see your native talent in
its native Irish dress.Out with the sentiments of your heart, plainly,
man, and at once say, ‘Out of h----, Rivers, you’re matchless.’”
“Oh no, I cannot profit by your advice.Mary went to the bedroom.I felt my own want of ability,
and therefore left the picture to be dashed off by an abler hand.The
truthfulness of your sketch no person will venture to dispute.”
The laugh was against Jack, and he bore the punishment with good temper,
collecting himself, however, for a renewal of hostilities.After tea,
as was the custom on such occasions, the ladies and such of the young
men as preferred female society withdrew to another apartment, while the
majority of the elderly gentlemen, including the clergymen, the doctor,
and Snap Rivers, collected round the host to enjoy the comforts of the
bottle; and as the steam began to rise, the hilarity of the party got up
in proportion.After various gay sallies, Rivers said,
“Well, Master Galen, how goes trade now?You-oo and the se-hexton are
se-heldom idle, I believe.”
“Always doing a little,” said the good-natured doctor, “but nothing worth
notice.Any snaps with yourself of late, my conscientious friend?”
“Good, doctor, good; seldom at a loss for a sly hit.A-a-and to tell you
the truth, I have mere trifles to boast of since I diddled the fellows in
the pa-harish of Billy.”
“I am not aware of the circumstance; pray what was it?” said the doctor.“Lil-lil-let our brilliant host tell you; he was a witness to the
transaction,” said Rivers; “besides, unfortunately, my tongue was not
made by the same craftsman that manufactured my brains.”
“How happy for your neighbours!” said the priest; “could your tongue
give ready expression to the subtle plottings of your skull, we would |
office | Where is Sandra? | But, Mr Anderson, do favour us with
the story.”
“By my conscience, then, it will do but little credit to Jack, in any
honest man’s mind; but if you will hae it, then you must hae it.About
three months ago there was a property to be sold by public cant in
B----ls, and, to be sure, the devil drives it to Jack’s ears.the lease was a perpetuity, very valuable, and fifty pun’ o’ a deposit
was to be paid doon on the nail.Very weel, he comes owre and engages
me to gang alang wi’ him to buy the place.But on the morning of the
sale when I called on him, what was my surprise to see him dressed up
in a rabbitman’s coat, tied roun’ wi’ a strae rope, a hat owre the
red nightcap, no worth thrippence, wi’ breeks, shoes, and stockings
that would disgrace a beggarman.Weel, in spite o’ a’ I could say,
aff he starts in that fashion, and you’ll grant a bonny figure he cut
among respectable men; but diel hait he cared; for while the folk was
gathering, he sets himsel up on a kind o’ a counter, and begins beating
wi’ his heels, and glancing roun’ him like a monkey, and jabbering the
purest nonsense.I actually thought I would hae drapped through the earth
wi’ perfect shame, though I was a little relieved when I saw he was set
down for an idiot, and heard the gentlemen freely crack their jokes on
him.Weel, the auction commenced, and when twa or three bids were gi’en,
he looks up at the cant-master so innocently, and says, in his ain style,
‘Ho, ho, may I gie a bid?’ ‘To be sure, my fine fellow,’ says the man,
laughing doon at him; ‘bid up, and nae doot ye’ll get the property.’ The
bidding was up to £150.‘£200,’ cries Jack, the roars o’ the company.Sandra went back to the bathroom.‘£250,’ says another.‘£300,’ says Jack, and he skellied up at the
cant-master in such a fashion as nae living man could stand.You could
hae tied the hail gathering wi’ a strae, while Jack kept glowering about
and whistling, and beating time to the tune wi’ his heels.”
“And what tune did he whistle?” said the doctor.“The diel a mair or less nor ‘the Rogue’s March,’” said the narrator.“But when the roars had subsided, the cant-master, to humour the joke,
takes up Jack’s bid, and he says, ‘Three hundred pounds once--three
hundred pounds twice--three hundred pounds, three--three--three--all
done?--three times!’ and down, in fine, he knocks a property worth three
thousand, adding, ‘The place is yours, my man.’ ‘Yes, by my sowl,’ says
Jack, springing off the counter, ‘the place _is_ mine;’ and pulling a bag
out of a side pocket, and placing it on the table, he added, ‘And there’s
your required deposit for you!’ But he may tell the rest himsel.”
“And what followed, Mr Rivers?” said the doctor.Why, you-oo would have thought the fellow was stuck,
or af-flicted with _my_ own impediment; but after some attempts he
stammered out, ‘Oh, every person knows I was only in jest.’ ‘Ho!my
boy,’ said I, ‘but every person here _shall_ know that I ne-ever was more
in earnest.If I be a fool, my money’s no fool.gentlemen, you
enjoyed your jokes at my expense; but it’s an old saying, _he may laugh
that wins_; the tables a-a-are turned, and it’s my time now, I presume.’”
“And, Mr Anderson,” said the doctor, “did all present quietly submit to
the imposition?”
“Why, to tell the truth, every sowl in the place was dumfoundered, and
stared at each other like as mony idiots.The cant-master made some new
objection about ruining him, but Jack very glibly replied, ‘The sale is
good and lawful.After more than three bids, the property was knocked
down to me.The terms have been duly complied with, the deposit tendered
before witnesses, and here is the remainder of the purchase money at your
service when the deeds are perfected.I grant you were more merry than
wise on this occasion; and if you wish to know whom you have to deal
with, it may be sufficient to inform you that I am Snap Rivers of the
Doaghs; you have likely heard the name before;’ and out he marched as
cool as a cucumber.”
The rector knew less of his parishioner than did the rest of the party;
he therefore listened in amazement to the relation; but when the host had
concluded, as if to assure himself that he was not dreaming, he said,
“And, Mr Anderson, did all this really occur?”
“I’faith I assure you it did.”
“And is it possible that you could lend yourself to so nefarious and
disreputable a transaction?”
“It’s no the first time Jack has made a tool o’ me,” said the
simple-minded host: “he inveigled me there just to make a witness o’ me.Sandra went to the office.I was innocently led into the affair; but besides what you have heard, I
have neither more nor less to do with it.”
“And do you really intend to retain the property, Mr Rivers?” warmly
inquired the indignant rector.to be sure I will, and a very good thing it is, let _me_ tell
you.”
“Well, sir, under these circumstances it is my duty to be plain: you and
I can have no further acquaintance,” said the rector.Snap appeared surprised, and with a vacant stare, or at least a
well-feigned look of simplicity, he modestly inquired, “And why, may I
ask, shoo-oo-ood you cut my acquaintance?”
“The reason is plain,” said the rector; “you are in possession of
a property surreptitiously obtained.You have deeply injured the
proprietor, ruined the auctioneer, and instead of feeling remorse, you
glory in the nefarious deed.”
“Ho!Why, man, did not I purchase it
at a public sale?If the auction was
ill managed on their parts, am I to blame?”
“These arguments,” replied the rector, “might satisfy a Jew, but have no
force on the Christian mind.It is true, the
law of the land may protect you, yet still you retain that to which in
justice you have not even a shadow of claim.”
“Well, I am rejoiced to hear these noble sentiments from you, Mr Rector,
although your high tone smacks a little of prudery.I trust you will
cherish them; and if you do, what the devil, I ask, will become of your
tithes, to which you have less claim than I have to the property?I gave
something for it, yoo-oo give nothing at all for them; and yet you have
the confounded impudence to rebuke me for one solitary act of knavery,
while you practise the same trick on hundreds yearly.”
The rector vouchsafed no reply, but retired to the ladies, disgusted with
the hardened villany of his ribald parishioner, who laughed in triumph at
the clergyman’s discomfiture; and turning to the priest, he said,
“Well, Master _Glib-tongue_, what do you think of the affair?Did not I
badger Mr Modesty in prime style?I think he will not readily volunteer
his infernal impudence again, after such a lesson.”
“I know, Snap,” said the priest, “you are a consummate scoundrel.You
have treated a most amiable man with unfeeling rudeness, and you deserve
the reprobation of every right-thinking mind.Your legal swindling is
bad, but your unblushing advocacy of the principle is worse; and if any
thing still more flagrant can be conceived, your base and savage retort
upon your own pastor is the very climax of your heartless villany.”
“Ho!Mr Bladderchops, you have taken up the cudgels, with a
vengeance.But you should remember the proverb, ‘_Come into court with
clean hands_.’ What are you better than Mr Modesty?You don’t take the
tithes, simply because you can’t get them.You don’t rob by act of
parliament, but you wheedle the money out of some, and frighten it out of
others, with the magic of your priestcraft.”
Mr Anderson was in agony, and interposing said, “I think, Jack, if you
had any decency or feeling for me, you wouldn’t insult a clergyman at my
table.You might be satisfied with driving one out of the room.”
“Ho!Mr Numskull, but you’re thin in the skin!You have a wonderful
leaning towards the corbies; you might fairly volunteer to defend the
rector, but I beg you to let the priest answer for himself.”
“And were I to answer according to your merits, a horsewhip would afford
the fitting reply.Respect for my own character forbids that appeal, and
protects your insolence.The cupidity of your
heart, like every other crime, engenders its own punishment; and though
you appear to glory in acts which shock the feelings of all other men,
yet, despite your coarse ribaldry, there _is_ an avenger within your own
breast, which with scorpion venom stings you to madness, and will never
cease its gnawings till penitence, a very unlikely consummation, pour its
healing balm on ulcers scared and encrusted by the fires of iniquity!”
“Ho!how very familiar you black-coats are with horrors!How very
glibly you can ‘talk of hell where devils dwell, and thunder out
damnation.’ Now, I think you priests should be more modest.It would
serve your interests better to merely consign us to purgatory.”
“Your own acts, Rivers, determine such cases.”
“Ho!I am aware of that; but, notwithstanding, cannot a little bit of
clerical hocus-pocus serve us on a pinch?”
“The habitually profane have little to hope for either from God or man;
they sneer at blessings mercifully offered, and too frequently die in
their sins.”
“Then, under all these circumstances I think it as wise to have nothing
to do with your purgatory.”
“I wish it may not lie your fate to go farther and fare worse.”
“Well, the devil couldn’t bandy compliments with you, Mr K----; so I
think, brother Bill, you had better push about the jorum.The priest has
too much tongue for me to-night, and there’s no moving his temper.But
wait a bit: if I don’t gage him to his heart’s content, the first public
place I meet him in, my name’s not Snap Rivers.” The party separated good
friends, and the priest paid no attention to the threat.A month had
elapsed, and Mr K---- having business in the nearest town, found himself
on the market-day perusing a placard, announcing the exhibition of a
large beautiful milk-white bullock, said to be a ton weight.In the midst
of his reading the priest was surprised to hear himself called by name.Mr K----, come hither!” His eye followed in the direction of the
sounds, and at about a perch distant he beheld Rivers, dressed as usual
in his long blue cloak, gun-mouthed breeches, blue rib-and-fur stockings,
his red nightcap and fire-shovel hat--as ludicrous a figure, “take him
for all and all,” as ever stood in a market.Mr K----, come hither,” and the priest, not unwillingly, obeyed
the summons.The meeting occurred just in the market-place.The little
square was thronged to excess.The anxiety of business sat upon every
countenance, and hundreds, passing hither and thither in the ardent
pursuit of their own affairs, might have passed their most intimate
friend without recognition; so true it is that the contemplative man
is never more in solitude than in the midst of a crowd.But the first
salutations over, Rivers entered eagerly into conversation with the
priest, on topics of mutual interest; with not unwarrantable familiarity
he laid his hand on his shoulder, continued to talk earnestly, insinuated
his finger into a button-hole, without, apparent motive caught him by
the collar, then grasped it firmly; and that done, to his victim’s
consternation he pulled off his fire-shovel hat, left the red nightcap
uncovered, and with much vigour brandishing the _chapeau_, began to call
an auction.The priest felt no desire
to be disposed of by public sale, but Snap laboured most earnestly in his
new vocation.hear ye!”
And the people did hear, and did flock around the pair.The priest’s
feelings may be fancied more readily than pourtrayed.He at once saw his
tormentor’s aim; he knew that violence would only serve to increase the
awkwardness of his position, and with much presence of mind he resolved
quietly to baffle, and if possible to turn the table upon Rivers.The
crowd rushed rapidly to the centre of attraction.Mr K---- remained
apparently unconcerned, and Snap was the object of every eye, as he
continued vociferously to bawl, “Hear ye!oh yes!” The
gaping spectators were lost in wonderment.No one could either divine
the cause of the uproar or explain the strange conduct of the man in the
cloak.At length the priest, seizing the favourable moment, pulled off
his hat, and with a serene look and respectful tone thus addressed the
assembly--
“Ladies and gentlemen, I have the honour of informing you that Mr John
Rivers of the Doaghs, this long gentleman at my shoulder with the blue
cloak and red nightcap, purposes in his present remarkable dress to
ride ‘the white bullock’ three times round the market this day for your
amusement; the performance to begin precisely at 12 o’clock.”
Three thundering cheers announced the delight of the crowd, while Rivers,
baffled, disappointed, astonished, perfectly dumfoundered, slackened
his gripe, fell back a few steps, and stared most fixedly at the placid
countenance of the priest; he gaped and struggled for utterance; the
muscles of his face played in wild commotion."Take the wood off the sled," said one of the
men.The wood fell this side and that; and then
poor Joe was laid on the sled, with his head on the good man's lap.He
took off his coat, and laid it on the poor boy; and then the sled went
off so fast, that they were at Joe's house in time to save him.They put him in a
warm bed, and they did rub and roll him for an hour; but still his eyes
were shut, and his face was so pale, they all said |
bedroom | Where is Sandra? | But his
mam-ma did cry: "O do not stop!So they went on; his pa-pa with the big tears
in his eyes; and the kind men they did rub and roll him, and his mam-ma
sat by, with a pale, sad face, to help, and she did not give up hope;
she did pray to God all the time to save her boy's life.A low moan came from Joe's lips, then a sigh,
then a gasp; then he said in a low tone: "How did I come here in bed?All at once the pond and his fall thro' the ice came back to his mind,
and then the pain of his mind was, oh!and he said:
"O my dear pa-pa!I did not do as you bid me; I went on the pond, and I fell
in.how can you be kind to such a bad boy?""My dear son," said his pa-pa, "God does not wish you to die.He will
give you back your life, so that you may try to be good all the rest
of your days.""But are you glad to get me back?Will you and mam-ma love me?If you
can not love me, I want to die."His mam-ma took him in her arms, and gave him a kiss, and told him she
did love him, and that he must not wish to die, but try to be good.He
must pray to God to help him, and he must not go with bad boys; and she
did look so kind, that Joe put his arms on her neck, and felt glad.He was ill a long time, for he took a sad cold.He did not fret a bit, but had a kiss and a kind word for all who
took care of him.When he got well, he did not go near that bad boy, Tom, who had made
him to sin, and then when he was in such a sad way, and like to die,
ran off.For you know when Joe sank down thro' the hole in the ice,
Tom did not help him, but, like a bad, mean boy, ran away.All bad
boys and girls act so; they will get you to sin, and then when you
are in pain, and want to get rid of your sin, they will not help you.So keep far away from all such, if you wish to lead a good
life.Do not go with bad boys or girls, who will tell you not to mind
your pa-pa and mam-ma, who are sure to know what is best for you.Joe got well, and he grew up a good boy and good man.He is a man now,
and when he is told to do what is bad, he says to him-self: "This is
like Tom; this will get me into a hole, like the hole in the ice; I
will not do it."Do _you_ do as you are bid?If you do not--mind what I
now tell you--take this book back to your mam-ma, and tell her, I do
not wish a bad boy or girl to have it; and beg her to keep it till you
are good; and when you are so, ask for the book, and then do come and
give me a kiss, and it will make me sing for joy._BOOKS PUBLISHED BY JAMES O'KANE._
THE
THIRTEEN BEST BOOKS
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Mrs.A. P. HILL, widow of Hon.12mo, cloth, beveled
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Irvington Stories.--6th edition.Illustrated by F. O. C. Darley.A splendid collection of Stories for Children, from the age of 8
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Boys of the Bible.By HENRY L. WILLIAMS, Jr.A new book, interesting to all, of every
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Betsey Jane Ward, Better-Half to Artemus.HER BOOK OF GOAKS; with a hull akkount of the Coartship and Maridge
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Little Pet Books.By AUNT FANNY, author of "Night Caps," "Mittens," "Christmas
Stories," &c., &c. Profusely illustrated.Sandra went back to the bathroom.3 volumes, 16mo, in
box, price 8 00
Sold by all Booksellers, or sent postpaid to any address, on
receipt of price, by
JAMES O'KANE, Publisher,
484 Broadway, New York.Sandra went to the office.[Transcriber's Note:
* The footnote has been moved to the end of the relevant chapter.* Pg ix Replaced "4" with "v" located in "PREFACE, 4".* Pg 28 Added period after "Sam" located in "It was Sam".* Pg 28 Added period after "top" located in "his new hum top".* Pg 29 Added period after "29" located in "--P.* Otherwise, archaic and inconsistent spelling and hyphenation retained.]"Because there'll be double turkeys and double
puddings?"Don't you remember what's going to happen before
dinner?"Patty had heard of it the day before."Equal to Fourth of July and training-day put together," remarked Moses,
snatching a handful of raisins out of the bowl Mary held in her lap."Yes," said Patty, leaving off her spice-pounding long enough to clap
her hands; "it's splendid!""I don't see how you can say so," said the thoughtful Mary, "when our
dear sister Dorcas is going 'way off, and never'll live at home any
more!""Yes, I know it," responded Patty, looking as serious as she could, for
Mary was wiping her eyes on her apron.The kitchen was so full you could hardly turn around.Everybody was
there but Dorcas, and she was finishing off her wedding-dress.Lyman was stuffing two large turkeys; Betsey was making brown bread;
Moses chopping mince-meat; and those who had nothing else to do were
talking.Aunt Hannah was there, helping Rachel make the wedding-cake;
but the trouble was with aunt Hannah that she couldn't come without
bringing her baby; and there he was, rolling about the floor like a soft
bundle of yellow flannel--a nice, fat baby, with a ruffled cap on his
head.He was named Job, after his father, who had borne that name
through a long life, and been very patient about it."Now, Patty," said Rachel, "I see you've stopped pounding cloves, and I
wish you'd take care of this baby; he is rolling up towards the molasses
jug, and will tip it over next thing he does."Patty had only stopped pounding for half a minute.It seemed to her that
her right hand always had a mortar-pestle in it.She ran now to get
some playthings for Job--a string of earthen-ware beads, and a pewter
plate to hold them when he should break the string; and a squash-shell,
filled with peas,--just as good as a rattle, let me tell you.Then she
sat on the floor, making baby-talk with the little creature, who has
since that been somebody's grandfather.Patty always meant well, and now she was really able to help a great
deal.At ten years old she was quite a tall girl, though what the
country-folks called rather "slim."Her dress was made of thick cotton
and woollen goods, all rough with little knobs,--the same Rachel had
woven in "blue and copperas checks."She wanted to do something of more
importance."I should think I might chop mince-meat instead of you, Moses.There,
now, you're getting it so fine 'twill be poison.""That child takes everything in earnest," said she."I told Moses if he
got the mince-meat _too_ fine, 'twould be poisonous; but I never saw any
mince-meat that _was_ too fine--did you, Rachel?"Lyman, "if you please, you may poke up the coals now.George, you'll have to move round, and let her get to the oven.""I'll attend to it myself," said George, rising from his chair, at one
end of the big fireplace, and stirring the glowing coals in the brick
oven with the hard-wood "poking-stick.""Now, if you'll all keep still," said James, "I'll read you something
from the newspaper."Moses dropped his chopping-knife, Mary looked frightened, and Patty
stopped shaking the squash-shell.They knew it would never do to make a
noise while James was reading."My son, my son," pleaded Mrs.Mary journeyed to the garden.Lyman, turning round from her turkey, and
shaking her darning-needle at him, "you wouldn't try to read in all this
confusion?Wait till we get a little over our hurry.Go to the
end-cupboard, and fetch me a couple of good, stout strings; I want these
turkeys all ready to tie on the nails."She was going to roast them before the fire.That was the way they
cooked turkeys in old times.Lyman, "you may as well go to work on the
doughnuts."I should think a dozen loaves would be enough," replied Mrs.Lyman, who
was now beginning to make a suet pudding.You see they meant to have plenty of food, for beside their own large
family, they expected twenty or thirty guests to dinner day after
to-morrow.exclaimed Mary, "I'm afraid you're not making that pudding
thick enough.Siller Noonin says the pudding-stick ought to stand
alone.""Priscilla is thinking of the old Connecticut Blue Laws about mush,"
replied Mrs.Lyman, smiling; "we don't mind the blue laws up here in
Maine.And this isn't mush, either; it's suet pudding.--Solomon, my son,
you may go into the shed-chamber, and bring me a bag of hops; we must
have some beer starting."Betsey swung the frying-kettle on the crane, and had just turned away,
when the baby crept up, and tipped over sick George's basin of
pussy-willow and cider, which was steeping in one corner of the
fireplace.There was no harm done, only Job lost his patience, and
cried, and for five minutes there was a perfect Bedlam of baby-screams,
chopping-knives, and mortar-pestles, and in the midst of it, the sound
of the hired men winnowing grain in the barn.Sandra went to the bedroom.But there could hardly be too much noise for Patty.I presume she was
never happier in her life than on the Monday and Tuesday before
Thanksgiving; but Wednesday came, and it rained in torrents."Will they be married if it doesn't clear off?""You do ask the funniest questions," replied Rachel.Starbird would stay away from his own wedding on account of the
weather!"It rained all night; but Thursday morning the sun came rushing through
the clouds, his face all aglow with smiles, and put an end to such
dismal business.Patty looked out of the window, and watched the clouds
scampering away to hide, and whispered in her heart to the little birds
that were left in the maple trees,--
"How kind God is to give us a good wedding-day!"About ten o'clock the guests began to come, and among the first was Mr.Patty had never seen him look so fine as he did when he stood
up with her dear sister Dorcas to be married.He wore a blue coat, and a
beautiful ruffled shirt, and his shoe-buckles--so Moses said--were of
solid silver.Why he needed gloves in the house, Patty could not
imagine; but there they were on his hands,--white kids at that.Dorcas was quite as fine as the bridegroom.She had no veil, but her
high-topped comb sat |
bedroom | Where is Sandra? | It shimmered in the sun like a dove's wings, for it was of
changeable silk, the costliest affair, Patty thought, that a bride ever
wore.It was fastened at the back like a little girl's frock, and the
waist was no longer than the waist of a baby's slip.Patty took great pride in looking at her beautiful sister, from the top
of her shell comb to the tips of her white slippers, which were just the
size of Patty's own.The ceremony was as long as a common sermon; and it would have been
longer yet, if Elder Lovejoy had been there to perform it.He was sick,
and this man, who came in his place, did not speak in a sing-song tone;
Patty was not sure it was quite right to do without that.Patty knew he trembled, for she could see his coat-flaps
shake; and she can see them shake now, every time she thinks of the
wedding.There is something else she can see; and, as I don't believe you ever
heard of such a thing, I must tell you.After the dinner of turkeys, roast beef, mince pies, apple pies, pumpkin
pies, plum and suet pudding, doughnuts, cheese, and every other good
thing you can think of, the children went into the back room for a
frolic.There were aunt Hannah's three oldest girls, and uncle Joshua's
four big boys, William Parlin and his sister Love, and a few more.While they were there, just beginning a game of blindfold, the bride
came out in her travelling-dress, with her young husband, to say good
by.Mary fell to crying, the twins had tears in their eyes, and it would
have been a very sober time, if Rachel had not called out, in her brisk
way,--
"All step round to the sides of the room, and let me have the middle!"People always minded Rachel; so she had the floor at once, though no one
could think what she meant to do, when she brought along a big brass
kettle, the very one in which Patty had dipped those unfortunate
candles, and set it upon a board, in the middle of the floor."Now, my friends," said she, courtesying, "you all know I am the oldest
daughter, and it isn't fair that my younger sister should be married
before I am; do you think it is?""No, no; not at all," said uncle Joshua's four boys, laughing."And I don't see," added Rachel, with another courtesy,--"I don't see
how Mr.Starbird happened to make such a strange mistake as to choose
Dorcas instead of me!"Starbird, bowing very low, "I never'll do
so again.""But since the deed is done," said Rachel, "and cannot be undone, I
shall be obliged to dance in the brass kettle.That's what ladies do
whose younger sisters are married first."Then, with quite a sober face, she mounted a wooden cricket, stepped
into the kettle, and began to dance.There was not room to take many steps; but she balanced herself very
gracefully, and sung, keeping time with her feet.Rachel was one of the brightest, wittiest young ladies in Perseverance,
and this performance of hers amused the bride and bridegroom, and
everybody else but little Patty.She had
never heard before of the funny ceremony of dancing in a brass kettle,
and wondered if it had anything to do with those candles of hers.Starbird likes Dorcas better than he does Rachel," thought the
little girl, "and that was why he asked her to marry him.She says he made a mistake; but he didn't!If
Rachel feels so bad, I shouldn't think she would tell of it.O, I wish
Rachel hadn't told--"
"Why, Patty, what makes you look so sober?""You
look as if Master Purple had been feruling you."But Patty was ashamed to let any one know the trouble in her mind; and
after the bride and bridegroom had gone, she ran away by herself to cry;
and that is all she remembers of the wedding.* * * * *
"Is it really grandma Parlin you have been writing about?""It doesn't seem much like it; for here she sits, with her cap and
spectacles on, knitting a stocking.Please take off your cap, grandma,
so we can think how you looked when you were a little girl."Parlin took it off, but it didn't make any difference, for her hair
was grayer still without the lace."That isn't the way, children," said aunt Madge; "you'll have to
imagine how she looked; or, as Fly would say, you must make believe.Take off those
spectacles; smooth out the wrinkles; make her face as soft as a
rose-leaf, as soft as your face, Fly; dwindle her figure down, down,
till she looks about ten years old.How the sparkles come and go in her eyes!Wouldn't you like to
have a romp with her in the new-mown hay?For she hasn't any more
rheumatism in her back than a butterfly.Her feet are dancing this
minute in pink kid slippers with rosettes on them as big as poppies, and
she wears a white muslinet gown, with a pink calico petticoat.Wasn't
that the way she was dressed at the wedding, father Parlin?""I don't remember what she had
on; but she was the spryest, prettiest little girl in town; and she
hasn't a child--no, nor a grandchild either--that begins to be equal to
her.""Except Flyaway," cries Prudy; "you forget that Flyaway is just like
her!"* * * * *
This is not a bad place to leave our friends.I did intend to tell about
another member of the circle; but I believe I will not, for I may put
him into another story; that is, if you would like to hear about William
Parlin,--I wonder if you would?--in a book we will call "LITTLE
GRANDFATHER."I expressed some doubt as to my ability, but he made me promise I would
do the best I could.I also promised, at his request, that if I
survived him I should place his diary in his wife's hands."Thank you, b'y," he said."And now before you leave me won't you read
to me again?--I want to hear that fourteenth chapter of John and the
thirteenth of First Corinthians.I fell asleep last night while you
were reading, I was so tired.I'm sleepy now, very sleepy; but I'll
keep awake this time while you read."I got my testament from my camp bag and read both chapters through,
noting as I read that the look of happiness and peace was returning to
Hubbard's poor, wan face.When I had finished, he said quietly:
"Thank you, b'y, thank you very much.Isn't that comforting?--'Let not
your heart be troubled.'I've faith that we'll
all be saved.He
sent a man for help and got out all right."Yes," said I, "and we shall soon be safe home.""We'll soon be safe home" repeated Hubbard--"safe home.It was time for George and me to go.But I could not say good-bye just
yet.I turned my back to Hubbard and faced the fire.The tears were
welling up into my eyes, and I struggled for self-control.George sat
silent, too, and his face was strangely drawn.For a full ten minutes
we sat silently gazing into the fire."Well, Wallace, we'd better start now.""Yes," I said; "we'd better start."I collected myself as best I could, and, turning to Hubbard, held out
my hand."Good-bye, b'y; I'll be back soon."And then, as I looked into his
poor, wistful eyes, I broke down and sobbed.I crawled over to him, and put my arm about him.I kissed his cheek,
and he kissed my cheek.We embraced each other, and for a moment held
our faces close together.The dear fellow went over to Hubbard, stooped
and kissed his cheek."With God's help, I'll save you, Hubbard!"Hubbard kissed his cheek, and they embraced.George slung his bundle on his shoulder, and I took up mine.I stooped and again kissed Hubbard's
cheek, and he again kissed mine.He was quite calm--had been calm
throughout.Only his eyes shone with that look of wistful longing."Good-bye, boys, and God be with you!"About twenty yards away I turned for a last
look at the tent.Hubbard evidently had immediately lain down; for he
was not to be seen.All I saw was the little peak of balloon silk that
had been our home for so many weeks, the fire blazing between it and
the big rock, the kettle of water by the fire, and the white moss and
the dripping wet fir trees all about.* * * * *
Some one hundred and fifty yards farther on George and I forded a
brook, after which our course was through closely-grown, diminutive fir
trees until we came to a series of low, barren knolls.On these knolls
we found some mossberries.It was dreadfully slow
travelling.The wind was in the east, and was rising.The drizzling
rain had become a downpour, and it was dashed into our faces in sheets.Somewhat
after midday George threw down his pack."We'll have a spell [rest]
and a cup of tea to warm us up," he said.Sandra went back to the bathroom.The previous night had been a trying one, and I was
very tired.With his sheath-knife George
whittled some shavings, and a fire was soon blazing.Sandra went to the office.When the kettle
had been placed over the fire to boil, George drew out of his bag a
package--yes, it was a half-pound package of pea meal!At first I
could not believe my eyes, and I stood stupidly staring as George
prepared to stir some of it into the kettle.At length I found my
tongue."George," I cried indignantly, "where did you get that pea meal?""Hubbard gave it to me this morning while you were gettin' wood," he
answered promptly.I didn't want to, but he said I must.Mary journeyed to the garden.He said
we'd be workin' hard, and we'd need it, and if we didn't have somethin'
to eat, we couldn't travel far and couldn't get help to him.We ought
to have it as much for his sake as for ours, he said, and I had to take
it from him to make him feel right."Hubbard had evidently reserved that last half-pound of pea meal to be
used in a last extremity, and as the argument he had used to force it
on George had been at least specious, I could say nothing.Sandra went to the bedroom.George put
one-third of the package (one-sixth of a pound) into the kettle, and we
each drank a pint of the soup.It was very thin, but it did us good.After a half-hour's rest, we pressed on as rapidly as possible, but
when night overtook us we could not have travelled more than six miles
from camp.To the storm, as well as our weakness, was due our slow
progress.As the afternoon wore on, the storm became furious.The
rain descended in drenching sheets, and staggering blasts of wind drove
it into our faces.Even if darkness had not stopped us, further
progress in the face of the tempest would have been impossible.We selected for our bivouac as sheltered a spot as possible in a spruce
growth, hauled together a good supply of small dead trees and made a
fire.For supper we had one-half of what remained of the pea meal,
reserving the other half (one-sixth of a pound) for breakfast.There
was a little comfort to be gained from the fire.The rain still
descended upon us in sheets.The blast of wind drove the smoke into
our eyes and blinded us.George lay down, but I sat crouching before the fire.We tried to keep
our pieces of blanket over our heads, but when we did so we nearly
suffocated.Now and again one or the other would rise to throw on more
wood.Towards midnight the wind shifted, and snow began to fall.It
fell as I never saw snow fall before.And the wind never ceased, and
the smoke was more blinding than ever, and the night grew colder.There were fully six inches of snow on the ground when the clouds broke
just before dawn, and before the first rays of the sun greeted us the
wind died away.With the return of
daylight we ate the rest of the pea meal, and resumed our march down
the valley.The daylight proved that my eyes had been greatly affected
by the smoke of our night's fire.Soon after we started, George
came upon a grouse track in the fresh snow, and followed it to a clump
of bushes a short distance off.He aimed his pistol with great care,
but the bullet only knocked a few feathers out of the bird, and it flew
away, to George's keen chagrin and my bitter disappointment.John went to the bathroom.The flour bag we were to look for was on the opposite or south side of
the river, and it was necessary to cross.Before noon we reached a
place at which George said it would be as easy to ford the stream as at
any other.The icy water came almost up to our armpits, but we made
the other shore without mishap.Mary moved to the office.There we halted to build a fire and
thaw ourselves out; for immediately upon emerging from the river our
clothing froze hard and stiff.While waiting we had some hot tea, and
as quickly as possible pushed on.We must reach the flour bag that
night.I found it hard to keep the pace George was setting, and began to lag
wofully.Several times he had to wait for me to overtake him.We came
upon a caribou trail in the snow, and followed it so long as it kept
our direction.To some extent the broken path aided our progress.In
the afternoon we came upon another grouse track.George followed it to
a clump of trees, where the bird was discovered sitting on a limb.This time his aim was accurate, and the bird fell at his feet.Quickly
he plucked the wings, cut them off and handed me one with the remark:
"They say raw partridge is good when a fellus' weak."I ate the wing, warm with the bird's life blood, bones and
all, and George ate the other wing.I soon found it utterly impossible to keep George's pace, and became so
exhausted that I was forced to take short rests.At length I told
George he had better go ahead and look for the flour; that I should
rest, follow his trail and overtake him later.He went on, but just
over the bare knoll we were crossing I found him sitting in the snow
waiting for me."I don't feel right to go ahead and leave you," he said."Do you see
that second knoll?"He pointed to one of a series of round barren
knolls about half a mile down the river.Why, that's where we camped when we
threw the flour away, and that's where we'll stop to-night.We'd
better eat a mouthful to help us on."He had plucked the head and neck of the grouse, and now proceeded to
cut them off near the body.To me he gave the neck, and ate the head
himself--raw, of course.It was just dusk when we reached the knoll George had designated.Straightway he went to a bush, ran his hand under it and pulled
out--the bag we were looking for.As has been
said, we left about four pounds of flour in it.Now there was a lump
of green and black mould.However, we rejoiced at finding it; for it
was something and it might sustain our lives.It might send George to
the lard, and keep Hubbard and me until help could arrive.On this side of the Susan the country for some distance had been
burned; but, while there were no standing trees, and the place was
entirely unsheltered, fallen |
hallway | Where is John? | For supper we ate all of the grouse boiled with some of the flour mould
stirred in.I had not sat long before the fire when I felt a strange sensation in
my eyes.It was as if they had been filled with sharp splinters, and I
found it impossible to open them.I was afflicted with
smoke-blindness, which is almost identical in its effect to
snow-blindness.George filled my pipe with dried tea leaves and just a
bit of his precious tobacco; then lit it for me, as I could not see to
do it myself.After our smoke we lay down, and I slept heavily; it was
practically the first sleep I had had in three days.Some time in the
night George awoke me to make me eat a little of a concoction of the
mouldy flour and water, cooked thick and a trifle burned after the
style of nekapooshet, an Indian dish of which George was very fond.Sandra went back to the bathroom.At
the first signs of dawn he again roused me, saying:
"It's time to be up, Wallace.We're goin' to have more snow to travel
in."The clouds were hanging low and heavy, and the first
scattering flakes were falling of a storm that was to last for ten
days.I was able to open my eyes in the morning, but everything still
looked hazy.We boiled some of the wretched mouldy flour for
breakfast, and then divided what remained, George taking the larger
share, as he had the most work to do.Looking critically at my share,
he asked:
"How long can you keep alive on that?""It will take me two days to reach Hubbard," I replied, "and the two of
us might live three days more on it--on a pinch.""Do you think you can live as long as that?"said George, looking me
hard in the eye."Then in five days I'll have help to you, if there's help to be had at
Grand Lake.Day after to-morrow I'll be at Grand Lake.Those fellus'll
be strong and can reach camp in two days, so expect 'em.""George," I asked, "have you your Testament with you?""It's the Book of Common Prayer," he said, drawing it from his pocket;
"but it's got the Psalms in it."He handed me the tiny leather-covered book, but I could not see the
print; the haze before my eyes was too thick.I returned the book to
him, and asked him to read one of the Psalms.Quite at haphazard, I am
sure, he turned to the ninety-first, and this is what he read:
"Whoso dwelleth under the defence of the Most High; shall abide under
the shadow of the Almighty."I will say unto the Lord, Thou art my hope, and my stronghold: my God,
in him will I trust."For he shall deliver thee from the snare of the hunter: and from the
noisome pestilence."He shall defend thee under his wings, and thou shalt be safe under his
feathers: his faithfulness and truth shall be thy shield and buckler."Thou shalt not be afraid for any terror by night: nor for the arrow
that flieth by day;
"For the pestilence that walketh in darkness: nor for the sickness that
destroyeth in the noon-day."A thousand shall fall beside thee, and ten thousand at thy right hand:
but it shall not come nigh thee."Yea, with thine eyes shalt thou behold: and see the reward of the
ungodly."For thou, Lord, art my hope: thou hast set thine house of defence very
high."There shall be no evil happen unto thee: neither shall any plague come
nigh thy dwelling."For he shall give his angels charge over thee: to keep thee In all thy
ways."They shall bear thee in their hands: that thou hurt not thy foot
against a stone."Thou shalt go upon the lion and adder: the young lion and the dragon
shalt thou tread under thy feet."Because He hath set His love upon me, therefore will I deliver him: I
will set him up, because he hath known my name."He shall call upon me, and I will hear him: yea, I am with him in
trouble; I will deliver him and bring him to bonour."With long life will I satisfy him: and show him my salvation"
The Psalm made a deep impression upon me."For he shall give his
angels charge over thee: to keep thee in all thy ways."How strange it
seems, in view of what happened to me, that George should have read
that sentence.We arose to go on our separate ways, George twenty-five miles down the
valley to Grand Lake, and I fifteen miles up the valley to Hubbard."You'd better make a cape of your blanket," suggested George.He placed the blanket around my shoulders, and on either side of the
cloth where it came together under my chin made a small hole with his
knife.Through these holes he ran a piece of our old trolling line,
and tied the ends.Near the top of a knoll I stopped and looked back.With my afflicted
eyes I could barely make out George ascending another knoll.I waved my hand to him, and he waved his hand
to me and shouted something unintelligible.Then he disappeared in the
snow, and as he disappeared a silence came on the world, to remain
unbroken for ten days.WANDERING ALONE
With every hour the storm gathered new force, and over the barren
knolls, along which my course for some distance lay, the snow whirled
furiously.The track George and I had made on our downward journey
soon was obliterated.Sandra went to the office.Mary journeyed to the garden.Once in the forenoon, as I pushed blindly on
against the storm, I heard a snort, and, looking up, beheld, only a few
yards away, a big caribou.For a
second he regarded me, with his head thrown back in fear and wonder;
and then, giving another snort, he dashed away into the maze of
whirling snow.My eyes troubled me greatly, and the pain at length grew so intense
that I was forced to sit down in the snow for perhaps half an hour with
both eyes tightly closed.I was keeping some distance from the river,
as the obstructions here were fewer than near the bank.In the
afternoon it occurred to me that I might have turned in my course, and
I took my compass from its case, to satisfy myself that I was going in
the right direction; but my sight was so impaired that I could not read
the dial, nor be certain which way the needle pointed.And I wondered
vaguely whether I was becoming totally blind.I had hoped to reach the place
where George and I had forded the river, and cross to the north shore
before bivouacking, but in the deepening snow it was impossible.With
the first indications of night, I halted in a thick spruce grove near
the river and drew together a fairly good supply of dead wood.On the
under side of the branches of the fir trees was generally to be found a
thick growth of hairy moss, and with a handful of this as tinder it did
not take me long to get a good fire blazing.Close to the fire I threw
a pile of spruce boughs that I broke from low branches and the smaller
trees.I melted snow in my cup for water, and in this put a few lumps
of mould from the flour bag, eating the mixture after it had cooked a
while.On the couch of boughs by the fire I spent a fairly comfortable
night, waking only at intervals to throw on more wood and shake the
snow from my back.The storm was still raging in the morning (Wednesday, October 21st).Sandra went to the bedroom.With the first grey streaks of dawn, I boiled another cup of snow water
and mould, and then, slinging the flour bag over my shoulder, began my
day's struggle.For two or three yards
from shore the ice bore my weight; then I sank up to my waist in the
cold current.Approaching the other shore, I broke the outer ice with
my arms until it became thick enough to permit me to climb out upon it.The ice that immediately formed on my clothing make walking impossible,
and reluctantly I halted to build a fire and dry myself.This took
fully an hour and a half, to my extreme vexation.I realised now that
my hope of reaching Hubbard that night was vain.While I dried my
clothing, I made a cup of tea.I had just enough left for two brewings,
so after drinking the tea I preserved the leaves for further use,
wrapping them carefully in a bit of rag.John went to the bathroom.Once more on my way up the
valley, I found, to my consternation and almost despair, that my eyes
would again compel me to stop, and for nearly an hour I sat with them
closed.That night, with the snow still falling, though very lightly,
I made my couch of boughs by a fairly comfortable fire, and rested well.On Thursday morning (October 22d) a light snow was failing, and the
weather was very cold.The cup of thin gruel that I made from the
green lumps of mould nauseated me, and I had to brew some tea to settle
my stomach and stimulate me.With my piece of blanket drawn over my
head to protect my ears from the biting wind, and with my hands wrapped
in the folds, I continued my struggle towards camp.I had to force my
way, blindly and desperately, through thick clumps of fir trees, and as
the branches were hanging low under their weight of feathery snow, I
continually received a deluge of snow in my face.My stock of matches was small and time was precious, and I did not stop
at noon to build a fire.Even when night began to close in upon me I
still plodded on, believing that I now must be near Hubbard.The snow
was falling gently, and as there was a moon behind the clouds the night
was sufficiently light for me to make my way tediously through the
trees, with the roar of the rapids to guide me.It must have been near
midnight when, utterly exhausted, I was forced to abandon the hope of
finding Hubbard before morning.Fearing that the mould would again
sicken me, I ate nothing when I halted; I simply collected a few dry
sticks and huddled for the remainder of the night by a miserable fire,
dozing and awaking with a shudder from awful dreams.The storm continued during the night, and with the morning of Friday
(October 23d) broke upon the world and me with renewed fury.I
prepared myself another dose of the mould, and forced it down.I was
nervously anxious to get on and find Hubbard.I knew I must be near
him now, although the snow had changed the whole face of the country
and obliterated all the landmarks.Soon I crossed a brook, frozen and
covered with snow, that I felt must be the one near our camp.Eagerly
I looked about me for the tent.Because of the falling snow and the
snow-bent branches, I could scarcely see twenty yards in any direction.From snow-covered rock to snow-covered rock I went, believing each in
turn to be the tent, but always to meet disappointment.Repeatedly I
stopped to peer into the maze of snow for smoke.The tent was
really near me, but it kept its secret well.Over and over I repeated
to myself, "I must find Hubbard before night comes--I must find him--I
must--I must."At length the first signs of night warned me that I
must collect my wood, that I might be as comfortable as possible
through the dreary hours of darkness.As night came on the storm
moderated.An unwonted, solemn, awful stillness came
upon the world.I was filled with an
unutterable, a sickening dread.Hubbard's face as I had last seen it
was constantly before me.Before going to sleep I made some more gruel and tea, drinking them
both as a duty.Mary moved to the office.The snow was falling gently on Saturday (October 24th), the wind had
mercifully abated, and the temperature was somewhat milder.After more
gruel and the last cup of tea I was to have in my lonely wanderings, I
renewed my search for Hubbard.I decided that possibly I was below the
camp, and pushed on to the westward.Finally I became convinced I was
in a part of the country I had never seen before.I began to feel that
possibly I was far above the camp; that a rescuing party had found
Hubbard, and that, as my tracks in the snow had been covered, they had
abandoned the hope of finding me and had returned.They might even
have passed me in the valley below; it was quite possible.But perhaps
George's strength had failed him, and help never would come to any of
us.I turned about, and again started down the valley.After a time I
attempted to cross the ice on the river, to try and discover some
familiar landmark on the south shore.In midstream, where the current
had not permitted thick ice to form, I broke through.The water was
nearly up to my armpits.Standing there with the icy current swirling
about me, I said, "What's the use?"It seemed to me I had reached the
limit of human endurance.Instead of trying to struggle on, how much
pleasanter to permit myself to sink beneath the water and thus end it
all!Then there came to me the remembrance that it was my duty to live as
long as I could.As long as I had any strength
left, I must exert myself to live.With a great effort I climbed out
on the hard ice, and made my way back to the north shore.I staggered into the spruce growth, and there came upon
the same brook I have previously mentioned as crossing.Near its bank
I made my night fire.That fire was within two hundred yards of the
tent.Perhaps it is just as well that I did not know it.John travelled to the hallway.The snow, which had fallen rather mildly, all day, thickened with the
coming of night.All the loose wood was now buried under the snow, and
it was with difficulty that I gathered a scant supply for the night.My wet rags were freezing hard and stiff.I broke only a few branches for my bed, and sat down.Scarcely had I
done so when a woman's voice came to me, kindly and low and encouraging."Hadn't you better break a few more boughs?"It was
the voice of my wife, who had been dead for more than three years.I
remember it did not impress me as being at all strange that my wife,
who was dead, should be speaking to me up there in the Labrador
wilderness.It seemed to me perfectly natural that she should be
looking after my comfort, even as she had done in life.I arose and
broke the boughs.I have never taken any stock in the theory that
the spirits of the dead are able to communicate with the living.So
far as I have thought about them at all, it has been my opinion that
spiritists are either fools or frauds.But I am endeavouring to give a
faithful account of my feelings and sensations at the time of which I
am writing, and the incident of the voice cannot be ignored.Perhaps
it was all a delusion--an hallucination, if you will, due to the
gradual breaking down of my body and mind.As to that, the reader can
form his own conclusions.Certain it is, that from this time on, when
I needed help and encouragement the most, I felt a vague assurance that
my wife was by my side; and I verily believe, that if it had not been
for this,--hallucination, delusion, actuality, reality, or whatever it
may have been,--I should now be in a land where the truth about these
things is probably known for certain.At times I even thought I saw my wife.And often, often throughout
those terrible days her voice came to me, kindly and low and
encouraging.When I felt I really could plod no farther through the
snow, her voice would tell me not to lose heart, but to do my best, and
all would be right in the end.And when, wearied beyond measure at
night, I would fall into a heavy sleep, and my fire would burn low, a
hand on my shoulder would arouse me, and her voice would tell me to get
up and throw on more wood.Now and again I fancied I heard the voice
of my mother, who died when I was a boy, also encouraging and
reassuring me.Indescribably comforting were those voices, whatever
their origin maySandra journeyed to the garden. |
office | Where is Sandra? | They soothed me, and brought balm for my
loneliness.In the wilderness, and amid the falling snow, those that
loved me were ministering unto me and keeping me from harm.At least,
so it seemed to me.And now, as I think of those dear voices, and feel
once more that loving touch on my shoulder, there comes back to me that
verse from the Psalm George read at our parting--"For He shall give His
angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways."It is all like a half-dream to me now.Sandra went back to the bathroom.I know that after Saturday
night (October 24th), when I bivouacked within a stone's throw of
Hubbard's tent, I lost all count of the days, and soon could not recall
even the month.I travelled on and on, always down the valley.Sandra went to the office.Sometimes I fancied I heard men shouting, and I would reply.But the
men did not come, and I would say to myself over and over again, "Man
proposes, God disposes; it is His will and best for all."The flour mould nauseated me to such an extent that for a day at a time
I could not force myself to eat it.Mary journeyed to the garden.The snow clogged in all that was
left of my cowhide moccasins (larigans), and I took them off and
fastened them to my belt, walking thereafter in my stocking feet.I
wore two pairs of woollen socks, but holes already were beginning to
appear in the toes and heels.The bushes tore away the legs of my
trousers completely, and my drawers, which thus became the sole
protection of my legs from the middle of my thighs down, had big holes
in them.Each night I cut a piece of leather from my moccasin uppers,
and boiled it in my cup until morning, when I would eat it and drink
the water.I found afterward, carefully preserved in my match box, one
of the brass eyelets from the moccasins.Probably I put it away
thinking I might have to eat even that.I knew there was something the matter with my feet; they complained to
me every night.They seemed to me like individuals that were dependent
upon me, and they told me it was my duty to care for them.But I gave
no heed to their complaints.I had enough to do to care for myself.And still it snowed, night and day--sometimes gently, sometimes
blindingly; but always it snowed.Once while plodding along the side
of a rocky hill, I staggered over the edge of a shelving rock and fell
several feet into a snow drift.I was uninjured, but extricating
myself was desperately hard work, and it was very pleasant and soft in
the snow, and I was so tired and sleepy.Why not give it up and go to
sleep?But she was with me, and she whispered, "Struggle on, and all
will be well," and reluctantly I dragged my poor old body out.There were times when the feeling was strong upon me that I had been
alone and wandering on forever, and that, like the Wandering Jew, I
must go on forever.At other times I fancied I was dead, and that the
snow-covered wilderness was another world.Instinctively I built my
fire at night under the stump of a fallen tree, if I could find one;
for the rotten wood would smoulder until morning, and a supply of other
wood was very hard to get.One evening I remember crossing the river, which had now gone into its
long winter sleep tucked away under a blanket of ice and snow, and
building a fire under a rotten stump on the south side behind a bank
near the shore.I felt that I must be well down the valley.My supply
of wood was miserably small, but I had worked hard all day and could
not gather any more.I fell down by the fire and struggled against
sleep.When I dozed, her hand on my
shoulder would arouse me.At dawn I realised in a vague sort of way that the clouds had at last
broken away; that the weather was clear and biting cold.It had been a raging torrent when I first saw it; now it
lay quiet and still under its heavy winter blanket.At my back the low
bank with its stunted spruce trees hid the ridge of barren, rocky hills
and knolls that lay beyond.A few embers of the rotten stump were smouldering, sending skyward,
with each fitful gust of the east wind, a fugitive curl of smoke.A
few yards away lay a dead tree, with its branches close to the snow.If I could break some of those branches off, and get them back to my
smouldering stump, I might fan the embers into a blaze, get some heat
and melt snow in my cup for a hot drink.Not that I craved the drink
or anything else, but it perhaps would give me strength to go just a
little farther.I pulled my piece of ragged blanket over my shoulders and struggled to
my feet.I swayed dizzily about, took a few steps
forward and fell.I crawled slowly back to the smouldering stump and
tried to think.I felt no pain; I was just weary to the last degree.Should I not now be justified in surrendering to the overpowering
desire to sleep?Perhaps, I argued, it would strengthen me.I could
no longer walk; why not sleep?Sandra went to the bedroom.But still I was told that I must not...
Was Hubbard still waiting and watching for me to come back?--somewhere
in that still wilderness of snow was he waiting and watching and
hoping?Poor Hubbard...
Why did not the men come to look for us--the trappers that George was
to send?Had they come and missed me, and gone away again?Or was
George, brave fellow, lying dead on the trail somewhere below?How
long had I been wandering, anyway...
My sisters in far-away New York, were they hoping and praying to hear
from me?There was a certain grave in a
little cemetery on the banks of the dear old Hudson.It had been
arranged that I should lie beside that grave when I went to sleep
forever.Would they find my bones and take them back?...It was going to
make his reputation, he thought.Well, well, man proposes, God
disposes; it was His will and best for all.I found myself dozing, and with an effort to recover myself sat up
straight.The sun was making its way above the horizon.I looked at
it and hoped that its warming rays would give me strength to do my
duty--my duty to live as long as I could.It may have been that I was entering upon my final
sleep.But gradually I became hazily conscious of an unusual sound.I made a great effort and got on my
feet.It was a shout, I felt sure it
was a shout!With every bit of energy at my command, I sent up an
answering "Hello!"I began to fear that again I had
been deceived.Then over the bank above me came four swarthy men on
snow-shoes, with big packs on their backs.THE KINDNESS OF THE BREEDS
The unintelligible words that George shouted to me from the knoll after
we parted on Tuesday (October 20th) were an injunction to keep near the
river, as the men he would send to rescue Hubbard and me would look for
us there.As he proceeded down the valley his progress was slow and
tedious, owing to his weakness, the rough country, and the deepening
snow.Towards noon he came upon the newly made track of a porcupine,
followed it a short distance into a clump of trees, where he soon saw
the round quill-covered animal in the snow and shot it.Immediately he
built a fire, and singed off quills and hair.Then, as he related to
me afterwards, he considered, talking aloud to himself, what was best
to do with his prize."There's them fellus up there without grub," he said."Maybe I'd
better turn about and take 'em this porcupine.But if I do, it won't
last long, and then we'll be worse off than ever.This snow's gettin'
deeper all the time, and if it gets so deep I can't walk without
snowshoes, we'll all die for sure.No, I'd better go on with this
porcupine to help me."John went to the bathroom.So after boiling a piece of the porcupine in his tea kettle and eating
it, he continued down the valley.By his fires be always talked to
himself to keep himself company, and that night he said:
"This's been a tough day, and I ain't where I ought to be.But I'll
eat a good snack of this porcupine now with some of the flour, and in
the mornin' I'll have another good snack, and that'll make me stronger
and I can travel farther to-morrow.I ought to get most to Grand Lake
to-morrow night."But so far from getting anywhere near Grand Lake the next day, he did
not complete his twenty-five-mile journey for several days to come.The snow became so deep he could hardly push through it.He carefully
hoarded the bones of his porcupine, thinking he might have to eat them;
but Providence sent him more food.When the first porcupine was eaten,
he came upon and killed another, and when that was gone, he shot a
third.If it had not
been for this game, he would not have lived to do the hard work that
was before him.Mary moved to the office.The pieces of blanket in which his feet were wrapped were continually
coming off, and frequent halts were necessary to readjust them.He
must not let his feet freeze; for then he would not be able to walk,
and not only would he perish himself, but "there'd be no hope for them
fellus up there."One day he came upon a man's track.That it was a trapper's trail he had no doubt.Staggering
along it with all the speed he could command, he shouted wildly at
every step.Presently he discovered that he was following his own
trail; he had been travelling in a circle.Said he,
so that all the listening wilderness might hear:
"Them fellus up there in the snow have got to be saved.I said to
Hubbard, 'With God's help I'll save you,' and I'm a-goin' to if my legs
hold out and there's anybody at Grand Lake."His progress down the valley that day was only a mile and a half.The powdered milk we had
abandoned he did not find, but on October 26th he recovered our old
lard pail.John travelled to the hallway.Some of the lard he ate, some he used in cooking a grouse,
and the rest he took along with him.Below the place where he bivouacked that night the snow was not so
deep, and early the next morning George once more beheld the broad
waters of Grand Lake.The journey he had expected to make in three
days had actually taken him seven.He arrived at Grand Lake three days
after I, wandering in the valley above, lost all track of time.A few miles above its mouth the Susan River bends to the southward, and
from that direction reaches the little lake that lies just north of the
extreme western end of Grand Lake, so that George, proceeding down the
river on the south bank, eventually came to the little lake's western
shore.If a bag of diamonds had been flung at his feet he could not have
been more excited.All the incidents of the only
fairy tale he had ever read came at once into his mind.He stood with
his feet turned in, like some great awkward boy, a bashful, shame-faced
look lurking about his mouth and eyes.He filled his pipe and lighted it
from the stump of his cigar with nervous eagerness.Sandra journeyed to the garden.A squirrel came down
to the lowest limbs of a beech tree hard by and barked at him, but he
did not notice it.He read the names on the cards:
"_Elliot Pearl, C. E._"
"_Hoiden Pearl._"
The first printed in small capitals, the second written in a delicate,
rather cramped feminine hand.He stood for a long time dreamily employed
in turning these bits of paper over and over.His thoughts were so vague
in outline and so dim in filling up that they cannot be reproduced.They
slipped away on the summer air, like little puffs of perfume, and were
lost, to be found by many and many a one in the ineffable places of
dreamland.Finally, shaking himself as if to break the charm that held
him in its meshes, he took up his gun and slowly made his way homeward.All along his walk he kept smiling to himself and talking aloud, but his
words were such that it would be sacrilege to repeat them now.Let them
hover about in the sunlight of summer, where he uttered them, as things
too delicate to be pressed between the lids of a book.Betsy had trouble with Luke for some days after this.He lay about the
house, saying little, eating little, giving little attention to the many
tenants who worked his estate.He was in good health, was not in trouble
(so he said to his sister), but he did not care to be bothered with
business."He smoked pretty near all
the time," as Betsy declared.But not a hint fell from his lips as to
what might be running in his mind.So the days slipped past till July hung golden mists on the horizon and
filled the woods with that rare stillness and dusky slumbrousness that
follows the maturing of the foliage and the coming on of fruit.The
cherry trees at Rackenshack had grown ragged and dull, and the birds,
excepting a few swallows wheeling about the old chimney tops, had all
flown away to the woods and fields.The wheat had been cut and stacked,
the corn had received its last ploughing.Still Luke hung about the
house annoying Betsy with his pipe and his utter carelessness.That he
was "distracted" Betsy did not for a moment doubt.She used every means
her small stock of wit could invent to urge him out of his singular
mood, but without avail.He took to the few old novels he could find
about the house, but sometimes he would gaze blankly at a single
paragraph for a whole hour.One morning as he lay on the porch, his head resting upon the back of a
chair, reading, or pretending to read an odd volume of "The Scottish
Chiefs," a little boy, 'Squire Brown's son, came to bring home a
monkey-wrench his father had borrowed some time before.The boy was a
bright, rattle-box, say-everything, pop-eyed sort of child, and was not
long telling all the news of the neighborhood.Luke gave little
attention to what he was saying, till at length he let fall something
about a young lady--a fine, rich young lady, staying at Judge
Barnett's--a young lady who could outrun him, out jump him, beat him
playing marbles and ball, who could climb away up in the June apple
tree, who could ride a colt bareback, who could beat Jim Barnett
shooting at a mark, who could, in fact, do a half a hundred things to
perfection that strict persons would think a young lady should never do
at all, but which seemed to make a heroine of her in the narrator's
boyish view.Sandra journeyed to the office.queried Luke in a slow, lazy way, but his eyes
shot a gleam of hope."Hoidy Pearl," replied the lad.That name had been woven into every sound that had reached
Luke's ears for days and nights and nights together, and now, like a
sweet tune nearly mastered, it took a deeper, tenderer meaning as the
boy pronounced it in his childish way.John moved to the bedroom."Hoidy Pearl is her name," the lad continued."She's come to stay at the
Judge's all summer till the new railroad's finished.Her father's the
boss of the road.She's jest the funniest girl, o-o-e!Luke raised himself to a sitting posture and looked at the boy so
earnestly that he drew back a pace or two as if afraid."Boy, you're not lyin', are ye?"said the man in a low, earnest tone."No I'm not, neither," was the quick reply.Luke got up, flung aside his book and strolled off into the woods.Wandering there in the cool, silent places, he dreamed his dream.For
hours he sat by a little spring stream in the dense shadow of a big
cotton |
hallway | Where is Sandra? | The birds congregated about him, and chirped and sang;
the squirrels came out chattering and frisking from branch to branch;
but he gave them no look of recognition--he saw them not, heard them
not.The birds might have lit upon his head and the squirrels might have
run in and out of his pockets with impunity.He smoked all the time,
refilling and relighting his pipe whenever it burned out.He did not
know how much he was smoking, nor that he was smoking at all.A bright
face set in a mass of yellow curls, a wee white hand all spangled with
jewels, a voice sweeter than any bird's, a name--Hoiden Pearl--these
rang, and danced, and echoed, and shone in the recesses of his brain and
heart to the exclusion of all else.He was trying to think, but he could
not.He wanted to mature a plan, but not even an outline could find room
in his head.Strange, indeed, it may seem, that a rough
farmer of Luke's age should thus fall into the ways of the imaginative,
sentimental stripling; but, after all, the fit must come on some time
in life.No doubt it goes harder with some constitutions than with
others.Luke may have been unwittingly strongly predisposed that way.Neither the exterior of a man nor his surroundings will do to judge him
by.Luke talked aloud,
sometimes gesticulating in a quiet way."I _must_ see the gal--I _will_ see the gal," he muttered at last."It's
no use talkin', I jist will see her!"He smiled like one who has victory
in his grasp--like an editor who has an idea, like a reviewer who has
found some bad verse.He got up immediately, went back to the barn,
hitched a horse to a small road wagon and drove to town.There he spent
time and money with a merchant tailor and other vendors of clothing.He
was very fastidious in his selection.A few days after this he brought home a trunk full of princely
raiment--broad cloth and fine linen.Betsy was struck dumb with
amazement when the trunk was opened.A dream of such costly things, such
reckless extravagance, would have driven her mad.Silent, open-eyed,
wondering, she came in and stood behind Luke while he was unpacking.He
looked up presently and saw her.His face flushed violently, and in a
half-whining, half-ashamed tone he muttered:
"Now, Betsy, you jest git out'n here faster'n ye come in, for I'm not
goin' to stan' no foolin' at all, now.These 'ere's my clothes and paid
for out'n my money, an' I'm the jedge of what I need.I ha'n't had any
good duds for a long time, and I'm tired o' lookin' like a scarecrow
made out'n a salt bag.I've been thinkin' for a long time I'd git these
'ere things, an' now I've got'm.You kin git you some if ye like, but I
don't want ye a standin' round here gawpin' at me on 'count o' my
clothes; so you go off an' mind yer own affairs.It's no great sight to
see some shirts, an' coats, and pants, an' collars, an' vests, an' sich
like, is it?"Mary went to the bedroom.Before this speech was finished Betsy had backed out of the room and
closed the door.As she did so she let go a sigh that came back to Luke
like a Parthian arrow; but it happened just then that he was holding up
in front of him a buff linen vest which kept the missile from his heart.He dressed himself with great care, and an hour later he slipped out of
the house unseen, and took his way towards the rather pretentious
residence of Judge Barnett, the gables of which, a mile away, gleamed
between rows of Lombardy poplars.The Judge was one of those half
cultivated men who, in every country neighborhood, pass for prodigies of
learning and ability.He was the autocrat of the county in political and
social affairs--one of those men who really know a great deal, but who
arrogate more.He got his title from having been County Commissioner
when the court house was building.Some said he made money out of the
transaction, but our story is silent there.It would have been an interesting study for a philosopher to have
watched Luke throughout the singular ramble he took that morning.It
would have been such a manifest revelation of the state of the fellow's
feelings.It would have minutely disclosed, and more eloquently than any
verbal confession, the rise and fall, the ebb and flow, the alternating
strength and weakness of his purpose, and the will behind it.Then, too,
it would have let fall delightful hints of the unselfishness of his new
and all-engrossing passion, and of the charming simplicity and sincerity
of his great rugged nature at its inner core.At first he struck out
boldly a direct line to Judge Barnett's residence, his face beaming
with the light of settled happiness, but as he neared the pleasant
grounds surrounding the house he began to discover some trepidation.His
gait wavered, the expression of his face shifted with each step, and
soon his course was indeterminate--a fitful sauntering from this place
to that--a tricksy, uneven flight, like that of a lazy butterfly, if one
may indulge the comparison--a meandering in and out among the trees of a
small walnut grove--a strolling here and there, now along the verge of a
well set old orchard, now down the low hedge behind the garden, and anon
leaning over the board fence that inclosed the Judge's ample barn and
stable lot; he gazed wistfully, half comically, in the direction of the
upper windows of the farm house.It was one of those peculiarly yellow
days of summer, when everything swims in a golden mist.The blue birds
floated aimlessly about from stake to stake of the fences; the wind,
felt only in jerky puffs, blew no particular way, and as idly and as
eccentrically as any blue bird, and in full accord with the fitful will
of the wind, Luke drifted through the sheen of summer all round Barnett
Place.He lazed about, humming a tune, and, for a wonder, not
smoking--half restless, half contented, looking for something, scarcely
expecting anything.When once a great rough man does get into a childish
way, he is a child of which ordinary children would be ashamed, and just
then Luke, the big bashful fellow, was an instance strikingly in point.Once, while lounging on
the orchard fence, gazing down between the long rows of russet and
pippin trees, he said dreamily,
"I _must_ see her.I can't go back 'ithout seein' her."It so chanced
that just then a shower of blackbirds fell upon the orchard, covering
the trees and the ground, flying over and over each other, twittering
and whistling as only blackbirds can.Their wings smote together with a
tender rustling sound like that of a spring wind in young foliage, or of
a thousand lovers whispering together by moonlight.Luke watched them a
long while, a doleful shade gathering in his face."The little things
loves each other," he muttered; "everything loves something; an' jest
dern my lights ef I don't love the gal, an' I'm boun' to see her!"Seemingly nerved by sudden resolution, he climbed over the fence and
started at a slashing pace across the orchard towards the house, scaring
all the birds into an ecstasy of flight, so that they dashed themselves
against the foliage of the apple trees, making it rustle and sway as if
blown on by a strong wind.His resolution
seemed to burn out about midway the orchard.He began to drift around
again, his pace becoming slower and slower.His shoulders drooped
forward as if burdened with a great load, his eyes turned restlessly
from side to aide.he murmured--"I jest can't do it, an' I mought as
well go back!"There was a petulant ring to his voice--a nervous,
worried tone, that had despair in it.Out of a June apple tree right over his head fell a sweet, silvery, half
child's, half woman's voice, that thrilled him through every fibre to
the marrow of his bones.Luke looked up just in time to catch squarely on his nose a fine, ripe
June apple, and through a mist of juice and a sheeny curtain of leaves
he saw the lovely face he had come to look for.A thump on the nose from
an apple, no matter if it is ripe and soft, is a little embarrassing,
and it only makes it more so when the racy wine of the fruit flies into
one's eyes and all over one's new clothes.But there are moments of
supreme bliss when such a mishap passes unnoticed.Luke felt as if the
blow had been the touch of a magician conjuring up a scene that held him
rapt and speechless.I thought
you'd catch it in your hands."She came lightly down from the tree, descending like a bird, easily,
gracefully, as if she had been born to climb.She murmured many
apologies, but the genius of fun danced in her saucy, almost impertinent
eyes, belying her regretful words.Luke looked down at her dazed and
speechless.She, however, was full of prattle--half childish, half
womanly, half serious, half bantering--her eyes upturned to his, her
voice a very bird's in melody.In the more innocent sense of the word
she looked like her name, Hoiden.Nothing unchaste or indelicate about
her appearance; just a sort of want of restraint; a freedom that
amounted to an utter lack of responsibility to the ordinary claims and
dictates of propriety.A close, trained, intelligent observer would have
seen at once that she was wilful, spoiled, unbridled, but not bad, not
in the least vicious; really innocent and full of good impulses.She was
beautiful, too--wonderfully beautiful--just on the hither side of
womanhood, plump, budding, bewitching.How she did it can never be
known, but she soon had Luke racing with her all over the orchard.They
climbed trees together, they scrambled for the same apple, they laughed,
and shouted, and played till the horn at the farmhouse called the field
hands to dinner.They parted then, as children part, promising to meet
again the next day.The girl's cheeks were rosy with exercise, so were
Luke's.Day after day that great, bearded, almost middle-aged,
uncouth farmer went and played slave to that chit of a girl, doing
whatever ridiculous or childish thing she proposed, caring for nothing,
asking for nothing but to be with her, listen to her voice and feast his
eyes upon her beauty.He gladly bore everything she heaped upon him, and
to be called "Goosey" by her was to him inexpressibly charming.Betsy's womanly nature was not to be deceived.She soon comprehended
all; but she dared not mention the subject to Luke.He was in no mood to
be opposed.The long
grass turned brown and lolled over.A softness and tenderness lurked in
the deep blue sky, and the air had a sharp racy fragrance from ripe
fruit and grain.Meantime the railroad had been pushed with amazing
rapidity nearly to completion.Every day long construction trains went
crashing-across Luke's farm.Passenger coaches were to be put on in a
few days.He seemed to grow
younger every day.A
station had been located on his land, around which a town had already
begun to spring up.The vast value of Luke's timber, walnut and oak, was
just beginning to appear; indeed, immense wealth lay in his hands.But
his happiness was of a deeper and purer sort than that generated by
simple pecuniary prosperity.Hoiden Pearl was in the focus of all his
thoughts; her face lighted his dreams, her voice made the music that
charmed him into a wonderland of bliss.He said little about her, even
to Betsy, but it needed no sharpness of sight to discover from his face
what was going on in his heart.He had
not smoked since that first day in the orchard.He had straightened up
and looked a span taller.The girl did not seem to dream of any tender attachment on Luke's part.Sandra journeyed to the hallway.In fact he gave her no cause for it.He fed on his love inwardly and
never thought of telling it.She was frank and free with him, but tyrannized over
him--ordered him about like a servant, scolded him, flattered him,
pouted at him, smiled on him, indeed kept him crazy with rapture all the
time.It was one day,
sitting on an old mossy log in the Judge's woodland pasture, she told
him the story of her past life.How thrillingly beautiful her face
became as it sobered down with the history of early orphanage!Her
father had died first; then her mother, who left her four years old in
the care of Mr.Pearl, her paternal uncle, with whom she had ever since
been, going from place to place, as the calls of his nomadic profession
made it necessary, from survey to survey, from this State to that,
seeing all sorts of people, and receiving her education in small,
detached parcels.The story was a sad, unsatisfactory one, breathing
neglect, yet full of a certain kind of sprightliness, and touched here
and there with the fascination of true romance.It is hard to say when Luke would have awakened from his tender trance
to the strong reality of love.He was too contented for
self-questioning, and no act or word of Hoiden's invited him to consider
what he was doing or whither he was drifting.It was well for Luke and the girl, too, that it was a sparsely settled
neighborhood, for evil tongues might have made much of their constant
companionship and childish behavior.As for the Judge, after it was all over he admitted that he felt some
qualms of conscience about allowing such unlimited intimacy to go on,
but he excused himself by saying that the girl, when confined to the
house, was such an unmitigated nuisance that he was glad for some one to
monopolize her company."Why," said he, in his peculiar way, "she set the whole house by the
ears.She made more clatter and racket than a four-horse Pennsylvania
wagon coming down a rocky hill.She would go from garret to cellar like
a whirlwind and twist things wrong side out as she went----she was a
tart!"But at length, toward the middle of autumn the end came.Luke had
business with some hog-buyers in Cincinnati, whither he was gone
several days.Meantime the railroad was completed, and Mr.Pearl came to
the Judge's early one morning and called for Hoiden.His business with
his employers was ended, and he had just finished an arrangement that
had long been on foot to go to one of the South American States and take
charge of a vast engineering scheme there.Such
a prospect of travel and adventure was enough to set one of her
temperament wild with enthusiasm.She flew to packing her trunk, her
face radiant with joy.Pearl and Hoiden stood at the new station on
Luke's land, waiting for the east-going train.Pearl happened to
think of a business message he wished to leave for Luke, so he went into
the depot building and wrote it.When Hoiden saw the letter was for Luke
she begged leave to put in a few words of postscript, and she had her
way.The train came and the man and girl were whirled away to New York, and
thence they took ship for South America, never to return.Next day Luke came back, bringing with him a beautifully carved mahogany
box mounted in silver.Betsy met him at the door, and, woman-like, told
the story of Hoiden's departure almost at the first breath."Gone all the way to South America," she added, after premising that she
would never return.A peculiarly grim, grayish smile mantled the face of Luke.He swallowed
a time or two before he could speak."Come now, sis" (he always said "sis" when he felt somewhat at Betsy's
mercy), "come |
hallway | Where is Daniel? | I'm goin' right over to
see the gal now, an' I've got what'll tickle her awfully right here in
this 'ere box."Out in the yard the blue jays and woodpeckers were quarrelling over the
late apples heaped up by the cider mill.The sky was clear, but the
sunlight, coming through a smoky atmosphere, was pale, like the smile of
a sick man.The wind of autumn ran steadily through the shrubby weedy
lawn with a sigh that had in it the very essence of sadness."I tell you, Luke, I'm not trying to fool you; they've gone clean to
South America to stay always," reiterated Betsy.Luke gazed for a moment steadily into his sister's eyes, as if looking
for a sign.Slowly his stalwart body and muscular limbs relaxed and
collapsed.The box fell to the floor with a crash, where it burst,
letting roll out great hoops of gold and starry rings and pins--a gold
watch and chain, a beautiful gold pen and pencil case, and trinkets and
gew-gaw things almost innumerable.They must have cost the full profits
of his business trip.Betsy just then happened to think of the
letter that had been left for her brother.This she fetched and handed
to him.There was a
postscript in a different hand:
"_Good-bye, Goosey!_
_Hoidy Pearl._"
That was all.Luke is more morose and petulant than he used to be.He is
decaying about apace with Rackenshack, and he smokes constantly.He is
vastly wealthy and unmarried.Up stairs in her chest is hidden the mahogany
coffer full of golden testimonials of her brother's days of happiness
and the one dark hour of his despair!He was one of the farmer princes of Hoosierdom, a man of more than
average education, a fluent talker and ready with a story.Knowing that
I was looking up reminiscences of Hoosier life and specimens of Hoosier
character, he volunteered one evening to give me the following, vouching
for the truth of it.Here it is, as I "short-handed" it from his own
lips.The study of one's past life is not unlike the study of geology.If the
presence of the remains of extinct species of animals and vegetables in
the ancient rocks calls up in one's mind a host of speculative thoughts
touching the progress of creation, so, as we cut with the pick of
retrospection through the strata of bygone days, do the remains of
departed things, constantly turning up, put one into his studying cap to
puzzle over specimens fully as curious and interesting in their way as
the _cephalaspis_.The first stratum of my intellectual formation contains most
conspicuously the remains of dog-eared spelling books, a score or more
of them by different names, among which the _Elementary_ of Webster is
the best preserved and most clearly defined.It was finding an old,
yellow, badly thumbed and dirt soiled copy of Webster's spelling book in
the bottom of an old chest of odds and ends, on the fly-leaf of which
book was written "T. Blodgett," that lately brightened my memory of the
things I am about to tell you.The old time pedagogue is a thing of the past--_pars temporis acti_ is
the Latin of it, may be, but I'm not sure--I'm rusty in the Latin now.When I quit school I could read it a good deal.The twenty years since he ceased to flourish seem, on reflection, like
an age--an _aeon_, as the Greeks would say.I got most of my education from pedagogues of the old sort.They kept
pouring it on to me till it soaked in.I have
had corns and bunions on my back for not being sufficiently porous to
absorb the multiplication table rapidly enough to suit the whim of one
of those learned tyrants.But the pedagogue became extinct and passed
into the fossil state some twenty years ago, when free schools took
good hold.He scampered away when he heard the whistle of the steam
engine along iron highways and the cry of small boys on the streets of
the towns hawking the daily papers.He could live nowhere within the
pale of innovation.He was born an exemplar of rigidity.The very name
of reform was hateful to him.We older fellows remember him well, but to
the younger fry he is not even a fossil, he is a myth.Of course
pedagogues differed slightly in the matter of particular disposition and
real character, but in a _general way_ they had a close family
resemblance.I purpose to write of one Blodgett--T. Blodgett, as it was written in
the fly-leaf of Webster's Elementary--and he was an extraordinary
specimen of the genus pedagogue.But before I introduce him, let me, by
way of preface and prelude, give you a view of the salients of the
history of the days when pole-ribbed school houses--log cabin school
houses--flourished, with each a pedagogue for supreme, "unquestioned and
unquestionable" despot.In those fine days boys from five to fifteen years of age wore tow linen
pants held up by suspenders (often made of tow strings), and having at
each side pockets that reached down to about the wearer's knees.These
pockets held as much as a moderate sized bushel basket will now.The
girls, big and little, wore mere tow linen slips, that hung loose from
the shoulders.Democracy, pure and undefiled, flourished like a green
buckeye tree.Society was in about the same condition as a boy is when
his voice is changing.You know when a boy's voice is changing if you
hear him in another room getting his lesson by saying it over aloud, you
think there's about fourteen girls, two old men, and a dog barking in
the room.The elements of everything were in
it, but not developed and separated yet.Women rode behind their
husbands on the same horse, occasionally reaching round in the man's lap
to feel if the baby was properly fixed.Sometimes the girls rode to
singing school behind their sweethearts.At such times the horses always
kicked up, and, of course, the girls had to hold on.Young men went courting always on Saturday night.The
girls wouldn't suffer any hugging before eleven o'clock--unless the old
folk were remarkably early to bed.Mary went to the bedroom.Candles were scarce in those days, so
that billing and cooing was done by very dim fire-light._O, le bon
temps!_ I've forgot whether that's Latin or French.Sandra journeyed to the hallway.The pedagogue was the intellectual and moral centre of the neighborhood.He was of higher authority, even in the law, than the Justice of the
Peace.He was consulted on all subjects, and, as a rule, his decisions
were final, and went upon the people's record as law.His jurisdiction
was unlimited, as to subject matter or amount, and, as to the person,
was unquestioned.Of course his territory was bounded by the
circumstances of each particular case.I just now recollect quite a number of pedagogues who in turn ruled me
in my youthful days.Of one of them I never think without feeling a
strange sadness steal over me.He was a young fellow whom to know was to
love; pale, delicate, tender-hearted.He taught us two terms and we all
thought him the best teacher in the world.He was so kind to us, so
gentle and mild-voiced, so prone to pat us on our heads and encourage
us.Some of the old people found fault with him because, as they
alleged, he did not whip us enough, but we saw no force in the
objection.Well, he took a cough and began to fail.He dismissed us one
fine May evening and we saw him no more alive.Daniel went to the hallway.We all followed him, in a
solemn line, to his grave, and for a long time thereafter we never spoke
of him except in a low, sad whisper.As for me, till long afterwards,
the hushed wonder of his white face haunted my dreams.I have now in my
possession a little bead money-purse he gave me.Blodgett came next, and here my story properly begins.Blodgett--who,
having once seen him, could ever forget Blodgett?Not I. He was too
marked a man to ever wholly fade from memory.He was, as I have said, a
perfect type of his kind, and his kind was such as should not be sneered
at.He was one of the humble pioneers of American letters.He was a
character of which our national history must take account.He was one of
the vital forces of our earlier national growth.He considered the matter of imparting knowledge a mere
question of effort, in which the physical element preponderated.If he
couldn't talk or read it into one he took a stick and mauled it into
him.This mauling method, though somewhat distasteful to the subject,
always had a charming result--red eyes, a few blubbers and a good
lesson.The technical name of this method was "_Warming the Jacket_."It always seemed to me that the peewee birds sang very dolefully after I
had had my jacket warmed.I recollect my floggings at school with so
much aversion that I do think, if a teacher should whale one of my
little ruddy-faced boys, I'd spread his (the teacher's) nose over his
face as thin as a rabbit skin!I'd run both his eyes into one and chew
his ears off close to his head, sir!Forgive my earnestness, but I can't
stand flogging in schools.From the first day that Blodgett came circulating his school "articles"
among us, we took to him by common consent as a wonderfully learned man.I think his strong, wise looking face, and reserved, pompous manners,
had much to do with making this impression.We believed in him fully,
and for a long time gave him unfaltering loyalty.As for me, I never
have wholly withdrawn my allegiance.I look back, even now, and admire
him.I sigh, thinking of the merry days when he flourished.I solemnly
avow my faith in progress.I know the world advances every day, still I
doubt if men and women are more worthy now than they were in the time of
the pedagogues.I don't know but what, after all, I am somewhat of a
fogy.Any how, I will not, for the sake of pleasing your literary
_swallows_--your eclectics of to-day--turn in and berate my dear old
Blodgett.In his day men could not and did not skim the surface of
things like swallows on a mill pond.They _dived_, and got what they did
get from the bottom, and by honest labor.Whenever one of your
silk-winged swallows skims past me and whispers progress, I cannot help
thinking of Heyne, Jean Paul and--Blodgett.Somehow genius and poverty
are great cronies.It used to be more so than it is now.Blodgett was a
genius, and, consequently, poor.He was virtuous, and, of course, happy.He was a Democrat and a Hard Shell Baptist, and he might never have
swerved from the path of rectitude, even to the extent of a hair's
breadth, if it had not been for the coming of a not over scrupulous
rival into the neighboring village.A little more
and I would have blurted out the whole nub of my story.I
have nothing of the "lightning calculator" in me.It has been agreed that biography must include somewhat of physical
portraiture."What sort of looking man was Blodgett?"I will tell you as
nearly as I can, but bear in mind it is a long time since I saw him,
and, in the meanwhile, the world has been so washed, and combed, and
trimmed, and pearl powdered, that one can scarcely be sure he recollects
things rightly.The seedy dandy who teaches the free schools of to-day,
is, no doubt, all right as things go; but then the way they go--that's
it!As for finding some one of these dapper, umbrella-lugging,
green-spectacled, cadaverous teachers to compare with our burly
Blodgett, the thing is preposterous.Our pedagogue, when he first came among us, was, as nearly as I can
judge, about forty, and a bachelor, tall, raw-boned, lean-faced, and
muscular--a man of many words, and big ones, but not over prone to seek
audience of the world.To me, a boy of twelve, he appeared somewhat
awful, especially when plying the beech rod for the benefit of a future
man, and I do still think that something harder than mere sternness
slept or woke in and around the lines of his strong, flat jaws--that
something sharper than acid shrewdness lurked in his light gray eyes,
and that surely a more powerful expression than ordinary brute obstinacy
lingered about his firm mouth and smoothly shaven chin.Blodgett had a mighty body and a mighty will, joined with a
self-appreciation only bounded by his power to generate it.This, added
to the deep deference with which he was approached by everybody, made
him not a little arrogant and despotic--though, doubtless, he was less
so than most men, under like circumstances, would have been.His step was youthful though slouching, his raven
hair was bright and wavy, his skin had the tinge of vigorous health, and
in truth he was not far from handsome.His voice was nasal, but
pleasantly so.I cannot hope to give you more than a faint idea of the absolute power
vested in Blodgett by the men, women and children of the school
vicinage; suffice it to say that his view was a _sine qua non_ to every
neighborhood opinion, his words the basis of neighborhood action in all
matters of public interest.If he pronounced the parson's last sermon a
failure, at once the entire church agreed in condemning it, not only as
a failure but a consummate blunder.If he hinted that a certain new
comer impressed him unfavorably, the nincompoop was summarily kicked out
of society.In fact, in the pithy phraseology of these latter days, "it
was dangerous to be safe" about where he lived.Thus, for a long time, Blodgett ruled with an iron hand his little
world, with no one to dream of disputing his right or of doubting his
capacity, till at length fate let fall a bit of romance into the strong
but placid stream of his life, and tinged it all with rose color.He
wrote some poetry, but it is obsolete--that is, it is not now in
existence.While this streak of romance lasted he looked, for all the
world, like a gilt-edged mathematical problem drawn on rawhide.It was a great event in our neighborhood when Miss Grace Holland, a
yellow-haired, blue-eyed, very handsome and well educated young lady
from Louisville, Kentucky, came to spend the summer with Parson Holland,
our preacher, and the young woman's uncle.All the young men fell in love with Miss
Holland right away, but it was of no use to them.Blodgett, in the
language of your fast youngsters, "shied his castor into the ring," and
what was there left for the others but to stand by and see the glory of
the pedagogue during the season of his wooing?Sandra went back to the bedroom.It would have done your
eyes good to see the pedagogue "slick himself up" each Saturday evening
preparatory to visiting the parson's.He went into the details of the
toilette with an enthusiasm worthy a better result.Ordinarily he was
ostentatiously pious and grave, but now his nature began to slip its
bark and disclose an inner rind of real mirthfulness, which made him
quite pleasant company for Miss Holland, who, though a mere girl, was
sensible and old enough to enjoy the many marked peculiarities of the
pedagogue.On Blodgett's side it was love--just the blindest, craziest kind of
love, at first sight.One never can
precisely say as to a woman; guessing at a woman's feelings, in matters
of love, is a little like wondering which makes the music, a boy's mouth |
hallway | Where is Sandra? | If you have seen
a bear, every stump is a bear.A few days after the advent of Miss
Holland came a pop-eyed, nervous, witty little fellow with a hand press,
and started a weekly paper in our village.Blodgett from the first seemed not to relish the innovation, but public
sentiment had set in too strongly in its favor for him to jeopardize his
reputation by any serious denunciations.A real live paper in our midst
was no small matter.Everybody subscribed, and so did Blodgett.It did, formerly, require a little brains to run a newspaper, and in
those days an editor was looked upon as nearly or quite as learned and
intelligent as a pedagogue; but everybody, however ignorant himself,
could not fail to see that one represented progress, the other
conservatism, and formerly most persons were Ultra-Conservatives.This,
of course, gave the pedagogue a considerable advantage.He pondered over these things
till he hated his cousin Herbert; and hating him, he vowed that Clara
Desmond should not be his wife.He has enough, and
may be contented; but he shall not have all."And now, with similar
thoughts running through his mind, he rode back to Hap House.As he approached the
front door, he met Mr.Prendergast, who was leaving the house; but
they had no conversation with each other.Herbert was in hopes that
he might now, at once, be put out of suspense.Mollett was gone; and
would it not be better that the tale should be told?Prendergast had no intention of lessening by an hour the
interval he had given himself.He merely muttered a few words passing
on, and Herbert went into the house.And then there was another long, tedious, dull afternoon.Herbert sat
with his sisters, but they had not the heart to talk to each other.At about four a note was brought to him.Prendergast,
begging Herbert to meet him in Sir Thomas's study at eight.Sir
Thomas had not been there during the day; and now did not intend to
leave his own room.They dined at half-past six; and the appointment
was therefore to take place almost immediately after dinner.Prendergast that I will be there," he said to the servant.And so that afternoon passed away, and the dinner also, very slowly
and very sadly.The dinner passed away as the former dinners had done; and as soon
as Aunt Letty got up Mr.Prendergast also rose, and touching Herbert
on his shoulder, whispered into his ear, "You'll come to me at eight
then."Herbert nodded his head; and when he was alone he looked
at his watch.Mary went to the bedroom.These slow dinners were not actually very long, and
there still remained to him some three-quarters of an hour for
anticipation.What was to be the nature of this history?That it would affect
himself personally in the closest manner he could not but know.There seemed to be no doubt on the minds of any of them that the
affair was one of money, and his father's money questions were his
money questions.Prendergast would not have been sent for with
reference to any trifle; nor would any pecuniary difficulty that was
not very serious have thrown his father into such a state of misery.Could it be that the fair inheritance was absolutely in danger?Herbert Fitzgerald was by no means a selfish man.As regarded
himself, he could have met ruin in the face with more equanimity than
most young men so circumstanced.The gilt of the world had not eaten
into his soul; his heart was not as yet wedded to the splendour of
pinchbeck.This is saying much for him; for how seldom is it that the
hearts and souls of the young are able to withstand pinchbeck and
gilding?He was free from this pusillanimity; free as yet as regarded
himself; but he was hardly free as regarded his betrothed.He had
promised her, not in spoken words but in his thoughts, rank, wealth,
and all the luxuries of his promised high position; and now on
her behalf, it nearly broke his heart to think that they might be
endangered.Of his mother's history, he can hardly be said to have known
anything.That there had been something tragic in her early life;
that something had occurred before his father's marriage; and that
his mother had been married twice, he had learned,--he hardly
knew when or from whom.But on such matters there had never been
conversation between him and any of his own family; and it never
occurred to him that all this sorrow arose in any way from this
subject.That his father had taken some fatal step with regard to the
property--had done some foolish thing for which he could not forgive
himself, that was the idea with which his mind was filled.He waited, with his watch in his hand, till the dial showed him that
it was exactly eight; and then, with a sinking heart, he walked
slowly out of the dining-room along the passage, and into his
father's study.For an instant he stood with the handle in his hand.He had been terribly anxious for the arrival of this moment, but now
that it had come, he would almost fain have had it again postponed.His heart sank very low as he turned the lock, and entering, found
himself in the presence of Mr.Prendergast was standing with his back to the fire.For him, too,
the last hour had been full of bitterness; his heart also had sunk
low within him; his blood had run cold within his veins: he too, had
it been possible, would have put off this wretched hour.Prendergast, it may be, was not much given to poetry; but the
feeling, if not the words, were there within him.The work which a
friend has to perform for a friend is so much heavier than that which
comes in the way of any profession!Prendergast came forward from
where he was standing, and took him by the hand.Sandra journeyed to the hallway."This is a very sad
affair," he said; "very sad.""At present I know nothing about it," said Herbert."As I see people
about me so unhappy, I suppose it is sad.If there be anything that I
hate, it is a mystery."Fitzgerald," said the other; "sit down."Prendergast himself sat down in the chair that was ordinarily
occupied by Sir Thomas.Although he had been thinking about it all
the day, he had not even yet made up his mind how he was to begin
his story.Even now he could not help thinking whether it might be
possible for him to leave it untold.Fitzgerald," said he, "you must prepare yourself for tidings
which are very grievous indeed--very grievous."Daniel went to the hallway."Whatever it is I must bear it," said he."I hope you have that moral strength which enables a man to bear
misfortune.I have not known you in happy days, and therefore perhaps
can hardly judge; but it seems to me that you do possess such
courage.Did I not think so, I could hardly go through the task that
is before me."Here he paused as though he expected some reply, some assurance that
his young friend did possess this strength of which he spoke; but
Herbert said nothing--nothing out loud.It was thus that he spoke to his own
heart.Fitzgerald," continued the lawyer, "I do not know how far you
may be acquainted with the history of your mother's first marriage."Herbert said that he was hardly acquainted with it in any degree;
and explained that he merely knew the fact that his mother had been
married before she met Sir Thomas."I do not know that I need recount all the circumstances to you
now, though doubtless you will learn them.Your mother's conduct
throughout was, I believe, admirable."No amount of evidence could make me believe
the contrary.""And there is no tittle of evidence to make any one think so.But
in her early youth, when she was quite a child, she was given in
marriage to a man--to a man of whom it is impossible to speak in
terms too black, or in language too strong.And now, this day--"
But here he paused.It had been his intention to say that that very
man, the first husband of this loved mother now looked upon as dead
for so many years, this miscreant of whom he had spoken--that this
man had been in that room that very day.But he hardly knew how to
frame the words.Sandra went back to the bedroom."Well," said Herbert, "well;" and he spoke in a hoarse voice that was
scarcely audible.Prendergast was afraid to bring out the very pith of his story in
so abrupt a manner.He wished to have the work over, to feel, that as
regarded Herbert it was done,--but his heart failed him when he came
to it."Yes," he said, going back as it were to his former thoughts."A
heartless, cruel, debauched, unscrupulous man; one in whose bosom no
good thing seemed to have been implanted.Your father, when he first
knew your mother, had every reason to believe that this man was
dead."Prendergast could see that the young man's
face became perfectly pale as he uttered these words.He became pale,
and clutched hold of the table with his hand, and there sat with
mouth open and staring eyes.Prendergast; "I am afraid not.""And--"
"I must go further than that, and tell you that he is still living."exclaimed the poor fellow,
rising up from his chair and shouting out as though for mercy.Prendergast also rose from his seat, and coming up to him took him by
the arm."My dear boy, my dear boy, I am obliged to tell you.It is
necessary that you should know it.Sandra went back to the hallway.The fact is as I say, and it is
now for you to show that you are a man."Who was ever called upon for a stronger proof of manhood than this?In nine cases out of ten it is not for oneself that one has to be
brave.A man, we may almost say, is no man, whose own individual
sufferings call for the exercise of much courage.But we are all so
mixed up and conjoined with others--with others who are weaker and
dearer than ourselves, that great sorrows do require great powers of
endurance.By degrees, as he stood there in silence, the whole truth made its
way into his mind,--as he stood there with his arm still tenderly
pressed by that old man.No one now would have called the lawyer
stern in looking at him, for the tears were coursing down his cheeks.But no tears came to the relief of young Fitzgerald as the truth
slowly came upon him, fold by fold, black cloud upon cloud, till the
whole horizon of his life's prospect was dark as death.He stood
there silent for some few minutes hardly conscious that he was not
alone, as he saw all his joys disappearing from before his mind's
eye, one by one; his family pride, the pleasant high-toned duties of
his station, his promised seat in Parliament and prosperous ambition,
the full respect of all the world around him, his wealth and pride of
place--for let no man be credited who boasts that he can part with
these without regret.But there were losses more
bitter than these.How could he think of his affianced bride?and how
could he think of his mother?No tears came to his relief while the truth, with all its bearings,
burnt itself into his very soul, but his face expressed such agony
that it was terrible to be seen.Prendergast could stand that
silence no longer, so at last he spoke.He spoke,--for the sake of
words; for all his tale had been told."You saw the man that was here yesterday?That was he, who then
called himself Talbot."Herbert had said that no evidence could be sufficient to make him
believe that his mother had been in any way culpable: and such
probably was the case.He had that reliance on his mother--that
assurance in his mind that everything coming from her must
be good--that he could not believe her capable of ill.But,
nevertheless, he could not prevent himself from asking within his
own breast, how it had been possible that his mother should ever
have been concerned with such a wretch as that.It was a question
which could not fail to make itself audible.What being on earth was
sweeter than his mother, more excellent, more noble, more fitted for
the world's high places, more absolutely entitled to that universal
respect which seemed to be given to her as her own by right?And what
being could be more loathsome, more contemptible than he, who was,
as he was now told, his mother's husband?There was in it a want of
verisimilitude which almost gave him comfort,--which almost taught
him to think that he might disbelieve the story that was told to him.he had yet to learn the difference that years may make
in men and women--for better as well as for worse.Circumstances had
given to the poor half-educated village girl the simple dignity of
high station; as circumstances had also brought to the lowest dregs
of human existence the man, whose personal bearing, and apparent
worldly standing had been held sufficient to give warrant that he was
of gentle breeding and of honest standing; nay, her good fortune in
such a marriage had once been almost begrudged her by all her maiden
neighbours.But Herbert, as he thought of this, was almost encouraged to
disbelieve the story.To him, with his knowledge of what his mother
was, and such knowledge as he also had of that man, it did not seem
possible."I fear there is no doubt of its truth," said Mr."Your
father has no doubt whatever; has had none--I must tell you this
plainly--for some months."no; of course I would not be hard upon him.""The burden he has had to bear has been very terrible.He has thought
that by payments of money to this man the whole thing might be
concealed.As is always the case when such payments are made, the
insatiable love of money grew by what it fed on.He would have poured
out every shilling into that man's hands, and would have died,
himself a beggar--have died speedily too under such torments--and yet
no good would have been done.The harpy would have come upon you; and
you--after you had innocently assumed a title that was not your own
and taken a property to which you have no right, you then would have
had to own--that which your father must own now.""If it be so," said Herbert, slowly, "it must be acknowledged."I know you will feel that--in
such matters we can only sail safely by the truth.There is no other
compass worth a man's while to look at.""Of course not," said Herbert, with hoarse voice."One does not wish
to be a robber and a thief.And then he involuntarily thought of the interview they had had on
that very day."But why did he not tell me when I spoke to him of
her?"he said, with something approaching to bitterness in his voice
and a slight struggle in his throat that was almost premonitory of a
sob.I know what your feelings are;
but think of his sorrows, and do not be hard on him.""I fear that he will not be with you long.He has already endured
till he is now almost past the power of suffering more.And yet there
is so much more that he must suffer!""Think what such as he must have gone through in bringing himself
into contact with that man; and all this has been done that he might
spare you and your mother.Daniel travelled to the garden.Think of the wound to his conscience
before he would have lowered himself to an unworthy bargain with a
swindler.But this has been done that you might have that which you
have been taught to look on as your own.But you, at any rate, can be tender to such a
fault; you and your mother.""I will--I will," said Herbert."But if it had happened a month since
I could have borne it."And then he thought of his mother, and hated
himself for what he had said.How could he have borne that with
patience?"And there is no doubt, you say?"An old servant
here in the house, too, knows him."And the burden of further proof must now, of
course, be thrown on us,--not on him.Directly that we believe the
statement, it is for us to ascertain its truth. |
bathroom | Where is Sandra? | You and your father
must not be seen to hold a false position before the world.""I fear that your mother must be told, and Mr.Owen Fitzgerald; and
then we must together openly prove the facts, either in one way or in
the other.It will be better that we should do this together;--that
is, you and your cousin Owen conjointly.Do it openly, before the
world,--so that the world may know that each of you desires only what
is honestly his own.For myself I tell you fairly that I have no
doubt of the truth of what I have told you; but further proof is
certainly needed.Had I any doubt I would not propose to tell your
mother.As it is I think it will be wrong to keep her longer in the
dark."She has more power of self-control than your father.She has not spoken to me ten words since I have been in the house,
and in not doing so I have thought that she was right.""If you ask me my opinion, I think that she does suspect the
truth,--very vaguely, with an indefinite feeling that the calamity
which weighs so heavily on your father, has come from this source.She, dear lady, is greatly to be pitied.But God has made her of
firmer material than your father, and I think that she will bear her
sorrow with a higher courage."I do not see how we can avoid it.Mary went to the bedroom.If we do not tell
her we must attempt to conceal it, and that attempt must needs be
futile when we are engaged in making open inquiry on the subject.Your cousin, when he hears of this, will of course be anxious to know
what his real prospects are.""And then, when all the world will know it, how is your mother to be
kept in the dark?And that which she fears and anticipates is as bad,
probably, as the actual truth.If my advice be followed nothing will
be kept from her.""We are in your hands, I suppose, Mr."I can only act as my judgment directs me."This he asked with a shudder, and almost in
a whisper.The very idea of undertaking such a duty seemed almost too
much for him.And yet he must undertake a duty almost as terrible; he
himself--no one but him--must endure the anguish of repeating this
story to Clara Desmond and to the countess.Sandra journeyed to the hallway.But now the question had
reference to his own mother.He had not
hitherto, in so many words, undertaken this task--this that would be
the most dreadful of all.But if he did not undertake it, who would?"I suppose that I must do it," at last he said, very gently.Daniel went to the hallway."As soon as I have told your cousin.I will go down to him to-morrow
after breakfast.Is it probable that I shall find him at home?""Yes, if you are there before ten.The hounds meet to-morrow at
Cecilstown, within three miles of him, and he will not leave home
till near eleven.But it is possible that he may have a house full of
men with him."On such an occasion as this he may surely
let his friends go to the hunt without him."And then between nine and ten this interview came to an end.Prendergast, as he pressed Herbert's hand,
"you have borne all this as a man should do.No loss of fortune can
ruin one who is so well able to endure misfortune."His knowledge of human nature had
not carried him sufficiently far.Sandra went back to the bedroom.A man's courage under calamity
is only tested when he is left in solitude.The meanest among us
can bear up while strange eyes are looking at us.Prendergast went away, and he was alone.It had been his habit during the whole of this period of his father's
illness to go to Sir Thomas at or before bedtime.These visits
had usually been made to the study, the room in which he was now
standing; but when his father had gone to his bedroom at an earlier
hour, Herbert had always seen him there.Was he to go to him now--now
that he had heard all this?And if so, how was he to bear himself
there, in his father's presence?He stood still, thinking of this,
till the hand of the clock showed him that it was past ten, and then
it struck him that his father might be waiting for him.It would not
do for him now, at such a moment, to appear wanting in that attention
which he had always shown.He was still his father's son, though he
had lost the right to bear his father's name.He was nameless now, a
man utterly without respect or standing-place in the world, a being
whom the law ignored except as the possessor of a mere life; such was
he now, instead of one whose rights and privileges, whose property
and rank all the statutes of the realm and customs of his country
delighted to honour and protect.This he repeated to himself over
and over again.It was to such a pass as this, to this bitter
disappointment that his father had brought him.But yet it should not
be said of him that he had begun to neglect his father as soon as he
had heard the story.So with a weary step he walked up stairs, and found Sir Thomas in
bed, with his mother sitting by the bedside.His mother held out her
hand to him, and he took it, leaning against the bedside.Prendergast had left him, and gone to his own
room for the night."And have you been with him all the evening?"Sandra went back to the hallway.She had no special motive in so asking, but both the father
and the son shuddered at the question."Yes," said Herbert; "I have
been with him, and now I have come to wish my father good night; and
you too, mother, if you intend to remain here."But Lady Fitzgerald
got up, telling Herbert that she would leave him with Sir Thomas; and
before either of them could hinder her from departing, the father and
the son were alone together.Sir Thomas, when the door closed, looked furtively up into his son's
face.Might it be that he could read there how much had been already
told, or how much still remained to be disclosed?That Herbert was
to learn it all that evening, he knew; but it might be that Mr.Prendergast had failed to perform his task.Sir Thomas in his heart
trusted that he had failed.He looked up furtively into Herbert's
face, but at the moment there was nothing there that he could read.There was nothing there but black misery; and every face round him
for many days past had worn that aspect.For a minute or two Herbert said nothing, for he had not made up his
mind whether or no he would that night disturb his father's rest.But he could not speak in his ordinary voice, or bid his father
good-night as though nothing special to him had happened."Father,"
said he, after a short pause, "father, I know it all now.""My boy, my poor boy, my unfortunate boy!""Father," said Herbert, "do not be unhappy about me, I can bear it."And then he thought again of his bride--his bride as she was to have
been; but nevertheless he repeated his last words, "I can bear it,
father!""I have meant it for the best, Herbert," said the poor man, pleading
to his child."I know that; all of us well know that.Prendergast says
is true; it is better that it should be known.That man would have
killed you had you kept it longer to yourself."Sir Thomas hid his face upon the pillow as the remembrance of what he
had endured in those meetings came upon him.The blow that had told
heaviest was that visit from the son, and the threats which the man
had made still rung in his ears--"When that youngster was born Lady
F. was Mrs.My governor could take her away
to-morrow, according to the law of the land, couldn't he now?"These
words, and more such as these, had nearly killed him at the time, and
now, as they recurred to him, he burst out into childish tears.the days of his manhood had gone, and nothing but the tears of
a second bitter childhood remained to him.The hot iron had entered
into his soul, and shrivelled up the very muscles of his mind's
strength.Herbert, without much thought of what he was doing, knelt down by
the bedside and put his hand upon that of his father which lay out
upon the sheet.There he knelt for one or two minutes, watching and
listening to his father's sobs."You will be better now, father," he
said, "for the great weight of this terrible secret will be off your
mind."With him there could never
be any better.All things belonging to him had gone to ruin.All
those around him whom he had loved--and he had loved those around him
very dearly--were brought to poverty, and sorrow, and disgrace.The
power of feeling this was left to him, but the power of enduring this
with manhood was gone.The blow had come upon him too late in life.And Herbert himself, as he knelt there, could hardly forbear from
tears.Now, at such a moment as this, he could think of no one but
his father, the author of his being, who lay there so grievously
afflicted by sorrows which were in nowise selfish."Father," he said
at last, "will you pray with me?"And then when the poor sufferer
had turned his face towards him, he poured forth his prayer to his
Saviour that they all in that family might be enabled to bear the
heavy sorrows which God in his mercy and wisdom had now thought fit
to lay upon them.I will not make his words profane by repeating them
here, but one may say confidently that they were not uttered in vain."And now, dearest father, good night," he said as he rose from his
knees; and stretching over the bed, he kissed his father's forehead.BEFORE BREAKFAST AT HAP HOUSE.Mollett's drive back to Cork after his
last visit to Castle Richmond had not been very pleasant; and indeed
it may be said that his present circumstances altogether were as
unpleasant as his worst enemies could desire.I have endeavoured to
excite the sympathy of those who are going with me through this story
for the sufferings of that family of the Fitzgeralds; but how shall
I succeed in exciting their sympathy for this other family of the
Molletts?If we are to sympathise only with the
good, or worse still, only with the graceful, how little will there
be in our character that is better than terrestrial?Those Molletts
also were human, and had strings to their hearts, at which the world
would now probably pull with sufficient vigour.For myself I can
truly say that my strongest feeling is for their wretchedness.The father and son had more than once boasted among themselves that
the game they were now playing was a high one; that they were, in
fact, gambling for mighty stakes.And in truth, as long as the
money came in to them--flowing in as the result of their own craft
in this game--the excitement had about it something that was very
pleasurable.There was danger, which makes all games pleasant; there
was money in handfuls for daily expenses--those daily wants of the
appetite, which are to such men more important by far than the
distant necessities of life; there was a possibility of future
grandeur, an opening out of magnificent ideas of fortune, which
charmed them greatly as they thought about it.What might they not
do with forty thousand pounds divided between them, or even with a
thousand a year each, settled on them for life?Daniel travelled to the garden.and surely their
secret was worth that money!Nay, was it not palpable to the meanest
calculation that it was worth much more?Had they not the selling
of twelve thousand a year for ever and ever to this family of
Fitzgerald?But for the last fortnight things had begun to go astray with them.Money easily come by goes easily, and money badly come by goes badly.Theirs had come easily and badly, and had so gone.What necessity
could there be for economy with such a milch-cow as that close to
their elbows?So both of them had thought, if not argued; and there
had been no economy--no economy in the use of that very costly
amusement, the dice-box; and now, at the present moment, ready money
having failed to be the result of either of the two last visits to
Castle Richmond, the family funds were running low.It may be said that ready money for the moment was the one desire
nearest to the heart of Mollett pere, when he took that last journey
over the Boggeragh mountains--ready money wherewith to satisfy the
pressing claims of Miss O'Dwyer, and bring back civility, or rather
servility, to the face and manner of Tom the waiter at the Kanturk
Hotel.John went to the bedroom.Very little of that servility can be enjoyed by persons of
the Mollett class when money ceases to be ready in their hands and
pockets, and there is, perhaps, nothing that they enjoy so keenly as
servility.Mollett pere had gone down determined that that comfort
should at any rate be forthcoming to him, whatever answer might
be given to those other grander demands, and we know what success
had attended his mission.He had looked to find his tame milch-cow
trembling in her accustomed stall, and he had found a resolute bull
there in her place--a bull whom he could by no means take by the
horns.Sandra went back to the bathroom.He had got no money, and before he had reached Cork he had
begun to comprehend that it was not probable that he should get more
from that source.During a part of the interview between him and Mr.Prendergast, some
spark of mercy towards his victims had glimmered into his heart.When
it was explained to him that the game was to be given up, that the
family at Castle Richmond was prepared to acknowledge the truth, and
that the effort made was with the view of proving that the poor lady
up stairs was not entitled to the name she bore rather than that she
was so entitled, then some slight promptings of a better spirit did
for a while tempt him to be merciful."Oh, what are you about to do?"Prendergast admitted of speech from him.There is no need for you to drag to the light this terrible fact.I
will not divulge it--no not although you are hard upon me in regard
to these terms of mine.I will still keep it to myself, and trust
to you,--to you who are all so rich and able to pay, for what
consideration you may please to give me."This was the state of his
mind when Mrs.Jones's evidence was being slowly evoked from her;
but it had undergone a considerable change before he reached Cork.By that time he had taught himself to understand that there was no
longer a chance to him of any consideration whatever.Slowly he
had brought it home to himself that these people had resolutely
determined to blow up the ground on which they themselves stood.He did not understand the nature of a
feeling which could induce so fatal a suicide, but he did understand
that the feeling was there, and that the suicide would be completed.And now what was he to do next in the way of earning his
bread?Various thoughts ran through his brain, and different
resolves--half-formed but still, perhaps, capable of shape--presented
themselves to him for the future.It was still on the cards--on the
cards, but barely so--that he might make money out of these people;
but he must wait perhaps for weeks before he again commenced such an
attempt.He might perhaps make money out of them, and be merciful to
them at the same time;--not money by thousands and tens of thousands;
that golden dream was gone for ever; but still money that might be
comfortably luxurious as long as it could be made to last.But then
on one special point he made a firm and final resolution,--whatever
new scheme he might hatch he alone would manage.Never again would he
call into his councils that son of his loins whose rapacious greed
had, as he felt sure, brought upon him all this ruin.Had Aby not
gone to Castle Richmond, with his cruelty and his greed, frightening
to the very death the soul of that poor baronet by the enormity of
his demands, Mr.Prendergast would not have been there.Of what
further chance of Castle Richmond pickings there might be Aby should
know nothing.He and his son would no longer hunt in |
bathroom | Where is John? | He
would shake him off in that escape which they must both now make from
Cork, and he would not care how long it might be before he again saw
his countenance.But then that question of ready money; and that other question,
perhaps as interesting, touching a criminal prosecution!How was he
to escape if he could not raise the wind?Mary went to the bedroom.And how could he raise
the wind now that his milch-cow had run so dry?He had promised the
O'Dwyers money that evening, and had struggled hard to make that
promise with an easy face.His orders
at the inn were treated almost with contempt.For the last three days
they had given him what he wanted to eat and drink, but would hardly
give him all that he wanted.When he called for brandy they brought
him whisky, and it had only been by hard begging, and by oaths as to
the promised money, that he had induced them to supply him with the
car which had taken him on his fruitless journey to Castle Richmond.As he was driven up to the door in South Main Street, his heart was
very sad on all these subjects.Aby was again sitting within the bar, but was no longer basking in
the sunshine of Fanny's smiles.He was sitting there because Fanny
had not yet mustered courage to turn him out.He was half-drunk, for
it had been found impossible to keep spirits from him.And there had
been hot words between him and Fanny, in which she had twitted him
with his unpaid bill, and he had twitted her with her former love.And things had gone from bad to worse, and she had all but called
in Tom for aid in getting quit of him; she had, however, refrained,
thinking of the money that might be coming, and waiting also till her
father should arrive.Abraham Mollett had not
been long lived.I will not describe another scene such as those which had of late
been frequent in the Kanturk Hotel.The father and the son soon found
themselves together in the small room in which they now both slept,
at the top of the house; and Aby, tipsy as he was, understood the
whole of what had happened at Castle Richmond.Prendergast was seen in that room in lieu of Sir Thomas, he knew
at once that the game had been abandoned."But something may yet be
done at 'Appy 'ouse," Aby said to himself, "only one must be deuced
quick."The father and the son of course quarrelled frightfully, like dogs
over the memory of a bone which had been arrested from the jaws of
both of them.Aby said that his father had lost everything by his
pusillanimity, and old Mollett declared that his son had destroyed
all by his rashness.But we need not repeat their quarrels, nor
repeat all that passed between them and Tom before food was
forthcoming to satisfy the old man's wants.As he ate he calculated
how much he might probably raise upon his watch towards taking him to
London, and how best he might get off from Cork without leaving any
scent in the nostrils of his son.His clothes he must leave behind
him at the inn, at least all that he could not pack upon his person.Lately he had made himself comfortable in this respect, and he
sorrowed over the fine linen which he had worn but once or twice
since it had been bought with the last instalment from Sir Thomas.Nevertheless in this way he did make up his mind for the morrow's
campaign.Sandra journeyed to the hallway.Something at any rate he had learned
from Fanny O'Dwyer in return for his honeyed words.When Herbert
Fitzgerald should cease to be the heir to Castle Richmond, Owen
Fitzgerald of Hap House would be the happy man.That knowledge was
his own in absolute independence of his father, and there might still
be time for him to use it.He knew well the locality of Hap House,
and he would be there early on the following morning.These tidings
had probably not as yet reached the owner of that blessed abode, and
if he could be the first to tell him--!The game there too might be
pretty enough, if it were played well, by such a master-hand as his
own.Yes; he would be at Hap House early in the morning;--but then,
how to get there?Daniel went to the hallway.He left his father preparing for bed, and going down into the bar
found Mr.O'Dwyer and his daughter there in close consultation.They were endeavouring to arrive, by their joint wisdom, at some
conclusion as to what they should do with their two guests.Fanny
was for turning them out at once."The first loss is the least,"
said she."And they is so disrispectable.I niver know what they're
afther, and always is expecting the p'lice will be down on them."He had done nothing wrong; the police
could not hurt him; and thirty pounds, as he told his daughter, with
much emphasis, was "a deuced sight of money.""The first loss is
the least," said Fanny, perseveringly; and then Aby entered to them."My father has made a mull of this matter again," said he, going at
once into the middle of the subject.Sandra went back to the bedroom."'E 'as come back without a
shiner.""I'll be bound he has," said Mr."And that when 'e'd only got to go two or three miles further, and
hall his troubles would have been over.""I wish he'd have the
goodness to get over his little troubles in this house, by paying us
our bill.You'll have to walk if it's not done, and that to-morrow,
Mr.Mollett; and so I tell you; and take nothing with you, I can tell
you.Father 'll have the police to see to that.""Don't you be so cruel now, Miss Fanny," said Aby, with a leering
look."I tell you what it is, Mr.Tom did not neglect the comfort of the girls, but he really could not
keep away from the engine-room of the _Lanawaxa_.Tom was mightily
interested in all things mechanical, and in engines especially.So the
girls were left to themselves for a while upon the upper deck of the
steamboat.They were very comfortable under the awning, and had books,
and their luncheon, and a box of candy that Tom had bought and given to
Ruth, and altogether they enjoyed the trip quite as much as anybody.The breeze was quite fresh and there were not many passengers on the
forward deck where the girls were seated.But one lady sitting near
attracted their attention almost at first.She was such a little,
doll-like lady; so very plainly and neatly dressed, yet with a style
about her that carried the plain frock she wore, and the little hat, as
though they were both of the richest materials.She was dark, had
brilliant eyes, and her figure was youthful.Yet, when she chanced to
raise her veil, Ruth noted that her face was marred by innumerable fine
wrinkles--just like cracks in the face of a wax doll that had been
exposed to frost.whispered Helen, seeing how much
Ruth was attracted by the little lady.There's nothing wrong with her," said Ruth."She's just a lady in miniature; isn't she?Why, Helen, she's no
taller than you are.""She's dainty," repeated her chum.Below, on the other deck, the music of a little orchestra had been
tinkling pleasantly.Now a man with the harp, another with a violin,
and a third with a huge guitar, came up the companionway and grouped
themselves to play upon the upper deck.The three musicians were all
foreigners--French or Italian.The man who played the harp was a huge,
fleshy man, with a red waistcoat and long, black mustache.The
waistcoat and mustache were the two most noticeable things about him.Sandra went back to the hallway.He sat on a little campstool while he played.The musicians struck into some rollicking ditty that pleased the ear.The two girls enjoyed the music, and Helen searched her purse for a
coin to give whichever of the musicians came around for the collection
at the end of the concert.There was but one person on the forward
deck who did not seem to care for the music.The little lady, whose
back was to the orchestra, did not even look around.All the time he was playing the huge man who thrummed the harp seemed
to have his eyes fixed upon the little lady.He was so big and she was so fairy-like, that the girls could
not help becoming interested in the fact that the harpist was so deeply
"smitten.""He's so big and she's so
little.And he pays more attention to her than he does to playing the
tune."Just then the orchestra of three pieces finished its third tune.That
was all it ever jingled forth before making a collection.The man who
played the guitar slipped the broad strap over his shoulders and stood
up as though to pass his cap.Daniel travelled to the garden.But instantly the huge harpist arose and
muttered something to him in a guttural tone.The other sat down and
the big man seized the cap and began to move about the deck to make
such collection as the audience was disposed to give for the music.Although he had stared so at the unconscious lady's back, the big man
did not go in her direction at first, as the two girls quite expected
him to do.John went to the bedroom.He went around to the other side of the deck after taking
Helen's toll, and so manoeuvred as to come to the end of the lady's
bench and suddenly face her.There was such a sly smile on the fat man's face that he seemed to be
having a joke all to himself; yet his eyebrows were drawn down over his
nose in a scowl.It was not a pleasant expression that he carried on
his countenance to the little lady, before whom he appeared with a
suddenness that would have startled almost anybody.He wheeled around
the end of the settee on which she sat and hissed some word or phrase
in her ear, leaning over to do so.The little woman sprang up with a smothered shriek.The girls heard
her chatter something, in which the word "_merci_" was plain.She
shrank from the big man; but he was only bowing very low before her,
with the cap held out for a contribution, and his grinning face aside."She is French," whispered Helen, excitedly, in Ruth's ear.Sandra went back to the bathroom."And he
spoke in the same language.Indeed, the little lady fumbled in her handbag for something which she
dropped into the insistent cap of the harpist.Then, almost running
along the deck, she whisked into the cabin.She had pulled the veil
over her face again, but as she passed the girls they felt quite sure
that she was sobbing.The big harpist, with the same unpleasant leer upon his face, rolled
down the deck in her wake, carelessly humming a fragment of the tune he
had just been playing.He had collected all the contributions in his
big hand--a pitiful little collection of nickels and dimes--and he
tossed them into the air and caught them expertly as he joined the
other players.Then all three went aft to repeat their concert.An hour later the _Lanawaxa_ docked at Portageton.When our young
friends went ashore and walked up the freight-littered wharf, Ruth
suddenly pulled Helen's sleeve.There--behind the bales of rags going to the paper-mill.It's the
little foreign lady and the big man who played the harp--and how
earnestly they are talking.""You see, she knew him after all," said Ruth.Sandra went to the garden."But what a
wicked-looking man he is!And she _was_ frightened when he spoke to
her.""He looks villainous enough to be a brigand," returned her chum,
laughing."Yet, whoever heard of a _fat_ brigand?That would take the
romance all out of the profession; wouldn't it?""And fat villains are not so common; are they?"CHAPTER III
APPROACHING THE PROMISED LAND
Tom had tried to remove the smut of the steamboat engine-room from his
face with his handkerchief; but as his sister told him, his martial
appearance in the uniform of the Seven Oaks cadets was rather spoiled
by "a smootchy face."There wasn't time then, however, to make any
toilet before the train left.They were off on the short run to Seven
Oaks in a very few minutes after leaving the _Lanawaxa_.He craned his head out of the car
window to catch the first glimpse of the red brick barracks and dome of
the gymnasium, which were the two most prominent buildings belonging to
the Academy.Finally the hill on which the school buildings stood
flashed into view.They occupied the summit of the knoll, while the
seven great oaks, standing in a sort of druidical circle, dotted the
smooth, sloping lawn that descended to the railroad cut.cried Helen, who had never seen the place before."I
do hope that Briarwood Hall will be prettier than _that_, or I shall
want to run back home the very first week.""That's just like a girl," he said.I want to see a jolly crowd of fellows, that's what I want.I
hope I'll get in with a good crowd.I know Gil Wentworth, who came
here last year, and he says he'll put me in with a nice bunch.That's
what I'm looking forward to."There was a handsome brick station and a
long platform.This was crowded with boys, all in military garb like
Tom's own.They looked so very trim and handsome that Helen and Ruth
were quite excited.John journeyed to the bathroom.There were boys ranging from little fellows of
ten, in knickerbockers, to big chaps whose mustaches were sprouting on
their upper lips."See what a crowd we have got to go
through."That's all right," Tom said, gruffly.There it stands yonder--and a jolly old scarecrow of a carriage it is,
too!"He was evidently feeling somewhat flurried himself.He was going to
meet more than half the great school informally right there at the
station.They had gathered to meet and greet "freshmen."But the car in which our friends rode stopped well along the platform
and very near the spot where the old, brown, battered, and dust-covered
stage coach, drawn by two great, bony horses, stood in the fall
sunshine.Most of the Academy boys were at the other end of the
platform.Gil Wentworth, Tom's friend, had given young Cameron several pointers
as to his attitude on arrival at the Seven Oaks station.He had been
advised to wear the school uniform (he had passed the entrance
examinations two months before) so as to be less noticeable in the
crowd.Very soon a slow and dirge-like chant arose from the cadets gathered on
the station platform.From the rear cars of the train had stepped
several boys in citizen's garb, some with parents or guardians and some
alone, and all burdened with more or less baggage and a doubtful air
that proclaimed them immediately "new boys."The hymn of greeting rose
in mournful cadence:
"Freshie!Mamma's precious--papa's man--
Keep the tears back if you can.It's an awful job--
Freshie's leaving home and mo-o-ther!"The mournful wailing of that last word cannot be expressed by mere
type.There were other verses, too, and as the new boys filed off into
the path leading up to the Academy with their bags and other
encumbrances, the uniformed boys, _en masse_, got into step behind them
and tramped up the hill, singing this dreadful dirge.The unfortunate
new arrivals had to listen to the chant all the way up the hill.If
they ran to get away from the crowd, it only made them look the more
ridiculous; the only sensible way was to endure it with a grin.Tom grinned widely himself, for he had certainly been overlooked.Or,
he thought so until he had placed the two girls safely in the big
omnibus, had kissed Helen good-bye, and shaken hands with Ruth.But
the girls, looking out of the open door of the coach, saw him descend
from the step into the midst of a group of solemn-faced boys who |
bathroom | Where is Daniel? | Helen and Ruth, stifling their amusement, heard and saw poor Tom put
through a much more severe examination than the other boys, for the
very reason that he had come dressed in his uniform.He was forced to
endure a searching inquiry regarding his upbringing and private
affairs, right within the delighted hearing of the wickedly giggling
girls.And then a tall fellow started to put him through the manual of
arms.Poor Tom was all at sea in that, and the youth, with gravity, declared
that he was insulting the uniform by his ignorance and caused him to
remove his coat and turn it inside out; and so Helen and Ruth saw him
marched away with his stern escort, in a most ridiculous red flannel
garment (the lining of the coat) which made him conspicuous from every
barrack window and, indeed, from every part of the academy hill.sighed Helen, wiping her eyes and almost sobbing after
her laughter."And Tommy thought he would escape any form of hazing!He wasn't so cute as he thought he was.""Suppose we are greeted in any such
way at Briarwood?"They have hazing in some girls' schools, I've read.Of course, it
won't hurt us, Helen----"
"It'll be just fun, I think!"cried the enthusiastic Helen and then she
stopped with an explosive "Oh!"There was being helped into the coach by the roughly dressed and
bewhiskered driver, the little, doll-like, foreign woman whom they
thought had been left behind at Portageton."There ye air, Ma'mzell!""An' here's yer
bag--an' yer umbrella--an' yer parcel.So I got two more gals fer Briarwood; hev I?"He was a jovial, rough old fellow, with a wind-blown face and beard and
hair enough to make his head look to be as big as a bushel basket.He
was dressed in a long, faded "duster" over his other nondescript
garments, and his battered hat was after the shape of those worn by
Grand Army men.He limped, too, and was slow in his movements and
deliberate in his speech."I s'pose ye _be_ goin' ter Briarwood, gals?"Our trunks have gone by the way of Lumberton,"
explained Ruth.grunted the driver, and started to shut the
door.Then he glanced from Ruth and Helen to the little foreign lady."I leave ye in good hands," he said, with a hoarse chuckle."This here
lady is one o' yer teachers, Ma'mzell Picolet."He pronounced the
little lady's name quite as outlandishly as he did "mademoiselle."It
sounded like "Pickle-yet" on his tongue."That will do, M'sieur Dolliver," said the little lady, rather tartly."I may venture to introduce myself--is it not?"She spoke English with scarcely any
accent.Occasionally she arranged her phrases in an oddly foreign way;
but her pronunciation could not be criticised.Old Dolliver, the stage
driver, grinned broadly as he closed the door."Ye allus make me feel like a Frenchman myself, when ye say'moosher,'
Ma'mzell," he chuckled."You are going to Briarwood Hall, then, my young ladies?""Yes, Ma'am," said Ruth, shyly."I shall be your teacher in the French language--perhaps in deportment
and the graces of life," the little lady said, pleasantly."You will
both enter into advanced classes, I hope?"Helen, after all, was more shy than Ruth with strangers.When she
became acquainted she gained confidence rapidly.But now Ruth answered
again for both:
"I was ready to enter the Cheslow High School; Helen is as far advanced
as I am in all studies, Miss Picolet.""We shall get on famously with such
bright girls," and she nodded several times.And
she only talked with the girls by fits and starts.There were long
spaces of time when she sat huddled in the corner of her seat, with her
face turned from them, and never said a word.But the nearer the rumbling old stagecoach approached the promised land
of Briarwood Hall the more excited Ruth and Helen became.They gazed
out of the open windows of the coach doors and thought the country
through which they traveled ever so pretty.Occasionally old Dolliver
would lean out from his seat, twist himself around in a most impossible
attitude so as to see into the coach, and bawl out to the two girls
some announcement of the historical or other interest of the localities
they passed.Suddenly, as they surmounted a long ridge and came out upon the more
open summit, they espied a bridle path making down the <DW72>, through
an open grove and across uncultivated fields beyond--a vast blueberry
pasture.She swung her hat by its
strings in her hand and commenced to run up the hill when she spied the
coach.She was a thin, wiry, long-limbed girl.She swung her hat excitedly
and although the girls in the coach could not hear her, they knew that
she shouted to Old Dolliver.He pulled up, braking the lumbering
wheels grumblingly.The newcomer's sharp, freckled face grew plainer
to the interested gaze of Ruth and Helen as she came out of the shadow
of the trees into the sunlight of the dusty highway."Two on 'em, Miss Cox," replied the stage driver.Ma'mzell's in there," whispered Dolliver, hoarsely.exclaimed Miss Cox, with plain scorn of the French teacher.Ten cents, mind you, from
here to Briarwood.Daniel journeyed to the kitchen.Ye allus was a sharp one," chuckled Dolliver, as
the sharp-faced girl jerked open the nearest door of the coach and
stared in, blinking, out of the sunlight.CHAPTER IV
THE RIVALRY OF THE UPEDES AND THE FUSSY CURLS
The passengers in the Seven Oaks and Lumberton stage sat facing one
another on the two broad seats.Mademoiselle Picolet had established
herself in one corner of the forward seat, riding with her back to the
driver.Ruth and Helen were side by side upon the other seat, and this
newcomer slid quickly in beside them and smiled a very broad and
friendly smile at the two chums."When you've been a little while at Briarwood Hall," she said, in her
quick, pert way, "you'll learn that that's the only way to do with Old
Dolliver.Make your bargain before you get into the Ark--that's what
we call this stage--or he surely will overcharge you.how-do, Miss
Picolet!"She spoke to the French teacher so carelessly--indeed, in so scornful a
tone--that Ruth was startled.Miss Picolet bowed gravely and said
something in return in her own language which made Miss Cox flush, and
her eyes sparkle.It was doubtless of an admonishing nature, but Ruth
and Helen did not understand it."Of course, you are the two girls whom we ex--that is, who were
expected to-day?""We are going to Briarwood Hall," said Ruth, timidly."Well, I'm glad I happened to be out walking and overtook the stage,"
their new acquaintance said, with apparent frankness and cordiality.The school is divided into Primary,
Junior and Senior.Of course, there are many younger girls than either
of you at Briarwood, but all newcomers are called Infants.Probably,
however, you two will soon be in the Junior grade, if you do not at
once enter it.""I am afraid we shall both feel very green and new," Ruth said."You
see, neither Helen nor I have ever been to a school like this before.My friend is Helen Cameron and my name is Ruth Fielding."Daniel moved to the bathroom.You have a nice room assigned to
you, too.It's on my corridor--one of the small rooms.Most of us are
in quartettes; but yours is a duet room.That's nice, too, when you
are already friends."She seemed to have informed herself regarding these particular
newcomers, even if she _had_ met them quite by accident.Helen, who evidently quite admired Mary Cox, now ventured to say that
she presumed most of the girls were already gathered for the Autumn
term.But classes won't begin until Saturday, and then the work will only be
planned for the real opening of the term on Monday.But we're all
supposed to arrive in time to attend service Sunday morning.Those who arrive after that have
a demerit to work off at the start."Mary Cox explained the system under which Briarwood was carried on,
too, with much good nature; but all the time she never addressed the
French teacher, nor did she pay the least attention to her.The cool
way in which she conducted the conversation, commenting upon the school
system, the teachers, and all other matters discussed, without the
least reference to Miss Picolet, made Ruth, at least, feel unhappy.It
was so plain that Mary Cox ignored and slighted the little foreign lady
by intention."I tell you what we will do," said Mary Cox, finally."We'll slip out
of the stage at the end of Cedar Walk.It's farther to the dormitories
that way, but I fancy there'll be few of the girls there.The stage,
you see, goes much nearer to Briarwood; but I fancy you girls would
just as lief escape the warm greeting we usually give to the arriving
Infants," and she laughed.Ruth and Helen, with a vivid remembrance of what they had seen at Seven
Oaks, coincided with this suggestion.It seemed very kind of a Junior
to put herself out for them, and the chums told her so."Lots of the girls--especially girls of
our age, coming to Briarwood for the first time--get in with the wrong
crowd.You don't want to do that, you know."Now, the chums could not help being a little flattered by this
statement.Mary Cox was older than Ruth and Helen, and the latter were
at an age when a year seemed to be a long time indeed.Besides, Miss
Cox was an assured Junior, and knew all about what was still a closed
book to Ruth Fielding and Helen Cameron."I should suppose in a school like Briarwood," Ruth said, hesitatingly,
"that all the girls are pretty nice.""Briarwood is
very select and Mrs.You must know _that_,
Miss Cameron," she added, point-blank to Helen, "or your father would
not have sent _you_ here."Ruth thought to
herself again that Mary Cox must have taken pains to learn all about
them before they arrived, and she wondered why the Junior had done so."You see, a duo-room costs some money at Briarwood," explained Miss
Cox."Most of us are glad, when we get to be Juniors, to get into a
quarto--a quartette, you understand.The primary girls are in big
dormitories, anyway.Of course, we all know who your father is, Miss
Cameron, and there will be plenty of the girls fishing for your
friendship.And there's a good deal of rivalry--at the beginning of
each year, especially.""Why, the clubs," said Mary Cox.Everything pertaining to
the life before her at Briarwood was bound to interest Helen.And the
suggestion of society in the way of clubs and associations appealed to
her."Why, there are several associations in the school.The Basket Ball
Association is popular; but that's athletic, not social.Anybody can
belong to that who wishes to play.And we have a good school team
which often plays teams from other schools.It's made up mostly of
Seniors, however.""Why, the principal clubs of Briarwood are the Upedes and the Fussy
Curls," said their new friend."I suppose they _mean_
something, though?""That's just our way of speaking of them.The Upedes are the Up and
Doing Club.I don't know much about the Fussy Curls,"
Mary said, with the same tone and air that she used in addressing the
little French teacher."Yes," said Mary Cox, nodding, and seemed to have finished with that
subject.But Helen was interested; she had begun to like this Cox
girl, and kept to the subject."What are the Upedes and the F."Both clubs are anxious to get members," Mary Cox said."Both are
putting out considerable effort to gain new members--especially among
these who enter Briarwood at the beginning of the year.""What are the objects of the rival clubs?""I couldn't tell you much about the Fussy Curls," said Mary,
carelessly."Not being one of them I couldn't be expected to take much
interest in their objects.But _our_ name tells our object at once.No slow-coaches about the Upedes."I hope we will get in with a lively set of girls," said Helen, with a
sigh."It will be your own fault if you don't," said Mary Cox.Oddly enough, she did not show any desire to urge the newcomers to join
the Upedes.Helen was quite piqued by this.But before the discussion
could be carried farther, Mary put her head out of the window and
called to the driver."Stop at the Cedar Walk, Dolliver.She had turned
her face toward the open window all the time, and being veiled, the
girls could not see whether she was asleep, or awake.She made no move
to get out at this point, nor did she seem to notice the girls when
Mary flung open the door on the other side of the coach, and Ruth and
Helen picked up their bags to follow her.The chums saw that the stage had halted where a shady, winding path
seemed to lead up a slight rise through a plantation of cedars.Several girls were waiting here for the
coach, and they greeted Mary Cox when she jumped down, vociferously.I guess we know what you've been up to," exclaimed
one who seemed older than the other girls in waiting."Did you rope any Infants, Mary?""'The Fox' never took all that long walk for nothing," declared another.But Mary Cox paid her respects to the first speaker only, by saying:
"If you want to get ahead of the Upedes, Madge Steele, you Fussy Curls
had better set your alarm clocks a little earlier."Ruth and Helen were climbing out of the old coach now, and the girl
named Madge Steele looked them over sharply.she said to Mary Cox, in a low tone.I've been riding in the Ark with them for the last three miles.returned Miss Cox, with a malicious
smile.Ruth and Helen did not distinctly hear this interchange of words
between their new friend and Madge Steele; but Ruth saw that the latter
was a very well dressed and quiet looking girl--that she was really
very pretty and ladylike.Ruth liked her appearance much more than she
did that of Mary Cox.But the latter started at once into the cedar
plantation, up a serpentine walk, and Helen and Ruth, perforce, went
with her.The other girls stood aside--some of them whispering
together and smiling at the newcomers.The chums could not help but
feel strange and nervous, and Mary Cox's friendship seemed of value to
them just then.Ruth, however, looked back at the tall girl whose appearance had so
impressed her.But Ruth Fielding saw a hand beckoning at the coach
window.It was the hand of Miss Picolet, the French teacher, and it
beckoned Madge Steele.The latter young lady ran to the coach as it lurched forward on its
way.Miss Picolet's face appeared at the window for an instant, and
she seemed to say something of importance to Madge Steele.Ruth saw
the pretty girl pull open the stage-coach door again, and hop inside.Then the Ark lumbered out of view, and Ruth turned to follow her chum
and Mary Cox up the winding Cedar Walk.CHAPTER V
"THE DUET"
Helen, by this time, having recovered her usual self-possession, was
talking "nineteen to the dozen" to their new friend.Ruth was not in
the least suspicious; but Mary Cox's countenance was altogether too
sharp, her gray eyes were too sly, her manner to the French teacher had
been too unkind, for Ruth to become greatly enamored of the Junior.It
did really seem very kind of her, however, to put herself out in this
way for two "Infants.""And are they all as
little as that Miss Picolet?""Nobody |
bathroom | Where is Daniel? | She's not liked, I can tell you.""Why, she seemed nice enough to us--only not very friendly," said
Helen, slowly, for Helen was naturally a kind-hearted girl."She's a poverty-stricken little foreigner.She scarcely ever wears a
decent dress.Tellingham has her at the
school at all.She has no friends, or relatives, or anybody that knows
her----"
"Oh, yes she has," said Helen, laughing."We saw somebody on the boat coming over to Portageton that knew Miss
Picolet."But it was too late, Mary Cox wanted to know what Helen meant, and the
story of the fat man who had played the harp in the boat orchestra, and
who had frightened the French teacher, and had afterward talked so
earnestly with her on the dock, all came out in explanation.The
Junior listened with a quiet but unpleasant smile upon her face."That's just what we've always thought about Miss Picolet," she said.Friends with a ruffian who
plays a harp on a steamboat for his living!"Perhaps he is no relative or friend of hers," suggested Ruth, timidly."Indeed, she seemed to be afraid of him.""He's mixed up in her private affairs, at least," said Mary,
significantly."I never could bear Miss Picolet!"Ruth was very sorry that Helen had happened upon this unfortunate
subject.But her chum failed to see the significance of it, and the
girl from the Red Mill had no opportunity of warning Helen.Mary Cox,
too, was most friendly, and it seemed ungrateful to be anything but
frank and pleasant with her.Not many big girls (so thought both Ruth
and Helen) would have put themselves out to walk up to Briarwood Hall
with two Infants and their baggage.Through breaks in the cedar grove the girls began to catch glimpses of
the brown old buildings of Briarwood Hall.Ivy masked the entire end
of one of the buildings, and even ran up the chimneys.It had been cut
away from the windows, and they showed brilliantly now with the
descending sun shining redly upon them."It's a beautiful old place, Helen," sighed Ruth."It was originally a great manor house.That was the first building
where the tower is," said Mary Cox, as they came out at last upon the
more open lawn that gave approach to this side of the collection of
buildings, which had been more recently built than the main house.They were built around a rectangular piece of turf called the campus.This, however, the newcomers discovered later, for they came up in the
rear of the particular dormitory building in which Mary declared their
room was situated."You can go to the office afterwards," she explained, kindly."You'll
want to wash and fix up a little after traveling so far."This is a whole lot better than the way poor Tom was received at his
school; isn't it?"whispered Helen, tucking her arm in Ruth's as they
came to the steps of the building.But there were so many new things to see that Ruth had
few words to spare.It
seemed to the girl from the Red Mill as though there were hundreds of
them.Short girls, tall girls, thin girls, plump girls--and the very
plumpest girl of her age that Ruth had ever seen, stood right at the
top of the steps.She had a pretty, pink, doll-like face which was
perpetually a-smile.Whereas some of the girls--especially the older
ones--stared rather haughtily at the two Infants, this fat girl
welcomed them with a broadening smile."Hello, Heavy," said Mary Cox, laughing."It must be close to supper
bell, for you're all ready, I see.""I always get what I go after," Ruth heard Mary say, as they whisked in
at the door.In the hall a quiet, pleasant-faced woman in cap and apron met them."This is Helen Cameron and Ruth Fielding, Miss Scrimp," said Mary."Miss Scrimp is matron of our dormitory, girls.I am going up, Miss
Scrimp, and I'll show them to their duet.""Very well, Miss Cox," said the woman, producing two keys, one of which
she handed to each of the chums.Ruth stopped to thank her, but Mary swept Helen on with her up the
broad stairway.The room the chums were to occupy (Mr.Cameron had
made this arrangement for them) was up this first flight only, but was
at the other end of the building, overlooking the campus.It seemed a
long walk down the corridor.Some of the doors stood open, and more
girls looked out at them curiously as they pursued their way.Mary was talking in a low voice to Helen now, and Ruth could not hear
what she said.But when they stopped at the end of the corridor, and
Helen fitted her key into the lock of the door, she said:
"We'd be delighted, Miss Cox.Mary went away whistling and they heard her laughing and talking with
other girls who had come out into the corridor before the chums were
well in their own room.And what a delightful place it seemed to the
two girls, when they entered!There were two
single beds, two dressing tables, running water in a bowl, two closets
and two chairs--all this at one end of the room.Daniel journeyed to the kitchen.At the other end was
a good-sized table to work at, chairs, a couch, and two sets of shelves
for their books.There were two broad windows with wide seats under
them, too."Isn't it just scrumptious?"cried Helen, hugging Ruth in her delight."And just think--it's our very own!won't we just have
good times here?"Ruth was quite as delighted, if she was not so volubly enthusiastic as
Helen.It was a much nicer room, of course, than the girl from the Red
Mill had ever had before.Her tiny little chamber at the Red Mill was
nothing like this.The girls removed such marks of travel as they could and freshened
their dress as well as possible.Their trunks would not arrive at the
school until morning, they knew; but they had brought their toilet
articles in their bags.These made some display--on Helen's dresser,
at least.But when their little possessions came they could make the
room look more "homey."Barely had they arranged their hair when a gentle rap sounded at the
door."Perhaps that's Miss Cox again," said Helen.Her friend had no time to reply before opening the door to the visitor.It was not Miss Cox, but Ruth immediately recognized the tall girl whom
Mary Cox had addressed as Madge Steele.She came in with a frank smile
and her hand held out."I didn't know you were going to come to my corridor," she said,
frankly."Which of you is Miss Fielding, and which is Miss Cameron?"It made the chums feel really grown up to be called "Miss," and they
liked this pretty girl at once.Ruth explained their identity as she
shook hands."You will like Briarwood," said Madge Steele.I
understand you will enter the Junior classes.I have just entered the
Senior grade this year.There are lots of nice girls on this corridor.I'll be glad to introduce you after supper.""We have not been to the office yet," said Ruth."Oh, you must see the Preceptress.She's just as nice as she can be,
is Mrs."Then, I tell you what," said Madge."I'll wait for you and take you
to the Forward Club afterwards.Tellingham will be there--she is a member, you know--so are the
other teachers.We try to make all the new girls feel at home."She nodded to them both brightly and went out.Ruth turned to her chum
with a smile."Isn't that nice of her, Helen?""We are getting on
famously---- Why, Helen!Helen's countenance was clouded indeed."We can't go with her, Ruth," she declared."We can't go to that Forward Club," said Helen, more emphatically.Maybe they wouldn't ask us to join it, anyway.You see, it's
patronized by the teachers and the Preceptress herself.We'll be sure
to meet the very nicest girls.""That doesn't follow," said Helen, somewhat stubbornly."Anyway, we
can't go, Ruth."Daniel moved to the bathroom."But I don't understand, dear," said the puzzled Ruth."I told
Miss Cox we'd go with her."_They_ hold a meeting this evening, too.You know,
she said there was rivalry between the two big school clubs."She said she would wait for us after we get through with Mrs.Tellingham and introduce us to _her_ friends.""We most certainly cannot go to
both.*II*
Don Agostino, his office completed, closed his breviary and stood gazing
across the plain below to where Rome lay.On a clear day, and almost
always in the early mornings in summer, the cupola of St.Peter's could
be seen from Montefiano, hung, as it were, midway between earth and
heaven; but now only a low-lying curtain of haze marked the position of
the city.Down in the valley, winding between low cliffs clothed with
brushwood and stunted oaks, the waters of the Tiber flashed in the
slanting sun-rays, and the bold outline of Soracte rose in the blue
distance, like an island floating upon a summer sea.And Don Agostino stood and gazed, and as he did so he thought of the
restless life forever seething in the far-off city he knew so well--the
busy brains that were working, calculating, intriguing in the shadow of
that mighty dome which bore the emblem of self-sacrifice and humility on
its summit, and of all the good and all the evil that was being wrought
beneath that purple patch of mist that hid--Rome.None knew the good and the evil better than he, and the mysterious way
in which the one sprang from the other in a never-ending circle, as it
had sprung now for wellnigh twenty centuries--ever since the old gods
began to wear halos and to be called saints.Don Agostino, or, to give him his proper name and ecclesiastical rank,
Monsignor Lelli, had been a canon of the basilica of Santa Maria
Maggiore, in Rome, before he fell into disgrace at the Vatican.Notwithstanding the gossip which had been rife concerning the reasons
for his exile from Rome to Montefiano, private morals had had nothing to
do with the matter.For several years he had filled a post of some
confidence at the Vatican--a post, like that held by Judas Iscariot,
involving considerable financial responsibility.Judas Iscariot, however, had been more fortunate than Monsignor Lelli,
inasmuch as he was attached to the financial service of Christ, and not
to that of Christ's vicar.To make a long story short, certain loans, advanced for political
purposes, though private social interests were not extraneous to the
transactions, lightened the money-bags to an unforeseen extent, and the
securities which Monsignor Lelli held in their stead soon proved to be
little better than waste paper.It was known that Monsignor Lelli had
acted under protest, and, moreover, that he had obeyed instructions
which he had no choice but to obey.The Vatican, however, differs in no way from any other organization to
carry on which the rules of discipline must be strictly maintained; and
when a superior officer blunders, a subordinate must, if possible, be
found to bear the blame.In this case Monsignor Lelli was manifestly the
fit and proper scape-goat; and here all comparison with Judas Iscariot
ended, for he had walked off with his burden to Montefiano without
uttering so much as a protesting bleat.But at Rome the true motives for actions both public and private are
rarely to be discovered on the surface.Nominally, Monsignor Lelli's
disgrace was the direct consequence of his negligence in safeguarding
the sums of money for the sound investment of which he was supposed to
be responsible.He was known to
be a Liberal in his political views, the friend of a prominent foreign
cardinal resident in Rome, to whose influence, indeed, he owed his
canonry of Santa Maria Maggiore, and whose attitude towards the Italian
government, and also towards various dogmatic questions, had for some
time aroused the ill-will of a pontiff who was even more anti-Italian
than his predecessor.Unfortunately for himself, Monsignor Lelli had
published his views on the relations between Church and State, and had
drawn down upon his head the wrath of the clerical party in consequence.His enemies, and they were many, left no means untried to bring about
his disgrace, fully aware that by doing so they would at the same time
be striking a blow at the obnoxious cardinal who supported not only
Monsignor Lelli but also every Liberal ecclesiastic in Rome.When it
became evident that more than one grave financial blunder had been
committed by others in authority, it was equally obvious that the moment
to strike this blow had arrived, and it was delivered accordingly.All these things, however, had happened years ago.The cardinal was
dead--of one of those mysteriously rapid illnesses which he made no
secret to his more intimate friends as being likely some day to overtake
him--and Monsignor Lelli remained at Montefiano, forgotten, as his
parishioners declared, though he himself knew well that at Rome nothing
is forgotten, and that so long as his enemies lived, so long would he,
Monsignor Lelli, be required to devote his learning and his intellect to
the needs of a peasant population.Afterwards--well, it was of the
afterwards he was thinking, as he gazed dreamily over the great plain
stretching away to Rome, when the sound of horses' hoofs in the street
below attracted his attention, and, looking round, he saw the agent,
Giuseppe Fontana--Sor Beppe, as he was commonly called in
Montefiano--riding towards him apparently in some haste.Don Agostino moved out of the shade to meet him."Signor Fattore, good-evening!"he said, courteously, knowing that the
man liked to be given his full official title as administrator of the
Montefiano fief.Sor Beppe rode up alongside of him, raising his felt hat as he returned
the salutation.He wore his official coat of dark-blue cloth, on the
silver buttons of which were engraved the arms and coronet of the
Montefiano.He was a powerfully made man with a dark, grizzled beard,
inclining to gray, and he sat his horse--a well-built black stallion--as
one who was more often in the saddle than out of it.On ordinary days
he would carry a double-barrelled gun slung across his shoulders, but
to-day the weapon was absent.Don Agostino noted the fact, and also that the agent's face was lighted
up with unusual excitement."And what is there new, Signor Fontana?"Mary journeyed to the bedroom."There is a whole
world of new--but your reverence will never guess what it is!Such a
thing has not happened for fifteen years--"
"But what is it?"insisted Don Agostino, tranquilly."I quite believe
that nothing new has happened in Montefiano for fifteen years.I have
been here nearly ten, and--"
"I have ridden down to tell you.Her
excellency the princess--their excellencies the princesses, I should
say--"
"Well," interrupted Don Agostino, "what about them?"Mary moved to the office.The agent took a letter from his pocket and spread it out on the pommel
of his saddle.Then he handed it to Don Agostino."It is her excellency herself who writes.They
are coming here--to the palace--to stay for weeks--months, perhaps."Don Agostino uttered a sudden ejaculation.It was difficult to say
whether it was of surprise or dismay.But the place is dismantled--a
barrack!""And do I not know it--I?""There are some tables
and some chairs--and there are things that once were beds; but there is
nothing else, unless it is some pictures on the walls--and the
prince--blessed soul--took the best of those to Rome years ago."Don Agostino read the letter attentively."The princess says that all the necessary furniture will be sent from
Rome at once," he observed, " |
hallway | Where is Mary? | The
rooms on the _piano nobile_ are to be made ready--and the chapel.Well,
Signor Fontana," he continued, "you will have plenty to occupy your time
if, as the princess says, everything is to be ready in a fortnight from
to-day.After all, the palace was built to be lived in--is it not
true?"Daniel journeyed to the kitchen."Very true, reverence; but it is so sudden.After so many years, to
want everything done in fifteen days--"
"Women, my dear Signor Fontana--women!"said Don Agostino,
deprecatingly."That is what I said to my wife," he replied."It was not a wise thing to say," observed Don Agostino."It is an incredible affair," resumed the other, brushing a fly from his
horse's flank as he spoke; "and no reception by the people--as little
notice as possible to be taken of their excellencies' arrival.You see
what the letter says, reverence?""Yes," replied Don Agostino, meditatively.Daniel moved to the bathroom.Mary journeyed to the bedroom."It is unusual, certainly,
under the circumstances.""But," he added, "the princess has undoubtedly some good reason for
wishing to arrive at Montefiano in as quiet a manner as possible.Perhaps she is ill, or her daughter is ill--who knows?""They say she is a saint," observed Fontana.Don Agostino looked at him; the tone of Sor Beppe's voice implied that
such a fact would account for any eccentricity."She is at all events the mistress of Montefiano, until the young
princess is of age or marries," he remarked; "so, Signor Fontana, there
is nothing more to be said or done.""Except to obey her excellency's instructions.""Exactly--except to obey her instructions," repeated Don Agostino."It is strange that your reverence, the _parroco_ of Montefiano, should
never have seen our _padrona_.""It is still stranger that you--her representative here--should never
have seen her," returned Don Agostino."That is true," said the agent; "but"--and his white teeth gleamed in
his beard as he smiled--"saints do not often show themselves,
_reverendo_!My respects," he added, lifting his hat and gathering up
his reins."I have to ride down to Poggio to arrange with the
station-master there for the arrival of the things which will be sent
from Rome."And settling himself in his saddle, Sor Beppe started off
at an easy canter and soon disappeared round a turn of the white road,
leaving a cloud of dust behind him.Don Agostino looked after him for a moment or two, and then returned
thoughtfully to his house.The intelligence the agent had brought him was news, indeed, and he
wondered what its true purport might be.It was certainly strange that,
after studiously avoiding Montefiano for all these years, the princess
should suddenly take it into her head to come there for a prolonged
stay.Hitherto, Don Agostino had been very happy in his exile, chiefly
because that exile was so complete.There had been nobody at Montefiano
to rake up the past, to open old wounds which the passing of years had
cicatrized, and which only throbbed now and again when memory insisted
upon asserting her rights.The petty jealousies and malignities which poison the atmosphere of most
courts, and which in that of the Vatican are the more poisonous inasmuch
as they wear a religious mask, could not penetrate to Montefiano, or, if
they did, could not long survive out of the air of Rome.Monsignor
Lelli had quickly realized this; and, the confidence of his parishioners
once gained, he had learned to appreciate the change of air.The
financial conditions of the Vatican did not interest Montefiano.Consequently, the story of Don Agostino's financial indiscretions had
not reached the little room in the Corso Garibaldi, which was the
nightly resort of the more wealthy among the community, and in which
high political matters were settled with a rapidity that should have
made the parliaments of Europe blush--were any one of them capable of
blushing.As to the other stories--well, Don Agostino had soon lived them down.Montefiano had declared--with some cynicism, perhaps, but with much
justice--that there were those who were lucky in their adventures and
those who were unlucky, and that priests, when all was said and done,
were much the same as other people.Nevertheless, Montefiano had kept
its eyes on Don Agostino for a while, in case of accidents--for nobody
likes accidents to happen at home.But it was not entirely of these matters that Don Agostino was thinking
as he let himself into the little garden by the side of the church.His
house, connected with the sacristy by a _pergola_ over which vines and
roses were struggling for the mastery, stood at the end of this garden,
and Don Agostino, opening the door quietly lest his housekeeper should
hear and descend upon him, passed into his study.The news Sor Beppe had brought had awakened other memories--memories
which took him back to the days before he was a priest; when he had been
a young fellow of three or four and twenty, very free from care, very
good to look upon, and very much in love.It was strange, perhaps, that the impending arrival at Montefiano of an
elderly lady and a girl of seventeen, neither of whom Don Agostino had
ever seen, should arouse in him memories of his own youth; but so it
was.Such links in the chain that binds us to the past--a chain that
perhaps death itself is powerless to break--are perpetually forging
themselves in the present, and often trifles as light as air rivet them.In this case the link had been forged long ago.Don Agostino remembered
the forging of it every time he donned the sacred vestments to say mass,
and was conscious that the years had riveted it only more firmly.It was, perhaps, as well that his housekeeper was busy plucking a
chicken in the back premises; and it was certainly as well that none of
his flock could have observed their pastor's actions when he had shut
himself into his study, otherwise unprofitable surmises, long rejected
as such, would have cropped up again round the measures of wine in the
Caffe Garibaldi that evening.For some time Don Agostino sat in front of his writing-table thinking,
his face buried in his hands.The joyous chattering of the
house-martins flying to and from their nests came through the open
windows, and the scent of roses and Madonna lilies.But presently the
liquid notes of the swallows changed into the soft lapping of waters
rising and falling on marble steps; the scent of the lilies was there,
but mingling with it was the salt smell of the lagoons, the warm, silky
air blowing in from the Adriatic.The distant sounds from the village
street became, in Don Agostino's ears, the cries of the gondoliers and
the fishermen, and Venice rose before his eyes--Venice, with the rosy
light of a summer evening falling on her palaces and her churches,
turning her laughing waters into liquid flame; Venice, with her murmur
of music in the air as the gondolas and the fishing-boats glided away
from the city across the lagoons to the Lido and the sea; Venice,
holding out to him youth and love, and the first sweet dawning of the
passion that only youth and love can know.Suddenly Don Agostino raised his head and looked about him as one looks
who wakes from a dream.His eyes fell upon the crucifix standing on his
table and on the ivory Christ nailed to it.Rising, he crossed the room, and, unlocking a cabinet, took from it a
tiny miniature and one letter--the only one left to him, for he had
burned the rest.The keeping of this letter had been a compromise.For
do not the best of us make a compromise with our consciences
occasionally?The face in the miniature was that of a young girl--a child almost--but
exceedingly beautiful, with the red-gold hair and creamy coloring of the
Venetian woman of the Renaissance.Don Agostino looked at it long; afterwards, almost mechanically, he
raised the picture towards his lips.Then, with a sudden gesture, as
though realizing what he was about to do, he thrust it back into the
drawer of the cabinet.But he kissed the letter before he replaced it
beside the miniature.It was merely another compromise, this time not so much with his
conscience, perhaps, as with his priesthood.he said, aloud, and his voice dwelt on the name with a
lingering tenderness.And she--that other woman--she brings
your child here--here, where I am!Well, perhaps it is you who send
her--who knows?Perhaps it was you who sent me to Montefiano--you, or
the blessed Mother of us all--again, who knows?It was strange, was it
not, that of all places they should send me here, where your child was
born, the child that should have been--"
The door was flung open hastily, and Don Agostino's housekeeper filled
the threshold.Mary moved to the office."_Madonna mia Santissima!_" she exclaimed."It is your reverence, after
all.I thought I heard voices--"
"Yes, Ernana, it is I," said Don Agostino, quietly."_Accidente!_ but you frightened me!""I was
plucking the chicken for your reverence's supper, and--"
"So I perceive," remarked Don Agostino, watching feathers falling off
her person to the floor."Well, I
was talking to myself.You can return to the chicken, Ernana, in
peace!""The chicken is a fat chicken," observed Ernana, reflectively."_A
proposito_," she added, "will your reverence eat it boiled?It sits
more lightly on the stomach at night--boiled.""I will eat it boiled," said Don Agostino."And with a _contorno_ of rice?""Of course, Ernana; with rice, certainly
with rice."*III*
Palazzo Acorari, the residence in Rome of the princes of Montefiano, was
situated, as has already been said, in that old quarter of the city
known as the Campitelli.It stood, indeed, but a few yards away from
the piazza of the name, in a deserted little square through which few
people passed save those whose business took them into the squalid
streets and _vicoli_ opening out of the Piazza Montanara.It was not one of the well-known palaces of Rome, although it was of far
greater antiquity than many described at length in the guide-books;
neither was it large in comparison with some of its near neighbors.Nine people out of ten, if asked by a stranger to direct them to Palazzo
Acorari, would have been unable to reply, although, from a mingled sense
of the courtesy due to a _forestiero_, and fear of being taken for
_forestiero_ themselves, they would probably have attempted to do so all
the same, to the subsequent indignation of the stranger.There was no particular reason why Palazzo Acorari should be well known.Mary went back to the garden.It contained no famous works of art, and its apartments, though stately
in their way, were neither historic nor on a large enough scale to have
ever been rented by rich foreigners as a stage on which they could play
at being Roman nobles to an appreciative if somewhat cynical audience.Mary journeyed to the hallway.A narrow and gloomy _porte cochere_ opened from the street into the
court-yard round which the Palazzo Acorari was built.Except for an
hour or two at mid-day no ray of sunlight ever penetrated into this
court, which, nevertheless, was picturesque enough with its graceful
arches and its time-worn statues mounting guard around it.A porter in
faded livery dozed in his little office on one side of the entrance, in
the intervals of gossiping with a passer-by on the doings and misdoings
of the neighbors, and he, together with a few pigeons and a black cat,
were generally the only animate objects to be seen by those who happened
to glance into the quadrangle.The princess and her step-daughter inhabited the first floor of the
palace, while the ground-floor was apportioned off into various _locali_
opening on to the streets, in which a cobbler, a retail charcoal and
coke vender, a mattress-maker, and others plied their respective trades.On the second floor, immediately above the princess's apartment, was
another suite of rooms.This apartment had been unlet for two or three
years, and it was only some six or eight months since it had found a
tenant.The princess was not an accommodating landlady.Possibly she regarded
concessions to the tenants of her second floor as works of
supererogation--laudable, perhaps, but not necessary to salvation.Moreover, the tenants on the second floor never went to mass--at least,
so the Abbe Roux had gathered from the porter, whose business it was to
know the concerns of every one dwelling in or near Palazzo Acorari.There had been, consequently, passages of arms concerning responsibility
for the repairs of water-pipes and similar objects, in which it was
clearly injurious to the glory of God and the interests of the Church
that the princess should be the one to give way.She had been, indeed,
on the point of declining the offer of Professor Rossano to take the
vacant apartment.He was a well-known scientist, with a reputation
which had travelled far beyond the frontiers of Italy, and, in
recognition of his work in the domain of physical science, had been
created a senator of the Italian kingdom.But a scientific reputation
was not a thing which appealed to the princess, regarding as she did all
scientific men as misguided and arrogant individuals in league with the
freemasons and the devil to destroy faith upon the earth.The Abbe
Roux, however, had counselled tolerance, accompanied by an addition of
five hundred francs a year to the rent.The apartment had been long
unlet, and was considerably out of repair; but the professor had taken a
fancy to it, as being in a quiet and secluded position where he could
pursue his studies undisturbed by the noise of the tram-cars, which even
then were beginning to render the chief thoroughfares of Rome odious to
walk and drive in, and still more odious to live in.As he was a man of some means, he had not demurred at the extra rent
which the princess's agent had demanded at the last moment before the
signing of the lease.Apart from the fact that he was a scientist and a
senator of that kingdom of which the princess affected to ignore the
existence, there had seemed to be nothing undesirable about Professor
Rossano as a tenant.He was a widower, with a son of four-and-twenty
and a daughter a year or two older who lived with him; and, after her
tenant's furniture had been carried in and the upholsterers had done
their work, the princess had been hardly conscious that the apartment
immediately above her own was occupied.On rare occasions she had
encountered the professor on the staircase, and had bowed in answer to
his salutation; but there was no acquaintance between them, nor did
either show symptoms of wishing to interchange anything but the most
formal of courtesies.Sometimes, too, when going out for, or returning
from, their daily drive, the princess and her step-daughter would meet
Professor Rossano's daughter, who was usually accompanied by her maid, a
middle-aged person of staid demeanor who seemed to act as a companion to
the Signorina Giacinta, as, according to the porter, Senator Rossano's
daughter was called.The girls used to look at each other curiously,
but weeks went by before a word passed between them."They are not of our world," the princess had said, decisively, to
Bianca shortly after the Rossanos' arrival, "and there is no necessity
for us to know them"--and the girl had nodded her head silently, though
with a slight sigh.It was not amusing to be princess of Montefiano in
one's own right and do nothing but drive out in a closed carriage every
afternoon, and perhaps walk for half an |
hallway | Where is Mary? | Bianca Acorari thought she would like to have
known Giacinta Rossano, who looked amiable and _simpatica_, and was
certainly pretty.But though there was only the thickness of a floor
between them, the two establishments were as completely apart as if the
Tiber separated them, and Bianca knew by experience that it would be
useless to attempt to combat her step-mother's prejudices.Indeed, she
herself regarded the professor and his daughter with a curiosity not
unmixed with awe, and would scarcely have been surprised if a judgment
had overtaken them even on their way up and down the staircase; for had
not Monsieur l'Abbe declared that neither father nor daughter ever went
to mass?This assertion was not strictly true--at any rate, so far as the
Signorina Giacinta was concerned.The professor, no doubt, seldom went
inside a church, except, perhaps, on special occasions, such as Easter
or Christmas.He possessed a scientific conscience as well as a
spiritual conscience, and he found an insuperable difficulty in
reconciling the one with the other on a certain point of dogma which
need not be named.He was not antichristian, however, though he might
be anticlerical, and he encouraged Giacinta to go to the churches rather
than the reverse, as many fathers of families in his position do, both
in Italy and elsewhere.Daniel journeyed to the kitchen.Professor Rossano and his daughter had inhabited the Palazzo Acorari
nearly three months before Bianca made the discovery that the girl at
whom she had cast stolen glances of curiosity, as being the first
heretic of her own nationality she had ever beheld, was, if appearances
spoke the truth, no heretic at all.She had actually seen Giacinta
kneeling in the most orthodox manner at mass in the neighboring church
of Santa Maria dei Campitelli.Bianca had informed the princess of her
discovery that very day at breakfast in the presence of the Abbe Roux,
who was an invariable guest on Sundays and feast-days.She nourished a
secret hope that her step-mother might become more favorably disposed
towards the family on the second floor if it could satisfactorily be
proved not to be entirely heretical.The princess, however, did not
receive the information in the spirit Bianca had expected.Daniel moved to the bathroom."People of that sort," she had responded, coldly, "often go to mass in
order to keep up appearances, or sometimes to meet--oh, well"--she broke
off, abruptly--"to stare about them as you seem to have been doing this
morning, Bianca, instead of saying your prayers.Is it not so, Monsieur
l'Abbe?"she added to the priest, with whom she generally conversed in
French, though both spoke Italian perfectly."Ah, yes, madame," he replied, "unluckily it is
undoubtedly so.The Professor Rossano, if one is to judge by certain
arrogant and anticatholic works of which he is the author, is not likely
to have brought up his children to be believers.And if one does not
believe, what is the use of going to mass?--except--except--" And here
he checked himself as the princess had done, feeling himself to be on
the verge of an indiscretion."You hear, Bianca, what Monsieur l'Abbe says," observed the princess."You must understand once for all, that what Professor Rossano and his
daughter may or may not do is no concern of ours--"
"So long as they pay their rent," added the Abbe, pouring himself out
another glass of red wine."So long as they pay their rent," the princess repeated."They are not
of our society--" she continued."And do not dance," interrupted Bianca.The princess looked at her a little suspiciously.She was never quite
sure whether Bianca, notwithstanding her quiet and apparently somewhat
apathetic disposition, was altogether so submissive as she seemed.I don't know what you
mean, Bianca.""It is against the contract to dance on the second floor.The guests
might fall through on to our heads," observed Bianca, tranquilly.Mary journeyed to the bedroom."Bettina told me so, and the porter told her--"
The princess frowned."Bettina talks too much," she said, with an
unmistakable air of desiring that the subject should drop.It was very evident that, however devout
the Rossano girl might be, she would not be allowed to make her
acquaintance.Her observant eyes had watched the Abbe Roux's
countenance as she made her little effort to further that desired event,
for she was very well aware that no step was likely to be taken in this,
or, indeed, in any other matter unless the Abbe approved of it.Privately, Bianca detested the priest, and with a child's unerring
instinct--for she was still scarcely more than a child in some
things--she felt that he disliked her.Nor was this state of things of recent origin.Ever since the Abbe Roux
had become, as it were, a member of the Montefiano household, Bianca
Acorari had entertained the same feeling towards him.Her obstinacy on
this point, indeed, had first awakened the princess to the fact that her
step-daughter had a very decided will of her own, which, short of
breaking, nothing was likely to conquer.This stubbornness, as the princess called it, had shown itself in an
unmistakable manner when Bianca, though only twelve years old, had
firmly and absolutely refused to confess to Monsieur l'Abbe.In vain
the princess had threatened punishment both immediate and future, and in
vain the Abbe Roux had admonished her.Make her confession to him, she
would not.To any other priest, yes; to him, no--not then or ever.There was nothing more to be said or done--for both the princess and
Monsieur l'Abbe knew well enough that the child was within her rights
according to the laws of the Church, though of course she herself was
unaware of the fact.Mary moved to the office.There had been nothing for it, as weeks went on
and Bianca never drew back from the position she had taken up, but to
give way as gracefully as might be--but it was doubtful if the Abbe Roux
had ever forgiven the want of confidence in him which the child had
displayed, although he had afterwards told her that the Church left to
all penitents the right of choice as to their confessors.When Bianca grew older, the princess had intended to send her to the
Convent of the Assumption in order to complete her education, and at the
same time place her under some discipline.The girl was delicate,
however, and it was eventually decided that it was better that she
should be educated at home.Perhaps it was the gradual consciousness that she was debarred from
associating with any one of her own age which had made Bianca think
wistfully that it would be pleasant to make the acquaintance of the
attractive-looking girl whom she passed occasionally on the staircase,
and who had come to live under the same roof as herself.Mary went back to the garden.She could not
but notice that the older she became the more she seemed to be cut off
from the society of others of her years.Formerly she had occasionally
been allowed to associate with the children of her step-mother's friends
and acquaintances, and, at rare intervals, they had been invited to some
childish festivity at Palazzo Acorari.By degrees, however, her life had become more and more isolated, and for
the last year or two the princess, a governess who came daily to teach
her modern languages and music, and her maid and attendant, Bettina, had
been her only companions.Rightly or wrongly, Bianca associated the restriction of her
surroundings with the influence of the Abbe Roux, and the suspicion only
increased the dislike she had always instinctively borne him.It never entered into her head, however, to suggest to the princess that
her life was an exceedingly dull one.Indeed, having no means of
comparing it with the lives of other girls of her age, she scarcely
realized that it was dull, and she accepted it as the natural order of
things.It had not been until she had seen Giacinta Rossano that an
indefinable longing for some companionship other than that of those much
older than herself began to make itself felt within her, and she had
found herself wondering why she had no brothers and sisters, no cousins,
such as other girls must have, with whom they could associate.In the mean time, life in Palazzo Acorari went on as usual for Bianca.She fancied that, when they passed each other, the daughter of the
mysterious old professor on the second floor who wrote wicked books
looked at her with increasing interest; and that once or twice, when
Bianca had been accompanied only by Bettina, she had half-paused as
though about to speak, but had then thought better of it and walked on
with a bow and a slight smile.On one occasion she had ventured to sound Bettina as to whether it would
not be at least courteous on her part to do something more than bow as
she passed the Signorina Rossano.But Bettina was very cautious in her
reply.The princess, it appeared, had been resolute in forbidding any
communication between the two floors, excepting such as might have to be
carried on through the medium of the porter, in the case of such a
calamity as pipes bursting or roofs leaking.December was nearly over, and Rome was _sotto Natale_.People were
hurrying through the streets buying their Christmas presents, and
thronging the churches to look at the representations of the Holy Child
lying in the manger of Bethlehem; for it was Christmas Eve, and the
great bells of the basilicas were booming forth the tidings of the birth
of Christ.In every house in Rome, among rich and poor alike,
preparations were going on for the family gathering that should take
place that night, and for the supper that should be eaten after midnight
when the strict fast of the Christmas vigil should be over.The majority, perhaps, paid but little heed to the fasting and
abstinence enjoined by the priests, unless the addition of fresh fish to
the bill of fare--fish brought from Anzio and Nettuno the day before by
the ton weight and sold at the traditional _cottio_ throughout the
night--could be taken as a sign of obedience to the laws of the Church.But the truly faithful conformed rigidly throughout the day, reserving
themselves for the meats that would be permissible on the return from
the midnight masses, when the birth of a God would be celebrated, as it
has ever been, by a larger consumption than usual of the flesh of His
most innocent creatures on the part of those who invoke Him as a
merciful and compassionate Creator.This particular Christmas Eve it so happened that the princess was
confined to her bed with a severe cold and fever, which made attendance
at the midnight masses an impossibility so far as she was concerned.Bianca, however, was allowed to go, accompanied by Bettina, and shortly
after half-past eleven they left Palazzo Acorari, meaning to walk to the
church of San Luigi dei Francesi in the Piazza Navona, one of the few
churches in Rome to which the public were admitted to be present at the
three masses appointed to be said at the dawning hours of Christmas Day.It was raining in torrents as they emerged from the _portone_ of the
_palazzo_, and to get a cab at that hour of night on Christmas Eve
appeared to be an impossibility, except, perhaps, in the main streets.They would certainly be
wet through before they could reach the Piazza Navona, and it seemed as
though there was nothing to be done but to remain at home.Bettina,
however, suddenly remembered that at the little church of the Sudario,
less than half-way to the Piazza Navona, the midnight masses were also
celebrated.To be sure, it was the church of the Piedmontese, and
chiefly attended by members of the royal household, and often by the
queen herself.The princess would not be altogether pleased, therefore,
at the substitution; but, under the circumstances, Bianca expressed her
determination of going there, and her maid was obliged to acquiesce.Five minutes plunging through puddles and mud, and battling with a warm
sirocco wind which blew in gusts at the corners of every street, brought
them to the little church hidden away behind the Corso Vittorio
Emmanuele.A side door communicating with the building was open, and they passed
from the darkness and the driving rain into a blaze of warm light and
the mingled scent of incense and flowers.The high altar, adorned with
priceless white-and-gold embroideries, sparkled in the radiance of
countless wax-candles.Overhead, from a gallery at the opposite end of
the church, the organ was playing softly, the player reproducing on the
reed-stops the pastoral melodies of the _pifferari_, in imitation of the
pipes of the shepherds watching over their flocks through that wonderful
night nineteen centuries ago.Although it wanted yet twenty minutes to midnight the church was nearly
full, and Bianca and her companion made their way to some vacant seats
half-way up it.Glancing at her neighbors immediately in front of her,
Bianca gave a start of surprise as she recognized Giacinta Rossano.Bettina's gaze was fixed on the altar, and Bianca hesitated for a
moment.Then she leaned forward and whispered timidly, "_Buona Natale,
buona feste_"--with a little smile.A pair of soft, dark eyes smiled back into her own."_Buona Natale, e
buona anno, Donna Bianca_."Giacinta Rossano replied, in a low, clear
voice which caused Bettina to withdraw her eyes from the altar and to
look sharply round to see whence it proceeded.Somebody else turned
round also--a young man whom Bianca had not noticed, but who was sitting
next to Giacinta.For a moment their eyes met, and then she looked away
quickly, half conscious of a sensation of effort in doing so that caused
her a vague surprise.Mary journeyed to the hallway.The gaze she had suddenly encountered had seemed
to enchain her own.The eyes that had looked into hers with a
wondering, questioning look were like Giacinta Rossano's, only they were
blue--Bianca felt quite sure of that.They had seemed to shut out for a
second or two the blaze of light on the altar.John went to the office.‘Shall I ever have a second lover as generous and devoted?’ she mused.‘That was only boy and girl love, I suppose, yet it seemed truer and
brighter than anything that will ever come my way again.’
She had been thinking of Maurice not a little of late, and had decided
that he did not care for her in the least.------------------------------------------------------------------------
CHAPTER IX
‘THE DAYS HAVE VANISHED, TONE AND TINT.’
Maurice Clissold lost no time in setting about his search for Miss
Barlow, the quondam schoolmistress of Seacomb.But the first result of
his endeavours was a failure.The London Post Office Directory for the
current year knew not Miss Barlow.Barlows there were in its pages, but
they were trading Barlows; Barlows who baked, or Barlows who brewed;
Barlows who dealt in upholstery; Barlows who purveyed butcher’s meat; or
professional Barlows, who wrote Rev.John journeyed to the bathroom.before or M.R.C.S.A spinster of the musical profession was not to be found among
the London Barlows.In the face of this disappointment Maurice paused to consider his next
effort.Advertising in the _Times_ he looked upon as a last resource,
and a means of inquiry which he hoped to dispense with.So many spurious
Miss Barlows eager to hear of something to their advantage, would be
conjured into being by any appeal published in the second column of the
_Times_.There remained to him the detective medium, but Maurice cherished a
prejudice against private inquiry offices |
kitchen | Where is Mary? | He was resolved to succeed or fail in this business
single-handed.‘If Miss Barlow is above ground her existence must be known to
somebody,’ he reasoned, ‘to musical people more particularly.I’ll go
down to the Albert Theatre and have a chat with the leader of the
orchestra.Your musical director is generally a man of the world, with a
little more than the average amount of brains.And I have heard Justina
speak very highly of Herr Fisfiz.Flittergilt’s new comedy is in
rehearsal, so I have an excuse for going behind the scenes.’
It was about noon on the day after his little entertainment to Mr.He went straight from his
club, where he had explored the Court Guide and Postal Directory, to the
snug little theatre in the Strand, where, after some parley with the
stage doorkeeper, he obtained admittance, and groped his way through
subterranean regions of outer darkness, and by some breakneck stairs, to
the side scenes, where, in a dim glimmer of daylight and fitful glare of
gas, he beheld the stage on one side of him, and the open door of the
green-room on the other.Daniel journeyed to the kitchen.Flittergilt, in a state of mental fever, sat
by the stage manager’s little table, manuscript and pencil in hand,
underlining here, erasing there, now altering an exit, now suggesting
the proper emphasis to give point to a sparkling sentence, evidently
delighted with his own work, yet as evidently painfully anxious about
the result.‘I shan’t be satisfied with a moderate success,’ he told Maurice.‘I
want this piece to make a greater hit than “No Cards.” You remember what
was said of Sheridan when he hung back from writing a new comedy.He was
afraid of the author of “The Rivals.” Now I don’t want that to be said
of _me_.’
‘No fear, dear boy,’ remarked Maurice.Flittergilt’s exalted
mind ignored the interjection.‘I want the public to see that I have not emptied my sack; that “No
Cards” was not my ace of trumps, but only my knave.I’ve queen, king,
and ace to follow!Did you hear the last scene?’ asked the author, with
a self-satisfied smile.‘It’s rather sparkling, I think; and Elgood hits
the character to the life.’
Mr.Clissold did not approve this familiar allusion to the girl of his
choice.‘I’ve only just this moment come in,’ he said; ‘I’m glad Miss Elgood
likes her new _rôle_.’
‘Likes it?’ cried Flittergilt, with an injured look.‘It wouldn’t be
easy for any actress on the boards not to like such a part.“No Cards”
made Miss Elgood; but this piece will place her a step higher on the
ladder.’
‘Don’t you think there may be people weak-minded enough to believe that
Miss Elgood’s acting made “No Cards”?’ asked Maurice, quietly.‘I can’t help people’s weak-mindedness,’ answered Mr.Flittergilt, with
dignity; ‘but I know this for a fact, that no acting—not of a Macready
or a Faucit—ever made a bad piece run over a hundred nights.’ And with
this assertion of himself Mr.Flittergilt went back to his table and his
manuscript, and began to badger the actors—being possessed by the idea
that because he was able to construct a play from the various foreign
materials at his command, he must necessarily be able to teach
experienced comedians their art.Justina looked up from her book presently, and espied Mr.Her
blush betrayed surprise, her eyes revealed that the surprise was not
unpleasant.‘Have you come to criticise the new comedy?’ she asked.‘That’s hardly
fair, though, for a piece loses so much at rehearsal.Flittergilt is
always calling us back to give us his own peculiar reading of a line.I
never saw such an excitable little man.But I suppose he’ll take things
more coolly when he has written a few more plays.’
‘Yes; he is new to the work as yet.I am glad to hear you have such a
good part.’
‘It is a wonderfully good part, if I can only act it as it ought to be
played.’
‘Is your leader, Herr Fisfiz, here this morning?’ asked Maurice.There’s a gavotte in the third act.’
‘You dance?’
‘Yes, Mr.Mortimer and I. Herr Fisfiz has written original music for
it—so quaint and pretty.You should stay to hear it, now you are here.’
‘I mean to stay till the rehearsal is over.I should like you to
introduce me to Mr.Fisfiz; I want to ask him a question or two about
some musical people.’
‘I shall be pleased to introduce you to each other.He is a very clever
man, not in music only, but in all kinds of things, and I think you
would like him.’
Maurice seated himself in a dark corner, near the prompter’s box, and
awaited Mr.Fisfiz, amusing himself by listening to the comedy, and
beholding his friend Flittergilt’s frantic exertions in the meanwhile.Daniel moved to the bathroom.He had been thus occupied nearly an hour when Mr.Fisfiz appeared,
attended by his _ame damnée_ in the person of the _repétiteur_.The
director was a little man, with a small delicate face, and a
Shakesperian brow; spoke English perfectly, though with a German accent,
and had no dislike to hearing himself talk, or to wasting a stray
half-hour in the society of a pretty actress, or even bestowing the
sunshine of his presence for a few leisure minutes on a group of
giggling ballet-girls.He was evidently a great admirer of Miss Elgood,
and inclined to be gracious to any one she introduced to him.‘I think you’ll like the gavotte,’ he said, playing little pizzicato
passages on his violin, with a satisfied smile.‘It sounds like Bach.’
Justina told him it was charming.Mary journeyed to the bedroom.The dance began presently, and though
she only walked through it, the grace of her movements charmed that
silent lover of hers, who sat in his corner and made no sign, lest in
uttering the most commonplace compliment he should betray that secret
which he had pledged himself to keep.When the gavotte was finished, Justina brought Herr Fisfiz to the dark
corner, and left him there with Maurice, while she went on with her
rehearsal.Clissold gave the gavotte its meed of praise, said a few words about
things in general, and then came to the question he wanted to ask.‘There is a lady connected with the musical profession I am trying to
find,’ he said, ‘and it struck me this morning that you might be able to
assist me.’
‘I know most people in the musical world,’ answered Herr Fisfiz.‘What
is the lady’s name?’
‘Miss Barlow.’
‘Miss Barlow.How do you spell the name?’
Maurice spelt it, and the director shook his head.Mary moved to the office.‘I know no one of that name.No Miss B-a-r-l-o-w,’ he said.‘I never
heard of any one so called in the musical profession.Is your Miss
Barlow a concert singer?Young—an amateur, perhaps, who has not yet made
herself known?’
‘She is not a concert singer, and she must be middle-aged—probably
elderly.The last account I have of her goes back to ten years ago.She
may be dead and gone for anything I know to the contrary; but I have
heard that she was living in or near London ten years ago, giving
lessons in music, and that she was doing well.She was a retired
schoolmistress, and had made money, therefore was not likely to go in
for ill-paid drudgery.She must have had some standing in her
profession, I fancy.’
‘I know of a Madame Bâlo—B-â-l-o—who might answer to that description,’
said the leader, thoughtfully, ‘an elderly lady, a very fine pianiste.She still receives a few pupils—chiefly girls studying for concert
playing; but I believe she does so more from love of her art than from
any necessity to earn money.She lives in considerable comfort, and
appears to be very well off.’
‘She is a foreigner, I suppose, from the name.The lady I mean is—or
was—an Englishwoman.’
‘Madame Bâlo is as British as you are.She may have married a foreigner,
perhaps.But I really don’t know whether she is a widow or a spinster.She lives alone, in a nice little house in Maida Vale.’
‘I wonder whether she can be the lady I want to find?She may have Italianized the spelling of her name to
make it more attractive to her patrons.’
‘Yes, you English seem to have a small belief in your own musical
abilities, since you prefer to entrust the cultivation of them to a
foreigner.’
‘Do you know this lady well enough to give me a note of introduction to
her?’ asked Maurice; ‘if I may venture to ask such a favour at the
beginning of our acquaintance.’
‘Delighted to oblige a friend of Miss Elgood’s,’ answered Mr.‘Yes, I know Madame Bâlo well enough to scribble a note of
introduction to her.She is a very clever woman, with a passion for
clever people.Mary went back to the garden.And I believe you belong to the world of letters, Mr.Clissold?’
‘Yes, I have dabbled in literature,’ answered Maurice.‘Just the very man to delight Madame Bâlo.When
do you want the letter?’
‘As soon as ever you can oblige me with it.Mary journeyed to the hallway.I dare say a line on one of
your cards would do as well.I merely wish to ask Madame Bâlo a few
questions about a young lady who was once a member of her establishment
at Seacomb; supposing that she is identical with the Miss Barlow I have
spoken of.’
‘I’ll do what you want at once,’ said Mr.He seated himself at the prompter’s table, and wrote on the back of a
card, in a neat and minute penmanship,—
‘DEAR MADAME,—Mr.John went to the office.Clissold, the bearer of this card, is a literary
gentleman of some standing, who wishes to make your acquaintance.Any favour you may accord him will also oblige,
‘Yours very truly,
‘R.F.’
‘I think that will be quite enough for Madame Bâlo,’ he said.Half an hour later Maurice was in a hansom, bowling along the Edgware
Road towards Maida Vale.Here, on the banks of the canal, in a somewhat retired and even
picturesque spot, he found the abode of Madame Bâlo, stuccoed and
classical as to its external aspect, with a Corinthian portico, which
almost extinguished the house to which it belonged.A neat maid-servant opened the iron gate of the small parterre in front
of the portico, and admitted him without question.John journeyed to the bathroom.She ushered him into
a drawing-room handsomely furnished, and much ornamented with divers
specimens of feminine handicraft—water-colour landscapes on the walls;
Berlin-work chair covers; a tapestry screen, whereon industrious hands
had imitated Landseer’s famous Bolton Abbey; fluffy and beady mats on
the tables and chiffoniers; and alabaster baskets of wax fruit and
flowers carefully preserved under glass shades.A glance at these things told Maurice that he was on the track of the
original Miss Barlow.Such a collection of fancy-work could only belong
to a retired schoolmistress.A grand piano, open, with a well-filled musicstand beside it, occupied
an important position in the room.Early as it was in the autumn, a
bright little fire burned in the shining steel grate.Maurice had ample leisure to study the characteristics of the apartment
before Madame Bâlo made her appearance; but after examining all the
works of art, and roaming about the room somewhat impatiently for some
time, he heard an approaching rustle of silk, and Madame Bâlo entered,
splendid in black moire antique, profusely bugled and fringed, and a
delicate structure of pink crape and watered ribbon, which no doubt was
meant for a cap.She was a smiling, pleasant-looking little woman, short and stout, with
a somewhat rubicund visage, and a mellow voice, nothing prim or
scholastic about her appearance, her distinguishing quality being rather
friendliness and an easy geniality.‘Delighted to see any friend of Mr.Fisfiz,’ she said, with a gushing
little manner that had something fresh and youthful about it, in spite
of her sixty years; not affected juvenility, but the real thing.Fisfiz—one of the finest quartette players I know.We
have some pleasant evenings here now and then, when his theatre is shut.I should be happy to see you at my little parties, Mr.Clissold, if you
are fond of chamber music.’
‘You are very kind.I should be pleased to make one of your audience,
however limited my powers of appreciation might be.But my call to-day
is on a matter of business rather than of pleasure, and I fear I am
likely to bore you by asking a good many questions.’
‘Not at all,’ said Madame Bâlo, with a gracious wave of the pink
structure.‘First and foremost, then, may I venture to ask if you always spelt your
name as it is inscribed on the brass plate on your gate, or whether its
present orthography—the circumflex accent included—is not rather
fanciful than correct?John went to the garden.Pray pardon any seeming impertinence in my
inquiry.The lady I am in quest of was proprietress of a school at
Seacomb, in Cornwall, eminently respected by all who knew her.It struck
me that you might be that very Miss Barlow.’
The lady blushed, coughed dubiously, and after a little hesitation,
answered frankly,—
‘Upon my word, Mr.Clissold, I don’t know why I should be ashamed of the
matter,’ she said, smiling.‘It is a free country, and we are always
taught that we may do as we like with our own.Now nothing can be more
one’s own property than one’s name.’
‘Certainly not.’
‘When I came back to England, after a lengthened sojourn in romantic
Italy—the dream of my life through many a year of toil,—I found that I
was still too young, and of far too energetic a temperament to settle
down to idleness and retirement.In Italy I had cultivated and improved my powers as an instrumentalist,
and I had made myself mistress of the mellifluous language to which a
Dante and a Tasso have lent renown.Mary moved to the kitchen.In Italy I had been |
bedroom | Where is Daniel? | Gradually I had fallen into the way of writing my name as
my Italian friends preferred to write it; and ultimately, when I
established myself in this modest dwelling, and issued my circulars, I
preferred to appeal to a patrician and fashionable public under the
Italianized name of Bâlo, and with the prefix Madame.’
‘Your explanation is perfect, Madame,’ replied Maurice, ‘and I thank you
sincerely for your candour.And now may I inquire if you remember among
your pupils at Seacomb a young lady of the name of Trevanard?’
Madame Bâlo looked agitated.‘Remember Muriel Trevanard!’ she exclaimed.She was my favourite pupil, a lovely girl, full of talent—a charming
creature.’
‘Have you any idea of her fate in after life?’
‘No,’ returned the schoolmistress, with a troubled look.‘It ought to
have been brilliant, but I fear it was a blighted life.’
‘It was indeed,’ said Maurice, and then, as briefly as he could, told
Madame Bâlo the story of her pupil’s after life.Madame Bâlo heard him with undisguised agitation.A little cry of
horrified surprise broke from her more than once during his narrative.‘Now, after considering this case from every point of view, I arrived at
a certain conclusion,’ said Maurice.‘And that was——’
‘That George Penwyn and Muriel Trevanard were man and wife, and that you
were aware of their marriage.’
It was some moments before Madame Bâlo recovered herself sufficiently to
reply.She sat looking straight before her, with a troubled countenance,
then suddenly rose, and walked up and down the room once or twice—made
as if she would have spoken, yet was dumb—and then as suddenly sat down
again.Clissold,’ she said abruptly, after these various evidences of a
perturbed spirit, ‘you have made me a very miserable woman.’
‘I am sorry to hear that, Madame Bâlo.’
‘That poor ill-used girl—that martyred girl—condemned by her own
mother—disgraced and exiled in her own home—tortured till her brain gave
way—was as honest a woman as I am—a true and loyal wife, bound to George
Penwyn legally and with my knowledge.Yes, there was a marriage, and I
was present at the ceremony.I foolishly permitted myself to be drawn
into Captain Penwyn’s boyish scheme of a secret marriage.It was to be
the mere legal marriage, only a tie to bind them for ever—but no more
than a tie until George should have won his father’s consent, or been
released by his father’s death, and they should be free to complete
their union.A foolish business, you will say, in the bud, but I was a
foolish woman, and I thought it such a grand thing for my pet pupil—my
bright and beautiful Muriel, whom I loved as if she had been my own
daughter—to win the young Squire of Penwyn.’
Madame Bâlo said all this in little half-incoherent gushes, not strictly
calculated to make things clear.‘If you would kindly give me a direct and succinct account of this
matter—so far as you were concerned in it or privy to it—you would be
doing me an extreme kindness, Madame Bâlo,’ said Maurice, earnestly.‘Much wrong has been done that can never be repaired upon this earth;
but there is some part of the wrong that may perhaps be set right, if
you will give me your uttermost aid.’
‘It is yours, Mr.You have no idea how fond I was
of that poor girl—how proud of the talents which it had been my
privilege to develop.’
‘Tell me everything; straightly, simply, fully.’
‘I will,’ replied Madame Bâlo, ‘and if I appear to blame in this unhappy
story, you must remember I erred from want of thought.I believed that I
was acting for the best.’
‘Most of our mistakes in this life are made under that delusion,’ said
Maurice, with his grave smile.‘You want to know how I came to be mixed up in Muriel’s love affair?First you must know that before he went to Eton, George Penwyn came to
me to be prepared for a public school.I was a mere girl, and had only
just set up my establishment for young ladies in those days, and I was
very glad to give two hours every morning to the Squire’s little boy,
who used to ride over to Seacomb on his Exmoor pony in the charge of a
groom.A very dear little fellow he was at nine years old.I grounded
him in French and Latin—and even taught him the rudiments of Greek
during the year and a half in which I had him for a pupil, my own dear
father having given me a thorough classical education: and, without
vanity, I do not think many little lads went to Eton that year better
prepared than George Penwyn.He was a grateful, warm-hearted boy, and he
never forgot his old friend, or the old-fashioned garden with the big
yellow egg-plums on the western wall.He came to see me many a time in
his summer holidays, and afterwards when he was in the army.I never
knew him to be three days at home without spending a morning with me.He
was about the only young man I ever let come in and out of my house
without restraint, for I knew he was the soul of honour.’
‘Did he first see Muriel Trevanard in your house?’
‘No, he was abroad at the time Muriel was with me.My first knowledge of
his acquaintance with Muriel, and of his love for her, came from his own
lips, and came to me as a surprise.’
Madame Bâlo paused, with a sigh, and then continued her story.‘Captain Penwyn came to me one day, just before the Michaelmas
holidays—it was about a year after Muriel had gone home for good—and
asked me for half an hour’s private talk.Well do I remember that calm
September afternoon, and his bright, eager face as he walked up and down
together in the garden at Seacomb, by the sunny wall, where the last of
the figs and plums were ripening.He told me he was madly in love with
Muriel Trevanard—deeper in love than he had ever been in his life—in
fact, it was the one true passion of his life.“I may have fancied
myself in love before,” he said, “but this is reality.” I tried to laugh
him out of his fancy, reminded him of the difference in station between
himself and a tenant farmer’s daughter; asked him what his father would
say to such an infatuation.“That’s what I’m here to talk about,” said
George.“You know what my father is, and that I might just as well try
to turn the course of those two rivers we used to read about when you
were grinding me as to turn my father from his purpose.He has made up
his mind that I am to marry land—he dreams of land, sleeping and
waking—and spends half his time in calculating the number of his acres.If I refuse to marry land he will disinherit me, and one of my younger
brothers will get Penwyn.Now you know how fond I am of Penwyn, and how
fond all the people round Penwyn are of me; and you may imagine that it
would be rather a hard blow for me to lose an estate which I have always
looked upon as my birthright.”
‘“I should think so, indeed,” said I.‘“But I love Muriel Trevanard better than house or land,” replied he,
“and I would rather lose all than lose her.”’
‘What did you say to this?’ asked Maurice.‘I told him that he was simply mad to think about Muriel, except as he
might of a beautiful picture which he had seen in a gallery.But I might
as well have reasoned with the wind.He had made up his mind that life
without Muriel wasn’t worth having.If ever I saw passionate, reckless,
all-absorbing love in my life, I saw it in him.Nothing would content
him but that Muriel and he should be married before he went abroad with
his regiment.He only wanted the tie, the certainty that nothing less
than death could part them.He would ask no more than that she should be
legally his wife, and would wait a fitting time to take her away from
her father’s house, and proclaim his marriage to the world.Daniel went to the bedroom.Nothing
would be gained by my repeating the arguments I used.He held to his foolish romantic purpose of calling Muriel his
wife before he left England.“I shall only be away a year or two,” he
said, “and who knows but I may gain a shred of reputation before I come
back—return full major, perhaps, and be able to soften my father’s
flinty heart?” He told me that he wanted my help, but if I refused it
the marriage would take place all the same.He would not leave England
until he had made Muriel his own.’
‘And you consented to help him?’
‘He talked me out of my better reason.Clissold, I must confess to a
romantic temperament, and that reason is not my strong point.I was
touched by the intensity of his love—the romance of the situation—and
after a long argument, and doing my uttermost to dissuade George from
the step he contemplated, I ultimately promised him my aid—and pledged
myself to the strictest secrecy.Mary journeyed to the hallway.Muriel was to be asked to spend the
Michaelmas holidays with me, and then we were to go quietly to a little
watering-place in Devonshire, where no one would know anything about us,
or about George Penwyn.George was to slip up to Exeter for the licence,
and everything was to be managed in such a way as to prevent the
possibility of suspicion on the part of the Squire.’
‘Did Muriel consent readily to such a plan?’
‘I think not.But, however unwillingly, her consent had been given
before she came to me, and when I, as woman to woman, asked her if she
really wished this marriage to take place she told me yes, she wished
all that George wished.He had a foolish idea that her father and mother
would oblige her to marry some one else if he left her unfettered, she
told me, and nothing would satisfy him but that indissoluble bond.Well,
we went to Didmouth, the quietest little seaport town you can well
imagine, and here Muriel and I lived in lodgings, while George had his
quarters at the hotel.I think those were happy days for both of them.The country round Didmouth is lovely, and they used to wander about
together all day long on the hills, and in the lanes where the
blackberries were ripening, and the ferns beginning to change their
tint.The simplest things
pleased and interested them.They were full of hope for the future, when
the old Squire should relent.I don’t know how they supposed he would be
brought to change his ideas, but they had some vague notion that he
would come round to George’s way of thinking in a year or two.As the
wedding day drew near their spirits drooped a little, for it was an
understood thing that they were to part at the church door, and meet no
more until the Squire’s consent had been won, lest, by any imprudent
meeting, they should betray the secret of their union, and bring about
George’s disinheritance.I made them both promise most solemnly that
they would not meet after the wedding until George had told his father
all, and settled his future fate for good or evil.I stood beside Muriel
at the altar; I signed my name in the parish register.I saw bride and
bridegroom kiss with their parting kiss, and then I took my old pupil
off to the Didmouth coach—there was no rail to Didmouth in those
days—and by nightfall we were back in Seacomb, worn out both of us with
the emotions of that curious wedding day.A few days later Muriel went
back to Borcel End, and I saw no more of her till the following
Christmas, when I drove over to the farm one afternoon to say good-bye
to my old pupil, after having advantageously disposed of my school in
rather a sudden way, and on the eve of my departure for the Continent.I
could only see Muriel in the presence of her mother and father, who
received me with old-fashioned ceremoniousness, and gave me no
opportunity of being alone with my pupil.And thus I left Cornwall
ignorant of any need that Muriel might have of my friendship, counsel,
or aid.I looked upon George Penwyn’s marriage as the foolish whim of a
headstrong young man, passionately in love; but I had no thought that
peril or ruin could come of that act; and I looked forward hopefully to
the time when Captain Penwyn would return and claim his wife before all
the world.Whether the old Squire did or did not forego his threat of an
unjust will, it would be no bad thing for Muriel to be a captain’s or a
major’s wife, I thought, even if her husband were landless, or
fortuneless.Better than marrying trade or agriculture, I told myself.Very foolish, no doubt; but my dear old father, who taught me the
classics, taught me a good many prejudices into the bargain, and though
I had to get my living as a school-mistress, I always looked down upon
trade.It pleased me to think that the girl, whose mind I had formed,
had a gentleman for her husband, and a gentleman descended from one of
the oldest families in Cornwall.Clissold, that is the
whole of my story.From the time I left Seacomb I never heard from
Muriel Penwyn, though I had given her my London agent’s address when we
parted, an address from which letters would always be forwarded to me.’
‘You heard of her husband’s death, I suppose?’
‘Not till nearly six months after it happened, when I saw an account of
the poor fellow’s melancholy fate in an Italian newspaper, a paragraph
copied from _Galignani_.You may imagine that my heart bled for Muriel,
yet I dared not write to express my sympathy, fearing to betray a secret
which she might prefer to keep hidden for ever from her parents.The
foolish marriage was now no more than a dream, I thought; a shadow which
had passed across the sunshine of her bright young life, leaving grief
and pain in its track, but exercising no serious influence on her
future.“She will get over her sorrow in a year or so, and marry some
good-looking farmer, or Seacomb shopkeeper, after all,” I thought,
bitterly disappointed at this sad ending to my pretty little romance.I
wrote to a friend at Seacomb soon after to inquire about my old pupil,
putting my questions with assumed carelessness.My friend replied that
Miss Trevanard was still unmarried and with her parents—a dull life for
the poor girl, she feared,—but she understood that Miss Trevanard was
well.This was all I could hear.’
‘The breaking of a heart is a quiet transaction,’ said Maurice, ‘hardly
noticeable to the outward world.Small-pox is a far more obvious
calamity.’
Madame Bâlo sighed.She felt that she had some cause for remorse on the
subject of Muriel Trevanard, that she had taken too little trouble about
the young wife’s after fate—had been too much absorbed by her own
musical studies, her Continental friends and her own interests
generally.‘What was the name of the |
bedroom | Where is Mary? | John’s.’
‘And the date of the marriage?’
‘September 30th, 1847.’
This was all that Madame Bâlo could tell him and all that he wanted to
know.It seemed to him that his course was tolerably clear.He had three
distinct facts to prove.First the marriage, then the birth of the
infant, and finally Justina’s identity with that infant.His three witnesses would be—
1.Trevanard, who could testify to the birth of the child.Matthew Elgood, in whose custody Justina had been from the day of
her birth, and whose evidence, if held worthy of credence, must
needs establish her identity with the child born at Borcel End.On leaving Madame Bâlo, with whom he parted on excellent terms, Maurice
went straight to his solicitors, Messrs.Willgross and Harding, of Old
Square, good old family solicitors,—substantial, reliable, sagacious.Before the younger partner, his especial friend and counsellor, he laid
his case.Harding heard him with a thoughtful countenance, and was in no haste
to commit himself to an opinion.‘Rather difficult to dispossess such a man as this Mr.Churchill Penwyn,
on the testimony of a strolling player,’ he said.‘It’s a pity you
haven’t witnesses with better standing in the world.It might look like
a got-up case.’
‘There is the evidence of the parish register at Didmouth Church.’
‘To prove the marriage.Daniel went to the bedroom.Yes; but only an old blind woman to prove the
birth of an heiress, and only this Elgood to show that the infant was
entrusted to him.And on the strength of his evidence you want to claim
an estate worth seven thousand a year for a young actress at the Albert
Theatre.The story is very pretty, very romantic, but, upon my word, Mr.Clissold, between friends, if I were you, I would not take much trouble
about it.’
‘I will take whatever trouble may be needful to prove Justina’s
legitimacy,’ replied Maurice, with decision.‘The estate is a secondary
consideration.’
‘Of course, a mere bagatelle.Well, one of our clerks shall go down to
Didmouth to make a copy of the entry in the register.’
‘I’ll go with him,’ said Maurice.------------------------------------------------------------------------
CHAPTER X
‘THE SADDEST LOVE HAS SOME SWEET MEMORY.’
Maurice left London for Didmouth by the mail, accompanied by Mr.Pointer, a confidential clerk of Messrs.Didmouth
was still off the main line, and they had to drive seven or eight miles
in a jolting little omnibus, very low in the roof, and by no means
luxurious within.They reached Didmouth too late for anything except
supper and bed, but they were at the sexton’s cottage before eight
o’clock next morning, and thence repaired to the church, with the
elderly custodian and his keys in their company.The registers were produced, and the entry of the marriage found, under
the date supplied by Miss Barlow.A duly certified copy of this entry
being taken by Mr.Pointer, in duplicate, Maurice’s mission at Didmouth
was concluded.Pointer at the railway station, after having endured
another hour of the jolting omnibus; and while the clerk hastened back
to London with one of the two documents, Maurice went down the line to
Seacomb with the other.He had not been away a week, and yet he had established the one fact he
most desired to prove, Justina’s right to bear her father’s name.He
could now venture to confide Muriel’s story to Martin, or at least so
much of it as might be told without reflecting on his dead mother.He walked into the old farmhouse at breakfast-time next morning, after
having spent the night at Seacomb, and crossed the moors in the autumnal
mists of earliest morning, not without some hazard of losing his way.‘What good wind blows you here, dear old fellow?’ he cried, gladly.‘The best wind that ever blew, I think,’ answered Maurice.Trevanard had gone about his day’s work, he had taken to working
harder than ever, of late, Martin said; so the two young men had the old
hall to themselves.Here Maurice told his story, Martin listening with profound emotion, and
shedding no unmanly tears at the record of his sister’s sorrows.‘My poor mother!’ he sobbed out at last.‘She acted for the best—to save
the honour of our family—but it was hard on Muriel—and she was sinless
all the time—a wife, free from taint of wrong-doing, except that fatal
concealment of her marriage.’
Then, when the first shock was over, the young man inquired eagerly
about his niece, his beloved sister’s only child—the babe that had been
exiled from its birthplace, robbed of its name.‘How nobly, how wisely, how ably you have acted from first to last,
Clissold!’ he exclaimed.‘Without your help this tangled web could never
have been unravelled.But how did it ever occur to you that Miss Elgood
and my sister’s daughter could be one and the same person?’
‘Perhaps it was because I have thought so much more of Justina Elgood
lately than any one else,’ answered Maurice; and then he went on to
confess that his old wound was healed, and that he loved Justina with a
deeper and truer love than he had given the doctor’s daughter.This would make a new link between himself and his
friend.Maurice’s next anxiety was for an interview with old Mrs.He
wanted to test that aged memory, to discover how far the blind
grandmother might be relied upon when the time came for laying this
family secret before the world.She was able to move about a
little—able to keep watch and ward upon Muriel, but she preferred the
retirement of her own chamber to her old corner in the family
sitting-room.‘The place would seem strange to me without Bridget,’ she told Maurice,
when he expressed his regret at finding her still in her own room.‘It’s
not so much the rheumatics that keep me here as the thought of that.Bridget was all in all in this house.The old room would seem desolate
without her.So I just keep by my own bit of fire, and knit my stocking,
and think of old times.’
‘I dare say your memory is a better one than many young people can boast
of,’ said Maurice, who had taken the empty chair by the fireplace,
opposite Mrs.‘Well, I haven’t much to complain of in that respect,’ answered the old
woman, with a sigh.‘I have sometimes thought that it is better for old
people when their memories are not quite so strong as mine.But then,
perhaps, that’s owing to my blindness.I have nothing left me but
memory, I can’t see to read, not even my Bible, and I haven’t many about
me that care to read to me.So the past is my book, and I’m always
reading the saddest chapters in it.It’s a pity Providence has made us
so that our minds dwell longest on sorrowful things.’
Maurice related his discovery gently and with some preparation to
Muriel’s grandmother.When she heard that Muriel was sinless, that her
marriage with George Penwyn was an established fact, the blind woman
lifted up her voice in thanksgiving to her God.‘I always thought as much,’ she said, after that first outpouring of
prayer and praise.‘I always thought my poor lamb was innocent, but
Bridget would not have it so.Mary journeyed to the hallway.Bridget hugged the notion of our wrong.I speak of
the simple and common soldiers; and, since this care is lacking in
most of them, it ought to be felt more, and with effect, by those who
can remedy it.The weapon worn by the natives of the cities is a wavy
dagger, which they call a kris.Its blade is engraved with channels
and water-lines, which make it very beautiful.The hilt is a small
idol, made of ivory for the common man, and of gold for the chiefs,
studded with gems which are highly esteemed among them.I saw one worn
by the commander Socsocan [75]--who was the lord of Samboangan when
our men conquered it--which was valued at ten slaves.The scabbard
was gilded with the same neatness, and at some time had been covered
with sheets of gold.I saw a scabbard in Jolo, which had a pearl as
large as a musket-ball at the end of the chape.The blades are very
fine, and, although so small (being scarcely two palmos in length),
they are valued at twelve, twenty, or thirty reals of eight.Mary travelled to the bathroom.Such are their arms in peace; those of war, for fighting on the land,
are lances and shields.The shield is round among the coast-dwellers
of the south, and in the islands of Basilan and Jolo.In the rest of
this island, the general custom of the long and narrow shield which
is used in all the other islands is followed; with these, they shield
and protect all the body.From these weapons the kris is inseparable,
and they use it at close quarters, and after they have used the lance,
which they throw in the usual manner.Their lances show the same care
as their krises, and are very much ornamented and engraved, and have
their covers gilded.The shaft is of the finest ebony, or of some
other beautiful wood; and at intervals they put rings of silver or
tin on it.The head is of brass, which is used here, and so highly
polished that it vies with gold.It is chased so elaborately that
there are lances that are valued at one slave each.At the end they
fasten a large hawk's-bell, which they fix upon the shaft in such a
manner that it surrounds it; and when they shake the lance it sounds
in time with the fierce threats and bravadoes.The valiant use them
and as man-slayers, give warning to those who do not know them and
those of less valor, so that they may avoid them as they would vipers.The arms used on sea and land--besides those of the plain, in places
where the people fortify themselves with the resolve to defend
themselves--in addition to the one mentioned (which are the most
deadly), are the bagacayes, which are certain small bamboos as thick as
the finger, hardened in the fire and with points sharpened.They throw
these with such skill that they never miss when the object is within
range; and some men throw them five at a time.Although it is so weak
a weapon, it has such violence that it has gone through a boat and
has pierced and killed the rower.Brother Diego de Santiago told me,
as an eyewitness, that he being seated saw that thing (which appears
a prodigy) happen in the same vessel in which he had embarked with a
garrison.To me that seemed so incredible that I wished immediately to
see it myself; and, cutting a bagacay, I had it thrown at a shield.In
Samboanga I saw a bull which was killed immediately by a bagacay
which a lad threw at it, which struck it clear to the heart.It is a
thing that would cause laughter in Europa, and there would be little
esteem for the valor which does not despise such weapons, and they
would jest at so frail violence.But it is certain that, at close
range, there is no crueler weapon; and it is also certain that, the
day on which these Moros have bravery enough to get within range,
on that day any ship must yield.For they send in such a shower of
these bagacayes that scarce a man is unwounded; while many are stuck
like bulls, so that they cannot move for being laden with so many
weapons.Then the rowing ceases, and they discharge the missiles with
both hands and some from each finger, both rowers and fighters.That
throws their opponents into disorder, and they are unable to manage
their weapons.Mary moved to the bedroom.There must be many in Espana who were in the dangerous
sieges which Governor Don Sebastian Hurtado de Corcuera undertook
against the kings of both Mindanao and Jolo--where, in the so great
mortality which the glorious boldness and military honor of our men
incurred, the most of those who fell, to exalt their fame forever,
were slain by arms so weak and apparently contemptible.In the same
way they use stakes hardened in the fire which they hurl with accuracy,
and which inflict even more damage.The lance is used in the same way,
and they hurl it with so extraordinary violence that they pierce a
steel-covered shield and transfix the soldier with it, as has been
seen often.In an engagement that Captain Gaspar de Morales [76]
fought in Jolo, his steel-covered shield did not avail him; but the
lance passed through it and his arm, and did not fall short of giving
him a mortal wound in the breast.The Negrillos of this island use the bow and arrow, as these are
the weapons least difficult to obtain, and more natural [to them], as
requiring less skill.They poison arrows, and the wound is consequently
always dangerous.The wooden points of the arrows are so hard that
those people have no occasion to regret the lack of iron.[77]
The use of the blowpipe [zarbatana], which is one braza long, has
extended from the Borneans to the Joloans, and even to the Lutaos of
this island.By blowing through it they discharge certain small darts
smeared with so deadly a poison that if one single drop of blood is
drawn, death is certain to result, if the antidote is not quickly
applied.When our soldiers have to make an expedition to Burney,
where other weapons are rarely used, they go prepared with the most
efficacious antidotes--namely, human excrement, as has always been
happily experienced.These blowpipes are sometimes used also as lances,
having the iron fastened at one side, so that, if the shot is not
accurate, they use it alternately as a lance.Then when the opportunity
is offered they make use of their darts.They are so good shots that
they can bring down the smallest bird at twenty or thirty paces.The Joloans who are called Ximbanaos, [78] and are more ferocious
and of greater determination, are armed from top to toe with helmet,
bracelets, coat-of-mail, greaves, with linings of elephant-hide--armor
so proof that nothing can make a dint on it except firearms, for the
best sword or cutlass is turned.That was an experience acquired by
many in the conquest of the Joloans by General Don Pedro de Almonte
Verastigui, [79] who had brought from Ternate braggarts of that nation,
who wielded the campilan or cutlass--a weapon made for cutting off
heads, and for splitting the body from top to toe.But they could
effect nothing, notwithstanding the heavy blows of those cutlasses;
and retired like cowards, giving as an excuse that their weapons
would not cut, and that they were only succeeding in ruining them,
for they were all nicked by the strong resistance.From the shoulders
rise two irons to the height of the helmet and morion by which they
protect the head from being cut off.They knot the flaps of their
skirts on the breast or coat-of-mail, so that they can bend the knee
to the ground, according to their method of fighting, when the case
demands it.They wear a plume of feathers above the forehead, such as
is seen on mules.They leave nothing unarmed |
bedroom | Where is Mary? | It is the fitting
dress, among them, for princes and braggarts.When they put it on they
generally take some opium, [80] and, rendered furious and insensible
[to danger] by it, they enter amid the vessels of a squadron madly,
and destroy it with great slaughter.For their arms are lance, kris,
or dagger; and with their bounds and leaps, in which they indulge
according to their barbarous method of fighting, they appear in many
places, always endeavoring to bring down many [of their foes].Hence,
in order that any ball may strike them, it is necessary that it
cause disaster in the troop--besides the injuries that their fury
has executed in safety, armed so proof against those who dress as
lightly as the heat and roughness of the country compel.The Mindanaos use a weapon quite distinct from that of the
Ternatans.It is a campilan or cutlass of one edge, and heavier
than the pointless Turkish weapon.Daniel went to the bedroom.It is a very bloody weapon, but,
being so heavy, it is a danger for him who handles it, if he is not
adroit with it.It has only two forms of use, namely, to wield it
by one edge, and to raise it by the other, in order to deal another
stroke, its weight allowing time for the spears of the opponents to
enter.They do not gird it on, as that would be too much trouble,
but carry it on the shoulders, in the fashion of the camarlengos
[81] who carry the rapiers on their shoulders in public ceremonies in
front of their princes.Mary journeyed to the hallway.Besides that weapon the Mindanao uses lance,
kris, and shield, as do the other nations.Both these and those have
begun to use firearms too much, having acquired that from intercourse
with our enemies.They manage all sorts of artillery excellently, and
in their fleets all their craft carry their own pieces, with ladle,
culverins, esmerils, and other small weapons.[82]
SAN AGUSTIN'S LETTER ON THE FILIPINOS
[Gaspar de San Agustin, O.S.A., wrote the following letter regarding
the Filipinos.This letter has been widely discussed pro and con
by various writers, because of the views expressed therein.Many
manuscript copies of it exist in various collections, archives, and
libraries.The present translation is made from an early manuscript
copy, belonging to Mr.E. E. Ayer, of Chicago.In footnotes we give
the variant readings of the MS.conserved in the Museo-Biblioteca de
Ultramar, Madrid (pressmark "6-5a; caja 17; 21-4a"), that MS.being
indicated in our notes by the letter M.; and of the letter as published
in Delgado's [83] Historia (pp.273-296, where it shows marks of
having been edited by either Delgado or his editor), that publication
being indicated by the letter D. Sinibaldo de Mas presents many of the
essential parts of the letter in his Informe de las Islas Filipinas
en 1842, i, "Poblacion," pp.He says: "In order to give an
idea of their physical and moral qualities, I am going to insert some
paragraphs from a letter of Father Gaspar de San Augustin of the year
1725, [84] suppressing many Latin citations from the holy fathers
which weigh that letter down, and adding some observations from my
own harvest, when I think them opportune."We shall use most of these
observations in the annotations herewith presented.Sir John Bowring
gives, on pp.Mary travelled to the bathroom.125-139 of his Visit to the Philippine Isles (London,
1859) some excerpts taken from Mas's Informe, but he has sadly mixed
San Agustin's and Mas's matter, and has ascribed some of the latter's
observations to San Agustin, besides making other errors.[85]]
Letter from fray Gaspar de San Agustin to a friend in Espana who
asked him as to the nature and characteristics [genio] of the Indian
natives of these Philipinas Islands.[86]
My Dear Sir:
Although your command has so great weight with me, the undertaking of
performing it satisfactorily is so difficult that I doubt my ability
to fulfil what you ask.It would be more easy for me, I believe, to
define the formal object of logic; to give the square of a circle; to
find the mathematical [side [87]] of the double of the cube and sphere,
or to find a fixed rule for the measurement of the degrees of longitude
of the terrestrial sphere; than to define the nature of the Indians,
and their customs and vices.This is a memorandum-book in which I have
employed myself for forty years, and I shall only say: Quadraginta
annis proximus fui generationi huic, et dixi semper hi errant corde;
[88] and I believe that Solomon himself would place this point of
knowledge after the four things impossible to his understanding which
he gives in chapter XXX, verse 18 of Proverbs.Only can they tell the
One who knows them by pointing to the sky and saying, Ipse cognovit
figmentum nostrum.Mary moved to the bedroom.[89] But in order that you may not say to me that I
am thus ridding myself of the burden of the difficulty, [90] without
making any effort or showing any obedience, I shall relate briefly
what I have observed, for it would be impossible to write everything,
if one were to use all the paper that is found in China.The knowledge of men has been considered by the most erudite persons
as a difficult thing.Dificile est, noscere hominem animal varium et
versipelle.[91] Man is a changeable theater of transformations.The
inconstancies of his ages resemble the variation of the year.A
great knowledge of man did that blind man of the eighth chapter of
St.Mark have who said, with miraculous sight, that he saw men as
trees: Video homines velut arbores ambulantes.[92] For the tree in
the four seasons of the year has its changes as has man in his four
ages; and thus said the English poet Oven:
"Ver viridem flavamque aestas, me fervida canam
Autumnus calvam, frigida fecit hyems."[93]
"For this is the inconstancy of man in his [various] ages: green in
his childhood; fiery in the age of his virility; white in old age; and
bald in his decrepitude."But his greatest change is in his customs,
for he is a continual Proteus, and an inconstant Vertumnus.[94]
Thus does Martial paint his friend:
"Dificilis, facilis, jucundus, acerbus est idem;
Nec tecum possum vivere, nec sine te."[95]
From this came the proverb "Quot capita, tot sententiae."[96] For
in the changeable affection of man are locked up all the meteoric
influences of natural transformations.It is a fact that the difficulty of knowing these Indians is not
in the individuals, but in the race; for, if one be known, then all
are known, without any distinction--so much so that the Greek word
monopantos [97] fits them, and which another critic gave to another
race of people, because they were all homogeneous and uniform among
themselves.At the eighth meeting of the last Lateran Council, held
in the time of Leo X, the opinion of the Monophysite philosophers
[98]--who give but one single soul to all men, each body having a part
of it--was condemned.Doubtless that impious opinion originated from
some nation as alike in customs as these Indians; and it is not the
worst thing to have been able to give this humble judgment, although
it is defective.Although we call both the natives of America and those of these
Philipinas Islands Indians, it cannot be denied that they are very
different; for the inclination of the Asiatics [100] is somewhat more
docile and more capable of progress through teaching.Accordingly,
I shall confine my remarks to the Indians of Philipinas, leaving
the definition of the Americans for those who know them; for they
have enough chroniclers who have undertaken it, although I doubt
that they obtained their desire, such as Father Juan de Torquemada
in his Monarchia Indiana, [101] Fray Antonio de Remesal, [102] and
Father Joseph de Acosta.[103] For what has been written of them by
the bishop of Chiapa, Fray Bernardino de Cassas, [104] and by Don
Juan de Palafox [105] in his treatise on the virtues of the Indians,
was written from very remote experience; and they were carried away
by the holy zeal of their defense as they were deceived [106] by
their remote knowledge of the object--as [in viewing] the hills and
mountains, which anear are green, but afar are blue.Gold conceals
from the sight the degree of its fineness; and one must crush [107]
the rock himself, and frequently, in order to recognize the truth.The Asiatic Indians of Philipinas, then, are almost the same as
those of the other nations of East India, in what regards their genius
[genio], temper, and disposition.Consequently, the Malays, Siamese,
Mogoles, and Canarines [108] are distinguished only by their clothing,
languages and ceremonies.I except the Japanese (who are, as Gracian
[109] learnedly remarked, the Spaniards of Asia) and the Chinese,
who, by their culture and civilization, and love of letters, seem to
be different--although, touched with the stone of experience, they
are the same as the Indians.[110] The influence of the stars which
rule Assia is common, whence Macrobius and Suetonius complain that
the corruption of the good native customs of the Romans proceeded,
especially from Persia, whence came great evil both to the Greeks
and to the Latins.But leaving this immense sea of peoples and customs, let us return
to our natives of these islands, who, besides having been exceedingly
barbarous, living without a ruler, and in a confused monarchy, [111]
have the vices of the islanders; for they are fickle, false, and
mendacious, and [that] by the special influence and dominion which
the moon exercises upon all the islands, isthmuses, and peninsulas
[Chersonesos], of which much will be found in the Theatrum vitae humanae
of Laurencio Beyerlinch.The temperament of these Indians, as is proved by their physiognomy,
is cold and humid, because of the great influence of the moon.They
have but little or no difference among themselves in their temperament,
as was remarked by a learned doctor who has had considerable experience
in these islands, namely, Doctor Blas Nunez de Prado.[He observed]
that there was no difference, but a great similarity, in the humors of
those who had been treated, and a fine natural docility in responding
to the medicine; in whatever remedy it was applied to them.For
they have not the great rebelliousness and changeableness of the
Europeans, because of the infinite combinations made in them by the
four humors.The cause of this is the similarity and lack of variety
in the food that they use and which their ancestors used, which go
to make up a nature different in its root from that of the Europeans,
but yet very similar.This disposition and influence makes them fickle, malicious,
untrustworthy, dull, and lazy; [114] fond of traveling by river,
sea, and lake; fond of fishing, and ichthyophagous [115]--that is,
they sustain themselves best on fish; they have little courage, on
account of their cold nature, and are not disposed to work.[116]
Besides this they have other qualities and vices, of which I do not
know the cause, and I do not believe that I can easily know them.[117]
I shall mention some of them.Mary went back to the kitchen.First, they are remarkable for their ingratitude; and although
ingratitude is an innate vice in all people, through the corruption
of original sin in our vitiated nature, it is not corrected in them
by the understanding, and they lack magnanimity.Therefore, it is all
one to do a good turn to an Indian, and to prepare oneself to receive
the blow of his ingratitude.Consequently, if one lend them money,
they do not pay it; but instead they run away from the father.Hence
there is ground for scruples in regard to lending money to them;
for that is a benefit from which evil must result, as they absent
themselves and do not come to mass.Mary travelled to the bedroom.If others ask them why, they
answer that the father [119] is angry at them.In them is verified
the picture given by the Holy Spirit in chapter xxix, verse[s] 4[-9]
of Ecclesiasticus."Many" (he says) "have thought by artifice to
satisfy the thing due, and have given trouble to those who have aided
them.So long as they receive, they kiss the hands of him who gives,
and humble themselves with promises.But when it comes time to pay,
they will beg for time (for they are beggars and not givers); and
they will utter tedious and complaining words, and the time is spent
in vain.Even though one can pay, he can be got to do so only with
great difficulty.For one solidus [120] scarcely will he give the
half, and that he will think an unjust artifice; and if he cannot
pay he will keep the money, and will esteem the debtor as an enemy
causelessly, and will return him insults and evil words, and for
honor and kindness will return him dishonor."[121] This picture of
ingratitude given by Ecclesiasticus fits many, but it fits the Indians
better than all other nations, except the Vix solidi reddet dimidium,
[122] for they pay nothing.This is one of the evil signs that the
royal prophet finds in the evil and ingrate in Psalm xxxvi, verse 21:
"The sinner shall take the loan, and shall not pay."[123] Consequently
we find our Indians pagans in this, although they are Christians.If they borrow anything that is not money, they will never return
it until it is requested; and, as an excuse for not having returned
it, they say that they have not been asked for it.Their laziness is such that if they open a door they never close
it; and if they take any implement for any use, such as a knife, pair
of scissors, hammer, etc., they never return it whence they took it,
but drop it there at the foot of the work.If they are paid anything in advance, they will leave work and
keep the pay.They are naturally rude, and consequently, it is strange to
see them, when talking with the father or a Spaniard, first scratch
themselves on the temples, [128] and, if it be a woman, on the thigh;
but the more polished scratch themselves on the head.It is a thing of great wonder that in everything they make in
which there is a right and wrong side, they naturally make it wrong
side out.Consequently, they have not thus far been able to give in
to difficulty of folding a cloak with its right side in; [130] nor
[do they understand] it can be that when a shirt or habit is wrong
side out, on putting the head in, it is given a turn and remains
right side out.Consequently, whenever they see this done, they
express more surprise.[131] Hence the remark of a discerning man,
that all they did was wrong except folding a cloak, because in that
operation the wrong side is the face or right side.When the men walk with their wives, they go in advance, and the
wives follow, as that is just the contrary of our custom.This was a
bit of carelessness that cost Orpheus the loss of his wife, who was
stolen by the prince Auresteo, as we are told in mythology.They are curious, rude, and impertinent, and accordingly, when
they meet the father they generally ask him where he is going and
whence he is coming; and innumerable questions, all impertinent and
troublesome.[134]
If any letter is |
garden | Where is Daniel? | And if they hear any talking
in private, they draw nigh to listen to it, even though it be in a
language that they do not understand.They enter, without being summoned, into the convents and the
houses of the Spaniards, even into the most secret apartment, but in
their own houses they practice many civilities.Daniel went to the bedroom.If the door be locked,
they try with might and main to look through the cracks at what is
being done, for they wish to know everything.Mary journeyed to the hallway.[135]
They tramp about in the convents and houses of the Spaniards so loudly,
that it causes wonder and annoyance; and especially if the father
is asleep.In their own houses, on the contrary, they walk about so
lightly, that they seem to be walking on eggs.They are very early risers in their own houses, [137] for their
poverty and the noise demand that.But if their masters sleep until
ten, they must do the same too.They must eat and try all that their masters eat, even though it
be something delicious or from Europa; and no Spaniard, and especially
the father minister, will have been able to succeed in making them
eat out of other dishes than those from which their master eats.I
know well that I have been unable to obtain it, notwithstanding my
efforts.Neither will they drink out of another and separate jar.Their manner of sitting is generally on their heels [en cuclillas],
and they do that in all places except in the convents, where they
break the seats with sitting on them and leaning back in them with
out-stretched legs.And they must do this in the balconies, where
they can see the women.They care more for their disheveled hair than they do for their
souls; and only they will not imitate the Spaniards if they have the
custom of shaving, as is now being introduced with the false hair
and perukes.Their usual habitation and happiness in the convents consists in
not leaving the kitchen.Mary travelled to the bathroom.There they hold their meetings and feasts, and
there is their glory, as is the open country in Castilla.A religious
whom I knew, called the kitchen Flos sanctorum, [141] because the
life of the father and of all the village was discussed there.When they go out alone at night, they must have a blazing torch,
and go about waving it like a censer; and then they throw it down
wherever they please, and this is usually the cause of great fires.They would rather wear mourning than go about in gala dress,
and are accordingly very observant in wearing it during their
funerals.They do not esteem garments or gala dresses given them by their
Spanish masters; and accordingly leave such in any place, without
perceiving that they are losing them.But any old rag that they wear
from their own houses they esteem and value highly.They do not care for any domestic animal--dog, cat, horse,
or cow.They only care, and too much so, for the fighting cocks;
and every morning, on rising from slumber, the first thing that they
do is to go to the roosting-place of their cock--where, squatting
down on their heels, in its presence, they stay very quietly for at
least a half-hour in contemplation of their cock.This observance is
unfailing in them.They live unwillingly in convents, or in houses where they cannot
be at least on the scent of women.It is not known that the Indian has [ever] broken a dish or a crock
in his own house, and consequently one will find dishes in them that
date from before the arrival of the Spaniards in this country.But
in the convents and houses where they serve, they break so many that
one would believe that they do it on purpose to do their masters an
ill turn.Mary moved to the bedroom.One may not trust a sword, mirror, glass, musket, clock, or any
other rare article to them; or allow them to touch it even with the
hands; for immediately, by physical contact alone, they put it out
of joint, break it, and harm it.They can only handle bamboo, rattan,
nipa, or a bolo, and some few a plow.They are insolent and free in begging for unjust and foolish
things, and this without considering time or season.When I
remember the circumstance which happened to Sancho Pancha when he
was governor of the island of Barataria, one day after eating [146]
with an importunate and intrusive farmer, who said that he was from
Miguel Turra, I am reminded of the Indians when they beg.[147]
And we shall say that if they bring four eggs, they think that with
justice they ought to be given a price of one hundred pesos.That
is so true that when I see an Indian who is bringing something,
which is always a thing of no value, or something that is of no
use to them, such as ates, mangas, or belinbiles [i.e., balimbing],
I repeat those words of Laocoon to the Trojans: Timeo Danaos, [et]
dona ferentes (2nd AEneid).Mary went back to the kitchen.An Indian came to beg from the bishop of
Troya (as was told me by his illustrious Lordship)--Don Fray Gines
Barrientos, [148] a specially circumspect prelate--the loan of fifty
pesos, for which he took him a couple of guavas.An Indian brought
a cock to the Marquis of Villa-sierra, Don Fernando de Valenzuela,
[149] while he was in the fort of Cavite; and, when that gentleman
ordered that he be given more than six times its value, the Indian
told him that what he wanted was to be given eighty cavans of rice,
[150] and that in a time of so great scarcity it was not to be had
for two pesos per cavan.But they have this curious peculiarity, that
they are just as happy if these things are not given to them as if
they had been given.For they have little or no esteem for what the
Spaniards give them, and especially the father.Accordingly, when
they sell anything that is worth, say, six, [151] they ask thirty,
and are satisfied if six be given them.[152]
They would rather have one real from the hand of the Sangley than one
peso from the Spaniard; and the power that the Sangleys have over them
is surprising, for they are generally cheated by those people.They are very fond of play, [154] for they believe that it is
a restful way in which to gain much, and it is very suitable to
their laziness and lack of energy.Therefore, an Indian would rather
lie stretched out in his house than gain the greatest wage.On this
account, when he gets a peso he stays at home without working, until it
is all eaten up or drunk up, for it all amounts to the same thing.This
is the reason why they are so poor, in comparison with the Sangleys
and mestizos, who live in abundance, for they know how to seek and
work.[155] Egestatem operata est manus remissa.They have contradictory peculiarities, such as being very cowardly,
while on some occasions they are rash; for they confess that they
would rather suffer a hundred lashes than to have one shout aloud
to them--which, they say, penetrates even to the heart, without the
cause being known.It is laughable to see them waken another who is sleeping like a
stone, when they come up without making any noise and touching him
very lightly with the point of the finger, will call him for two
hours, until the sleeper finishes his sleep and awakens.The same
thing is done when they call anyone downstairs, or when the door is
shut; for they remain calling him in a very low tone for two hours,
until he casually answers and opens to them.In another way, they exhibit other rash actions, by which it
is seen that their rashness is rather the daughter of ignorance and
barbarity than of valor.For it occurs that an Indian, man or woman,
may be walking along the road and hear a horse which is coming behind
him, running or going at a quick pace; but this Indian never turns
his face.If the horse come in front of him, he will not turn out of
the road so that he may not be trampled underfoot, if he who comes
on horseback does not turn out with greater consideration.The same
thing occurs when they see a very large banca coming down upon them
with long sweeps of the oars, while they are in a small banquilla;
when they will allow themselves to be struck by it, with the danger
of being overturned and drowned.It costs much labor to those in the
large banca to avoid that, while the others could do it with great
ease.Mary travelled to the bedroom.The same thing happens in the rivers where there are crocodiles,
although they see them swimming about; for they say the same as do the
Moros [i.e., Mahometans], that if it is from on high it must happen,
even though they avoid it.And thus, as says father Fray Gabriel Gomez
(History of Argel, book 2, chapter 19), they say in the lengua franca
"God is great!If it
is written on the forehead that one is to live, then he will live;
but if not, then he will die here."[158] For their Koran says that
each one has his fortune written in the lines of his forehead.These
Indians believe the same thing (and they have never seen the Koran),
and only because it is great nonsense.They receive no warning from
the many misfortunes that happen every day for their sins.While it is a fact that they are extremely credulous among
themselves, they will believe of the Spaniards only what is against
them.Therefore, it is evident that the [Christian] faith is a
supernatural act, in that they believe the divine mysteries taught by
the Spaniards.However, they do not believe some things, or refuse to
believe them because they find the contrary profitable.Consequently,
there is no one who can persuade them that it is a sin to steal
from the religious ministers or the Spaniards.Of this we have such
proofs that we have not the slightest doubt that it is so; but,
only perceiving it is not being able to remedy it.[160]
So great is the ease and tenacity with which they believe the greatest
nonsense, if this is to the discredit of the Spaniards or against
them, that it would be a long undertaking to recount some of it.I
have deemed it advisable to mention only two [instances] of it of
which I heard [161] and of which I was a witness, so that the rest
can be inferred from them.While I was in Bisayas in the year 1672, those islands began to
be depopulated and the Indians began to take to the mountains from
the visitas of Xaro, because a rogue told them a bit of nonsense
like the following.Daniel went back to the office.He told them that the king of Espana had gone
out fishing, and the Turks had come upon him and made him captive;
and that the king had given for his ransom all the Indians of the
province of Oton.They believed this so thoroughly that it was with
great difficulty that the alcalde Don Sebastian de Villarreal and
the father ministers could quiet them, and considerable time passed
before they were sure of the whole matter.[162]
The second: While I was in the village of Lipa, a mine was discovered
in that of Tanavan which was said to be of silver.Governor Don Fausto
Cruzat y Gongora sent ministers and officials in order to find out
about it and to assay it.These men made their efforts, but the mine
only said, Argentum et aurum non est mihi.[163] But the devil willed
to have some rogue at this time to sow this deceit, namely, that the
ministers [164] said that the mine would yield no silver until all
the old women of Cometan had been caught, and their eyes plucked out
and mixed with other ingredients, in order to anoint the vein of the
mine with that mixture.This was believed, so that all was confusion
and lamentation, and the old women hid in the fields; and it took
a long time to quiet them, and cost the ministers great difficulty,
as the Indians would not believe them because they were Castilians,
until time itself undeceived them.May God deliver us from any one of those Indians whom they consider
as sages, who says any bit of nonsense, even though it be against the
faith, [166] and they only respond, Vica nong maronong, "Thus say
the sages," and it is labor lost to persuade them to the contrary;
for the authority that these scholars have over them is incredible.They are extremely arrogant, and hence the son will not obey his
father, or the headman, or captain of the village.[167] They are
only bound in this by fear, and when they have no fear they will
not obey.They only recognize the Spaniard to be more than they;
[168] and this they say only because of an interior impulse, which
forces them against their will and without their knowing why.This
is the providence of God, so that they can be governed.They are very fond if imitating the Spaniard [169] in all his
bad traits, such as variety of clothes, cursing, gambling, and the
rest that they see the coxcombs [170] do.They shun the imitation of
the good things in the dealings and civilization of the Spaniards,
and in the proper rearing of their children.For in all the rest
that treats of trickery, drunken revelries, and ceremonies in their
marriages, burials, and tyrannies one against another, they observe
exactly what they learned from their ancestors.Thus they unite in
one the vices of the Indians and the Spaniards.Just as the poor are arrogant, so also are the old ones ignorant,
and they are not to be distinguished from the youths.Consequently,
in their weddings, banquets, and revelries one will see old men with
white hair, mixed with the lads; and slouchy old women with their
scapularies, clapping their hands and singing nonsensical things with
the lasses.Scarcely is there an Indian who knows his age, and many
[172] do not know the baptismal names of their wives, after they have
been baptized for fifty years.They are so ignorant that they do not have the slightest knowledge
concerning the origin of the ancestors from whom they descend,
and whence they came to settle these islands.They do not give any
information concerning their paganism, which is not the worst; and
they only preserve in certain parts some ridiculous abuses, which
they observe at births and sicknesses, and the cursed belief that
persuades them that the souls of their ancestors or the grandfathers
of the families are present in the trees and at the bottom of bamboos,
and that they have the power of giving and taking away health and of
giving success or failure to the crops.Therefore, they make their
ancestors offerings of food, according to their custom; and what
has been preached to them and printed in books avails but little,
for the word of any old man regarded as a sage has more weight with
them than the word of the whole world."My strength and skill, like yours, are gain
For others...Your master--well--he owns your hand,
And mine--he owns my brain."The Jewish May
May has come from out the showers,
Sun and splendor in her train.All the grasses and the flowers
Waken up to life again.Once again the leaves do show,
And the meadow blossoms blow,
Once again through hills and dales
Rise the songs of nightingales.Wheresoe'er on field or hillside
With her paint-brush Spring is seen,--
In the valley, by the rillside,
All the earth is decked with green.Once again the sun beguiles
Moves the drowsy world to smiles.the sun, with mother-kiss
Wakes her child to joy and bliss.Now each human feeling presses
Flow'r like, upward to the sun,
Softly, through the heart's recesses,
Steal sweet fancies, one by one.Golden dreams, their wings outshaking,
Now are making
Realms celestial,
All of azure,
New life waking,
Bringing treasure
Out of measure
For the soul's delight and pleasure.Daniel journeyed to the garden.Who then |
office | Where is Mary? | On the sward in verdure clad,
Lonely is the strange newcomer,
Wearily he walks and slow,--
His sweet springtime and his summer
Faded long and long ago!Say, who is it yonder walks
Past the hedgerows decked anew,
While a fearful spectre stalks
By his side the woodland through?No sweet fancies hover round him,
Naught but terror and distress.Wounds unhealed
Where lie revealed
Ghosts of former recollections,
Corpses, corpses, old affections,
Buried youth and happiness.Brier and blossom bow to meet him
In derision round his path;
Gloomily the hemlocks greet him
And the crow screams out in wrath.Strange the birds and strange the flowers,
Strange the sunshine seems and dim,
Folk on earth and heav'nly powers!--
Lo, the May is strange to him!Little flowers, it were meeter
If ye made not quite so bold:
Sweet ye are, but oh, far sweeter
Knew he in the days of old!Oranges by thousands glowing
Filled his groves on either hand,--
All the plants were God's own sowing
In his happy, far-off land!Myrtles green by Sharon's fountain,
In whose shade he loved to dwell!Ask the Mount of Olives beauteous,--
Ev'ry tree by ev'ry stream!--
One and all will answer duteous
For the fair and ancient dream....
O'er the desert and the pleasance
Gales of Eden softly blew,
And the Lord His loving Presence
Evermore declared anew.Angel children at their leisure
Played in thousands round His tent,
Countless thoughts of joy and pleasure
God to His beloved sent.There in bygone days and olden,
From a wond'rous harp and golden
Charmed he music spirit-haunting,
Holy, chaste and soul-enchanting.Never with the ancient sweetness,
Never in its old completeness
Shall it sound: his dream is ended,
On a willow-bough suspended.a _new_ May gives thee greeting
From afar.Weep no more, altho' with sorrows
Bow'd e'en to the grave: I see
Happier years and brighter morrows,
Dawning, Israel, for thee!Daniel went to the bedroom.Hear'st thou not the promise ring
Where, like doves on silver wing,
Thronging cherubs sweetly sing
Newmade songs of what shall be?your olives shall be shaken,
And your citrons and your limes
Filled with fragrance.In the pastures by the river
Ye once more your flocks shall tend.Ye shall live, and live forever
Happy lives that know no end.No more wandering, no more sadness:
Peace shall be your lot, and still
Hero hearts shall throb with gladness
'Neath Moriah's silent hill.Nevermore of dread afflictions
Or oppression need ye tell:
Filled with joy and benedictions
In the old home shall ye dwell.To the fatherland returning,
Following the homeward path,
Ye shall find the embers burning
Still upon the ruined hearth!The Feast Of Lights
Little candles glistening,
Telling those are listening
Legends manifold,
Many a little story,
Tales of blood and glory
Of the days of old.As I watch you flicker,
As I list you bicker,
Speak the ancient dreams:
--You have battled, Jew, one time,
You have conquer'd too, one time.In your midst was order once,
And within your border once
Strangers took no part.Mary journeyed to the hallway.Mary travelled to the bathroom.Jew, you had a land one time,
And an armed hand, one time.Glisten, candles, glisten!As I stand and listen
All the grief in me,
All the woe is stirred again,
And the question heard again:
What the end shall be?Chanukah Thoughts
Not always as you see us now,
Have we been used to weep and sigh,
We too have grasped the sword, I trow,
And seen astonished foemen fly!We too have rushed into the fray,
For our Belief the battle braved,
And through the spears have fought our way,
And high the flag of vict'ry waved.But generations go and come,
And suns arise and set in tears,
And we are weakened now and dumb,
Foregone the might of ancient years.In exile where the wicked reign,
Our courage and our pride expired,
But e'en today each throbbing vein
With Asmonean blood is fired.Tho' cruel hands with mighty flail
Have threshed us, yet we have not blenched:
The sea of blood could naught prevail,
That fire is burning, still unquenched.Mary moved to the bedroom.Our fall is great, our fall is real,
(You need but look on us to tell!)Yet in us lives the old Ideal
Which all the nations shall not quell.Sfere
I asked of my Muse, had she any objection
To laughing with me,--not a word for reply!You see, it is Sfere, our time for dejection,--
And can a Jew laugh when the rule is to cry?In Jewish delight, what is worthy the name?It is never a right one,
For laughing and groaning with him are the same.You thought there was zest in a Jewish existence?You deemd that the star of a Jew could be kind?The Spring calls and beckons with gracious insistence,--
Jew,--sit down in sackcloth and weep yourself blind!The garden is green and the woodland rejoices:
How cool are the breezes, with fragrance how blent!But Spring calls not _you_ with her thousand sweet voices!--
With you it is Sfere,--sit still and lament!The beautiful summer, this life's consolation,
In moaning and sighing glides quickly away.What hope can it offer to one of my nation?What joy can he find in the splendors of May?Bewildered and homeless, of whom whoso passes
May fearlessly stop to make sport at his ease,--
Say, is it for him to seek flowers and grasses,
For him to be thinking on meadows and trees?And if for a moment, forgetting to ponder
On grief and oppression, song breaks out anew,
I hear in his lay only: "Wander and wander!"And ev'ry note tells me the singer's a Jew.A skilful musician, and one who is versed
In metre and measure, whenever he hears
The pitiful song of the Jewish dispersed,
It touches his heart and it moves him to tears.The blast of the Ram's-horn that quavers and trembles,--
On this, now, alone Jewish fancy is bent.To grief and contrition its host it assembles,
And causes the stoniest heart to relent.The wail that went up when the Temple was shattered,--
The song of Atonement, the Suppliant's psalm,--
These only he loves, since they took him--and scattered,--
Away from the land of the balsam and balm.Of all the sweet instruments, shiver'd and broken,
That once in the Temple delighted his ear,
The Ram's-horn alone has he kept, as a token,
And sobs out his soul on it once in the year.Instead of the harp and the viol and cymbal,
Instead of the lyre, the guitar and the flute,
He has but the dry, wither'd Ram's-horn, the symbol
Of gloom and despondence; the rest all are mute.He laughs, or he breaks into song, but soon after,
Tho' fain would he take in man's gladness a part,
One hears, low resounding athwart the gay laughter,
The Suppliant's psalm, and it pierces the heart.I asked of my Muse, had she any objection
To laughing with me,--not a word for reply!You see, it is Sfere, our time for dejection,--
And can a Jew laugh when the rule is to cry?Measuring the Graves
First old Minna, bent and lowly,
Eyes with weeping nearly blind;
Pessyeh-Tsvaitel, slowly, slowly,
With the yarn creeps on behind.On the holy book of Minna
Fall the tear-drops--scarce a word
(For the heart is moved within her)
Of her praying can be heard.Mary went back to the kitchen."Mighty Lord, whose sovereign pleasure
Made all worlds and men of dust,
I, Thy humble handmaid, measure,
God, the dwellings of the just."Speechless here the ground they cumber,
Where the pious, gracious God,
Where Thy heart's beloved slumber
Underneath the quiet sod."They who sing in jubilation,
Lord, before Thy holy seat,
Each one from his habitation,
Through the dream for ever sweet."From the yarn with which I measure,
Pessyeh-Tsvaitel, filled with awe,
Wicks will make, to search the treasure,
Nightly, of Thy holy Law.Praying still, by faith sustained:
'Thou with whom the holy dwell,
Scorn not Jacob's prayer unfeigned,
Mark the tears of Israel!'"The First Bath of Ablution
The wind is keen, the frost is dread,
Toward the icy water,
By aunt and mother forth is led
The fisher's lovely daughter."Dive in, dive in, my child, with haste!There's naught whereon to ponder,
The time, dear heart, we must not waste:
The sun has set out yonder."God's mercy, child, is great and sure:
Fear not but He will show it!and you are pure,--
'Tis over ere you know it!"The frost and cold with cruel knife
The tender form assail.Ah, would you be a Jewish wife,
You must not weep and quail!And in--and out,--she leaps.No purer are you than before:
A Gentile has observed you!And into th' icy flood again,
In terror wild she leaps!Mary travelled to the bedroom.The frost and cold, they burn and bite,
The women rub their fingers,
The lovely child grows white and white,
As on the bank she lingers."The Law, my child, we must fulfill,
The scoundrel see depart!Daniel went back to the office.'tis but a moment's chill,
'Tis but a trifling smart!"The white-faced child the Law has kept,
The covenant unstained,
For in the waters deep she leapt,
And there below remained.Atonement Evening Prayer
Atonement Day--evening pray'r--sadness profound.The soul-lights, so clear once, are dying around.Daniel journeyed to the garden.The reader is spent, and he barely can speak;
The people are faint, e'en the basso is weak.The choristers pine for the hour of repose.Just one--two chants more, and the pray'r book we close!And now ev'ry Jew's supplication is ended,
And Nilah* approaching, and twilight descended.The blast of the New Year is blown on the horn,
All go; by the Ark I am standing forlorn,
And thinking: "How shall it be with us anon,
When closed is the temple, and ev'ryone gone!"[* Ne'ilah, (Hebrew) Conclusion, concluding prayer.]Exit Holiday
Farewell to the feast-day!Daniel journeyed to the kitchen.the pray'r book is stained
With tears; of the booth scarce a trace has remained;
The lime branch is withered, the osiers are dying,
And pale as a corpse the fair palm-frond is lying;
The boughs of grey willow are trodden and broken--
Friend, these are your hopes and your longings unspoken!Lo, there lie your dreamings all dimm'd and rejected,
And there lie the joys were so surely expected!And there is the happiness blighted and perished,
And all that aforetime your soul knew and cherished,
The loved and the longed for, the striven for vainly--
Your whole life before you lies pictured how plainly!The branches are sapless, the leaves will decay,
An end is upon us, and whence, who shall say?The broom of the beadle outside now has hustled
The lime and the palm that so pleasantly rustled.There blew a cold gust, from our sight all is banished--
The shaft from a cross-bow less swiftly had vanished!As
a proof of the most affecting distress, the King, he said, was serene
and even cheerful, and said he was protected by the King of kings.His
Majesty slept at Coppingford, but early in the May morning he was up,
and parted from Mr.Ferrar returned
to his house, and two days after it was known that the King had given
himself up to the Scottish army.*
Inglesant remained in prison, and would have thought that he had been
forgotten, but that every few weeks he was sent for by the Committee and
examined.The Committee got no new facts from him, and indeed probably
did not expect to get any; but it was very useful to the Parliament
party to keep him before the public gaze as a Royalist and a Jesuit.It
was a common imputation upon the Cavaliers that they were <DW7>s, and
anything that strengthened this belief made the King's party odious to
the nation.Here was a servant of the King's, an avowed Jesuit, and one
self-condemned in the most terrible crimes.It is true he was disowned
by the royal party, apparently sincerely; but the general impression
conveyed by his case was favourable to the Parliament, and they
therefore took care to keep it before the world.Mary went back to the office.These examinations were
looked forward to by Inglesant with great pleasure, the row up the river
and the sight of fresh faces being such a delight to him.He was not
confined to his room, being allowed to walk at certain hours in the
court of the Tower, and he found a box containing a few books, a
Lucretius, and a few other Latin books, probably left by some former
occupant of the cell.These were not taken from him, and he read and
re-read them, especially the Lucretius, many times.They saved him from
utter prostration and despair,--they, and a secret help which he
acknowledged afterwards,--a help, which to men of his nature certainly
does come upon prayer to God, to whatever source it may be ascribed;--a
help which in terrible sleepless hours, in hours of dread weariness of
life, in hours of nervous pain more terrible than all, calms the heart
and soothes the brain, and leaves peace and cheerfulness and content in
the place of restlessness and despair.Inglesant said that repeating the
name of Jesus simply in the lonely nights kept his brain quiet when it
was on the point of distraction, being of the same mind as Sir Charles
Lucas, when, "many times calling upon the sacred name of Jesus," he was
shot dead at Colchester.From the scraps of news he could
gather from his jailer, and from the soldiers in the court during his
walks, he learnt that the |
kitchen | Where is Daniel? | It was soon after he had learnt this last news that his jailer suddenly
informed him that he was to be tried for his life.Accordingly, soon after, a warrant arrived from Bradshaw, the President
of the Council of State, to bring him before that body.The Council sat in Essex House, and some gentlemen, who had surrendered
Pembroke upon terms that they should depart the country in three days,
but--accounting it base to desert their prince, and hoping that there
might be further occasion of service to His Majesty,--had remained in
London, were upon their trial.When Inglesant arrived with his guard
these gentlemen were under examination, and one of them, who had a wife
and children, was fighting hard for his life, arguing the case step by
step with the lawyers and the Council.Inglesant was left waiting in the
anteroom several hours; from the conversation he overheard, the room
being constantly full of all sorts of men coming and going--soldiers,
lawyers, divines--he learnt that the King's trial was coming on very
soon, and he fancied that his name was mentioned as though the nearness
of the King's trial had something to do with his own being hurried on.It was a cold day, and there was a large fire in the anteroom.Inglesant had had nothing to eat since morning, and felt weak and faint.He wished the other examinations over that his own might come on; his,
he thought, would not take long.At last the gentlemen were referred to
the Council of War, to be dealt with as spies, and came out of the
Council chamber with their guards.The one was a plain country
gentleman, and neither of them knew Inglesant, but, stopping a moment in
the anteroom, while the guard prepared themselves, one of them asked his
name, saying he was afraid they had kept him waiting a long time.This
was Colonel Eustace Powell, and Inglesant met him again when he thought
he had only a few minutes to live.The Council debated whether they should hear Inglesant that day, as it
was now late in the afternoon, and the candles were lighted, but finally
he was sent for into the Council.As soon as he came to the bar, Bradshaw asked him suddenly when he saw
the King last, to which he replied that he had not seen the King since
Naseby field."You were at Naseby, then?""Yes," said Johnny, "I ran away.""Then you are a coward as well as a traitor," said Bradshaw."I am not braver than other men," said Inglesant.Daniel went to the kitchen.Inglesant was then examined more in form, but very shortly; everything
he said having been said so often before.The President then told him that, by his own confession, he was guilty
of death, and should be hanged at once if he persisted in it, but that
the Council did not believe his confession--indeed, had evidence and
confessions from others to prove the reverse; and therefore, if he
persisted in his course, he was his own murderer, and could hope for no
mercy from God.That if he would sign the declaration which they
offered him, which they knew to be true, and which stated that he had
only acted under the King's orders, he should not only have his life
spared, but should very shortly be set at liberty.To this he replied that if they had evidence to prove what they said,
they did not want his; that he could not put his name to evidence so
contrary to what he had always confessed, and was prepared to stand by
to death; that, as to his fate before God, he left his soul in His
hands, who was more merciful than man.To this Bradshaw replied that they were most merciful to him, and
desired to save him from himself; that, if he died, he died with a lie
upon his lips, from his own obstinacy and suicide.Making no answer to this, he was ordered back to the Tower, and warned
to prepare himself for death.He saw clearly that their object was to
bring out evidence signed by him on the eve of the King's trial, which
no doubt would have been a great help to their cause.As he went back
in his barge to the Tower, he wondered why they did not publish
something with his name attached, without troubling themselves about his
consent.As they went down the river, the darkness became denser, and
the boat passed close to many other wherries, nearly running them down;
the lights on the boats and the barges glimmered indistinctly, and made
the course more difficult and uncertain.They shot the bridge under the
mass of dark houses and irregular lights, and proceeded across the pool
towards the Tower stairs.The pool was somewhat clear of ships, and the
lanterns upon the wharves and such vessels as were at anchor made a
clearer light than that above the bridge.As they crossed the pool, a
wherry, rowed by a single man, came towards them obliquely from the
Surrey side, so as to approach near enough to discern their persons, and
then, crossing their bows, suffered itself to be run down before the
barge could be stopped.The waterman climbed in at the bows, as his own
wherry filled and went down.He seemed a stupid, surly man, and might
be supposed to be either deaf or drunk.To the abuse of the soldiers
and watermen he made no answer but that he was an up-river waterman, and
was confused by the lights and the current of the bridge.The officer
called him forward into the stern, and as he came towards them Inglesant
knew him in spite of his perfect disguise.He
answered as many of the officer's questions as he appeared to
understand, and took no manner of notice of Inglesant, who of course
appeared entirely indifferent and uninterested.When they landed at the
stairs, the waterman, with a perfectly professional manner, swung
himself over the side into the water, and steadied the boat for the
gentlemen to land, which act the officer took as an awkward expression
of respect and gratitude.As Inglesant passed him he put his hand up
for his to rest on, and Johnny felt a folded note passed into it.Without the least pause, he followed the officer across the Tower wharf,
and was conducted to his room.As soon as he was alone he examined the
paper, which contained these words only:--
"You are not forgotten.It made little impression upon him, nor did it influence his after
conduct, which had already been sufficiently determined upon.He
expected very little help from any one, though he believed that Father
St.The Jesuit would have died himself at
any moment had his purpose required it, and he could not think that he
would regard as of much importance the fall of another soldier in the
same rank.He was mistaken, but he did not know it; the Jesuit, beneath
his placid exterior, retained for his favourite and cleverest pupil an
almost passionate regard, and would have done for him far more than he
would have thought worth the doing for himself.Meanwhile, Inglesant
translated his words into a different language, and thought more than
once that doubtless they were very true, and that, though in a sense not
intended, the end was very near.This took place at the beginning of December, and about a week
afterwards the jailer advised Inglesant to prepare for death, for the
warrant to behead him was signed, and would be put into execution that
day week at Charing Cross.He immediately sent a petition to the
Council of State, that a Priest, either of the Roman Catholic or the
English Church, he was indifferent which, might be sent him.To this an
answer was sent immediately that he was dying with a lie upon his lips,
and that the presence of no priest or minister could be of any use to
him, and would not be granted.The same day a Presbyterian minister was
admitted to him, who used the same arguments for some time without
effect, representing the fearful condition that Inglesant was in as an
unrepentant sinner.Inglesant began to regret that he had made any
application, and this regret was increased two days afterwards when a
man, who offered him certain proofs that he was a Roman Catholic Priest,
was admitted, and gave him the same advice, refusing him Absolution and
the Sacrament unless he complied.Upon this Inglesant became desperate,
and refused to speak again.The Priest waited some time and then left,
telling him he was eternally lost.This was the severest trial he had yet met with; but his knowledge of
the different parties in the Romish Church, and the extent to which they
subordinated their religion to their political intrigues, was too great
to allow him to feel it so much as he otherwise would.He resigned
himself to die unassisted.He applied for an English Prayer Book, but
this also was refused.He remembered the old monastic missals he had
possessed at Westacre, and thought over all those days with the
tenderest regret.Inglesant had passed a sleepless
night; he had not the slightest fear of death, but excitement made sleep
impossible.He thought often of his brother, but he had learned that he
was in Paris alone; and even had he been in England, he felt no especial
desire to see him under circumstances which could only have been
intensely painful.Mary Collet he thought of night and day, but he knew
it was impossible to obtain permission to see her, and he was tired of
fruitless requests.John journeyed to the garden.He was tired and wearied of life, and only wished
the excitement and strain over, that he might be at rest.It struck him
that the greatest harshness was used towards him; his food was very poor
and of the smallest quantity, and no one was admitted to him; but he did
not wonder at this, knowing that his case differed from any other
Loyalist prisoner.At about eight o'clock on the appointed morning, the same officer who
had conducted him before entered his room with the lieutenant of the
Tower, bringing the warrant for his death.The lieutenant parted from
him in a careless and indifferent way.They went by water and landed by
York Stairs, and proceeded by back ways to a house nearly adjoining
Northumberland House, facing the wide street about Charing Cross.From
one of the first floor windows a staircase had been contrived, leading
up to a high scaffold or platform on which the block was fixed.Inglesant had not known till that morning whether he was to be hanged or
beheaded; like every other thought, save one, it was indifferent to
him--that one, how he should keep his secret to the last.In the room
of this house opening on the scaffold, he found Colonel Eustace Powell,
whom he had met at Essex House, who was to precede him to death.He
greeted Inglesant with great kindness, but, as Johnny thought, with some
reserve.He was a very pious man, strongly attached to the Protestant
party in the Church of England, and he had passed the last three days
entirely in the company of Dr.S----, who was then in the room with him,
engaged in religious exercises, and his piety and resignation had
attached the Doctor to him very much.The Doctor now proceeded to ask
the Colonel, before Inglesant and the others, a series of questions, in
order that he should give some account of his religion, and of his
faith, charity, and repentance, to all of which he answered fully; that
he acknowledged his death to be a just punishment of God for his former
sins; that he acknowledged that his just due was eternal punishment,
from which he only expected to escape through the satisfaction made by
Christ, by which Mediator, and none other, he hoped to be saved.The
Doctor then asking him if, by a miracle (not to put him in vain hope),
God should save him that day, what life he would resolve to lead
hereafter?he replied, "It is a question of great length, and requires
a great time to answer.Men in such straits would promise great things,
but a vow I would make, and by God's help endeavour to keep it, though I
would first call some friend to limit how far I should make a vow, that
I might not make a rash one, and offer the sacrifice of fools."In answer to other questions, he said,--"He wished well to all lawful
governments; that he did not justify himself in having ventured against
the existing one; he left God to judge it whether it be righteous, and
if it be, it must stand.He desired to make reparation to any he had
injured, and he forgave his enemies."The Doctor then addressed him at length, saying,--
"Sir, I shall trouble you very little farther.I thank you for all
those heavenly colloquies I have enjoyed by being in your company these
three days, and truly I am sorry I must part with so heavenly an
associate.We have known one another heretofore, but never so
Christianlike before.I have rather been a scholar to learn from you
than an instructor.I wish this stage, wherein you are made a spectacle
to God, angels, and the world, may be a school to all about you; for
though I will not diminish your sins, yet I think there are few here
have a lighter load upon them than you have, and I only wish them your
repentance, and that measure of faith that God hath given you, and that
measure of courage you have attained from God."The Colonel, having wished all who were present in the room farewell,
went up on the scaffold accompanied by the Divine.The scaffold was so
near that Inglesant and the officers and the guards, who stood at the
window screened from the sight of the people, could hear every word that
passed.They understood that the whole open place was densely crowded,
but they could scarcely believe it, the silence was so profound.Colonel Powell made a speech of some length, clearing himself of Popery
in earnest language, not blaming his judges, but throwing the guilt on
false witnesses, whom, however, he forgave.He bore no malice to the
present Government, nor pretended to decide controversies, and spoke
touchingly of the sadness and gloom of violent death, and how mercifully
he was dealt with in being able to face it with a quiet mind.He
finally thanked the authorities for their courtesy in granting him the
death of the axe--a death somewhat worthy of his blood, answerable to
his birth and qualification--which courtesy had much helped towards the
pacification of his mind.Inglesant supposed the end was now come, but to his surprise the Doctor
again stepped forward, and before all the people repeated the whole
former questions, to each of which the Colonel replied in nearly the
same words.Then, stepping forward again to the front of the scaffold, the Colonel
said, speaking to the people in a calm and tender voice,--
"There is not one face that looks upon me, though many faces, and
perhaps different from me in opinion and practice but methinks hath
something of pity in it; and may that mercy which is in your hearts now,
be meted to you when you have need of it!I beseech you join with me in
prayer."The completest silence prevailed, broken only by a faint sobbing and
whispering sound from the excited and pitying crowd.Colonel Powell
prayed for a quarter of an hour with an audible voice; then taking leave
again of his friends and directing the executioner when to strike, he
knelt down to the block, and repeating the words, "Lord Jesus, receive
me," his head was smitten off with a blow.A long deep groan, followed by an intense silence, ran through the
crowd.The officer who accompanied Inglesant looked at him with a
peculiar expression; and, bowing in return, Inglesant passed through the
window, and as he mounted the steps and his eyes came to the level of,
and then rose higher than the interposing scaffold, he saw the dense
crowd of heads stretching far away on every hand, the house windows and
roofs crowded on every side.He scarcely saw it before he almost lost
the sight again.A wild motion that shook the crowd, a roar that filled
the air and stunned the sense, a yell of indignation, contempt, hatred,
hands shook and clutched at him, wild faces leaping up and staring at
him, cries of "Throw him over!"made his senses reel for a moment, and his
heart stop.It was inconceivable that a crowd, the instant before
placid, pitiful, silent, should in a moment become like that, deafening,
mad, thirsting for blood.The amazing surprise and reaction produced the
greatest shock.Hardening himself in a moment, he faced the people, his
hat in his hand, his pale face |
bedroom | Where is John? | Once or twice
he tried to speak; it would have been as easy to drown the Atlantic's
roar.As he stood, apparently calm, this terrible ordeal had the worst
possible effect upon his mind.Other men came to the scaffold calm in
mind, prepared by holy thoughts, and the sacred, tender services of the
Church of their Lord, feeling His hand indeed in theirs.They spoke,
amid silence and solemn prayers, to a pitying people, the name of Jesus
on their lips, the old familiar words whispered in their ears, good
wishes, deference, respect all around, their path seemed smooth and
upward to the heavenly gates.Denied the
aid of prayer and sacrament, alone, overwhelmed with contempt and
hatred, deafened with the fiendish noise which racked his excited and
overwrought brain.He was indifferent before; he became hardened,
fierce, contemptuous now.All the worst spirit
of his party and of his age became uppermost.He felt as though engaged
in a mad duel with a despised yet too powerful foe.He turned at last
to the officer, and said, his voice scarcely heard amid the unceasing
roar,--
"You see, sir, I cannot speak; do not let us delay any longer."The officer hesitated, and glanced at another gentleman, evidently a
Parliament man, who advanced to Inglesant, and offered him a paper, the
purport of which he knew by this time too well.He told him in his ear that even now he should be set at liberty if he
would sign the true evidence, and not rush upon his fate and lose his
soul.He repeated that the Parliament knew he was not guilty, and had
no wish to put him to death.Inglesant saw the natural rejoinder, but did not think it worth his
while to make it.Only get this thing over, and escape from this
maddening cry, tearing his brain with its terrible roar, to something
quieter at any rate.He rejected the paper, and turning to the officer he said, with a motion
towards the people of inexpressible disdain,--
"These good people are impatient for the final act, sir; do not let us
keep them any longer."The officer still hesitated, and looked at the Parliament man, who shook
his head, and immediately left the scaffold.The officer then leaned on
the rail, and spoke to his lieutenant in the open space round the
scaffold within the barriers.The latter gave a word of command, and the
soldiers fell out of their rank so as to mingle with the crowd.As soon
as the officer saw this manoeuvre completed, he took Inglesant's arm,
and said hurriedly,--"Come with me to the house, and be quick."Not
knowing what he did, Inglesant followed him hastily into the room.A yell, to which the noise preceding it was as
nothing--terrible as it had been,--a shower of stones, smashing every
pane of glass, and falling in heaps at their feet,--showed the fury of a
maddened, injured people, robbed of their expected prey.The officer looked at Inglesant, and laughed."I thought there would be a tumult," he said; "we are not safe here; the
troops will not oppose them, and they will break down the doors.He led Inglesant, still almost unconscious, through the back entries and
yards, the roar of the people still in their ears, till they reached a
stair leading to the river, where was a wherry and two or three guards.The officer stepped in after Inglesant, crying, "Pull away!then, leaning back, and looking at Inglesant, he said,--
"You stood that very well.I would rather mount the deadliest breach
than face such a sight as that."Daniel went to the kitchen.Inglesant asked him if he knew what this extraordinary change of
intention meant.To which he replied,--
"No; I acted to orders.Probably you are of more use to the Parliament
alive than dead; besides, I fancy you have friends.That afternoon, a report spread through London that Inglesant, the
King's servant, had confessed all that was required of him upon the
scaffold, and had his life given him in return.This report was
believed mostly by the lower orders, especially those who had been
before the scaffold; but few of the upper classes credited it, and even
these only did so for a day or two.The Parliament made no further
effort; and Inglesant was left quietly in prison.This happened on the 19th of December, and on the 20th of January the
King's trial began.That could scarcely be called a trial which
consisted entirely in a struggle between the King and the Court on a
point of law.In the charge of high treason, read in Westminster Hall
against the King, special mention was made of the commission which he
"doth still continue to the Earl of Ormond, and to the Irish rebels and
revolters associated with him, from whom further invasions upon the land
are threatened."There appear to have been no witnesses examined on
this point, all that were examined during three days, in the painted
chamber, simply witnessing to having seen the King in arms.Indeed, all
witnesses were unnecessary, the sentence having been already determined
upon, and the King utterly refusing to plead or to acknowledge the
Court.The King, indeed, never appeared to such advantage as on his
trial; he was perfectly unmoved by any personal thought; no fear,
hesitation, or wavering appeared in his behaviour.He took his stand
simply on the indisputable point of law that neither that Court, nor
indeed any Court, had any authority to try him.To Bradshaw's assertion
that he derived his authority from the people, he in vain requested a
single precedent that the Monarchy of England was elective, or had been
elective, for a thousand years.In his abandonment of self, and his
unshaken constancy to a point of principle, he contrasted most
favourably with his judges, whose sole motive was self.That none of
the Parliamentary leaders were safe while the King lived is probable;
but sound statesmanship does not acknowledge self-preservation as an
excuse for mistaken policy, and the murder of the King was not more a
crime than it was a blunder.Having been condemned by this unique
Court, he was, with the most indecent haste, hurried to his end.A
revolting coarseness marks every detail of the tragic story; the flower
of England on either side was beneath the turf or beyond the sea, and
the management of affairs was left in the hands of butchers and brewers.Ranting sermons, three in succession, before a brewer in Whitehall, is
the medium to which the religious utterance of England is reduced, and
Ireton and Harrison in bed together, with Cromwell and others in the
room, signed the warrant for the fatal act.The horror and indignation
which it impressed on the heart of the people may be understood a little
by the fact, that in no country so much as in England the peculiar
sacredness of Monarchy has since been carried so far.The impression
caused by his death was so profound, that, forty years afterwards, when
his son was arrested in his flight, the only thing that during the whole
course of that revolution caused the least reaction in his favour was
(according to the Whig Burnet) the fear that the people conceived that
the same thing was going to be acted over again, and men remembered that
saying of King Charles--"The prisons of princes are not far from their
graves."He walked across the park from the garden at St.James's that
January morning with so firm and quick a pace that the guards could
scarcely keep the step, and stepping from his own banqueting house upon
the scaffold, where the men who ruled England had so little understood
him as to provide ropes and pulleys to drag him down in case of need, he
died with that calm and kingly bearing which none could assume so well
as he, and by his death he cast a halo of religious sentiment round a
cause which, without the final act, would have wanted much of its
pathetic charm, and struck that keynote of religious devotion to his
person and the Monarchy which has not yet ceased to reverberate in the
hearts of men."That thence the royal actor borne
The tragic scaffold might adorn,
While round the armed bands
Did clap their bloody hands:
He nothing common did, nor mean,
Upon that memorable scene;
But with his keener eye
The axe's edge did try;
Nor called the gods with vulgar spite
To vindicate his helpless right,
But bowed his comely head
Down, as upon a bed."John journeyed to the garden._The Republican, Andrew Marvell._
*CHAPTER XV.*
Inglesant remained in the Tower for several months after the King's
death.The Lords Hamilton, Holland, and Capel were the first who
followed their royal master to the block, and many other names of equal
honour and little inferior rank followed in the same list.In excuse
for the murders of these men there is no other plea than, as in the case
of their master--self-preservation.But the purpose was not less
abortive than the means were criminal.The effect produced on the
country was one of awe and hatred to the ruling powers.John journeyed to the bedroom.Thousands of
copies of the King's Book, edged with black, were sold in London within
the few days following his death, and Milton was obliged to remonstrate
pitifully with the people for their unaccountable attachment to their
King.The country, it is true, was for the moment cowed, and, although
individual gentlemen took every opportunity to rise against the
usurpers, and suffered death willingly in such a cause, the mass of the
people remained quiet.The country gentlemen indeed were, as a body,
ruined; the head of nearly every family was slain, and the widows and
minors had enough to do to arrange, as best they might, with the
Government agents who assessed the fines and compositions upon
malignants' estates.It required a few years to elapse before England
would recover itself, and declare its real mind unmistakably, which it
very soon did; but during those years it never sank into silent
acquiescence to the great wrong that had been perpetrated.It is the
custom to regard the Commonwealth as a period of great national
prosperity and peace.There never was
a moment's peace during the whole of Cromwell's reign of power.He began
by destroying that Parliament utterly, for seeking the arrest of five
members of which the King lost his crown and was put to death.The best
of the Republican party were kept in prison or exiled, just as the King
had been seized and executed by Cromwell, independently of the
Parliament.But the oppressed sections of the Puritan party never
ceased to hate the usurper as much as the Royalists did, and the want of
their support insured the fall of the Republic the moment the master
hand was withdrawn.After a few months Inglesant's imprisonment was much lighter; he was
allowed abundance of food, and liberty to walk in the courtyards of the
Tower, and was allowed to purchase any books he chose.He had received
a sum of money from an unknown hand, which he afterwards found to have
been that of Lady Cardiff, his brother's wife, and this enabled him to
purchase several books and other conveniences.Daniel went to the garden.He remained in prison
under these altered circumstances until the end of January 1650, when,
one morning, his door opened, and without any announcement his brother
was admitted to see him.Eustace was much altered; he was richly
dressed, entirely in the French mode, his manner and appearance were
altogether those of a favourite of the French Court, and he spoke
English with a foreign accent.He greeted his brother with great
warmth, and it need not be said that Johnny was delighted to see him.Eustace told his brother at once that he was free, and showed him the
warrant for his liberation."I was in Paris," he said, "on the eve of starting for England on
affairs which I will explain to you in a moment, when 'votre ami' the
Jesuit came to see me.He told me he understood I was going to England
on my private affairs, but he thought possibly I might not object to do
a little service for my brother;--you know his manner.He said if I
would apply in certain quarters, which he named to me, I should find the
way prepared, and no difficulties in obtaining your release.The words
were true, and yesterday I received this warrant.As soon as it is
convenient to you I shall be glad for you to leave this sombre place, as
I want you to come with me to Oulton, to my wife,--my wife, who is
indeed so perfectly English in all her manners, as I shall proceed to
explain to you.Since you were at Oulton my wife has been growing worse
and worse in health, and more and more eccentric and crotchety; every
new remedy and every fresh religious notion she adopts at once.She has
filled the house with quacks, of whom Van Helmont is chief, mountebanks,
astrologers, and physicians,--a fine collection of beaux-esprits.The
last time I was there I could not see her once, though I stayed a
fortnight; she was in great misery, extremely ill, and said she was near
her last.Since I have been in Paris I have been obliged to give up
many of my suppers with the French King and Lords, from her letters
saying she is at the point of death.She is ill at present, and no one
has seen her these ten days; but I suppose it is much after the same
sort; and she sends me word that Van Helmont has promised that she shall
not be buried, but preserved by his art till I can come and see her.To
crown all, she has lately become a Quaker, and in my family all the
women about my wife, and most of the rest, are Quakers, and Mons.Van
Helmont is governor of that flock,--an unpleasing sort of people,
silent, sullen, and of reserved conversation, though I hear one of the
maids is the prettiest girl in all the county.These and all that
society have free access to my wife, but I believe Dr.More, the
Platonist, who is a scholar and gentleman, if an enthusiast, though he
was in the house all last summer, did not see her above once or twice.She has been urging me for months to search all over Europe for an
eagle's stone, which she says is of great use in such diseases as hers;
and when I, at great labour and expense, found her one, she sends back
word that it is not one, but that some of her quacks were able to
decipher it at once, and that it is a German stone, such as are commonly
sold in London at five shillings apiece.I have grown learned in these
stones, by which the fairies in our grandfather's time used to preserve
the fruits from hail and storms.This
eagle stone is one made after a cabalistic art and under certain stars,
and engraved with the sign of an eagle.I could prove their virtue to
you," he continued laughing, "throughout all arts and sciences, as
Divinity, Philosophy, Physic, Astrology, Physiognomy, Divination of
Dreams, Painting, Sculpture, Music, and what not.This affair of the
stone, and these reports of sickness and death, however, and doleful
stories of coffins prepared by art, and of open graves, would not have
brought me over, but for another circumstance of much greater moment.When I was in Italy and stayed some time at Venice, and was desirous of
engaging in some of the intrigues and amusements of the city, I was
recommended to an Italian, a young man, who made himself useful to
several of the nobility, as a man who could introduce me to, and show me
more of that kind of pleasure, than any one else.I found him all that
had been represented to me, and a great deal more, for, not to tell you
too long a story, he was an adept at every sort of intrigue, and was
acquainted at any rate with every species of villany and vice that the
Italians have conceived.The extent to which they carry these tastes of
theirs cannot |
bathroom | Where is Daniel? | To cut this short, I was very
deeply engaged to him, and in return I held some secrets of his, which
he would not even now have known.At last, upon some villanous proposal
made by him, I drew upon him.We had been dining at one of the Casinos
in St.Daniel went to the kitchen.Mark's Place, and I would have run him through the body, but the
crowd of mountebanks, charlatans, and such stuff, interposed and saved
him.He threatened me highly, but as I
was a foreigner and acquainted with most of the principal nobles, he
could do me no harm.He endeavoured to have me assassinated more than
once, and one Englishman was set upon and desperately wounded in mistake
for me; but by advice I hired bravoes myself who baffled his plots, for
I had the longest purse.I knew nothing of him afterwards until I heard
that he had left Italy, a ruined and desperate man, whose life was
sought by many; and the next thing I heard, not many weeks ago, was that
he was at Oulton, having gained admission to my wife as a foreign
physician who had some especial knowledge of her disease.She fancies
herself much the better for his nostrums, and gives herself entirely to
his directions, and I believe he professes Quakerism, or some sort of
foreign mysticism allied to it, which has established him with the rest
of her confidants.John journeyed to the garden.I no sooner heard this pleasing information than I
resolved to come over to England at once, and at least drive away this
villain from my family, even if I had no other way to do it than by
running him through the body, as I might have done in Italy.I,
however, sent a messenger to my wife to inform her that I was coming,
and on my reaching London a few days ago, I found him waiting for me
with a packet from Oulton.Some twenty-six of the
guest circle were present and were greeted with elegant hospitality by
the home circle.They are always doing something new at OCEAN GROVE, NEW YORK.The last
has been a Tree Planting Day.On April 15 the C. L. S. C. planted a
beautiful maple for each class respectively of ’85, ’86, ’87, and ’88.Representatives of each class were present, the largest number, of
course, being for 1888.A. E. Ballard, and an appropriate song for each tree set out
in Bishops’ Grove.In the evening a “service extraordinary” was held;
trees and tree planting were the topics of talks, of songs, reading
and reminiscences.——The PALMYRA C. L. S. C. has enjoyed two evenings
in chemistry recently, Prof.J. C. Norris, of Walworth Academy, kindly
explaining dark points to them, and performing many fine experiments.John journeyed to the bedroom.The circle is very warm in its praise of the lecture and lecturer.——A
Chautauqua circle consisting of fifteen members was organized at
UNION SPRINGS in January of this year.The members make their lessons
interesting and profitable with music, questions, and readings.——The
“Philomathean,” of LANCASTER, has a capital way of working in its
inexperienced members.“Questions, criticisms, and commendations are
interspersed through the whole evening.We aim to draw out the silent
ones, to make all interested and feel themselves responsible; try to
have every one feel that he _must_ take every appointment, and allow no
one to escape his turn at getting up question lists and easy work, and
so seek to train them for the more difficult work.” This circle is not
yet a year old, and numbers fifteen members.——We are happy to introduce
the first C. L. S. C. inventors.The “Unique” circle, of LOCKPORT, claim
that honor.Their invention is a game made up from the questions and
answers in THE CHAUTAUQUAN, and is intended to form a comprehensive
review of the year’s work.“The Unique” is the title of it.Would it
not be generous in the Lockport circle to share their discovery with
the rest of us?——The “Argonaut” circle, of Buffalo, entertained a large
number of invited friends at a special meeting held in April.The “Argonauts” deserve special credit for the
efforts that they are making to awaken interest in the affairs of the
C. L. S. C. by extra meetings.——At YONKERS there is a circle now in
its third year which has never reported to THE CHAUTAUQUAN before.Their work during the past three years of their
existence has been in regular programs of essays, readings, and questions
and answers, with an occasional variation to suit necessity.This year
they held a very successful memorial service in honor of Longfellow’s
day, and more recently have had a valuable lecture, with experiments, on
chemistry.——Fourteen persons are reading the Bryant course in connection
with THE CHAUTAUQUAN, at MUNNSVILLE.The circle did not undertake work
until January, so adopted a short course for the rest of this year rather
than try the regular course.We hope to find them at work on the regular
course next fall, with their hopes of a larger membership gratified.“Our Junto” is a circle within a circle.Five young men of the “Broadway”
circle, of CAMDEN, NEW JERSEY, form it.Their program for the spring
(of which they ought to be very proud) is a little book rather than a
single page, containing the work laid out for the “Juntonians.” The
plan is admirable.Each member has something to do at every meeting,
and he knows what it is to be so long beforehand that he has ample
opportunity to gather material.Daniel went to the garden.All circles will find it to their
advantage to give attention to “Our Junto’s” plan.——Last October a few
of the many students in the C. L. S. C. in NEWARK, organized a local
circle.By the perseverance of these few others have been persuaded
to join until the circle numbers about twenty.They have taken the
name “Arcadia.” Memorial days in particular find pleasant observance.The last celebration, Longfellow day, was especially interesting.The
chemistry is furnishing an excellent opportunity for experiments, which
the “Arcadia” is fortunate enough to have a chance to carry on in an
academy laboratory.——For the sake of northern New Jersey, which they are
sorry not to see often reported in THE CHAUTAUQUAN, the members of the
“Hawthorne,” of HACKETTSTOWN, a circle of five members, formed in April
last, has sent us thus promptly its report.The “Hawthorne” plunged _in
medias res_ and celebrated the Shakspere memorial almost as soon as its
organization was complete.Such a vigorous start promises well for their
progress next year.——The “Round Table” circle of JERSEY CITY is a band
of twenty enthusiastic workers.A great deal of genuine hard work has
been done by them the past year.The memorial days are celebrated, and
every incentive used to foster the true Chautauqua spirit.Experiments
have recently been given the class at the high school under the direction
of the teacher of science.——The “Ionic,” organized in DOVER, in January
last, grows in interest with each meeting.There are nine members, whose
happy experience thus far has been never to be discouraged.Daniel went to the bedroom.“Each member does his part.”
The “Kensington,” of PHILADELPHIA, is a circle of eleven members who are
much in love with their readings.Such a success has their circle become
that the members are willing to sacrifice other things to be present, and
the president writes that he has received great benefit in going over
again the fields of study that he harvested years ago.——A letter from
the secretary of the “Pleiades,” of PHILADELPHIA, says: “‘Pleiades’ is
now nearly two years old.We began the present school year by increasing
our membership from nine to eighteen.We took the advice given in THE
CHAUTAUQUAN on simplicity of government, adopting such rules only as
would systematize matters, and having as little formality as possible.The meetings are so profitable that we think of
continuing them all summer.Two of our members have taken college courses
in chemistry, and they have been giving us some practical experiments
in this delightful study.Greetings to our sister circles, and praises
to our _alma mater_.”——The “Emanon” circle, of WEST PHILADELPHIA, has
sustained a sad loss in the death of Mr.John S. Rodgers, to whom the
circle ascribes its success.He had been the instructor of the class for
a long enough time for its members to appreciate his worth and sincerely
mourn his death.——A similar sorrow has come to the circle of WEST
BELLEVUE, where Mrs.W. G. Humber, a loyal member of the C. L. S.
C., died on the morning of May 3d.——The Chautauquans of PITTSBURGH make
more of Special Sunday than any other circles that we know of.Our last
reminder of this is a tiny vest-pocket program of the exercises carried
out by the “Duquesne” and “Mount Washington” circles on the second
Sabbath in May.——The circle at UNIONDALE writes us that it has chosen
for its name “Meredith,” in honor of Samuel Meredith, first Treasurer of
the United States, and for their motto they have selected “Spare minutes
are the gold dust of time.”——What better proof of the efficiency of the
course than this testimony from the “Tennyson” circle of thirty members,
at ROCHESTER, PA.: “We think generally that our most pleasant evenings
are spent at our circle.One thing that deserves to be especially noted
is that light reading among us is being superseded by solid study and the
reading of standard authors.”——A circle of ’88s, at ALLEGHENY CITY, bears
the popular name of “Wallace Bruce.” Starting with eighteen members they
have grown to twenty-eight, a sign, we hope, that next year they will
increase with the same rapidity.Their program of Shaksperean exercises
is before us, and it bears some excellent numbers.——The “Carbondale”
circle reports a prosperous year.The interest and enthusiasm of the
members is increasing.The memorial days are all observed, and by
devoting ten to fifteen minutes of each session to singing the circle is
becoming familiar with Chautauqua songs.G. R. Alden gave
the circle some very happy talks on their return from their recent trip
to the Florida Chautauqua and New Orleans Exposition.The circle closed
its first year with a trip to England; this year it closed with a “Greek
night.” Going direct to France they propose to visit Paris, Switzerland,
Italy and Greece.Arrived in Hellas, the manners, customs, home life and
amusements of the Greeks are to be described in short essays.Each member
intends to constitute “thonself” a committee of one to secure a new
member for next year’s circle.——An appreciative letter reaches us from
SPRINGBORO, where a circle now numbering fifteen has been in existence
since 1881.The president writes: “While we are nearing the goal of
graduation we look back with gratitude at our rich feast with kings and
princes, with masters of art, of science, and of literature.Best of all,
we find that we have been made to more clearly understand the wonderful
power of the Infinite in all things.With our motto ‘Invincible’ still
before us we hope not only to finish the course, but keep climbing with
the Chautauqua brotherhood while life lasts.”——Let all good Chautauquans
congratulate the fraternity at MONTROSE.Thus the secretary writes: “It
has long been a wish that we might have a branch of the C. L. S. C.
in our ‘City on the Hill.’ Four attempts were made, but to no avail;
finally a few who were especially enthusiastic endeavored to push ahead
once more.The result has been more successful than we anticipated.We
organized in January with nine members, and now have grown to sixteen.We
trust that July will find us with the desired amount of work fully and
well accomplished.There is a most encouraging prospect of doubling the
membership another year.”
Twenty-seven enrolled members make up the circle at ERIE, PA.The circle
meets in the Y. M. C. A. parlors, and the informal, pleasant meetings
have proved a great attraction to the members.The Shakspere memorial
was observed very successfully, by a parlor session.The literary part
of the program consisted of a discussion on the authorship of Shakspere,
followed by readings, then came refreshments and the evening was closed
by a half hour of Chautauqua songs.Not many evenings ago an address was
delivered by the president on Emerson, followed by an hour of practical
observation through the telescope.The Erie circle claims that they have
interesting meetings, and as a proof say that a non-member, a blind man,
is in almost constant attendance.——About 100 members of the C. L. S. C.
Alumni Association of PITTSBURGH met in a social way at the parlors of
the Seventh Avenue Hotel on April 20th, to enjoy the pleasures attendant
upon the third annual reunion of the society.Arrangements had been
partially made for the reception of Dr.Vincent, who had been expected,
but the following letter was received instead:
To the Annual Reunion of the Pittsburgh C. L. S. C. Alumni
Association, Pittsburgh, Pa.:
MY DEAR FELLOW-STUDENTS—I sincerely regret the engagement which
had been made prior to the invitation to meet you this evening.I am
therefore denied the privilege of your feast of reason and flow
of soul.The Chautauqua work increases in expansion and power.I have the good hope that
the classes of ’89, already forming, will be the largest and
most flourishing of all.I am more and more convinced that there
are multitudes of people who would hail with joy the provisions
of the “C.Daniel went to the bathroom.L. S. C.” if they were simply informed concerning
them.Are you doing all you can toward the enlightenment of the
great public with regard to the C. L. S. C. and other branches
of the Chautauqua work?Let me urge you to renewed zeal in this
direction.Bidding you “a hearty God speed,” I remain your
servant in this goodly work.At a recent meeting of the “Evergreen” circle, of GREENVILLE, S. C., the
circle expressed in a series of fitting resolutions the sorrow of the
members at the death of Mr.Richard Grant White, and their appreciation
of the value of his recent work for THE CHAUTAUQUAN.A letter from PETERSBURG, VIRGINIA: “We organized our circle last
October, but it was almost January before we got fairly started.We
follow closely the work laid out in THE CHAUTAUQUAN, occasionally having
a public meeting.Our observance of the Longfellow and Shakspere days was
as creditable as any literary exercises ever presented in our vicinity.Our desire for books has been so much increased by the C. L. S. C. that
we have resolved to establish a library for the reading element of our
city, and we have begun by the purchase of a few works as a nucleus.”
ORANGE CITY, FLORIDA, has the beginning of, we hope, a large circle, in
six readers who are taking the C. L. S. C. with their general reading.They use the questions and answers and make the general news of the week
a feature of every program.The “Orange City” circle is looking forward
to an assembly some day at Mount Dora.OHIO comes in |
hallway | Where is Daniel? | Daniel went to the kitchen.I hope he will persevere and enjoy the exercises
until he reaches the age of at least three of the ‘Irrepressibles of
’84,’ two of whom are 75 years of age and one 84.The last is still
reading for another seal and hopes to be at Chautauqua in August.Hope
the member from Kansas will press on in the work he has begun, for
there are great possibilities before him which can only be attained by
perseverance.John journeyed to the garden.He will retain his mental faculties fresh and vigorous as
in youth.Press on, good brother, and you will reap your reward here and
hereafter.”——The C. L. S. C. of CINCINNATI and vicinity held their _Sixth
Annual Reunion_ on May 5th in the parlors of the First Presbyterian
Church.A goodly number were present from “Alpha” circle, “Cumminsville,”
“Christie,” “Mt.Auburn,” “Cheviot,” “Grace M. P.,” “Third Presbyterian,”
“Emanuel,” “Covington,” “Newport,” “Madisonville” and “Walnut Hills.”
The program consisted of an address of welcome by J. G. O’Connell, Esq.S. N. Spahr, followed by music, readings, and recitations.The room was brilliantly decorated with mottoes and class emblems, and
a profusion of choice and fragrant flowers.From the chandeliers were
suspended the class dates, ’85, ’86, ’87, and ’88, and the letters S. H.
G. and under these were grouped merry companies, who took part in the
collation, which was not the least enjoyable feature of the program.The
quarterly vesper service was held on Special Sunday, May 9th, at Grace
M. P. Church.E. F. Layman, President of
“Grace” circle.S. N. Spahr gave a very excellent address to the
members upon knowledge rightly directed.——The “Young Men’s” circle of
CINCINNATI has been doing good work this year.The circle is composed
of companion workers in church and Sabbath school, and the bounds of
union have been strengthened by the united study of the “Word and Works
of God.” The Chautauqua studies were taken up by them with an earnest
desire to better fit themselves for successful work.John journeyed to the bedroom.Their faith and
courage has been severely tried by the death of one of their active,
earnest members, Mr.George E. Wilcox—a sorrow which they are struggling
to make a blessing.——The class of ’88 has a live section at MORROW, the
“Irving.” There are over thirty regular attendants in the band and their
fortnightly meetings are conducted like college recitations, a pastor
being the instructor.May the “Irvings” prosper and multiply.A friend writes from NORWAY, MICHIGAN: “We wish to be recognized by our
fellow-workers as a prosperous circle, although a small one, and we are
very glad we have joined them.” The “Norway” has made a splendid record
in its year’s existence, having met every week since last October.It
need not fear a lack of cordial welcome here.——“Thornapple” circle, of
NASHVILLE, boasts a history very similar to that of the “Norway.” It
was first organized a year ago, and its membership is ten.The members
are all workers, and kindly report themselves highly pleased with the
Chautauqua Idea.——A letter full of the Chautauqua characteristics comes
from DECATUR: “Our ‘<DW29>’ circle of twenty-five members have held
regular meetings since October.We are enthusiastic, and have done
genuine work.We have had a ‘question
match’ upon Greek History and Mythology, the winner of the contest
receiving as a prize an original poem.On Founder’s day the question
box was on ‘What has Chautauqua done for me?’ On Longfellow’s memorial
the circle visited a neighboring class, spending a merry evening.But
the red-letter day of the year was April 23d, when a dinner party was
tendered the members and their husbands by one of the circle.It was
generally pronounced the most enjoyable affair the town had had in many
a day and served as a good advertisement of what the C. L. S. C. does
for its members.Few of our guests knew how much we had done or could
do.”——An unusually good joint meeting took place at FLINT in honor of
Shakspere.Two circles of the C. L. S. C. and one of the Spare Minute
Course united.After
taking up in essays Shakspere’s Character, Home Life and Contemporaries,
the essays were all studies of one play—“Macbeth;” thus the plot of
“Macbeth” was outlined, then followed “Macbeth’s Character,” “Lady
Macbeth,” “Who was Duncan?” “Witches and Ghosts,” and “Moral of Macbeth.”
This is a much more satisfactory method than several disjointed readings
or studies.Daniel went to the garden.The evening was closed by conversation and readings,
conducted by an able Shaksperean scholar, Hon.Shakspere himself would, we wager, have been nothing loath to have taken
part in the celebration given in his memory at GOSHEN, INDIANA; for
“Kitchen Science” illustrated took up the first part of the evening, and
the supper, we are told, was not confined to the articles on which THE
CHAUTAUQUAN has tried to instruct its readers this past year.In the
evening, after these gastronomic exercises were finished, a literary
program was carried out.——Here is a circle “of the first magnitude.” Read
its record.“The FRANKLIN C. L. S. C. of INDIANA has increased during the
past three years from a membership of twelve to forty-five.We have never
failed in having our regular meetings every two weeks since we first
organized.During the past winter the circle managed the lecture course
of our city, and as one of the results cleared nearly $100.Chancellor
Vincent was one of the lecturers, and the members of our circle were
delighted to meet him after hearing ‘That Boy.’”——The C. L. S. C. at
LIMA, representing classes ’85, ’86, ’87 and ’88, is one of the brightest
and most wide-awake circles in the State.The circle was organized
three years ago, and now has a pleasantly furnished room with piano,
library, etc.; meets every Friday evening, and observes all memorial
days.——SHAWNEE MOUND has a Chautauqua class of twenty-three members.Daniel went to the bedroom.We
are pleased to notice that the circle passed, at a recent meeting, a
resolution of respect in memory of Richard Grant White, expressing their
sorrow at the loss which American scholarship, and in particular the
C. L. S. C. have sustained.——We are pained to record the death of Mr.John, at SALEM, on May 1st.The Chautauqua work loses in him a
faithful friend.It has been remarked in these columns already that “Alpha” of QUINCY,
ILLINOIS, is famous for its novelties.Their latest sensation was the
very practical illustration of a subject given before the circle by the
secretary.This gentleman is a native of Hibernia, and so was chosen for
a paper on dynamite.When called upon to perform he produced a package
of the explosive, much to the consternation of the members.——There died
at RUSHVILLE, on April 18th, the oldest member, without doubt, of the
C. L. S. C. in the world, Mr.Three years ago his
daughter began reading to him the books of the course.He took a lively
interest in these readings, and finally joined the class of ’86.Had he
lived it was his intention to have visited Chautauqua at the graduation
of his class.——A good woman from CHICAGO writes: “I went about from house
to house among my friends, and finally succeeded in inducing three young
persons, all earning their own living, to begin the readings with me.…
We sit around a table socially, and discuss freely our literary repast.…
I forgot to say that I am a very busy woman, the mother of three boys.My best reading is often done after nine at night, when the little eyes
are closed in sleep.”——The announcement of a new C. L. S. C. arrival
is made from OREGON, where the “Ganymede” of twenty members appeared
in October last.Busy people, but they feel that they can not afford
to miss the Saturday evening meeting.The meetings are to be continued
through the summer for the purpose of review.——Another Illinois addition
made to the C. L. S. C. last fall was at SAVOY, where a club of eighteen
was gathered.Notwithstanding the very severe weather and deep snow,
and the fact that the circle members are farmers, living far apart, the
sessions are full and wide-awake.A very good plan has been tried by
the circle in chemistry, the blackboard being used for exercises.Every
circle ought to have a blackboard.——The history of the class at BUCKLEY
began in 1882, when six members met in informal meetings for discussion.In 1884 it was thought wise to organize formally.Since that time the
circle has been making a decided impression upon the community.Two
public meetings have been given, which have attracted general attention.At the last, the closing session of the year, thoughtful remembrance was
made of the president by the gift of a beautiful chair.——A band of nine
join the ranks from WARREN.It is only of late the class has found a
name.It is “Meridian,” from the fact that the town is situated on one
of the meridians.The circle has been following THE CHAUTAUQUAN in its
plan of work, using the published programs, with slight variation.——“It
takes three to make a circle,” writes a lady from FARINA, “and we are
three; one ‘Invincible,’ one ‘<DW29>,’ and one ‘Plymouth Rock.’ We are
scattered as to time, but are united in interest, in enthusiasm, and
in determination.Our circle was organized in November, 1881, only a
dot—myself—but though alone, and unsuccessful in securing readers,
and hindered in every way from doing the best of work, there was a
satisfaction in doing the readings that nothing had ever brought into my
life.Daniel went to the bathroom.What we shall accomplish as a circle, the future will reveal, but
there is no ‘giving up’ to any of us.”——A Chautauqua circle of MOLINE,
not yet a year old, and a Shaksperean circle, under the same direction
as the former, have been coöperating the past season in a series of
parlor meetings of great interest.In January it was a dinner party; on
Founder’s day a literary performance with brief essays on Chautauqua
subjects; and on Shakspere day a decidedly new thing—a Shaksperean
quotation contest.No one was allowed to give a quotation that had been
given by another, and the successful competitor took the prize on his
ninety-fifth quotation.——We are in receipt of the Longfellow program of
the “Oakland” circle, of CHICAGO; an excellent and varied list of numbers
it is.Daniel went back to the hallway.The “Oakland” is a wide-awake circle.From MARKESAN, WISCONSIN, the secretary of “Climax” circle writes: “We
are still in a flourishing condition.Although some who were with us last
year have gone to new homes, we have new members to make up those we have
lost.There are no very young students in the class, but one has to wear
two pairs of spectacles to see.We have observed most of the memorial
days, and found the programs in THE CHAUTAUQUAN very useful.”——What one
zealous reader did is told in a note from DARLINGTON: “Last year myself
and daughter read the course alone.Before the beginning of the present
year I put a short article explaining the C. L. S. C. scheme into our
local paper, and called a meeting of all those who would like to take the
course.The result is that we now have a circle of thirteen.There will
probably be an increase next year.”
A beautiful souvenir of the Longfellow celebration of the “Vincent”
circle at MILWAUKEE, MINN., has reached our table.The memorial was a
perfect success, and with justice the members felt very proud of it.The
“Vincent” is another circle sprung from the faithfulness of a single
reader, a lady who in 1883 began the course, and in 1884 had gathered a
circle of twenty-two about her, each one of whom responds promptly and
faithfully to all calls for class work.——The “Quintette” of “Plymouth
Rocks” at DULUTH have been doing the regular work since October, in
informal meetings led by the different members in turn.They expect soon
to change their name to suit an enlarged membership.——The “Gleaners,”
of ZUMBROTA, with a goodly number of their friends were treated to an
interesting program of exercises on Shakspere day.The “Gleaners” are
a power in their community, and have, they say, “enough enthusiasm to
fill up an evening without refreshments.”——At HASTINGS a circle began
life in October with sixteen regular members, besides several local
members.The class has had a sad break in its ranks by the death of Miss
Kate Stebbins, a bright young woman who had undertaken the C. L. S. C.
studies.——ST.John travelled to the bathroom.PAUL bids fair to become exactly what its Chautauquans are
aiming to make it, a great C. L. S. C. center.To this end a “Central”
circle has been formed in the city, composed of six circles, the
“Wakouta,” “Itasca,” “Dayton’s Bluff,” “Plymouth,” “Canadian American,”
and “Pioneer,” and numbering in all over an hundred members.The
“Central” circle celebrated Longfellow’s day by a very enjoyable program,
and is trying to make arrangements for other joint entertainments.Paul friends are proud of having two of their number prominent at
Lake de Funiak, Mrs.Emily Huntington Miller, one of the founders of
the “Pioneer” circle, and Dr.L. G. Smith, pastor of the First M. E.
Church.——The home of the Minnesota Summer Assembly, WASECA, is the center
of a stirring circle of twenty members.The increase in the circle is
largely due to the efforts of the Rev.A. H. Gillet and his colaborers at
the Assembly, which met at this lake for the first time last year.The
“North Star,” of Waseca, offers a very attractive plan of work.The IOWA friends come in as strong as ever.WINTERSET reports a new
circle of twenty-five members, with a weekly program published in the
local paper, and growing zeal.——DUNLAP reports another which is in its
second year, and which numbers twenty-three.An especially good program
was arranged by these friends recently.A number of their members
visited New Orleans the past winter, and an evening of sketches of
Exposition sights was arranged.——“Sunny Side Straight Line,” of HAMBURG,
is composed of two school ma’ams.They meet whenever and wherever it is
convenient; after five |
bedroom | Where is Daniel? | Pleased with the course, they are looking forward to joining
the “<DW29>s” at Chautauqua in 1887.——The AFTON circle had the pleasure
of celebrating its first memorial day on April 23d.They succeeded so
admirably that Addison day was observed as well.The Afton circle pays a
kind tribute to the work: “We are glad the Chautauqua Idea struck us, but
sorry it failed to reach us sooner.It has been of untold benefit to us,
opening to our view new fields of thought, and arousing new resolutions
for the future.”——At BLANCHARD the “<DW29>” class gave an entertainment
not long ago for the benefit of their work.An elocutionist was secured
and after the performance the C. L. S. C. and its aims were presented to
the audience.The circle realized a nice little sum from their venture,
which they propose to turn into maps, charts and the like for their room.An excellent idea.——Kindly mention we must make, also, of the DECORAH
circle.Like all Iowa circles, it “grows.” The secretary writes: “We
began last year with quite a small number, but have kept adding to our
numbers until there are eighteen now who are reading the course.Our
circle is composed entirely of ladies, the most of whom have work that
takes up the greater part of their time.We have very pleasant meetings
and derive much pleasure and profit from them.”——WASHINGTON, IOWA, has a
circle of thirty members.It has been holding weekly meetings for over
two years.At the close of last year this circle held a picnic with
the Fairfield circle, and this year they have distinguished themselves
by an elaborate Longfellow entertainment.“Miles Standish” was read
and illustrated by tableaux.The Washingtonians certainly displayed
extraordinary artistic ability in arranging one, at least, of these
tableaux.They wanted “Priscilla” led in on her “Snow-white Bull,” but
how to manage the “palfrey” was a question.Here is how they did it: A
long narrow table was padded, the legs wrapped, a head with suitable
horns constructed, and the whole thing finally wrapped with white
cotton-flannel.“Necessity is the mother of invention.”——A beautiful
memorial comes from one of the members of the circle at HUMBOLDT.“My
mother, aged eighty-one years, died March 4th.Daniel went to the kitchen.She was the first one in
this county to become interested in the C. L. S. C. She made her eldest
grandson a member, bought the books for the first year’s course, and
read them first, marking whatever she wished him to notice.At our class
meetings she always selected from the Bible the chapter to be read at
the opening exercises.… A grand helper has left us.”——At KEOSAUQUA a
circle was organized as long ago as ’82.Of the original eight members
only three are left, but the circle has more than held its own, now
numbering twelve or more members.They are fortunate in having as a
leader a teacher of unusual ability.——At TABOR a circle was organized
last September, which, with a goodly membership of interested members,
is doing excellent work.A Professor from Tabor College has helped this
circle much by performing for them chemical experiments.John journeyed to the garden.The Chautauqua work has lost one of its strongest members in COOPERSTOWN,
DAKOTA, this year, in the sad death of Mrs.H. G. Pickett, who
accidentally shot herself in her husband’s bank in that town.She was an
ardent admirer of the Chautauqua work, and her life a true exposition of
the truths that the C. L. S. C. is striving to bring into the practical
every-day life of its members.——A spirited Shakspere anniversary was
celebrated at FAULKTON.The parlors where the circle met were filled to
overflowing with delighted guests, and full exercises of tragedy, song
and jest were carried out.The “Kate F. Kimball” circle, of MINNEAPOLIS, KANSAS, started on its
career in October last with a membership of thirteen.Their plan is
simple and practical—a sure way of introducing conversation.Each member
is required to prepare five questions on the readings, which are given
to the circle, and which are then discussed.This method would serve a
good purpose in the _conversazione_.——The _Kansas City Journal_ suggests
that Tuesday night in that city ought to be called Chautauqua night, as
nearly a dozen circles meet there on that evening.——The “Clytie,” of
ARKANSAS CITY has had a severe trial of its loyalty this year.Malarial
fever has broken their ranks so that they have been able to hold but a
few meetings.It does not dampen their ardor though, and they express
all honor and gratitude to Superintendent and Counselors for their wise
help.The “Clytie” joins another Kansas circle in protesting against
the name “Plymouth Rocks.” This is the “Greenwood,” of EUREKA, which
declares, “We can not become reconciled to it.” The “Greenwood” does not,
however, allow its pleasure in the reading to be spoiled by the class
name, for it writes: “Chautauqua gives us a broad departure from our
daily cares and ruts which is very refreshing, and we trust it will be of
benefit to us.”——Here is a five-year-old Kansas town, EVEREST, of five
hundred inhabitants, with a circle of sixteen members.Here is certainly
a chance, with such a start, to grow up with the country.——Greetings
to the class of ’86, and to all Chautauquans, come from the circle at
LEAVENWORTH.Its chief circle interest is
the question box, which frequently leads to a lively discussion.They are
favored in having secured an excellent leader, the Rev.Several of this class are reading the White Seal course.There are in NEBRASKA nineteen circles of the C. L. S. C. A strong
effort is being made to secure at the Assembly at CRETE, in July,
a full attendance of representatives from all these organizations.John journeyed to the bedroom.Accept a word of advice from THE CHAUTAUQUAN.Go to Crete if you can
get there.It will pay you in more than double measure to take part in
the exercises of C. L. S. C. day.Of the nineteen circles of Nebraska,
the one at LINCOLN takes the lead, we believe, in numbers.It has
reached forty-seven, with an average attendance of about forty.In
recognition of the literary character of the circle the Superintendent
of Public Instruction in Lincoln has kindly opened a room in the new
State House to the circle.The Lincoln circle, as befits its location
at the capital of the State, is taking active measures to make the C.
L. S. C. day at Crete a success.Already they have attracted public
attention by a unique Shaksperean festival, at which a number of guests
were entertained.——Another of the nineteen is at FALLS CITY, an ’88
offspring.An executive committee of
three appoints instructors for the review of each meeting, following
the plan in THE CHAUTAUQUAN.The class observed Longfellow day with
appropriate exercises.Our Falls City friends have chosen a name with a
meaning—“Misselts”—“I will surmount all difficulties.” Not an easy name
to take, by any means, but the “Misselts” is made up of school teachers
mainly, and what can they not do?——An addition to the Nebraska circles
is made at HOLDREGE.It came about in this way, writes a friend: “I left
my home circle in Indiana in December last and started out to ‘try my
fortune in the far West.’ I first stopped at Odell, Nebraska, and tried
to introduce the ‘Chautauqua Idea’ there.I found it was already being
talked of, and by the efficient efforts of a gentleman interested in the
movement, a grand, earnest circle was organized.In February I came to
Holdrege, the ‘Magic City,’ as it is called, naturally expecting every
one to be interested in the C. L. S. C. I had almost decided to give up
the course, because I was so busy, when I met a teacher of the town—a
‘<DW29>.’ We have formed a circle, and next year instead of having the
smallest number possible, expect to compare favorably with any in the
State.”——BLAIR has a circle of twenty-two members this year.Daniel went to the garden.A small
circle has been at work in the town for two years, but this year its
membership has increased in remarkable proportions.Blair is situated
within sight of the Missouri River, and from this noble stream the circle
calls itself the “‘Souri.” Occasional parlor meetings for invited friends
are enlarging the work rapidly in Blair.Already we have given our readers hints of the noble way in which
Professor Spring has been representing Chautauqua at NEW ORLEANS.His
last public exploit was the Shaksperean Anniversary.Daniel went to the bedroom.From a local paper
we learn of the success of the undertaking: “The thirty-first birthday of
the Stratford-on-Avon bard was celebrated last evening at the Exposition.The ceremonies were gotten up almost entirely by Prof.Edward A. Spring,
director of the Chautauqua classes in sculpture.It was hoped that Judge
Braughn and other local gentlemen learned in Shaksperean lore would have
been present, but a heavy storm prevented.The ceremonies, however,
were very successful, though briefer than had been intended.They were
presided over by ex-Governor Hoyt, from far-away Wyoming, chief of the
jury on education, who made a brief but eloquent oration in commencing
the proceedings.He dwelt on the incomparable greatness of Shakspere
and the immense influence his writings have had on the many millions of
people speaking the English tongue, and showed how, as the centuries roll
on and as the English speaking peoples grow and multiply, the luster
that attaches to his name must grow brighter and brighter.The friends followed into the next room--a large dining-apartment.There were chairs along the wall; in the middle a long table, at the
upper end of which three covers were laid.The young girl seated
herself between the gentlemen and offered them a cold repast."When I
saw you in the churchyard, I thought that you would visit my father;
the table has been set for you for some time."The friends ate a
little, and thanked her still more."I regret that our coming should make such a demand on your time," said
the Professor, gravely."My task is easy," answered the young girl."I fear that yours will
give you more trouble.Daniel went to the bathroom.There are many sitting-rooms in the house as
well as bedrooms and attics.""I have already told your father," answered the Professor, laughing,
"that it is not our intention to examine the building like masons.Pray
look upon us as curious people who only wish to see this remarkable
house, in so far as it would otherwise be opened to guests.""The house may be considered remarkable by strangers," said Ilse; "we
like it because it is warm and roomy; and when my father had been some
years in possession of the estate, and had the means to do so, he had
the house comfortably arranged to please my deceased mother.We require
plenty of room, as I have six younger brothers and sisters, and it is a
large estate.The overseers of the farm eat with us; then there are the
tutor and Mamselle, and in the servants' hall there are also twenty
people."The Doctor regarded his neighbor with a look of disappointment.What
had become of the Sibyl?She spoke sensibly and very much like a
citizen; with her something might be accomplished."A$ we are searching for hollow spaces," he began slyly, "we would
rather trust to your guidance, if you would tell us whether there are
any places in the wall, or on the ground, or anywhere here in the
house, that you know of, which could be discovered by knocking?"Daniel went back to the hallway."O, there are plenty of such places!""If one knocks upon
the wall at the back of the small cupboard in my room, it is evident
there is an empty space behind; then there is the flagstone under the
stairs, and many flags in the kitchen, and still more in other parts of
the house, regarding which every one has his conjectures."The Doctor had taken out his memorandum-book and noted the suspicious
places.It was a fine old building; the
walls of the lower story were so thick that the Doctor with extended
arms could not span the depths of the window-niches.John travelled to the bathroom.He eagerly
undertook the sounding, and began measuring the walls.The cellars were
partly hewn in the rock.In some places the rough stone still
projected, and one could perceive where the wall rested on the rock.There were vast vaults, the small windows in the top of which were
protected by strong iron bars,--in ancient times a secure refuge
against the shot and assault of the enemy.All was dry and hollow, for
the house was built, as the Doctor had already before so acutely
suggested in speaking of old buildings, with outer and inner walls, and
filled between with rubbish and broken stones.Naturally, therefore,
the walls in many places sounded as hollow as a gourd.The Doctor
knocked, and diligently took note.The knuckles of his hand became
white and swelled, and the number of good places discouraged him.From the cellar they went to the ground-floor.In the kitchen, kettles
and pots were steaming, and the women who were working looked with
curiosity at the demeanor of the strangers, for the Doctor kept
stamping with his heel on the stone floor, and with his hands sounded
the blackened side-wall of the hearth.Behind were store-rooms and the
visitors' rooms.In one of these they found a woman in mourning,
occupied in arranging the beds.Daniel travelled to the office.She approached the strangers, and thanked them for having helped to pay
the last honors to her child.The friends spoke kindly to her; she
wiped her eyes with her apron and returned to her work."I begged her to remain at home to-day," said Ilse, "but she would not.It would, she thought, be good for her to have something to do, and we
would need her help as you were coming to us."It pleased our scholars to see that by the female members of the house,
at least, they were considered as guests entitled to remain.They went over the other side of the ground-floor, and once more
examined the unpretentious room in which they had been first received.Behind it lay the private room of the proprietor, a small unadorned
chamber, in which were a closet with shooting and riding gear, and a
shelf for title-deeds and books; over the bed hung a sword and pistols,
and on the writing-table there was a small model of a machine, and
samples of corn and seeds in small bags; against the wall stood, in
military array, gigantic water-boots, Russian leather boots, and
top-boots for riding; and in the further corner half-boots of calf
skin.Daniel went to the bedroom.In the next room they heard a man's voice, and the answers of
children in regular succession."That is the school-room," said Ilse, smiling.As the door opened, both
solo and chorus stopped.The teacher, a student with an intelligent
face, rose to return the greeting of the newcomers.The children stared
with astonishment at the unexpected interruption.Three boys and three
girls sat at two tables, a vigorous, fair-haired race."These are
Clara, Luise, Rickchen, Hans, Ernest, and Franz."Clara, a girl of fourteen, almost grown up, and a youthful picture of
her sister, rose with a courtesy.Hans, a sturdy boy, twelve years old,
made an ineffectual attempt at a bow.The others remained standing
straight, staring fixedly at the strangers, and then, as if having
|
kitchen | Where is John? | Only little Franz, a rosy-cheeked, curly-headed urchin, seven years
old, remained sitting grimly over his troublesome task, and made use of
the interruption quickly to find in his book something for his next
answer.Ilse stroked his hair, and asked the tutor, "How is he doing
to-day?""It is too hard," cried Franz, bitterly.The Professor begged the tutor not to disturb himself, and the journey
recommenced through the bedroom of the boys, and of the tutor, and
again through the store-rooms, the ironing and wardrobe rooms.The
Doctor had long since put his memorandum-book in his pocket.They returned to the main hall, where Ilse pointed out the stone slab
on the step.Once more the Doctor knelt down, tried it, and said
despondingly, "Hollow again.""Here, then, our curiosity comes to an end," replied the Professor,
considerately; "you see even my friend abandons the search.""But there is a fine view above; this, at least, you must see," said
their guide."Come in," said Ilse, unembarrassed."From this window
you see the road by which you came to us."This also was an unpretentious
room; there was not even a sofa in it.The walls were painted blue; at
the window was a work-table and some flowers; in a corner was the bed
concealed by white curtains.The friends walked immediately to the window, and looking out saw the
little churchyard and the tops of the oaks, the small town in the
valley, and the rows of trees behind, which ran in curved lines up the
height where the view terminated.The Professor fixed his eyes on the
old wooden church.How much in a few hours had his tone of mind
altered!Glad expectation was followed by the seeming frustration of
their hopes, and yet this disappointment was succeeded by a pleasing
repose."That is our road into the outer world," indicated Ilse; "we often
look in that direction when father has been on a journey and we are
expecting him, or when we hope for some good news by the postman.And
when frequently our brother Franz tells how he will go into the world
when a man, away from his father and family, he thinks that the
roads there will always look like our footpath bordered with its
willow-trees.""He is my baby-brother; we lost our good mother while he was still a
mere infant.The poor child never knew his mother; and once when he
dreamt of her, the other children maintained that he had changed her
into me, for she wore my dress and my straw hat.This is the cupboard
in the wall," she said, sorrowfully, pointing to a wooden door.Daniel went back to the kitchen.The
friends followed in silence, without looking at the cupboard.She
stopped before the adjoining room, and opened the door: "This was my
mother's room, it is unaltered, just as she left it; our father
generally spends some time here on Sundays.""We cannot allow you to lead us any further," said the Professor."I
cannot tell you how painful I feel our position in regard to you to be.Forgive us this indelicate intrusion upon your privacy.""If you do not wish to see the house further," answered Ilse, with a
look of gratitude, "I will gladly take you into our garden, and through
the farmyard.Father will not be pleased if I withhold anything from
you."A back door led from the hall into the garden; the flower-beds were
edged with box, and filled with summer flowers--the old indigenous
plants of gardens.Vines climbed up the house, as far as the windows of
the upper story, and the green grapes everywhere peeped through the
bright foliage.A hedge of quickset separated the flower-beds from the
kitchen-garden, where, besides vegetables, there were hops climbing up
high poles.Further on, a large orchard, with a fine lawn, sloped down
into the valley.There was nothing remarkable to be seen here; the
flower-beds were in straight lines; the fruit trees stood in rows; the
venerable box and hedge were stiffly trimmed, and without gaps.The
friends looked back constantly over beds and flowers to the house, and
admired the brown walls showing through the soft foliage of the vine,
as well as the stonework of the windows and gables."In the time of our forefathers it was a sovereigns' residence,"
explained Ilse, "and they used to come here every year to hunt.But now
nothing but the dark wood back there belongs to him.In it is a
shooting-box, where the head-forester resides.It is a long time since we have seen our dear
prince, and we live like poor orphans.""We do not know much about him; but we believe that he is good.Many
years ago, when I was yet a child, he once breakfasted at our house,
because there was no convenient place in Rossau.Then I was surprised
that he wore no red mantle; and he patted me on the head, and gave me
the good advice to grow, which I have honestly followed.It is said
that he will come again this year to hunt.If he stops with us again,
the old house must put on its best attire, and there will be hot cheeks
in the kitchen."While they were walking peaceably among the fruit trees, a clear-toned
bell sounded from the farmyard."That is the call to dinner," said
Ilse."I will take you to your room; the maid will show you to the
dining-room."The friends found their valises in the visitors' room, and were shortly
after summoned by a gentle knock at the door, and conducted into the
dining-room.There the proprietor was awaiting them, together with
half-a-dozen sun-burnt officials of the farm, the Mamselle, the tutor,
and the children.When they entered, the Proprietor spoke to his
daughter in a window-niche; the daughter probably gave a favorable
report of them, for he came toward them with unclouded countenance, and
said in his abrupt way, "I hope you will put up with our fare."He then
introduced the strangers to those present, calling them by their names,
and adding, "two gentlemen from the University."Every one stood behind
his chair, placed according to his station and age.The Proprietor took
the head of the table, next him Ilse; on the other side the Professor
and Doctor; then on both sides the farm officials, after them, the
Mamselle and the girls, the tutor and the boys.Little Franz approached
his seat at the lower end of the table, folded his hands and
monotonously pronounced a short grace.Then all the chairs were drawn
forward at the same moment, and two maids in peasant costume brought in
the dishes.It was a simple meal; a bottle of wine was placed between
the strangers; the host, his family, and the dependants drank a dark,
golden beer.Silently and zealously each one fell to; only at the upper end of the
table was there any conversation.The friends expressed to the
Proprietor the pleasure that the house and its surroundings afforded
them; and the host laughed ironically when the Doctor praised the thick
walls of the structure.Then the talk rambled on to the surrounding
country, and the dialect and character of the peasantry."It has struck me again to-day," said the Professor, "with what
suspicion the peasants regard us city folks.They regard our language,
manners, and habits as those of another race; and when I see what the
agricultural laborer has in common with the so-called educated classes,
I feel painfully that it is much too little.""And whose fault is it," retorted the host, "but that of the educated
classes?Do not take it amiss, if I tell you, as a simple man, that
this high cultivation pleases me as little as the ignorance and
stubbornness which surprises you in our country people.You yourselves,
for example, make a long journey, in order to find an old forgotten
manuscript which was written by an educated man in a nation that has
passed away.But I ask what have millions of men, who speak the same
language as you, are of the same race, and live near you, what have
they gained by all the learning that you have acquired for yourselves
and small numbers of wealthy people of leisure?When you speak to my
laborers, they do not understand you.If you wished to speak to them of
your learning, my farm hands would stand before you like savages.I tell you, so long as this lasts, we
are not a well-conditioned people.""If your words are meant as a reproach to my vocation," answered the
Professor, "you are unjust; for we are now actively employed in making
the discoveries of the learned accessible to the people.That much more
should be done in this direction, I do not deny.But at all periods
serious scientific investigations, even when only intelligible to a
very small circle, have exercised an invisible influence on the souls
and lives of the people in general.These scientific investigations
develop the language, give certain tendencies to thought, gradually
evolve customs, ethics, and laws, according to the needs of every age.Not only practical inventions and increasing wealth are facilitated by
them; but also, what surely will not seem less important to you, the
ideas of man about his own life, the manner in which he performs his
duty toward others, the feeling with which he regards truth and
falsehood,--for all this each one of us is indebted to the erudition of
the nation, no matter how little interest he may take in the various
investigations.Science is like a great
fire that must be incessantly maintained in a nation, because flint and
steel are unknown to them.I am one of those whose duty it is
constantly to throw fresh logs into the burning mass.It is the task of
others to carry the holy flame throughout the land, to the villages and
cottages.Every one whose object it is to diffuse that light, has his
rights, and no one should think meanly of another.""There is some truth in that," said the host thoughtfully."If the great fire does not burn," continued the Professor, "the single
flames could not be spread.And, believe me, what most strengthens and
elevates an honorable man of learning in the most difficult
investigations, is the fact, confirmed by long experience, that his
labors will in the end conduce to the benefit of mankind.They do not
always help to invent new machines, nor discover new plants for
cultivation, but they are nevertheless effective for all, when they
teach what is true and untrue, beautiful and ugly, good and bad.In
this sense they make millions freer, and therefore better.""I see at least by your words," said the host, "that you hold your
vocation in high esteem; and I like that, for it is the characteristic
of an honest man."This conversation produced a pleasant frame of mind in both men.The
Inspector rose, and in a moment all the chairs of the farm dignitaries
were pushed back, and the children and most of the party left the room.Only the host, Ilse, and the guests sat together for a few moments
longer in pleasant conversation.Then they went into the next room,
where coffee was prepared.Ilse poured it out, while the Proprietor
from his seat scrutinized the unexpected guests.The Professor set the empty cup down and began: "Our task here is
ended, and we have to thank you for a hospitable reception.But I do
not like to part without once more reminding you--"
"Why should you go?""You have had a long
journey to-day; you will not find either in the town or in the
neighboring villages any respectable lodging, and, in the pressure of
the harvest, perhaps not even a conveyance.Pray be contented to pass
the night here; we have, besides, to resume our conversation of this
morning," he added, good-humoredly, "and I am anxious to come to a good
understanding before we part.Will you accompany me for a while into
the field, where my presence is required?When I ride to the distant
part of the farm, Ilse will take my place.In the evening we will have
a little sensible talk together."The three men walked
through the field engaged in genial conversation.John travelled to the kitchen.The Professor was
interested to see the large ears of a new variety of barley, which grew
very densely, and the Proprietor spoke thoughtfully of this new species
of corn.Then the overseer
handed his report to the Proprietor, after which they crossed the
stubble to the sheaves.The Proprietor glanced quickly over the
gathered shocks, the industrious people, and the patient horses in the
harvest wagons; the friends observed with interest the intercourse
between the master of the property and his subordinates and laborers;
the short orders and pertinent answers; the zeal and cheerful aspect of
the working-people when they announced the number of the sheaves, all
well-behaved, industrious, and acting in unison.They returned with a
feeling of respect for the man who ruled his little domain so firmly.On their way back they stopped to look at the foals that were gamboling
about in a meadow behind the barns, and when the Doctor praised, above
all, two galloping browns, it appeared that he had admired the best
horses, and the Proprietor smiled upon him benignantly.At the entrance
to the farmyard a groom brought a riding-horse, a powerful black, with
strong limbs and broad chest: the Doctor stroked the horse's neck, and
the Proprietor examined the straps."I am a heavy rider," he said, "and
need a strong animal."He swung himself heavily into the saddle, and,
taking off his cap, said, "We meet again in the evening."And stately
did horse and rider look, as they trotted along the road through the
field."The young lady awaits you," said the groom; "I am to escort you to
her."asked the Doctor, laughing, and
taking hold of his friend's arm."A struggle has begun," answered the friend seriously, "and who can say
what will be the result?"Ilse was sitting in an arbor of honeysuckle in the garden, surrounded
by the children.It was a pleasant sight to see the young fair-haired
family together.The girls sat by their sister; the boys ran around the
arbor playing, with their afternoon luncheon in their hands.Seven
fresh, well-formed faces, as like each other as blossoms on the same
tree, yet each developing itself at a different period of life, from
Franz, whose round child's head resembled a blooming bud, to the
beautiful, full-blown face and figure that sat in the centre, brightly
lighted up by the glancing rays of the sun.Again were the hearts of
the friends thrilled by the appearance of the girl and the sound of her
voice, as she tenderly scolded little Franz because he had knocked the
bread and butter out of his brother's hands.Again did the children
stare suspiciously at the strangers, but the Doctor ignored the
ceremonial of first acquaintance by taking Franz by the legs and
placing him on his shoulders, seating himself with his rider in the
arbor.The little lad sat for a few moments on his elevation quite
surprised, and the children laughed aloud at his round eyes looking so
frightened at the stranger's head between his little legs.But the
laughter of the others gave him courage, and he began to pummel lustily
with his feet, and to brandish his bread triumphantly round the locks
of the stranger.Thus the acquaintance was made; a few minutes later,
the Doctor went with the children through the garden, allowing himself
to be chased, and trying to catch the shouting crew between the
flower-beds."If you like, we will go where you can obtain the best view of our
house," said Ilse, to the Professor.Surrounded by the children they walked along the road that led to the
church.A winding footpath ran down to the bottom, where a strip of
meadow bordered the bubbling brook.From this deep dell they ascended
some hundred steps.Before them rose from the copse a huge rock; they
passed round it and stood by a stone grotto.The rock formed the portal
and walls of a cave which penetrated about ten paces into the hill.The
ground was level, covered with white sand; bramble-bushes and wild
roses |
garden | Where is Daniel? | The trace of an old
wall on the side showed that the cave had once been a refuge either for
the oppressed or the lawless; at the entrance lay a stone, the upper
surface of which had been smoothed for a seat; in the obscure light of
the background stood a stone bench."There is our house," said Ilse, pointing over the valley to the height
where the gables rose behind the fruit trees of the garden."It is so
near that a loud call would be heard here."The friends looked from the twilight of the cave into the bright light
of day, on the stone house and the trees which stood below it."All is quiet in the wood," continued Ilse; "even the voice of the
birds has ceased; they have left their nests for the harvest fields,
where they congregate in flocks.""I hear a gentle murmur, like the gurgling of water," said the
Professor."A stream runs over the stones below," explained Ilse."Now it is
scanty, but in the spring much water collects from the hills.Then the
sound of the rushing water becomes loud, and the brook courses wildly
over the stones; it covers the meadows below, fills the whole valley,
and rises up to the copse-wood.But in warm weather this is a pleasant
resting-place for us all.When my father bought the estate the cave was
overgrown, the entrance choked up with stones and earth, and it was the
abode of owls.The Professor examined the cave with curiosity, and struck the red rock
with his cane.Ilse standing apart watched him with troubled look."Now
he is beginning his search," she thought."It is all old stone," she exclaimed.The Doctor had been clambering outside the cave with the children.He
now freed himself from Hans, who had just confided to him that among
the thick alder bushes there was the empty nest of a mountain titmouse."This must be a wonderful place for the legends of the country," he
exclaimed, with delight; "there cannot be a more charming home for the
spirits of the valley.""People talk absurd stuff about it," rejoined Ilse, with a tone of
disapprobation."They say that little dwarfs dwell here, and that their
footsteps can be perceived in the sand, yet the sand was first brought
here by my father.Nevertheless, the people are frightened, and when
evening comes the women and children of the laborers do not like to
pass it.But they conceal this from us, as my father cannot bear
superstition.""The dwarfs are evidently not in favor with you," answered the Doctor."As there are none, we ought not to believe in them," replied Ilse,
eagerly."Men ought to believe what the Bible teaches; not in wild
beings that, as they say in the village, fly through the wood in the
night.Lately an old woman was ill in a neighboring village, no one
would bring her any food, and they disgracefully rejoiced in her
sickness because they thought the poor woman could change herself into
a black cat and injure the cattle.When we first heard of it, the woman
was in danger of dying of starvation.The Doctor had meanwhile noted down the dwarfs in his note-book; but he
looked dissatisfied at Ilse, who, speaking from the dusk in the rear of
the cave, resembled a legendary figure."She does not object to sly Jacob, who deceived his blind father by
putting kid skins on his arms; but our fairy-lore is distasteful to
her."He put his note-book up again and went with Hans after the titmouse.Daniel went back to the kitchen.The Professor had, with amusement, observed the secret vexation of his
friend; but Ilse turned to him, saying:
"I am surprised that your friend takes note of such stories; it is not
right, such things should be forgotten.""You know that he himself does not believe in them," answered the
Professor, in mitigation."What he searches for are only the traditions
of the people.For these legends originated in a time when our whole
nation believed in these spirits, as they do now the teachings of the
Bible.He collects these reminiscences in order to ascertain what was
the faith and poetry of our ancestors."Then after a time she said:
"This also, then, is connected with your labors.""It is good to listen to you," continued Ilse, "for your mode of speech
is different from ours.Formerly when it was said of any one, he speaks
like a book, I thought it was a reproach; but there is no doubt that
this is the correct expression, and it gives one pleasure to listen."Thus saying, with her large open eyes she looked from the interior of
the grotto at the Scholar, who stood in the entrance leaning against
the stone, brightly lighted up by the rays of the sun."There are, however, many books that talk badly," answered the
Professor, smiling; "and nothing tires one so much as lengthy
book-wisdom from living mouths.""Yes, yes," acquiesced Ilse."We have an acquaintance, a learned woman,
Mrs.When she visits us on Sundays, she places herself on the
sofa, and begins a discourse with my father.He cannot escape her, turn
which way he will, she knows how to pin him down by talking about the
English and Circassians, comets and poets.But the children discovered
she had a cyclopedia for conversation, from which she gathers it all;
and when anything happens in the country, or the newspapers make a
noise about anything, she reads in the cyclopedia what bears upon it.We have procured the same book, and when her visit is impending, we
think over what subject is then uppermost.Then the children look out
and read this beforehand, Saturday evenings; and our father also
listens and himself looks at the book, and the next day the children
are delighted that father vanquishes the lady by means of her own book;
for our book is a newer edition, and has new events in it of which she
knows little.""So Sunday is the time when we can win honors here," said the
Professor."In winter we meet often during the week," continued Ilse."But there
is not much intercourse in the neighborhood; and if we sometimes chance
to have a visitor who leaves some pleasant thoughts behind, we are
grateful and preserve them faithfully.""Yet the best thoughts are those which come to men through their own
exertions," said the Professor, kindly."The little that I have seen on
the estate here tells me how beautifully life can thrive, even when far
removed from the noisy bustle of the world.""That was a kindly speech," exclaimed Ilse."But we are not lonely
here; and we do interest ourselves about our countrymen, and about the
great world.When the neighboring proprietors come to visit, not a word
is said about the farm, and amusing subjects are talked of.Then there
is our dear Pastor, who tells us about things in foreign parts, and
reads the newspapers that are taken by my father with us.And when
there are applications in them for contributions to serve a good
object, the children are liberal, and each gives his mite from his
savings, but our father gives abundantly.And Hans, as the eldest,
collects, and has the right to pack up the money, and in the
accompanying letter he sets down the initial of the name of each that
has contributed.Then afterwards there comes a printed receipt, when
each looks for his own initial.Often a wrong one has been printed, and
this vexes the children."From the distance they heard the cries and laughter of the children,
who were returning with the Doctor from their excursion.The girl rose,
the Professor approached her, and said with much feeling:
"Whenever my thoughts revert to this day, it will be with a feeling of
heartfelt gratitude for the manner in which you have so honestly spoken
of your happy life to a stranger.""You are not a stranger to me; for I saw you at the child's grave."The joyous troop surrounded them both, and they proceeded further into
the valley.It was evening when they returned to the house where the proprietor was
already awaiting them.After supper the elders passed another hour
together.The strangers gave an account of their tour, and told the
last news from the world; and then there was conversation on politics,
and Ilse rejoiced that her father and the strangers agreed so well on
the subject.When the cuckoo on the house dock proclaimed that it was
ten, they separated with a friendly good-night.The housemaid lighted the strangers to their bedroom.Ilse sat on a
chair with her hands folded on her lap, looking silently before her.After a short time the proprietor came from his room and took the
bedroom candle from the table."Very much, father," said the maiden, gently."They are not such simpletons as they look," said the host, pacing to
and fro."What he said of the great fire was right," he repeated, "and
that about our little governments was also right.The younger would
have made a good schoolmaster; and as for the tall one, by heaven it is
a shame that he has not worn jack-boots these four years; he would be a
clever inspector.The daughter rose and followed her father to the
door.John travelled to the kitchen."Do the strangers remain here to-morrow, father?""Hum," said the host, meditating."They will remain for dinner at all
events; I will show them over the farm.See that you have something
nice for dinner.""Father, the Professor has never in his life eaten roast pig," said the
daughter."Ilse, what are you thinking of?Daniel went back to the bedroom."No, I cannot stand that; be content with
your poultry.Just hand me the volume of the encyclopedia
lettered T, I want to read up about that fellow.""Here, father; I know where it is."The Doctor looked through the window into the dark court.Sleep and
peace lay over the wide space; from a distance sounded the tread of the
watchman who went his rounds through the homestead, and then the
suppressed howl of the farm dog."Here we are," he said, at last, "two genuine adventurers in the
enemy's fortress.Whether we shall carry anything away from it, is very
doubtful," he continued, looking significantly at his friend, with a
smile.Daniel journeyed to the garden."It is doubtful," said the Professor, measuring the room with long
strides."What is the matter with you, Felix?"asked Fritz, anxiously, after a
pause; "you are very absentminded, which is not usually your way."I have strong but confused feelings, which
I am trying to control.I fear I have this day received an impression
against which a sensible man should guard himself.Ask me nothing
further, Fritz," he continued, pressing his hand vehemently.Fritz, deeply troubled, placed himself on his bed, and looked for a
boot-jack.he asked, in a low tone, and, in order
to appear unconcerned, tapping with his foot on the floor."A worthy man," answered the Professor, again stopping, "but his manner
is different from what we are accustomed to.""He is of old Saxon origin," the Doctor proceeded, "broad shoulders,
giant height, open countenance, solidity in every movement.The
children also are of the same type," he continued; "the daughter is
somewhat of a Thusnelda.""The similitude does not apply," rejoined the Professor, roughly,
continuing his walk.Fritz drew off the second boot in a slightly discordant mood.He has the bright hair of his
sister.""No comparison," said the Professor, again laconically.Fritz placed both boots before the bed, and himself upon it, and said
with decision:
"I am ready to respect your humor, even when I cannot quite understand
it; but I beg you to take into consideration that we have forced
ourselves on the hospitality of these people, and that we ought not to
take advantage of it beyond to morrow morning.""Fritz," cried the Professor, with deep feeling, "you are my dear, true
friend; have patience with me to-day!"So saying, he turned round, and
breaking off the conversation, approached the window.This noble man, so
confident in all he wrote, so full of deliberation, and so firm in
decision, even with regard to the obscurest passages--and now some
emotion was working in him which shook his whole being.He could look back with majestic clearness on a
past of many thousand years, and now he was standing at a window
looking at a cow-stable, and something like a sigh sounded through the
room.These thoughts occupied incessantly
the Doctor's mind.Long did the Professor pace up and down the room; Fritz feigned to
sleep, but kept peeping from under the bedclothes at his excited
friend.At last the Professor extinguished the light and threw himself
on his bed.Soon his deep breathing showed that beneficent nature had
softened the pulses of that beating heart.But the Doctor's anxiety
held its ground more pertinaciously.From time to time he raised his
head from his pillow, searched for his spectacles on the nearest chair,
without which he could not see the Professor, and spied through them at
the other bed, again took off his spectacles, and lay down on the
pillow with a gentle sigh.This act of friendship he repeated many
times, till at last he fell into a deep sleep, shortly before the
sparrows sang their morning song in the vine-arbor beneath.The friends on awakening heard the clock in the courtyard striking, the
wagons rolling before the window, and the bells of the herds tinkling.For a moment they looked bewildered at the walls of the strange room,
and through the window out on the sunny garden.While the Doctor wrote
his memoranda and packed up his bundle, the Professor walked out.The
daily work had long begun; the men with their teams were gone to the
field; the Inspector hastened busily about the open barns; encircled by
the dogs, the bleating sheep thronged before the stable.The landscape shone in the light of a cloudless sky.The mist hovered
over the earth, subduing the clear light of the morning sun, blending
it with a delicate grey.The houses and trees still cast long shadows,
the coolness of the dewy night still lingered in shady places, and the
soft, light breeze fanned the cheeks of the Scholar, now with the
warmth of the early daylight, now with the refreshing breath of night.He walked about the buildings and the farmyard in order to acquaint
himself with the place, of which henceforth he was to have mingled
recollections in his soul.The persons who dwelt here had with some
hesitation disclosed their life to him, and much in their simple
pastoral existence appeared to him pleasing and attractive.Care should be
taken to make the hooks at the top quite secure, for otherwise many
dangerous accidents might ensue.A cross pole might also be set up, but
most of the exercises for which this is used, may be performed by the
triangle.On the parallel bars, several beneficial exercises may be
done, and also on the bridge.This is a pole thick at one end, thin at
the other, and supported at three or four feet from the ground by a post
at one end and another in the middle, so that the thin end vibrates with
the least touch.This, it will be evident, is an exercise for the organ
of equilibrium, and exercises the muscles of the calf, of the neck, and
anterior part of the neck, and those of the back, very gently.On this
bridge a sort of combat may be instituted,--two persons meeting each
other, giving and parrying strokes with the open hands.The string for
leaping is also another very pleasing exercise.It is supported by a
couple of pegs on two posts fastened in the ground.The string may be
heightened and lowered at pleasure,--it may be raised as high as the
leaper's head when a leaping-pole is used.Besides these arrangements, a
trench about a foot and a half deep should be dug, and widening
gradually from one foot to seven, for the purpose of exercising the long
leap either with or without the aid of the pole.Such are the general
arrangements of a gymnasium, but before the youth enters upon regular
exercises, he may commence with a few preliminary ones.The pupil should hold out his hand at arm's length, until he
can hold it out no longer, and repeat it until he has power in the
muscles, to continue it, without fatigue, for a considerable length of
time.Stand on one foot till he is tired, and repeat this for a similar
period.Hold out both arms parallel with his chin |
bathroom | Where is Daniel? | Hold the hands behind the back in a similar manner, the arms being
stretched as far backward as possible, and hold the hands high.Hold up the right foot by the right hand, extending the leg and arm
by degrees.Hold up the left foot in the same manner.Stand with the knees bent, and exercise them towards the ground,
until he can kneel on both knees at once without supporting himself as
he drops.Raise himself from this position without the aid of his hands, by
springing back on his toes.Endeavour to touch both his toes, with the back straight, the legs
close together, and the head down.Take a piece of wood, three inches broad, and twenty long, that will
not bend, and hold it across the back, the three first fingers touching
the wood.Endeavour to sit, but not touch the ground, nor let any part of his
body touch his heels, with his arms stretched out in a line with his
chin.Stand with his arms and legs extended, so as to form the letter X.
SECOND COURSE.Lie down on his back, and raise his body from an horizontal to a
vertical position, without any assistance from the hands or elbows.Daniel went back to the kitchen.John travelled to the kitchen.Draw up the legs close to the posterior part of the thighs, and rise
without other assistance.Extend himself on his back again, and walk backwards with the palms
of his hands and his feet.Daniel went back to the bedroom.Sustain the weight of the whole body upon the palms and the toes,
the face being towards the ground.Lie on his back, and take hold of each foot in his hands, and throw
himself on his face by rolling over.Lie with the face down, and take hold of his toes while in that
position.With his chest downwards, drag his body along by walking only with
his hands.Place himself on his back, and endeavour to advance by means of the
propulsion of the feet.Place his body on his hands and feet, with the breast upwards, and
endeavour to bring the lips to the ground.Lean on the breast and palms of the hands, and throw the legs over
towards the back of the head.Stretch himself on the back, and extending the hands beyond the
head, at the utmost stretch, touch the ground, and, if possible, bring
up a piece of money, previously to be placed there.In the same manner, endeavour to seize a ball by the toes at full
length.These preliminary exercises having been practised, the young pupil will
commence a course of more advanced exercises, such as walking, running,
leaping, balancing, vaulting, and climbing.Walking is common to all,
but few persons have a good walk, and nothing exhibits the person to so
much disadvantage as a slovenly bad gait.It is true, that the walk of a
person will indicate much of his character.Nervous people walk
hurriedly, sometimes quick, sometimes slow, with a tripping and
sometimes a running step; phlegmatic people have a heavy, solid, and
loitering step; the sanguine man walks rapidly, treads somewhat briskly
and firmly; while the melancholic wanders, and seems almost unconscious
of touching the ground which he seems to slide over.But the qualities
of the mind itself manifest themselves in the gait.The man of high
moral principle and virtuous integrity, walks with a very different step
to the low sensualist, or the cunning and unprincipled knave; therefore
the young pupil will be sure that even the art of walking, which seems
to be an exertion purely physical, will not be acquired properly if his
mind has taken a vicious and unprincipled bias: it will either indicate
his pride or his dastardly humility, his haughty self-sufficiency, or
his mean truckling to the opinion of others, his honest independence, or
his cringing servility.But he who has been blessed with the full use of
his muscular powers, in proportion as he is virtuous, will, with a very
little attention, indicate by his bearing, step, and carriage, the
nobility of his mind.In walking, the arms should move freely by the side--they act like the
fly-wheel of an engine, to equalise the motion of the body, and to
balance it.One hand in the breeches pocket, or both, indicates the sot,
and has a very bad appearance.The head should be upright, without,
however, any particular call being made upon the muscles of the neck to
support it in that position, so that it may move freely in all
directions.The body should be upright, and the shoulders thrown
moderately backwards, displaying a graceful fall.When the foot reaches
the ground, it should support the body, not on the toe or heel, but on
the ball of the foot.This manner of walking should be practised daily,
sometimes in a slow, sometimes in a moderate walk, and sometimes in a
quick pace, until each is performed with elegance and ease.In running, as the swiftness of the motion steadies the body in its
course, without the aid of the oscillations of the arms, they are
naturally drawn up towards the sides, and, bent at the elbows, form a
right angle.Their motion is almost suspended in very swift running.Daniel journeyed to the garden.In
moderate running, a gentle oscillation is observed, increasing in
proportion as the body approaches to the walking pace.The knees are now
more bent,--the same part of the foot does not touch the ground, the
body being carried forward more by the toes.The degree of velocity is
acquired in proportion to the length and quickness of the steps.The
person should therefore endeavour to ascertain whether long or short
steps suit his muscular powers best; generally speaking a moderately
short step, quickly repeated, accelerates motion most.In learning to
run, the pupil should first endeavour to improve his breath by degrees:
he must try his speed first in short distances, to be gradually
increased: the distance will vary according to the age and strength of
the runner.The first exercises in running should commence at a gentle
trot over a distance of a hundred and fifty yards, at the rate of about
six feet to a second: this should be varied up to eight feet in a
second, for the first three or four days, and the distance increased
from one hundred and fifty to two hundred and fifty yards.On following
days, the distance may be increased to five hundred yards, and
afterwards gradually, until a mile can be performed in ten minutes,
which is tolerably good running.Afterwards, six miles may be tried in
an hour, which will be easily accomplished.As regards rapid running, from one hundred feet to one hundred yards may
be attempted at full speed, and when the constitution is good, the body
not too fat, the muscular developments fine, and the lungs sound, a
quarter of a mile a minute may be accomplished, and a mile in five
minutes, which is seldom done even in very good running.Ten miles an
hour, which is the average speed of the mail, may, however, be easily
performed with judicious and proper training.In leaping, that with the run, is the most common and the most useful.The object of the run is to impart to the nerves of the body a certain
quantity of motion which may carry it onwards after the propelling power
has ceased to act when the body leaves the ground.The run need not
exceed twelve or fifteen paces: in this the steps are small and rapid.When the body leaves the ground, the legs are drawn up, one foot
generally a little more than the other; and a great thing to be avoided,
is coming to the ground on the heels.When springing, the height of the
leap must be calculated, the breath held, the body pressed forward, and
the fall should be upon the toes and the ball of the foot, although in
an extended leap this is impossible.Leaping must, like running, be
practised gradually; in the high leap, a person may easily accomplish
the height of his own body, and should practise with the bar, which may
be made of two upright posts bored, through which ropes should be placed
according to the height required for the leap: on these should be hung a
string with weights attached to each end to keep it straight.Should the
leaper touch it with his feet as he takes his leap, it will be thrown
off the pegs, thus showing that he did not make a clean leap.The deep leap may be acquired from the top of a bank into a hollow, and
is useful in leaping from the top of a house or wall in a moment of
danger.It may be practised from a flight of steps, ascending a step at
a time to increase the height, till the limbs can bear the shocks, to
break which, the body must be kept in a bent position, so that its
gravity has to pass through many angles.The leaper should always take
advantage of any rivulet that has one bank higher than the other, to
practise himself.In the long leap, a person ought to be able to clear with a run, three
times the length of his body.[Illustration]
The high leap, the deep leap, and the long leap, may be all practised
with the pole.For the high leap, the pole should be taken with the
right hand, about the height of the head, and with the left hand, about
the height of the hips; when put to the ground, the leaper should spring
with the right foot, and pass by the left of the pole, and swing round
as he alights, so as to face the place he leaped from.In the deep leap,
the pole being placed the depth you have to leap, the body should be
lowered forward, and then, the feet being cast off, swing round the pole
in the descent.The long leap, with the pole, is performed much in the
same manner.[Illustration]
CLIMBING.[Illustration]
In climbing the rope, the hands are to be moved one above the other
alternately; the feet should be crossed, and the rope held firmly by
their pressure: sometimes the rope may be made to pass along the right
thigh just above the knee, and wind round the thigh under the knee.In climbing the upright pole, the feet, legs, knees, and hands touch the
pole.Taking a high grasp of the pole, the climber raises himself by
bending his body, drawing up and holding fast by the legs, and so on
alternately.The climber must keep the body stretched out, and upright, so as to
prevent the steps, which are loose, from being bent forward.Daniel journeyed to the bathroom.The oblique rope must be climbed with the back turned towards the
ground, the legs crossed and thrown over, so that the rope passes under
the calf, and thus he must work himself up by raising his hands one
above the other alternately.The exercises on the ladder are:--1.Passing another person on the ladder, or swinging to the back to let
another pass.[Illustration]
This should be seized with both hands, the feet being placed in the
middle.The board should be considerably aslant when first attempted,
and gradually brought towards the perpendicular.This exercise may be practised on that part of the balancing bar between
the posts.It may be performed with or without running: it should,
however, be commenced with a short run.The height should be, to
commence, about the pit of the stomach, which should be increased to the
height of the individual.There are two kinds of balancing to which we shall allude; namely, the
balancing of other bodies, and the balancing of our own.All feats of balancing depend upon the centre of gravity being uniformly
preserved in one position.The centre of gravity is that point, about
which all the other parts exactly balance each other.If a body be
freely suspended upon this point, it will rest with security, and as
long as this point is supported, it will never fall, while in every
other position it will endeavour to descend to the lowest place at which
it can arrive.If a perpendicular line were drawn from the centre of
gravity of a body to the centre of the earth, such a line would be
termed the line of direction, along which every body supported
endeavours to fall.If this line fall within the base of a body, such a
body will be sure to stand.[Illustration]
When the line of direction is thrown beyond its centre, unless the base
be enlarged to counterbalance it, the person or body will fall.A person
in stooping to look over a deep hole, will bend his trunk forward; the
line of direction being altered, he must extend his base to compensate
for it, which he does by putting his foot a step forward.A porter
stoops forward to prevent his burthen from throwing the line of
direction out of the base behind, and a girl does the same thing in
carrying a pail of water, by stretching out her opposite arm, for the
weight of the pail throws the centre of gravity on one side, and the
stretching out of the opposite arm brings it back again, and thus the
two are balanced.The art of balancing, therefore, simply consists in
dexterously altering the centre of gravity upon every new position of
the body, so as constantly to preserve the line of direction within the
base.Rope-dancers effect this by means of a long pole, held across the
rope; and when the balancing-rail is mounted, it will be found necessary
to hold out both the arms for the same purpose; nay, even when we slip
or stumble with one foot, we in a moment extend the opposite arm, making
the same use of it as the dancer does of his pole.[Illustration]
A balancer finds that a body to be balanced, is the best for his purpose
if it have a loaded head, and a slender or pointed base, for although
the higher the weight is placed above the point of support, the more
readily will the line of direction be thrown beyond the base, yet he can
more easily restore it by the motion of his hand,--narrowly watching
with his eyes its deviations.Now the same watchfulness must be
displayed by the gymnastic balancer: he first uses the balancing
pole,--he then mounts the balancing bar without it.On mounting the bar,
the body should be held erect, and the hands must be extended.He must
then learn to walk firmly and steadily along the bar, so as to be able
to turn round, and then he should practise going backwards.Two
balancers should then endeavour to pass each other on the bar;
afterwards, to carry each other, and bodies of various weights, in
various positions.Walking on stilts is connected with balancing.A person can walk with
greater security upon high than on low stilts.In some parts of France,
the peasantry, in looking after their sheep, walk generally on stilts,
and it only requires practise to make this as easy as common walking.Some few years ago, several of these stilt-walkers were to be seen in
London, and they could run, jump, stoop, and walk with ease and
security, their legs seeming quite as natural to them as those of the
Stork.[Illustration]
Cricket is the king of games.The
young prince of Wales is learning it, and will some day be the prince of
cricket-players, as I trust he will some day, a long while hence,
however, let us hope, be king of merry England.Mary went to the bathroom.I shall, therefore, be
very particular concerning this noble game.It is played by a bat and
ball, and consists of double and single wicket.The wicket was formerly
two straight thin batons, called stumps, twenty-two inches high, which
were fixed in the ground perpendicularly, six inches apart, and over
the top of both was laid a small round piece of wood, called the bail,
but so placed as to fall off readily if the stumps were touched by the
ball.Of late years the wicket consists of three stumps and two bails;
the middle stump is added to prevent the ball from passing through the
wicket without beating it down; the external stumps are now seven inches
apart, and all of them three feet two inches high.Single wicket
requires five players on each side, and double wicket eleven; but the
number in both instances may be varied at the pleasure of the two
parties.At single wicket the striker with his bat is the protector of
the wicket; the opponent party stands in the field to catch or stop the
ball; and the bowler, who is one of them, takes his place by the side of
a small baton or stump, set up for that purpose, twenty-two yards from
the wicket, and thence delivers the ball with the intention of beating
it down.It is now usual to set up two stumps with a bail across, which
the batsman, when he runs, |
kitchen | Where is Mary? | If the
bowler prove successful, the batsman retires from the play and another
of his party succeeds; if, on the contrary, the ball is struck by the
bat, and driven into the field beyond the reach of those who stand out
to stop it, the striker runs to the stump at the bowler's station, which
he touches with his bat, and then returns to his wicket.Daniel went back to the kitchen.If this be
performed before the ball is thrown back, it is called a run, and a
notch or score is made upon the tally towards the game; if, on the
contrary, the ball be thrown up and the wicket beaten down by the
opponent party before the striker is home or can ground his bat within
three feet ten inches of the wicket (at which distance a mark is made
in the ground, called the _popping crease_), he is declared to be out,
and the run is not reckoned.He is also out if he strike the ball into
the air and it is caught by any of his antagonists before it reaches the
ground, and retained long enough to be thrown up again.When double
wicket is played, two batsmen go in at the same time,--one at each
wicket: there are also two bowlers, who usually bowl four balls in
succession alternately.John travelled to the kitchen.The batsmen are said to be in as long as they
remain at their wickets, and their party is called the _in-party_; on
the contrary, those who stand in the field with the bowlers, are called
the _out-party_.Both parties have two innings, and the side that
obtains the most runs in the double contest, claims the victory.These
are the general outlines of this noble pastime, but there are many
particular rules and regulations by which it is governed, and these
rules are subject to frequent variations.Single wicket may be played with any number of players, and is better
than double wicket for any number of players under seven.At double
wicket, a small number of players would get so fatigued with running
after the ball, that when it came to the last player's turn, he would
find himself too tired, without resting a while.The first innings in
single wicket must be determined by chance.Daniel went back to the bedroom.The bowler should pitch the
wickets, and the striker measure the distance for the bowling-stump.Measure a distance of the length of the bat, and then one of the
striker's feet, from the middle stump in a direction towards the
bowling stump: there make a mark, which is the same as the
popping-crease, and this will show when you are on the ground; place
your bat upright on the mark at the place where the measure came to, and
ask the bowler whether your bat is before the middle of your wicket;
here make a mark on the ground, which is generally called the
blocking-hole.The bowler now begins to bowl, and the striker should endeavour to hit
any ball which comes within his compass, or if the ball given be not
favourable for that purpose, he may block it; but in blocking he must be
careful never to let the tip of the bat come before the handle, as the
ball in such a case will probably rise in the air towards the bowler,
and he will be caught out.In running, the striker must touch the
bowling-stump with his bat or person, or it is no run, and he may be put
out if he do no put his bat or some part of his person on his ground
before the ball touches his wicket.With three players, the bowler and striker will be the same as when two
are at play; the second player will be fieldsman, who, when the ball be
hit nearer to him than to the bowler, will pick it up, or catch it if he
can, and return it to the bowler.If the striker should attempt to run,
the bowler should immediately run to the wicket, and the fieldsman
should throw the ball to him, so that he may catch it, and touch the
wicket with it to get the striker out.When the first striker is out,
the fieldsman will take his place, the striker will bowl, and the bowler
will take the field.When four players are engaged, the fourth should
stand behind the wicket; and when five or more play, the additional
players should take the field.The rule in such a case is simply, that
as soon as a striker is out he becomes bowler, then he becomes
wicket-keeper, and then he takes his place in the field on the left of
the bowler, and afterwards the other places in regular progression,
until it is his turn to have a new innings.LAWS OF THE GAME OF DOUBLE WICKET."Law, is law," said Evergreen; "laws must be rigidly obeyed, and,
therefore, I will read the articles of war for your edification.The
first article of war is said to be, 'That it shall be death to stop a
cannon-ball with your head.'"Cricketers must be cautious also how they
stop cricket-balls with this part of the body: but
_Imprimis_, the BALL must be in weight between five ounces and a half
and five ounces and three quarters, and must be between nine inches and
nine inches and one-eighth in circumference.The BAT must not be more than thirty-eight inches in length, nor
exceed four inches and a quarter in its widest part.The STUMPS, which are three to each wicket, must be twenty-seven
inches out of the ground, and placed so closely as not to allow the ball
to pass through.The bails must be eight inches in length.The BOWLING-CREASE must be in a line with the stumps, and six feet
eight inches in length, the stumps in the centre, with a return-crease
at each end towards the bowler at right angles.The POPPING CREASE must be three feet ten inches from the wicket,
and parallel to it, unlimited in length, but not shorter than the
bowling-crease.They must be opposite to each other, twenty-two yards apart.It is not lawful for either party, during a match, without the other
party gives consent, to make any alteration in the ground by rolling,
watering, covering, mowing, or beating.Daniel journeyed to the garden.This rule is not meant to prevent the striker from beating the ground
with his bat near to the spot where he stands during the innings, nor to
prevent the bowler from filling up holes with sawdust, &c., when the
ground is wet.After rain, the wickets may be changed with the consent of both
parties.[Illustration]
THE BOWLER.Daniel journeyed to the bathroom.The bowler must deliver the ball with one foot behind the
bowling-crease, and bowl four bowls before he changes wickets, which he
is permitted to do, once only, in the same innings.The ball must be bowled; if it be thrown or jerked, or if the hand
be above the shoulder in the delivery, the umpire must call "no ball"
(this being reckoned as one of the four balls).In some matches, the bowler may give six balls where the parties are
agreed.The bowler may order the striker at the wicket from which he
bowls, to stand on which side of it he pleases.Should the bowler toss the ball over the striker's head, or bowl it
so wide that it shall be out of distance to be played at, the umpire,
although the striker attempt it, shall adjudge one run to the parties
receiving the innings, either with or without an appeal from them, which
shall be put down to the score of wide balls, and such balls shall not
be reckoned as any of the four balls.When the umpire shall have called
"wide ball," one run only shall be reckoned, and the ball shall be
considered dead.If "no ball" be called by the umpire, the hitter may strike at it,
and is allowed all the runs he can make, and is not be considered out
except by running out.Should no run be obtained by any other means,
then one run shall be scored.When a fresh bowler takes the ball, only two balls shall be allowed
for practice; he must, however, continue the next four in the game
before he can change for another better approved.If six balls are
agreed to be bowled, then he must continue the six instead of four.No substitute in the field shall be allowed to bowl, keep wicket,
STAND AT THE POINT or MIDDLE WICKET, except by mutual agreement of the
parties.Is OUT, if either of the bails be struck off by the ball, or either of
the stumps struck out of the ground.He is OUT, if the ball, from a stroke of the bat or hand below the
wrist, be held by his adversary before it touches the ground, although
hugged or caught between the arms and breast of the catcher.He is OUT, if in striking, or at any other time while the ball is in
play, both his feet be over the popping-crease, and his wicket put down,
except his bat be grounded within it.He is OUT, if in striking at the ball, he either with his bat, clothes,
or person, hits down his wicket.He is OUT, if under pretence of running a notch, or otherwise, either of
the strikers prevent a ball from being caught, or if the ball be struck
up and he wilfully strikes it again.He is OUT, if in running a notch the wicket be struck down by a throw,
or with the hand or arm with ball in hand, before his bat is grounded
over the popping-crease.If the bails should happen to be off, a stump
must be struck out of the ground.Mary went to the bathroom.He is OUT, should he take up or touch the ball while in play, unless at
the request of the opposite party.He is OUT, if with a part of his person he stop the ball, which the
bowler, in the opinion of the umpire at the bowler's wicket, has pitched
in a straight line with the wicket.If the players have _crossed_ each other, he that runs for the wicket
that is put down, is out; and if they have _not crossed_, he that has
left the wicket which is put down, is out.Daniel travelled to the bedroom.When a ball is caught, no run is to be reckoned.When a striker is run out, the notch they were running for is not to be
reckoned.If "lost ball" shall be called, the striker is allowed the runs; but if
more than six shall have been run before "lost ball" shall have been
called, then the striker shall have all that have been run.When the ball has been lodged in the wicket-keeper's or bowler's hands,
it is considered _dead_, that is, no longer in play, and the striker
need not keep within ground, till the umpire has called "play;" but if
the player goes off his ground, with intent to run, the bowler may put
him out.Should the striker be hurt, he may retire from his wicket and return to
it any time during that innings.Some other person may stand out for
him, but not go in.If any person stop the ball with his bat, the ball is to be considered
as DEAD, and the opposite party to add five notches to their score.If the ball be struck up, the striker may guard his wicket with his bat
or any part of his body except his _hand_.If the striker hit the ball against his partner's wicket when he is off
his ground, he is out, should it previously have touched the bowler or
any of the fieldmen's hands, but not otherwise.The wicket-keeper should not take the ball for the purpose of stumping,
until it have passed the wicket.He shall stand at a proper distance
behind the wicket, and shall not move till the ball be out of the
bowler's hand.He shall not by any noise, incommode the striker, and if
any part of his person be over or before the wicket, although the ball
hit it, he shall not be out.The umpires are the sole judges of fair and unfair play, and all
disputes are determined by them, each at his own wicket.They shall not
stand more than six yards from the wicket.In case of a catch, which the
umpire at the wicket cannot see sufficiently to decide upon, he may
apply to the other umpire, whose opinion is conclusive.The umpires shall pitch fair wickets, and the parties shall toss up for
the choice of innings.They shall allow two minutes for the striker to come in, and fifteen
minutes between each innings.When the umpires shall call "play," the
party who refuses shall lose the match.They are not to order a player out unless assented to by the
adversaries.If the bowler's foot be not behind the bowling-crease and within the
return crease when he delivers the ball, they must, unasked, call "no
ball;" if the striker run a short run, the umpire must call "no run."If in running either of the strikers shall fail to ground his bat, in
hand, or some part of his person, over the popping crease, the umpire,
for every such failure, shall deduct two runs from the number intended
to have been run, because such striker, not having run in the first
instance, cannot have started in the second from the proper goal.No umpire to be changed during a match, unless with the consent of both
parties, except in case of a violation of the last law, then either
party may dismiss the transgressor.After the delivery of four balls, the umpire should call "over," but not
until the ball shall be lodged and definitely settled in the
wicket-keeper's or bowler's hand; the ball shall then be considered
dead.Nevertheless, if an idea be entertained that either of the
strikers is out, a question may be put previously to, but not after the
delivery of the next ball.The umpire must take especial care to call "no ball" instantly upon
delivery, and "wide ball," as soon as ever it shall pass the striker.LAWS FOR SINGLE WICKET.When there shall be less than four players on a side, bounds shall be
placed, twenty-two yards each, in a line from the off and leg stump.The ball must be hit before the bounds to entitle the striker to a
run, which run cannot be obtained unless he touch the bowling-stump or
crease, in a line with it, with his bat or person, or go beyond them,
returning to the popping-crease, as in double wicket, according to the
law.When the striker shall hit the ball, one of his feet must be on the
ground behind the popping-crease, otherwise the umpire shall call "no
hit."When there shall be less than five players of a side, neither byes
nor overthrows shall be allowed, nor shall the striker be caught out
behind the wicket, nor stumped out.The fieldsman must return the ball so that it shall cross the space
between the wicket and the bowling stump, or between the bowling stumps
and the bounds; the striker may run till the ball be so returned.After the striker has made one run, he must touch the bowling stump,
and run before the ball shall cross the play, to entitle him to another.The striker shall be entitled to three runs for lost ball, and the
same number for ball stopped with bat.When there shall be more than four players to a side, there shall be
no bounds; all _hits_, _byes_, and _overthrows_, will then be allowed.The bowler is subject to the same laws as at double wicket.No more than one minute shall be allowed between each ball.No bet is payable in any match unless it be played out or given up.If the runs of one player be betted against those of another, the bet
depends on the first innings, unless otherwise specified.If the bet be made upon both innings, and one party beats the other
in one innings, the runs in the first innings shall determine it.If the other party go in a second time, then the bet must be
determined by the number in the second.Mary travelled to the kitchen.Cricket is played by twenty-two persons, eleven on each side, and two
umpires, with two persons to score and count the innings.Thirteen
players play at one time, viz., two strikers, one bowler, one
wicket-keeper, long-stop, short-stop, point, cover, middle-wicket,
long-field, off-side, on-side, and leg; |
kitchen | Where is Sandra? | The object of the game is to get the
greatest number of runs, and this is to be done by the strikers.Each
side having been in once and out once, the first innings is concluded,
and, we might say, a complete game has been played, but in most matches
another innings is played.The scorers keep the account of runs to each
striker separately for each innings.The side that has obtained the
greatest number of runs, wins the game.The arrangement of the players
in the field is as follows:--
+--------------------------------------+
| 6 |
| * 8 |
| * |
| 9 |
| * |
| 7 10 |
| 5 * * |
| * |
| 4 3 1 1 2 |
| * * * * * |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| 12 11 |
| * * |
+--------------------------------------+
ORDER OF THE PLAYERS.[Illustration]
No boy should be unable to swim, because it is essential to the
preservation of life; but the attainment of the art has been held to be
difficult, and the number of good swimmers is very small.The whole
science of swimming consists in multiplying the surface of the body by
extensive motions, so as to displace a greater quantity of liquid.As
the first requisite of oratory was said to be action; the second,
action; and the third, action; so the first, second, and the third
requisite in learning to swim, is COURAGE.Now there is a vast
difference between courage and temerity; courage proceeds from
confidence, temerity, from carelessness; courage is calm and collected,
temerity is headstrong and rash; courage ventures into the water
carefully, and throws himself off with a firm and vigorous lounge
forward, and a slow and equable stroke; temerity begins to dive before
he knows whether he can swim or sink, and after floundering about for a
minute or two, finds that he can swim farthest where it is deepest.Daniel went back to the kitchen.Therefore, let the young swimmer mark the distinction between courage
and temerity, and he will speedily become a swimmer.Before, however, we proceed to offer any remarks on swimming as an art,
we cannot refrain from calling the attention of our young friends to the
observations of a celebrated medical doctor who has thought profoundly
on the subject."Immersion in cold water," says he, "is a custom which
lays claim to the most remote antiquity; indeed it must be coeval with
man himself.The necessity of water for the purpose of cleanliness, and
the pleasure arising from its application in hot countries, must have
very early recommended it to the human species; even the example of
other animals was sufficient to give the hint to man; by instinct many
of them are led to apply cold water in this manner, and some, when
deprived of its use, have been known to languish, and even to die."The cold bath recommends itself in a variety of cases, and is peculiarly
beneficial to the inhabitants of populous cities who indulge in idleness
and lead sedentary lives: it accelerates the motion of the blood,
promotes the different secretions, and gives permanency to the solids.But all these important purposes will be more easily answered by the
application of salt water; this also ought not only to be preferred on
account of its superior gravity, but also, "for its greater power of
stimulating the skin, which prevents the patient from catching cold."Be sure to provide an excess of
metallic zinc, observing that a quantity remains undissolved after all
chemical action ceases.Leave the metal in the liquor for twelve hours
(covering the crock with a pane of glass), then decant and filter into a
wide-mouth glass jar of handy size._Do not add water_ to the
concentrated zinc chloride solution; dilution is sometimes recommended,
but should never be done; the heavy, slightly syrupy, water-bright
liquor should be used as it is.The alleged “cleaning” qualities of this
chloride can scarcely be admitted to exist, and its principal function
is to shield the surfaces of the work from oxidation; this it fulfils by
the formation of a viscid glaze on the heated metal when the salt
reaches its anhydrous (waterless) condition by evaporation.The addition
of water to the flux, therefore, only uselessly prolongs the period
occupied by evaporation, and wastes heat.Always remove all trace of flux from finished work, first by soaking in
water, and afterwards by washing with soda, soap, and water.Otherwise,
there is the risk of the work being corroded.Special “soldering solutions,” obtainable ready prepared, should not be
used in preference to zinc chloride made as before explained or to the
well-known paste fluxes.=Applying the Flux.=--A short heavy bottle about 3 in.high is
best for bench use as a flux container.It should be particularly noted
that soldering and soldering tackle should be kept as far away from
other work (and iron and steel goods and tools) as possible.A pointed wooden stick is not a good tool for applying killed spirit,
because the acid acts on the wood, which becomes unpleasant to handle,
and the liquid does not leave the wood readily enough to place the right
quantity on the exact spot to be soldered.Another good tool is a thin steel or iron “spit,” about 12 in.long, and a steel knitting-needle is also excellent.Should a brush be
preferred, take a few hairs from a broom, place them in one end of a
thin metal tube, and then flatten the end with a blow from a hammer.John travelled to the kitchen.A brush made by hammering the ends of a short length of cane until the
fibres are like bristles is frequently used for the purpose, the handle
end being soaked in molten wax before using the cane brush the first
time.1.--Wire for Applying Flux]
A convenient method of applying liquid flux is to have a bottle with a
screw cap sprinkling top such as is often used for perfumes, and to push
a length of thick galvanised iron wire through the orifice in the
stopper, leaving about 1-1/2 in.Daniel went back to the bedroom.The lower end should
just reach the bottom of the bottle, and may be flattened and pointed.The lead nipple is squeezed round the wire to hold it firmly, and the
projecting end bent into a ring to form a handle, as shown in Fig.The cork part should be thinned a little to render it an easy fit in the
bottle neck.The flux can be quickly applied with the wire exactly where
it is wanted, and in very small quantity; for a long seam the wire can
be run along with one dip in the solution.The fingers need not be
brought into contact with the flux; the cork will not go soft and will
not sink down owing to the lead flange supporting it.=Flux Used on Food Containers.=--Killed spirits is objectionable as a
flux for soldering vessels intended to contain food of any kind.Not
only is this flux a poison, but it is liable to produce subsequent
rusting wherever used unless all traces of it are thoroughly removed
immediately after soldering.A good non-poisonous flux suitable for tin
boxes may be made by dissolving resin in oil.Place a quantity of
powdered resin in an iron vessel, add colza, olive, or any similar oil,
and apply gentle heat, meanwhile stirring it until the resin is
dissolved.Dissolve as much resin in the oil as possible without making
the flux too thick (when cold) to apply with a brush.Daniel journeyed to the garden.One or two small
experiments will soon decide the required proportions.The resin is
really the base of the flux; but the oil is added to facilitate its
application and removal before and after the soldering process.CHAPTER IV
Soft-soldering with the Copper Bit
=Choice between Blowpipe and Bit.=--The method of heating depends on the
size of the work, or rather the area to be soldered, and the
conveniences at the command of the worker.The soldering bit, although
so commonly used, is not necessarily the best for the beginner to use
for small work.A blowpipe flame--from a bunsen burner or a spirit
lamp--is far more convenient and neat, and its effects can be applied
and localised with the greatest precision, down to the merest pin point
of heat applied at a definite spot.The bit is chiefly useful for long
joints such as in tinplate work, and for pieces bound together to which
the bit is applied to heat up and melt solder between them.But for work
where the soldering area does not measure more than an inch or so (and
there is a vast amount of this kind), the blowpipe flame is far
preferable.It must be admitted, though, that this is a matter in which
some workmen might have two distinct opinions; and, as already remarked,
the bit is far more commonly used.2.--Soldering Bit]
[Illustration: Fig.3.--Pivoted Soldering Bit]
=Copper Bits.=--The soldering bit or bolt (miscalled an “iron”) carries
a pointed lump of copper at the end (Fig.2), riveted in, or
alternatively, in small sizes, screwed on to the shank.Some bits are
pivoted (see Fig.3) to enable them to point at various angles for
dealing with difficult situations.4 and 5) may be made by drilling and tapping a
short length of 1-1/2-in.Daniel journeyed to the bathroom.Mary went to the bathroom.square copper to receive the screwed
end of a rod of 5/16-in.iron, the copper being afterwards heated and
drawn to a point or to a blunt edge as preferred.This forms a good bit
for most ordinary purposes.An axe-head or hatchet bit is shown in Fig.6; the copper bolt is riveted in the eye of the iron rod, the bit,
however, being free to revolve, as this is essential when making joints
in heavy lead pipe, for which purpose it is principally used.5
represents a bit which is a combination and modification of the two
others, and it is largely used for the internal soldering of bottoms of
large drums, milk churns, etc., where great local heat is required.4.--Home-made Soldering Bit]
[Illustration: Fig.5.--Bit for Internal Soldering, etc.]6.--Hatchet Soldering Bit]
As to the size of bit required, for ordinary small work the straight
type should not be less than 8 oz.Two bits are very useful in doing a large job, as the work can then be
arranged to progress continuously, one bit heating while the other is in
use.A bit suitable for quite light work can be easily made by drilling and
tapping a piece of copper, say 1/2 in.long,
either in the end or in the side, for a 3/16-in.long,
a handle being then fitted at the other end.In the “Tinol” telescopic soldering bit for amateurs’ use, the handle is
in three parts: (_a_) the actual wooden handle bushed with metal, and
provided with a set-screw shaped like a screw eye, and therefore easily
turned; (_b_) a steel tube which telescopes into the first part, and
which is also provided with a set-screw; and (_c_) a short rod, having
at one end a hatchet-shaped copper bit.The extreme length of the tool
is 12 in., and the length, when the parts are telescoped together, is
about 5 in.Daniel travelled to the bedroom.The “Fluxite” bit is larger and heavier.It has a hollow cast-iron
handle, perforated to dissipate the heat, threaded internally at one end
to receive the screwed end of the iron stem, only 5 in.or so in length,
which at the other end screws into an adapter or holder which, in turn,
receives the screwed end of the copper bolt, itself about 4 in.The bit is taken to pieces in a few moments, and is quite a workmanlike
tool.7.--Spirit-heated Bit]
=Spirit-Heated Soldering Bits.=--Bits heated by benzoline or spirit may
be made with a small barrel-shaped reservoir which also forms the
handle.One end of the reservoir is fitted with a filling cap, and from
the opposite end protrudes the tube carrying the burner.To the tube end
of the reservoir an iron clip is attached, and this secures an iron bar
which stands out over the burner head.At the end of this bar the copper
bit is attached and held either vertically or horizontally in the
flame.Tool merchants’ catalogues show a variety of such implements.Mary travelled to the kitchen.7 illustrates one of the most elaborate of them all, the weight
complete being 2-1/4 lb.It has a polished brass container A, of 1/5
pint capacity--sufficient for 45 to 60 minutes, whence the benzoline
flows to the burner B, the flame from which heats the copper bit C. This
bit may be of any of the regular shapes, and weighs about 1/2 lb.The
position shown is that for heating the bit preparatory to soldering.Sandra travelled to the kitchen.The
tray D catches any drips that might occur at starting, E is the stand, F
the filler cap, G is the regulating handle, and H is the clamp that
holds the bit in place.8.--Bit attached to Blow-lamp]
[Illustration: Fig.9.--Gas-heated Bit]
A writer in _Popular Mechanics_ has stated that the ordinary blow-lamp,
with the burner end equipped with a copper bolt (see Fig.Mary moved to the bedroom.8), makes an
excellent soldering device.The point can be easily kept at the proper
heat, and there will be no want for hot coppers.The end of the burner
is threaded on the outside, and a hole is drilled in the copper point
and threaded to match.Small holes are drilled in the copper in the same
manner as in the burner, to make vents for the flame.=Gas-heated Bits.=--These are largely used in factories, and are |
kitchen | Where is Mary? | 9 is
very handy, and the illustration and description are due to F. X.
Sommers, Jun., in the _American Machinist_.A mixture of air and gas
enters the pipe at about 10 lb.pressure, or enough to give a hot, blue
flame.The part A is of cast-iron, which, on experiment, has been found
to last longer without corroding than steel, although copper would be
better.The soldering bolt B was made of steel because it kept the
correct shape point much longer than cast-iron or copper, although the
latter metal is better for transmitting the heat.The point should be
tinned before using.This form of soldering head is being used on
automatic can-soldering machines, and does the work effectively.It will heat to the correct temperature in about 1-1/2
minutes.10.--Gas-heated Bit complete]
[Illustration: Fig.11.--Air Inlets in End of Air Chamber]
[Illustration: Fig.12.--Section through Air Chamber and Gas-reducing
Valve]
[Illustration: Fig.13.--Details of Cones or Needles]
A gas-heated bit invented by W. G. Ryan is shown in Figs.The
actual bit A is held in a steel sheath B having a space underneath the
bit to allow the gas to pass.The sheath has a row of holes on each side
to allow the gas to come through, the flame enveloping the bit when in
use.The gas, supplied through a flexible tube, passes through the tube
that forms the handle, at the end of which is a small chamber C to admit
air, which mixes with the gas to cause it to burn atmospherically, the
supply of gas passing through a small cone valve D and thence through
the air chamber.In the air-inlet holes E at the end of the air chamber
are fitted small cones F to regulate the quantity of air.All the cones,
including the gas-valve cone, are connected rigidly together, so that
when cutting down the gas supply temporarily, the air supply is
automatically reduced, and the gas flame remains in being, although its
size is much reduced.It has been found that, in some gas-heated bits,
the cutting down of the gas seriously interferes with the proportion of
the gas and air mixture, resulting in a back-fire.The device here
described has been invented especially to obviate that trouble.To
reduce the gas supply and, with it, the air supply also, all that is
necessary is a slight forward movement of the fitting to which the cones
or needles are attached.The copper bit is kept in position by the
sheath or clip, the small bolt in which can be taken out in a moment
when special attention to the bit becomes necessary.The connection to
the flexible gas tubing is at G, while H indicates a guide and stuffing
box for the gas-valve cone or needle.14.--Gas-stove for Heating Bits]
=Stoves for Heating Soldering Bits.=--Although a copper bit may be
heated in any fire, it is better to avoid the dirt, smoke and tarry
stickiness which are often present in a coal fire.In the absence of
gas, a bright, clear coke fire or a charcoal fire should be used
whenever available.Portable oil stoves of the wickless type can also be
employed, but the ideal fuel is gas, which may be regulated at will to
give a uniform temperature.Two gas-stoves specially constructed for
copper bits are shown by Figs.15.--Gas-stove for Heating Bits]
=Tinning a Bit.=--Before a bit can be used, it must be “tinned,” that
is, coated with solder in a smooth complete covering, for which
purpose--by one method, not the best, but the most general--the end is
heated to a dull red, rubbed quickly with the file on the facets, dipped
in killed spirit or “fluxite,” or rubbed against a piece of
sal-ammoniac, and then applied to a stick or lump of solder, the facets
being quickly wiped or rubbed on a piece of tinplate so as to spread the
solder evenly.When properly done, the nose of the bit is coated with a
smooth film of solder.This must always remain so, or the bit will not
act, and when it is honeycombed, or the “tinning” is present in patches,
it must be re-tinned.A bit must never be raised to a red heat
sufficient to melt the tinning.The bit does not operate well at such a
heat, because its contact makes solder too fluid and apt to run too
quickly.When dipping a hot bit, prepared for tinning, into killed spirit, a
sharp pop, without smoke or spluttering, denotes the right temperature.If, on withdrawing the bit, it is damp and still unclean, it had not
been heated sufficiently.Into a small and clean tin
box (a 2-oz.tobacco tin about 3/4 in.deep) put some scraps of solder
and powdered resin.Heat the bit to a very dull red, quickly file up
clean on one side of the point, and then plunge into the solder and
resin and rub about; it will at once take on a coat of the alloy.A
second side of the bit may be tinned by then repeating the operation,
re-heating if necessary.The bottom of the box should be covered with
solder, which adheres easily enough, with a film of resin on top.It is
probably most convenient to tin the under side and the left-hand working
face of the bit.“Tinol” could be used in this way without admixture
with anything.Still another method is to use a firebrick having a hollow in which the
solder and resin are placed; but the tin box plan is thought to be
better.Undoubtedly the best method of tinning a bit is that in use by the
plumber who well knows the invaluable qualities of sal-ammoniac
(ammonium chloride) for the purpose.He has no wish to squander energy
on those vigorous rubbings of the bit--on paving-stone, bath brick,
tinplate, etc.etc., and he believes that the habit of dipping the bit
into zinc chloride is both slovenly and wasteful, for not only is this
corrosive stuff sprayed about broadcast, but the remainder is soon
rendered unfit for its purpose by contamination with copper chloride and
dirt from the fire.The outlay of a few halfpence on a sizable slab of
sal-ammoniac will keep the bit in the best condition for years, and save
hours of superfluous labour.Commercial sal-ammoniac is obtainable in
large, rugged crystals of a tough, fibrous texture.A piece weighing
upwards of 1/4 lb.can be trimmed to a roughly rectangular slab, a few
inches long and wide and about 1 in.thick; and a cavity should be
scooped in one of the flat sides to accommodate the bit.16.--Tinning Bit in Sal-ammoniac Block]
Let the bit-faces be made shapely and filed bright and the tool
thoroughly heated in a clean fire, removed, flicked free of ash, and
then held down firmly in the cavity of the sal-ammoniac block (see Fig.Profuse white fumes will arise, and the surface of the salt will
fuse.Bear heavily on each facet in turn, and then melt a few beads of
solder into the cavity along with the bit, and the latter will become
brightly tinned in a moment or so.The bit should be applied to the
“ammonia block” every few heats, or as required, as the work progresses,
and flicked with a tuft of dampened cotton-waste.The sal-ammoniac has one great disadvantage--it is deliquescent
(collecting moisture from a damp atmosphere), and its near proximity to
most metals oxidises and corrodes them.Mary went back to the kitchen.Iron and steel, particularly, it
rusts rapidly and deeply.Therefore the tools (saw and chisel) used to
shape the block must be washed, dried, warmed, and greased before they
are laid by, and the waste fragments must be carefully swept up and
disposed of.The block itself must always be kept apart from tools.Plumbers enclose it in a sheet-lead box wrapped in a greasy rag;
amateurs may store it on a dry shelf, parcelled in waxed paper secured
by a rubber band, or in a length of motor-tyre inner tube, rolled up.=Simple Soldering.=--Scrupulous cleanliness in everything connected with
the process of soldering is essential to success.The ordinary procedure
in making a joint is to clean the surfaces first by filing or scraping
with a scraper or a knife or a plumber’s shave-hook (Fig.In some
cases, dirty metal is cleansed with dilute hydrochloric acid.With or
without preliminary heating of the work, flux is then applied to the
joint, and the heated bit is held in one hand and a stick of solder in
the other, and the stick drawn along the joint while the bit touches it
(or “drops” of solder may be transferred to the work by means of the
bit).This will cause a line of molten solder to run, and some skill and
care are necessary to get just the right amount of solder without
wasting it and allowing it to spread in a lumpy fashion beyond the
necessary area.The bit is next worked up and down the joint to spread
the solder, and by the transmitted heat to make it thoroughly penetrate
the joint.This is an outline of the process, and there is a number of
points requiring special instruction or a few words of caution.17.--Shave-hook]
Note that the work must be filed, scraped, or otherwise mechanically
cleaned, and then chemically cleaned by coating with the flux just where
the soldering is required.In heating the copper bit do not let it reach
even a dull red heat.Lightly dip it into the flux to clean the point;
then, with a small button or blob of solder resting on the work, place
the bit momentarily upon it to cause the solder to flow, and draw the
bit where the solder is required.Many beginners try to draw along the solder with an insufficiently
heated bit.The result is a series of lumps--“putting it on with a
trowel,” as it is sometimes termed.A good joint cannot be made this
way, however much solder may be used.Some beginners fly to the other extreme, and try to make a neat job with
a red-hot bit, which results in the solder assuming a sandy appearance
and in the work being discoloured.Others try to solder uphill--that is, they hold or place the work in
such a way as to cause the solder to flow away from where it is
required.The correct method is to solder downhill by tilting or
inclining the work, so that the solder will always collect around and
travel with the point of the bit.This, besides facilitating the work,
makes a strong joint, and imparts a clean and neat appearance to the
job.18 and 19.--Incorrect and Correct Methods of
Holding Bit]
A common mistake is to hold the bit in a cramped and awkward way, as in
Fig.18, the hand being twisted under the handle, the thumb being
brought to the top, and the elbow forced to the side.The correct
positions of arm and fingers are shown in Fig.19; the elbow is held
well out from the body, and the thumb is placed directly under the
handle of the bit, forming a fulcrum over which the bit may be slightly
raised or depressed at will.This is all-important when soldering very
fusible metals such as pewter, tin, etc., on which the weight of the
copper bit should never be allowed to rest, as otherwise a hole will
suddenly be made in the work.The whole weight of the bit should be
supported and balanced on the thumb by the downward pressure of that
part of the hand close to the little finger.The worker should not for a
moment lose control of the copper bit, and control is always assured
when the thumb is underneath the handle.There is but little strength in a butt joint with the edges of the metal
only just touching--that is, without a lap; to take the example of a
small cylinder, the body seam should have at least a 1/4-in.20 represents an example of internal grooved seam soldering, which may
be executed in the following way:--After applying the flux, place a
small button of solder inside the cylinder on the seam, rest the bit
momentarily on the solder to melt it, and then draw it gently along the
seam.The cylinder should be slightly tilted to allow of the solder
travelling with the point of the bit.The hand should avoid touching any
part of the work that comes directly into contact with the copper bit,
as otherwise the hand would be badly burned.20.--Soldering Internal Grooved Seam]
[Illustration: Fig.21.--Soldering on Can Bottom Internally]
The method of internally soldering the bottom on a canister, etc., is
shown in Fig.The bottom is held in position by gently pressing it
against (but not placing it on) the bench during the soldering process,
while the tilt of the canister and the position of the bit cause the
solder to travel with the bit.In soldering all such articles, the soldering should be done with one
sweep of the bit, the left hand meanwhile making the necessary
revolution.This saves time and solder, and avoids the unsightly
appearance of a series of starts and stops.In work of a larger and more substantial nature, as, for example,
galvanised or tinned iron work, the bottom of the article is first
“knocked up,” and then soldered internally.21 represents an
example of internal soldering where the whole weight of the bit is shown
resting on the molten solder inside; this provides the local heat
required to “sweat” the solder into the four thicknesses of metal which
constitute the bottom seam; and for this work the bottoming bit shown in
Fig.Pewter, lead, zinc and tin--the latter should not
be confused with tinplate--do not require sweating, on account of their
low fusibility, and any attempt even to solder them with a very hot bit
will probably end disastrously.22.--Soldering Can Externally]
Fig.22 shows an example of external seam soldering.The method there
shown is invariably adopted for simple lap seams, although grooved seams
are similarly soldered.A grooved seam, however, should preferably be
soldered internally.The position of the worker’s elbow and thumb should
be noted, as should also the tilt of the cylinder (more pronounced in
this case than the other) in order to secure the downflow of the solder.John journeyed to the hallway.It should be said that one of the
easiest ways in which a beginner may make a reliable joint is to prepare
both faces of the joint by fluxing and covering with a thin film of
solder, and then pressing the two parts together with the hot bit until
the top part “floats” and then settles down.The advantage of this way
is that one can be sure of perfect application of the solder to the
joint faces, since each is dealt with first and thoroughly coated, with
no faulty patches.Sweating is also done in the flame of a bunsen burner
or blowpipe, as explained later.=Reinforced and Filled-in Soldered Joints.=--The bottoms of square or
cylindrical vessels should, preferably, be soldered from the inside, and
“buttons” of solder may be melted to assume a stout triangular-shape
stud in the corners of the square vessels.A tinned rivet is sometimes
riveted or just placed in a corner, and sufficient solder floated over
it to strengthen the corner.Solder is always liable to run through an
improperly closed seam at the corner when external soldering is resorted
to; but in cases where this is the only practical method, a tinned rivet
may be inserted from the outside, and then soldered over.It sometimes
happens that two “raw” edges require soldering together without a lap.Where a strong joint is required a good plan is to place a length of
tinned wire over both edges and solder the lot together.In addition to
strengthening the joint, the wire considerably improves the general
appearance.A simpler joint may be made by “skimming” the solder over
with a copper bit heated only just sufficiently to melt the solder.The
quick and skilful touch is required to perform this operation
satisfactorily; but a little practice will soon bring the necessary
proficiency.The idea |
office | Where is John? | This method is useful when soldering
thin metal goods of a lower degree of fusibility than that of the solder
employed.No preparation for filling cracks previous to soldering can be
recommended, beyond such small pieces of metal that may be afterwards
soldered over and effectively hidden.It is much better to endeavour to
produce work of such quality that this expedient is altogether
unnecessary.=Soldering Heavy Milk Churns.=--When soldering the bottom rims on large
milk churns, sufficient heat cannot be maintained with only one
soldering bit.At least two heavy bits are required, so that one may be
getting hot while the other is in use.The rims are usually tinned
before being fixed by first pickling them in dilute hydrochloric acid,
washing, and then dipping in a bath of molten tin.When repairing and
resoldering the rims, remove all dirt and rust with a file, use a few
brushfuls of raw spirits further to assist the cleaning process, then
wash with clean water and solder in the usual way, using killed spirits
as a flux.=Soldering Hole in Enamelled Ware.=--First scrape or file away the
enamel quite clear all round the hole, apply a little raw spirit to the
surface of the iron, and coat it with solder in the usual manner.Then
cut out a tin disc large enough to cover the hole, and solder this in,
using killed spirit as the flux.=Soldering Leaded Lights.=--For soldering the calmes of a lead-light
window, the calmes having been fitted properly together, shave a small
round dot at the point of junction, sprinkle a little powdered resin on
the shaving, and with a copper bit or with a glazier’s iron having a
tinned face, melt a small piece of tinman’s ordinary solder on the
shaved part so that it tins to the lead and forms a round button.=Soldering Catch on Gun-barrel.=--In soldering a catch on a gun barrel
it will first be necessary to tin both barrel and catch, and then to
wire them together, in addition binding the barrels for some distance
from each side of the catch, making the ribs secure with wedges.To melt
the solder, use heaters; these are generally made of copper with iron
handles; or iron rods can be used, the ends being made red hot and
inserted in the barrels.Cut some small slips of thin solder and place
them on each side of the catch, using powdered resin.As soon as the
solder melts, remove the heaters and cool the barrels.23.--Mouth Blowpipe]
[Illustration: Fig.24.--Black’s Mouth Blowpipe]
[Illustration: Fig.25.--Fletcher’s Mouth Blowpipe]
[Illustration: Fig.26.--Section through Blowpipe Flame]
CHAPTER V
Soft-soldering with Blowpipe or Bunsen Burner
=The Mouth Blowpipe.=--Although soft-soldering is usually associated
with the use of a copper bit, quite a number of jobs can be done without
one, using instead a bunsen burner or, more generally, a mouth blowpipe,
which is an inexpensive appliance, useful for both hard and soft
soldering, and with either gas, candle, or a methylated-spirit flame.Three shapes of mouth blowpipe are shown in Figs.In a
blowpipe flame there are three cones, X, Y, Z (Fig.X is a
non-luminous cone, consisting of a mixture of atmospheric air and
unburnt combustible gases (each with a low temperature); Y is a luminous
cone, composed of burning gases (carbon and carbonic acid being in
excess); and Z is a cone the oxygen in which renders it less luminous
and free from combustible materials, its temperature being exceptionally
high, especially where the cone comes in contact with the point of the
cone Y. Because of its properties, Z is termed the oxidising or outer
flame, whilst Y is known as the inner or reducing flame, because when it
is applied to some easily reducible substance--say, lead oxide--the
oxygen in the substance heated mingles with the unburnt carbon in the
cone of the flame and produces carbonic oxide, the lead being thus
separated or reduced.The blowpipe flame is one of intense heat, even
that produced by blowing a common candle being capable of melting
metallic fragments when they are supported on a bed of charcoal.The
pointed flame gives the greatest heat, and this can be produced simply
by increasing or decreasing the space between the flame and the article
to be soldered or the metal to be melted.The particular advantage of a blowpipe is that it gives a fierce heat at
a very localised area, beyond which the solder does not run, and it
enables spots to be soldered, or parts to be unsoldered, adjusted and
re-soldered without allowing heat to stray and cause trouble at other
places.A useful little addition to the ordinary blowpipe is a small
washer soldered on near the mouth end (see Fig.23), the object of this
being to raise this part off the bench and so keep it from contamination
with dirt, filings, etc., which are unpleasant to the lips.Sometimes
the washer is made elliptical and slightly concave to fit the lips, so
that it forms a convenient stop or steady when the blowpipe is held
between the teeth without help from either hand.=Bunsen Burner, Spirit Lamps, etc.=--The bunsen burner is, of course,
the most convenient device for heating (when the bit is not in
question); but failing a gas supply, a spirit-lamp must be employed.This is a small glass bottle with wick, methylated spirit being used.Plumbers and gasfitters make use of metal tubular lamps fed with spirit
poured on cotton-wool, and having a blowpipe tube attached and coupled
up to the lips with a rubber tube; they also use wax tapers.27.--Home-made Spirit-lamp]
[Illustration: Fig.28.--Another Home-made Spirit-lamp]
A methylated wick lamp may be easily made out of a small “self-opening”
canister, as shown in Fig.The holes near the top increase the
efficiency of the flame.Another spirit soldering-lamp is shown by Fig.The container for the spirit can be made about 3 in.in diameter by
about 1-1/2 in.A glance at the
illustration will explain the burner.An outer wick surrounds a piece of
tube, which itself contains another wick.The spirit in the inner tube
is vaporised by the heat from the burner when the outside wick is lit.The spirit vapour issues from a 1/32-in.hole at A. At B a ring is
slipped over the outer wick, holding it to the central tube.By lifting
the central tube the height of the vaporising flame can be adjusted.The
vaporising tube is a piece of 3/8-in.brass tube with a 3/8-in.gas cap
screwed on the end, or a brass disc can be brazed in.The total cost
should not exceed sixpence.29.--Swivelling Gas-burner for Bench Soldering]
=Bench Blowpipes.=--The best form of gas bracket for bench use is one
having a horizontal swivelling arm, and screwed to the bench by a
flange, as shown in Fig.Mary went back to the kitchen.The swivelling head is also a cock, which
shuts off the gas when the jet arm is pushed over at right angles to the
edge of the bench, as indicated, and the gas is connected by an iron or
compo pipe under the bench.A second gas tap should be arranged in the
supply to regulate the amount of gas, and for reasons of safety.30) may be made by anyone, and connected to a
rubber-pipe connecting head on the gas bracket supplying light to the
bench and workshop.A design of gas blowpipe which leaves one hand free is shown by Fig.This enables the worker to apply the solder to the work (holding the end
of a strip against it), after it has been brought to the melting heat of
the solder.The blowpipe is arranged so that it can be held in the hand
or dropped into a hole in the bench.John journeyed to the hallway.=Tapers.=--Tapers for a blowpipe flame are made by untwisting cotton
rope until the threads of the individual strands are straight.These are
then dipped in melted wax made by melting two wax candles over a gas
stove in a jam jar.They are repeatedly dipped until sufficient
thickness of wax is obtained.The wax should be just sufficiently hot to
keep melted.Mary went to the office.30.--Simple Bench Burner]
[Illustration: Fig.31.--Gas Blowpipe for Bench]
=Catching-tray for Bunsen Burner.=--The blowpipe is not essential for
some kinds of work, such as when the job can be held wholly in the flame
without causing any damage.When solder is being melted to drop on to a
surface, the plain bunsen or atmospheric flame is also sufficient,
though in this case it is well to tilt the burner over so as to prevent
the solder dropping down the tube.An elbow fitted on the top of the
tube is handy in this connection, to deflect the flame at an angle, and
Figs.32 and 33 show this, with the addition of a tray to catch the
dripping solder which otherwise would splash on the bench and cause
untidiness.The tray is riveted to a strip of brass bent round to slip
over the outside of the elbow, and a small pin riveted into the tube
prevents the tray from falling down.34.--Section through Blowlamp for Soldering,
Brazing, etc.]32 and 33.--Bunsen Burner and Solder-catching
Tray]
=Blow Lamps.=--A soldering lamp is used sometimes in the place of a
blowpipe, and it should combine perfect security with compactness and
portability.Tool merchants’ catalogues show a number of styles.When the lamp is in use and
the body of it is very hot, the inside pressure does not exceed
three-fifths of an atmosphere, whether the regulator R is open or almost
closed.Thus the danger of explosion, which is such a drawback to some
of the lamps that use ordinary paraffin, is avoided.The upper parts of
the lamp are subjected to great heat and therefore are packed with
asbestos, which serves as a filter and stops any impurity in the
benzoline from getting to the burner.The flame can be lowered to a
glimmer when not actually in use, thus saving the trouble of relighting.When the lamp is to be used, the regulator R is screwed up tight; and
care must be taken to ascertain, from time to time, that the burner or
nipple C is open and perfectly clean.If this becomes obstructed, it can
be cleaned by unscrewing the tube T and passing a fine steel wire
through the hole.The lamp should be completely filled with benzoline
every time it is to be used.A little methylated spirits is poured into
the basin A, and set alight.When the apparatus has become slightly
warm, the regulator is opened gradually.To extinguish the flame, the
regulator must be screwed up tight.If any escape is observed round the
screw of the regulator, the square P should be screwed up with the key
supplied by the makers, so as to tighten the asbestos packing.The lamp
above described is only one of a great number of such appliances, but it
is fairly typical of them all.John went back to the office.The difference between a solderer’s and a
brazer’s blowlamp is merely one of size and power.35.--Soldering Lading-can handle]
[Illustration: Fig.36.--Soldering Lug to Lamp Bottom]
=How to Operate a Mouth Blowpipe.=--The operation of using the mouth
blowpipe does not consist in blowing intermittent and strong blasts with
the lungs, as this would soon exhaust the wind power.For very light
jobs, however, this method is sometimes adopted; but once the proper way
is discovered, the user naturally falls into the use of this method.A dormant feeling is
kindled into activity by our contact with them.But these persons must
begin from a better motive than a desire to have them simply because it
is "the style."The desire to succeed with them _because you like them_
will insure success.Those who would have flowers because _it is the
fashion_ to have them may experience a sort of _satisfaction_ in the
possession of them, but this is a feeling utterly unlike the pleasure
known to those who grow flowers _because they love them_.* * * * *
I am not a believer in the "knack" of flower-growing in the sense that
some are born with a special ability in that line, or, as some would
say, with a "_gift_" that way.We often hear it said, "Flowers will grow
for her if she just _looks_ at them."This is a wrong conclusion to
arrive at in the cases of those who are successful with them.They do
something more than simply "look" at their plants.Some may acquire this ability easier and sooner than
others, but it is a "knack" that anyone may attain to who is willing to
keep his eyes open, and reason from cause to effect.Don't get the idea
that success at plant-growing comes without observation, thought, and
work.All the "knack" you need to have is a liking for flowers, and a
desire to understand how you can best meet their special requirements.In other words, the _will_ to succeed will find out the _way_ to that
result.* * * * *
Just now, while I am at work on the last pages of this book, comes an
inquiry, which I answer here because the subject of it is one of general
interest: "Every spring our Crimson Rambler Roses are infested with
thousands of green plant-lice.The new shoots will be literally covered
with them.And in fall the stalks of our Rudbeckia are as thickly
covered with a _red_ aphis, which makes it impossible for us to use it
for cut-flower work.Nicoticide will rid the plants of their enemies if applied
thoroughly, and persistently.One application may not accomplish the
desired result, because of failure to reach all portions of the plant
with it, but a second or a third application will do the work.* * * * *
By way of conclusion I want to urge women with "nerves" to take the
gardening treatment.Many housewives are martyrs to a prison-life.They
are shut up in the house from year's end to year's end, away from
pleasant sights, sounds, fresh air, and sunshine.If we can get such a
woman into the garden for a half-hour each day, throughout the summer,
we can make a new woman of her.Work among flowers, where the air is
pure and sweet, and sunshine is a tonic, and companionship is cheerful,
will lift her out of her work and worry, and body and mind will grow
stronger, and new life, new health, new energy will come to her, and the
cares and vexations that made life a burden, because of the nervous
strain resulting from them, will "take wings and fly away."Garden-work
is the best possible kind of medicine for overtaxed nerves.It makes
worn-out women over into healthy, happy women."I thank God, every day,
for my garden," one of these women wrote me, not long ago."It has given
me back my health.It has made me feel that life _is_ worth living,
after all.I believe that I shall get so that I live in my garden most
of the time.By that I mean that I shall be thinking about it and
enjoying it, either in recollection or anticipation, when it is
impossible for me to be actually in it.My mind will be there in winter,
and I will be there in summer.Why--do you know, I did a good deal more
housework last year than ever before, and I did it in order to find time
to work among my flowers.* * * * *
+-------------------------------------------------------------+
| _Gardening Books |
kitchen | Where is John? | |
| |
| _Eight full-page illustrations.198 pages, |
| cloth, ornamental, $1.25 net._ |
| |
| Four Seasons in the Garden |
| |
| This book treats of all phases of the subject, |
| from the simple bed or two along the fence in a |
| city back yard, to the most pretentious garden of |
| the suburban or country dweller.Mary went back to the kitchen.|
| |
| _Twenty-six illustrations in tint, frontispiece, |
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| Indoor Gardening |
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| _Colored frontispiece and 32 illustrations.Decorated |
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| Amateur Gardencraft |
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| _J._The Rise of the Novel_ (London, 1957), Chapter I.
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE
The text of this facsimile of _Olinda's Adventures_ (from the second
volume of _Familiar Letters of Love, Gallantry and Several Occasions_
[1718]) is published with the permission of the Trustees of the Newberry
Library.The unique recorded copy (in the Bodleian Library) of the
duodecimo first edition of 1693 is too small and too poorly printed to
be reproduced in the present series.The SECOND VOLUME
OF
_Familiar Letters_
OF
=LOVE, GALLANTRY=
And several OCCASIONS,
BY THE
WITS _of the Last and Present Age_.With the best of _VOITURE_'s Letters, Translated
by Mr.ALSO THE
REMAINS
Of the Celebrated
Mr.BROWN;=
BEING
LETTERS, POEMS and DIALOGUES
on the TIMES, not Printed in his
WORKS.LONDON,
Printed for =SAM.[Decoration]
_Olinda's_ Adventures:
OR THE AMOURS
Of a Young LADY.John journeyed to the hallway._Dear Cleander_,
I Hope I need not tell you how uneasie this tedious Absence makes me;
for I must confess as troublesome as I find it, and as much as I Value
you, I can't but wish you may be able to guess at it by what you suffer
your self: A strange Effect of the highest degree of Friendship; for if
I had less for you, I shou'd not so earnestly desire to hear you are in
Pain; but such Contradictions are no Mysteries to you, who understand
so well the little Niceties of Friendship.That you may see I study
nothing more in this Solitude than to oblige you; I've resolv'd to
employ most part of my time in complying with that Request you've often
made me, of giving you a particular account of all that has happen'd to
me in my Life; tho' I fear I shall lose part of that Esteem which you
have hitherto preserved for me, by acquainting you with some Passages of
it, which yet I hope have nothing in 'em so ill, that the kindness of a
Friend mayn't find out something in the Circumstances of the Story to
Excuse: For tho' perhaps I have not always been so nicely cautious as a
Woman in strictness ought, I have never gone beyond the bounds of solid
Virtue.To put all to the hazard then, I will give you a faithful
Account of all my Weaknesses.My Father dying, left me when I was very
young, to the Tuition of a Mother, who as you know is qualify'd for such
a Charge equal to any of her Sex; and she indeed perform'd her part as
well as her small Fortune wou'd permit her, which was scarce sufficient
to maintain her, in that Rank her Birth had placed her.However, she
gave me all the Education that was necessary; but I believe you'll
excuse me if I pass over all that occurr'd till I was Thirteen, for
about that time I began to fancy my self a Woman, and the more to
perswade me to it, I happen'd to be acquainted with a Gentleman whose
Name was _Licydon_, who the first or second time I saw him, seem'd to
have so much confidence in me, that he told me a long story of his Love,
and ever after shew'd me all the Letters he either Writ to, or received
from his Mistress: This you must think did not a little please me.and I
thought my self as Wise as the Gravest Politician, when he ask'd my
Advice in any of his Affairs, especially when I heard him commended by
many for a Man of great Parts.Mary went to the office.One day that we were by our selves, we
fell into a Discourse of Womens making Love; he Argu'd that 'twas very
unjust to deprive 'em of the satisfaction of discovering a Passion,
which they were as much subject to as Men: I said as much against him as
I cou'd, but he had more dexterity to manage his Argument than I; so
that I was easily brought to agree with him; but said 'twas well that
custom was observ'd, since the complaisance which was paid by their Sex
to ours, would sometimes oblige 'em to comply contrary to their
Inclination; for I cou'd not imagine how they cou'd civily refuse a
Lady's Intreaties.He told me if I wou'd write a Declaration of Love to
him, he wou'd shew me how it might be Answer'd with a great deal of
Respect, without any Love.I consented to do it, and accordingly did the
next day, and he return'd me an Answer which satisfied me: This, tho' it
may seem a trivial thing, you will find by the sequel, had like to have
produc'd but ill Effects.Some time after this, he brought a Friend of
his to Visit us, who was of a good Family; but according to the
_English_ custom of breeding the younger Sons to Trades; he was a
Goldsmith, but a great _Beaux_, and one who seem'd to have a Soul above
his calling: He ask'd _Licydon_ if he had any pretensions to me, which
when he assur'd him he had not, he told him he was very glad he had not
a Rival in a Friend; for he was hugely smitten, and shou'd need his
Assistance in his design; for he had observ'd such an intimacy between
us, as gave him Reason to think he had great influence over me; and he
was sure he wou'd not deny him, if he was not my Lover._Licydon_
assur'd him he had only a Friendship for me, and that he wou'd use all
his Credit with me to perswade me to receive all His Addresses
favourably; which he did as soon as he had an opportunity.He said all
of him that he could imagine most engaging, and especially of the
Violence of his Passion.John went back to the office.I was well enough pleas'd with the Love, tho'
not with the Lover; for 'tis natural at that unthinking Age to covet a
croud of Admirers, tho' we despise them: But I believe I need not
confine that Vanity to Youth, many of our Sex are troubled with it, when
one wou'd think they were Old enough to be sensible of the Folly, and
inconvenience of being continually Courted, and haunted by Men they have
an indifference, or perhaps an aversion for For my part I think there is
no greater Torment; but I was of another Opinion then, and therefore
Rally'd at the Love, and seem'd not to blelieve it; which I warrant you
gave great Encouragement to my new Lover, when he heard of it; for 'tis
a great Sign one wou'd be convinc'd.So I'd best prepare my self for an
Attack, which I did not expect long: It was begun by a _Billet Doux_,
which came first to my Mother's Hands; and when she gave it me, she
ask'd what Answer I wou'd return.I told her I was wholly to be Govern'd
by her; but if I was to follow my own inclination I wou'd not answer it
at all: My Mother reply'd, she thought it fit I shou'd Answer it; for
she believ'd I cou'd have no aversion to him, and she did not think it
an ill Match, considering my Circumstances.John travelled to the bathroom.Then I desir'd her to indite
a Letter for me, for I saw well enough I shou'd not please her.She gave
me a Copy of one, that without saying any thing that was kind, gave him
cause enough to despair; but I cou'd not dissemble my Looks and Actions,
in which he observ'd so much Coldness, that tho' several Letters pass'd
between us, that wou'd have given hopes to a Man the least apt to
presume; he was often half an hour with me alone, without speaking one
Word to me.At last he complain'd to _Licydon_ of the strange
contradictions in what I did, and what I Writ; for whenever he begun to
speak to me of his Love, I check'd him with such severe Looks, and
turn'd the Discourse in such a manner, that he durst proceed no further,
tho' my Letters seem'd much to his Advantage._Licydon_ perswaded him
(as perhaps he thought himself) that 'twas only my Modesty, and that
perhaps I shou'd be more emboldned, if he cou'd get my Mother's consent
to his Proposals._Berontus_, for that was his Name, was as well
satisfy'd with this, as if I had told him so my self; and away goes he
immediately to my Mother, and tells her he's stark staring mad in Love
with her Daughter: The next thing they talk of is Joynture, and
Settlements, _&c._ and in fine they agree; So I am call'd for, and
commanded to look upon this Spark as one that must shortly be my
Husband; to give us the more freedom, my Mother leaves us together.'Well, Madam, (says he) I have no Opposites to struggle with, your
Mother has given me her consent, and you have given me hopes that you
will not refuse me yours.What shou'd I do in this perplexity?I had a
firm Resolution never to Marry him; but I found my Mother so much set
upon it, that I durst not let it be known; besides, I had engag'd my
self so far in Obedience to her, that I did not know how to come off;
but for the present I wou'd be whimsical, and take time to consider what
I shou'd do hereafter.John went to the kitchen.So I put on a pet, and said, _Berontus_, I don't
know what advantage you think you have more than before; but I'm sure a
Lover wou'd have found another way of Courting his Mistress, than by her
|
bedroom | Where is Sandra? | 'Cruel Creature, _says he_, what pleasure do you
take in tormenting me?You know that I love you with the greatest
respect imaginable, and that I can't be happy but by you alone.I never
had Recourse to your Mother till you had encourag'd me, and gave me
leave to say it; your usage of me is very unjust.I knew well enough he
was in the Right; but I wou'd not know it: So that we parted both much
dissatisfied.How his Thoughts were employ'd I can't pretend to tell
you; but I was continually contriving how to get out of this troublesome
Affair.I cou'd find no way but to tell him sincerely, that all that I
had writ in his favour was by constraint; that I was too young to think
of Love, or Marriage, and so trust to his Generosity; and prevail with
him, if possible, to let it fall of his side.The first time I had an
opportunity of putting my design in Execution, I thought the poor Lover
wou'd never have liv'd to see me beyond those Years which serv'd for a
pretence for my refusal; but he was Wise enough to baulk me, 'If, _says
he_ (after he was come out of his Dumps; for he was a quarter of an hour
without saying any thing.You see he was much given to silence) 'If I
did not imagine it your Hate that only study'd an Excuse, I shou'd wait
with a great deal of satisfaction, till you were pleas'd to make me
happy: But as it is, I shall die a thousand times with fear, that some
other more happy in your inclinations than I, will rob me of you for
ever.He said in fine, abundance of fine things, to perswade me to
engage my self to him; but I wou'd not consent to it; and all I could
say to him, was as little prevalent to make him desist his suit.He
wou'd wait the Patriarch's Prenticeship rather than lose his Angel:
Would it not be a sad Business if he should lose her after all?But I am
afraid he's like, for her thoughts cannot be brought so low; they towre
a little above his Shop, perhaps too high for her Fortune; but she's
something too young to consider that, or to prefer her Interest to her
Humour.But to go on with my Story; my Mother was well enough satisfied
to have the Match delay'd; so that I thought I had nothing to do for a
Year or two, but to wish some Accident might intervene to hinder it.But
it was not long before a Servant we had in the House found me other
Employment; I had complain'd of some Negligences she had been guilty of,
when my Mother was out of Town, which were occasion'd by a fondness she
had for one that waited upon _Licydon_: Upon which she had been like to
be turn'd away, and being of a revengeful Spirit, she cou'd never
forgive it.She had observ'd, that _Licydon_ often gave me, and I him,
Letters in private; for when he had no other opportunity, he us'd to
give me those he sent, or receiv'd from his Mistress, as we were taking
leave, when I conducted him to the Door; which I often did, whilst my
Mother was entertaining other Company; and I return'd 'em when I saw him
again.Mary went back to the kitchen.This malicious Wench hoping to find something in 'em that might
prejudice me, to _Licydon_'s Man (over whom it seems she had a great
Influence) that she heard his Master was a great Poet, and that she had
a great mind to see some of his Works, if he could contrive to let her
into his Closet when he was abroad: The Servant who suspected nothing,
promis'd her he wou'd let her know the first time his Master left his
Key, which he very seldom did.He kept his Word with her, and after she
had look'd over all his Papers, at last she found that Letter which I
spoke of at the beginning.She knew my Hand well enough, and no doubt
with Joy, put it into her Pocket, without being perceiv'd by the Fellow;
and to lose no time, went presently to _Berontus_; to whom she said,
That she was extreamly concern'd to see him deceiv'd by two that he
rely'd so much upon, as her young Mistress and _Licydon_: And therefore
she could not forbear telling him, that she had discover'd an Intrigue
between 'em, and that they were so familiar, that if they were not
Married already, she was sure they wou'd be very suddenly; with
abundance of Circumstances of her own Invention, to make the Story more
plausible.He did not believe her at first; but when she show'd him the
Letter, it put him beyond doubt; so that after he had given her his
Word, whatever Measures he took, not to discover her, she went away very
well pleas'd, that she had depriv'd me of a Husband, and receiv'd a good
Reward for it._Berontus_ did not give his Rage and Grief leave to
abate; but in the height of both, writ a Letter to _Licydon_, and
another to me.You can't imagine how much I was surprized when I read
it, and found it was a Chalenge, (for in that Confusion he had mistaken
the Direction) to one whom he accus'd of betraying him in what was
dearer to him than his Life: I cou'd not guess who it was design'd for,
till _Licydon_ came in, and show'd me a Letter he had just receiv'd,
which he believ'd was for me; and desir'd me to tell him who that happy
Man was _Berontus_ complain'd so much of.I saw plainly then he was
jealous of _Licydon_; but was not able to Divine the Cause: He gave me
the Letter which contain'd these Words;
_Wou'd to Heaven you had told me Truth, when you said you were too young
to think of Love; you have thought of it too much_ Olinda, _for my
quiet; but you were born to Torment me.It is my Fate, why do I complain
of you?John journeyed to the hallway.Pity me, if I fall by my happy Rivals Hand, and if you can,
forgive me if I survive him.Mary went to the office.John went back to the office.This is the last time I design to trouble
you: I wish he may be more faithful to you than he has been to me:
Adieu, Madam, pity the unfortunate_ Berontus.John travelled to the bathroom.The Letter seem'd so full of Distraction, that I cou'd not chuse but
pity him; for I really thought him Mad: But I did not think fit to shew
_Licydon_ that which was design'd for him.When he was gone I sent for
_Berontus_, but he refus'd to come, and 'twas with much ado after three
or four times sending he was prevail'd with.I told him by what means I
had seen both his Letters; but that they appear'd so great Mysteries to
me, that I sent for him to explain 'em.'Twas long before he wou'd let
me know the Cause of his suspicions; but I was so importunate, that at
last he show'd me the Love Letter I had writ to _Licydon_: Can I have a
greater Proof than this, says he?I confess, reply'd I, you have Reason
to think as you do; but you are much deceiv'd; and then I told him upon
what occasion it was writ: I saw very well he did not believe me, and I
knew not how to convince him, unless I cou'd find _Licydon_'s Answer,
which at least wou'd clear him.I found it by good Fortune, and brought
it to _Berontus_.Read this, said I, and you'll see whether it be true,
that I Writ to _Licydon_ in earnest: You have nothing to accuse him of.After he had read it, he cry'd out in a violent manner, I have wrong'd
the innocent _Olinda_, and I deserve to be hated by her for ever.Be not
so transported I return'd coldly enough, I may love _Licydon_, tho' he
be so indifferent: The Postscript fully clears you, reply'd _Berontus_,
and makes me not dare to ask you to forgive me: Upon which I took it,
and read these Words, which I had quite forgot._I did not think one
cou'd write so prettily of Love, and be so insensible of it; How happy
wou'd that Man be, that shou'd receive such a one dictated by your
Heart, as well as Hand._ I am sure none cou'd return such an Answer to
_Olinda_.John went to the kitchen.This Complement did me so much Kindness, that one wou'd think
I shou'd be a better Friend to 'em than you know I am._Berontus_ left
me almost as angry at himself, as he was before at us; and did not come
near me for some time after.Sandra went to the bedroom.When I told _Licydon_ what had pass'd
between us, he was amaz'd: He Examin'd his Man, who had been in the
Chamber, who confess'd the Truth; and our Servant, when she was tax'd
with it, hardly deny'd it; and thus the whole Matter was discover'd;
which had it not been for a happy Mistake, had probably cost one, or
both of them, their Lives, and me my Honour.Two days after _Licydon_
was Married, and so our Acquaintance broke off; for tho' his Wife came
to see me and often press'd me to keep a Correspondence with her; I
never did, for I knew she had been very Jealous of me before she
Marry'd, and I would not hazard the reviving it._Berontus_ easily
obtain'd his Pardon of me (for you know I'm very good Natur'd) and so he
continu'd to Visit me, taking all the pains he could to please me,
without any thing remarkable happening, till three Monthes after, his
Elder Brother, who had been at his Travels, and was reported to be dead,
return'd; so that he was no longer able to keep the Conditions he had
made with my Mother; for he had nothing to live upon but his Trade;
which I afterwards heard he neglected very much, and took to that usual
remedy of Cares, Drinking: He said it was to cure his Grief for the loss
of his Mistress, and truly that is to be lamented, when the loss of a
good Estate is the Cause of it.However he is comforted for both now,
and Married to a Woman with a great Fortune.I was very glad to be rid
of my Lover, tho' I was sorry 'twas by his misfortune.Thus _Cleander_, you have an account of the first Adventures of my Life;
which made me early know some uneasie Hours: By the next Post I'll
acquaint you with a Catalogue of Lovers (that is, they were my _En
passant_, in taking their Rounds, and serv'd better to divert me than
the most Romantick Constancy, without giving themselves, or me any
trouble) but it's indeed time to make an end.Adieu my Friend, think of
me always, and, Write as often as you can to _Olinda_.[Decoration]
[Illustration: _M.V^{dr} Gucht Sculp_
_Olinda_.Mary moved to the garden.136_]
LETTER V.
TO proceed in Order to my Relation, I must begin with one, who in
respect of his Years as well as the time in which I knew him, demands
the Pre-eminence.about Threescore; Don't you
think one of his Country and Years, will make a pretty Lover?But Old as
he was, he had a Mistress in the House with him.I was younger than she,
and I believe I may say, without Vanity, I had some other Advantages
over her; so that the Old Spark had a Month's mind to me; and I, partly
to plague her, and partly to divert my self, received all his Addresses
with a great deal of complaisance.I cou'd perceive her fret within her
self, tho she durst not shew it.She was in great fear of losing him;
for the Man's Money had such Charms as aton'd for his want of 'em, tho'
he was Ugliness in perfection; (if that ben't Nonsense) and 'twas the
best Jest in the World to me, to see him squint an Amorous Glance upon
me with one Eye, whilst 'tother was watching whether she took Notice of
him; for we Lodg'd in one House together; so that I cou'd not avoid
often being with them both, nor indeed did I endeavour it; for I took a
malicious pleasure in laughing at their Follies: Since there's nothing
so ridiculous as an Antiquated Lover, who has the Vanity to believe he
is belov'd, and a Jealous Woman, who has not Discretion enough to hide
it.That I might be sufficiently entertain'd with both, one day I began
a Discourse of Young and old Lovers, preferring the last as more
Constant, more Fond, and more Solid than the First: He Smil'd, and took
me by the Hand, and gave me a thousand Commendations for the Wisdom of
my choice; Nay, and so far forgot himself, that he apply'd it to
himself, and said such passionate things as wou'd have been extravagant
from a young Fellow.She with a great deal of Heat contradicted all I
had said, and told all the Impertinences and Inconveniences one finds in
an Old Man (which she experimentally knew better than I) without
considering how far it touch'd him, she was so earnest against me.This
made him so Angry, and her so out of Countenance when she reflected so
upon what she had said, that I was never better diverted: So she did not
know what Excuse to make for her self; and in fine, the Dispute grew so
high, that at last they parted.was hotter upon me
than ever; he pester'd me continually with his Visits, and the Brute so
little understood my Raillery, that he pretended an Interest in me, and
wou'd check me when he saw any body younger than himself with me; but I
gave him such Answers, that he did not know what to make of me.When he
had Orders for _Flanders_, he told me I must prepare my self to go with
him, and I should live as great and happy as a Queen; I said I wou'd go
withal my Heart, upon Condition his Son should be always with us: The
Old Man started, my Son, Child, what would you do with him?I think he
is fitter company for me than you, says I, and so I left him, so
asham'd, that he shunn'd seeing me ever after.He e'en went to
_Flanders_ without me, and vow'd, young as he was, he wou'd never have
any thing to do with Woman more.Thus I was rid of my Old Impertinent,
whose place was soon supply'd by one of those gay youths who never wait
for the slow gifts of pity, but Ravish little Favours from us, as if
they were their due; who make it impossible for us to think it a Crime
to give what they ask with so much boldness; and who are always
endeavouring to divert her they design to please.He Courted me with
Balls, Musick, and Entertainments, and in the midst of 'em wou'd now and
then whisper some pretty Love Maggots.I was first acquainted with him
at a Relations of mine at _Greenwich_: He was an Officer in the Army,
and was then in the Camp upon _Black-Heath_; and being very well known
in the House where I was, he came often there.He had heard several
things of me to my Advantage, (for Fame generally flatters or detracts)
as, that I sung well, was Handsom, and so forth: And I was told, that he
was very well accomplish'd, and the |
office | Where is Daniel? | So I Writ a thousand little mad things, and
he Answer'd me at the same Rate, only a great deal of Airy Love mingled
with it.The following Week he came to see me, and from that day I was
never suffered to rest for one frolick or other: All the time he staid,
I liv'd a pleasant sort of a Life, till he went to Fight abroad, and got
two or three new Mistresses to divert, for those sort of Men never
remember the Absent; their Love never enters the Heart, nor do they
often gain ours; they seldom fail to please indeed, and they force us to
think of 'em sometimes whether we will or not; but they are neither
Discreet, nor Constant enough to go any further: I suppose he forgot me
as soon as he left me, and I was not much behindhand with him.Mary went back to the kitchen.After he
was gone, I had scarce a breathing time before another of his
Profession, more serious, and more designing, succeeded him: He had a
good Estate, and pass'd in the World for a Man of Honour, and therefore
was Received by my Mother favourably enough.I neither lik'd, nor
dislick'd him; but treated him with Civility, till I found out that his
designs were not very Honourable; and then I thought it time to alter my
Behaviour: I forbid him to see me, and when he came to our Lodgings, I
was deny'd to him, tho' he knew I was at home; upon which he left off
coming, and when some of his Comrades ask'd him the Reason, he told
them, he knew me too well, and that he did not think a Creature so young
cou'd be so Lew'd.Observe, my Friend, how unhappy Women are, who are
thus expos'd to lose either their Virtue, or their Honour; if I had
comply'd with him, perhaps none wou'd have been more careful of my Fame
than he: But how much my Choice is to be preferr'd, none but those who
have experienced the unexpressible satisfaction it gives can know.I
heard of it with a great deal of indifference, and did not so much as
hate the Author of the scandal.The next in waiting was a _French
Beaux_: He had a great stock of Wit, but more Vanity, a mighty
Flatterer, and one who took much pains to perswade credulous Women that
he lov'd them; and if he succeeded, he always forsook 'em, and sometimes
gratify'd his Vanity to their Cost, who had been indiscreet enough to
give him occasion.John journeyed to the hallway.He laid his Baits to catch me, he Vow'd, and Swore,
and Danc'd, and Sung eternally by turns; but I was too wary to be
caught, tho' he made me a hundred Protestations, I was the only Woman he
ever did, or ever cou'd Love; follow'd me where ever I went, and in
spight of the greatest Rigour I cou'd use, wou'd not forbear haunting
me.I did not know how to free my self from the Impertinence of this
<DW2>; but I thought if I cou'd convince him of one Act of Inconstancy, he
wou'd not have the Confidence to trouble me any more: I had many
contrivances in Order to it, but at last I fix'd upon one that was
probable enough to take with one of his Humour.I Writ a Letter
(disguising my Hand) as from a Woman extreamly in Love with him, and
desir'd him to tell me sincerely whither he was engaged or not; for I
was too just to rob any Woman of his Heart, and too nice to be content
with a part of it.I told him if he was free, I wou'd meet him, the next
day at the Bird-Cage in the Park: He sent a very obliging answer to the
unknown Lady; and said, he was passionately in Love with her Wit; that
if her Beauty were Answerable, he must be undone; however 'twould be
such a pleasing Ruin, that he waited with the highest impatience for the
appointed hour, when he might assure her by word of Mouth, his Heart was
wholly at her dispose.Just as I had done Reading this Letter he came
in, and for a Proof of his Constancy, shew'd me that which I had sent
him, with another, which he said was the Answer he design'd to send;
wherein he told her, he was already so deeply in Love, 'twas impossible
for him to change; with abundance of fine things of the Person he
Lov'd.This was good sport for me, and I had much ado to keep my
Countenance; I us'd all my Rhetorick to perswade him to stay with me; a
thing I had never desir'd of him before, and now 'twas in vain: He
pretended earnest business, and went long before the Hour, he was so
very impatient.When he was gone, I chang'd my Clothes, took a Lady with
me, who was Privy to the Affair, and went to the aforesaid Place.We
were in Masks, and it being duskish, he did not know us; but after I had
banter'd him for some time, I discover'd my self: I cannot describe to
you the different Passions that affected him; sometimes he was in a Rage
with me for putting such a Deceit upon him, sometimes he wou'd frame
weak Excuses for what he had done, and sometimes he was not able to
speak at all for Grief, that he was not only disappointed of a new
Mistress, but had lost all hopes of gaining one he had Courted so long,
with so much Assiduity.I went home, as well pleas'd with losing one, as
I have sometimes been with making a Conquest, in full hopes I shou'd be
plagued with him no more, and I was not deceiv'd.You see, _Cleander_,
what a Miscellany of Lovers, if I may call 'em so, I have had, all of
different humours, but none that had found out the Secret to please me:
They have done enough if they contribute any thing to your diversion,
and made a sufficient Recompence for all their former Impertinence to
_Your faithful Friend_
Olinda.[Decoration]
LETTER III.Mary went to the office._My Friend_,
THE Reflections you made upon my two last are so Just, so Profitable,
and so Pleasant, that thro' them I see the Author's great Capacity, that
can make so good use of such little things; and while I read, bless my
kind Fate that made you my Friend, when the Good and Wise are so scarce;
and wonder how so particular a Blessing came to be my Lot; which more
than doubly satisfies for all I suffer'd by _Clarinda_'s falseness.I
believe you think it strange I never mention'd her, in any of the
Passages of my Life, since it was before many that I have told you of,
that I knew and lov'd her: But I could not have Nam'd her without some
Marks of kindness, that I either show'd, or receiv'd from her, which I
would willingly forget, and cou'd not now speak of her, but when I put
your Friendship in compensation with her Ingratitude.But since I am
fall'n upon this Subject, I will let you know a little better than you
do, the only Woman that I ever trusted, not with any Secret, for you see
I then had none of consequence; but with my Love, and in that she
betray'd me.Her Sister often told me, she was sorry to see so sincere a
Friendship bestow'd upon one that knew so little how to Value it; that
_Clarinda_ was the same to all, which she pretended to be only for me:
That she was always fondest of her new acquaintance, and wou'd
Sacrifice, or Ridicule the Old, the better to Caress 'em: But I knew
there had been some Quarrels betwixt them, and therefore wou'd not
believe it, till I found it too true; and then my partiality for her,
chang'd into as great an Error on the other hand, for I involv'd the
whole Sex in her Faults, and with _Aristotle_ (I hope one may condemn
ones self with _Aristotle_) Repented that I had ever Trusted a Woman.I
don't know whether I forgot I was one, or whither I had the Vanity to
think my self more perfect than the rest; but I resolv'd none of the Sex
was capable of Friendship; and continu'd in that Opinion till I knew
_Ambrisia_, who (if one may judge by the Rule of Contraries, convinces
me of injustice) for she is just _Clarinda_'s Antipodes._Clarinda_
loves new Faces, and professes a particular kindness at first sight;
_Ambrisia_ is a long time before she goes beyond Civility, and never
does but to those whom she has well observ'd, and found 'em Worthy:
_Clarinda_ will Rail at one Friend to engage another: _Ambrisia_ cant
hear an innocent person, tho' her Enemy, accus'd without defending 'em:
_Clarinda_ will be one day fond to extravagance, and the next as
indifferent for the same person: _Ambrisia_ is always the same, and
where once she loves, she never changes: _Clarinda_ is easily angry:
_Ambrisia_ is perhaps too mild.John went back to the office._Clarinda_ has Wit indeed, but 'tis not
temper'd by Judgment, so that it makes her often do, and say a hundred
things that call her discretion in question: _Ambrisia_ has a Solid and
piercing Judgment, one wou'd thing all she says was the Result of
premeditation, she speaks such Wise and such surprizing things, and yet
her Answers are so ready, that one wou'd Swear she did not think at all;
her Actions are always most regular; I believe she never cou'd accuse
her self of an imprudent one.This is a true and unprejudic'd Character
of both; and if you wonder how I cou'd love a Woman with such gross
Faults, I must tell you, some of them I did not know then; some I
excus'd, for I did not expect perfection, and some my partial kindness
made me cover with the Name of some Neighbouring Virtue.You know,
_Ambrisia_ has as great advantages of _Clarinda_ in Body as in Mind: I
have often heard you praise her outward Beauty, and now I have shew'd
you the Beauties of her Soul, tho' they are far greater than I can
express, give me leave to wish her yours.Forgive me if I mingle a
little self-Interest in my wishes for you, I can't resist a thought of
joy for the hopes of finding two Noble Friends in one, by such a happy
Union: Think of it _Cleander_; you only deserve one another.I know you
will bid me take your advice, and shew you the way; but I shall tell you
things that will convince you, my refusal is reasonable.John travelled to the bathroom.I was just
fifteen years old when a particular Friend of my Mothers buried her
Husband; whose Grief was so great, that my Mother durst hardly leave
her; she staid with her Night and Day, and manag'd all her Affairs for
her.She went to _Cloridon_'s, who had had a Friendship for the
Deceas'd; (for they were forc'd to make use of that, and his Authority
in a business, wherein the Widdow had lik'd to be wrong'd) but Men of
his Quality are not always at Leisure, and must be waited on; so that
tho' my Mother went two or three times, she did not see him, and having
other Affairs of her own, and her Friends in hand, besides being oblig'd
to be much with her, she cou'd not Watch his Hours: However 'twas a
thing of too great consequence to be neglected: So she Writ a Letter to
him, and Order'd me to carry it, and to deliver it into his own Hand.John went to the kitchen.I
went often to his Lodgings before I cou'd speak with him, and carry'd
_Clarinda_ with me: At last I was appointed an hour when I shou'd
certainly meet with him, and she happen'd to be so engag'd, she cou'd
not possibly go with me.I knew no body else I cou'd use so much freedom
with, and was forc'd to go alone.I did not wait long before I was
admitted, and he approach'd me with that awful Majesty which is peculiar
to him; and that commands respect from all that see him.Whilst he he
held the Letter I gave him, I look'd at him sometimes; but still I met
his Eyes, so that I cou'd not view him well, tho' I saw enough to think
him the Charming'st Man in the World: He ask'd my Name, and whose
Daughter I was?Sandra went to the bedroom.which when I told him, he said he knew my Father very
well; that he was a Worthy Man, and that for his sake he wou'd do any
thing for me that lay within his Power.I thank'd him, tho' I took it
for a Courtier's Complement, and desir'd an Answer to the business I
came about._I will go my self instantly_, says he, _to see what can be
done in it, and give you an Account of it in the Afternoon; but there's
so much Company at my Lodgings, that 'tis not a convenient place for
you: Can't you come somewhere else?_ Yes my Lord, _says I_, very
innocently, where you please: _if you will be in a Hackney Coach then,
at Five a Clock by_ Covent-Garden _Church, I will come to you, and let
you know what I can do for your Friend_.I told him I would, and went
away very well satisfy'd with him, for I had no apprehensons of any
design, from a Man of his Character.You know all the World thinks him
the fondest Husband upon Earth, and that he never had a thought of any
Woman but his Wife, since he Marry'd her.This made me secure, and I did
not fail to go at the appointed hour.My Mother knew nothing of it till
afterwards; for I did not see her that day.Mary moved to the garden.When he came to me, he told
me, what he had done; inform'd himself of some things that were
necessary for him to know, that related to the business, and assur'd me
he wou'd do the Widow Justice.Daniel travelled to the kitchen.Daniel went back to the office.Then he renew'd his Promise to me with
Protestations, that I shou'd command him as far as his Authority or
Interest cou'd go; and beg'd me to make use of him either for my
Relations, or my self, when ever I had occasion.After he had made me
some Speeches of my Wit and Beauty, we parted, and as soon as I saw my
Mother, I told her all that pass'd between us.She was extreamly pleas'd
to have so great a Man her Friend; especially, one that she had no
Reason to suspect of any ill Design, since he had taken no advantage of
so favourable an opportunity as I had given him to discover himself, if
he had any; nor had not so much as desir'd to continue the
Correspondence.The next day the business was concluded more to our
satisfaction than was expected.Sometime after this, a Gentleman of my
Mothers acquaintance told her, he had a mind for a Commission in the
Army, and that he would give a considerable sum of Money to any Body
that would procure it.My Mother said she'd try her Interest, and made
me Write to _Cloridon_ about it.He sent me an obliging Answer, and
desir'd to see me at the same Place where we met before, that I might
give him an exact Account of the Person I recommended, and Answer some
Questions about him more particularly than I cou'd do by Writing.I did
so in the first part of our Conversation; and then he began to talk of
the many ills that Attend greatness, of which he said Flattery was the
chief; for it was the greatest Unhappiness to |
kitchen | Where is Sandra? | All those actions and states of mind which clash
with morality, are analyzed with much acuteness, and set forth with
great directness.* * * * *
_Ghost Stones: Collected with a View to Counteract the Vulgar
Belief in Ghosts and Apparations.With Ten Engravings from
Designs by Darley.12mo._
The object of this little volume is clearly enough set forth in the
title.The illustrations are graphic, and
add to the interest of the wonders described.We notice, however, one
omission—the Cock Lane Ghost, in which Dr.So
celebrated a ghost as that should have had a prominent place among the
other spectral worthies of the volume.* * * * *
_A Progressive German Reader, Adapted to the American Edition of
Ollendorff’s German Grammar: with Copious Notes, and a
Vocabulary.By G. J. Adler, A. B. New York: D. Appleton & Co.12mo._
This is an excellent supplement to the German Grammar issued by the same
publishers.It is edited by the Professor of the German Language and
Literature, in the University of New York.The selections are from some
fifty German writers, and are admirably adapted for their purpose.The
Vocabulary of German words is an important addition.* * * * *
_Views A-Foot: or Europe Seen with Knapsack and Staff.By J.
Bayard Taylor.12mo._
All things considered, we deem this work one of the most deserving which
“Young America” has yet produced.It is written by a young man just of
age, who started for Europe before he was nineteen, with not more than a
hundred and fifty dollars in his pocket, and for two years literally
walked about Europe.He supported himself by literature, and at the end
of his journey had not expended more than four hundred dollars.The
excellence of the work comes from its exceeding freshness and spirit.For every great object of nature and art which the author saw, he had to
suffer some privations; and he accordingly describes them much better
than he would have done had he possessed the “advantages” of common
tourists.Besides, his mode of traveling made him familiar with the
people of the countries he visited; and he gives many curious anecdotes
of their manners and condition.It is honorable to human nature, that
his impressions of the common people in England, Germany, Italy, and
Switzerland, were of a pleasing character, as he was often placed in
relations to them calculated to draw out their true nature, whether it
were kind or kindless.He was almost uniformly treated with hospitality,
and sometimes even with affection.He discovered, however, that they
were singularly and ridiculously ignorant of every thing regarding
America—its geography, its government, and its people.There is one quality in this book which every reader must feel to be
fascinating—we mean the beautiful sweetness and healthiness of the
author’s mind and disposition.He never brags of the obstacles he
surmounted, nor whines at the privations he endured, but tells the story
of his journeyings with a most bewitching simplicity and modesty.Youth,
and the bright thoughts and sweet feelings of youth, are on every page,
infusing life into the narrative, and giving picturesque vigor to the
descriptions.The author must bear a brave, serene, and modest heart
under his jacket; and we cordially wish him and his delightful book all
the success which both so richly merit.* * * * *
_Alderbrook: a Collection of Fanny Forrester’s Village Sketches,
Poems, &c. By Miss Emily Chubbuck.12mo._
No reader of “Graham” will need any advice from us to procure these
elegant volumes, as a large portion of their contents was originally
contributed to this Magazine, and obtained a wide and deserved
popularity.We are glad to see the admirable stories of the authoress
thus collected.They will take an honorable position in the department
of literature to which they belong.Fanny Forrester, indeed, is one of
the most charming of story-tellers.She has ease, grace, invention,
vivacity, a quick eye for character and manners, and a fine flexible
style.The interest of the book is enhanced by the present position of
the gifted authoress.Judson, she will devote her fine talents
and beautiful enthusiasm of character to a new object.The present book,
therefore, has almost the look of a posthumous work.We need not ask for
it what it will be sure to obtain—the attention and the good-will of
the reading public.* * * * *
_Literary Studies, a Collection of Miscellaneous Essays.By W.
A. Jones.12mo._
This elegant volume contains thirty-two essays on a wide variety of
subjects connected with literature and life.They are the production of
a gentleman who has made literature a study, and who always gives in his
essays the results of his own investigations and reflections.The style
is very condensed; the fault of the diction, perhaps, arises from the
too great desire of the author to cram the largest amount of thought and
observation into the smallest possible space.This unusual peculiarity
of style is the ideal of style when it is combined with mellowness and
vitality; but the sentences of Mr.Jones are often dry and brittle, as
well as condensed.Bating this defect, the volume is deserving of great
praise.In short essays it takes comprehensive views of wide domains of
letters, and is a good guide to the student of elegant literature.The
literary information which it contains is very large.We will venture to
say that no man in the country can read it without learning something
which he did not know before.* * * * *
_Amy Herbert: a Tale.New York: D. Appleton &
Co.12mo._
This work has essentially the same characteristics as the novel of
“Gertrude,” by the same authoress.Miss Sewell is the daughter, we
believe, of an English Episcopal clergyman of the Oxford school.Her
tales inculcate the piety and morality of practical life; deal with
ordinary cares and temptations, expose the moral dangers which beset
every relation of existence, and evince a clear insight into the heart’s
workings, under the pressure of every day enticements.The thoughtful
cheerfulness of her religious faith diffuses through her stories a
certain beautiful repose which sometimes almost suggests genius.Her
books are of that kind which are calculated to benefit even more than to
please.* * * * *
_Lucretia, or the Children of the Night.New York: Harper & Brothers._
In this strange mass of “crimson crimes,” the author of “Pelham” has
fairly rivaled the French school of novelists.It displays more morbid
strength of mind than any thing which Bulwer has previously written.Though exceedingly interesting, and evincing much power in the analysis
of the darker passions, it leaves a disagreeable impression.The tone of
the sentiment is not English.The novel, indeed, exhibits the
characteristic qualities of the author in a form exaggerated almost to
caricature.It reads like a melo-drama.We may refer to it more at large
in our next number.* * * * *
_The Use of the Body in Relation to the Mind.By George Moore,
M. D. New York: Harper & Brothers.12mo._
One of the most important subjects which can engage human attention is
in this work, so treated, that its great leading facts and principles
can be understood by the common reader.The author has evidently given
to each topic he discusses the most profound attention, and has produced
a work which, if diligently studied by the mass of people, is calculated
to remove a vast sum of that misery which springs from ignorance.* * * * *
_Specimens of the Poets and Poetry of Greece and Rome.By
Various Translators.Edited by William Peter, A. M., of Christ
Church, Oxford.8vo._
A work like the present has long been wanted, and we are glad that an
American house has had the enterprise to undertake it.In no other
volume, with which we are acquainted, can the reader obtain so
comprehensive a view of the poetry of the Ancients.Peter’s
biographical notices are excellent.He has made selections from nearly
two hundred authors—a work of vast labor performed with great skill and
taste.* * * * *
[Illustration:
LE FOLLET
61, Boulevart S^{t}.Martin, PARIS
_Toilettes de M^{me}._ Mercier, _r.Sandra journeyed to the kitchen.des Petits Champs,
82.—Coiffures de_ Normandin, _passage Choiseul, 19._
_Dentelles de_ Violard, _r.de Choiseul, 2 bis.—Fleurs de M^{me}._ Tilman,
_r.de Menars, 2._
_Mouchoir de_ L. Chapron & Dubois, _r.de la Paix, 7.—Eventail de_
Vagneur-Dupré, _r.de la Paix, 19._
Graham’s Magazine.]* * * * *
Transcriber’s Notes:
Table of Contents has been added for reader convenience.Archaic
spellings and hyphenation have been retained.Punctuation has been
corrected without note.For illustrations, some caption text may be missing or incomplete due to
condition of the originals available for preparation of the eBook.page 145, of the Solway Frith, ==> of the Solway Firth,
page 145, the spacious workship of ==> the spacious workshop of
page 146, and critical eyes, ==> and critical eye,
page 156, yet keep the secret ==> yet kept the secret
page 156, with a pecular relish ==> with a peculiar relish
page 157, person was Sanford.page 172, The watchward, “The Oath ==> The watchword, “The Oath
page 172, was suddedly transformed ==> was suddenly transformed
page 175, minister and Mr.page 177, the statesque Georgine ==> the statuesque Georgine
page 177, seen the statesque— ==> seen the statuesque—
page 180, of the kaliedoscope.In
page 183, he might thing of ==> he might think of
page 185, “Is an any one ==> “Is any one
page 197, misery and wretchednes, ==> misery and wretchedness,
page 200, ruin shall upsring?page 203, Coleridge, and Shelly, are ==> Coleridge, and Shelley, are
page 204, obstacles he surmuounted ==> obstacles he surmounted
page 204, the two great desire of ==> the too great desire of
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine, Vol.CHAPTER II
THE KEY TO THE PROBLEM
The common saying, that 'people must be just before they are generous,'
becomes at once less common and more correct when it is formulated
differently.'_One needs to be very generous before one can be really
just_' is Jean-Jacques Rousseau's way of stating the proposition.And
one calls this sentence to remembrance when recognising how much
generosity is revealed in the act of justice recently performed by Dr.Paul Heger in his gift to the British Museum (that is to say to English
readers throughout the world) of the four tragical, but incomparably
beautiful, Letters written by Charlotte Bronte to his father, the late
Professor Constantin Heger, within two years of her return to England.No doubt this gift _was_ an act of justice.Without the conclusive
evidence these Letters afford, there would have been no means of
rectifying the arbitrary, false, and inadequate criticism of the
personality, and thus, indirectly, of the writings, of a great novelist
misjudged especially in her own country.But whilst, for these reasons, the publication of these Letters was a
duty to English literature, the son of the late Director and Directress
of the Bruxelles Pensionnat--unwarrantably supposed to have their
literal counterparts in the interesting Professor Paul Emanuel, and in
the abominable Madame Beck--might well, in view of the unintelligent and
ungenerous criticism of his parents by English readers, have refused to
recognise any obligation on his side to concern himself with the
rectification of the dull laudatory, or the malicious condemnatory,
judgments passed, from a false standpoint, on the authoress of
_Villette._
We find Dr.Paul Heger able to rise entirely above all personal rancour,
and to recognise that Charlotte Bronte herself is not to be made
responsible because a good many of her critics have blundered.Indeed,
the conduct of the whole Heger family since the publication of
_Villette_, and the death of Charlotte Bronte, has been distinguished by
this fine spirit of disinterestedness; and by a dignified indifference
to undeserved reproaches.The answer to all charges, of unkindness to
Charlotte on Madame Heger's part, or of injudicious kindness first,
followed by heartless indifference, on M. Heger's side, was in their
hands; and they had only to publish the present Letters to establish the
facts as they really were.But this could not have been done in the time
when _Villette_ appeared, nor even immediately after Charlotte's death,
without wounding others._Villette_ appeared in 1853.In 1854 Charlotte,
then in her fortieth year, married the Rev.Nicholls; and she died
less than a year after this marriage.Nicholls survived her more
than forty years.No doubt he would have been wounded in his
sensibilities by the disclosure of his late wife's entirely honourable,
but very romantic and passionate earlier attachment to somebody else.Intimate personal friends of Charlotte, also, would have been afflicted,
not by her revelations, but by the commentaries upon them that a
certain type of critic would have infallibly indulged in.Whilst these
conditions lasted, the Heger family scrupulously refrained from
publishing these documents.Twenty years ago, when I was collecting the
materials for my article published in the _Woman at Home_, and when, in
the light of my own recollection of M. and Madame Heger, as their former
pupil, I endeavoured to rectify, what _I knew to be_, false impressions
about their relationships with Charlotte Bronte, I was told by my
honoured and dearly loved friend, Mademoiselle Louise Heger, about the
existence of these Letters; _but they were not shown me._ And I was
further assured that, whilst they would be carefully preserved, they
would not be published, until every one had disappeared who could in any
way be offended by their disclosure.After the lapse of more than half a
century since Charlotte's death, these conditions have now been reached.And in hisDaniel travelled to the kitchen. |
bedroom | Where is Mary? | Paul Heger explains his reasons for making this present to
the English people of documents entirely honourable to the character of
one of our great writers, and that explain the emotions and experiences
that formed her genius:
'Sir,--In the name of my sisters and myself' (thus runs the opening
sentence of the Letter reprinted in the _Times_), 'as the
representatives of the late M. Constantin Heger, I beg leave to offer to
the British Museum, as the official custodian on behalf of the British
People, the Letters of Charlotte Bronte, which the great Novelist
addressed to our Father.These four important Letters, which have been
religiously preserved, may be accepted as revealing the soul of the
gifted author whose genius is the pride of England.We have hesitated
long as to whether these documents, so private, so intimate, should be
scanned by the public eye.We have been deterred from offering them
sooner, by the thought that, perhaps, the publicity involved in the gift
might be considered incompatible with the sensitive nature of the artist
herself.But we offer them the more readily, as they lay open the true
significance of what has hitherto been spoken of as the "Secret of
Charlotte Bronte," and show how groundless is the suspicion which has
resulted from the natural speculations of critics and biographers; to
the disadvantage of both parties to the one-sided correspondence.We
then, admirers of her genius and personality, venture to propose that we
may have the honour of placing these Letters in your hands; making only
the condition that they may be preserved for the use of the nation.'Paul Heger, when dealing with the actual
relations between Charlotte and the Director and Directress of the
school in the Rue d'Isabelle, 'Doubtless, my parents played an important
part in the life of Charlotte Bronte: but she did not enter into their
lives as one would imagine from what passes current to-day.That is
evident enough from the very circumstances of life, so different for
her, and for them.There is nothing in these Letters that is not
entirely honourable to their author, as to him to whom they are
addressed.It is better to lay bare the very innocent mystery, than to
let it be supposed that there is anything to hide.I hope that the
publication of these Letters will bring to an end a legend which has
never had any real existence in fact.I hope so: _but legends are more
tenacious of life than sober reality_.'Paul Heger, an experienced
_litterateur_, foresaw what has actually happened, and that the
defenders of the two 'legends' of Charlotte Bronte, patronised by
writers who derive the authority for their opinions about her, not from
the study of the facts of her life and character, but from their own
impressions and convictions, are not going to admit that the legends are
overthrown, simply because it has been proved that they are founded upon
mistakes.At the same time, no statement can be more true than that
'facts are stubborn things,' and that, when these'stubborn things' are
found arrayed in stern and uncompromising opposition to the impressions
and convictions of the most accomplished psychological theorists--well,
it is the psychological theorists who must give way.And this is the situation that has to be faced to-day by critics of
Charlotte Bronte, who have either formed their opinions about her in the
light of their impression that _Villette_ represents an autobiographical
study, or else who have founded their judgments of her personality and
genius as a writer upon their conviction that it is a '_silly and
offensive imputation_' to suppose that her sentiment for M. Heger was a
warmer feeling than the esteem and gratitude a clever pupil owes an
accomplished professor.In connection with the tenacity of life of this last theory (after the
publication of the evidence which proves it is a mistake), we have to
consider with serious attention the account rendered in the _Times_ of
the 30th July 1913, of an interview with Mr.Sandra journeyed to the kitchen.Clement Shorter, known to
be the most distinguished supporter, in the past, of the doctrine that
Charlotte's sentiment for Professor Heger was 'literary enthusiasm,' and
nothing more.And this serious attention is needed, because, in Mr.Clement Shorter's case, it is not allowable to dismiss lightly the
judgment of a critic who (after Mrs.Gaskell) has done more than
any one else to throw light upon the family history of the Brontes,
and also upon and around those three interesting and touching
personalities--Emily, Anne, and, the greatest of them all, Charlotte,
amongst the familiar scenes and personages of their environment at
Haworth, both before and after they had conquered their unique place in
English literature.Clement
Shorter wilfully refuses to see things as they really are, simply
because it pleases him to see them differently?One realises
perfectly that, as with Mrs.Gaskell fifty-seven years ago, _so_ with
this modern conscientious and generous critic to-day there exists an
entirely noble, and, _from a given point of view_, justifiable reason,
for refusing to handle or examine a matter with which (so it is alleged)
historical and literary criticism has no concern--a purely personal, and
intimate secret sorrow, in the life of an admirable woman of genius; the
sanctuary of whose inner feelings it is by no means necessary to
explore: and still less necessary to throw open to the vulgar curiosity
and malevolent insinuations of a generation of critics, infected with
hero-phobia, and the unwholesome delight of discovering '_a good deal to
reprobate and even more to laugh at_,' in the sensibility of men and
women of genius, who have honoured the human race, and enriched the
world, _because_ they have possessed through power of feeling, power
also of doing fine work, that the critics who find much in them 'to
reprobate and more to laugh at' have not the power even to appreciate.Now, _if_ the point of view of Mrs.Clement Shorter were
a correct one, with all my heart and soul I, for my part, should approve
of their action in slamming the door in the face of invading facts that
threatened to leave the way open for scandal-hunters and hero-phobists
to enter with them, and to deal with the honoured reputation of
Charlotte Bronte in the same way that--more to the discredit of English
letters than to that of two French writers of genius--recent critics
have dealt with the love-letters of Madame de Stael and George Sand.This point of view, however, is a mistaken one in the present case,
because, to commence with, Charlotte Bronte's romantic love for M. Heger
affords no game to the scandal-hunter; but, on the contrary, it is
serviceable to the just appreciation of her character, as well as of her
genius, that her true sentiment for her Professor--_that explains her
attitude of mind when writing 'Villette'_--should be rightly understood.Then also, whilst Madame de Stael's infatuation for Benjamin Constant
neither adds to nor diminishes her claims, as the authoress of _Corinne_
and _de l'Allemagne_, to the rank of a fine writer and a great critic,
and while George Sand's tormenting and tormented love for the ill-fated,
irresistible, unstable 'child of his century,' de Musset, is a poignant
revelation of the passing weakness (through immense tenderness) of a
splendidly strong and independent spirit, that one is almost ashamed to
be made the spectator of, Charlotte Bronte's valorous martyrdom,
undergone secretly and silently, and'rewarded openly,' fills one with
an extraordinary sentiment of respect for her: and justifies Mr.Clement
Shorter's own fine and generous utterances upon the impression that the
Letters that betray the anguish she endured, and overcame, alone,
produces upon him.'_Charlotte Bronte_,' said Mr.Clement Shorter, by the report of an
interviewer who recorded his opinions in the _Times_, 30th July,
immediately after the publication of these Letters, '_is one of the
noblest figures in life as well as in literature; and these Letters
place her on a higher pedestal than ever_.'Let me quote from the same report in the _Times_ the further statement
of his opinions given by this well-known critic, as to the sentiments
revealed in these Letters:
'Mr.Shorter,' affirmed the interviewer, 'welcomed the
publication of the letters in the _Times_ "as giving the
last and final word on an old and needless controversy.""Personally," he said, "I have always held the view that
those letters were actuated only by the immense enthusiasm
of a woman desiring comradeship and sympathy with a man of
the character of Professor Heger.There was no sort of
great sorrow on her part because Professor Heger was a
married man, and it is plain in her letters that she merely
desired comradeship with a great man.When Charlotte Bronte
made her name famous with her best-known novel, she
experienced much the same adulation from admirers of both
sexes as she had already poured upon her teacher.She found
that literary comradeship she desired in half a dozen male
correspondents to whom she addressed letters in every way as
interesting as those written by her to Professor Heger.There is nothing in those letters of hers, published now for
the first time, that any enthusiastic woman might not write
to a man double her age, who was a married man with a
family, and who had been her teacher.Daniel travelled to the kitchen.When one considers
that half a dozen writers have, in the past, declared that
Charlotte Bronte was in love with Professor Heger, it is a
surprising thing that Dr.Heger did not years ago publish
the letters.They are a complete vindication both of her and
of his father, and, as such, I welcome them, as I am sure
must all lovers of the Brontes."'Clement Shorter is undeniably right: it _is_
quite true that '_the publication of these Letters places Charlotte
Bronte on a higher pedestal than ever_.'_Because
these are love-letters of a very rare and wonderful character_; because
the passionate tragical emotion that throbs through them is a love that,
recognised as hopeless, as unrequited, makes only one claim; that,
_precisely because it makes no other_, it has a right to be accepted and
to live.John travelled to the office.Now this sort of love is a _very rare and wonderful emotion,
that only a noble being can feel; and that although it is hopeless,
tragical, is nevertheless a splendid fact, that renders it absurd to
deny that sublime unselfishness is a capacity of human nature_.And,
again, these letters place Charlotte Bronte 'on a higher pedestal than
ever,' because in them her vocation and gift of expressing her own
emotions in a way that makes them 'vibrate' in us like living feelings
is here carried to its height.So that these personal letters, more even
than the pictured emotions of Lucy Snowe, stand out as a record of
romantic love that (in so far as I know) has never before been rivalled.It is true we have the romantic love-letters of Abelard and Heloise, and
the letters in the _New Heloise_ of Saint-Preux to Julie, and of Julie
to Saint-Preux, after their separation, as beautiful examples of love
surviving hope of happiness; and Sainte-Beuve has quoted, as examples of
the tragical disinterested passion of a love that claims no return, but
only the right to exist, the letters of some eighteenth-century women:
Mademoiselle de l'Espinasse, Madame de la Popeliniere, and Mademoiselle
d'Aisse.But in none of these historic love-letters (so, at least, it
seems to me) does one feel, with the same truth and strength as in these
recently published letters of Charlotte Bronte to M. Heger, the
'vibration' of this tragical, hopeless, romantic love, that asks for
nothing but acceptance, that does not'seek its own'--the love that only
asks to give, compared with which all other sorts of love, that _do_
seek their own and claim return, are as sounding brass and a tinkling
cymbal.But now, if we were to accept the view of these letters, that they do
not express love at all, but merely the writer's '_desire of comradeship
with a great man_': and that '_after she had become famous "she found
that literary comradeship she desired, in half a dozen male
correspondents, to whom she addressed letters in every way as
interesting as those written by her to M. Heger_"'; and that '_there is
nothing in these letters that any enthusiastic woman might not write to
a man double her age, who was a married man with a family, and who had
been her teacher_'--if we could accept all these views, could we _then_
hold the opinion that 'the publication of these letters places Charlotte
on a higher pedestal than ever'?It seems to me, on the contrary, that _then_ we should find ourselves
compelled to admit that Charlotte Bronte had fallen very much in our
esteem as a result of the publication of these Letters.For whilst
romantic love is a noble sentiment that does honour to the heart that
feels it, an '_immense enthusiasm for literary comradeship with great
men_' is not _necessarily_, nor generally even, a commendable sentiment.It is very often merely a rather vulgar and selfish persistency in
claiming the time and attention of busy people who don't want the
comradeship; and I suppose there are very few people in the least degree
famous who have not been rightly harassed by the 'enthusiasm' of
professing admirers who have nothing to do themselves, and who want
busy men or women of letters to correspond with them.And if a desire of
comradeship with M. Heger had really been the sentiment and motive of
Charlotte's letters to him, after she left Bruxelles, then the fact that
she continued to write to him although he did not answer her letters
would prove that she was insisting upon being the 'comrade' of some one
who did not want her.Again, if the tone and terms of these Letters to
M. Heger in 1845 were the same that she employed with '_half a dozen
other male correspondents_,' after she became a famous writer, well
Charlotte _would_ fall in our estimation, both as a writer, who ought to
know how to avoid extravagant language, and as a self-respecting woman
who should not have allowed her enthusiasm for literary comradeship to
induce her to repeat experiences that, without loss of dignity, one
cannot pass through more than once in a lifetime.Happily, however, attention to facts proves that none of the conditions
that, if they had existed, would have rendered the writing of these
Letters discreditable to Charlotte's reputation, can be accepted as in
the least credible.It is not credible that her sentiment for M. Heger
was that of intellectual enthusiasm for a great man double her age;
because, to begin with, M, Heger was _not_ double Charlotte Bronte's
age, but only seven years her senior.About this question there can be
no dispute.M. Heger was born in 1809; and Charlotte Bronte in 1816.In
1844 Charlotte then was twenty-eight, and M. Heger thirty-five years of
age, and given the fact that women lose their youth first, M. Heger had
precisely the age that would render him most sympathetic to a woman who
was still young but who had left girlhood behind her.Again, M. Heger
was not a '_Great Man_,' in the sense of being either a celebrity, or an
original genius with gifts or qualities of an order calculated to kindle
intellectual hero-worship; and he was further a dictatorial and
ingrained Professor, the very last person on earth to offer literary
comradeship to a former pupil.Mary travelled to the bedroom.The Director of |
office | Where is Daniel? | The method of testing the question of whether intellectual enthusiasm,
or tragical romantic love is the sentiment revealed in these Letters is
_to read the Letters themselves--in the light of a true impression of
the real relationships (when they were written) between Charlotte Bronte
and M. Heger_, that is to say in the first twelve months that followed
Charlotte's farewell to the Director and the Directress of the
Pensionnat in the Rue d'Isabelle, in January 1844.And to obtain this
right impression, we have to see what had taken place, to alter the
original entirely friendly terms between Madame Heger and the English
under-mistress, who during the first year of her stay in Brussels had
been a parlour-boarder:--for the story told in _Villette_ of Lucy
Snowe's arrival at the Pensionnat in the Rue d'Isabelle late at night,
and with no place of shelter, having lost her box and been robbed of her
purse on the voyage, is, to start with, an incident that has no place in
the true history.CHAPTER III
CHARLOTTE'S LAST YEAR AT BRUSSELS
1842-43
What were Charlotte Bronte's real relationships with Monsieur and Madame
Heger when, in January 1844, she bade them, what was to prove, a final
farewell?This is what has to be understood before we can read with a
full sense of their true meaning the tragical impassioned Letters to M.
Heger, written within the first two years of Charlotte's return to
England, Letters that not only place the authoress of _Jane Eyre_ and
_Villette_ (as a devotee, and an exponent of Romantic love) on a 'higher
pedestal than ever,' but that, also, explain at what cost of personal
anguish she attained as a writer her extraordinary power of translating
emotions into words, that, by the impression they produce retranslate
themselves to her readers' imagination and sensibilities as feelings.We have always to remember that the relationships between Charlotte and
her former Professor were not those that existed between Lucy Snowe and
her 'Master.'Paul Emanuel was unmarried, and in love with Lucy,
although Madame Beck and the Jesuit, Pere Silas,--and in the end
Destiny--prevented the love-story from reaching a happy ending.Nor were these relationships, as the facts of the case reveal them,
those imagined by Mr.Clement Shorter; where '_it was no cause of grief
to Charlotte that M. Heger was married_,' because her enthusiasm for him
was that of simple hero-worship for a great man.Nor yet were these
relationships, when she left Bruxelles in 1844 (nor had they been for
some ten months before that date), the same relationships (of trustful
friendship on the one hand and sympathetic interest on the other) that
had existed between Charlotte and the Director and Directress of the
Pensionnat in the Rue d'Isabelle when, a year earlier (in January 1843),
Charlotte had returned to Bruxelles alone, _in response to Madame's as
well as Monsieur's invitation_, to perfect her own French, and to
receive a small salary as English Mistress.These first relationships
had continued untroubled for the first few months after Charlotte's
return.Thus, in March 1843, writing to her friend Ellen Nussey, she
qualifies her complaints of loneliness in the Pensionnat (without the
companionship she had enjoyed the previous year of her dearly loved
sister Emily) by reference to the kindness of Madame, as well as of
Monsieur Heger.'As I told you before,' she writes, 'M.and Madame Heger are the only
two persons in the house for whom I really experience regard and esteem;
and of course I cannot be always with them, nor even very often.They
told me, when I first returned, that I was to consider their
sitting-room my sitting-room, and to go there whenever I was not engaged
in the schoolroom.In the daytime it is a
public room, where music-masters and mistresses are constantly passing
in and out; and in the evening I will not, and ought not, to intrude on
M. and Madame Heger and their children.Thus I am a good deal by
myself; but that does not signify.I now regularly give English lessons
to M. Heger and his brother-in-law.They get on with wonderful rapidity,
especially the first.[1]
So that, up to this date, no cloud is visible.But by May 29 there is a
cloud above the horizon.Sandra journeyed to the kitchen.It is no bigger than 'a man's hand' as yet: but
it is charged with electricity, and one knows the storm is gathering.This time Charlotte is writing to Emily, _who never liked M. Heger for
her part_.'Things wag on much as usual here, only Mlle.Hausse are at present on a system of war without quarter.Daniel travelled to the kitchen.Hausse by
her white passions, for they quarrel venomously; Mlle.Hausse complains
that when Mlle.Blanche is in a fury "_elle n'a pas de levres_."John travelled to the office.She says she is
heartless, insincere and vindictive, which epithets, I assure you, are
richly deserved._Also I find she is the regular spy of Madame Heger,
to whom she reports everything.Also she invents, which I should not
have thought_.I am [not] richly off for companionship in these parts._Of late days, M. and Madame Heger rarely speak to me; and I really
don't pretend to care a fig for anybody else in the establishment_.You
are not to suppose by that expression that I am under the influence of
_warm_ affection for Madame Heger._I am convinced she does not like me:
why, I can't tell_._Nor do I think she herself has any
definite reason for this aversion_.(!)But for one thing, she cannot
understand why I do not make intimate friends of Mesdames Blanche,
Sophie and Hausse.M. Heger is wondrously influenced by Madame: and I
should not wonder if he disapproves very much of my unamiable want of
sociability.He has already given me a brief lecture on universal
_bienveillance_; and perceiving that I don't improve in consequence, I
fancy he has taken to considering me as a person to be let alone, left
to the error of her ways, and consequently he has, in a great measure,
withdrawn the light of his countenance; and I get on from day to day,
in a Robinson Crusoe like condition, very lonely.That does not signify;
in other respects I have nothing substantial to complain of, nor is even
this a cause of complaint._Except for the loss of M. Heger's goodwill
(if I have lost it,) I care for none of 'em_.'[2]
Let us see what this letter, written eight months before Charlotte left
Bruxelles, tells us about the altered facts of the relationships between
herself and the Directress and Director of the School.Mary travelled to the bedroom.First, it is no
longer Monsieur and Madame Heger who are the only people Charlotte cares
about in the establishment, _but it is only the goodwill of M. Heger
that she would grieve to lose_.And Madame Heger, who so kindly invited
her to consider the family sitting-room hers, now takes no notice of
her, and, Charlotte knows it, has taken an aversion to her.And when M.
Heger says, 'Don't you think, "Mees Charlotte," who is lonely without
her sister Emily, should be taken more notice of?'Madame Heger replies
coldly: '_If "Mees" is lonely, it is her own fault.Daniel moved to the office.Why does she not
make friends with her compeers, Mesdemoiselles Blanche, Sophie and
Hausse?_ They are of her rank; they follow the same profession; no, this
young Englishwoman is full of the pride and narrowness of her race!She
is without _bienveillance_: she esteems herself better than others, she
makes her own unhappiness; _and it is not for her good to single her out
amongst the other excellent under-mistresses as we have done_.Let her
make herself friends amongst them: _let her learn to be amiable_.'And
M. Heger, who thinks there is something true in this, because his
unalterable opinion is that it belongs to the English character, and to
the Protestant creed, to be proud, narrow, unamiable and without
benevolence, lectures Charlotte in this sense.Here are the facts of the
situation in May 1843.Now what has happened in these few months to so change the relationships
between Charlotte and Madame Heger, and to render Monsieur Heger--_under
Madame's influence_--less friendly and helpful than he had formerly
been, in his efforts to encourage the studies, and brighten by gifts of
books, and talks about them, the solitude of the English teacher?It is
not very difficult to discover the cause of the change, if only critics
with psychological insight would employ this quality, not to fabricate
problems out of false impressions, but to penetrate the true
significance of the evidence that lies open to one, of the actual
circumstances and facts.The circumstance that explains the fact of Madame Heger's altered
conduct and feeling towards the English under-mistress whom only a few
months earlier she had invited to use her own sitting-room, and to
regard herself as a member of the family, and whom _now_ she scarcely
speaks to, and thinks should find companions with the other
under-mistresses, is a discovery that Madame probably made, before even
Charlotte herself had fully recognised what had happened.This discovery
is that a change has taken place in Charlotte's sentiment towards her
'Master in literature'; a sentiment that at first had not transgressed
the limits of a cordial and affectionate appreciation of his kindness
and of his talent and charm and power as a teacher--approved of by
Madame Heger as a becoming sentiment in this young person, convenient,
'convenable.'But as Charlotte's exclusive pleasure in M. Heger's
society and conversation increases, with her distaste for the society
and conversation of every one else with whom she is now in daily
contact, and as the charm of his original personality grows, with her
sense of the natural disparity between herself and the self-controlled
Directress, whose rule of life is respect for what is _convenient,_ in
the French sense of _la convenance_ (_i.e._ what is _becoming_) and of
revolt against the vulgarity and profligacy she finds as the
distinguishing characteristics of her fellow-governesses, this sentiment
becomes transformed (insensibly and fatally, without her knowledge or
will) into a passionate personal devotion--in other words, into a
sentiment that does transgress very seriously indeed the limits of the
sort of feeling that Madame Heger, in her double character of directress
of a highly esteemed Pensionnat de Demoiselles, and of the wife of
Monsieur Heger--esteems 'convenient,' in the case of an under-mistress
in her establishment.It was not a question of ordinary jealousy at all.Madame Heger, a much more attractive woman than Charlotte Bronte in so
far as her personal appearance was concerned, was absolutely convinced
of the affection and fidelity of her husband, and of the entirely and
exclusively professorial interest he took in assisting this clever and
zealous and meritorious daughter of an evangelical Pastor, to qualify
herself for a schoolmistress in her own country.It was entirely a
question of the '_inconvenience_'--the unbecoming character of this
unfortunate infatuation, that renders it entirely intolerable; something
that must be got rid of at once; but as quietly as possible, without
exciting remark, and with as much consideration for this imprudent,
unhappy 'Mees Charlotte' as possible.The whole affair is a misfortune,
of course, 'un malheur': but what one has to do, now it _has_ arrived,
is to guard against even greater'malheurs' for everybody concerned.For
'Mees Charlotte' herself, first of all--what a'malheur' should this
'infatuation,' involuntary and blameless in intention, no doubt, but so
utterly inconvenient, betray itself in some regrettable exhibition of
feeling, most humiliating to herself, and most distressing to her only
parent, the respectable widowed evangelical Pastor in Yorkshire!And
then for the Pensionnat, what a'malheur' should any gossip arise: and
what sort of an effect would it produce upon the mind of parents of
pupils, who most naturally would object to the knowledge of the
existence even of a sentiment so inconvenient as this being brought to
the knowledge of their young daughters?And confronted with these
perils, Madame Heger's conclusion upon the only way of avoiding them, is
really not a very unreasonable nor unkind one.It is that the sooner
'Mees Bronte' returns to her home in Yorkshire, the better for herself,
and for the interests and the tranquillity of the Director and the
Directress of the Pensionnat in the Rue d'Isabelle: who wish to sever
their relationships with her on friendly terms; who, in the future,
when she has cured herself of this unhappy extravagance (as no doubt her
good sense and excellent upbringing will assist her to do) hope to renew
their intercourse with her; but who, in the circumstances that have
arisen, think it better all intimacy should be suspended.Nor, having formed this conclusion, was Madame Heger's method of
endeavouring to force Charlotte to adopt it also, either wilfully unkind
or inconsiderate.Her method was to convey forcibly to Charlotte's
knowledge _without any needless humiliating explanations_, that she, the
Directress of the Pensionnat where Charlotte was under-mistress, has
penetrated the secret of her feelings towards M. Heger, and consequently
that the old terms between herself and Charlotte have become impossible,
and that the necessity has arisen to assert her claims and to establish
the rules that must be observed in the ordering of the Pensionnat and of
the staff of teachers for which she is responsible.Without discussions
or recriminations in connection with the reasons for this decision,
these mere reasons, well known to Miss Bronte herself, convince her
that it is not convenient 'Mees' should continue a teacher, or even an
inmate, in her school any more; and surely this circumstance alone
should point out to 'Mees' herself, what she ought to do?Mary travelled to the hallway.Let her do
this, let her take the opportunity offered her of relieving Madame Heger
of the painful necessity of touching upon distressing subjects, and the
secret they share shall never be made known to any one, _not even to M.
Heger himself_, who is entirely unconscious of it.An explanation could
easily be found by 'Mees' for the necessity of her return to
England:--her aged father's infirmities, the establishment of the school
that she is now qualified to manage, etc.--and all this matter will
arrange itself quietly._To bring Charlotte to dismiss herself_ was
Madame Heger's purpose: but in view of the slowness and reluctance of
this obstinate Englishwoman to recognise what was 'becoming,' and
expected from her, the immediate object became to guard against any
self-betrayal by Charlotte of her state of feeling to other members of
the establishment, _and especially to M. Heger,_ whom Madame knew to be
entirely innocent of any warm feeling resembling romantic sentiment for
the homely but intelligent and zealous Englishwoman, whose progress
under his instruction and capacity for appreciating good literature made
her interesting to him as a pupil, whilst her meritorious courage in
working to qualify herself to earn her own bread as an instructress
herself claimed his approval--but whom he had not as yet suspected of a
tragical passion for him._And Madame Heger esteemed it most undesirable
he should ever make the discovery._ And _therefore_ her immediate care
was to guard against the occasion of such a revelation being given: and
_therefore_ she endeavours to stop private lessons given by M. Heger to
Charlotte, or English lessons given by her in return; _therefore_ too,
she works to prevent any intercourse or meetings between the Professor
and this particular pupil, outside of the presence of spectators and
listeners, whose unsympathetic but attentive eyes and ears will impose
restraint |
kitchen | Where is Daniel? | Sandra journeyed to the kitchen.James Pickering (Dublin), 1737-71 (died).William Ross (Cork), 1764-1817.Samuel Slocomb (Cork), 1735-50.Edward Tounley (Dundalk), 1820-24.Richard Wyatt (Dublin), 1731-55 (died).These dates do not represent the makers' complete history.Some may
have worked prior to the first date and after the last date, except
when stated as having died then.In regard to Belfast, the late Isaac W. Ward contributed some notes to
the _Belfast Evening Telegraph_ in 1909 on "Early Belfast Clock and
Watchmakers," which enable some interesting particulars to be given.In 1791 one Job Rider announced that he had commenced business in
Belfast, "where he makes clocks and watches of all kinds in the common
manner with Harrison's and other modern improvements."It would
appear that he had been to London, where possibly he was apprenticed,
and had visited Dublin and Hillsborough.From 1805 to 1807 he was
in partnership with R. L. Gardner.After 1807 he seems to have been
associated with William Boyd.[Illustration: MUSICAL CLOCK BY GEORGE AICKEN (CORK).Lunette marked "Minuet, March, Jigg, Air, Minuet, Gavot."Two subsidiary dials marked "Strike," "Not
Strike," and "Chime," "Not Chime."(_At National Museum, Dublin._)]
[Illustration: REGULATOR CLOCK.Made to hang from two rings at back of clock.Harris & Sinclair, Dublin._)]
Robert Neill, who was apprenticed to Job Rider in 1791, set up business
in Belfast in 1803 and joined R. L. Gardner from 1809 to 1818.At
this date the firm became known as Robert Neill & Sons.Robert Neill
died in 1857.Another Belfast maker was James Wilson, who worked in the middle of
the eighteenth century.There is a record of a musical clock being
advertised by him in 1755, which he had constructed to play a number of
tunes.The wall clock by George Graydon, of Dublin (illustrated p.The circle round the dial is carved wood
gilt; the dial itself is painted and very much cracked.The lower part
is harewood inlaid.In date this example is about 1796, as it will be
seen the volunteer in uniform on panel has G.R.The bracket clock by George Aicken, of Cork (illustrated p.273), is
of fine proportions and sound design.It has striking and chiming
movements, and plays six tunes marked on lunette, "Minuet, March, Jigg,
Air, Minuet, Gavot."An early nineteenth century clock by Sharp, of Dublin, is illustrated
(p.It is a miniature long-case clock, being only 3 feet 5-1/2
inches high.It is made to hang on the wall, as there are two rings at
the back of the case for this purpose.Its glass door, showing the
pendulum, indicates the French influence, which in the early nineteenth
century made itself felt in Ireland as elsewhere.In 1783 a company of Swiss watchmakers came to Ireland, and
establishing themselves near Waterford, termed their settlement New
Geneva.By 23 & 24 George III, 1784, they were granted power to assay
gold and silver.An earlier Act of George II provided for only one
standard of gold--22 carats.This new Act admitted three--22, 20, and
18 carats.Daniel travelled to the kitchen.These facilities were granted to encourage the manufacture
of watches and watch-cases in Ireland.This Assay Office at New Geneva
did not continue in operation more than six years.The office at New Geneva had equal powers with the Dublin Assay Office."The Assayer or Wardens are hereby required to make, on a plate of
pewter or copper, impressions of such marks or punches, with the names
and places of abode of the owner thereof, in a book or books to be
carefully kept for that purpose, if such owners be resident at Dublin
or New Geneva."Watches or other articles of gold and silver having the
stamp "New Geneva" are in date 1784 to 1790.CHAPTER X
A FEW NOTES ON WATCHES
The age of Elizabeth--Early Stuart watches--Cromwellian
period--Watches of the Restoration--The William and Mary
watch--Eighteenth-century watches--Pinchbeck and the toy
period--Battersea enamel and shagreen.John travelled to the office.Early makers of English watches do not crowd the stage.On the
Continent pocket clocks had had a long life before they made their
appearance in this country.Queen Elizabeth had only one pair of
silk stockings--she had been used to "cloth hose"--before her
lady-in-waiting presented her with a pair straight from the Continent.Italian and French ideas were fast acclimatizing themselves here.Mary travelled to the bedroom.Shakespeare laid many of his plays in Italy; the modern Elizabethan
Englishman became quite Italian; the Queen read Tasso and Ariosto
in the originals.The
watchmakers of Nuremberg were renowned throughout Europe."Nuremberg
eggs," as they were styled, set the fashion for watches of all shapes
suited to the conceits of the owner.Some were in the form of a skull,
with appropriate mottoes concerning Time and Death; others were in the
form of a cross, of a book, or shaped like a tulip or other flowers,
or simulating butterflies and insects.The earliest styles had closed
cases, these cases being subjected to various forms of ornament.The
dial was not visible till the outer case was opened.Collectors of watches are collecting something that is dead.The interest lies in the remoteness of
the conception of a pocket clock.Possibly there is no one alive who
could now set the wheels into motion, as there are no designers who
could originate the exquisite tracery and filigree work, the perfect
enamelling and the delicacy of metal work these old watches exhibit.Clocks of old masters still carry on
their functions: the hand still revolves in unison with the slow swing
of the "royal pendulum."As timekeepers they equal most of the modern,
and excel the cheap clock, hardly worth designating as a timekeeper.But the Swiss and the American factory-made watch, claiming no
equality of artistic embellishment, have dethroned the antique watch
in regard to accuracy.Curious and rare examples of the latter crowd
the shelves of museums as being representative of that mysterious past
when Time was of less moment than it is now.They belong to the age
of the missal and the illuminated manuscript, and of the advent of
printing with Caxton's well-balanced page.They were machines before the age of machinery--their very
mechanism protests against being regarded as scientifically accurate.One lingers over their ornament with loving regard and forgets their
purport.As timekeepers they fell short of the abbey clock, or of the
sundial--a perennial stickler for truth when the sun shone.When the
long pendulum, under the auspices of Christopher Huygens, commenced
swinging, a timekeeper ready to hand eclipsed their gold and enamelled
triumphs.But as fashionable baubles they had their continuous
evolution, from Thomas Chamberlaine de Chelmisforde to Pinchbeck, and
from Tompion to Eardley Norton.A considerable amount of ingenuity was
given to producing examples of diminutive size which should perform
adequately the correct functions of a timekeeper.But accuracy and
scientific exactitude came late in the story of evolution.At length
man's ingenuity triumphed.There are watches no larger than filberts
which keep exact time, but there are thousands which do not.[Illustration: OLD ENGLISH WATCHES.SIXTEENTH AND SEVENTEENTH CENTURIES.I. Elizabethan Watch, with carved and repousse open-work design.Cromwellian Plum-shaped Silver Watch, with crest engraved on case.Made by Snow of Lavington (near Bath).(_By courtesy of Percy Webster, Esq._)]
The last popular watch, which our grandfathers termed a "turnip," was
the stage prior to modern development, and at that stage collecting
ends.A scientific classification of watches would resolve itself under the
following heads:--
I._Early watches_, prior to the invention and general adoption of the
fusee, that is, from about 1500 to 1540.This period would be further
subdivided into (_a_) those with movements entirely of steel; (_b_)
the next stage, with plates and pinions of brass and the wheels and
pinions of steel; and the latest stage, (_c_), in which the plates and
wheels were brass and the pinions of steel, as at the present day._Watches from about 1540 to 1640_, all having fusees, and being
made of every conceivable shape and size: octagonal, oval, cruciform,
in the shape of a book, and so on.The cases were sometimes of crystal
or bloodstone, and enamelled designs and chased gold work were
predominant features._Watches of the seventeenth century_, from 1610 to 1675, at
which date the pendulum spring was invented.These are mainly round
in shape, according to the fashion about 1620, which superseded
the ancient quaint forms.The cases, both of silver and gold, were
richly enamelled, and moving calendars and astronomical details were
frequently made._Late seventeenth and early eighteenth century watches._ These
would embrace the period from 1675 to 1720, after the invention of the
pendulum spring._The eighteenth century watch._ This should include all the
improvements, changes in decorative style, and other details bringing
the watch up to the threshold of the nineteenth century and modernity.We can only indicate the type of watch as falling under the various
periods, and specimens of the leading types are illustrated (pp.The watches are numbered in the illustrations from one to ten, and can
thus be easily identified by the reader.[Illustration: OLD ENGLISH WATCHES.Daniel moved to the office.Maker, Peter Garon (about 1705).Watch with repousse work on case signed V. Haut.X. Late Georgian Watch with dial and decorations in Battersea enamel
and shagreen case.Mary travelled to the hallway.(_By courtesy of Percy Webster, Esq._)]
_No.1_ shows the character of an Elizabethan watch.The fine case
shows the quality of the chased and repousse open-work design.2_ is a James I oval watch, and the maker is Yate, of London.This watch is dated 1620, in the reign of James I, the year when the
_Mayflower_ sailed to America and New England was founded by those wise
Puritans who foresaw the oncoming civil war of the next reign.The
Earl of Ashburnham exhibited at the Stuart Exhibition in 1889 a gold
watch which formerly belonged to Charles I, inscribed "Henricus Jones,
Londini."Another maker of watches of this period is Edward East.The
silver alarum clock given by Charles I on his way to execution to
Thomas Herbert was made by Edward East.Daniel journeyed to the bedroom."Through the garden the King
passed into the park, where making a stand, he asked Mr.Herbert the
hour of the day: and taking the clock into his hand, gave it him, and
bade him keep it in memory of him."This silver alarum watch is still
treasured in the Mitford family.3_ is a Cromwellian silver watch, plum-shaped.As coats of arms
were not so sinful as painted cherubs and stained-glass windows,
this bauble with elaborately engraved crest survived the wreckers'
despoiling hand.Cromwell himself boasted of a crest, and in some
respects it resembled that used by royalty.4_ is a Restoration watch made by Snow, of Lavington, near Bath.It exhibits fine ornamentation and is a beautiful specimen of Late
Stuart style when sumptuousness, under the guiding influence of the
French Louis Quatorze grandeur, made itself felt in this country.5_ is worthy of respect and admiration as being the work of that
great maker, Thomas Tompion.The
craftsman had arrived at the period of a scientific endeavour to create
a perfect timekeeper.The case indicates utility; ornament is in due
subjection.The Arabic figures showing the seconds on the dial should
be observed.6_, of which the back is shown, is a watch by Peter Garon.It is
in black pique case, finely decorated in a subdued and reticent manner.Peter Garon flourished between 1694 and 1706.But in that year, when
Marlborough's campaigns were at their full height, poor Garon felt the
stress of commercial depression and became bankrupt.7_, showing the front and open case, is a fine watch by Duhamel,
about 1740, bringing us to the days of George I and Walpole.8_, with its fine broad repousse case, is by Haydon, and the case
is signed "V.9_ shows an illustration of the back, where the movement is
visible.The maker of this is Daniels, of Leighton, 1760.10_ is by Kemp, London, and is decorated in Battersea enamel and
shagreen.This brings us to the age of Pinchbeck, "the toyman in the
Strand," and suggests the gewgaws and trifles, the enamelled heads for
malacca canes, the snuff-boxes, and all the fashionable paraphernalia
of a man about town.The watch in some respects had begun to lose
its old character and was again a toy.SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.Maker, "Thomas Chamberlaine de Chelmisforde" (signature shown on
right-hand illustration).Mallett & Son, Bath._)]
Among interesting work is that of Thomas Chamberlaine de Chelmisforde.He worked in the brightest days of Charles I, when the arts were
receiving stimulation from the Court.A new era seemed as though it
might be about to dawn.The picture gallery of Charles I at Hampton
Court showed his catholic taste, and his Queen, Henrietta Maria, was
a patron of the arts.Daniel went to the kitchen.Vandyck and other great artists flocked to this
country, and highly trained craftsmen commenced to build a reputation
which later iconoclasts swept aside as of Baal.In the watch illustrated by Thomas Chamberlaine there is something
delightfully simple and chaste.He was a maker whose work promised
much.There is a specimen of his work signed "Chamberlain Chelmisford"
at the British Museum, but in the specimen illustrated the name is
chased "Thomas Chamberlaine de Chelmisforde."The study of watches of the various periods is a fascinating one.When
the collector leaves the path of clocks, with their more Gargantuan
proportions, to become a student of the intricacies of the art of the
watchmaker as exemplified in some of his greatest triumphs, he has
been enticed on a quest which is unending.No field in collecting and
connoisseurship has claimed more devotees.INDEX
"Act of Parliament" clocks, so-called, 124
Adam style, its employment in the clock-case, 147
Robert, clock-case by, illustrated, 139
Aicken, George (Cork), clock by, 277
Alarum clocks, 54
and striking clocks, early, 32
Ale-house clocks, Oliver Goldsmith quoted, 127
American clocks--
"Banjo clocks," 124
Bracket clock, by Savin and Dyer (Boston), 198
Lantern clock, with pendulum, 59
Anchor pendulum, the, 59
Arnold, John (Bodmin), 37, 212
Astronomical clock-dial, the, 28
Babylonian measurement of time, 28, 29, 30
Bacon, quoted, 53
Balance and weights prior to pendulum, 33
Barraud, clock by (1805), 203
Battersea enamel employed for watch-cases, 290
Beginners, hints for, 41
Belfast clocks and clockmakers, 272
Bewick, Thomas, engraver of clock-dials (1763-74), 215, 217
Biddell, clock by, 204
"Birdcage" clocks, 54
Boettger, his porcelain at Meissen, 109
Boulle, Andre Charles, and his marquetry, 72, 73, 111
Bracket clock, the, 179- |
kitchen | Where is Daniel? | Sandra journeyed to the kitchen.Paul's, Covent Garden, 35
Harrison, John, 37
His chronometer, 212
Hill, Thomas, clock by (1760), 197
Hogarth, William, the possibility of engraved clock-dials by, 161
Home Counties, the, list of clockmakers, 236
Hood, changing forms of the, 155
Hooke, Dr.Robert, his claim for invention of balance-spring for
watches, 36
His inventions, 212
Watch by, presented to Charles II, 36
Hour, the, its division into minutes, 30, 158
Hours, division of day into, 30
Huguenot refugees settle in England, 68, 120
Huygens, Christopher, Dutch astronomer, his work, 33
His quarrel with Dr.Hooke, 36
Huygens, Dutch cabinet-maker, his imitations of Japanese lacquered
panels, 111
Inlaid furniture, 70, 71
Inn clock, the, 124
Innovations of form in clock-cases, 141
Irish clockmakers, list of, 271, 272
Italian school of marquetry, 71
James I appoints Ramsay as "Clockmaker Extraordinary," 256
Japanese lacquer, specimens of, 106
Johnson, Thomas, clock by (1730), 191
Jones, Henry, Charles I watch made by, 289
Charles II clock by, 212
Kent and Sussex, clockmakers of, 247
Kew Gardens Botanical Museum, Japanese lacquer at, 106
Knibb, Joseph, father and son, 37
Joseph (1670), 211
Clocks by (1690), 191, 236, 241
Copper token of (1677), 236
Knokmakers, the, of Scotland, 258
Labarte, _Arts of the Middle Ages_ quoted, 33
Lac and its properties, 105
Its introduction into England, 107
Lacquer--
Chinese and Japanese origin of, 105, 106
Dutch imitations, 110, 111
English school of lacquer work, 118, 121
French masters, 112
Its use in the clock-case, 105
Work--
English school of, 114
Foreign craftsmen in London, 120
School of English amateurs, 121
Lacquered clock-case, its peculiarities, 112
Panels imported from the East, 109
Lamb, Charles, quoted on sundials, 162
Name falsely put on Dutch clocks, 36
Lancashire clock-case, peculiarities of, 230
Clockmakers, list of, 230
Lantern clock--
Early form, 45
Its similarity to ship's lantern, 46
Lilly, _Life and Times_ quoted, 256
Liverpool and district, list of clockmakers, 224
Long-case clock--
Dutch origin of, 154
Evolution of the, 153
Georgian period, the, 131
Lacquer period, the, 105
Stability of the, 132
Veneer and marquetry period, the, 67
Loomes, Thomas, clock by, 191
Lovelace, Jacob (Exeter), 212, 242
Lowestoft china, so-called, with Dutch inscription, 173
Lunar day, the, 29
Lunette, the use of the, in dial and case, 158
Lustre ware clock vase, Staffordshire, 198
Macaulay, his account of death of Charles II, 50, 53
Mahogany long cases, the period of, 136
Makers, old, their personality given to clocks, 38
Mantel clocks, the English character of, 185
Marot, Daniel, his work at Hampton Court, 90, 91
Designs of long-case clocks, 155
Marquetry--
Country cabinet-makers' use of, 84
Decadence of, 100
Definition of, 71
Dutch school of, 79
Early English attempt at, 84
Finest period, 40, 79, 83
Foreign influence on English art, 79
German school of, 72
Imported sheets, frequent use of, 84, 97
Italian school of, 71
Provincial, 60
Revival of, Sheraton period, 123, 147
Veneer, the use of, with, 74
Martin, Sieur Simon Etienne, his varnish, 112
Mary, Queen, and Hampton Court, 98, 170
Massy, Henry (1680), dial of clock by, 158
Mean time, 29
Mechanism of clocks, early, 32
Midlands, list of clockmakers in the, 230
Mills, Humphry, Edinburgh (1661), 261
Richard, Edinburgh (1678-1710), 261
Minute, the, its division into seconds, 30
Mudge, Thomas, Exeter (1715), 37, 212
Musical clock attributed to Rimbault, 142
by George Aicken, Cork, 277
Name of maker, position on dial, 161
Names found on dials, origin of, 213
Nantes, Edict of, and its effect, 68, 120
Newcastle-upon-Tyne, list of makers, 215
New Geneva (near Waterford), Irish watchmaking centre at, 278
Silver assayed at, 278
New York Metropolitan Art Museum, clocks illustrated, 57, 193
Nineteenth century, best period of clockmaking in, 40
Long-case clock of the, 147
North of England, list of clockmakers, 215
Nottingham clockmakers, list of, 235
Numerals on dial, note on, 158, 165
Painted furniture simulating lacquer work, 123
Panels, lacquered, imported from the East, 109
Marquetry, their use in clock-case, 97
"Parliament" clocks, so-called, 124
Pendulum, the--
Advent of, 50
Early studies relating to, 154
First introduction of, 33
Introduced into England by Fromanteel, 37
Length of, determined by longitude, 179
Types of--
the anchor, 59;
the "royal" or long, 33;
the short, its position at front of dial, 33
Pepys' _Diary_ quoted (1667), 161
Personal clock, the, 34
Personality in clockmaking, 38
Pinchbeck, Christopher, 37
Period of watches, 290
Pitt, his tax on clocks (1797), 124
Pope, _Essay on Criticism_ quoted, 31
Porcelain, true, its introduction into Europe, 109
Poy, Godfrey, clock by (1745), 192
Pre-pendulum clocks, 33
Provincial clocks and makers, 211
Makers, some great, 211
Quare, name falsely put on Dutch clocks, 36
Queen Mary, her influence in rebuilding Hampton Court, 98
Ramsay, David, 255;
watch signed by, 257
_Refugie, le style_, its introduction into England, 90
Regulator clock, the, 148
Repairs, ignorant restoration to be avoided, 42
Riesener, the marquetry of, 111
Rimbault, Stephen, 37
Noteworthy for musical clocks, 142, 147
Roentgen, David, the marquetry of, 111
Science, the dawn of, 35
Scott, Sir Walter, _Fortunes of Nigel_ quoted, 255
Scottish clocks, 255
Character of, 266
Makers, eighteenth century, list of, 261, 262
Second, the, the second division of the hour, 30
Hand, the, 30
Seventeenth century, dawn of science in the, 35
Types of lantern clock, 53
Watches, 286, 287
Shagreen cases to watches, 290
Shakespeare, _As you like it_ quoted, 162
_King John_ quoted, 32
Sheraton style in clock-cases, 147
Spandrel ornament on clock-dial--
Artistic difficulty of, 166
Cherub head style, 166, 169
Cupids and crown style, 170
Spanish proverb quoted, 185
Specialization of clockmaking, 37
Spring, the, its early use as a motive power, 32
Staffordshire earthenware clock vase, 198
Stalker and Parker, treatise on "japanning" (1688), 122
Striking and alarum clocks, early, 32
Strowbridge (Dawlish), clock by, 204
Clock repaired by, 247
Stuart and Tudor ages compared, 35
Sundial, the, and its tradition, 162
Time, 29
Sussex, clockmakers of, 247
Clock (Ashburnham) illustrated, 243
Swiss watchmakers settled in Ireland (1784-90), 278
Table clocks, great variety of, 185
Time, apparent and mean, equation of, 29
and its measurement, 27
Babylonian method of reckoning, 28, 29, 30
Tokens, copper, of clockmakers illustrated, 218, 236
Tombstones, ornament on, indicative of contemporary styles, 157
Tomlinson, William, 37
Tompion, Thomas (1671-1713), 212, 236
Name of, falsely put on Dutch clocks, 36
Tudor and Stuart ages compared, 35
Veneer and marquetry, the use of, 74
Definition of, 69
Modern delicacy of, 69
Verge escapement of old clocks, 33
Vulliamy, Benjamin, 37
Benjamin Lewis, 37
Justin, 37
Wales, clocks made in, 248
Wall clock, early use of, 46, 49
Inn clock illustrated, 125
Irish wall clock illustrated, 277
Wall-paper--
Early use of in England, 99
Period in marquetry, 99
Repeat design of, on marquetry, 100
Walnut period of long case, 135, 136
Watches, Old English--
Battersea enamel, 290
Cromwellian, 289
Early Stuart, 289
Eighteenth-century, 290
Elizabethan, 289
Pinchbeck period, 290
Typical English described, 285, 286
William and Mary, 290
Watches, Liverpool and district famous for, 224
Waterford, Swiss watchmakers at, 278
Watson, Sam (Coventry), clock by (1687), 186
Webster's _New International Dictionary_ quoted, 30
Wedgwood medallions as ornaments to clock-case, 204
Welsh clocks and makers, 248
West Country clockmakers, list of, 241
Wilkins, John, Bishop of Chester, quoted, 30
William and Mary period of decoration, 92, 97, 98
Windmills, name falsely put on Dutch clocks, 36
Woodcarvers at Hampton Court, 170
Wooden works of clocks, 266
Wren, Sir Christopher, his work at, Hampton Court, 91
Yorkshire clock-case, peculiarities of, 223, 229
Clockmakers, 217
Zoffany, clock-cases decorated by, 142
_Printed in Great Britain by_ UNWIN BROTHERS, LIMITED, THE GRESHAM
PRESS, WOKING AND LONDON
CHATS ON ENGLISH EARTHENWARE
(Companion volume to "Chats on English China.")Daniel travelled to the kitchen.BY ARTHUR HAYDEN
With coloured Frontispiece and 80 Full-page Illustrations of specimens
of Earthenware, Lists of Prices, Glossary, Bibliography, and
Reproductions of 200 Marks."Complementary to the useful companion volume, in this 'Chats'
Series, on English China which Mr.Hayden issued five years
ago."John travelled to the office.Mary travelled to the bedroom.--_Times._
"Is a compendious account of our native English faience,
abundantly illustrated and accurately written."--_Guardian._
"A thoroughly trustworthy working handbook."--_Truth._
"It is a mine of knowledge, gathered from all quarters, and the
outcome of personal experience and research, and it is written
with no little charm of style."Daniel moved to the office.--_Lady's Pictorial._
"Mr.Hayden knows and writes exactly what is needed to help the
amateur to become an intelligent collector, while his painstaking
care in verifying facts renders his work a stable book of
reference."--_Connoisseur._
"The volume has been written as a companion to Mr.Hayden's 'Chats
on English China' in the same series, and those who recall the
admirable character of that book will find this to be in no way
inferior."--_Nation._
"The illustrations are profuse and excellent, and the author
and the publishers must be commended for offering us so many
reproductions of typical specimens that have not appeared in any
previous handbook.Mary travelled to the hallway.The illustrations alone are worth the cost of
the book."--_Manchester Guardian._
"Mr.Hayden's book is filled to overflowing with beautiful and
most instructive and helpful illustrations, and altogether it
is one that will give immense pleasure to collectors, and much
information to the admiring but ignorant."--_Liverpool Courier._
LONDON: T. FISHER UNWIN, LTD., 1, ADELPHI TERRACE.Daniel journeyed to the bedroom.+--------------------------------------------------------------------+
| Transcriber's Note: |
| |
| Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note.Other |
| errors are noted below.Daniel went to the kitchen.|
| |
| Punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant |
| form was found in this book; otherwise they were not changed.John moved to the hallway.|
| |
| Ambiguous hyphens were retained.Mary journeyed to the bathroom.|
| |
bedroom | Where is Sandra? | The List of Illustrations paginations and those |
| in image captions were not corrected.|
| |
| Italicized words are surrounded by underline characters, |
| _like this_, bolded words by equal signs,=like this=.|
| |
| Corrections: |
| Bartholomew Newsom -----> Bartholomew Newsam (p.46) |
| Kenneth Maclellan -----> Kenneth Maclennan (p.114) |
| panels of ergolesi -----> panels of pergolesi (p.121) |
| Ralph Beilly -----> Ralph Beilby (p.216) |
| Peter Garron -----> Peter Garon (p.|
| |
| Note: |
| Page 173: Quinton, Yarmouth.The letter u in these two words |
| appears with a dot on top.These words are shown as follows: |
| Q[.u]inton, Yarmo[.u]th.We were wearied in the battle,
Tempted, and pained, and tried
By day the din and the carnage,
By night the rain's fierce tide;
But we heard a loving message,
From the Prince's tent it came,
"Each meet in the banqueting house.We gathered; a motley regiment,
Some young in the war of life,
Some chiefs in the Royal Army,
Some old and sick with strife,
Some limped in the sacred pathway,
Some were foot sore and worn,
Some had their lances all shivered,
Some had their banners torn.And we all looked dim and dusty;
We all were stained with sin;
But we held the Prince's message,
And the porter said "Come in."We went to the banqueting house;
We sat at the Prince's board,
There we polished each his helmet,
We sharpened each his sword.Our Prince--we talked of his strife,
The forlorn hope He had led,
How He opened the gates of life,
And rescued from Death the dead;
And with Him we saw a bright host,
Our comrades gone on before,
The right wing of our army
Upon the farther shore.The banners were made whole,
Mists rolled back from the almost blind,
Faith lit each warrior's soul;
We drank of the fruit of the vine,
We ate the living bread,
The holy benediction fell,
With healing on each head.We entered in poor worn soldiers,
We came out bolder knights,
To march on to the Prince's battle,
And war for His glorious rights,
For had we not each re-taken
The oath of allegiance high,
And sworn round the Royal Standard
To conquer, or to die.I heard the voice of the Death Angel speak,
As slowly he pass'd me by,
And I saw him throw snow on the crimson cheek,
And darken the laughing eye.I saw him glide down through many a street;
Tears followed him like spring rain;
And yet ever unheeding tears or prayers,
He mattered his wild wild refrain,
"Come away with me, sweet baby so bright,
I love the young flowers of the rosebud's hue,
What?mother would keep thee always in sight,
And see the sad tears in those eyes so blue.All thorns and crosses for you are done,
Mother will meet thee where all is fair,
Grown to the height of the angels there.Quiet and deep,
Be now thy sleep,
Baby, so white.For thou shalt travel where sorrow and strife
Never shall darken thy pathway again.Azael must take home to the Lord of Life
The darlings He bought on the cross with pain.Pleasure and glory for you are won,
Near to the angels, you're not afraid
Of going with me far into the shade.The casket grows cold,
The jewel I hold,
For hearts of love.Come along with me, thou trader in gold,
Many have turned from thy office to-day.Thou hast no time to consider the claim
Of the wronged or helpless who crossed thy way.I'll take you far from the market's din,
And you'll have time,
In that strange clime,
To meditate.For thou wilt awaken, I would not hold.If I could, the past from memory's ken.I fancy that other ledgers unfold,
Their pages for some of you business men;
Rest to night, tired one.The steamers, the banks, the corn exchange?No, Azael deals not in notes or change;
He keeps no gold,
In his fingers cold,
He takes no bribe.Sandra went to the bedroom.Come along with me, sweet lady so fair,
Who told thee I was so grim and so cold;
Know you that I covet that sunny hair,
And those delicate arms's caressing fold;
Fear me not, gentle one.What if the hymn and the task are done,
In my arms there is far calmer rest,
Then thou wilt find on thy lover's breast.Sleep, sleep for awhile,
Then waken to smile,
Ever and aye.True life is progressive, my lady fair,
And thou wilt re-open those radiant eyes;
Think you that I have no burden of care,
Azael has to account for each prize.Quicksands and pitfalls for thee are all done;
Human love may ere long deceive thee,
But Azael's love will never leave thee
Till those earth-dim eyes
Look on Paradise,
Never to weep.The song of Azael melted away,
On the solemn midnight's bieath,
I thought of the talents, the oilless lamps--
Oh, Azael, Angel of Death,
I know that ere long thou wilt come for me.Immanuel, Lord of life,
By Thy victory gained on the bitter cross,
Save in that hour of strife.Only a Story
Let me tell you a story, dear,
Of someone I saw to-day,
Only a man with a pale worn face,
And auburn locks grown gray,
One, I thought would never again,
Come over my pathway here,
One, I still hope to meet forgiven,
In a better brighter sphere.Why did you start, he knew me, yes,
A flush as of pain, or pride,
Pass'd swiftly o'er the pale stern face,
And the high white forehead dyed,
I heard the roll of carriage wheels,
Unthinkingly raised my eyes,
One glance flashed out beneatt thosee Brows,
Like lightening across the skies.Shudder not dear, 'tis he who grieves,
Not I in my lonely life,
I have a calm bright future now,
He?well, he has gold and strife,
They say that oft by the heaving lake,
He wanders about alone,
Waves that dash on the sandy beach,
Answer his throbbing heart's moan.Once or twice has been heard a name
As if wrung with torturous pain,
From lips to sacred silence sworn,
Told only to storms and rain.He leaves the light of gilded halls,
To clasp in the midnight air,
Some flowers that faded years ago,
One lock of a girl's dark hair.Ask me not with those pleading eyes,
If I dream about him yet;
Is anything colder to your touch,
Than ashes with rain-drops wet?What is harder to kindle up,
Than lava grown black and cold,
That once from burning mountain's heart,
In fiery grandeur rolled.Pity him, pray for him, that is well,
Married for jewels and gold,
Vipers crawl from the caskets bright,
And they keep his fingers cold.Only a flush of pain or pride,
When to-day our glances met,
He in his gorgeous wealth arrayed,
I, out in the cold and wet.Hush; as we sow we surely reap,
Yes, he has a wife and gold,
Broad lands, a mansion white and tall
Like an iceberg grand and cold,
I?I've the blessings of the poor,
Which fall like the gentle dew,
I've claims on mansions far away,
I have life, and love, and _you_.Turn thy fair face to the breaking dawn,
Lily so white, that through all the dark,
Hast kept lone watch on the dewy lawn,
Deeming thy comrades grown cold and stark;
Soon shall the sunbeam, joyous and strong,
Dry the tears in thy stamens of gold--
Glinteth the day up merry and long,
And the night grows old.Turn thy fair face to Faith's rosy sky,
Soul so white that lone night hath kept
Sighing for spirits sin-bound that lie;
Wrong has ruled right, and the truth has slept;
The dawn shall show thee a host ere long,
Planting sweet roses abqve the mould;
The sun of righteousness beameth strong,
And sin's night grows old.Turn thine eyes to the burnished zone
From out of thy nest neath darkened eaves,
Oh bird, who hast mingled thy plaintive moan
With sobbing winds through quivering leaves;
From thy heart, by light which groweth strong,
Draw out the thorns that pierced on the world;
Glinteth the day up merry and long,
And the night grows old.Turn thy sad eyes to God's summerland,
Mourner, who waileth some love laid past,
Some bark that has anchored on foreign strand
And left her sailors free from the blast;
They are not here where the grass grows long,
They are not down in the red-brown mould;
Heaven's day is coming up fair and strong,
And earth's night grows old.Sleep on, my darling, sleep on,
I am keeping watch by your side,
I have drawn in the curtains close,
And banished the world outside;
Rest as the reaper may rest,
When the harvest work is done
Rest as the soldier may rest,
When the victor's work is won.You smile in your happy sleep:
Are the children with you now?Sweet baby Willie, so early called,
And Nellie with thoughtful brow,
And May, our loving daughter.Ah, the skies grew dark, my love,
When the sunshine of her presence
Vanished to Heaven above.While you're resting, my darling,
I dream of the shadowy hour,
When one of us looks the last
On the light of its household bower,
Then a sad sigh heaves my breast,
And tears from my eyelids burst,
As I ask of the future dim,
"Which shall be summoned first?"Sometimes I pray in terror
That you may be first to go,
Never again to sorrow,
Or to feel one throb of woe,
Beyond the mists of the river,
Where mystic shadows weave,
I have no fears, my beloved,
In One we both believe.But I, oh I so lonely,
Could I look as I look now,
If this was thy last long sleep,
The ice of death on thy brow;
In sight of the holy angels,
I offer my earnest plea,
I cry to my God and pray,
"If one goes first, take me."Our lives have been happy dear,
I fancy the tears we shed,
By our lost children's coffins.On faces white and dead,
Are counted as dew drops now,
On the flowers early sown
In the gardens of Paradise,
The Lord's, and still our own.So we'll leave the future dim,
Take the sunshine as we go,
And when we come to the brink,
Where black waves ebb and flow,
We'll trust the voice which summons,
The love that has ever kept,
To fold in his arms one taken,
To lead by His hand one left.The dew was gone,
The morn was bright, the skies were fair,
The flowers smiled neath the sunbeams ray,
Tall cedars grew in beauty there.As Adoniram took his way,
To Lebanon.Praise his heart filled,
More than four hundred years had fled,
Since from stern Egypt marched the bands,
Whose sons, with Solomon at their head,
And Tyrian brethern's skilful hands,
Prepare to build.He watched them there,
Round every block, and every stone,
Masonic implements were laid,
But around _one_ were many thrown,
And yet it seemed already made,
Tried, true and square.He wandering spake,
"Are not all from one mountain brought
As jewels for a diadem,
Why, have they at this one stone wrought,
Will not all see Jerusalem.The Widow's son
Smiled kindly in his brother's face,
And said "All are made ready here,
But not all fill the same high place,
The Corner stone this will be near,
When toil is done."Mary went to the kitchen.The listener bent,
His eyes on the unfinished stone,
And found himself a wiser man,
Through that rough child of mountains lone,
A ray of the Grand Master's plan,
To him was sent.From Masonry,
That just man learnt that woes are thrown
Around God's children, pain and care,
But draw them near the corner stone,
With the Great Architect to share,
Heaven's blazonry."Where is God my Maker, Who giveth songs in the night."--Bible.The hour of midnight had swept past,
The city bell tolled three,
The moon had sank behind the clouds,
No rustling in the tree.All, all was silent as the grave,
And memories of the tomb,
Had banished sweet sleep far away,
All spoke of tears and gloom.Rang out a sweet bird's song,
No feeble, weak, uncertain note,
No plaint of grief or wrong,
No "Miserere Domine,"
No "Dies Irea" sad,
But "Gloria in Excelsis" rang,
In accents wild and glad.a birdling caged,
And in the dark alone,
And then methought that he had seen,
Some vision from God's throne,
The little birdling's eyes were bright,
While mine with tears were dim,
Had some bright watcher glided by,
And spake in joy to him?Then I remembered what Christ said,
The God of love's dear Son,
"Not one of these small birds forgot
Beneath the glorious sun."They have no load of grief to bear,
Of sin no dark, deep stain,
|
garden | Where is Mary? | Oh, can it be unknown to us,
Without one human word,
The universal Father soothes
The death-bed of each bird;
"The whole creation groaneth," yet
These pure things of the sky,
Are they not nearer to the gates
Than mortals such as I?Yet while I mused, it seemed some form,
Ere yet I was aware,
Bent o'er my pillow, dried my tears,
And turned to sing my prayer;
Some subtle presence unrevealed,
Seemed to repeat the words,
"Fear not, for you are dearer far,
Than many little birds."I do not ask what seemed to speak;
Whether the angel blest,
Who hath been my appointed guard
In calm or wild unrest;
Or whether some sweet voice I love,
But hushed to me a while,
Came down on gentle mission sent,
To change for tears a smile.It matters not; God knows faith's wings
Droop sometimes in the dust,
And hands grow weak and lose their hold
On Hope's firm anchor trust;
And so, while sending dew and rain,
And glowing sunbeams bright.God giveth unto those who hear,
Songs in the darkest night.They are gone away,
No prayers could avail us to longer keep
The ships called out on the unknown deep,
We saw them sail off, some lingeringly,
Some suddenly summoned put out to sea;
They stepped aboard, and the planks were drawn in,
But their sweet, pale faces were free from sin;
As they turned to whisper one last good bye,
We sent after each one a bitter cry;
We knew on that track,
They would never come back,
By night or day.Ah, we've closed dear eyes,
But God be thanked that they, one and all,
Had the heaven light touch them before the pall;
They saw the fair land that we could not see,
And one said, "Jesus is standing by me,"
And one, "The water of life I hear,"
And one, "There's no suffering nor sorrow here,"
One, "I have seen the city of countless charms,"
One, "'Neath me are the Everlasting Arms,"
So we know it is best,
They should be at rest,
In God's paradise.Mary's Blessed Son,
Thou wilt not chide if thou see'st that low
Our harps are hanging on willow bough;
We would not murmur, we know it is well,
They are gone from the battle, the shot and shell,
And in our anguish we're not alone;
The Father knows all the grief we have known;
Oh God, who once heard the Christ's bitter cry,
Thou knowest what we feel when we see them die.Our light, has been hid
By the coffin lid,
And dark our noon.God hears our moan,
He knows how a stricken heart had said,
"Oh, number her not with the silent dead,
For if she stays watching the golden sea,
God help, for what will become of me?The last rose out of my childhood's bower,
From my English garden, the last sweet flower;
Take me instead, for none call me mother."The messenger said, "I take no other."So she went the road
The others have trod,
And I am alone.We shall meet again;
I fancy sometimes how they talk together,
Of the way they travelled, the stormy weather
That beat so hard on their pilgrim road,
Now changed for the city of their God;
I wonder if in their special home,
They keep choice rooms till their darlings come.Saviour, who loves them, protect and guide me
Where they are waiting 'neath life's fadeless tree,
Father and mother,
And elder brother,
And sisters twain."Why are you weeping, ye gentle flowers?Sandra went to the bedroom.Are ye not blest in your sunny bowers?Have you startling dreams that make ye weep,
When waking up from your holy sleep?"Ah, knowest thou not, we fold at night,
The tears earth drops from her eyelids bright,
Like a loving mother her griefs are born,
Lest her tender nurslings should die ere morn,
And the sweet dew falls in each open cup,
Till the eyes of morn are lifted up;
We unfold our leaves to the sun's bright face,
And close them up at the night's embrace.Dost thou ask if grief comes creeping across,
From the poplar bough to the dark green moss?No, round us the sunbeams smile and glow,
Round us the streamlets dance and flow,
And the zephyr comes with its gentle breeze,
To sigh out its life in the young green trees,
And then from the beds where the flowers grow,
Rises a melody soft and low.And the glorious rose with her flushing face,
And the fuschia with her form of grace,
The balsam bright, and the lupin's crest,
That weaves a roof for the firefly's nest;
The myrtle clusters, and dahlia tall,
The jessamine fairest among them all;
And the tremulous lips of the lily's bell,
Join in the music we love so well.""But startle ye not when the tempests blow?Have you no dread of a wily foe?Do you not tremble, when the serpents hiss
Mid leaves that the zephyr alone should kiss?Lady, the bells of the fainting flowers
Close at the coming of thunder showers;
The branches and tendrils merrily dance
At the whirlwind's cry, and the lightning's glance.We dread not to see the snake's back of gold?Dart through the lilacs or marigold,
For fears that dwell in the human breast,
Find in the heart of flowers no rest.We have no fears when we hear thee pass
Over the fold of the tangled grass,
We have no dread when we hear thee breathe
Over the flowers we love to wreathe,
Nor tremble when night falls from heaven above,
And nature is stillness and earth is love;
We steal from thy keeping when summer is o'er,
And wait thee where flowers can die no more."Cities and men, and nations, have passed by,
Like leaves upon an autumn's dreary sky;
Like chaff upon the ocean billow proud,
Like drops of rain on summer's fleecy cloud;
Like flowers of a wilderness,
Vanished into forgetfulness.Nineveh, thou city of young Ashur's pride,
With thy strong towers, and thy bulwarks wide;
Ah!while upon thee splashed the Tigris' waters,
How little thought thy wealth-stored sons and daughters,
That Cyaxerses and his troops should wait
Three long years before thy massive gate;
Then Medes and Persians, by the torches' light,
Should ride triumphantly thy streets by night;
And from creation banish thee,
O!And country of the pride of Mizriam's heart,
With pyramids that speak thy wealth and art,
Why is it that no minstrel comes, who sings
Of all the glory of thy shepherd kings?Tyre, why are thy walls in ruins thus?Why is thy name so seldom spoke by us?Sidon, among the nations thou art fled,
Thy joy departed and thy glory dead;
Far gone ere all thy generations,
Fallen nations!And Babylon, with all thy thronging bands,
The glory of Chaldea's ancient lands;
Thy temple, where a numerous host was seen,
Thy gardens hung to please the Midian queen;
Where beauteous flowers smiled on their terrace beds,
Proud kings have passed through thee, and crowned heads;
And grandeur and magnificence could view
In thee a resting place--thy stores not few;
Why is it thou art all alone?And Greece, who shone in literature and might,
When Marathon's broad plains saw sword and fight;
Thy monumental ruins stand alone,
Decay has breathed upon thy sculptured stone
And desolation walks thy princely halls,
The green branch twines around thy olden walls;
And ye who stood the ten years' siege of Troy,
Time's fingers now your battlements annoy;
Why is it that thy glories cease?And thou, best city of olden time,
O!we might weep for thee, once chosen clime.City, where Solomon his temple reared,
City, where gold and silver stores appeared;
City, where priest and prophet lowly knelt,
City, where God in mortal flesh once dwelt.Titus, and Roman soldiers, laid thee low,
The music in thy streets has ceased to flow;
Yet wilt thou not return in joy once more,
And Lebanon give up her cedar store?And vines and olives smile as now they smile,
Yet not upon the ruin of a holy pile;
Wilt thou Destruction's flood not stem?Cities and men, and nations, have gone by,
Like leaves upon an Autumn's dreary sky;
Like chaff upon the ocean billow proud,
Like drops upon the summer's passing cloud;
Like flowers of a wilderness,
Vanished into forgetfulness.Mary went to the kitchen.One evening a short time since, our attention was attracted by the
prolonged ringing of a bell.The given number of strokes had sounded, yet
ring, ring, ring.At
length we questioned a passer by, and received for answer, "It is
ringing because an Apprentice is out of his time."We knew nothing of the boy, neither his name or home, but the waves of
air told us something concerning him.Mary went back to the garden.We knew he had overcome
difficulties, often had he been disheartened and dismayed, often had he
heard the mocking laugh or coarse jest of his companions, at his
imperfect workmanship, often heard the angry words over goods or tools
spoiled through his ignorance or carelessness.He had risen on dark
mornings when his neighbors, lads his own age, were snugly sleeping; he
had toiled on glorious summer days when his indolent companions were
resting under green trees, or plunging into the cool waters; he had done
the rough work because he was "the boy."Yes, but there is another side
to the picture.With courage renewed, with eyes and fingers becoming more
and more accustomed to the handicrafts of his trade, every month has found
him progressing, till to-night, as the still ringing bell tells us, he has
overcome.His companions gather around him with boisterous mirth, and the
"older hands" feel a certain pride in him, as wringing his hand they know
he ranks among themselves, the means of an honest living at his disposal,
one of God's great army of working men.A few hours passed and another
bell resounded upon our ears.We listened, for that bell had a sad and
solemn sound.Ah, another "Apprentice was out of his time."We knew
something of how he had fought, not with rough iron, but with "the waves
of this troublesome world."We knew how in every day life he strove to do
his duty to his Lord and Master.Discouraged, how
frequently bearing the taunt, the sneer?His
companions gather around him, but all mirth is hushed, tears fill their
eyes, and choking words are whispered as they file round the casket, and
look upon the calm dead face, that no more on earth will meet them with
its wonted smile, and the pale hands that have done all their rough
earthwork.Ah, it is well that the sound of
harps and the silvery peals from the chiming bells of the city of God
reach us not, or perchance we should "stand all the day idle."For are we
not all entered Apprentices in this strange world of ours?Are we not all
"serving our time?"Are we likely to prove
"workmen that need not be ashamed," or are we through fear or negligence
hiding in the earth our Lord's money?Our indentures bear the blood-red
seals of Calvary, our Covenant is "ordered in all things and sure."The
time of our serving here is unknown to us, of the hour of our release
knoweth no man.There have been some who "being made perfect in a short
time, fullfilled for a long time."We have a long line of witnesses gone
on before, but all drawing their life and courage from that Wonderful Man,
the Redeemer of the world, the Carpenter of Galilee.He whose mysterious
indentures were cancelled in the noon-day of His life.He who could stand
among His sorrowing companions and say, "Father, I have finished the work
which Thou gavest me to do."Oh, my fellow apprentices, how often are we
tempted to leave _our_ work unfinished.Do we not thus sometimes
think, "I can never learn my trade for heaven here."We see one wasting
his Master's goods, we see the tables of the money-changers in the temple
of God, we hear our fellows arraigning the Master before their petty
tribunals, we grow faint and weary, we have foes within and without.Doubt
says, "The Master is feasting royally and forgets his poor apprentices."Courage, courage, my brothers, we are treading the path the saints have
trod.We know not what work for the
King we may have to do by-and-by; over how many cities of whose locality
we at present know nothing.He may give us authority to which of the
countless worlds in our Father's universe we may be sent on the King's
message of love, to what spirits in prison we, in our spiritual life, may
go to preach of mercy.If here permitted to be the servants of Christ, and
through His merits attaining to that better country, may we not
reasonably infer that we shall aid Him more and more, till the mediatorial
work is ended.Let these thoughts encourage us amidst the cold and heat,
the scorn and shame.Let us see to it that we _do_ work the works of
our Master.Let us often turn our eyes to those two grand rules of our
workshop, "Do unto others as ye would they should do unto you," our golden
rule framed in the royal crimson of the King's authority; and that other
silver lettered motto, framed in the clear, true blue of heaven, "Pure
religion and undefiled before God and the Father, is to visit the widow
and fatherless in their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from
the world."Let us imitate that brother workman of whom Whittier says:
"He gave up his life to others,
Himself to his brothers lending;
He saw the Lord in His suffering brothers,
And not in the clouds descending."Soon, soon we shall be out of our time; but here the figure ends.The
earthly apprentice, freed from his articles of apprenticeship, may serve
any master, the heavenly apprentice asks but _one_.Oh, Jesus,
Master, Thou Saviour of our race, have mercy upon us, grant us so to
serve Thee in time, that our earthly labours ended, we may hear Thee say,
"Well done good and faithful servant," while the pure and beautiful
angels shall rehearse to each other, "Rejoice, another apprentice is out
of his time.""And Cain talked with Abel, his brother."The sun was rising on earth, sin-tainted, yet beautiful,
Delicate gold- cloudlets in all their primeval beauty,
Ushered the bright orb of day to his task well appointed,
Like a bevy of beautifal girls in the court of their monarch,
Or a regiment of soldiers all bright in new rose- armour.Sandra moved to the kitchen.Two altars arose between earth and the cloud-speckled firmament;
Cain walked in a stern and defiant advance to his altar,
A recklessness flashed from his eyes, and passions unconquered,
As he scornfully looked on the kneeling, worshipping Abel,
Ay scornfully thus he addressed his young innocent brother:
"Look at my sacrifice, Abel, these glistening dew- roses,
Those delicate lillies and mosses, these graceful arbutulas;
Look at the golden brown tints of these fruits in their lusciousness;
Look at the bright varied hues of these green leaves, closely encircling
These rich scarlet blossoms, like yonder clouds, glorious and wonderful;
Nothing on earth or in heaven could make fairer oblation.Abel, what have you carved on your altar, in that wild devotion
By which you in vain seek to soften the anger |
bathroom | Where is Sandra? | A circle, to show that your God is all near, is filling
The seen and unseen with His incomprehensible presence.Well, so let it be, then; I'll not contradict the illusion.One thing appears certain, that we have offended our Maker,
Who visits unjustly on us the mistakes of our parents,
As if we ever reached out our hands for fruit once forbidden.Shall we never be free from the thorns and the thistles upspringing?Why do you still try to follow the steps and voice of your Maker?And why still persist in slaying the white lambs of your meadows?Take of my beautiful flowers and despise all blood shedding.""My brother," spoke Abel, "I love the dear innocent flowers.Are they not all, nearly all that is left us of Eden's fair glory,
All but the singing of birds, the winds and the waters, wild music,
All but the whispers of love and blessings of heart-broken parents;
But you heard, my brother, as well as myself the commandment,
Not to offer to heaven what _we_ choose, but what God declareth
Will shadow our Faith and sweet Hope in the promised atonement;
And that terrible sin, those spots in our souls, my dear brother,
Can never be cleansed by the lives of the beautiful flowers,
Only by His, shadowed forth in the death of an innocent victim."Then angrily answered Cain back to his young brother's pleading,
"Abel, I have no patience with such mock humiliations,
I have no need of a Saviour, I have no need of blood-shedding
To wash out the stain of my own or my father's transgression.I for myself can make perfect and full restitution;
Look at the smoke of your altar curling upward so clearly,
Making white cloudlets on high in the blue of the firmament,
While mine sweeps the ground that is cursed like the trail of the serpent:
Why comes down the Maker of this blighted universe, asking
Why art thou wroth, and why is thy countenance fallen?"Stand I not here in the image of God, who created us?Have I not courage, and freedom, and strength above my inferiors?Did not our father give name to beast, bird, insect and reptile?Shall his children crouch down and kneel like the creature that crawleth?I will not obey this commandment, but I'll wreath up my altar
With offerings of earth, with gold of the orange, and red of the roses,
I'll not stain my hands with the blood of an innocent creature."So Cain turned away from his wondering brother; perhaps then little
dreaming
That on the next morrow he would become earth's first murderer;
And, scorning the death of a lamb, take the life of a brother.The Lord Said, "What hast thou done?"Oh, erring Cain,
What hast thou done?Upon the blighted earth
I hear a melancholy wail resounding;
Among the blades of grass where flowers have birth
I hear a new-born tone mournfully sounding.It is thy brother's blood
Crying aloud to God
In helpless pain.Thou hast so loved to wreathe the clinging vine,
And welcomed with pure joy the delicate fruit,
Till thou hast felt a kindred feeling twine
Around thy heart, grown with each fibrous root
Of tree, or moss, or flower,
Growing in field or bower,
Or ripening grain.But henceforth, Cain,
When the bright gleaming of the rosy morn
Proclaims another glorious summer day,
Thou may'st walk forth to greet the earth newborn,
And pluck the blushing roses on thy way;
They at thy touch shall blight,
Stricken with some strange might,
Some dire pain.In time to come,
When thy fair child (for thou shalt have a son)
Shall lay his little, soft, warm hands in thine,
And say, "My father, growing neath the sun
Are lovely flowers, trees and moss and vine;
Here is rich soil and room
For me; make bowers bloom
Around our home."Thy heart will shrink,
And thou wilt hear the voice the Lord has heard,
The voice of brother's blood speaking from earth,
And each pulse of thy sad soul will be stirred,
As he to whom the girl thou love'st gave birth
Brings back with fearful truth
The playmate of thy youth
From the grave's brink.For on no shore
Shall fair earth yield unto thy stalwart arms;
No, thou may'st dig, and prune, and plant in vain,
And noxious worms and things of poisonous harms
Shall not be banished at the will of Cane;
Thou'lt set seed-bearing root,
Thou'lt plant life-giving fruit
No more, no more.Ah no, not greater than the soul can bear,
Did'st thou not always find whatever grain
Thou cast, the same grew upward full and fair,
Thou _would'st not_ look upon the pure lamb slain,
To faith true sacrifice
Thou would'st not turn thine eyes;
Go, till thine heart."Our poor and penniless brethren, dispersed over land and sea."--Masonic Sentiment
They met in the festive hall,
Lamps in their brightness shone,
And merry music and mirth,
Aided the feast of St.Men pledged the health of their Queen
And of all the Royal band,
The flags of a thousand years,
The swords of their motherland.Then mid the revelry came
The sound of a mournful strain,
Like a minor chord in music,
A sweet but sad refrain;
It rose on the heated air,
Like a mourner's earnest plea,
"Our poor and penniless brethren
Dispersed over land and sea."Poor and penniless brethren
Scattered over the world,
Want and misfortune and woe
Round them fierce darts have hurled;
Wandering alone upon mountains,
Sick and fainting and cold,
Lying heart-broken in prisons,
Chained in an enemy's hold.Dying in fields of combat,
With none to answer back
The masonic sign of distress,
Left on the battle's track.Shipwrecked in foaming waters,
Clinging to broken spars,
Dying, this night of St.John,
Mid the ocean and the stars.Others with hunger faint--we
Taste these rich and varied meats--
Oppression gives them no home
But dark and desolate streets.Oh, God of mercy, hear us,
As we ask a boon for Thee,
For poor and penniless brethren
Dispersed over land and sea.Poor and penniless brethren,
Ah, in the Master's sight,
We all lay claim to the title
On this, our festival night.Lone pilgrims journeying on
Towards light that points above,
Treading the chequered earthworks
Till we reach the land of love.Work up to the landmark, brothers,
We shall not always stay,
The falling shadows warn us
To work in the light of day.How often our footsteps turn
Where a brother's form is hid,
Oft we cast evergreen sprigs
On a brother's coffin lid.Thou, who dost give to each
Some appointed post to hold,
Teach us to cherish the weak,
To give Thy silver and gold;
To guard as a soldier guards
Honor and Love's pure shrine,
To give our lives for others,
As Thou did'st for us give Thine.To Masons all over the world
Give wisdom to work aright,
That they may gather in peace
Their working tools at night.May love's star glitter o'er each,
Amid darkness, storm or mist,
As on this night of St.John,
Our Blest Evangelist.--"Throughout the day, I walk,
My path o'ershadowed by vain dreams of him."--Italian Girl's Hymn to the Virgin.Mother, gazing on thy son,
He, thy precious only one,
Look into his azure eyes,
Clearer than the summer skies.Mark his course; on scrolls of fame
Read his proud ancestral name;
Pause!a cloud that path will dim,
Thou hast dreamt vain dreams of him.Young bride, for the altar crowned,
Now thy lot with one is bound,
Will _he_ keep each solemn vow?a dreamy shadow lies
In the depths of those bright eyes;
Time will this day's glory dim,
Thou hast dreamt vain dreams of him.Sister, has thy brother gone,
To the fields where fights are won;
Oh!it was an hour of pride
When he was last by thy side;
Thou dost see him coming back
In the conqueror's proud track;
Hush!the bayonets earthward turn,
Dream vain dreams, he'll not return.Woman, on the cottage green,
Gazing at the sunset scene,
Now the vintage toil is o'er,
But the gleaner comes no more
Through the fields of burnished corn;
Lo!a peasant's bier is borne
By the sparkling river's brim,
Thou hast dreamt vain dreams of him.Maiden, who in every prayer
Breath'st a name thou dost not bear,
Sing again thy lover's song;
Yes, he will be back ere long,
Back in all his manhood's pride,
Back, but with another bride;
Cease those bridal robes to trim,
Thou hast dreamt vain dreams of him.how we mould
Sand with fruit and clay with gold!How we cherish crumbling dust,
Then lament our futile trust!Saviour, who on earth didst prove
All the agony of love,
Fit us for that brighter shore,
Where they dream vain dreams no more.Amid the forest verdant shade,
A peaceful river flowed:
Wild flowers their home on its banks had made,
The sunbeam's rays on its breast were laid,
When the light of morning glowed.By its marge the wolf had found a lair,
He roamed through each lonely spot;
That deep designer, the beaver, there
Built his palace; the shaggy bear
In the tall tree had his cot.And voices sweet were heard on the bank
Of the river's gentle flow;
The whip-poor-will sang when the sun had sank,
And the hum-drum bee to his home had shrank,
When the wind of eve did blow.The tree-frog joined with his sonorous call,
The grasshopper chirped along,
The dormice came out of their underground hole,
The squirrels peeped over their pine-tree wall,
To list to the revel song.Nothing disturbed the murmur deep
Of the river broad and fair;
No one awoke it from peaceful sleep,
Save when floating mice o'er its breast would creep,
Or the rusty-coated bear.One morn the sound of an axe was heard
In the forest, dark and lone;
Then started with fear the beasts disturbed,
Their reign was broke at the woodman's word,
And they scowled with anger on.On the river's brink the emigrant's child
Passed all his lonely hours,
He laughed when he ruffled the bosom mild
Of the flowing streamlet so bright and wild,
As it bore his boon of flowers.Soon the throng of the forest heard the horn
Of the boat, the commerce boat;
Then they started up from the brake and thorn,
And hastening away by the light of the morn,
They fled from cavern and moat.And the bird peeped out of a pine tree tower,
And shrank away at the sight,
The humming-bird fled to his rose-hung bower,
The bright bee curled himself snug in a flower,
O'ertaken by fear and fright.Ginevra, I am affianced to the man, Steve!'Ginevra could here quickly drink a glass of water if there was one in
the room.GINEVRA, wandering round her old friend, 'You seem the same, Amy, yet
somehow different.'AMY, rather complacently, 'That is just how I feel.There is an awful scene
taking place--up there.Sandra went to the bedroom.'Everything--in a noble attempt to save me from a widowed
marriage.''But I thought she was such a hard woman.'To the world perhaps; but I have softened her.All
she needed, Ginevra, to bring out her finer qualities was a strong
nature to lean upon; and she says that she has found it in me.At the
theatre and all the way home--'
GINEVRA.AMY, feeling that Ginevra is very young, 'Need you ask?Oh, Ginevra,
to see if we could find a happy ending.Mary went to the kitchen.Mary went back to the garden.'I don't know, but the erring wife confessed all--in one of those
mousselines de soie that are so fashionable this year; and mother and
I sat--clasping each other's hands, praying it might end happily,
though we didn't see how it could.'He went out of the room for a
moment, and came back so white.Then he sat down by the fire, and
nodded his head three times.''I think I know now which theatre it was.''He asked her coldly--but always the perfect gentleman----'
GINEVRA.'He asked her whether _he_ was to go or she.'She went on her knees to him, and said "Are we never to
meet again?"Then she turned and went
slowly towards the door.'GINEVRA, clutching her, 'Amy, was that the end?'Sandra moved to the kitchen.'The audience sat still as death, listening for the awful _click_
that brings the curtain down.'Sandra moved to the bathroom.GINEVRA, shivering, 'I seem to hear it.''At that moment--'
GINEVRA.'The door opened, and, Ginevra, their little child--came in--in
her night-gown.''She came toddling down the stairs--she was barefooted--she took
in the whole situation at a glance--and, running to her father, she
said, "Daddy, if mother goes away what is to become of me?"'Amy gulps
and continues: 'And then she took a hand of each and drew them
together till they fell on each other's breasts, and then--Oh,
Ginevra, then--Click!--and the curtain fell.'GINEVRA, when they are more composed, 'How old was the child?'GINEVRA, her brows knitted, 'Molly is under two, isn't she?'But she couldn't, you know, even though
she was held up.Mother couldn't help thinking the scene was a good
omen, though.''Perhaps she hasn't had the courage to tell.''If so, I must go on with it.'GINEVRA, feeling rather small beside Amy, 'Marry him?'Is it dree your weird, or weird your
dree?'She does not really care; nobler
thoughts are surging within her.'Amy, why can't I make some sacrifice
as well as you?'Amy seems about to make a somewhat grudging reply, but the unexpected
arrival of the man who has so strangely won her seals her lips.with a depth of meaning, 'Oh, sir.'STEVE, the most nervous of the company, 'I felt I must come.Miss
Grey, I am in the greatest distress, as the unhappy cause of all this
trouble.'AMY, coldly, 'You should have thought of that before.''It was dense of me not to understand sooner--very dense.'He
looks at her with wistful eyes.AMY, curling her lip, 'Ah, that is what you are sorry for!'To tell you
the truth, I'd be--precious glad to risk it--I think.'AMY, with a glance at Ginevra, 'You would?'John journeyed to the hallway.It seems such a shame to you--so young
and attractive--and the little you know of me so--unfortunate.' |
bathroom | Where is Sandra? | Indeed Ginevra feels that she has been obliterated quite long enough.GINEVRA, with a touch of testiness in her tone, 'Amy--introduce me.'Ginevra makes a movement that the cynical might describe as brushing
Amy aside.Rollo, what are your views about woman?''Really I--'
GINEVRA.'Is she, in your opinion, her husband's equal, or is she his
chattel?''Honestly, I am so beside myself--'
GINEVRA.'He means chattel, Ginevra.'Rollo, I am the friend till death of Amy Grey.Sandra went to the bedroom.Let that
poor child go, sir, and I am prepared to take her place beside you--Yes,
at the altar's mouth.'Mary went to the kitchen.GINEVRA, making that movement again, 'Understand I can neither love
nor honour you--at least at first--but I will obey you.''Ginevra, you take too much upon yourself.''I _will_ make a sacrifice--I will.''I feel that I understand this gentleman as no other woman
can.It is my mission, Amy--' The return of Alice is what prevents
Steve's seizing his hat and flying.It might not have had this effect
had he seen the lady's face just before she opened the door.ALICE, putting her hand to her poor heart, 'You have come here, Steve?STEVE, looking things unutterable, 'How could I help coming?'AMY, to the rescue, 'Mother, have you--did you?'ALICE, meekly, 'I have told him all.'AMY, conducting her to a seat, 'Brave, brave.He is thinking out what it will be best
to do.'Then I am no longer--' His unfinished sentence seems
to refer to Amy.AMY, proudly, 'Yes, sir, as he knows, you are, as far as I am
concerned, now free.'GINEVRA, in a murmur, 'It's almost a pity.''At
least, Amy, this makes you and me friends again.'We have never quite
been able to understand what this meant, but Amy knows, for she puts
Ginevra's hand to her sweet lips.ALICE, who somehow could do without Ginevra to-night, 'Cosmo is
waiting for you, Miss Dunbar, to see you home.'GINEVRA, with a disquieting vision of her landlady, 'I must go.'She
gives her hand in the coldest way to Mrs.Then, with a curtsey
to Steve that he can surely never forget, 'Mr.Rollo, I am sure there
is much good in you.Darling Amy, I shall be round first thing in the
morning.''Now that she has gone, can we--have a talk?'Mary went back to the garden.ALICE, looking down, 'Yes, Steve.'AMY, gently, 'Mother, what was that you called him?''Then, Alice--'
AMY.'This lady's name, if I am not greatly mistaken, is Mrs.'As you will; but it is most important that I say certain
things to her at once.'AMY, reflecting, 'If it be clearly understood that this is good-bye, I
consent.Somehow they think that she is moving to the door, but she crosses
only to the other side of the room and sits down with a book.STEVE, who is not the one, 'But I want to see her alone.'AMY, the dearest of little gaolers, 'That, I am afraid, I cannot
permit.It is not that I have not perfect confidence in you, mother,
but you must see I am acting wisely.'STEVE, to his Alice, 'What has come over you?You don't seem to be the
same woman.''That is just it; she is not.''I see now only through Amy's eyes.''You told him, then, about your feelings for me?'ALICE, studying the carpet, 'He knows now exactly what are my feelings
for you.'STEVE, huskily, 'How did he take it?'I suppose he wishes me to stay away from your
house now.''No, of course not, but--'
ALICE.'Will it be terribly hard to you, St--Mr.You see I'm fond of the Colonel, I really am,
and it hurts me to think he thinks that I--It wasn't my fault, was
it?''He quite understands that it was I who lost my head.'Steve is much moved by the generosity of this.'Of course I blame myself now; but I assure you honestly I had
no idea of it until to-night.It dazed me; but as I ransacked my mind many little things came back
to me.I remembered what I hadn't noticed at the time--'
AMY.'Please, Amy, let me know what he remembered.''I remembered that your voice was softer to me than when you
were addressing other men.''Let me look long at you, Mr.Sandra moved to the kitchen.'It is strange to me now that I didn't understand your true
meaning to-day when you said I was the only man you couldn't flirt
with; you meant that I aroused deeper feelings.''I can say that I never thought of myself as possessing
dangerous qualities.I thought I was utterly unattractive to women.''You _must_ have known about your eyes.'Sandra moved to the bathroom.She feels that she
cannot control herself much longer.'Steve, if you don't go away at once I shall scream.'STEVE, really unhappy, 'Is it as bad as that?'AMY, rising, 'You heard what Mrs.In the novel circumstances he does not quite know how this should be
carried out.ALICE, also shy, 'How shall we do it, Amy?They do it with the hand, and it is thus that the Colonel finds them.He would be unable to keep his countenance were it not for a warning
look from Alice.COLONEL, one of the men who have a genius for saying the right
thing, 'Ha.'I am very sorry that you----At the same
time I wish you to understand that the fault is entirely mine.'COLONEL, guardedly, 'Ha.'AMY, putting an arm round her mother, who hugs it, 'Father, he came
only to say goodbye.He is not a bad man, and mother has behaved
magnificently.'COLONEL, cleverly, 'Ha.''You must not, you shall not, be cruel to her.'COLONEL, truculently, 'Oh, mustn't I. We shall see about that.'COLONEL, doing better than might have been expected, 'Hold your
tongue, sir.''I know mother as no other person can know her.I begin to think
that you have no proper appreciation of her, father.'ALICE, basely, 'Dear, dear Amy.''I daresay she has often suffered in the past--'
ALICE.'By your--your callousness--your want of sympathy--your neglect.'COLONEL, uneasily, 'Alice, tell her it isn't so.''You hear what he says, my pet.''And please not to call my mother "woman" in my presence.''I--I--I----' He looks for help from Alice, but she gives him
only a twinkle of triumph.He barks, 'Child, go to your room.'AMY, her worst fears returning, 'But what are you going to do?''I must say I don't see that.'AMY, gratefully, 'Thank you, Mr.She has to go, but not till she has given her mother a kiss that is a
challenge to the world.Then to the bewilderment of Steve two human
frames are rocked with laughter.'Steve, tell Robert about my voice being softer to you than to
other men; tell him, Steve, about your eyes.'John journeyed to the hallway.'Good heavens, was there nothing in it?''My boy, I'll never let you hear the end of this.''But if there's nothing in it, how could your daughter have
thought--'
COLONEL.'She saw you kiss Alice here this afternoon, you scoundrel,
and, as she thought, make an _assignation_ with you.There, it
all came out of that.She is a sentimental lady, is our Amy, and she
has been too often to the theatre.''Here is a chair for the very purpose.'But--but--then why did you pretend before her, Alice?''Because she thinks that she has saved me, and it makes her so
happy.Amy has a passionate desire to be of some use in this world she
knows so well, and she already sees her sphere, Steve, it is to look
after me.I am not to be her chaperone, it is she who is to be mine.COLONEL, fidgeting, 'She seems to have quite given me up for you.'ALICE, blandly, 'Oh yes, Robert, quite.'STEVE, gloomily, 'You will excuse my thinking only of myself.But I say, Alice, I'm awfully
glad it's I who have been the ass and not you.You see the tragedy of my life is I'm such an extraordinarily ordinary
sort of fellow that, though every man I know says some lady has loved
him, there never in all my unromantic life was a woman who cared a
Christmas card for me.It often makes me lonely; and so when I thought
such a glorious woman as you, Alice--I lost touch of earth altogether;
but now I've fallen back on it with a whack.But I'm glad--yes, I'm
glad.You two kindest people Steve Rollo has ever known.--Oh, I say
good-night.I suppose you can't overlook it, Alice.''Oh, yes, you goose, I can.'Come in, my boy, and make love to _me_ as often as you feel
lonely.'I say, I'm awfully taken with
your Amy.''_We_ can drop in on you on the sly, Steve, to admire
your orbs; but you mustn't come here--until Amy thinks it is safe for
me.'When he has gone she adds, 'Until _I_ think it is safe for Amy.''He isn't a bad sort, Steve.''Oh, no--she might even do worse some day.But she is to be my
little girl for a long time first.''This will give him a sort of glamour to her, you know.''You are not really thinking, Robert, that my Amy is to fall
asleep to-night before she hears the whole true story.I am a little like Steve in one way, though; I
don't understand why you have kept it up so long.''It isn't the first time you have thought me a harum-scarum.'John went back to the bedroom.'The sheer fun of it, Robert, went to my head, I suppose.And
then, you see, the more Amy felt herself to be my protectress the more
she seemed to love me.I am afraid I have a weakness for the short
cuts to being loved.'The one thing you didn't think of is
that the more she loves you the less love she seems to have for me.'COLONEL, suspiciously, 'Or was that all part of the plan?''There was no plan; there wasn't time for one.But you were
certainly rather horrid, Robert, in the way you gloated over me when
you saw them take to you.I have been gloating a little perhaps in
taking them from you.'You are going a little too fast, my dear.I have still
got Cosmo and Molly.''Remember, Amy said you must not call me that.'He laughs as he takes her by the shoulders.'Yes, shake me; I deserve it.''You do, indeed,' and he shakes her with a ferocity that
would have startled any sudden visitor.No wonder, then, that it is a
shock to Cosmo, who comes blundering in.Alice is the first to see
him, and she turns the advantage to unprincipled account.Oh, if Cosmo were to see you!'Probably
Cosmo has been to a theatre or two himself.COLONEL, feeling a little foolish, 'I didn't hear you come in.'COSMO, grimly, 'No, I'm sure you didn't.'COLONEL, testily, 'No heroics, my boy.'He stands between them, which makes his
father suddenly grin.I don't know what this row's
about, but'--here his arm encircles an undeserving lady--'this lady is
my mother, and I won't have her bullied.What's a father compared to a
mother.'Mary went back to the hallway.COLONEL, becoming alarmed, 'My boy, it was only a jest.Alice, tell
him it was only a jest.''He says it was only a jest, Cosmo.''You are a trump to shield him, mother.'He kisses her openly,
conscious that he is a bit of a trump himself, in which view Alice
most obviously concurs.COLONEL, to his better half, 'You serpent.'COLONEL, exasperated, 'You go to bed, too.'Try to love your father,
Cosmo,' placing many kisses on the spot where he had been slapped._Try for my sake_, and try to get Amy and Molly to do it, too.'Sweetly to her husband, 'They will love you in time, Robert; at
present they can think only of me.Darling, I'll come and see you in
bed.''I don't like to leave you with him--'
ALICE.'Go, my own; I promise to call out if I need you.'The long-suffering husband, arms folded,
surveys his unworthy spouse.ALICE, meekly, 'I suppose I am.''Mind you, I am not going to stand Cosmo's thinking this of
me.''As if I would allow it for another hour!You won't see much of
me to-night, Robert.If I sleep at all it will be in Amy's room.'COLONEL, lugubriously, 'You will be taking Molly from me to-morrow.''I feel hopeful that Molly, too, will soon be taking care of
me.'She goes to him in her cajoling way: 'With so many chaperones,
Robert, I ought to do well.Oh, my dear, don't think that I have
learnt no lesson to-night.'COLONEL, smiling, 'Going to reform at last?'ALICE, the most serious of women, 'Yes, Robert.The Alice you have
known is come to an end.To-morrow--'
COLONEL.'If she is different to-morrow I'll disown her.'Farewell, summer, we don't
know you any more.My girl and I are like the little figures in the
weather-house; when Amy comes out, Alice goes in.Alice Sit-by-the-fire
henceforth.The moon is full to-night, Robert, but it isn't looking for
me any more.Taxis farewell--advance four-wheelers.I had a beautiful
husband once, black as the raven was his hair--'
COLONEL.Farewell, Alice that was; it's all over,
my dear.I always had a weakness for you; but now you must
really go; make way there for the old lady.''Robert--'
COLONEL.As he roars it Amy peeps in anxiously.She is in her nightgown, and
her hair is down and her feet are bare, and she does not look so very
much more than five.ALICE, wailing, 'Must I go, Robert?'Father, if mother goes away, what is to
become of me?'There is now a
beatific smile on her face.The curtain sees that its time has come;
it clicks, and falls.Since yonder summer morn of beauty
I’ve seen many a gloomy year;
But in my mind still lives the ditty
That in the green wood met my ear._I am the ladye_, _I am the ladye_,
_I am the ladye loving the knight_;
_I in the green wood ’neath the green branches_
_In the night season sleep with the knight_.THE ENGLISH GIPSY
_He_
As I to the town was going one day
My Roman lass I met by the way.Said I, “Young maid, will you share my lot?”
Said she, “Another wife you’ve got.”
� |
office | Where is Daniel? | Said he, “Young maid will you share my lot?”
Said I, “Another wife you’ve got.”
“No, no!” the handsome young Roman cried.“No wife have I in the world so wide;
And you my wedded wife shall be,
If you will share my lot with me.”
GIPSY SONG
Up, up, brothers,
Cease your revels!The Gentile’s coming—
Run like devils.I do not like your way of life
Ye men of Christian creed;
I’d rather live the kind of life
Which forest foxes lead.OUR HEART IS HEAVY, BROTHER
The strength of the ox,
The wit of the fox,
And the leveret’s speed;
All, all to oppose
Their numerous foes
The Romany need.Our horses they take,
Our wagons they break,
And us they seize
In their prisons to coop,
Where we pine and droop
For want of breeze.When the dead swallow
The fly shall follow
Across the sea,
We’ll then forget
The wrongs we have met,
And forgiving be—
_Brother_, _of that be certain_.SONG
Nastrond’s blazes,
How fierce ye roar!The deepmost deeps feel
Valhal’s power.Sulphurous blazes,
Which with dismay
Strike e’en the Aser,
Our voice obey!_Poisonous blazes_,
_Harden a spear_
_For Valhal’s may_!_Harden a spear_
_For Valhal’s may_!_Poisonous blazes_,
_Harden a spear_
_For Valhal’s may_!In juice of rue
And trefoil too,
In marrow of bear
And blood of trold,
Be cool’d the spear,
Three times cool’d,
When hot from fire
Of Nastrond dire,
For Valhal’s may._Whom it woundeth_
_It shall slay_._Whom it woundeth_
_It shall slay_._Whom it woundeth_
_It shall slay_.Sandra went to the bedroom.Mary went to the kitchen.LINES
To read the great mysterious Past
They are yearning;
But to mist the writings old fast, fast
Are turning.O, how inviting
The deeds of yore!But the ancient writing
Mist sweeps o’er.* * * * *
LONDON:
Printed for THOMAS J. WISE, Hampstead, N.W.| | | | |
| | | Breeze | |
1·0| 1·00|10 | Light | 2 | ⎧With which a ship with ⎫ 1 to 2 knots.1·5| 2·25|15 | Gentle | 3 | ⎨ all sail set would go ⎬ 3 to 4 „
2·0| 4·00|20 | Moderate| 4 | ⎩ in smooth water.⎭ 5 to 6 „
2·5| 6·25|27 | Fresh | 5 | ⎧ ⎫ Royals, &c.3·0| 9·00|35 | Strong | 6 | ⎪In which ⎮ Single Reefs and T.G.-- | -- |42 | -- -- | | ⎪ ⎮ Double Reefs and Jib, &c.| | | | | ⎪ ⎮
| | | Gale | | ⎨ she could ⎬
3·5| -- |50 |Moderate | 7 | ⎪ ⎮
4·0|16·00|60 |Fresh | 8 | ⎪ ⎮ Triple Reefs, &c.4·5|20·25|-- |Strong | 9 | ⎩ just carry⎭ Close Reefs and Courses.5·0|25·00|70 |Whole | 10 | ⎧In which she could just bear close-reefed
| | | | | ⎩ Maintopsail and reefed Foresail.5·5|30·25|80 |Storm | 11 | Under Storm Staysails or Trysails.6·0|36·00|90 |Hurricane| 12 | Bare Poles.---+-----+---+---------+----+-------------------------------------------
With (_a_) similar wind and weather will continue.„ (_b_) winds will veer towards west.„ (_c_) „ „ east.„ (_d_) „ „ north.„ (_e_) „ „ south.“The probable strength of wind will be in proportion to the rate of
increase of statical force, or differences of barometrical readings.The position of least pressure must be carefully considered; as, in
accordance with the law, the wind will blow around that locality.The
same remark applies to areas of high pressure, which, however, very
rarely occur in a well-defined manner over the British Isles.”
Referring to the table on page 76, the scale 0 to 6 was formerly used
by meteorological observers at land stations, and it was intended to
express, when the square of the grade was obtained, the pressure of the
wind as given in the second column.“The velocity is an approximation as near as can be obtained, from the
values assigned by Neumayer, Stow, Laughton, Scott, Harris, James,
&c.”[15]
[Footnote 15: Strachan’s “Portable Meteorological Register,”
4th edition.]Few meteorological axioms are better established than that which
embodies the fact that “every wind brings its weather,” and the primary
cause of wind being the motion of the air induced by rarefaction, it is
obvious that there is a constant tendency for the equatorial and polar
currents in any locality to establish an equilibrium, and this
consideration is found to facilitate weather predictions for extended
periods.Thus, in consequence of the unusual prevalence of _east_ winds
in the spring of 1862, a wet summer was predicted.The prediction was
fully borne out by an incessant continuance of _south-west winds_, with
clouded skies and the usual accompaniment of deluges of rain.These
winds continuing, with slight intermissions only, till the spring of
the following year, less than the usual number of south-west winds was
looked for during the summer; the result fully justified the
anticipation, the summer of 1863 being fine and warm, especially during
the earlier portion.Similarly, without committing the inaccuracies of
Murphy in 1838, the summer of 1877 may be reasonably expected to be a
dry and cool one from the long continuance of warm and wet months in
the winter of 1876-7.The scientific research and mechanical ingenuity directed of late years
to producing trustworthy estimates of the direction, pressure, and
velocity of the wind, have resulted in the production of a series of
instruments, possessing great precision and accuracy.The _direction_ of the wind is indicated by vanes, a very efficient
form of which is shown at Fig.54, the _velocity_ by revolving cups,
and the _pressure_ by the pressure plate and by calculation from the
known velocity.56) shows in a simple manner the
direction and pressure of the wind.The peculiarly shaped vane ensures
the surface of the swinging pressure plate B being always kept towards
the wind.The pendulum plate hangs, during a calm, quite vertically,
indicating zero, and as the pressure increases it will be raised
through all degrees of elevation from 1 to 12.The vane is perforated
with holes large enough to be visible at some distance from the ground,
the 5 and 10 being specially larger, so that the angle to which the
pressure plate is raised can be quickly noted.There is a simple contrivance (for the convenience of travellers)
called a Portable Wind Vane, or Anemometer, It is furnished with a
compass and bar needle, &c., and will tell the true direction of the
wind to within a half point.Prestel’s Pendulum Anemometer.Lind’s Anemometer or Wind Gauge ranks among the earliest forms of
instruments designed to estimate the force of the wind.It consists of
a glass syphon, the limbs of which are parallel to each other, mounted
on a vertical rod, on which it freely oscillates by the action of the
vane which surmounts it.The upper end of one limb of the syphon is
bent outward at right angles to the main direction, and the action of
the vane keeps this open end of the tube always towards the quarter
from whence the wind blows.Between the limbs of the syphon is placed a
scale graduated from 0 to 3 in inches and 10ths, the zero being in the
centre of the scale.When the instrument is used, it is only necessary
to fill the tube with water to the zero of the scale, and then expose
it to the wind.The natural consequence of wind acting on the surface
of the water is to depress it in one limb and raise it in the other,
and the sum of the depression and elevation is the height of a column
of water which the wind is capable of sustaining at the time of
observation.Sudden gusts of wind are apt to produce a jumping effect
on the water in the tube, and to diminish this the bend of the syphon
is contracted.A brass plate is attached to the foot of the instrument,
bearing the letters indicating the cardinal points of the compass, to
show the direction of the wind.Robinson, of Armagh, introduced an instrument, in 1850, which
consists of four hemispherical copper cups attached to the arms of a
metal cross.Mary went back to the garden.The vertical axis upon which these are secured has at its
lower extremity an endless screw placed in gear with a train of wheels
and pinions.Sandra moved to the kitchen.Each wheel is graduated respectively to 1/10th, 1 mile, 10
miles, 100 miles, 1,000 miles, and these revolve behind a fixed index,
the readings of which are taken according to the indications on the
dials.Robinson entertained the theory that the cups (measuring from their
centres) revolved with one-third of the wind’s velocity; and this
theory having been fully supported by experiment, due allowance has
been made in graduating the wheels so that the true velocity is
obtained by direct observation.In an improved form of this anemometer the hemispherical cups are
retained, but the index portion of the instrument consists of two
graduated concentric circles, the inner one representing five miles
divided into 10ths, and the outer one bearing 100 divisions, each of
which is equivalent to five miles.At the top of the dial is a fixed
index, which, as the toothed wheel revolves, marks on the inner circle
the miles (up to five) and 10ths of miles the wind has travelled, while
a movable index, which revolves with the wheel, indicates on the outer
circle the passage of every five miles.This instrument can be made very portable by removing the arms bearing
the cups, when the whole may be packed with iron shaft in a case 15 ×
13 × 4 inches.Sandra moved to the bathroom.It may be placed in any desired position by screwing the
iron shaft supplied with it into the hole provided for the purpose, and
fixing the apparatus on a pole or on an elevated stand, if possible, in
an open space exposed to the _direct_ action of the wind.If, when placing the instrument, the hands stand at 0, the next reading
will, of course, show the number of miles the wind has traversed; but,
should they stand otherwise, the reading may be noted and deducted from
the second reading, thus: Suppose the fixed index points to 2·5 and the
movable index to 125, the reading after 12 hours may be 200 on the
outer circle and 3·0 on the inner circle: these added together yield
203.John journeyed to the hallway.By deducting the previous reading 127·5, we have the true
reading—viz., 75·5 miles as the distance travelled by the wind.Having obtained the velocity of the wind in this manner in miles per
hour, the table on page 83, from Col.Sir Henry James’s “Instructions
for Taking Meteorological Observations,” will enable the observer to
calculate the pressure in pounds per square foot.The following letters are used to denote the state of the weather:—
_b_ denotes blue sky, whether with clear or slightly hazy atmosphere._c_ „ cloudy, that is detached opening clouds._d_ „ drizzling rain.John went back to the bedroom._f_ „ fog._h_ „ hail._l_ „ lightning._m_ „ misty, or hazy so as to interrupt the view._o_ „ overcast, gloomy, dull._p_ „ passing showers._q_ „ squally.Mary went back to the hallway._r_ „ rain._s_ „ snow._t_ „ thunder._u_ „ ugly, threatening appearance of sky._v_ „ unusual visibility of distant objects._w_ „ wet, that is dew.A letter repeated denotes much, as _rr_, heavy rain; _ff_, dense fog;
and a figure attached denotes duration in hours, as 14_r_, 14 hours’
rain.By the combination of these letters all the ordinary phenomena of the
weather may be recorded with certainty and brevity._Examples._—_bc_, blue sky with less proportion of cloud; _cb_, more
cloudy than clear; 2_rrllt_, heavy rain for two hours, with much
lightning, and some thunder.VELOCITY AND PRESSURE OF THE WIND.The Pressure varies as the Square of the Velocity, or _P_ ∝
_V_^2.The Square of the Velocity in Miles per Hour multiplied
by ·500 gives the Pressure in lbs.per square Foot, or _V_^2 ×
·005 = _P_.The Square Root of 200 times the Pressure equals
the Velocity, or √(200 × _P_) = _V_.The subjoined Table is calculated from this data, by COL.SIR HENRY
JAMES, of the Ordnance Survey Office.John moved to the office.Daniel moved to the office.+-------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Pressure in |
kitchen | Where is Sandra? | per |
|Square Foot.John went back to the office.|
| |Velocity in |
| |Miles |
| |per Hour.|
| | |Pressure in |
| | |lbs.per |
| | |Square Foot.|
| | | |Velocity in |
| | | |Miles |
| | | |per Hour.|
| | | | |Pressure in |
| | | | |lbs.per |
| | | | |Square Foot.|
| | | | | |Velocity in |
| | | | | |Miles |
| | | | | |per Hour.|
| | | | | | |Pressure in |
| | | | | | |lbs.per |
| | | | | | |Square Foot.|
| | | | | | | |Velocity in |
| | | | | | | |Miles |
| | | | | | | |per Hour.|
| | | | | | | | |Pressure in |
| | | | | | | | |lbs.per |
| | | | | | | | |Square Foot.Sandra travelled to the kitchen.|
| | | | | | | | | |Velocity |
| | | | | | | | | |in Miles |
| | | | | | | | | |per Hour.|
+-----+------+-----+------+-----+------+-----+------+-----+---------+
| oz.| | lbs.| | lbs.| | lbs.| | lbs.| |
| 0·08| 1·000| 6·75|36·742|17·75|59·581|28·75|75·828|39·75| 89·162 |
| 0·25| 1·767| 7·00|37·416|18·00|60·000|29·00|76·157|40·00| 89·442 |
| 0·50| 2·500| 7·25|38·078|18·25|60·415|29·25|76·485|40·25| 89·721 |
| 0·75| 3·061| 7·50|38·729|18·50|60·827|29·50|76·811|40·50| 90·000 |
| 1·00| 3·535| 7·75|39·370|18·75|61·237|29·75|77·136|40·75| 90·277 |
| 2·00| 5·000| 8·00|40·000|19·00|61·644|30·00|77·459|41·00| 90·553 |
| 3·00| 6·123| 8·25|40·620|19·25|62·048|30·25|77·781|41·25| 90·829 |
| 4·00| 7·071| 8·50|41·231|19·50|62·449|30·50|78·102|41·50| 91·104 |
| 5·00| 7·905| 8·75|41·833|19·75|62·819|30·75|78·421|41·75| 91·378 |
| 6·00| 8·660| 9·00|42·426|20·00|63·245|31·00|78·740|42·00| 91·651 |
| 7·00| 9·354| 9·25|43·011|20·25|63·639|31·25|79·056|42·25| 91·923 |
| 8·00|10·000| 9·50|43·588|20·50|64·031|31·50|79·372|42·50| 92·195 |
| 9·00|10·606| 9·75|44·158|20·75|64·420|31·75|79·686|42·75| 92·466 |
|10·00|11·180|10·00|44·721|21·00|64·807|32·00|80·000|43·00| 92·736 |
|11·00|11·726|10·25|45·276|21·25|65·192|32·25|80·311|43·25| 93·005 |
|12·00|12·247|10·50|45·825|21·50|65·574|32·50|80·622|43·50| 93·273 |
|13·00|12·747|10·75|46·368|21·75|65·954|32·75|80·932|43·75| 93·541 |
|14·00|13·228|11·00|46·904|22·00|66·332|33·00|81·240|44·00| 93·808 |
|15·00|13·693|11·25|47·434|22·25|66·708|33·25|81·547|44·25| 94·074 |
| | |11·50|47·958|22·50|67·082|33·50|81·853|44·50| 94·339 |
| lbs.| |11·75|48·476|22·75|67·453|33·75|82·158|44·75| 94·604 |
| 1·00|14·142|12·00|48·989|23·00|67·823|34·00|82·462|45·00| 94·868 |
| 1·25|15·811|12·25|49·497|23·25|68·190|34·25|82·764|45·26| 95·393 |
| 1·50|17·320|12·50|50·000|23·50|68·556|34·50|83·066|45·50| 95·131 |
| 1·75|18·708|12·75|50·497|23·75|68·920|34·75|83·366|45·75| 95·655 |
| 2·00|20·000|13·00|50·990|24·00|69·282|35·00|83·666|46·00| 95·916 |
| 2·25|21·213|13·25|51·478|24·25|69·641|35·25|83·964|46·25| 96·176 |
| 2·50|22·360|13·50|51·961|24·50|70·000|35·50|84·261|46·50| 96·436 |
| 2·75|23·452|13·75|52·440|24·75|70·356|35·75|84·567|46·75| 96·695 |
| 3·00|24·494|14·00|52·915|25·00|70·710|36·00|84·852|47·00| 96·953 |
| 3·25|25·495|14·25|53·385|25·25|71·063|36·25|85 146|47·25| 97·211 |
| 3·50|26·457|14·50|53·851|25·50|71·414|36·50|85·440|47·50| 97·467 |
| 3·75|27·386|14·75|54·313|25·75|71·763|36·75|85·732|47·75| 97·724 |
| 4·00|28·284|15·00|54·772|26·00|72·111|37·00|86·023|48·00| 97·979 |
| 4·25|29·154|15·25|55·226|26·25|72·456|37·25|86·313|48·25| 98·234 |
| 4·50|30·000|15·50|55·677|26·50|72·801|37·50|86·602|48·50| 98·488 |
| 4·75|30·822|15·75|56·124|26·75|73 143|37·75|86·890|48·75| 98·742 |
| 5·00|31·622|16·00|56·568|27·00|73·484|38·00|87·177|49·00| 98·994 |
| 5·25|32·403|16·25|57·008|27·25|73·824|38·25|87·464|49·25| 99·247 |
| 5·50|33·166|16·50|57·415|27·50|74·161|38·50|87·749|49·50| 99·498 |
| 5·75|33·911|16·75|57·879|27·75|74·498|38·75|88·034|49·75| 99·749 |
| 6·00|34·641|17·00|58·309|28·00|74·833|39·00|88·317|50·00| 100·000 |
| 6·25|35·355|17·25|58·736|28·25|75·166|39·25|88·600| | |
| 6·50|36·055|17·50|59·160|28·50|75·498|39·50|88·881| | |
+-----+------+-----+------+-----+------+-----+------+-----+---------+
This is the only table hitherto much in use for converting velocity
into pressure, and was prepared by Smeaton and others.It does not,
however, express the true relation, which has yet to be determined.The Anemograph, or Self-Recording Wind Gauge, has for its object the
registration of the velocity and direction of the wind from day to day.59 and 60 show the form designed and arranged by Mr.Beckley, of
the Kew Observatory, which has been adopted by the Meteorological
Office.It consists of a set of hemispherical cups and vanes, which are exposed
on the roof of the house, and of the recording apparatus, which is
placed inside the house.The motion imparted to the hemispherical cups by the wind is
communicated to the steel shaft B, which, passing through the hollow
shaft C, and having at its lower end an endless screw, works into a
series of wheels in the iron box D, which reduces the angular velocity
7,000 times.At the required distance the motion, having emerged at E,
is connected with F, where, by means of bevelled wheels, it moves the
spiral brass registering pencil C, which is arranged so that each
revolution records 50 miles of velocity on the prepared paper H.
The direction of the wind is indicated by the arrow L, which is kept in
position by the fans M. These communicate, by an endless screw and
train of wheels, through the shaft C and the box D to the |
kitchen | Where is John? | The paper is held on the drum by two small clips, and may be readily
changed, by unclamping the cross V, without disturbing the drum or any
other part of the instrument.Self-recording Magnetometer, Kew Observatory.]William Gilbert, a physician of Colchester, first showed in 1600 that
the earth as a whole has the properties of a magnet, and consequently
that the directive action exerted by it upon a compass needle
represents only a special case of the mutual action of two magnets.In
1845, Faraday established the fact that susceptibility to magnetic
force is not, as was generally believed, confined to iron, nickel, and
a few other substances, but is a property of all substances.According
to Balfour Stewart, auroræ and earth currents may be regarded as
secondary currents resulting from changes in the earth’s magnetism.Magnetic phenomena are included under the general term terrestrial
magnetic elements, and consist of magnetic declination, inclination,
and intensity.These are for convenience determined separately; the first by an
instrument called a _Declinometer_, and the second by an _Inclinometer_
or _Dipping Needle_.The Declinometer is also made to serve the
additional purpose of measuring the _intensity_ of the earth’s magnetic
force, which it effects on a principle similar to that by which the
force of gravity is determined by the oscillations of a pendulum of
known length on any given portion of the earth’s surface.The
declinometer needle is made to oscillate, and the number of
oscillations in a given time counted; due allowance being made for the
strength of the needle, it is obvious that the force which restores the
needle to rest can be estimated.To ascertain the angle of
_declination_, the zero line of the compass card is made to coincide
with the geographical north and south line; and the angle which the
direction of the needle makes with this line is then read off on a
graduated circle over which the needle turns.The magnetic
_inclination_ or _dip of the needle_ is estimated by observing the
inclination to a horizontal plane of a needle turning on the vertical
plane which passes through the magnetic north and south points.John went back to the office.62 shows a simple form of magnetic needle suspended on a fine
steel point, which is supported by a brass stand; the addition of a
graduated circle would constitute such an arrangement a Declinometer.63 gives the appearance of the dipping needle, or Inclinometer,
and Fig.64 an arrangement by which both kinds of terrestrial as well
as local attraction may be shown.These components of the earth’s magnetism undergo not only an annual
but a daily and even hourly variation, apparently connected in some
occult manner with the frequency of the sun’s spots.The needle
sometimes suffers such exceptional perturbations as to suggest the idea
of a magnetic storm.These disturbances are usually accompanied (in
polar regions) by luminous phenomena called auroræ.Continuous
automatic records of them, therefore, is of great value, as
facilitating inductive research which may lead to valuable practical
results.Accordingly the Royal Society have adopted for the Kew and other
observatories the form of Magnetograph, or Self-recording Magnetometer,
shown at Fig.61, by means of which the variations just referred to are
registered by the oscillations of three magnets on photographically
prepared paper, stretched on a drum revolved by clockwork.One magnet is suspended in the magnetic meridian by a silk thread, and,
by the aid of a mirror attached, it describes on the cylinder, moved by
clockwork in the centre pier, all the variations in the magnetic
_declination_.The other two components of the magnetic force of the earth are given
by the other magnets.Sandra travelled to the kitchen.That recording the vertical variations rests on
two agate edges under a glass shade, while the horizontal component
magnet is suspended by a double silk thread, under the shade to the
right of the picture, being retained by the tension of the thread in a
position nearly at right angles to the magnetic meridian.The clock box in the centre covers the three revolving cylinders
bearing the sensitive photographic paper, and to each magnet is
attached a semicircular mirror, which reflects the rays from a gas jet
to one of the cylinders, and thus describes by a curved line the
oscillations of the magnet.A second semicircular mirror is _fixed_ to
the pier on which the instrument stands, and consequently describes a
straight line, or zero, from whence the curves are measured.To avoid errors attending sudden changes of temperature, underground
vaults are always chosen for magnetic observations, and also on account
of light being more easily and perfectly excluded.ATMOSPHERIC ELECTRICITY.John moved to the garden.Since the performance of Franklin’s famous kite experiment, by which he
determined the identity of lightning with the electrical discharge from
a machine, much attention has been devoted, not only to that form of
atmospheric electricity which displays itself in the thunder-cloud, but
to the electric condition of the air in all states of the weather.These researches have established the fact that the air is always in an
electrical condition, even when the sky is clear and free from
thunder-clouds.The instruments employed for ascertaining the kind and
intensity of atmospheric electricity are called Electroscopes.65
shows a modification of Saussure’s Electroscope, the basis of which is
a narrow-mouthed flint glass bottle with a divided scale to indicate
the degree of divergence of the gold leaves or straws.To protect the
lower part from rain, it is covered by a metallic shield about five
inches in diameter.Bohnenberger’s Electroscope indicates the presence
and quality of _feeble_ electric currents.Peltier’s Electrometer
yields the same result by the deflection of a magnetic needle.This
latter has been in use at Brussels for thirty years, and at Utrecht for
twenty years, and is highly recommended.Singer’s Atmospheric Electroscope is an efficient form of the
instrument in which an ordinary gold-leaf electrometer has attached to
its circular brass plate a brass rod two feet in length, with a clip at
its upper extremity to receive a lighted paper or cigar fusee.The
electricity of the air in immediate contact with the flame, causes, by
induction, electricity of the opposite nature to accumulate at the
upper extremity, where it is constantly carried off by the convection
currents in the flame, leaving the conductor charged with the same kind
and power of electricity as that contained in the air at the time of
the experiment.The principle of this method was initiated by Volta,
and has been extended and applied by Sir William Thomson in his
Water-dropping Collector, which consists of an insulated cistern from
which water escapes through a jet so fine that it breaks into drops
immediately after leaving the nozzle of the tube.The result of this is
that in half a minute from the starting of the stream the can is found
to be electrified to the same extent as the air at the point of the
tube.The scale value of each instrument has to be separately
determined by repeated comparative experiments, and involves much
delicacy of manipulation.It is chiefly important for the ordinary observer to know that the
occurrence of thunder and lightning should be always noted in the
column headed “Remarks.”
[Illustration: 66.The destructive effects of lightning are too well known to need
description here; the means, however, by which these may be averted
demand a brief notice.Lightning when discharged from a cloud will
always choose the better of any two conductors which may present
themselves.The _stone_ of a church steeple and the _wood_ of a ship’s
mast are bad conductors, but a galvanized iron wire rope is the best
possible conductor, and accordingly this material is now generally
employed for the purpose.A lightning conductor consists of three
parts: 1, the rod, which extends beyond the summit of the building, 2,
the conductor, which connects the rod with the underground portion, and
3, the part underground.The connection between each of these must be
absolutely perfect, or the conductor will be faulty.The top is usually
of solid copper tipped with platinum (Fig.66), the body of galvanized
iron rope, so as to adapt itself to the inequalities of the building
and yet have no sharp turns in it, while the part underground is of
solid iron rod.This latter portion should extend straight underground
for two feet, and being bent at right angles away from the wall, should
rest in a horizontal drain 10 to 15 feet long filled with charcoal, and
be again bent downwards into a well of water.Should water not be
available, it should rest in the centre of a hole 15 feet deep and 10
inches in diameter, tightly packed with charcoal, which, while
conducting the electricity from the rod into the earth, serves also to
preserve the iron from rusting.The atmosphere, besides holding the vapour of water diffused throughout
its mass, contains also minute traces of carbonic acid and ammonia, and
a very remarkable substance called Ozone.Oxygen, one of the component
gases of the atmosphere, is capable of existing in two conditions; one
in which it is comparatively passive, and another in which it possesses
exceptional chemical activity, dependent apparently upon its electrical
condition, and in which state it possesses a peculiar smell which has
caused it to be named ozone.[16] The characteristic odour is always
observable near a powerful electric machine when it is being worked,
near a battery used for the decomposition of water, and in the air
after the passage of a flash of lightning.Its presence is most marked
near the sea-coast, and in localities remarkable for their salubrity;
and on account of its influence on health, it has been proposed by
Schonbein and others to include ozonometrical observations with the
ordinary meteorological observations.[Footnote 16: Greek _ozo_, I smell.]Although in minute quantities it is favourable to health, when existing
in undue proportion it irritates the mucous membrane of the nose and
throat, producing painful sores.It attacks india-rubber, bleaches
indigo, and oxidizes silver and mercury, differing in all these points
from ordinary atmospheric oxygen.The chemical energy it possesses (which exceeds that of ordinary oxygen
as much as the latter exceeds atmospheric air as an oxidizing agent)
affords the means of ascertaining its presence and quantity.It
liberates iodine from its combination with potassium, and free iodine
colours starch a deep blue.Schonbein, the discoverer of ozone, found that when strips of paper
previously saturated with starch and iodide of potassium and dried were
exposed freely to the air but protected from rain and the direct action
of the sun, they underwent a peculiar discoloration (when immersed in
water) after an exposure of 24 hours.A scale of tints numbered from
one to ten afforded the means of comparative observation, and thus the
Ozonometer was constructed, and a means established of registering the
amount of ozone in the air of various localities from day to day.Schonbein also observed that the proportion of ozone was largely
augmented after heavy falls of snow.For the exposure of the ozone
papers, an ozone cage is employed, as shown at Fig.Ozone may be prepared artificially as a disinfectant by cautiously
mixing without friction or concussion equal parts of peroxide of
manganese, permanganate of potash, and oxalic acid.For a room
containing 1,000 cubic feet, two teaspoonfuls of the powder, placed in
a dish and moistened with water occasionally, will develop the ozone
and disinfect the surrounding air without producing cough.The most important and interesting series of facts, however, connected
with ozone are those established by the researches of M. Houzeau, who
states:—
1.That country air contains an odorous oxidizing substance,
with the power of bleaching blue litmus, without previously
reddening it, of destroying bad smells, and of bluing iodized
red litmus.That the amount of ozone in the air at different times and
places is variable, but this is at most 1/700,000 of its
volume, or 1 volume of ozone in 700,000 of air.That ozone is found much more frequently in the country than
in towns.That ozone is in greatest quantity in spring, less in
summer, diminishes in autumn, and is least in winter.It is most frequently detected on rainy days, and during
great atmospheric disturbances.That atmospheric electricity is apparently the great
generator of ozone.The subject is one of great interest in its bearings on health, and
opens a wide field of scientific research, as may be inferred from the
opinion expressed by the Vienna Congress, which is that “the existing
methods of determining the amount of ozone in the atmosphere are
insufficient, and the Congress therefore recommends investigations for
the discovery of better methods.”
Mr.Lowe has published the valuable weather warnings tabulated on page
94, which are interesting as showing from a given number of
observations the value of each phenomenon:—
+------------------------------------------+--------------+-------------+
| | No.of | Followed in |
| | observations.| 24 hours by |
| +--------------+------+------+
| DEW.| | Fine.| Rain.|
| Dew profuse | 241 | 196 | 43 |
| Dew from 1st April to 30th Sept.| 185 | 161 | 24 |
| Dew from 1st Oct.to 30th March | 56 | 37 | 19 |
| CLOUDS.| | | |
| White stratus in the valley | 229 | 201 | 28 |
| Coloured clouds at sunset | 35 | 26 | 9 |
| SUN.| | | |
| Solar halos | 204 | 133 | 71 |
| Sun red and shorn of rays | 34 | 31 | 3 |
| Mock suns | 35 | 19 | 6 |
| Sun shone through thin cirro-stratus | 13 | 6 | 7 |
| Sun pale and sparkling | 51 | 27 | 24 |
| FROST.| | | |
| White frost | 73 | 59 | 14 |
| MOON.| | | John went back to the kitchen. |
hallway | Where is John? | | | | |
| Falling stars abundant | 85 | 65 | 20 |
| Stars bright | 83 | 64 | 19 |
| Stars dim | 54 | 32 | 22 |
| Stars scintillated | 14 | 12 | 2 |
| AURORA.| | | |
| Aurora borealis | 76 | 49 | 27 |
| ANIMALS.| | | |
| Bats flying about in the evening | 61 | 45 | 16 |
| Toads in the evening | 17 | 12 | 5 |
| Landrails clamorous | 14 | 13 | 1 |
| Ducks and geese noisy | 10 | 7 | 3 |
| Spiders hanging on webs in the evening | 8 | 5 | 3 |
| Fish rise in the lake | 15 | 9 | 6 |
| SMOKE.| | | |
| Smoke rising perpendicularly | 6 | 5 | 1 |
+------------------------------------------+--------------+------+------+
Among the animals whose movements give weather warnings few are more
trustworthy than the leech.The reader may verify this by placing one
in a broad glass bottle, tied over with perforated leather, or bladder.If placed in a northern aspect, the leech will be found to behave in
the following manner:—
1.On the approach of fine or frosty weather, according to the season,
it will be found curled up at the bottom.On the approach of rain,
snow, or wind, it will rise excitedly to the surface.John went back to the office.Thunder will
cause it to be much agitated, and to leave the water entirely.Köppen states, as the result of his examination into the
chances of a change of weather, that _the weather has a decided
tendency to preserve its character_.Thus, at Brussels, if it has
rained for nine or ten days successively, the _next_ day will be wet
also in four cases out of five; and the chance of a change decreases
with the length of time for which the weather _from_ which the change
is to take place has lasted.In the case of temperature for five-day periods, the same principle
holds good;[17] for if a cold five-day period sets in after warm
weather, we can bet two to one that the next such period will be cold
too; but if the cold has lasted for two months, we can bet nearly eight
to one that the first five days of the next month will be cold too.The
chance of change is, however, greater for the five-day periods than for
single days.Similar results follow for the months, but here again the
chance of change shows an increase.[Footnote 17: “Recent Progress in Weather Knowledge,”
by R. H. Scott, F.R.S.]“If we revert to the instance first cited, that of rain, the result is,
_not_ that if it once begins to rain the chances are in favour of its
never ceasing; all that is implied is, that the chances are against its
ceasing on a definite day, and that they increase with the length of
time the rain has lasted.The problem is similar to that of human life:
the chance of a baby one year old living another year is less than that
of a man of thirty.Oh, I hope you'll believe me, Rob Blake!"Now Rob, through so many dealings with this treacherous fellow in the
past, had lost all faith in his possessing the least trait of decency in
his composition.In most bad boys with whom Rob had ever had anything to
do he could discover some sign of decency, even though it required
considerable searching to find it; but upon Jared he had come to look as
worthless.All these promises Rob believed were only made with one idea in view, and
this a wild desire to escape the punishment he so richly deserved.Caught hiding under the bed after their effects had been searched and
thrown recklessly around, Jared must certainly be treated as a common
thief if arrested, and the management of the hotel would take great
satisfaction in prosecuting him if only to discourage other employees
from copying his example.Sandra travelled to the kitchen.the scout leader told the two who had been
pinning both of Jared's arms to the floor.They did as Rob requested, but from the way in which Andy and Hiram
seemed to watch the culprit, meanwhile holding themselves in complete
readiness to hurl their weight upon him at the first show of aggressive
action on his part, it was evident that they attached small importance to
his claim of repentance.They had no reason to think well of this
scamp who, in the past, never lost an opportunity to do them an ill turn,
whether in the home town on the shore of Long Island, down at Panama, or
upon the wide plains of Mexico.In Rob's mind there was no shadow of
belief with regard to that promise of reformation, or the gnawing desire
to return home.Still, so far as they knew, nothing had been stolen, so that there was no
real reason why they should sink so low as to want to revenge themselves
on Jared.He certainly presented a most pitiable object as he sat there and turned
his anxious eyes from one face to another of the four boys with whom he
had gone to school for years, and who now held his fate in their hands."If I got anything, Rob, I meant to make it up to you later on when I
could earn the money," he was saying again, mistaking that serious look
on Rob's face and fearful that he meant to turn him over to the police."I'm ready to go back to the farm and work it with the old man.John moved to the garden.This
thing of knockin' about the world ain't all it's cracked up to be, and
I'm dead tired of going hungry half the time.Let me off, Rob, won't you,
please?It'd nigh 'bout kill the old woman if she learned I'd been caught
tryin' to steal from my schoolmates."Like all cowards, Jared, when he found himself face to face with the
consequences of his folly, was ready to play the part of the prodigal
son, and bring in his parents as a reason why he should escape
punishment.Rob and the other scouts knew his mother and father, and
while they had no reason to respect Farmer Applegate, still the fact that
Jared was his son and must have almost broken the hearts of his people at
home, was bound to influence Rob.He could guess what Rob was about to
do, and felt like expressing his disgust, though it was seldom any of the
boys ventured to differ with Rob, such confidence did they have in his
long-headed policies.Hiram simply contented himself with shrugging his shoulders.If Rob
considered it best that they let the contemptible sneak thief off, after
catching him in the very act as it were, well, it must be all right.Scouts were taught that when a foe was on his back and begging for mercy
they must not be too hard-hearted.Jared was deceiving them, Hiram felt
sure of that, but after all why should they bother with punishing him any
further?"Are you meanin' to let me go, Rob?"quavered the fellow, as he managed
to get upon his feet, with the four scouts clustered around him."Yes, because we haven't lost anything through you as far as we can find
out," the scout leader told him, at which Jared's face lost some of its
strained look, and Andy thought he caught some of the old-time crafty
gleam in his shifting eyes."I give you my word for it, Rob, I never took a single living thing," he
hastened to say."Well, we'll make sure of that by taking a look through your pockets!""You don't seem to like that, do you?But make up
your mind that if you start to show the first sign of resistance we'll
not only pile on you, but hand you over to the police afterward without
listening to any more promises.Andy, you tap his pockets, and see what
he's got."Andy did not hesitate an instant; indeed, to see the way he started in
one might believe this was an avocation with the scout, and that he had
been employed a long time at police headquarters searching the pockets of
prisoners before they were thrust into cells.A number of things were brought to light, which did not possess any
particular interest for the scouts.When, however, from an inside pocket
Andy drew a roll of bills, fastened with a rubber band, Tubby was heard
to give a "whee!"and Hiram nudged Rob in the side as if to say: "See how
he yarned when he vowed he wanted to get back on the farm, but didn't
have the railroad fare East!"Andy deliberately proceeded to count the contents of the roll, while the
wretched owner followed his every move, as though he feared that by some
hocus-pocus or sleight of hand process, with which he himself was
possibly familiar, some of the money might take wings and fly away."Just ninety-seven dollars here, Rob!""Yes, that's right," declared Jared, cringing before Rob's look, "and I
earned every cent of that roll by honest days' labor, every cent of it.I
thought I needed just a little more to see me through all the way East.John went back to the kitchen.I
was told it'd take about--say a hundred and ten clear.But I c'n wait now
till I get my next wages.I was a silly fool to think to rob my old pals
of the days in Hampton.""You never said truer words than those, Jared," Rob told him, plainly,
but with a feeling that nothing the other declared would be believed
under oath, for truth and Jared Applegate had never been friends.John travelled to the hallway."But, Rob, I hope now you ain't a-goin' to keep any of my cash roll, or
hand it over to the manager of the hotel.I've been working here quite
some time now, and they treat me white so I'd hate to get bounced when
I'm so near makin' up the amount I need.It's all clean money, Rob, you
believe me, don't you?Look at my hands and see how calloused they are?That's a pretty good sign, I take it, that I ain't been layin' around, or
playin' cards like I used to."He had certainly been doing some sort of hard labor, though Rob was
rather inclined to believe Jared must have been working in the mines with
pick and shovel, and had only come to the city when driven out of the
camp because of some crooked doings."You shouldn't judge everybody by your own standard, Jared," he told the
other."None of us could be hired to take a single cent of yours, no
matter how you got the money, which is no affair of ours.Give it back to
him, Andy; and I guess you've searched enough to satisfy us he is
carrying away nothing that belongs to us."Jared clutched the money as might a miser, and hastened to stow it away
again."And you mean me to go, don't you, Rob?I take it you're too high-minded
to want to have revenge on a poor devil who's down in the world, even if
he has done you dirt in the past.Say I c'n skip out, won't you, Rob?I'm
a changed boy, I tell you; and you'll never be sorry you acted white with
me!""Open the door, Tubby," said Rob, and the fat scout did so, though with
apparent reluctance, for Tubby did not have the slightest faith in
Jared's wonderful reformation, and thought he ought to be punished in
some way."Now go, and I only hope we never set eyes on you again, Jared Applegate.Only for the fact that you've already brought enough trouble on the heads
of your folks at home I'd be in favor of handing you over to the police
to deal with.Hurry up and leave before I change my mind."Jared did not linger a second longer than he could help.He gave each of
the three scouts a look, and although he tried to appear grateful, they
could see that there was the same old crafty gleam in his eyes as though
deep down in his heart there existed not a trace of the desire to reform
of which his lips had boasted.Passing through the open door, he vanished
from their sight.After all that excitement, Tubby could not immediately tear himself away
from his chums."Why, seems as if all the sleep had been chased out of my eyes!"he
declared, as he once more composedly sat down; and of course a general
discussion took place in connection with their past experiences with
Jared Applegate.In the end they had to fairly pry Tubby away from that chair, and put him
out of the door, in a friendly scuffle; he protesting to the last that as
he had no expectation of getting a wink of sleep that night, there was no
need of hurrying."Why, it's half-past eleven right now," Andy told him.Mary moved to the bedroom."We'll be a nice
lot of blinking owls to-morrow unless we hit the hay in a hurry.You come
back when you promised, and join the bunch.With that the door was closed, and of course the unwilling Tubby found
there was no use trying to change the program; so he headed for the
elevator, smothering a tremendous yawn by the way.He made his appearance promptly on time when morning came, and they
started for the Exposition grounds in a squad, all of them filled with
lively anticipations of another great day of sight-seeing.Of course the most anxious one of the company was Hiram.His business had
not as yet come to a focus, and he was not at all certain how it might
turn out.The others did not wish to hurry him unduly, for they knew
Hiram to be very set in his ways; but at the same time they gave him
plain hints that he would be unwise to wait too long."They're expecting me any day now," Hiram had explained in answer to
these remonstrances, "and I'm just keepin' 'em on the fence, you see.When I kinder guess the time's ripe I'll drop in on the company and tell
'em who I happen to be.""Hiram means he's engineering a sort of climax," explained Andy; "but the
rest of us will be as mad as hops if he pulls the thing off without
giving us a chance to see the fun.""You wouldn't be so mean as that, I hope, Hiram?""Guess I ought to know what my |
bedroom | Where is John? | You'll all have front
seats on the band wagon when the music begins.Consider that as good as
settled, Tubby.I'm having an extra big chair fixed for you, too, so
you'll be comfy."Tubby beamed his gratitude, and as they had arrived at the turnstile by
that time the subject was dropped.It was decided that they should keep together, for a while at least,
though anyone could see that Hiram was wild to hurry over to where the
Golden Gate Aviation Supply Company had its headquarters adjoining the
field where the airships gave frequent exhibitions.The crowd had not begun to make itself felt as yet, so that they found
splendid opportunities to inspect numerous things that attracted their
attention in some of the many immense Fair buildings.An hour was spent among the pictures in the art building.Rob enjoyed
this, for he was very fond of paintings, and at some future date he meant
to put in a whole morning here.Tubby soon tired of it, and as for Hiram it seemed to be pretty much of a
bore.One whose heart and mind were wrapped up with all sorts of
inventions could not be expected to content himself gazing upon works of
art; they were too tame for his spirit; what Hiram delighted in was the
whirr of machinery, the clack of the aeroplane propeller, and kindred
objects that meant real _work_ for him.Just how it happened that about the middle of the morning they found
themselves once more treading the devious ways of the Amusement Zone
neither Rob nor Tubby nor Hiram could somehow understand.They dimly
suspected, however, that the artful Andy must have managed to coax them
in that quarter under a specious plea that he wanted to show them
something wonderful.The first thing they knew they were seated in chairs on the moving
platform, and viewing the scenery along the stretch of the Panama Canal,
which had a very realistic look for those who had been there themselves.Each chair had a dictaphone attachment connected with the arm, and by
applying this in the proper manner to their ears the occupants were
enabled to hear a description of each section of the great ditch as it
was reached.Taken in all, it was a novel experience, and one they enjoyed very much;
though in the end it required the strength of the other three scouts to
drag poor Tubby out of his chair, which happened not to have been
capacious enough for the standard requirements of the fat boy."Honestly," said Tubby, in explanation of his sticking so tight, "I
believe some skunk went and put a piece of shoemakers' wax in that chair;
and I feel that I'm lucky to have saved the seat of my new khaki
trousers.If it had been the old ones there's no telling what might have
happened."a poor excuse is better than none, they say," muttered Andy; "but
seems like instead of calling these chairs comfortable they might have
added that they were the 'Fat Man's Misery.'But forget it, Tubby; you're
safe and sound again, breeches and all.Come on and see what there is in
this Bedouin Camp.The camels look like it ought to be a heap
interesting."The others were not as much taken with the show as Andy.To him it was
all real, and breathed the atmosphere of the desert and the traders'
caravan; but Rob saw how much was tinsel and make-believe, and really
suspected that some of the so-called Arabs talked among themselves in
pretty fair English.It happened that shortly after they had issued from this concession, and
Hiram was commencing to show signs of uneasiness, as though wanting to be
off, something came to pass that for the time being made them forget
their plans."Mebbe there's goin' to be an Oriental elopement or a wedding?Let's
hurry over and get in line to see!""More'n like a dog-fight," grumbled Hiram; "for I've noticed that in some
of these squalid villages of foreigners they have some ugly yellow curs
hanging around, which I should think the Fair people wouldn't stand for."All the same, Hiram ran as fast as his mates to see what was going on.They made a discovery before they were more than half way to the spot.Indeed, the loud outcries borne to their ears, as well as the smoke that
came from a building where the signs indicated that a celebrated Egyptian
fortune-teller could be consulted, made this very manifest.gurgled Tubby, who was puffing very hard in his
effort not to be left in the lurch by his more agile companions.The excitement can be easily imagined in that always thronged section of
the Exposition grounds.Scores of persons, many of them turbaned Arabs,
Turks with red fezzes on their heads, or other foreigners were rushing
this way and that, all wildly shouting, and wringing their hands as
though they expected that a dreadful misfortune threatened that part of
the Amusement Zone.The gayly-dressed fortune-tellers were apparently up against a hard
proposition.They could pretend to tell what the future held for others,
but apparently had not been able to foresee such a common everyday
occurrence as their booth taking fire.John went back to the office.No one seemed to be thinking of trying to do anything.The authorities of
the Fair had provided arrangements for such accidents, and in due time,
doubtless, the fire company would dash upon the scene, ready to pour a
stream of water on the flames.But seconds count when fire is seizing hold of flimsy curtains and
woodwork.A minute or two in the commencement of a conflagration means
that it may be smothered before it gets a firm clutch on the building.Rob possibly remembered what had happened on that Long Island bay at the
time he and Andy saved the naphtha launch owned by old Cap.Just then he discovered a couple of local scouts hurrying up.They were
small lads, and might hardly know what was to be done in such an
emergency."Tell me, do you know where the nearest fire extinguisher is fastened; I
remember seeing some around the grounds here?"No sooner had Rob put this question to the small scout than his face
lighted up eagerly."I knew there was something a
fellow ought to do!Why, yes, there's one right back yonder, mister.All
you got to do is to grab it off the stand and get busy.With that he darted off, followed by his companion.Rob had not even
waited to hear all that was said.He had his eye on that little
extinguisher immediately, and was leaping toward it, followed by the gaze
of his admiring chums.Why, it seemed almost no time at all before the scout leader had wrenched
the extinguisher loose.His first thought was that luck favored him
because lo!and behold it chanced to be one of the same pattern he always
carried aboard his little motorboat, to provide against a catastrophe by
fire.Thus armed and equipped, Rob started into the small building from which
the dense clouds of smoke issued, and amidst which tongues of angry flame
were to be seen.Andy, Hiram and Tubby followed close on his heels.They had nothing with
which to fight the fire, but somehow seemed to consider it a part of
their duty to back their energetic leader up to the full limit of their
capacity.It was, after all, nothing of moment, once Rob got the little stream
started on the flames.The fire had not gained sufficient headway to make
a stubborn resistance of it, and inside of three minutes Rob had it
entirely subdued."Back out, fellows; it's all over!"he managed to exclaim, though half
choked by the penetrating smoke.Just as the scouts came out, and by their smiles assured everybody that
there no longer remained a spark to endanger the neighboring flimsy
structures, the fire squad came hustling up.Of course there was a
perfect mob gathered by this time, and Rob found it hard work to try and
make his way through.The man in charge of the fire-fighters hunted the scouts up and insisted
on shaking hands with them, a procedure that many in the crowd copied,
greatly to the displeasure of Rob, though Tubby and the others did not
seem to mind it in the least.One alert young fellow, who announced that he was a reporter on a San
Francisco daily, tried his best to get an interview with Rob, who
positively declined to say anything except that they were scouts from
Long Island.As this persistent newspaperman kept after them, and was seen in eager
conversation with Tubby in the rear, it might be taken for granted that
the fat scout was of a different mind from Rob.Trust Tubby to "blow the
horn" good and strong, especially when he could sing the praises of one
he cared for as much as he did for Rob Blake."Seems like things keep on happening wherever we go," said Andy, after
they had finally managed to shake off the last of the curious crowd, and
retreated to another part of the Zone."It's lucky for some people that such is the case," asserted Tubby,
promptly.Sandra travelled to the kitchen."If we hadn't happened to be around I reckon that
fortune-teller's place would have been burned to the ground.Some time we
may be sorry we bothered with it.They're all a lot of fakes, say what
you will.""You mustn't mind Tubby, fellows," he said, pretending to whisper, though
he knew the fat scout could hear every word plainly; "ever since that
time we were down at Coney Island, and a woman seeress there told him he
had a glorious future as the world's most famous fat man, Tubby has been
sore on the craft.Now, that same wise woman told me I was going to be
the greatest traveler since Livingstone's time.She read my longings and
aspirations, and I often think she could lift the curtain and see into
the future."you're silly if you believe a single word they say!"burst out
Tubby, with wrath and indignation; but in less than two minutes he was as
amiable as ever; the unpleasant incident was forgotten; for Tubby could
not stay out of humor long, and as Hiram was accustomed to saying,
"trouble and anger slipped from Tubby just like water does from a duck's
back!"More people were coming as the morning progressed, though the crowds
would not begin to compare with those that the afternoon and evening
would bring; when the band concerts were an added attraction, with
numerous other events going on in every direction, until one would wish
they could have a thousand eyes and ears so as not to miss anything.Rob was tired of the scenes in the Amusement Zone, and ready to suggest
that all of them make a change of base, though he knew it would not be an
easy task to tear Andy away from the sights his heart yearned to keep in
contact with."There's one of the yellow curs we saw in that Indian village," remarked
Tubby; "and some boys are plaguing the life half out of him by throwing
sticks, and trying to round him up.He must have broken loose from the
enclosure where he was confined, and don't know how to get back again.Look at the way he acts, will you?John moved to the garden.They'd better go slow, or he'll bite
one of those sillies!Oh, look at him snapping, will you, Rob?Makes me
think of the mad dog that ran through our town last----"
"Stop that talk, Tubby!"ordered Rob, sternly; but apparently it was too
late, for some one gave a shout, and like magic the cry was taken up
until dozens of frightened voices sent it rolling along the street of the
Zone:
"Mad dog!No more dreadful cry can be imagined than the one the four scouts now
heard rising all around them.It made many faces turn deathly white, and
there was a hasty flight on the part of the more timid in order to gain
the shelter of the adjoining walls of the booths.John went back to the kitchen.Some boys and men also remained, and commenced to pelt the wretched cur
still further with stones, sticks, or anything they could lay hands on,
meanwhile keeping up more or less wild shouting.John travelled to the hallway.exclaimed Rob, indignantly; "that dog is no more mad than I
am; but they're doing everything they can to make him so.He's already
scared half out of his head with all those things being shied at him.He
snarls and snaps because he's at bay, and the old wolf nature shows then.All he wants is to get back home somehow!"The clamor grew in violence as new voices joined in.Those who came
running up, always eager to see whatever was going on, began to hurl
things at the cringing yellow cur flattened against the wall; though when
the poor beast once started toward them it was amazing to see how the mob
melted away, men falling over each other in their frantic fear of being
bitten.He tried to speak to some of
those nearest him, but he might as well have tried to stop the flow of
Niagara for all the effect his words of expostulation had upon the
shouters.Women and children were shrieking in fright, even though they were
apparently safe in the various buildings that lined the sunny street of
the Zone."I just can't stand for this racket!"the others heard Rob say, as he
suddenly left them and sprang forward.Immediately loud voices called out, some warning him not to be rash, and
others applauding his daring, for it is always so easy to stand back and
clap hands when some one is taking the chances.cried Tubby, who had seen the mad dog
killed in the main street of Hampton the previous summer, and had a
perfect horror of being brought into personal contact with any animal
suffering from the rabies."He isn't intending to try and grab the beast!""Rob
knows better than that, even if the dog is only scared, and not mad.Mary moved to the bedroom.It
would bite him just as quick, I guess, as if it was rabid.Watch and see
what his game is, fellows; Rob knows what he's about, you'd better
believe!"Every eye was centered on the form of the boy as he advanced toward the
cowering dog.Rob was snapping his fingers, and acting as friendly as he
could, wishing to assure the beast he had no hostile motive in
approaching.This he did in order to keep the frenzied and tortured dog
from jumping at him before he could manage to put his little plan into
operation.John went back to the bedroom.At least it held the attention of the dog, though the animal suspected
the genuine nature of his advance, and cowered there watching him, still
snarling viciously.It required considerable nerve to keep on in spite of the increasing
growls of the dog at bay.Rob was ready to act in case the beast did
spring toward him, for he certainly had no intention of allowing its jaws
to come in contact with his flesh.Most of the shouting had died out by now.Everybody was watching with
held breath to see what that venturesome boy in khaki would attempt.Many
doubtless believed, as they stared with distended eyes, that Rob actually
meant to grapple with the animal and throttle it."It's a burning shame to let a boy try what men might have done!"one
white-faced woman near the other scouts was heard to say; and they could
readily imagine that she had boys of her own at home, of whom she was
doubtless thinking as she watched Rob walking forward into the danger
zone.Unarmed, he did not covet an
encounter at close quarters with that yellow dog, whether the beast was
mad or only frenzied with fear.In fact, Rob meant to try and cage him, if it could be worked.He
believed that if given a chance the dog would only too gladly slip in
through any opening that seemed to offer him a temporary refuge from all
those shouting tormentors.Rob, in taking a rapid survey of the situation, had noticed what seemed
to be a partly finished booth which was being erected for some late
coming concession owner.The small building was almost finished, and had
a door, which he had seen was ajar, though not fully open.It was the boy's plan, made up on the spur of the moment, to reach that
door and push it wide open.Then in some fashion perhaps the frightened
dog might be influenced to enter, when the door could be closed, and thus
he would be held in a trap.Perhaps Rob's heart beat like a trip-hammer within him as he came close
to that door, and he fancied he saw the dog starting to jump toward him.Mary went back to the hallway.It may be these
expressions of good-will had a little effect on the beast; at any rate
the advance movement was |
bedroom | Where is John? | Then Rob found that he could stretch out his hand and reach the door.He
started to push it open, though it was no easy task.Having accomplished this to his satisfaction, he began to back away,
still keeping his eyes on the dog, and ready to seek some friendly place
of safety in case of necessity.It must have known that an avenue of escape
had been opened up by the pushing back of that door.Possibly the poor
beast anticipated a safe return to the village where it had been at home
among its kind.said Andy; "he may save his bacon by that clever move."John went back to the office."There he goes in; now what d'ye think of that for a bright trick?"That was just what the badgered dog did--slipped along the wall until it
came to the partly open door, and then vanished from view.What's he meaning to do now, I wonder?"Tubby
exclaimed, in fresh consternation."He wants to complete the job by shutting the door," explained Andy, who
could grasp a situation like this much better than the stout scout,
because his wits worked quicker.All sounds ceased again as Rob pushed along the wall of the new building
until he could reach out his hand.Then the door began to close, faster
and faster until the yawning gap was entirely filled.Hardly had this been done than there arose a deafening cheer.Everybody
seemed to be wild with delight, and shook hands with one another in their
excitement.Now that the terrible "mad dog" had been caged, plenty of
weapons would be remembered; and it would be so easy, and safe, to shoot
through the windows of the building."Let's get out of this, fellows!"Sandra travelled to the kitchen.said Rob, when he managed to worm his
way through the crush and join his mates.Tubby frowned as though it was against his principles to run away when
people were wanting to shake hands, and call one a hero; but not wanting
to be left behind the others, Tubby had to go.They had not reached a point far distant when the report of several
firearms reached them.John moved to the garden."That's about the silliest thing I ever ran up against," he said."The
dog was no more mad than Tubby here is.Those boys pestered him, and got
him scared.Then all that shouting and waving of hands and throwing of
things at him finished the business.It was a foolish scare, and I guess
nine out of ten mad dog hunts are in the same class.""Well, they've finished the poor thing now, I guess!""It sounds like it the way they're cheering, just as if they've done
something mighty heroic!""The only thing worth a cheer," remarked Tubby, emphatically, "was when
our chum Rob walked right at the snarling beast, and took all sorts of
chances of getting bit and clawed up.That needed nerve, let me tell
you!"not any to speak of," said the scout leader, hastily."I made sure
to have my eye on a shed close by all the while; and if he'd really made
a jump for me you'd have seen a mighty fine exhibition of high and lofty
climbing.Mad or not, I wasn't meaning to stay there and tackle him,
without a thing to hit him with.""But it all worked well, as nearly always happens with you, Rob," said
Tubby; "though once my heart seemed to be up in my throat; that was when
you had to snap your fingers and coax him, Rob.Only for that he'd have
made for you, thinking you meant to strike him.""I'm glad it's over," observed Hiram, shuddering."That dog belonged to the Injuns we saw in the village," ventured Andy,
thoughtfully; "and you know Injuns think roast dog is the finest dish
ever.John went back to the kitchen.I expect they'll want to claim the remains.Little they'll bother
about any talk of mad dog; it's more likely to be mad Injun when they
find out what's happened."And after that they tried to put the latest incident out of their minds,
though Tubby would explode some new idea concerning it every once in a
while, as they wandered about the Fair grounds taking in new sights.TAKING IN THE SIGHTS OF THE FAIR.said Andy, as they were coming out after an hour
spent in the wonderful Transportation Building.John travelled to the hallway.remarked the scout leader, after taking a
comprehensive glance around."Well, I've been expecting him to give us
the slip for some time.He held on longer than I thought he would.""No trouble guessing where he's bound for," laughed Andy."That hall
where the latest modern inventions are on exhibition draws him like sugar
or molasses does the pesky flies in summer time.He sticks there nearly
as hard as--well, as Tubby did in that skimpy chair at the Panama show.""Bring it nearer home, can't you, Andy, and say about as well as you
_want_ to stick to that Zone of freaks and flimsies and Coney Island
shows," ventured Tubby, with singular quickness, for him."I arranged it with Hiram to stay with us just as long as he could stand
for it," explained Rob; "and that when he did feel he had to go, to call
at the little booth of the tobacconist where we've arranged to meet, not
later than four this afternoon.""Remember that, you Andy," warned Tubby, shaking a fat finger in the
direction of the other, "in case we _happen_ to get separated!Accidents
will come along sometimes, you know; and you're likely to feel that call
to the wild again any old time."Apparently he had a tough hide when it came to
resisting such harmless blunt-nosed shafts as Tubby could launch against
him."I'll keep it in mind, Tubby, I promise you," he remarked; "but after
we've had something to eat, you won't try to keep me any longer.We're
all here to enjoy ourselves according to our bent, you must remember.""And your bent runs along the line of the spectacular display of gaudy
tinsel and all sorts of make-believe frauds!"continued Tubby, pretending
to curl his short upper lip in disdain, though truth to tell he rather
enjoyed a little of the same pleasures himself."Have it as you please, Tubby," Andy told him.Mary moved to the bedroom."To me they're all real,
and when I find myself surrounded by that wonderful foreign atmosphere,
it's just like I'd taken wings and flown over there to Africa, or Asia,
or the islands of the Far East.John went back to the bedroom.Rob, make him stop trying to interfere
with my pleasure.Just because one fortune-teller riled him, Tubby sneers
at everything that wears a Turkish fez, a Bedouin bournoose or a Persian
caftan.I guess I know how to sift the chaff from the wheat.And a fellow
who means to be a world traveler some day ought to rub up against these
sort of people all he can."He knew nothing he could say would alter Andy's
deep-rooted convictions.Indeed, it was more to get even with him that
the stout scout spoke as he did.Later on they hunted up a dining-place where they could secure a fair
meal for their money, at least as good as was to be expected under the
circumstances."Now laugh if you want to, Tubby," said Andy, boldly, after they had
issued forth from the restaurant."I'm going to break away, and you know
where I'll be heading.You keep Rob company the rest of the day.He's got
a list of things he's fairly itching to see, and it's as long as my arm,
at that.Mary went back to the hallway.He hurried off without waiting to hear what Tubby might have to say; but
the latter only shook his head as he caught the amused look in Rob's
eyes, and shrugged his fat shoulders as though ready to give Andy up as
beyond redemption."Let him go and enjoy himself as he feels like," commented Rob."That's
everybody's privilege when they come to a show as tremendous as this one
is.And, Tubby, I think you're too hard on Andy.I happen to know that
he's been devouring every book on travel and exploration he can find
anywhere."Then he really does mean to make that his life work, Rob?Daniel travelled to the garden.I thought it
was just a sort of cloak, as you might say, to cover his wanting to see
these Oriental humbugs carry on.Fortune-tellers ought to be suppressed
by law; they do lots of harm, I understand, especially where silly people
believe in 'em."Rob came very near remarking that, for one who scorned their class, Tubby
himself seemed to be bothered considerably over a certain foolish
prophecy; but on second thought he concluded not to add to the color in
the fat boy's cheeks by embarrassing him.Mary journeyed to the kitchen.Being now free from the two chums who had such peculiar and strong
notions as to what they wanted to devote all their time to, Rob and Tubby
started in to spend several hours to the best possible advantage.They were not merely seeking amusement, but instruction as well; and
there were copious fountains to be tapped within the borders of those
extensive grounds of the wonderful Exposition that would repay the
laborer manyfold for his trouble."I tell you I'm mighty glad I happened to run across you, Rob," Tubby
remarked, for perhaps the tenth time, as they watched the process of the
Government fish hatchery, where millions of eggs were transformed into
tiny objects that looked like animated specks in the water, but which
under proper care would some day be placed in certain lakes or rivers or
in the sea, to add to the prosperity of the nation that was fast learning
how to conserve its food supplies."And I'm just as pleased on my own account," the scout leader told him."You see how my two chums are bound to desert me, each crazy along his
own particular line, and bound to follow his pet whim through thick and
thin."then I'm the only _sensible_ one of the lot, seems like!"grunted
Tubby, with beaming face."Thank you for intimating as much, Rob.I do
seem to fancy many of the same things that strike you as worth seeing.'Course I sort of enjoy the humbug of the Zone, but a little goes a great
way.My better nature craves educational value for the time spent in
coming away out here!"When Tubby said this so grandly he tried very hard to keep a straight
face; but discovering the gleam of merriment in Rob's eyes, he burst into
a laugh."Well, it's part way true, anyhow, Rob," he declared."I am having a real
good time keeping up with you, even if we're walking miles and miles, and
my shoes are getting to pinch me something fierce."Sir, replied the queen Gulnare, there is no need of any of these
ceremonies; they will be here in a moment: and if your majesty will be
pleased but to step into the closet and look through the lattice, you
shall see the manner of their arrival.As soon as the king of Persia was gone into the closet, the queen Gulnare
ordered one of her women to bring her a perfuming-pan, with a little fire
in it.After that, she bade her retire, and shut the door.When she was
alone, she took a little piece of aloes out of a box, and put it into the
perfuming-pan.As soon as she saw the smoke arise, she repeated some
mystical words, utterly unknown to the king of Persia, who observed with
great attention what she was doing.She had no sooner ended her charm,
than the sea began to be disturbed.The closet that the king was in was
so contrived, that looking through the lattice, on the same side with the
windows that faced the sea, he could plainly perceive it.In short, the sea opened at some distance; presently there appeared a
tall handsome young man, with whiskers of a sea-green colour; a little
behind him, a lady well in years, but of a stately majestic air, attended
by five young ladies, nothing inferior in beauty to queen Gulnare.The queen Gulnare immediately came to one of the windows, and saw the
king her brother, the queen her mother, and the rest of her relations,
who at the same time perceived her also.The company came forward, not
walking, but carried, as it were, upon the surface of the waves.When
they came to the brink of the sea, they nimbly, one after another, leaped
in at the window, from whence the queen Gulnare was retired, to make room
for them.The king Saleh, the queen her mother, and the rest of her
relations, embraced her tenderly, with tears in their eyes, upon their
first entrance.After the queen Gulnare had received them with all the honour imaginable,
and placed them upon a sofa, the queen her mother addressed herself to
her after a very tender manner.Daughter, said she, I am overjoyed to see
you again, after so long an absence; and I am confident that your brother
and your relations are no less so than I. Your leaving us, without
acquainting any body with it, put us into an inexpressible concern; and
it is impossible to tell you how many tears we have shed upon that
account.We know of no other reason that could induce you to take such a
surprising resolution, but the discourse that passed between your brother
and you, of which he afterwards informed me.The advice he gave you
seemed very advantageous to him at that time, for settling you handsomely
in the world; and was then very suitable to the posture of our affairs.However, if you had not approved of his proposals, you ought not to have
been so much alarmed; and give me leave to tell you, you took the thing
quite otherwise than you ought to have done.But no more of this
discourse, which serves only to renew the occasion of our sorrows and
complaints, that we and you ought to bury for ever in oblivion.Give us
now a relation of all that has happened to you since you left us, and
also an account of the present circumstances you are in; but especially
let us know if you are pleased and contented.The queen Gulnare immediately threw herself at her mother's feet, and
after rising up and kissing her hand, said, Madam, I own I have been
guilty of a very great crime, and I shall be indebted to your goodness
for the pardon which I hope you will be pleased to grant me.What I am
going to say, in obedience to your commands, will soon convince you, that
it is very often in vain for us to have an aversion for some certain
things: I have experienced it myself; and the only thing I had an
abhorrence to, either justly, or by the malice of my stars, has happened
to me here.She began to relate the whole story of what had befallen her
since her quitting the sea, in a violent passion, for the earth.As soon
as she had made an end, and had acquainted them with her having been sold
to the king of Persia, in whose palace she was at present; Sister, cried
the king her brother, you have been mightily wronged in having so many
affronts offered you; but you can blame nobody but yourself: you have it
in your power now to free yourself; and I cannot but admire your
patience, that you could endure so long a slavery.Rise, and return with
us into my kingdom, that I have reconquered, and taken from the proud
usurper that was once master of it.The king of Persia, who heard these killing words from the closet where
he stood, was in the utmost confusion imaginable.said he to himself,
I am ruined and undone; and if my queen, my angel, leaves me, I shall
surely die, for it is impossible for me to live without her: and will
they be so barbarous as to deprive me of her?But the queen Gulnare soon
put him out of his fears, and eased the sorrow of his heart.Brother, said she, and smiled, what I have just now heard, gives me a
greater proof than ever I had of the sincerity of your friendship for me;
but as heretofore I could not brook your proposing a match between me and
a prince of the earth, so now I can scarce forbear being angry with you,
for advising me to break the engagement I have made with the most
puissant and most renowned monarch in the world.I do not speak here of
an engagement between a slave and her master; if that |
office | Where is John? | What can be
a greater instance of the violence of his passion, than sending away all
his women (of which he had a great number) immediately upon my arrival,
and confining himself only to me?I am now his wife, and he has lately
declared me queen of Persia; and I am to sit with him in the council:
besides, I am breeding; and if Heaven shall be pleased to favour me with
a son, that shall be another motive to engage my affections to him the
more.John moved to the office.So, brother, continued the queen Gulnare, instead of following your
advice, you see I have all the reason in the world, not only to love the
king of Persia as passionately as I do, but also to live and die with
him, more out of gratitude than duty.I hope, then, neither my mother,
nor you, nor any of my cousins, will disapprove of the resolution and
alliance I have made, which will be an equal honour to the kings of both
the sea and earth.I ask a thousand pardons for giving you the trouble of
coming hither from the bottom of the deep to partake of it; and I return
you thanks for the pleasure of seeing you after so long a separation.Sister, replied king Saleh, the proposition I made you of going back with
us into my kingdom, upon the recital of your adventures, (which I could
not hear without concern,) was to let you see what a particular love and
honour I had for you, and that nothing in the world was so dear to me as
your welfare and happiness.Upon the same account, then, for my own part,
I cannot condemn a resolution so reasonable, and so worthy of yourself,
after what you have told me of the king of Persia your husband, and the
many obligations you have to him; and I am persuaded that the queen our
mother will be of the same opinion.The queen confirmed what her son had just spoken, and addressing herself
immediately to her daughter, said, My dear, I am very glad to hear you
are pleased; and I have nothing else to add to what your brother has
already said to you.I should have been the first that would have
condemned you, if you had not expressed all the gratitude you were
capable of for a monarch that loves you so passionately, and has done
such mighty things to oblige you.As the king of Persia, who was still in the closet, had been extremely
concerned for fear of losing his beloved queen, so now he was transported
with joy at her resolution never to forsake him; and having no room to
doubt of her love, after so open a declaration, he began to love her more
than ever, and was resolved within himself to give her all the outward
proofs of it, after the most sensible manner he possibly could.While the king was entertaining himself with a pleasure that cannot
easily be imagined, the queen Gulnare clapped her hands aloud, and
presently in came some of her slaves, whom she had ordered to bring in a
collation.As soon as it was served up, she invited the queen her mother,
the king her brother, and her cousins, to sit down and take part of it.They began to consider, that, without ever asking leave, they were got
into the palace of a mighty king, who had never seen or heard of them,
and were all of the same opinion, that it would be a great piece of
rudeness and incivility to eat at his table without him.This reflection
raised a blush in their faces, and their eyes glowing with the concern
they were in, they breathed nothing but flames at their mouths and
nostrils.This unexpected sight put the king of Persia, who was perfectly ignorant
of the cause of it, into a most dreadful consternation.The queen Gulnare
fancying that his majesty might be a little surprised at it, and finding
her relations desirous of the honour of seeing him, rose from her seat,
and told them she would be back in a moment.She went directly to the
closet, and by her presence recovered the king of Persia from his
surprise: Sir, said she, I doubt not but that your majesty is well
pleased with the acknowledgment I have lately made of the many favours
that I am still indebted to your goodness for.It was wholly in my power
to have complied with my relations, who would fain have persuaded me to
have forsaken you, and gone back with them into their dominions; but
alas!I am not capable of being guilty of such ingratitude as I should
have condemned in another.my queen, cried the king of Persia, speak
no more of your obligations to me, for indeed you have none; it is I that
am your debtor so much, that I am afraid I shall never be able to repay,
or return you thanks equal to the favour you have done me; for I never
thought it possible you could have loved me so tenderly as you do, and as
you have made it appear to me, after the most signal manner in the world.sir, replied the queen Gulnare, could I do less than I have done?I
rather fear I have not done enough, considering all the honours and
favours that your majesty has heaped upon me; and it is impossible for me
to remain insensible of your passion, after so many convincing proofs as
you have given me.But let us drop this, and give me leave to assure you
of the sincere friendship that the queen my mother, and the king my
brother, are pleased to honour you with; they earnestly desire to see
you, and tell you themselves.I intended to have discoursed with them a
little before I introduced them to your majesty, and accordingly I have
ordered a banquet for them; but they are very impatient to pay their
respects to you, and therefore I desire your majesty would be pleased to
walk in, and honour them with your presence.Madam, said the king of Persia, I should be very glad to salute persons
that have the honour to be so nearly related to you; but I am afraid of
the flames that they breathe at their mouths and nostrils.Sir, replied
the queen, laughing, you need not in the least be afraid of those flames,
which are nothing but a sign of their unwillingness to eat in your palace
without your honouring them with your presence, and eating with them.The king of Persia taking heart at these words, went into his chamber
with his queen Gulnare.She presented him to the queen her mother, to the
king her brother, and to her other relations, who instantly threw
themselves at his feet, with their faces to the ground.The king of
Persia ran to them, and lifting them up, embraced them one after another
after a very tender manner.Sandra travelled to the office.After they were all seated, king Saleh began
his speech: Sir, said he to the king of Persia, we are at a loss for
words to express our joy, to think that the queen my sister, after all
her hardships and affronts, should have the happiness of falling under
the protection of so powerful a monarch as your majesty.We can assure
you, sir, she is not unworthy of the high honour that you have been
pleased to raise her to; and we have always had so much love and
tenderness for her, that we could never think of parting with her, even
to the most puissant princes of the sea, who have often demanded her in
marriage before she came of age: but Heaven has reserved her for you,
sir; and we have no better way of returning thanks for the favour it has
done her, than beseeching it to grant your majesty a long and happy life
with her, and to crown your days with content and satisfaction.Certainly, replied the king of Persia, Heaven reserved her purely for me,
as you were pleased to observe; and I love her with so tender and violent
a passion, that it is plain I never loved any woman till I saw her.how I am blessed and transported with her charms!and I cannot
sufficiently thank either the queen her mother, or you, prince, or your
whole family, for the matchless generosity with which you have consented
to receive me into so glorious an alliance as yours.At the end of these
words, he invited them to take part of the collation, and he and his
queen sat down at his table with them.After the collation was over, the
king of Persia entertained them with discourse till it was very late; and
when they thought it convenient to retire, he waited upon them himself to
the several apartments he had ordered to be prepared for them.The king of Persia treated his illustrious guests for a great many days
together; during which time, he omitted nothing that might show his court
in its greatest splendour and magnificence, and insensibly prevailed with
them to stay there till the queen was brought to bed.When the time of
her lying-in drew near, he gave particular orders to get every thing in
readiness that was necessary upon such an occasion.At last there was a
son born, to the great joy of the queen his mother, who, as soon as he
was dressed in swaddling-clothes, which were very rich and costly, went
and presented him to the king.The king of Persia received the present with a joy easier to be imagined
than expressed.The young prince being of a beautiful countenance, and
all over charms, he thought no name so proper for him as that of Beder,
which, in the Arabian language, signifies the Full Moon.By way of thanks
to Heaven, he was very liberal in his alms to the poor, and caused the
prison-doors to be set open, and gave all the prisoners of both sexes
their liberty.He distributed vast sums among the priests and the holy
men of his religion.He also gave large donatives to his courtiers,
besides a great deal that was thrown amongst the people; and, by a
proclamation, ordered several rejoicing days to be kept publicly through
the whole city.One day after the queen's up-sitting, as the king of Persia, queen
Gulnare herself, the queen her mother, king Saleh her brother, and the
princesses their relations, were discoursing together in her majesty's
bed-chamber, the nurse chanced to come in with the young prince Beder in
her arms.King Saleh no sooner saw him, than he ran to embrace him, and
taking him in his arms, fell a kissing and caressing him after a mighty
rate.He took several turns with him about the room, dancing and dandling
him about, when all of a sudden, through a transport of joy, the window
being open, he leaped out, and plunged with him into the sea.The king of Persia, who expected no such sight, set up a hideous cry,
verily believing he should either see the dear prince his son no more, or
that he should see him drowned; nay, he was like to give up the ghost
amidst his so great grief and affliction.Sir, quoth queen Gulnare, with
a quiet and undisturbed countenance, (the better to comfort him,) let
your majesty fear nothing; the young prince is my son as well as yours,
and I do not love him less than you do.You see I am not alarmed at the
loss of him; neither in truth ought I to be so.In short, he runs no
risk, and you will soon see the king his uncle appear with him again, who
will return him to you safe and sound.Although he be born of your blood
as well as mine, he will not fail to have the same advantage his uncle
and I have, of living equally in the sea and upon the land.The queen his
mother, and the princesses his relations, confirmed the same thing: yet
all was no great consolation to the king; he could not possibly recover
from his fright till he saw prince Beder appear again as before.The sea at length became troubled, when immediately king Saleh arose,
with the young prince in his arms, and dancing and dandling him about,
re-entered at the same window he went out at.The king of Persia,
overjoyed to see prince Beder again, became as calm as before he lost
sight of him.Then king Saleh said, Sir, was not your majesty in a great
fright, when you first saw me plunge into the sea with the prince my
nephew?prince, answered the king of Persia, I cannot express my
concern: I thought him lost from that very moment, and you now restore
life to me by bringing him again.I thought as much, replied king Saleh,
though you had not the least reason to apprehend any danger; for before I
plunged into the sea with him, I pronounced certain mysterious words over
him, which were engraven on the seal of the great Solomon the Son of
David.We practise the like in relation to all those children that are
born in the regions at the bottom of the sea, by virtue whereof they
receive the same privileges that we have over those people who inhabit
the earth.Now, from what your majesty has observed, you may easily see
what advantage your son prince Beder has acquired on the part of his
mother queen Gulnare my sister; for as long as he lives, and as often as
he pleases, it shall be free for him to plunge into the sea, and traverse
the vast empires it contains at its bottom.Having so spoken, king Saleh, who had restored prince Beder to his
nurse's arms, opened a box he had fetched from his palace in that little
time he had disappeared, which was filled with three hundred diamonds, as
large as pigeons' eggs; a like number of rubies, of extraordinary size;
as many emerald wands, of half a foot long; and with thirty strings of
necklaces of pearl, consisting each of ten pieces.Sir, said he to the
king of Persia, presenting him with this box, when I was first summoned
by the queen my sister, I knew not what part of the earth she was in, or
that she had the honour to be married to so great a monarch as I now
find; wherefore I came empty-handed: but now I understand how much we
have been both obliged to your majesty, I beg you therefore to accept of
this small token of gratitude, in acknowledgment of the many particular
favours you have been pleased to do us, and whereof I am not less
sensible than she.It cannot be imagined how greatly the king of Persia was surprised at the
sight of so much riches enclosed in so little compass.prince,
cried he, do you call so inestimable a present a small token of your
gratitude, when you never have been indebted to me?I declare you have
never been in the least obliged to me, neither you nor the queen your
mother; I esteem myself but too happy in the consent you have been
pleased to give to the alliance I have contracted with you.Madam,
continued he, turning to Gulnare, the king your brother has put me into
the greatest confusion in the world; and I would beg of him to retain his
present, were it not that I fear to disoblige him.Do you therefore
endeavour to obtain his leave, that I may be dispensed with on this
occasion.Sir, replied king Saleh, I am not at all surprised that your majesty
thinks this present so extraordinary: I know you are not accustomed upon
earth to see such and so many fine stones; but if you knew, as I do, the
mines from whence these jewels were taken, and that it is in my power to
heap up a treasure, much larger than those, of all the things of the
earth, you would, it may be, wonder I should have the boldness to make
you a present of so small a value.I beseech you therefore not to regard
it in that respect, but on account of the sincere friendship I am obliged
to offer to you, which I hope you will not give me the mortification to
refuse.These engaging expressions obliged the king of Persia to accept
the present, for which he returned many thanks, both to king Saleh and
the queen his mother.A few days after, king Saleh gave the king of Persia to understand that
the queen his mother, the princesses his relations, and himself could
have no greater pleasure than to spend their whole lives at his court;
but that having been absent from their own kingdom for some time, where
their presence was absolutely necessary, they begged of him not to take
it ill, if they took leave of him and queen Gulnare.The king of Persia
assured them he was very sorry that it was not in his power to come and
visit them in their dominions; but added, As I am verily persuaded you
will not forget queen Gulnare, but come and see her now and then, I hope
I shall have the honour to kiss your hands again many times before I die.Many tears were shed on both sides upon their separation.King Saleh
departed first; |
garden | Where is Sandra? | This
royal company were no sooner out of sight, than the king of Persia said
to queen Gulnare, Madam, I should have looked upon that person as one who
would have imposed on my credulity in the grossest manner, that had
pretended to palm those wonders upon me for true, which I myself have
been an eye-witness of from the time I have been honoured with your
illustrious family at my court: but I cannot escape conviction of this
kind; and shall remember it as long as I live, and be always ready to
bless Heaven for directing you to me, rather than to any other prince.Young prince Beder was brought up and educated in the palace, under the
care of the king and queen of Persia, who both saw him grow and increase
in beauty, to their great satisfaction.He gave them yet greater pleasure
as he advanced in years, by his continued sprightliness, by his agreeable
ways in whatever he did, and by the justness and vivacity of his wit in
whatever he said; and they were the more sensible of this satisfaction,
by reason king Saleh his uncle, the queen his grandmother, and the
princesses his relations, came from time to time to take part of it.John moved to the office.He was easily taught to read and write, and was instructed with the same
facility in all the sciences that became a prince of his rank.When he arrived at fifteen, he acquitted himself of all his exercises
with infinitely better address, and good grace, than any of his masters.The king, who had almost from his
cradle discovered in him virtues so necessary for a monarch, and who
moreover began to perceive the infirmities of old age coming upon
himself, would not stay till death gave him the possession of his throne,
but purposed to resign it to him immediately.He had no great difficulty
to make his council consent to it; and the people heard this resolution
with so much the more joy, as they conceived prince Beder worthy to
govern them.In a word, as the king had not for a long time appeared in
public, they had all the opportunity in the world to observe he had not
that disdainful, proud, and crabbed air, which most princes, who look
upon all below them with scorn and contempt, have.They saw, on the
contrary, he treated all mankind with that goodness which invited them to
approach him, that he heard favourably all who had any thing to say to
him; that he answered every body with a goodness that was peculiar to
him; and that he refused nobody any thing that had the least appearance
of reasonableness.The day for the ceremony was appointed, when in the midst of the whole
assembly, which was then more numerous than ordinary, the king of Persia,
then sitting on his throne, came down from it, took the crown off his
head, put it on that of prince Beder; and having seated him in his place,
kissed his hand, as a token that he resigned his authority to him: after
which, he ranged himself among the crowd of viziers and emirs.Hereupon the viziers, emirs, and other principal officers, came
immediately and threw themselves at the new king's feet, taking each the
oath of fidelity, according to their degrees.Then the grand vizier made
a report of divers important matters; on which the young king gave
judgment with that admirable prudence and sagacity that surprised all the
council.He next turned out divers governors convicted of
mal-administration, and put others in their room; which he did with that
wonderful and just discernment as excited the acclamations of every body,
which were so much the more honourable, as flattery had no share in them.He at length left the council, accompanied by the late king his father,
and went to wait on his mother queen Gulnare, at her apartment.The queen
no sooner saw him coming with the crown upon his head, than she ran to
embrace him with a great deal of tenderness, wishing him a long and
prosperous reign.The first year of his reign, king Beder acquitted himself of all his
royal functions with great assiduity.Above all, he took care to instruct
himself in affairs of state, and all that might any way contribute
towards the happiness of his people.Next year, having left the
administration to his council, under the direction of the old king his
father, he went out of his capital city, under pretence of diverting
himself with hunting; but his real intention was to visit all the
provinces of his kingdom, that he might reform all abuses there,
establish good order and discipline every where, and deprive all
ill-minded princes, his neighbours, of any opportunities of attempting
any thing against the security and tranquillity of his subjects, by
appearing and showing himself seasonably on his frontiers.No less than a whole year sufficed this young king to put in practice a
purpose so worthy of him.Soon after his return, the old king his father
fell so dangerously ill, that he knew at first he should never recover.He waited for his last moment with great tranquillity, and his only care
was to recommend to the ministers and other lords of his son's court to
persist in the fidelity they had sworn to him; insomuch that there was
not one but willingly renewed his oath as freely as at first.He died at
length, to the great grief of king Beder and queen Gulnare, who caused
his corpse to be carried to a stately mausoleum, worthy of his rank and
dignity.When the funeral obsequies were ended, king Beder found no difficulty to
comply with that ancient custom in Persia to mourn for the dead a whole
month, and not to be seen by any body during all that time.He had
mourned the death of his father his whole life, had he hearkened to his
excessive affliction, and had it been permitted to so great a prince as
he was to amuse himself after that manner.During this interval, the
queen, mother to queen Gulnare, and king Saleh, together with the
princesses their relations, arrived at the Persian court, and shared in
great part of their affliction, before they proposed any consolation.Though the month was expired, the king could not prevail on himself to
give admittance to the grand vizier and the other lords of his court, who
all besought him to lay aside his mourning habit, to show himself to his
subjects, and take upon him the administration of affairs as before.He showed so great unwillingness to their request, that the grand vizier
took upon him to speak in the following manner: Sir, it would be needless
to represent to your majesty that it belongs only to women to persist in
perpetual mourning.We doubt not but you are sufficiently convinced of
that, and that it is not your intention to follow their example.Neither
our tears nor yours are capable of restoring life to the good king your
father, though we should lament all our days.He has undergone the common
fate of all men, which nobody can resist.Yet we cannot say absolutely
that he is dead, since we see him reviving in the person of your sacred
majesty.He did not himself doubt, when he was dying, but he should
revive in you, and to your majesty it belongs to show that he was not
deceived.King Beder could no longer oppose such pressing instances.He laid aside
his mourning habit that very moment; and after he had resumed the royal
ornaments, he began to provide for the necessities of his subjects with
the same assiduity as before his father's death.He acquitted himself
with universal approbation; and, as he was exact in maintaining his
predecessor's ordinances, the people perceived no alteration in their
sovereign.King Saleh, who was returned to his dominions in the sea, with the queen
his mother and the princesses, no sooner saw that king Beder had resumed
the government, than he came alone to visit him; and king Beder and queen
Gulnare were overjoyed to see him.One day, as they rose from table, they
fell to discoursing of several matters.King Saleh fell insensibly on the
praises of the king his nephew, and the queen his sister, how glad he was
to see him govern so prudently, which had acquired him so great
reputation, not only among his neighbours, but more remote princes.Sandra travelled to the office.King
Beder, who could not bear to hear himself so well spoken of, and not
being willing to interrupt the king his uncle, through good manners
turned on one side, and seemed to be asleep, leaning his head against a
cushion that was behind him.From these commendations, which regarded only the wonderful conduct and
surprising wit of king Beder, king Saleh came to speak of the perfections
of his body, which he extolled after a mighty rate, as having nothing
equal to them, either upon the earth, or the kingdoms under the waters,
which he was well acquainted with.Sister, said he in an ecstasy, so beautiful as he is, and of such
excellent endowments, I wonder you have not thought of marrying him ere
this: if I mistake not, he is at present in his twentieth year, and at
that age no prince ought to be suffered to be without a wife.I will
think of a match for him myself, since you will not, and marry him to
some princess of our lower world, that may be worthy of him.Brother, replied queen Gulnare, you call to my remembrance a thing, I
must own, I have never thought of to this very moment.As he never
discovered any inclination for marriage, I never thought of mentioning it
to him; and I am glad you have now spoken of it to me.I like your
proposing one of your princesses; and I desire you to name one who may be
beautiful and well accomplished, that the king my son may be obliged to
love her.I know one that will be proper, replied king Saleh, softly; but before I
will tell you who she is, let us see if the king my nephew sleeps or not,
and I will tell you afterwards why it is necessary we should take that
precaution.Queen Gulnare then looked upon her son, and thought she had
no reason to doubt but he was profoundly asleep, (king Beder
nevertheless, very far from sleeping, redoubled his attention, as being
unwilling to lose any thing the king his uncle said upon that subject.)There is no necessity for your speaking so low, said the queen to the
king her brother; you may speak out with all freedom, without fear of
being heard.It is by no means proper, replied king Saleh, that the king my nephew
should as yet have any knowledge of what I am going to say.Love, you
know, sometimes enters the ear; and it is not necessary he should love
this lady I am about to name, after that sort: in short, I see many
difficulties to surmount in this case, not on the lady's part, as I hope,
but on that of her father.I need only mention to you the princess
Giahaure[2], and the king of Samarcand.How, brother, replied queen Gulnare, is not the princess Giahaure yet
married?I remember to have seen her a little before I left your palace;
she was then about eighteen months old, and surprisingly beautiful, and
must needs be the wonder of the world, if her charms have increased equal
with her years.The few years she is older than the king my son, ought
not to hinder our doing our utmost to bring the match about.Let me know
but the difficulties that are to be surmounted, and I will warrant we
will do well enough.Sandra journeyed to the garden.Sister, replied king Saleh, the greatest difficulty is, that the king of
Samarcand is insupportably vain, looking upon all others as his
inferiors: it is not likely we shall easily get him to enter into this
alliance.For my part, I will go to him in person, and demand the
princess his daughter of him; and in case he refuses her, will address
ourselves elsewhere, where we shall be like to be more favourably heard.For this reason, as you may perceive, added he, it is not proper for the
king my nephew to know any thing of our design, lest he should fall in
love with the princess Giahaure, and we afterwards not be able to obtain
her for him.They discoursed a little longer upon this point, and before
they parted, agreed that king Saleh should forthwith return to his own
dominions, and demand the princess Giahaure of the king of Samarcand, her
father, for the king of Persia, his nephew.This done, queen Gulnare and king Saleh, who verily believed king Beder
asleep, agreed to wake him; and he dissembled the matter so well, that he
seemed to wake from a profound sleep.He had nevertheless heard every
word they said; and the character they gave of the princess Giahaure had
inflamed his heart with an unknown passion.He had conceived so bright an
idea of her beauty, that he could not sleep a wink all night, but
remained under continual inquietudes.Next day king Saleh would needs take leave of queen Gulnare and the king
his nephew.The young king, who knew the king his uncle would not have
departed so soon, but to go and promote his happiness, blushed when he
heard him mention his departure.His passion was become so violent, it
would not suffer him to wait so long for the sight of his mistress as
would suffice to accomplish the marriage.He more than once resolved to
desire his uncle to bring her away with him; but as he did not care to
let the queen his mother understand he knew any thing of what had passed,
he desired him only to stay with him a day or two, that they might hunt
together, intending to make use of that occasion to discover his mind to
him.Mary journeyed to the bathroom.The day for hunting was set, and king Beder had many opportunities to
declare his mind to his uncle; but he had not the courage so much as once
to open his mouth to acquaint him with what he designed.In the midst of the chase, when not only king Saleh but all his
attendants had left him, he alighted near a spring; and, having tied his
horse to a tree that afforded a very plentiful shade, as did several
others along the banks of the rivulet, he laid himself down on the grass,
and gave a free course to his tears, which issued forth in great
abundance, accompanied with many sobs and sighs.He remained in this
condition, overwhelmed with thought, and not speaking so much as one
word.King Saleh, in the mean time, missing the king his nephew, and not
meeting with any one who could tell tidings of him, began to be much
concerned to know what was become of him.He therefore left his company
to go in search of him, and at length perceived him at a distance.He had
observed the day before, and even more evidently that day, that he was
not so merry as he used to be, that he was more pensive than ordinary,
and that if he was asked a question, he either answered not at all, or
nothing to the purpose: but he never so much as in the least suspected
the cause of all this alteration, till he saw him lying in that
disconsolate posture; when he immediately guessed he had not only heard
what passed between him and the queen Gulnare, but was become
passionately in love.He hereupon alighted, at some distance from him,
and having tied his horse to a tree, took a compass, and came upon him so
softly, that he heard him pronounce the following words:
Adorable princess of the kingdom of Samarcand, cried he out, I have no
doubt had but an imperfect sketch of your incomparable beauty; yet I hold
you to be preferable to all the princesses in the world in charms, and to
excel them as much as the sun does the moon and stars.I would this
moment go and offer you my heart, if I but knew where to find you: it
belongs to you, dear princess, and nobody shall be the possessor of it
but you.King Saleh would hear no more: he advanced immediately, and discovered
himself to king Beder.Several sacred
with Prince Albert | | compositions, quartetts, sonatas,
of Saxe-Coburg | | secular songs, and theoretical works.| |
|
bathroom | Where is Sandra? | Composed 34
| | Operas.| |
Prince of Wales | | Donizetti (Gaetano), born 1797 at
born (1841).John moved to the office.Sandra travelled to the office.| | Bergamo, died 1848.Above 70 Operas,
| | a Miserere, and other sacred music,
Frederick William | | many romances and other songs.IV., King | |
of Prussia | |
(1840).| |
| | Mercadante (Saverio), born 1797 at
Pius IX., Pope | | Altamura, in Italy, died 1870.Above
(1846).| | 30 Operas.| |
G. C. Prichard, | | Panseron (Auguste), born 1796 in
English ethnologist | | Paris, died 1859.Some Operas, a
(1786-1848).| | Requiem, 3 Masses, other sacred music,
| | many romances, an instruction book
Revolution in | | on singing, etc.| |
| | Halevy (Jacques), born 1799 in
The Monarchy | | Paris, died 1862.abolished in | |
France.| | Marschner (Heinrich), born 1795 at
| | Zittau, in Saxony, died 1861.Many
Louis-Phillipe, | | Operas, Masses, secular songs, etc.King of France, | |
deposed (1848).Sandra journeyed to the garden.| | Reissiger (Carl), born 1789 near
He dies in | | Wittemberg, in Germany, died 1859.
exile, in England | | Ten Operas, many Masses, symphonies,
(1850).| | quartetts, pianoforte trios, songs,
| | etc.| |
New Republic in | | Marx (Adolph Bernhard), born 1799
France.Louis | | at Halle, died 1866.Two Oratorios and
Napoleon | | some other compositions; a work on
Charles Buonaparte | | musical composition, and several other
(son of | | treatises on music.Louis Buonaparte, | |
for a | | Lvoff (Alexis), born 1799 at Reval,
short time King | | died 1870.Composer of the
of Holland, and | | Russian National Hymn, and of other
nephew of Napoleon | | music.is | |
elected President | | Loewe (Johann Carl), born 1796 near
of the Republic | | Halle, died 1869.Many ballads and
(1848).| | other songs, also several Operas,
| | Oratorios, and pianoforte
| | compositions.| |
Botta & Layard | 1850 | Beriot (Charles Auguste de), born
excavate the | | 1802, at Louvain, died 1870.Mary journeyed to the bathroom.Assyrian | | Violinist.Concertos and other
mounds (about | | compositions for the violin.A violin
1840-1850).| |
| | Berlioz (Hector), born 1803, at La
Death of Wordsworth | | Cote Saint-Andre, in France, died
(1850).| | 1869.Requiem, symphonies, overtures,
| | other orchestral works with and
Great Exhibition | | without vocal music.A Treatise on
in London | | Instrumentation, and many Musical
projected by | | Essays.Prince Albert | |
(1851).| |
| |
Death of the Duke | | Mendelssohn-Bartholdy (Felix), born
of Wellington | | 1809 at Hamburg, died 1847.Composed
(1852).| | two Oratorios, other sacred
| | compositions, 2 Operas, other dramatic
The Prince President | | music, symphonies, overtures, ottett,
of the | | quintetts, quartetts, etc., organ
French Republic | | compositions, pianoforte concertos,
is declared | | sonatas, etc., 'Songs without Words'
Emperor of the | | for the pianoforte, secular songs for
French and assumes | | a single voice, and for several
the title | | voices, etc.of Napoleon | |
III.| |
| |
Historians:--Thos.| | Chopin (Frederic Francois), born
Carlyle, | | 1810 near Warsaw, died 1849, in Paris.Macaulay, Guizot, | | Pianist.Many pianoforte compositions,
Thiers, Rotteck, | | studies, etc.| |
| |
Painters: Rosa | | Schumann (Robert), born 1810 at
Bonheur, | | Zwickau, in Saxony, died 1856.Operas,
Cooper, Landseer, | | symphonies, quartetts, etc.Pianoforte
Millais, | | compositions, songs.Essays on
W. von Kaulbach, | | Music.| |
| | Thalberg (Sigismund), born 1812 at
Novelists: Chas.| | Geneva, died 1871.| | Compositions for the pianoforte,
M. Thackeray, | | mostly on themes of other composers.John went to the garden.Lytton Bulwer, | | Also two Operas, etc.George Eliot, | |
(Mrs.Lewis), | | Bennett (William Sterndale), born
Victor Hugo, | | 1816 at Sheffield, died 1875.Some
Alexandre Dumas, | | sacred compositions, overtures,
etc.| | pianoforte music, songs, etc.| |
Michael Faraday, | |
chemist.| |
| |
Charles Darwin, | | During the first half of the present
philosopher | | century great progress in the
and naturalist.| | construction of musical instruments,
| | especially of wind instruments.Helmholtz, German | |
philosopher | | Innumerable celebrated pianists,
and writer | | violinists, flutists, etc.| |
Important discoveries.| | Celebrated female singers: Catalani,
| | Malibran, Grisi, Persiani, Pasta,
Alfred Tennyson, | | Pauline Viardot, Henriette Sontag,
Poet Laureate.Sandra went to the bathroom.| | Sophie Loewe, etc.| |
Livingstone, | | Celebrated male singers: Lablache,
African traveller.| | Rubini, Tamburini, Braham, Wild,
| | etc.Bismarck, German | |
statesman.| | Monster Concerts.| |
Moltke, German | | Attempt of a reform of the Opera.| |
| |
Great progress in | | There are among our living musicians
sciences relating | | so many celebrated ones that it would
to natural | | really be difficult to make a
philosophy, |
bathroom | Where is Daniel? | Gradual | | Chronology.Fortunately, the plan
dying out of | | adopted in the compilation, as
many old | | previously explained, renders this
superstitions and | | delicate task unnecessary.| |
However, in | | As standard works on the history of
some countries | | music, easily accessible, may be
attempts to return | | recommended the treatises by Forkel,
to a Mediaeval | | Kiesewetter, Bellermann, Ambros,
state of | | Burney, Hawkins, Fetis, and
civilization.| | Coussemaker.John moved to the office.[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE MUSICAL SCALES IN USE AT THE PRESENT DAY.In 'An Introduction to the Study of National Music' (London, 1866) I
have endeavoured to give some account of the musical scales of different
nations.The subject requires, however, fuller investigation than the
aim of that book would permit.The 'Introduction to the Study of
National Music' is intended to acquaint the student with the facts
respecting the music of foreign nations and tribes which have been
transmitted to us by travellers and through other sources.It can
therefore scarcely claim more than to be a collection of materials which
will prove useful for the erection of an edifice called the Science of
National Music, as soon as the necessary additional materials have been
obtained, without which it would be premature to design in detail the
plan of the edifice, and to determine precisely its dimensions and
internal divisions.The acquisition of useful materials will probably be
promoted by the step recently taken by the British Association for the
Advancement of Science.[113] There can be no greater mistake in such
pursuits than to form a theory before the examples which are to serve as
illustrations have been most carefully examined and verified.It is by
no means easy to commit to notation a popular tune of a foreign country
which possesses peculiarities with which we are unfamiliar.Even
musicians who have had experience in writing down national songs which
they happen to hear, find this difficult.How unreliable, therefore,
must be the notations of many travellers who know but little of music!Still, the student of National Music, by careful attention and
comparison, is gradually enabled to discern what is genuine, and
valuable for his purpose.He knows that if there prevails a certain
peculiarity in the scale on which the tunes collected are founded, the
cause may be owing to want of musical experience in the person who wrote
the tunes down, or to an individual whim of the performer by whom they
were sung or played to the writer of the notation.But, supposing the
student examines several collections of popular tunes from the same
country, the collections having been formed by different persons
independently of each other, and he finds all exhibiting the same
peculiarity, he has no reason to doubt that it really exists in the
music of that country.Sandra travelled to the office.Nothing gives to the popular music of a country a
more distinctive feature than the order of intervals on which it is
founded; when the scale has been clearly ascertained, such other
characteristics as the music possesses are generally soon discerned with
sufficient exactness to be definable by the experienced musical
inquirer.The notations of musical scales of uncivilized nations emanating from
European travellers who have heard the people sing, are certainly to be
received with caution.Of this kind of communication is, for instance,
the notation of the vocal effusions progressing in demi-semitones of the
Marquesas Islanders at their cannibal feasts, written down by Councillor
Tilesius, and published in the Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung, Leipzig,
1805; or the notation of songs of the New Zealanders containing smaller
intervals than semitones, which Mr.Sandra journeyed to the garden.Davies has written down, and which
Sir George Grey has published in his 'Polynesian Mythology of the New
Zealand Race' (London, 1855).Mary journeyed to the bathroom.It is, however, often possible to
ascertain the musical scale of a nation with exactness by examining the
musical instruments appertaining to the nation.Thus, for instance, the
Chinese close some of the finger-holes of their flutes by sticking
pieces of bladder over them, in order to ensure the pentatonic scale;
the Javanese construct instruments of percussion with sonorous slabs of
metal or wood, arranged in conformity with the pentatonic scale; the
Arabs, and most Mohammedan nations who have cultivated their music
after the system of the Arabs, possess wind-instruments of the oboe kind
on which the finger-holes are placed in accordance with the division of
seventeen intervals in the compass of an octave; and also several
stringed instruments of the Arabs, which are supplied with frets made of
gut wound round the neck or finger-board, exhibit the same order of
intervals; again, certain stringed instruments of the Hindus contain a
number of little bridges, stuck with wax beneath the strings so as to
produce, on a string being pressed down on the bridges successively,
twenty-two intervals in the compass of the octave.Other instruments
have marks on the sound-board as a guide to the performer where he has
to press down the strings in exact conformity with the established
scale.What we observe with different nations of the present day, respecting
the diversity of musical scales, might evidently also have been observed
in ancient time.The Greeks had several kinds of scales, the popularity
of which changed at different periods.So also had our forefathers
during the Middle Ages.There is no necessity to refer to the Tetrachord
of the ancient Greeks and the Hexachord of Guido Aretinus for evidences
of the mutability of taste in these matters, since it can be observed
sufficiently by referring to the music of nations around us.However,
the so-called Modes of our old ecclesiastical music require here, at any
rate, a passing notice.John went to the garden.Some theorists maintain that our diatonic major scale is alone a true
scale, and that any other regular succession of tones in which the two
semitones of the diatonic scale occur upon other intervals than 3-4 and
7-8 is, properly speaking, a Mode.According to this doctrine, which was
evidently suggested by the ecclesiastical Modes, our minor scale must be
called a Mode, and the scales with steps exceeding a whole-tone, of
which some examples will presently be given, are Imperfect Modes.It is
unnecessary to refute such pedantic definitions; suffice it to remember
that they exist.Again, the diatonic major scale is regarded by many musicians as the
natural order of intervals on which the compositions must be founded
whenever the art of music has attained to a high degree of development,
and which will therefore be universally adopted in the course of time.They form this opinion especially from the laws of Acoustics, since the
intervals constituting the diatonic major scale are those which as
harmonics stand in the most simple relation to the fundamental tone
produced by a vibrating body.Here, however, it must be observed that
the intervals of our diatonic scale are not all of them precisely the
same as those harmonics, but are "tempered;" since, did we tune them
pure, as nature gives them, we could not use our system of harmony as it
has been developed by our classical composers.Moreover, if the diatonic major scale is thus suggested by nature, the
minor scale with its flat third must be more artificial, and less likely
to be universally adopted.Howbeit, the minor scale is especially
popular, not only with several uncivilized races, but also with several
who have cultivated the art of music to a high degree.Some of our most
eminent composers have written perhaps more beautiful music in minor
than in major keys.Besides, certain deviations from the diatonic major scale, which we meet
with in the music of foreign nations, possess a particular charm, which
we are sure to appreciate more and more as we gradually become familiar
with them.This, for instance, is the case with the Superfluous Second
introduced as an essential interval of the scale.Many of our musicians
regard such intervals as whimsical deviations, which ought not to be
liked because they do not well agree with the rules laid down in our
treatises on the theory of music.To such learned Professors the scale
of the Arabs, with its seventeen intervals in the compass of an octave,
instead of twelve semitones, as in our own system, is of course a
flagrant misconception--not to speak of the twenty-two demi-semitones of
the Hindus, which ought to be twenty-four.Those nations have musical
systems very different from ours, for which their order of intervals is
well suited.Our rules of harmony and forms of composition are unknown
to them; still, their popular legends and traditions clearly prove that
they appreciate the beauty and power of music not less keenly than we
do; and they demonstrate the superiority of their scales with the same
confidence as any of our theorists are capable of displaying.Could we trace our diatonic Major Scale in the songs of birds and in the
euphonious cries of certain quadrupeds, we should have a more cogent
reason for regarding it as the most natural scale than is afforded by a
comparison of the vibrations required for the production of its several
intervals.The songs of various birds have been written down in
notation, from which it would appear that these feathered songsters
possess an innate feeling for the diatonic major scale; but,
unfortunately, unless the melodious phrases, or passages, thus noted
down are distinguished by some remarkable rhythmical peculiarity, they
are seldom easily recognizable when they are played on a musical
instrument.There may be among the numerous birds a few which in their
natural song, untaught and uninfluenced in any way by man, emit a small
series of tones strictly diatonic; but no such musicians are to be found
among our own birds, although we have in Europe the finest singing birds
in existence.The nightingale, it is true, produces occasionally a
succession of tones which nearly corresponds with the diatonic Major
Scale in descending, and which might possibly be mistaken for it by a
listener charmed by the exquisite purity and sweetness of the tones
which he does not investigate with the ear of a pianoforte-tuner.Even
the two melodious sounds of the cuckoo cannot be properly written down
in notation; nor can they be rendered on the pianoforte, because they do
not exactly constitute a Major Third, for which they are generally
taken, and still less a Minor Third.A certain ape of the Gibbon family
is said to produce exactly the chromatic scale through an entire octave
in ascending and descending.Darwin, who in his work on 'The Expression
of the Emotions in Man and Animals' (London, 1872; p.Sandra went to the bathroom.87) mentions the
astonishing musical skill of this ape, remarks that some quadrupeds of a
much lower class than monkeys, namely Rodents, "are able to produce
correct musical tones," and he refers the reader to an account of a
"singing Hesperomys" [a mouse] by the Rev.S. Lockwood, in the
'American Naturalist,' Vol.Notwithstanding
the great authority of Darwin, the musical inquirer will probably desire
to ascertain for himself whether the "correct musical tones" are exactly
in conformity with our diatonic and chromatic intervals.However, even
if this should be the case in a few instances, it can only be regarded
as quite exceptional.During the present century, our musical composers have so frequently
employed in the diatonic major scale the Minor Sixth instead of the
Major Sixth, that some theorists--among them Moritz Hauptmann--notice
this order of intervals as a new and characteristic scale, and desire to
have it as such generally acknowledged by musicians.A. Krauss, a
teacher of music in Florence, has recently published a pamphlet,
entitled 'Les Quatre Gammes diatoniques de la Tonalite moderne,' in
which he designates this new scale with the name 'La Gamme semimajeur'
(The Half-major Scale,) which is at any rate better than that suggested
by Moritz Hauptmann, in his 'Die Natur der Harmonik and der Metrik,'
which is 'Die Moll-Dur-Tonart' (the Minor-Major-Key, or scale).We possess then, according to these theorists, now four diatonic scales,
namely:--
[Music: 1.THE HALF-MAJOR SCALE.]Or also with minor seventh in descending:
[Music: 3.The Half-Minor Scale contains the Minor Third, while its other intervals
are identical with those of the Major Scale.This is the case in
descending, where the seventh and sixth are lowered, as well as in
ascending.Furthermore, we have the Chromatic Scale, a regular progression in
semitones, which is much used by modern composers; and the Enharmonic
Scale, which may be said to exist only in notation, since it is not
executable on most of our musical instruments, but which is likely to
become important in the music of a future period when our instruments
have been brought to the degree of perfection which permits the most
delicate modifications in pitch by the performer, and which is at
present almost alone obtainable on instruments of the violin kind.Mary travelled to the kitchen.Furthermore, we find at the present day the following scales in use
among foreign nations:--
[Music: 7.THE MINOR SCALE WITH TWO SUPERFLUOUS SECONDS.]If the lover of music is acquainted with the popular songs and
dance-tunes of the Wallachians, or with the wild and plaintive airs
played by the gipsy bands in Hungary, he need not be told that the Minor
Scale with two Superfluous Seconds is capable of producing melodies
extremely beautiful and impressive.Indeed, it would be impossible to
point out more charming and stirring effects than those which
characterise the music founded on this scale.The Pentatonic Scale was in ancient times apparently more universally in
use than it is at present.It is still popular in China, in Malaysia,
and in some other Eastern districts.Traces of it are found in the
popular tunes of some European nations, especially in those of the
Celtic races.Its charming effect is known to most of our musicians
through some of the Scotch and Irish melodies.Also among the Javanese
tunes, which have been brought to Europe by travellers, and which are
generally strictly pentatonic, some specimens are very melodious and
impressive.THE DIATONIC SCALE WITH MINOR SEVENTH.]The Diatonic Scale with Minor Seventh is likewise an Eastern scale.Among European nations, the Servians especially have popular tunes which
are founded on this scale.The Servian tunes frequently end with the
interval of the Fifth instead of the First or the Octave.As the leading
tone of our diatonic order of intervals--the Major Seventh--is wanting,
our common cadence, or the usual harmonious treatment of the conclusion
of a melody to which our ear has become so much accustomed that any
other appears often unsatisfactory, cannot be applied to those tunes.Nevertheless, they will be found beautiful by inquirers who are able to
dismiss prejudice and to enter into the spirit of the music.Although
the scale with Minor Seventh bears a strong resemblance to one of our
antiquated Church Modes, called Myxo-Lydian, it is in some respects of a
very different stamp, since its characteristic features would become
veiled if it were harmonised like that Church Mode.In addition to the nine scales which have been enumerated, some others
could be pointed out which are popular in European countries; but, as
they resemble more or less those which have been given above, and as
they may be regarded as modifications, it will suffice here to refer to
them only briefly.Daniel journeyed to the bathroom.There are, for instance, in the Irish tunes many of a
pentatonic |
bathroom | Where is Daniel? | Again, some nations which have the diatonic order of intervals deviate
slightly from it by habitually intoning some particular interval in a
higher or lower pitch than it occurs in our tempered system.For
instance, careful observers have noticed that the Swiss peasants in
singing their popular airs are naturally inclined to intone the interval
of the Fourth sharper than it sounds on the pianoforte.Thus, in C-major
it is raised so as to give almost the impression of _F sharp_.John moved to the office.This
peculiarity is supposed to have arisen from the Alphorn, a favourite
instrument of the Swiss, on which the interval of the Fourth, like on a
trumpet, is higher than it is in our Diatonic Scale.No doubt many
peculiarities of this kind are traceable to the construction of certain
popular instruments.This is perhaps more frequently observable among
uncivilized nations than with Europeans.Professor Lichtenstein, who,
during his travels in South Africa, in the beginning of the present
century, investigated the music of the Hottentots, asserts that these
people sing the interval of the Third slightly lower than the Major
Third, but not so low as the Minor Third; and the Fifth and Minor
Seventh likewise lower than in our intonation.He found that the same
deviations from our intervals exist on the _Gorah_, a favourite stringed
instrument of the Hottentots.Other peculiarities of the kind are more difficult to explain.In the
Italian popular songs of the peasantry, for instance, we not
unfrequently meet with the Minor Second, where to an ear accustomed to
our Minor Scale it appears like a whimsical substitution for the Major
Second.When it is used, the
scale is as follows; the Seventh being Major in ascending, and Minor in
descending:--
[Music]
In some instances such peculiarities have evidently been derived, as has
already been stated, from the series of tones produced on a popular
instrument.But there are many instances in which the tones yielded by
the instrument have been purposely adopted in the construction of the
instrument from the previously existing popular scale of the vocal
music.Thus, it may possibly be that, as some inquirers maintain, the
pentatonic character of certain Irish airs has its origin in the
primitive scale of the ancient rural bagpipe of Celtic races, or, as
others believe, in the simple construction of the ancient Irish
harp;--on the other hand, the Chinese and Javanese, as we have seen,
contrive in the construction of their instruments to obtain the
pentatonic scale on which their vocal music is usually founded.Those theorists who regard our diatonic major scale as the most perfect
one, which ultimately must be universally accepted as the only true one,
will probably not admit that under certain circumstances the sounding of
one or other of its intervals a little "out of tune" may actually
increase the beauty of a musical performance.Such is, however,
unquestionably the case.To note a curious instance in proof of the
correctness of this assertion as afforded by the clavichord, a
contemporary of the harpsichord and predecessor of the pianoforte:--The
strings of the clavichord are not sounded by being twanged with quills,
as is the case in the harpsichord, but are vibrated by means of iron
pins, called tangents, which press under the strings when the keys are
struck.The pressure of the tangent lasts as long as the key to which
the tangent is attached is held down.The deeper the performer presses
the key down with his finger, the stronger is the pressure of the
tangent against the string, and the more the string is raised by it.The raising of the string has the effect of slightly raising the pitch
of its tone.The performer, therefore, has it in his power to modify in
some degree the pitch of a tone, and by this means to distinguish any
tone to which he desires to give emphasis, or to render prominent in
expressing a melody, or in executing a passage with delicacy.The
aptness of the clavichord for yielding to these deviations from the
intonation of the intervals in which it is tuned, combined with its
aptness for producing with great delicacy different degrees of loudness,
constitute the principal charms of the instrument, and sufficiently
account for the love which our old classical composers,--Handel, Bach,
etc.,--bore for the clavichord.A musical instrument containing all conceivable perfections for
performance, we do not yet possess.Such an instrument would be required
to yield not only Whole-Tones and Semitones, but likewise
Demi-semitones, Semidemi-semitones,--in short, every modification of an
interval which the performer desires.It must have the greatest compass
obtainable in tones.All its tones must be of equal power, sonorousness
and beauty.The sustaining, the increasing and decreasing in loudness,
must be possible with each tone separately, at the option of the
performer, even in harmonious combinations.Sandra travelled to the office.Likewise the difference in
manner of expression, such as legato, staccato, etc., must be thus
obtainable.The greatest possible difference in the quality of sound
(_timbre_) must be at the command of the performer for any tone which he
wishes to be thus affected.The instrument must permit the simultaneous
sounding of as many of its tones as the performer desires, whatever
their distance from each other may be, and this must be achievable by
him with about the same facility as he requires for the production of a
single tone.The instrument must be playable by only one performer; it
must not present any extraordinary difficulty to musicians to play it
well; and it must permit being easily kept in tune.Perhaps the organ
approaches the nearest to this perfection, but is still far from it.The
violin and the violoncello are in some respects ahead of all--at any
rate, as regards delicacy of expression.Sandra journeyed to the garden.But, fascinating though it may be to depict such a nearly perfect
musical instrument of the Future, the real substitutes of our present
contrivances, a century or two hence, will probably be very different
from our ideal, especially if we found our speculation on the impression
that our Tonal System is the only right one, and that our diatonic major
scale will be as everlasting as a mathematical truth, or as the axiom
that two and two are four.Mary journeyed to the bathroom.Indeed, the mutability of the musical taste of man appears to be
unlimited, and it is certainly possible that our children's children may
find decidedly objectionable some rule of musical composition which is
now thought highly satisfactory.Did not our ancestors at the time of
Hucbald relish consecutive Fifths and Octaves as an harmonious
accompaniment to a melody?A Chinese Mandarin, on hearing a French
Jesuit, at Pekin, play on a clavecin some _Suites de Pieces_ of a
celebrated French composer, endeavoured to convince the performer that
the Chinese music was the only true music "because," he said, "it
appeals to the heart, while yours makes only noise."When Villoteau,
during his residence in Egypt, investigated the Arabic music, his Arab
music-master at Cairo endeavoured to convince him that the division of
the Octave into seventeen intervals was more natural and tasteful than
the European division into twelve chromatic intervals.A Nubian
musician, on hearing Mr.Lane play the pianoforte, remarked: "Your
instrument is very much out of tune, and jumps very much."He evidently
missed the accustomed small intervals connecting the whole-tones in his
own music.Livingstone, in his 'Missionary Travels in South Africa,'
relates that on a certain occasion when an English missionary sang a
hymn to an assembly of Bechuana <DW5>s, "the effect on the risible
faculties of the audience was such that the tears actually ran down
their cheeks;" and the same may have happened to the missionary when he
heard the <DW5>s sing.Many more examples from nations in different stages of civilization
could be cited evidencing the remarkable variety and instability of
musical taste.Much of our own music, which about a century ago was
greatly admired, appears now unimpressive; and great masters who
introduce important innovations are sure at first not to be understood
by the majority of musical people.Instead of regarding our Tonal System as exhibiting the highest degree
of perfection attainable, and of repudiating musical conceptions which
reveal another foundation, as our musicians are apt to do, it would be
more wise in them to study the various systems on which the music of
different nations is founded, to acquaint themselves especially with the
characteristics of the various scales, and, by adopting them on proper
occasions, to produce new effects more refreshing than the hackneyed
phrases and modulations which usually pervade their works.NOVELLO, EWER & CO., PRINTERS, 69 & 70, DEAN STREET, SOHO.Transcriber's Notes
Apparent printer's errors have been retained, unless stated below.Punctuation, capitalization, accents and formatting markup have been
made consistent in the text.This excludes the footnotes due to several
inconsistencies.Page 2, "Giques" changed to "Gigues".('Pieces de Clavecin, en deux
Volumes, consistant des Ouvertures, Preludes, Fugues, Allemandes,
Courentes, Sarabandes, Gigues et Aires, composees par J. Mattheson,
Secr.--London, printed for J. D.Page 6, "I I" changed to "I".(I am sure if he reads this he will laugh
in his sleeve, for outwardly he seldom laughs.)Page 58, "Quartett for 2 Violins, 2 Tenors, and Violoncello".John went to the garden.Although
the instruments described constitute a quintett, this is how it appears
in the original.Page 132, "unusally" changed to "unusually".(There remained now nothing
for him to do but to take up his jacket and make the best of his way
home.But the jacket felt so unusually heavy;)
Page 141, "ecstacy" changed to "ecstasy".Sandra went to the bathroom.(After he had been a while in
this state of reflection, he heard heavenly strains of music, and on
looking up he saw a little bird which sang with a voice so enchantingly
melodious that he arose in ecstasy.Page 151, "semicircle" changed to "semi-circle" for consistency.(Sometimes they form a semi-circle, assume a bending position, and sing
in a subdued tone of voice a soft air;)
Page 158, "Odeinna" changed to "Oodeinna" for consistency.(The
following scenes are from a drama commemorating an episode from the life
of Oodeinna, King of Kauthambi, a country in India.)Page 174, "develope" changed to "develop".(The Netherlandish masters
institute Schools in Italy and develop the art of music with great
success in that country.)Page 185, "Trojan" changed to "Trajan".(Trajan, Roman Emperor (98).)Page 204, "Christofali" changed to "Christofori".(About this time, the
first Pianofortes were constructed by Christofori, in Italy, and by
Schroeter, in Germany.)Mary travelled to the kitchen.Page 206, "harpischord" changed to "harpsichord".(many compositions for
the organ, clavichord, clavicembalo (harpsichord), and for the
orchestra.)Page 219, "Manheim" changed to "Mannheim".(Weber (Bernhard Anselm),
born 1766 at Mannheim, died 1821.)Footnote 15, "Crysander" changed to "Chrysander" for consistency.(See
G. F. Haendel, von F. Chrysander, Leipzig, 1858, Vol.They lacked provisions and blankets, and had not even a
tinder-box with which to make a fire.They did not, however, abandon themselves to despair, but struck out in
the direction of the Ohio, hoping to reach a settlement before their
strength should give out.For days they subsisted upon roots and the
bark of trees, and at night huddled together in the brush with shaking
limbs, for the weather was unusually cold.Gradually weakness stole
upon them and on the third day both were seized with violent cramps
and nausea, probably in consequence of having swallowed some poisonous
substance.Before the close of the fourth day they fell exhausted to
the ground and for the first time despaired of going farther, but with
the dawn of the morrow their strength and spirits were sufficiently
revived to enable them to make another effort.With slow and trembling
steps they painfully pursued the way and in a few hours’ time came upon
a party of traders.This experience decided Yager to return to civilization, but Kenton,
as soon as he had recovered his strength and had secured a rifle and
ammunition, bade the party farewell and plunged again into the recesses
of the wilderness.The next year he spent, for the most part alone,
hunting and exploring the country.In the spring, Dunmore’s War broke
out and Kenton performed valuable services as a scout, this being
his first employment in that capacity.It was during this campaign
that he became acquainted with Simon Girty, the notorious renegade,
and rendered him a signal service.Girty professed the greatest
friendship for Kenton and his after conduct proved the sincerity of his
declaration.Upon his return from a reconnoissance in the Indian country, Kenton,
when about to cross the Ohio into Kentucky, was captured by a band
that had suffered recent defeat by the whites and was consequently in
a ferocious mood.Their temper was not improved by the severe injuries
that the scout inflicted on some of their number before he could be
subdued.Few men on the frontier could command the cool common-sense
that unfailingly characterized Boone in a critical situation.He would
fight against the heaviest odds whilst any hope of success existed,
but once convinced of the futility of resistance, he avoided creating
unnecessary rancor by continuing it.Daniel journeyed to the bathroom.Kenton on this occasion fought
like a catamount and so aroused the resentment of his assailants that
when they had disarmed him they continued to lay on their clubs and
tomahawks until he lapsed into unconsciousness.Mary journeyed to the hallway.When the scout came to his senses, he found himself “spread-eagled,”
face downwards upon the earth.His arms and legs had been extended and
pegged down so that the body lay in the form of a Maltese cross.The
position did not permit of any movement save that of slightly raising
the head.As time wore on the body became filled with excruciating
pains and Kenton passed the night in intense suffering.He did not
doubt that he was reserved for worse tortures.Mary went to the garden.Otherwise the Indians
would have vented their anger by killing him.In the morning the party took up the march after strapping Kenton along
the bare back of an unbroken horse.All day his limbs were racked by
the fresh pains of this cruel mode of progression, and at night he
was crucified as before.This march, with its unceasingly attendant
agonies, continued for three days and nights.On the fourth the
Indians arrived at the village of Chillicothe.By this time Kenton
would have welcomed death, but he was to endure much more.After his captors had refreshed themselves with food and rest, the
entire population of the place assembled in the great square and Kenton
was led forth to afford amusement for them.After he had been subjected
to the jibes and floutings of the children and squaws, he was bound to
a post and flogged upon the bare back with switches until the blood
flowed copiously.Meanwhile the redskins danced around him, howling
with demoniac delight.But they tired of this pastime when it was found
impossible to extract a cry of pain from the victim.Kenton was now led to the stake, stripped of his clothing and bound
with hands extended above his head.<DW19>s were heaped about his feet
and all the preparations completed for burning him.At this juncture
the Indians seemed to waver in their purpose.The chief men withdrew,
leaving the scout to the spiteful persecution of the villagers, who
found a fiendish pleasure in pulling his hair, pricking him with
knives, and beating him with sticks and clubs.This continued until
nightfall, when Kenton was released from his bonds and removed under a
strong guard to one |
bathroom | Where is Daniel? | The next morning he realized why he had been spared from the flames on
the previous day.The chiefs had declared that it would be a pity to
dispose finally of so strong a man until he had been subjected to all
the torture he was capable of enduring.He was now condemned to “run
the gantlet,” and when he emerged from the cabin in which he had passed
the night he saw the painted warriors assembled and ready to perform
their part in the affair.John moved to the bedroom.Across the square two lines of braves were drawn up, facing inwards,
with a space of about six feet between them.Each was furnished with a
club, tomahawk, or leathern thong.Kenton was required to traverse this
lane of inhuman wretches whilst they rained blows upon him in passing.This cruel pastime of the Indians was not designed to kill the victim,
but many a man sank dead before going through the ordeal and none
completed it without receiving the most severe injuries.Kenton was a swift runner but as he looked down that double row of
waiting warriors, more than one hundred yards in length, he determined
not to attempt its entire passage.When he started at the utmost
speed he could command, it was with eyes alert for a gap in the line
through which he might make his escape.The opportunity offered when
he had covered about half the distance.Dashing through the opening,
he dodged the Indians who attempted to intercept him and took refuge
in the council-house.Of course he was soon once more in the clutches
of his tormentors but they did not force him to run the gantlet again.Instead, a council was held to determine his fate.After considerable
discussion it was decided that he should be taken to a town named
Waughcotomoco and there burned.Whilst preparations were in progress for the death of Kenton, Simon
Girty, the renegade white man, came into Waughcotomoco with a settler’s
wife and her children, whom he had captured.Curious to see the
prisoner under sentence to be burned at the stake, he went to the
wigwam where Kenton was confined.Great was the surprise of Girty to
find his old companion and benefactor.Since they had last seen each
other, Girty had forsworn his race, and his name had become execrated
along the border as that of an unnatural creature devoid of pity and
destitute of principle.Girty’s conduct on this occasion proved that he was not utterly
abandoned, but it is the sole redeeming feature of his life as we
know it.With the utmost difficulty, he induced the chiefs to defer
their purpose, and for three weeks Kenton was left unmolested.At the
end of that time he was sent to the village of the great chief Logan,
who despite the wrongs he had suffered at the hands of the whites,
befriended the scout and treated him as kindly as possible.Even Logan’s influence did not, however, seem sufficient to save Kenton
from the doom with which the Indians appeared to be determined to visit
him.After a short while he was sent under escort to Sandusky, which
place had been selected as the scene of his death by torture.Here,
when the sturdy scout had abandoned hope, a British agent named Drewyer
contrived his removal to Detroit.At Detroit Kenton was held as a prisoner of war and well treated.He
was required to work, but received half wages, the other half being
applied to the cost of his keep.Some months were passed under these
conditions, when Kenton and another Kentuckian contrived to escape with
the aid of the wife of a trader.This woman secured and secreted on
the outskirts of the town two rifles and a supply of ammunition.At a
favorable opportunity the prisoners stole out of the fort, possessed
themselves of the weapons and, after a month of travel through the
wilderness, found themselves at last among friends in Kentucky.THE YOUNG SCOUT
The whites suffer great reverses at the hands of the Indians--Kenton
and Hardy go on a scout to old Chillicothe--The surprise and the
flight--Kenton’s wonderful leap and escape--Hardy falls into the
hands of the savages--The midnight visitor to the camp--Hardy fears
a snake and finds a friend--The escape to the river--“I reckon we’ve
shaken your last night’s friends”--The journey through the Indian
country--Hardy has some new experiences and is initiated to the calling
of the scout--The companions encounter dangers and feel hunger--Kenton
continues the education that Boone began--At last they come in sight of
Chillicothe.During the year 1779 the settlements of Kentucky were free from attack
by large bodies of Indians but several fierce fights took place between
the whites and their implacable foes.One of these occurred early in
the spring and resulted in a fearful loss to the Kentuckians.Colonel Rogers, who had been down to New Orleans for supplies, returned
by boat up the Mississippi and Ohio with a company of about eighty
men.When they had reached the point where Cincinnati now stands their
scouts reported a large party of Indians to be issuing in canoes from
the mouth of the Little Miami, with the evident intention of invading
Kentucky.Rogers determined to attack the Indians and with that view
landed and marched his men towards the place where he judged that the
canoes would make the shore.Perhaps the discovery made by the scouts diverted them from a proper
reconnoissance of the country along the Kentucky side of the river.At
any rate, a large body of Indians that had already crossed remained
undiscovered.When the men under Colonel Rogers had taken up their
position on the bank, these suddenly assaulted them in the rear.At the
same time the warriors in the canoes pushed forward to the attack.The whites were completely caught in a trap and overwhelmingly
outnumbered.It was a case
in which every man sought his own safety without regard to the others.A few--less than one-fourth of the entire number--contrived to escape
along the river bank before retreat was completely cut off.These
regained the boats and made off down stream with all possible speed.The remainder fought desperately but were ultimately overcome by sheer
weight of numbers.Upwards of sixty men were lost in this encounter, which was the
greatest disaster that ever befell the Kentucky settlers, with the
exception of the battle of the Blue Licks, which will be described in
due course.The Kentuckians, stirred by a thirst for revenge, determined upon a
formidable expedition into the Indian country.Whilst this movement was
in course of preparation Kenton was instructed to make a scout through
Kentucky and across the Ohio as far as the town of Chillicothe, which
was the contemplated point of attack.Kenton took Hardy with him and the two set out early in the month of
June, burdened with nothing more than their rifles and a plentiful
supply of ammunition.They did not follow the direct route but
zigzagged east and west of it, so as to cover a wide range of
territory, the object being to ascertain if any large parties of
Indians were on the move.They came to within a day’s march of the Ohio
without having seen any sign of a war-party, though they had come
upon many traces of small bands and had caught glimpses of them now
and again.In response to their inclinations, as well as with regard
to the demands of the task in which they were engaged, they avoided
unnecessary encounters.Kenton, like Boone, never fought without
provocation, and Hardy had learned his lesson from both.About seven days after leaving Boonesborough, the scouts--for Kenton
treated Hardy as a full-fledged member of the brotherhood--camped
within sight of the Ohio.They had eaten a venison steak and were
sitting in the gloaming beside the dying embers of their fire.Suddenly
Kenton sprang up, crying:
“Injuns, Hardy!Scoot!”
Each seized his rifle and they dashed into the thicket, side by side,
as a number of rifles were discharged at them.The Indians were
instantly at their heels.Hardy was a fast runner but Kenton could have
easily outstripped him.However, the tall, lithe scout kept beside his
young companion and with a light touch of the hand upon his back helped
him onward.They turned on to a sloping stretch of a few hundred yards
and raced down it for dear life.At the bottom Kenton glanced over
his shoulder and saw that two of the pursuers were gaining rapidly and
must soon overtake them, whilst six or seven more were close behind.He stopped, wheeled round, and fired.The nearest warrior fell and the
other slackened his pace.Kenton exchanged rifles with Hardy and they
resumed their flight.Kenton realized at the outset that they were being pursued by a number
of active young braves, and he felt that it was only a matter of time
when they would be overtaken.Alone, he could have distanced the
Indians, but Hardy’s best pace was fatally unequal to the task.Once
more Kenton stopped the leader in the pursuit when he was within twenty
yards of them.Then the others, realizing that the white men were
practically unarmed, set up a yell of exultation and redoubled their
efforts.At length four of them were
within a hundred feet of the fleeing scouts, when Hardy caught his toe
in a vine and fell headlong.Kenton did not check his pace, but on
the contrary increased the speed of his flight.The nearest Indians,
leaving the fallen youth to be captured by those behind, continued
their career after Kenton.The scout began to draw away and had put
nearly one hundred yards between him and the redskins when he suddenly
found himself obstructed by a narrow ravine.Running his eye along the
opening he discerned a place about two hundred yards to the left, where
the rocky sides appeared to come close together.Kenton turned his course towards the spot where he hoped to be able to
cross, but the change of direction gave the pursuers an advantage, and
by the time the scout had approached the brink they were within a few
feet of him.Kenton went on without check of speed and on the edge of
the ravine gathered himself together, made a mighty effort, and sprang
into the air.The leap was at least twenty feet, and none
of them dared attempt it.They proceeded hastily to reload their guns,
but before one of them was ready to fire Kenton had run on beyond range
and they turned back to their companions.The scout, safe from pursuit,
stretched himself at full length upon the ground and lit his pipe.Hardy had been momentarily stunned by his fall.As he struggled to
his feet he saw Kenton’s form in mid-air, as the scout took his
sensational leap.The next instant Hardy was felled to the ground by a
rap on the head with a tomahawk.The Indians immediately crossed the river with their captive and camped
for the night on the other side.Hardy was fast bound, hand and foot,
with buffalo thongs, and stretched in the circle which the warriors
formed round the fire.Fortunately, he had eaten his evening meal, for
the redskins did not offer him a scrap of theirs.Daniel journeyed to the bathroom.They ate their fill,
smoked their pipes, and then lay down to sleep.He had never before been in the
hands of the Indians, and it is no discredit to him that he was filled
with fearful apprehensions.That he had not been killed he accepted,
with reason, as an indication that his captors were reserving him for
the torture.He thought with a shudder of the terrible stories of
Kenton’s experience, which the scout had related in the long evenings
of the previous winter.Hardy felt somewhat aggrieved that Kenton had abandoned him so readily.He was forced to confess to himself that had his friend stopped to
assist him in all probability they would both have been captured.Still
Hardy could not divest his mind of the idea that there was something
savoring of desertion in Kenton’s flight whilst his companion lay
helpless upon the ground.Somehow, the passage of the river seemed to
Hardy to cut him off from hope of help and he lay for hours oppressed
by forebodings.The Indians were sunk in the slumber of assured security and it was
past midnight when Hardy became conscious that something was stirring
near him.The movement was so slight and noiseless that he supposed it
to be occasioned by some insect or reptile.Snakes were numerous in the
forest and occasionally caused death.This thing, whatever it was, seemed to be just behind his head.Slowly
and cautiously Hardy turned over upon his stomach and raised his head.The fire had been allowed to burn low, but it still emitted a faint
light.Hardy dimly discerned the form of some large creature within
arm’s length of him.In a few moments it took the shape of a man.Like
a flash the truth broke upon him.Hardy lay still as a statue, realizing that his safety depended upon
leaving himself entirely in the hands of his friend.Satisfied that
the captive’s movement had not disturbed the sleepers, Kenton resumed
his wriggling progress, advancing silently and by inches.After what
seemed to the eager prisoner to have been an hour, Kenton was stretched
alongside of him.He felt the relaxation of the thongs about his legs
and knew that they had been cut, though so subtle was the touch of the
keen knife that he neither heard nor felt the bonds sever.Next the
arms were freed, and Kenton whispered in his ear:
“Get away easy, on your belly.I’ll get a rifle for you
and join you in a few moments.”
Hardy stealthily crawled away from the camp until he had gained a
distance of about fifty feet, and then he rose and awaited Kenton.The
scout soon rejoined him carrying the arms and ammunition of one of the
savages.His own rifle had been left near by, and after regaining it
they set out for the river.The scouts had no difficulty in reaching the bank of the stream, but
some hours were consumed in the search for the two canoes in which
Hardy’s recent friends had crossed.At length they were found, and
the fugitives embarked in one, cutting the other loose and turning it
into the current.The first signs of dawn were appearing in the sky
when Kenton took up the paddles and began leisurely to propel the craft
upstream.For half an hour or so the friends sat in silence, each occupied with
his thoughts.Kenton was turning over in his mind a plan of future
action.Hardy, since the daring rescue by Kenton, had been troubled
with qualms of conscience.He felt ashamed at the doubts he had
entertained of his friend’s loyalty.He longed to ease his mind, but
hardly knew how to go about it.At length he said:
“I am afraid that I did you an injustice last night, Kenton.You see,
when you ran off, leaving me lying upon the ground, I thought that you
might--that is, it seemed to me----”
“I see,” said Kenton, with a laugh.“You thought I had given you
the long leg, eh?I’d have stayed by you, Hardy, if
it could have done any good.But if I had, we’d both be going to a
hair-raising party now.”
“I understand,” replied Hardy, “and I understood then.I only want you
to forgive me for having had the least doubt about it.”
“That’s all right, young ’un!” cried Kenton heartily, extending his
hand.I think we might make shore here.”
To Hardy’s surprise, Kenton shot the canoe into the north bank, that
is, the one from which they had embarked.Noting the puzzled expression
on his companion’s face, Kenton said:
“Why, you haven’t forgotten that we are bound for Chillicothe, have
you, Hardy?I reckon we’ve shaken your last night’s friends and now
we’ll go about our own business.But we must hide the canoe where we
are likely to find it when we come back.I swam over this morning, but
we may be in a greater hurry than I was when we cross going home.”
They found what appeared to be a safe hiding place for the canoe and
carefully marked the spot.Then they turned their faces towards old
Chillicothe, which lay somewhat more than two days’ journey to the
north.They were now not only in the Indian country during the season
of greatest travel, but passing through a section of it that was cut up |
hallway | Where is Daniel? | It behooved them, therefore, to
proceed with the utmost caution.They dared not light a fire, and were
forced to subsist upon some water-soaked parched corn which Kenton had
in his wallet and the edible berries that they occasionally found in
the forest.Hardy realized that these hardships and experiences were the best
possible training for him.He cheerfully accepted the situation and
positively refused to accept the larger portions of their scanty fare
that Kenton pressed upon him.They had many a playful dispute on the
subject, Hardy contending that Kenton was the bigger and therefore
needed the more nourishment, and Kenton maintaining that his stomach
was the better trained and consequently the better able to get along on
short rations.Sometimes, when they were both hungry as wolves, they
would engage in one of these arguments for half an hour, whilst the
untouched corn and berries, lay between them.With two such tutors as Boone and Kenton, it is hardly necessary to
say that a bright and eager lad such as Hardy Goodfellow was, had by
this time developed into a really creditable woodsman.Kenton’s method
was much the same as Boone’s had been in the dear old hunting days in
Clinch Valley.He let Hardy understand that he was depending upon him
and only interfered to point out some serious oversight or failure on
the part of his pupil.In this journey to Chillicothe they constantly encountered signs of
Indians.Kenton required Hardy to decide how long a time had elapsed
since the party passed, how many persons there were in it, their sexes
and physical condition, whether or not they had carried burdens, the
speed at which they had been going, and a score of other deductions.Hardy was very often at fault, but seldom a second time on the same
point.Before noon of the third day they arrived within sight of Chillicothe,
and lay hidden in the undergrowth to await the shades of evening.THE WHITE SQUAW
Kenton makes a reconnoissance from a tree-top--He stalks a young brave
and captures him--The Indian guides the scouts to Micmacto--Where
they watch the dances and sports from a point of vantage--The
discovery and the alarm--“I am a white woman!For God’s sake take me
with you!”--Three against hundreds--The attackers cannot pass the
“dead line”--The white squaw proves her marksmanship--The escape
over the precipice by night--The boldest course proves to be the
wisest--A three days’ race through the forest--The Ohio is passed in
safety--Boonesborough again.As the sun sank below the horizon, the scouts began cautiously
approaching the town.They made a détour of a mile or so, in order
to get to windward and avoid discovery by the Indian dogs.A thick
grove of trees on the edge of the woods, and less than a hundred yards
from the village, was the point at which Kenton aimed.They reached
it without mishap, and selecting a large oak clambered into its lower
branches.From this elevation, which was increased by the lay of the
ground, the spies commanded a good view of the square and surrounding
buildings of Chillicothe.Hardy was very eager to see the town so closely associated with the
adventures of his two heroes.Here was the place in which Boone had
been held prisoner for several weeks, and whence he had made his
wonderful journey to Boonesborough in less than five days.It was here
that Kenton had run the gauntlet, and there upon a mound stood the
council-house into which he had fled.Here, too, in all probability,
Hardy himself would now have been a prisoner, suffering torture and
perhaps bound to the stake, but for his rescue by Kenton a few nights
previous.John moved to the bedroom.To Kenton the condition of the village was an open book.He could
tell from the character of the crowd about the square, from the state
of the wigwams, from the number of the fires and the extent of the
cooking, and from a hundred details which would have seemed trivial to
the ordinary observer, whether the town contained its usual population
or any considerable number of warriors were absent.A short scrutiny
satisfied him that a large proportion of the men were absent, as he had
expected to find them at this time of the year, and that nothing out
of the ordinary was on foot.There did not seem to be anything further to be learned from their post
of observation, and Kenton was preparing to descend when they observed
a young brave leaving the village and sauntering in their direction.The scouts crouched, still and watchful, in their leafy hiding place,
whilst the Indian passed almost under their tree and continued his
stroll into the forest.Kenton, whispering to Hardy to follow after
an interval of a few minutes, slipped noiselessly to the earth and
followed the redskin.Hardy allowed five minutes to elapse before he started after his
companion.Daniel journeyed to the bathroom.He had hardly reached the ground when he heard a rustling
which he rightly inferred to be the sound of a struggle.He hurried
forward and in a few minutes came upon Kenton, calmly sitting upon
his captive, whose mouth was stopped with the scout’s fur cap.Hardy
quickly tied the Indian’s arms to his side and loosely hobbled his
feet.He was then hurried forward, after being made to understand that
at the first outcry, or attempt to escape, he would be shot dead.The party went on for six or seven miles, during which Kenton used
his best endeavors to confuse the trail.They had struck away from the
beaten paths and were in an unfrequented locality when they came upon
a small stream in the midst of woods.He
had noticed the spoor of deer upon the bank and proposed to get one of
the animals at a later hour of the night when they should come down to
drink in the moonlight.He and Hardy were beginning to feel the need of
substantial food, and would require a supply for future use.He might
discharge his gun and light a fire with less risk at a late hour and,
moreover, it was not at all likely that any Indians would be encamped
so close to the town.Having selected a resting place about half a mile from the rivulet,
where he left Hardy to guard the prisoner, Kenton went down to the
bank and lay in waiting for the deer.The moon had not been risen more
than half an hour when Hardy heard the crack of a rifle and shortly
afterwards the tall figure of Kenton appeared bending under the burden
of a large buck.The animal was soon skinned and some choice portions
were broiled.The scouts ate heartily and gave their captive all that
he desired.Before lying down to sleep, they set some steaks to smoke.But before seeking repose Kenton pursued the object with which he
had captured the Indian.He gave the redskin to understand that his
future treatment depended upon the truth with which he should answer
the questions that would be put to him.He then demanded to know the
whereabouts of the warriors of Chillicothe, and what designs they
entertained against the settlers.The prisoner replied, with apparent
frankness, that the chief men of his town were at Micmacto, where a
general council of the Shawnees was in progress.The purpose of the
meeting was to consider the advisability of a concerted attack upon the
Kentucky settlements.Kenton instantly realized the importance of learning, if possible, the
outcome of this council.He determined to go on to Micmacto, which the
captive declared was about sixteen miles to the north of Chillicothe,
or less than a good day’s march from the camp.Under the guidance of the young brave, who appeared to be quite
tractable, the scouts set out at daybreak and before sunset reached
their destination.Leaving Hardy and the prisoner under cover at a
distance of a mile or more, Kenton went forward to reconnoitre the
place.As at Chillicothe, from the vantage point of a tree on the
outskirts of the village, he secured a good survey.Micmacto was built in much the same form as Chillicothe.It was not so
large a town as the latter, but a number of abandoned cabins indicated
that it had once contained a larger population than at present.The
village lay in an open plain, upon the bank of a small river.On the
north side of the place stood a group of high, pointed rocks, which
quickly attracted the eye of the observant scout.These needle-like
projections rose abruptly out of the plain, and from the summit of one
in particular it was evident that a clear view of the town and the
adjoining plain could be had.Kenton decided that no better post of
observation could be wished.Kenton having rejoined Hardy and the prisoner, the party circled round
the town and reached the rocky eminence upon which it was proposed to
take up their station.It was found that whilst three sides of this
elevation were precipitous, the summit might be easily gained by a
sloping approach on the north.The top proved to be a flat space, less
than an acre in extent, and six or seven hundred feet above the level
of the plain.It was broken by crevices and strewn with bowlders,
making it an ideal hiding place.Daniel moved to the hallway.The shades of night were closing over the scene when the scouts turned
their gaze upon the village lying at their feet.The square was filled
with dusky figures evidently agitated by some unusual occurrence.The
shrill gabble of the squaws and the barking of dogs reached the ears
of the watchers with startling distinctness.In front of the wigwams
burned domestic fires, throwing a fitful light upon the scene.Presently a huge fire was ignited in the centre of the square and at
the same time the women and children retired to the line of buildings.Now a score of painted and befeathered warriors advanced to the blaze
in single file and formed a circle round it.They began to move slowly
to the time of a low, solemn chant.Gradually their pace quickened
as their voices rose in faster measure.They brandished their weapons and broke into the wildest antics.Meanwhile the spectators shouted applause and beat with clubs upon the
walls of the cabins, whilst the dogs added their long-drawn howls to
the din.At the end of perhaps half an hour a fresh party of braves relieved
the first performers, who retired exhausted.In due course a third
relay took up the dance, and so it was continued far into the night,
finishing in a wild disorderly reel, in which many of the younger women
took part.“Well, at any rate it isn’t the war dance,” remarked Kenton, as they
composed themselves to sleep.“But when they get to cutting up those
capers, it isn’t long before they work themselves into a crazy fit and
paint the war-post.I’m afraid there’s trouble brewing.”
The next day was spent by the people of Micmacto and their guests in
the usual Indian sports.There
were shooting matches, and a sham attack upon the village.Several
parties of young braves contested in the game from which we get
lacrosse.Dances again enlivened the early hours of the night, preceded
by feasting.Kenton was anxious to remain until the council should reach a decision
and break up.Their conclusion would, he knew, be easily inferable from
the character of the closing festivities.By husbanding their jerked
venison, the scouts and their prisoner could contrive to subsist for
two more days, but an immediate supply of water was needed.As a matter
of fact, it should have been secured the night before, but so intent
had they been upon watching the Indians that the canteens had been
allowed to run dry unnoticed.As the entire population of Micmacto appeared to be engrossed in the
pastimes taking place at the village, Kenton thought that he could
succeed in reaching the river and returning without detection in
daylight.Accordingly he started for the stream, taking advantage of
all the cover available on the way.He arrived at the bank without
mishap and was in the act of filling the canteens when a piercing
shriek broke upon his ears.He looked up to see two squaws a short
distance from him.One, still screaming, dived into the bushes and
disappeared.The other ran towards Kenton and to his amazement
addressed him in English:
“I am a white woman,” she cried, holding up her hands pleadingly.“For
the love of God, take me with you.”
“Come along,” replied Kenton.You can tell me about it
afterwards.”
The white squaw was young and active.She bounded along beside the
fair-haired giant, declining his proffered aid.In a few minutes
they had gained the post upon the rocky summit where Hardy, who had
witnessed the incident, anxiously awaited them.It was at once made
evident that the woman was not going to be an encumbrance.She cast
a surprised glance at the bound Indian but did not waste time with
enquiry about him.“Will you let me have his rifle?” she asked.“I can make good use of
it.”
When the weapon was handed to her she loaded it deftly, examined the
flint, and then turned her gaze with the others towards the village.A
party of warriors was already on the way to the spot where the scouts
and their new ally awaited them.In answer to an enquiry by Kenton, the
young woman said that the place where they were could only be reached
by the northern approach.By dropping about fourteen feet from a nearby
spot it was possible to gain a difficult pathway down to the plain, but
no one could come up by the same route, and she fancied that few of the
townspeople knew of it.The Indians were soon at the bottom of the <DW72>.The ascent afforded
no cover, and at a place about midway, and a hundred yards from the
top, the path was so narrow that not more than two men could pass
along it together.It was the passage of this restricted place that
Kenton determined to contest.He instructed Hardy and the woman not
to fire until one or more of the attackers should have reached that
point.It was also agreed that they should shoot in turn so that one,
at least, of the rifles might be always loaded.Despite the enormous disparity in numbers, the task of the defence was
not such a difficult one as it might seem.The Indians had a rooted
reluctance to facing rifle fire in the open.They could not see their
adversaries, who were safely ensconced behind rocks, and had no idea
of their numbers.Some half dozen braves advanced uncertainly up the
<DW72>.They reached the “dead line” set by Kenton.Kenton
and Hardy had fired, and the two foremost dropped in their tracks.The white squaw fired and he
fell with a bullet through his brain.This was too much for the redskins.What
if there were twenty rifles behind the rocks waiting to do similar
execution?Sandra journeyed to the garden.By this time a hundred or more warriors were assembled in a
group at the foot of the <DW72>.The distance was well-nigh two hundred
yards, but Kenton decided to give them a reminder that the white man’s
rifle carried far.He aimed at an Indian whose headdress marked him as
a chief, and fired.The savage was seen to stagger and fall into the
arms of the men about him.Small parties were
detached to make an examination of the position from different points
of view, but they evidently reported that the summit was accessible
only from the north.As no further attack was made, the defenders
concluded that the chiefs had decided to besiege them and starve them
out, or else to assault under cover of night.In order to frustrate
the latter design, Kenton, taking advantage of the cover of the rocks
and crawling upon his belly, contrived to collect a pile of sticks and
grass at a spot not much farther up the <DW72> than his “dead line.”
When darkness set in, he lit this fire, intimating to the Indians that
they had little better chance of rushing the position than in daylight.But long before this time Kenton had decided upon the future course
of the little party.The white squaw had declared her willingness to
guide them, and the scout readily placed himself in her hands.There
was one brief hour of darkness before the rising of the moon, and
although this increased the difficulty of descent, it was necessary
that they should avail themselves of it.This means he |
bedroom | Where is Daniel? | B
B is the Beauty who's learning to "go,"
Who comes to the Club on the morn of the Meet,
And says to the Master, "Now if you'll be sweet
And let me ride near you, I'll finish I know!"[Illustration: Benjamin Nicoll, Esq.--Essex Hunt (on Cocktail)]
C
C is the Casualty frequently met
When a Ditch next a creeper-clad fence lies concealed;
Also the Comments of most of the field,
"For the man who lays drags with a butterfly net!"D
D is the overworked letter so Dear
To the heart of the Sportsman who's riding a skate,
Who thinks there is no one to open the gate
And fails to observe that the Vicar stands near.[Illustration: John R. Townsend, Esq., M. F.John moved to the bedroom.Hunt
(on Greek Dollar)]
E
E is your Epitaph, writ by a wag,
Which reached you by post on your first hunting morn;
"Hic jacet!He hoped to be pride of the Quorn
But died of sheer fright ere he rode in one drag."F
F is the Fence "made of stout posts and rails
Five feet"!You "_sailed_ over it riding the grey";
But do not dine out on it often, I pray,
For at each repetition the interest pales.[Illustration: J. E. Davis, Esq., M. F.H.--Meadowbrook Hunt]
G
G is the Gathering Gloom of Her Grace,
The Great One, invited to open our Ball,
When she heard that the Master had had a bad fall
And the Honorable Whip is to fill in his place.H
H is the Horn of the Huntsman that sounds
Rather wheezy and thin to irreverent ears;
But Ah!'tis a music melodic, which cheers
The Hearts of the nailers who follow Hounds.I
I is the Impulse by which you are curst;
To prove you have courage when fox hounds are "Cast,"
"I'll jam in my spurs and be after them fast,"
It seems that the Master prefers to go first.[Illustration: Drawn Blank]
J
J is the Jackrabbit, running so free,
And the Jar to the Master who sees that his pack
Have tacitly told him they cannot come back
'Til the last of their fat furry friend they can see.K
K is the Kennels where foxhounds are kept,
A visit to these is a part of the Game;
'Tis a wise M. F. H. knows each couple by name,
But when _they_ know _him_ they say strong men have wept.L
L is for "Larking" to try out a colt;
How lightly he leaps from the paddock or pen,
But, once on his back it's a question of when
He will lie down or roll on you, buck, jump or bolt.[Illustration: A Few of the Right Sort]
M
M is the Merriment seen on each face,
At the rumor some hunting man offers to sell
"The _pick_ of the stable, because he can't tell
If he's going abroad for a season to race."N
N is the Nag, "Nervy Nat," who was lent
For your use by a friend when your own horse broke down,
And the News, that was sent to your dear ones in Town,
"Some bones have been broken and some are just bent."O
O is the Opportune Offer you made
To carry a flask in case of a spill;
Then you learn that it's equally good for a chill
And most of the field of a chill are afraid.[Illustration: A Hunting Morn]
P
P is for "Pink," to its pomp we aspire
When riding in "mufti"; but how do we feel
When bound for the Meet, quite the modern John Peel,
If village boys shout, "Oh, I say, where's the fire?"Q
Q is the Quagmire where you get stuck
And the Quizzical Questions of those on the bank,
Who, as they help you to rescue your horse on a plank,
"Were you hunting a fox or just chasing a duck?"R
R is The Road that the faint-hearted choose
When the line crosses country where going is risky:
And the Rot that they talk, as they sip their Scotch Whiskey.To prove it's not they, but their mounts that refuse.[Illustration: Major W. Austin Wadsworth, M. F.H.--Geneseo Hounds]
S
S is the Scent, none too pleasant to those
Who ride not to hounds; but at swift hunting pace,
When the Right Sort detect it, how madly they race;
They find it more sweet than the breath of a rose.Daniel journeyed to the bathroom.T
T is for Thousands, the cost of our fun,
Also for the Thrusters and they are not few
Who send in a "ten" when the season is through
It pays for the timber they broke in one run.U
U is for Us when united we fight
That the skirt called "divided" be worn by the Fair;
If you've seen a dear girl with her boots in the air
As she lands in a furrow, you'll say I am right.[Illustration: The Grey Hunt Team--Suffolk Hounds]
V
V is the Viewpoint of those who are vexed,
By the Master's great promptness when they ride up late;
"Confounded old Martinet, couldn't he wait?Cast hounds by alarm clock, that's what he'll do next."W
W stands for the Week-end so wet
We spent with our friend of a neighboring hunt,
You could keep up with hounds if you went in a "punt"
But I need not tell you how far we _did_ get.X
X is for Crossroads and sign posts galore;
You shout the Bumpkin who's raking his hay,
"Which way went the pack?"and his "Well, I can't say;
Ain't seen any peddlers!"Daniel moved to the hallway.[Illustration: Oakleigh Thorne Esq., M. F.H.--Millbrook Harriers]
Y
Y stands for You who have stood for these rhymes,
Who discern amid chaff shining kernels of truth;
So the spirit of chivalry, valor and youth
Are found in the pleasures and sports of our times.Z
Z is for Zero--our surplus, my dear,
When, after good sport with all damages paid,
We sit by the fire and say, "I'm afraid
There'll be no more runs till the Spring of the year."And here ends this volume of A HUNTING ALPHABET, by Grace Clarke Newton,
of which 262 copies only have been printed by Redfield-Kendrick-Odell
Co., Inc., New York, and the type distributed, in this year of our Lord
one thousand nine hundred and seventeen.'Is it not they who force mothers to make a traffic of their daughters
rather than see them die of misery?''It comes, it approaches,' replied Peter in a loud voice; 'for evil, and
iniquity and violence are everywhere; not only here in Juda, but
throughout the whole world, which is the Roman world.the woes of
Israel are nothing; no, nothing in comparison to the woes that afflict
the nations, her sisters!The whole universe groans and bleeds beneath
the triple yoke of Roman ferocity, debauchery, and cupidity!From one
end of the earth to the other, from Syria to oppressed Gaul, we hear
nothing but the clank of chains and the groans of the slaves crushed
with labor; unhappy amongst the unhappy!More to be pitied than the wild beast dying in his den, or the
beast of burthen dying on his litter; these slaves are tortured, are
killed, or given at pleasure to the teeth of wild beasts!Do valiant
peoples like the Gauls seek to break their chains, they are drowned in
their own blood; and I, I speak the truth to you, in the name of Jesus,
our master; yes, I tell you the truth, this cannot last.'exclaimed several voices; 'no, this cannot endure!''Our master is grieved,' continued the disciple; 'oh!grieved to the
death in thinking of the horrible miseries, the vengeances, and fearful
reprisals which so many ages of oppression and iniquity will let loose
upon the earth.Sandra journeyed to the garden.The day before yesterday, at Bethlehem, our master said
to us:
"When you hear of sedition and wars, be not alarmed; these things must
arrive first, but their end will not come so soon."'Listen,' said several voices, 'listen.'"We shall see," added Jesus, "people rise against people, kingdom
against kingdom; so shall men pine away with fear in the expectation of
all that is to happen in the universe, for the virtues of heaven shall
be shaken."A sullen murmur of fear circulated through the crowd at these prophecies
of Jesus of Nazareth recounted by Peter, and several voices exclaimed:--
'Mighty storms, then, will burst forth in heaven.''So much the better; these clouds of iniquity must burst, that the
heavens may be cleared and the eternal sun be resplendent.''And if they gnash their teeth on earth before grinding them in eternal
fire, these rich, these high priests, these crowned king Pharaoh's, they
have brought it on themselves,' exclaimed Banaias; 'they have brought it
on themselves.'continued Banaias, 'this is not the first time the prophets have
shouted in their ears!Look down at your feet
instead of admiring yourselves in your pride!Daniel went back to the bedroom.reptiles that you
are, you reject from your plates the most delicate meats!'You fall down gorged with wine; next your cups filled to the very
brims; you ask yourselves, shall I put on to-day my furred robe with the
gold embroidery, or my robe of plush, embroidered with silver?And your
neighbor, shivering with cold beneath his rags, cannot simply taste from
your cup, or lick up the crumbs of your feasts?By the entrails of
Jeremiah, can it endure for any length of time?''Yes, yes,' cried several voices, 'this has lasted long enough--the most
patient weary toward the end!''The quietest bullock finishes by turning against the spur!''Yes,' continued Peter, 'yes, this has endured long enough; yes, it has
endured too long; therefore, Jesus, our master, hath said:
"The spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he hath anointed me to
preach the gospel to the poor--he hath sent me to heal the broken
hearted, to preach deliverance to the captives, and recovering of sight
to the blind; to preach the acceptable year of the Lord, and the day
when he shall avenge himself on his enemies."These words of the Nazarene, quoted by Peter, excited a fresh
enthusiasm, and Genevieve heard one of the two secret emissaries of the
law and the high-priests say to his companion:
'This time the Nazarene shall not escape us, such words are really too
seditious and outrageous!'But a new and loud rumor was soon heard outside the tavern of the 'Wild
Ass,' and there was but one cry repeated by all:
''Tis he,'tis he!'Mary moved to the hallway.The crowd that filled the tavern, now learning the arrival of Jesus of
Nazareth, urged and pressed each other to go and meet the young master;
mothers, who held their little infants in their arms, endeavored to
arrive the first near Jesus, the infirm, resuming their crutches, begged
their neighbors to open a passage for them.Such was already the
penetrating and charitable influence of the words of the son of Mary,
that the strong moved aside to allow the mothers and the suffering to
approach him.Jane, Aurelia and her slave shared the general emotion; Genevieve
especially, daughter, wife, and, perhaps, one day a mother of slaves,
experienced an unusual beating of the heart at the sight of him who
came, he said, to announce to the captives their deliverance, and set at
liberty those who were crushed beneath their chains.At length Genevieve
perceived him.The son of Mary, the friend of little children, of poor mothers, of the
suffering and of slaves, was habited like the other Israelites, his
countrymen; he wore a robe of white cloth, secured round his waist by a
leathern belt from which hung his purse or money-bag; a square mantle of
blue depended from his shoulders.His long chestnut hair, bright as new-coined gold, fell on each side of
his pale face of an angelic sweetness; his lips and chin were half
shaded by a slight beard, with golden reflections like his hair.His
manner was cordial and familiar; he affectionately shook the hands of
all that were tendered him.He frequently stooped down to kiss some ragged little children who held
the lappets of his robe, and, smiling ineffably, he said to those who
surrounded him:
'Let the little children approach me.'Judas, a man with a sinister and deceptive countenance, and Simon, other
disciples of Jesus, accompanied him and carried each of them a box, in
which the son of Mary, after questioning each patient and attentively
listening to his reply, took several medicaments which he gave to the
infirm and to the women who came to consult his science, either for
themselves or for their children.Frequently, to the balsams and advice he distributed, Jesus added a gift
of money, which he drew from the bag at his girdle; he so often dipped
into this purse, that having a last time plunged in his hand, he smiled
mournfully on finding the little pocket empty.So, after turning all
manner of ways, he made a sign of touching regret, as if to show that he
had nothing to give.Then, those whom he had assisted with his counsels,
his balms, and his money, thanked him warmly; he said to them in his
gentle voice:
''Tis Almighty God, the Father of us all, who is in Heaven, that you
must thank, and not me--peace be with you.''If your treasury of money is empty, friend, you have still an
inexhaustible treasure, that of good words,' said Banaias; for he had
contrived to approach quite close to Jesus of Nazareth, and he
contemplated him with a mixture of respect and emotion that made his
ferocious traits forgotten.'Yes,' replied another; 'tell us, Jesus, of things which we poor and
humble can comprehend, the language of our holy and divine prophet, but
often obscure to us poor people.''Oh, yes; our good Jesus,' added a pretty child, who had glided into the
front rank, and held one flap of the robe of the young man of Nazareth,
'recount to us one of those parables that delight us so much, and which
we repeat to our mothers and brothers.''No, no,' said other voices; 'before the parable, make one of your noble
discourses against the wicked rich, the powerful and the proud.'But Mary's son pointed with a smile to the little child who had first
demanded a parable, and took him on his knees, after seating himself
near a table; thus showing his love for infancy.Mary's son seemed to
say that this dear little one should be first satisfied in his desire.All, then, grouped round Jesus; the children who loved him so sat down
at his feet; Oliba and other courtezans also seated themselves on the
ground in the Eastern fashion, embracing their knees with their hands,
and their eyes fixed on the young man of Nazareth, in anxious
expectation.Banaias, and several of his like, crowding behind the young
man, recommended silence to the eager multitude.Others, lastly, more
d |
hallway | Where is Daniel? | Jesus, still holding on his knee the
little child, who with one of his tiny arms resting on the shoulder of
the son of Mary, seemed suspended from his lips, commenced the following
parable: 'A man had two sons, and the younger of them said to his
father: 'Father, give me the portion of goods that falleth to me.'A short time after, the youngest of the
sons gathered together all he had and went into a distant country and
dissipated his portion.John moved to the bedroom.And after he had spent all, a great famine arose
in the land, and he began to be in want.He therefore went into service
with an inhabitant of the country, who sent him into the fields to feed
swine.There he would willingly have filled his belly with the husks the
swine did eat, but no man gave unto him.'At these words of the parable the child which Mary's son held upon his
knees uttered a deep sigh, joining his little hands in a pitying manner.Jesus continued:
'At length returning to himself, the prodigal son said, "How many
servants of my father have bread enough and to spare, and I perish of
hunger?Daniel journeyed to the bathroom.I will arise and go to my father, and will say unto him: father,
I have sinned against heaven, and before thee, and am no more worthy to
be called thy son: make me as one of thy hired servants."And he arose
and went to his father; but when he was yet a great way off, his father
perceived him, and moved with compassion, he ran to him and fell on his
neck and kissed him.'And his son said to him: "My father, I have sinned against heaven and
in thy sight, I am no more worthy to be called thy son."'But the father said to his servants:
"Bring forth the best robe and put it on him; and put a ring on his
finger and shoes on his feet; and bring hither the fatted calf and kill
it; and let us eat and be merry; for this my son was dead, and is alive
again; he was lost, and is found."the
good and tender father, who pardons and embraces instead of scolding!'Jesus smiled, kissed the child's forehead, and continued:
'And they began to be merry.But the elder brother, who was in the field
returned, and when he came near the house, he heard music and dancing.He therefore called one of the servants, and asked what all this meant.The servant replied to him:
"Thy brother is come, and thy father hath killed the fatted calf,
because he hath found him safe and sound;" which made the elder brother
angry, and he would not go in; therefore his father came out and
entreated him.But his son replied to him: "These many years have I
served thee, neither have I at any time transgressed thy command; and
yet thou never gavest me a kid that I might make merry with my friends.But as soon as this, thy son, who has squandered his living with
harlots, is returned, thou hast had the fatted calf killed for him."'said the child; 'he is jealous of
his poor brother, who returns, however, very unhappy to the house.Daniel moved to the hallway.God
will not love this jealous son; will he, my good Jesus?'Mary's son shook his head, as if to reply to the child that the Lord did
not indeed love the jealous: he then continued,--
'But the father said to the son: "My son, thou art always with me, and
all that I have is thine; it was fit that we should make merry and be
glad; for this, thy brother, was dead, and is alive again; was lost, and
is found."'Sandra journeyed to the garden.All who were present seemed moved to tears at this recital.Mary's son
having stopped to drink a glass of wine, which Judas, his disciple,
poured out for him, Banaias, who had listened to him with profound
attention, exclaimed: 'Friend, do you know that this is very much my own
history, and that of many others.For if, after my own first folly of
youth, my father had imitated the father in your parable, and had
tendered me his hand as a sign of pardon, instead of driving me from the
house with his stick, I should be at this hour, perhaps, seated at my
honest fireside, in the midst of my family; whereas, now my home is in
the highway, misery my wife, and my children evil projects, sons of
misery, that mother with the ferocious eye.why had I not for a
father the man in the parable?''This indulgent father pardoned,' replied Oliba the courtezan, 'because
he knew that God, having given youth to his creatures, sometimes abuse
it; but those who, reviled, miserable and repentant, return humbly to
demand the smallest place in the paternal mansion, these, far from being
repulsed, ought they not to be received with pity?''I,' said another, 'would not give a grapestone for this elder brother,
this man of wealth, so harsh, so coarse, and so jealous, to whom virtue
costs nothing.'Genevieve heard one of the two emissaries of the Pharisees say to his
companion, 'The Nazarene pretty well flatters the bad passions of these
vagabonds.Daniel went back to the bedroom.Henceforth, every debauched idler who may quit the paternal
mansion will think himself entitled to send his father to Beelzebub, if
the father, wrongly advised, instead of killing the fatted calf, drives
from him, as he ought, this villainous son, whom hunger alone brings
back to the fold.''Yes; and all the honest and prudent will pass for men of hard heart and
jealous.'And the man resumed aloud, thinking that no one would know who it was
that thus spoke: 'Glory to thee, Jesus of Nazareth, glory to thee, the
protector, the defender of us dissipaters and prostitutes!Mary moved to the hallway.It is folly
to be wise and virtuous, since the fatted calf is to be killed for the
most debauched.'Loud murmurs acknowledged these words of the emissary of the Pharisees;
all turned round whence they had been pronounced; threats were heard:
'Hence!these men are without pity, without mercy, repentance does not
touch them,' said the courtezan Oliba; 'these frozen bodies who cannot
comprehend that with others the blood boils!''Let him who has thus spoken show himself,' exclaimed Banaias, striking
the table with his heavy, knotted stick in a threatening manner, 'yes,
let him show his virtuous face, the scrupulous!more severe than our
friend of Nazareth, the brother of the poor, the afflicted, and the
suffering, whom he supports, heals and consoles!I should like to look him in the face, this white lamb
without spot, who comes here to bleat his virtues.Where is he, then,
this immaculate lily of the valley of men?He must smell of good, like a
real balm,' added Banaias, opening his wide nostrils; 'and by the nose
of Malachi!I don't smell at all this aroma of wisdom, this perfume of
honesty, which ought to betray the choice odoriferous vase hidden
amongst us poor sinners.'This pleasantry of Banaias made the auditory laugh excessively; and the
one of the two emissaries who had thus attacked the words of Jesus,
seemed in no hurry to gratify the desire of the redoubtable friend of
the Nazarene; he feigned, on the contrary, as well as his companion, to
search, like the rest of the audience, from whence the words had
proceeded.The tumult was increasing, when the young Nazarene made a
sign that he wished to speak; the tempest was appeased as if by
enchantment; and replying to the reproach of being too indulgent to
sinners, Jesus said with an accent of severe mildness: 'Who amongst you
possessing a hundred sheep, and losing one, would not leave in the plain
the ninety-and-nine others, to go and seek that which is lost, until he
had found it?When he has found it he brings it back with joy on his
shoulders; and having returned to his house, he assembles his friends
and neighbors, and says to them, "Rejoice with me, because I have found
my sheep that was lost."''And I say unto you,' added Mary's son in a voice filled with grave and
tender authority, 'and I say unto you there shall be more joy in heaven
for one sinner that repenteth, than for the ninety-and-nine just men,
who need no repentance.'--These touching words of Jesus made a lively
impression on the crowd; it applauded in words and gestures.--'Reply to
that, my white lamb!said Banaias, addressing
the invisible interpreter of the Nazarene.'If you are not of the same opinion as my friend, approach and maintain
your words.''A grand merit, as Jesus says,' observed another; 'a grand merit for him
who has neither hunger nor thirst, to be neither a glutton nor a
drunkard!''Virtue is easy to her who has every thing,' said the courtezan Oliba,
'hunger and privation ruin more women than dissipation.'Suddenly there was a tumult amongst the crowd that filled the tavern,
and the name of Magdalen was heard pronounced.'She is one of the creatures who make a traffic of their bodies,' said
Jane to Aurelia; 'it is not misery that has thrown her, like so many
others, into this degradation; but a first fault, followed by the
desertion of him who seduced her, and whom she adored.Since then,
despite the disorders of her life and the venality of her amours,
Magdalen has proved that her heart is not entirely corrupted.The poor
never beseech her in vain, and she has passionately loved some men with
a love as devoted as it was disinterested, sacrificing to them high
priests, doctors of the law and rich seigneurs, who rivalled each other
in their gifts; my husband, with others, was amongst the number of these
magnificent lovers.''He has expended upon Magdalen a great deal of money; she is so
handsome,' continued the young woman, with an indulgent smile.'He is
one of those who have enriched her.They tell wonders about her house,
or rather the palace she inhabits; her coffers are filled with the
rarest stuffs and the most dazzling jewels.Vases of gold and silver,
brought at great expense from Rome, Asia, and Greece, encumber her
sideboards; the purple and silk from Tyre adorn the walls of her
dwelling, and her attendants are as numerous as those of a princess.''We, too, have in Italy and Roman Gaul, some of these creatures, whose
insolent luxury insults the moderate fortune of many honest women,'
replied Aurelia.'But what can this Magdalen want with the young
Nazarene?''No doubt she comes, like many of the same sort whom you see here, less
rich than her, but not less degraded, to hear the words of Jesus; those
gentle and tender words that penetrate the heart by the mercy they
breathe, softens it, and makes it bring forth repentance.'said several voices: 'room for Magdalen, the handsomest amongst
the handsomest!'said Oliba's companion to her with a lofty air:
'for indeed Magdalen is the queen of us all!'replied Oliba, sighing: 'her shame is seen from the
highest to the most distant!''To sell oneself for a penny, or a mountain of gold,' replied the poor
courtezan, 'where is the difference?'Oliba, you are getting completely mad!'The young woman made no reply, but sighed.Genevieve, mounted, like her
mistress, on a stool, raised herself on the points of her toes, and soon
saw the celebrated courtezan enter the tavern.Magdalen was possessed of a rare beauty; the chin-piece of her turban of
white silk edged with gold, encased her pale and swarthy face of an
admirable perfection; her long eye-brows, as black as ebony, like the
bands of her hair, appeared as a dark line along the brow hitherto
superb and brazen; but now, mournful and depressed, for she seemed
completely heart-broken.Daniel went to the kitchen.The ends of her eye-lashes, stained with a blue
color according to the oriental fashion, gave to her eyes, drowned in
tears, something strange, and seemed to double the grandeur of her orbs,
sparkling through her tears like two diamonds.A long robe of Tyrian silk of shaded blue, edged with gold and
embroidered with pearls, fell in a long train behind her, and round her
waist she had a flowing scarf of cloth of gold covered with stones of
many colors, like those of the double necklaces, ear-rings and
bracelets, with which her bare and well-shaped arms were covered; and
thus attired, holding in her hands an urn of pink alabaster from
Chaldea, more precious than gold, she advanced quite slowly towards the
young man of Nazareth.'What a change in Magdalen's traits,' said Jane to Aurelia.'I have seen
her pass a hundred times in her litter, carried by her attendants,
dressed in rich liveries; the triumph of beauty, and the intoxication
and joy of youth could be read in her countenance.And she is timidly
approaching Jesus, humble, oppressed, weeping, and more sorrowful than
the saddest of the poor women who hold in their arms their ill-clad
infants.inquired Aurelia, more and more attentive;'she
stands before the young man of Nazareth; in one hand she holds her
alabaster urn pressed against her agitated bosom, whilst with the other
she detaches her rich turban.Her thick and
glossy tresses fall over her breast and shoulders, unroll themselves
like a velvet mantle and even trail on the ground.'her tears redouble,' said Jane; 'her face is drowned in
them.''She kneels at the feet of Jesus,' continued Aurelia, 'and covers them
with tears and kisses.''And the tears she sheds on the feet of Mary's son she wipes away with
her long hair.''And now, still melting in tears, she takes her alabaster urn and
empties over the feet of Jesus a delicious perfume, the scent of which
reaches here.''The young master endeavors to raise her; she resists; she cannot speak;
her sobs break her voice; she bends down her lovely head to the very
ground.'Then Jesus, who could scarcely restrain his emotion, turned towards
Simon, one of his disciples, and addressing him: 'Simon, I have
something to say to you.''A creditor had two debtors; the one owned him five hundred pence, the
other fifty.As they had not wherewith to pay him, he remitted to both
their debt; tell me, then, which of these two should love him most?'Simon replied: 'Master, I think it should be he to whom he forgave the
most.'And, turning to the rich courtezan
still kneeling, Jesus said to those present: 'Do you see this woman?I
declare to you that her many sins are forgiven her, because she loved
much!'He then said to Magdalen, in a voice full of tenderness and
pardon: 'Thy sins are forgiven thee--thy faith hath saved thee; go in
peace.'Daniel went back to the hallway.said the emissary of the pharisees half
aloud to his companion: 'can audacity and demoralization go further?Why, the Nazarene pardons all that is blameable, relieves all that is
vile; after reinstating dissipation and prodigality, behold him now
reinstating the most notorious courtezans.'said the other emissary, 'that he may still flatter the vices
and detestable passions of the wretches he draws round him, whom he will
one day make his instruments.''But patience,' observed the first, 'patience, Nazarene, thy hour
approaches; thy still increasing audacity will soon draw down upon thee
a terrible punishment!'Whilst Genevieve listened to the two wicked men thus conversing, she saw
Magdalen, after the affectionate words of Jesus, rise up radiant; the
tears chased each other down her handsome face, but these |
hallway | Where is Daniel? | She distributed to all the poor women who
surrounded her, her precious stones and jewels, unfastened even to the
magnificent robe she wore over her tunic of fine cloth from Sidonia, and
put on the mantel of coarse brown wool of a young woman to whom she gave
in exchange a rich robe embroidered with pearls of great value.John moved to the bedroom.She then
said to Simon, that she would not again quit these humble garments, and
that on the morrow all her wealth should be distributed to poor
families, and to the courtezans whom misery alone prevented returning to
a better life.At these words Oliba, joining her hands in a burst of gratitude, threw
herself at the feet of Magdalen, took her hands, kissed them whilst
sobbing and said to her--
'Blessed be thou, Magdalen!Thy bounty hath saved
me, me and so many of my poor companions of shame; but we repented at
the voice of the son of Mary; that voice penetrated our hearts; we hoped
for pardon.the necessity of living retained us in wickedness
and contempt.Blessed be thou, Magdalen, thou who renderest possible our
return to good.''Sister, it is not I you must bless,' replied Magdalen; ''tis Jesus of
Nazareth; his words inspired me.'And Magdalen mingled amongst the crowd to listen to the words of the
young master.Some of his disciples having said in speaking to him of Magdalen, that
she had been seduced and then abandoned by a young doctor of the law,
the figure of Jesus became grave, severe, and almost menacing, and he
exclaimed---
'Woe to you, doctors of the law!You are like
unto whitened sepulchres; the outside appears gay, but within all is
bones and putridity.Thus, outwardly you appear just in the eyes of men,
but inwardly you are full of iniquity and hypocrisy.Daniel journeyed to the bathroom.Woe to you blind
leaders who take great care as to what you drink, lest you should
swallow a camel.'Daniel moved to the hallway.This familiar satire made several of the auditory smile, and Banaias
exclaimed---
'Oh, but you are right, my friend.How many of these swallowers of
camels we know.But such is the sharpness of their conscience that they
digest these camels as the ostrich digests a stone, and nothing appears
of it.'Fresh bursts of applause replied to the pleasantry of Banaias, and Jesus
resumed:
'Woe to you, Pharisees!woe to you who cleanse the outside of the cup
while within it is all rapine and impurity.''It is true,' replied several voices; 'these hypocrites clean the
outside because the outside alone is seen.'The son of Mary continued:
'Woe to you, Pharisees!who preach what you ought to do, but do it not!Woe to you who make heavy and insupportable burthens, place them on the
shoulders of men, but will not touch them with your finger.'This new comparison struck the mind of the auditors of the young master,
and several voices again exclaimed:
'Yes, yes, these idle hypocrites say to the humble, "Work is holy; work,
work, but we will not work.Yes, bear alone the burthen of the labor,
but we rich will not touch it with the end of our finger."'Jesus continued:--
'Woe to you who do all your actions that you might be seen of men.It is
for this that you carry long bands of parchment, on which are written
the words of the law, which you do not practice.Woe to you who say, "If
a man swears by the temple it is nothing, but if he swears by the gold
of the Temple, he is bound by his oath."''Because for these rich wicked ones,' said a voice, 'nothing is sound
but gold.They swear by their gold as others swear by their soul or by
their honor.''So that if a man swears by the altar it is nothing,' pursued Jesus;
'but whoever swears by the offering that is on the altar, he is bound by
his oath.who pay scrupulously the tenth, but
who deny that which is more important in the law, justice, mercy, and
good faith.These were the things you should practice, without omitting
the others.'exclaimed Banaias, laughing, 'you
appear at ease, friend.As these hypocrites have in their coffers enough
to pay the tithe without inconveniencing themselves, and they pay it;
but where would you have them find this money of justice, of good faith,
and of mercy, which you demand from these whitened sepulchres, from
these swallowers of camels of iniquity, as you will so call them?'the young master says true,' observed another; 'for him who has
no money justice is deaf.The doctors of the law do not say to you at
their court, "What good grounds have you?but, how much money will you
promise me?"''I had confided a few savings to Jonas, a high priest,' said a poor old
woman; 'he told me he had expended the money in offerings for my
salvation.What could I do, a poor woman against so powerful a seigneur?resign myself and beg for bread, which I do not find every day.'At this complaint, Jesus exclaimed with increased indignation, 'Oh!woe
to you hypocrites: because, under pretence of your long prayers you rob
the widow of her mite.Woe to you, serpents, race of vipers!how will
you escape being condemned to the fire of hell?It is for this I will
send to you prophets and sages to save you.'Sandra journeyed to the garden.added the son of Mary with an accent of much sorrow, 'you
will kill the former; you would crucify the latter; you would persecute
them from town to town, that all the innocent blood that has been shed
upon the earth may return upon you--from the blood of Abel the just to
the blood of Zachariah, whom you killed between the Temple and the
altar!'if these swallowers of camels wish to shed
your blood,' exclaimed Banaias, striking the hilt of his large rusty
cutlass, 'they must first shed ours, and we await them.''Yes, yes,' replied the crowd, in one voice, 'fear nothing, Jesus of
Nazareth, we will defend thee!'But the son of Mary, as if he mistrusted these transports, shook his
head with a sadness more and more profound; tears streamed down his
cheek, and he exclaimed, in a disconsolate voice:
'Oh!thou who stone
the wise men that are sent to thee!how often have I striven to assemble
thy children, as a hen gathers together her little ones beneath her
wings, and thou would'st not; no, thou would'st not!'And the accent of Jesus, at first cutting, severe, or indignant, in
speaking of the hypocritical pharisees, was impressed with a regret so
bitter, in pronouncing these last words, that nearly all shed tears like
the young man of Nazareth; presently there was a complete silence, for
he was seen to lean upon the table and bury his face in his hands.Genevieve could no longer restrain her tears; she heard one of the two
emissaries say to his companion, in a tone of cruel triumph: 'The
Nazarene called the doctors of law and the high-priest serpents and a
race of vipers!During the whole night he has blasphemed all that is
most sacred amongst men; we have him.''Oh, you speak of the crucified, Jesus of Nazareth,' said the other; 'we
will take care that you shall not be far wrong, prophet of woe!'Daniel went back to the bedroom.Simon, seeing him still leaning on the table, weeping in silence,
stooped towards him and said: 'Master, the sun will soon rise; the
people of the fields, who bring their fruits to the market of Jerusalem,
pass by the valley of Cedron; like us, they are eager to hear your
words: they await you on the road: shall we not go and meet them?'Jesus rose; his sad and pensive features cleared up on kissing the
children, who seeing him preparing to leave, extended their little hands
to him.--He then fraternally shook hands with all who offered them, and
leaving the tavern of the 'Wild Ass' situated near one of the gates of
the town leading into the country, he directed his steps towards the
valley of Cedron, which the countrymen and women traversed to repair to
Jerusalem, where they brought their provisions.Such was the attraction
of the words of the young man of Nazareth, that most of the persons who
came to pass the night in listening to him, still followed him.Magdalen, Oliba and Banaias were amongst these individuals.'Jane, will you also go out of the town?'Mary moved to the hallway.said Aurelia to Chusa's wife:
'it is now daylight; let us return home; it will be imprudent to prolong
our absence.''I shall not return yet; I will follow Jesus to the end of the world,'
replied Jane with exultation, and descending from her bench, she drew
from her pocket a heavy purse filled with gold, which she placed in
Simon's hand, at the moment he was about to quit the tavern after
Mary's son.'The young man has emptied his purse to-night,' said Jane to Simon,
'here is something to re-fill it.'replied Simon with thankfulness, at the sight of
Jane: 'your charity does not flag.'''Tis the tenderness of your master that does not flag in succoring
people, consoling the poor, the repentant, and the oppressed,' replied
the wife of Chusa.Genevieve, who had anxiously listened to every word that had fallen from
the emissaries of the pharisees, heard one of the two men say to the
other:
'Follow and watch the Nazarene; I will run to the Seigneurs Caiphus and
Baruch to render them an account of the abominable blasphemies and
impieties he has uttered to-night in company with these vagabonds.The
Nazarene must not this time escape the fate that awaits him;' and the
two men separated.Aurelia, who seemed to have been reflecting, said to
her companion: 'Jane, I cannot express to you what I experience from the
words of this young man.At one time so simple, tender and elevated, at
another satirical and threatening, they penetrate my heart.They are, to
my mind, like a new world that is opening; for to us, poor heathens, the
word charity is new.Far from being appeased, my curiosity, my interest,
increase, and whatever may happen, I will follow you; what matter, after
all, if we do return to our dwellings after daybreak?'Hearing her mistress thus speak, Genevieve was very happy, for thinking
of her brother slaves of Gaul, she, too, felt a great desire to hear
more of the words of the young Nazarene, the friend and liberator of
captives.At the moment of quitting the tavern with her mistress and
the charitable wife of the seigneur Chusa, Genevieve was the witness of
a scene that proved to her how speedily the word of Jesus had borne its
fruit.Daniel went to the kitchen.Magdalen, the handsome, repentant courtezan, habited in the old
woollen mantle of a poor woman, exchanged for such rich attire,
Magdalen, following the anxious crowd behind Jesus, struck her foot
against a stone in the street, tottered, and would have fallen to the
ground but for the assistance of Jane and Aurelia, who, fortunately,
being close to her, hastened to support her.you, Jane, the wife of the Seigneur Chusa?'said the courtezan,
reddening with confusion, thinking, no doubt, of the rich presents she
had received from Chusa: 'you, Jane, you have no fear in tendering me a
helping hand; I, a poor creature justly despised by all honest women?''Magdalen,' replied Jane with charming kindness: 'did not our young
master tell you to go in peace, and that all your sins would be remitted
you, because you have loved much?By what right should I be more severe
than Jesus of Nazareth?Your hand, Magdalen, your hand; 'tis a sister
who asks it of you as a sign of pardon and oblivion of the past!'Magdalen took the hand that Jane offered her, but it was to kiss it with
respect, and cover it with tears of repentance.Jane,' said quietly to her friend Genevieve's mistress; 'the young
man of Nazareth would be gratified to see you practice his precepts so
generously.'Daniel went back to the hallway.Jane, Aurelia and Magdalen, following the crowd, were soon outside of
the gates of Jerusalem.The sun, now rising in its splendor, illumined to a great distance the
country of the valley of Cedron, whose oriental aspect, so new to
Genevieve, always struck her with surprise and admiration.It being the
season of spring, early this year, the plains which extended to the
gates of Jerusalem were as verdant and as florid as those of Saron,
which Genevieve had traversed when coming from Jaffa (the place where
she had landed) to reach Jerusalem with her mistress.The white and red
roses, the narcissus, the anemony, the yellow gilly-flowers, and the
odiferous immortelles (or everlasting flowers) embalmed the air and
enamelled the fields with their beautiful colors, still moist with the
dew.On the road-side, a cluster of palm trees shaded the dome of a fountain,
where already came to drink the large fat buffaloes, coupled to their
yoke, and conducted by laborers habited in a robe of camel skin.Shepherds also brought to the fountain their flocks of goats with long
ears, and sheep with immense tails, whilst young women of swarthy
complexion, dressed in white, arrived no doubt from a village seen at a
short distance, half hidden by a wood of olive trees, drew water from
the fountain and returned to the village, carrying on their head, half
enveloped in their white veils, large flasks of spring water.They are speculators, brokers, dealers in money,
and lenders of money at exorbitant interest.Small capitalists are
crushed, and, their means being dispersed, as usual, in various parts of
the country, and this miserable policy having destroyed exchanges, they
have no longer either money or credit.Sandra went to the bathroom.And all classes of labor
partake, and must partake, in the same calamity.And what consolation
for all this is it, that the public lands are paid for in specie?that, whatever embarrassment and distress pervade the country, the
Western wilderness is thickly sprinkled over with eagles and dollars?that gold goes weekly from Milwaukie and Chicago to Detroit, and back
again from Detroit to Milwaukie and Chicago, and performs similar
feats of egress and regress in many other instances, in the Western
States?It is remarkable enough, that, with all this sacrifice of
general convenience, with all this sky-rending clamor for government
payments in specie, government, after all, never gets a dollar.Sandra travelled to the bedroom.So far
as I know, the United States have not now a single specie dollar in the
world.The gold and silver collected at the
land-offices is sent to the deposit banks; it is there placed to the
credit of the government, and thereby becomes the property of the
bank.The whole revenue of the government, therefore, after all,
consists in mere bank credits; that very sort of security which the
friends of the administration have so much denounced.Remember, Gentlemen, in the midst of this deafening din against all
banks, that, if it shall create such a panic as shall shut up the banks,
it will shut up the treasury of the United States also.Gentlemen, I would not willingly be a prophet of ill.I most devoutly
wish to see a better state of things; and I believe the repeal of the
treasury order would tend very much to bring about that better state of
things.And I am of opinion, that, sooner or later, the order will be
repealed.I think the East, West, North,
and South will demand its repeal.But, Gentlemen, I feel it my duty to
say, that |
bedroom | Where is Daniel? | I greatly fear,
even, that the worst is not yet.[107] I look for severer distresses; for
extreme difficulties in exchange, for far greater inconveniences in
remittance, and for a sudden fall in prices.Our condition is one which
is not to be tampered with, and the repeal of the treasury order, being
something which government can do, and which will do good, the public
voice is right in demanding that repeal.It is true, if repealed now,
the relief will come late.Nevertheless its repeal or abrogation is a
thing to be insisted on, and pursued, till it shall be accomplished.This executive control over the currency, this power of discriminating,
by treasury order, between one man's debt and another man's debt, is a
thing not to be endured in a free country; and it should be the
constant, persisting demand of all true Whigs, "Rescind the illegal
treasury order, restore the rule of the law, place all branches of the
revenue on the same grounds, make men's rights equal, and leave the
government of the country where the Constitution leaves it, in the hands
of the representatives of the people in Congress."This point should
never be surrendered or compromised.Whatever is established, let it be
equal, and let it be legal.Let men know, to-day, what money may be
required of them to-morrow.Let the role be open and public, on the
pages of the statute-book, not a secret, in the executive breast.Gentlemen, in the session which has now just closed, I have done my
utmost to effect a direct and immediate repeal of the treasury order.I have voted for a bill anticipating the payment of the French and
Neapolitan indemnities by an advance from the treasury.I have voted with great satisfaction for the restoration of duties on
goods destroyed in the great conflagration in this city.I have voted for a deposit with the States of the surplus which may be
in the treasury at the end of the year.All these measures have failed;
and it is for you, and for our fellow-citizens throughout the country,
to decide whether the public interest would, or would not, have been
promoted by their success.But I find, Gentlemen, that I am committing an unpardonable trespass on
your indulgent patience.And yet
I cannot persuade myself to take leave of you without reminding you,
with the utmost deference and respect, of the important part assigned to
you in the political concerns of your country, and of the great
influence of your opinions, your example, and your efforts upon the
general prosperity and happiness.Daniel went back to the hallway.Patriotic citizens of this great metropolis!Lovers
of constitutional liberty, bound by interest and by affection to the
institutions of your country, Americans in heart and in principle!--you
are ready, I am sure, to fulfil all the duties imposed upon you by your
situation, and demanded of you by your country.You have a central
position; your city is the point from which intelligence emanates, and
spreads in all directions over the whole land.Every hour carries
reports of your sentiments and opinions to the verge of the Union.You
cannot escape the responsibility which circumstances have thrown upon
you.You must live and act, on a broad and conspicuous theatre, either
for good or for evil to your country.You cannot shrink from your public
duties; you cannot obscure yourselves, nor bury your talent.In the
common welfare, in the common prosperity, in the common glory of
Americans, you have a stake of value not to be calculated.You have an
interest in the preservation of the Union, of the Constitution, and of
the true principles of the government, which no man can estimate.You
act for yourselves, and for the generations that are to come after you;
and those who ages hence shall bear your names, and partake your blood,
will feel, in their political and social condition, the consequences of
the manner in which you discharge your political duties.Having fulfilled, then, on your part and on mine, though feebly and
imperfectly on mine, the offices of kindness and mutual regard required
by this occasion, shall we not use it to a higher and nobler purpose?Shall we not, by this friendly meeting, refresh our patriotism, rekindle
our love of constitutional liberty, and strengthen our resolutions of
public duty?Shall we not, in all honesty and sincerity, with pure and
disinterested love of country, as Americans, looking back to the renown
of our ancestors, and looking forward to the interests of our posterity,
here, to-night, pledge our mutual faith to hold on to the last to our
professed principles, to the doctrines of true liberty, and to the
Constitution of the country, let who will prove true, or who will prove
recreant?I meet you in advance, and give you my
pledge for my own performance of these duties, without qualification and
without reserve.Whether in public life or in private life, in the
Capitol or at home, I mean never to desert them.I mean never to forget
that I have a country, to which I am bound by a thousand ties; and the
stone which is to lie on the ground that shall cover me, shall not bear
the name of a son ungrateful to his native land.FOOTNOTES
[106] A Speech delivered at Niblo's Saloon, in New York, on the 15th of
March, 1837.[107] On the 10th of June following the delivery of this speech, all the
banks in the city of New York, by common consent, suspended the
payment of their notes in specie.On the next day, the same step
was taken by the banks of Boston and the vicinity, and the
example was followed by all the banks south of New York, as they
received intelligence of the suspension of specie payments in
that city.On the 15th of June, (just three months from the day
this speech was delivered,) President Van Buren issued his
proclamation calling an extra session of Congress for the first
Monday of September.[108]
The following toast having been proposed,--"Our distinguished
guest,--his manly and untiring, though unsuccessful, efforts to
sustain the supremacy of the Constitution and the laws against the
encroachments of executive power, and to avert the catastrophe that
now impends over the country, have given him a new claim to the
gratitude of his countrymen, and added a new lustre to that fame
which was already imperishably identified with the history of our
institutions,"--Mr.Webster rose and responded, in substance, as
follows.CHAIRMAN AND FELLOW-CITIZENS:--I cannot be indifferent to the
manifestations of regard with which I have been greeted by you, nor can
I suffer any show of delicacy to prevent me from expressing my thanks
for your kindness.I travel, Gentlemen, for the purpose of seeing the country, and of
seeing what constitutes the important part of every country, the people.I find everywhere much to excite, and much to gratify admiration; and
the pleasure I experience is only diminished by remembering the
unparalleled state of distress which I have left behind me, and by the
apprehension, rather than the feeling, of severe evils, which I find to
exist wherever I go.I cannot enable those who have not witnessed it to comprehend the full
extent of the suffering in the Eastern cities.It was painful, indeed,
to behold it.So many bankruptcies among great and small dealers, so
much property sacrificed, so many industrious men altogether broken up
in their business, so many families reduced from competence to want, so
many hopes crushed, so many happy prospects for ever clouded, and such
fearful looking for still greater calamities,--all united form such a
mass of evil as I had never expected to see, except as the result of
war, a pestilence, or some other external calamity.I have no wish, in the present state of things, nor should I have,
indeed, if the state of things were different, to obtrude the expression
of my political sentiments on such of my fellow-citizens as I may happen
to meet; nor, on the other hand, have I any motive for concealing them,
or suppressing their expression, whenever others desire that I should
make them known.Indeed, on the great topics that now engage public
attention, I hope I may flatter myself that my opinions are already
known.Recent evils have not at all surprised me, except that they have come
sooner and faster than I had anticipated.But, though not surprised, I
am afflicted; I feel any thing but pleasure in this early fulfilment of
my own predictions.Much injury is done, which the wisest future
counsels can never repair, and much more that can never be remedied but
by such counsels and by the lapse of time.From 1832 to the present
moment, I have foreseen this result.I may safely say I have foreseen
it, because I have foretold and proclaimed its approach in every
important discussion and debate in the public body of which I am a
member.In 1832, I happened to meet with a citizen of Wheeling, now
present, who has this day reminded me of what I then anticipated, as the
result of the measures which the administration appeared to be adopting
in regard to the currency.In the summer of the next year, 1833, I was
here, and suggested to friends what I knew to be resolved upon by the
executive, namely, the removal of the deposits of the public funds from
the Bank of the United States, which was announced two months
afterwards.That was the avowed and declared commencement of the
"experiment."You know, Gentlemen, the obloquy then and since cast upon
those of us who opposed this "experiment."You know that we have been
called bank agents, bank advocates, bank hirelings.You know that it has
been a thousand times said, that the experiment worked admirably, that
nothing could do better, that it was the highest possible evidence of
the political wisdom and sagacity of its contrivers, and that none
opposed it or doubted its efficiency but the wicked or the stupid.Well,
Gentlemen, here is the end, if this _is_ the end, of this notable
"experiment."Its singular wisdom has come to this; its fine workings
have wrought out an almost general bankruptcy.Its lofty promises, its grandeur, its flashes, that threw other men's
sense and understanding back into the shade, where are they now?Here is
the "fine of fines and the recovery of recoveries."Its panics, its
scoffs, its jeers, its jests, its gibes at all former experience,--its
cry of "a new policy," which was so much to delight and astonish
mankind,--to this conclusion has it come at last."But yesterday, it might
Have stood against the world; now lies it there,
And none so poor to do it reverence!"It is with no feelings of boasting or triumph, it is with no
disposition to arrogate superior wisdom or discernment, but it is with
mortification, with humiliation, with unaffected grief and affliction,
that I contemplate the condition of difficulty and distress to which
this country, so vigorous, so great, so enterprising, and so rich in
internal wealth, has been brought by the policy of her government.We learn to-day that most of the Eastern banks have stopped payment, the
deposit banks as well as others.That
bubble, which so many of us have all along regarded as the offspring of
conceit, presumption, and political quackery, has burst.A general
suspension of payment must be the result; a result which has come even
sooner than was predicted.Where is now that better currency that was
promised?Where are those rivers of
gold and silver, which were to fill the treasury of the government as
well as the pockets of the people?Has the treasury any thing in the world but credit and deposits
in banks that have already suspended payment?How are public creditors
now to be paid in specie?Daniel went back to the bedroom.How are the deposits, which the law requires
to be made with the States on the 1st of July, now to be made?We must
go back to the beginning, and take a new start.Every step in our
financial banking system, since 1832, has been a false step; it has been
a step which has conducted us farther and farther from the path of
safety.The discontinuance of the national bank, the illegal removal of the
deposits, the accumulation of the public revenue in banks selected by
the executive, and for a long time subject to no legal regulation or
restraint, and finally the unauthorized and illegal treasury order, have
brought us where we are.The destruction of the national bank was the
signal for the creation of an unprecedented number of new State banks,
often with nominal capitals, out of all proportion to the business of
the quarters where they were established.These banks, lying under no
restraint from the general government or any of its institutions, issued
paper money corresponding to their own sense of their immediate
interests and hopes of gain.The deposit with the State banks of the
whole public revenue, then accumulated to a vast amount, and making this
deposit without any legal restraint or control whatever, increased both
the power and disposition of these banks for extensive issues.In this
way the government seems to have administered every possible provocation
to the banks to induce them to extend their circulation.It uniformly,
zealously, and successfully opposed the land bill, a most useful
measure, by which accumulation in the treasury would have been
prevented; and, as if it desired and sought this accumulation, it
finally resisted, with all its power, the deposit among the States.It
is urged as a reason for the present overthrow, that an extraordinary
spirit of speculation has gone abroad, and has been manifested
particularly and strongly in the endeavor to purchase the public lands;
but has not every act of the government directly encouraged this spirit?It accumulated revenue which it did not need, all of which is left in
the deposit banks.The banks had money to lend, and there were enough
who were ready to borrow, for the purpose of purchasing the public lands
at government prices.The public treasury was thus made the great and
efficient means of effecting those purchases which have since been so
much denounced as extravagant speculation and extensive monopoly.These
purchasers borrowed the public money; they used the public money to buy
the public property; they speculated on the strength of the public
money; and while all this was going on, and every man saw it, the
administration resisted, to the utmost of its power, every attempt to
withdraw this money from the banks and from the hands of those
speculators, and distribute it among the people to whom it belonged.If, then, there has been over-trading, the government has encouraged
it; if there have been rash speculations in the public lands, the
government has furnished the means out of the treasury.These
unprecedented sales of the public domain were boasted of as proofs of a
happy state of things, and of a wise administration of the government,
down to the moment when Congress, in opposition to executive wishes,
passed the distribution law, thus withdrawing the surplus revenue from
the deposit banks.The success of that measure compelled a change in the
executive policy, as the accumulation of a vast amount of money in the
treasury was no longer desirable.This is the most favorable motive to
which I can ascribe the treasury order of July.It is now said that that
order was issued for the purpose of enforcing a strict execution of the
law which forbids the allowance of credits upon purchases of the public
lands; but there was no such credit allowed before; not an hour was
given beyond the time of sale.In this respect, the order produces no
difference whatever.Its only effect is to require an immediate payment
in specie, whereas, before, an immediate payment in the bills of
specie-paying banks was demanded.There is no more credit in the one
case than in the other; and the government gets just as much specie in
one case as in the other; for no sooner is the specie, which the
purchaser is compelled to procure, often at great charge, paid to the
receiver, than it is sent to the deposit banks, and the government has
credit for it on the books of the bank; but the specie itself is again
sold by the bank, or disposed of as it sees fit.It is evident that the
government gets nothing by all this, though the purchasers of small
tracts are put to great trouble and expense.No one gains any thing but
the banks and the brokers.It |
kitchen | Where is Daniel? | The stoppage of the banks, however, has now placed the
actual settler in a still more unfortunate situation.How is he to
obtain money to pay for his quarter-section?He must travel three or
four times as many miles for it as he has dollars to pay, even if he
should be able to obtain it at the end of that journey.I will not say that other causes, at home and abroad, have not had an
agency in bringing about the present derangement.I know that
credits have been used beyond all former example.It is probable the
spirit of trade has been too highly excited, and that the pursuit of
business may have been pressed too fast and too far.But instead of doing any thing to abate this tendency,
the government has been the prime instrument of fostering and
encouraging it.It has parted voluntarily, and by advice, with all
control over the actual currency of the country.It has given a free
and full scope to the spirit of banking; it has aided the spirit of
speculation with the public treasures; and it has done all this, in the
midst of loud-sounding promises of an exclusive specie medium, and a
professed detestation of all banking institutions.It is vain, therefore, to say that the present state of affairs is
owing, not to the acts of government, but to other causes, over which
government could exercise no control.Much of it _is_ owing to the
course of the national government; and what is not so, is owing to
causes the operation of which government was bound in duty to use all
its legal powers to control.Is there an intelligent man in the community, at this moment, who
believes that, if the Bank of the United States had been continued, if
the deposits had not been removed, if the specie circular had not been
issued, the financial affairs of the country would have been in as bad a
state as they now are?When certain consequences are repeatedly depicted
and foretold from particular causes, when the manner in which these
consequences will be produced is precisely pointed out beforehand, and
when the consequences come in the manner foretold, who will stand up and
declare, that, notwithstanding all this, there is no connection between
the cause and the consequence, and that all these effects are
attributable to some other causes, nobody knows what?No doubt but we shall hear every cause but the true one assigned for the
present distress.It will be laid to the opposition in and out of
Congress; it will be laid to the bank; it will be laid to the merchants;
it will be laid to the manufacturers; it will be laid to the tariff; it
will be laid to the north star, or to the malign influence of the last
comet, whose tail swept near or across the orbit of our earth, before we
shall be allowed to ascribe it to its just, main causes, a tampering
with the currency, and an attempt to stretch executive power over a
subject not constitutionally within its reach.We have heard, Gentlemen, of the suspension of some of the Eastern banks
only; but I fear the same course must be adopted by all the banks
throughout the country.The United States Bank, now a mere State
institution, with no public deposits, no aid from government, but, on
the contrary, long an object of bitter persecution by it, was, at our
last advices, still firm.But can we expect of that bank to make
sacrifices to continue specie payment?If it continue to do so now that
the deposit banks have stopped, the government, if possible, will draw
from it its last dollar, in order to keep up a pretence of making its
own payments in specie.I shall be glad if this institution find it
prudent and proper to hold out;[109] but as it owes no more duty to the
government than any other bank, and, of course, much less than the
deposit banks, I cannot see any ground for demanding from it efforts and
sacrifices to favor the government, which those holding the public
money, and owing duty to the government, are unwilling or unable to
make.Nor do I see how the New England banks can stand alone in the
general crash.I believe those in Massachusetts are very sound and
entirely solvent; I have every confidence in their ability to pay and I
shall rejoice if, amidst the present wreck, we find them able to
withstand the storm.At the same time, I confess I shall not be
disappointed, if they, seeing no public object to be attained
proportioned to the private loss, and individual sacrifice and ruin,
which must result from resorting to the means necessary to enable them
to hold out, should not be distinguished from their Southern and Western
neighbors.I believe, Gentlemen, the "experiment" must go through.I believe every
part and portion of our country will have a satisfactory taste of the
"better currency."I believe we shall be blest again with the currency
of 1812, _when money was the only uncurrent species of property_.We
have, amidst all the distress that surrounds us, men in and out of
power, who condemn a national bank in every form, maintain the efficacy
and efficiency of State banks for domestic exchange, and, amidst all the
sufferings and terrors of the "experiment," cry out, that they are
establishing "a better currency."The "experiment,"--the experiment upon
what?The experiment of one man upon the happiness, the well-being,
and, I may almost say, upon the lives, of twelve millions of human
beings,--an "experiment" that found us in health, that found us with the
best currency on the face of the earth, the same from the North to the
South, from Boston to St.Louis, equalling silver or gold in any part of
our Union, and possessing the unlimited confidence of foreign countries,
and which leaves us crushed, ruined, without means at home, and without
credit abroad.This word "experiment" appears likely to get into no enviable notoriety.It may probably be held, in future, to signify any thing which is too
excruciating to be borne, like a pang of the rheumatism or an
extraordinary twinge of the gout.Indeed, from the experience we now
have, we may judge that the bad eminence of the Inquisition itself may
be superseded by it, and if one shall be hereafter stretched upon the
rack, or broken on the wheel, it may be said, while all his bones are
cracking, all his muscles snapping, all his veins are pouring, that he
is only passing into a better state through the delightful process of an
"experiment."Gentlemen, you will naturally ask, Where is this to end, and what is
to be the remedy?These are questions of momentous importance; but
probably the proper moment has not come for considering this.We are yet
in the midst of the whirlwind.Every man's thoughts are turned to his
own immediate preservation.When the blast is over, and we have
breathing-time the country must take this subject, this all-important
subject of relief for the present and security for the future, into
its most serious consideration.It will, undoubtedly, first engage
the attention and wisdom of Congress.It will call on public men,
intrusted with public affairs, to lay aside party and private
preferences and prejudices, and unite in the great work of redeeming
the country from this state of disaster and disgrace.All that I mean
at present to say is, that the government of the United States stands
chargeable, in my opinion, with a gross dereliction from duty, in
leaving the currency of the country entirely at the mercy of others,
without seeking to exercise over it any control whatever.The _means_ of
exercising this control rest in the wisdom of Congress, but the duty I
hold to be imperative.It is a power that cannot be yielded to others
with safety to itself or to them.It might as well give up to the
States the power of making peace or war, and leave the twenty-six
independent sovereignties to select their own foes, raise their own
troops, and conclude their own terms of peace.It might as well leave
the States to impose their own duties and regulate their own terms and
treaties of commerce, as to give up control over the currency in which
all are interested.The present government has been in operation forty-eight years.During
forty of these forty-eight years we have had a national institution
performing the duties of a fiscal agent to the government, and
exercising a most useful control over the domestic exchanges and over
the currency of the country.The first institution was chartered on the
ground that such an institution was _necessary_ to the safe and
economical administration of the treasury department in the collection
and disbursement of its revenue.The experience of the new government
had clearly proved this necessity.At that time, however, there were
those who doubted the power of Congress, under the provisions of the
Constitution, to incorporate a bank; but a majority of both houses were
of a different opinion.President Washington sanctioned the measure, and
among those who entertained doubts on the subject, the statesmen of most
weight and consideration in the Union, and whose opinions were entitled
to the highest respect, yielded to the opinion of Congress and the
country, and considered it a settled question.Among those who first
doubted of the power of the government to establish a national bank, was
one whose name should never be mentioned without respect, one for whom I
can say I feel as high a veneration as one man can or ought to feel for
another, one who was intimately associated with all the provisions of
the Constitution,--Mr.Yet, when Congress had decided on the
measure, by large majorities, when the President had approved it, when
the judicial tribunals had sanctioned it, when public opinion had
deliberately and decidedly confirmed it, _he_ looked on the subject as
definitely and finally settled.Daniel went back to the hallway.The reasoners of our day think
otherwise.No decision, no public sanction, no judgment of the
tribunals, is allowed to weigh against their respect for their own
opinions.They rush to the argument as to that of a new question,
despising all lights but that of their own unclouded sagacity, and
careless alike of the venerable living and of the mighty dead.They
poise this important question upon some small points of their own
slender logic, and decide it on the strength of their own unintelligible
metaphysics.It never enters into all their thoughts that this is a
question to be judged of on broad, comprehensive, and practical grounds;
still less does it occur to them that an exposition of the Constitution,
contemporaneous with its earliest existence, acted on for nearly half a
century, in which the original framers and government officers of the
highest note concurred, ought to have any weight in their decision, or
inspire them with the least doubt of the accuracy and soundness of their
own opinions.They soar so high in the regions of self-respect as to be
far beyond the reach of all such considerations.For sound views upon the subject of a national bank, I would commend
you, Gentlemen, to the messages of Mr.Madison, and to his letter on the
subject.They are the views of a truly great man and a statesman.As the first Bank of the United States had its origin in necessity, so
had the second; and, although there was something of misfortune, and
certainly something of mismanagement, in its early career, no candid and
intelligent man can, for a moment, doubt or deny its usefulness, or that
it fully accomplished the object for which it was created.Exchanges,
during all the later years of its existence, were easily effected, and a
currency the most uniform of any in the world existed throughout the
country.Daniel went back to the bedroom.The opponents of these institutions did not deny that general
prosperity and a happy state of things existed at the time they were in
operation, but contended that equal prosperity would exist without them,
while specie would take the place of their issues as a circulating
medium.Both in the case of the
first bank and that of the last, a general suspension of specie payments
has happened in about a year from the time they were suffered to expire,
and a universal confusion and distrust prevailed.The charter of the
first bank expired in 1811, and all the State banks, south of New
England, stopped payment in 1812.The charter of the late bank expired
in March, 1836, and in May, 1837, a like distrust, and a like suspension
of the State banks, have taken place.The same results, we may readily suppose, are attributable to the same
causes, and we must look to the experience and wisdom of the people and
of Congress to apply the requisite remedy.Daniel moved to the office.I will not say the only
remedy is a national bank; but I will say that, in my opinion the only
sure remedy for the evils that now prey upon us is the assumption, by
the delegates of the people in the national government, of some lawful
control over the finances of the nation, and a power of regulating its
currency.* * * * *
Gentlemen, allow me again to express my thanks for the kindness you have
shown me this day, and in conclusion to assure you, that, though a
representative in the federal government of but a small section, when
compared with the vast territory that acknowledges allegiance to that
government, I shall never forget that I am acting for the whole country,
and, so far as I am capable, will pledge myself impartially to use every
exertion for that country's welfare.FOOTNOTES
[108] A Speech delivered on the 17th of May, 1837, at a Public Dinner
given to Mr.Webster by the Citizens of Wheeling, Virginia.[109] The mail of that day brought advice of its suspension.Daniel journeyed to the kitchen.See the
note on page 378.Webster's visit to Madison, Indiana, is
taken from the "Republican Banner," of the 7th of June, 1837."DANIEL WEBSTER visited our town on Thursday last.Notice had been given
the day previous of the probable time of his arrival.At the hour
designated, crowds of citizens from the town and country thronged the
quay.A gun from the Ben Franklin, as she swept gracefully round the
point, gave notice of his approach, and was answered by a gun from the
shore.Gun followed gun in quick succession, from boat and shore, and
the last of the old national salute was echoing from hill and glen as
the Franklin reached the wharf.Webster was immediately waited on by
the committee appointed to receive him, and, attended by them, a
committee of invitation from Cincinnati, and several gentlemen from
Louisville, he landed amidst the cheers and acclamations of the
assembled multitude.He was seated in an elegant barouche, supported by
Governor Hendricks and John King, Esq., and, with the different
committees, and a large procession of citizens in barouches, on
horseback, and on foot, formed under the direction of Messrs.Wharton
and Payne of the committee of arrangements, marshals of the day,
proceeded to the place appointed for his reception, an arbor erected at
the north end of the market-house, fronting the large area formed by the
intersection of Main and Main Cross Streets and the public square, and
tastefully decorated with shrubbery, evergreens, and wreaths of flowers.In the background appeared portraits of Washington and Lafayette, the
Declaration of Independence, and several other appropriate badges and
emblems, while in front a flag floated proudly on the breeze, bearing
for its motto the ever-memorable sentiment with which he concluded his
immortal speech in defence of the Constitution, 'LIBERTY AND UNION, NOW
AND FOR EVER, ONE AND INSEPARABLE.'Webster ascended the stand in the arbor, supported by Governor Hendricks
and the committee of arrangements, when he was appropriately and
eloquently addressed by J. G. Marshall, Esq., on behalf of the citizens,
to which he responded in a speech of an hour's length.""_Louisville, May 30, 1837._
"HON.DANIEL WEBSTER:--
"Sir,--Your fellow-citizens of the town of Madison, Indiana, deeply
impressed with a sense of the obligations which they and all the true
lovers of constitutional liberty, and friends to our happy and glorious
Union, owe you for the many prominent services rendered by you to their
beloved, though now much agitated and injured country, having appointed
the undersigned a committee through whom to tender you their salutations
and the hospitalities of their town, desire us earnestly to request you
to partake of a public dinner, or such other expression of |
bathroom | Where is Daniel? | "Entertaining the hope that you may find it convenient to comply with
this request of our constituents and ourselves, we beg leave, with
sentiments of the most profound respect and regard, to subscribe
ourselves,
"Your fellow-citizens,
W. LYLE,
W. J. MCCLURE,
WM.F. COLLUM,
A. W. PITCHER,
JAS.E. LEWIS,
D. L. MCCLURE,
} _Committee_."* * * * *
ANSWER._Louisville, May 30, 1837._
"GENTLEMEN,--I feel much honored by the communication which I have
received from you, expressing the friendly sentiments of my
fellow-citizens of Madison, and desiring that I should pay them a
visit."Although so kind an invitation, meeting me at so great a distance, was
altogether unlooked for, I had yet determined not to pass so interesting
a point on the Ohio without making some short stay at it.I shall leave
this place on Thursday morning, and will stop at Madison, and shall be
most happy to see any of its citizens who may desire to meet me.I must
pray to be excused from a formal public dinner, as well from a regard to
the time which it will be in my power to pass with you, as from a
general wish, whenever it is practicable, to avoid every thing like
ceremony or show in my intercourse with my fellow-citizens."You truly observe, Gentlemen, that the country at the present moment is
agitated.I can give you a grasp that'll put warmth into 'em, and last you
till you get back where you hail from.Come, old friend, give us your
digits, just to say you ain't offended at the liberty I am about to take
with your chest o' sparklers; and afterward I will just thank you to
step one side a bit!"The young man smiled at the intrepidity of the seaman, and took the
proffered hand.The old fellow below has been keeping
you over a hot fire, messmate.Well, you must confess, you lived a
wonderfully wicked life; and so, as the priests say, the devil will fry
it out of you.Will lay by fifty of these
guilders in prayers for your soul!Now just step aside
off that slab, which you stick to as if 'twas a tombstone, and we'll
bear a hand and bouse this old box out in the snapping of a bolt-rope.""I am no spirit, but a habitant of this world, like thyself!"he said,
with firmness, and a straight-forward frankness that he wisely
calculated would have its effect; "I am a young adventurer, without name
or family, weal or wealth.I would take service with thee, and follow
thy fortunes on the sea!"The bucanier listened with surprise; and as he became convinced, from
his words and manner, that he was no shade from the land of spirits,
which shadowy beings he seemed to fear no more than mortal substance,
his countenance instantly changed, and he surveyed him with a puzzled
look of surprise and doubt.what art thou doing
here--and on this particular stone?Guarding
this treasure, which no man save Hurtel and I saw laid here; so like
him, and not be he!Yet thou canst not be Red Hurtel in the flesh, for
his hair would be as gray as mine by this time.Thou sayest thou art not
his spirit.Who, and what, then, in the name of St.There it is, as plain as my hand!"he said, slapping the flat
of his cutlass into his left palm."Priest never had aught to do with
thy begetting or thy christening, I'll be sworn!I now remember he had a
leman-lady in the tower when I knew him.A proper youth," he added,
looking at him with interest, "and as like your father as one
marlin-spike is like another!So you inherit the old tower, I dare say,
and follow in his steps.I would not be
surprised if you laid claim to the gold here!"Daniel went back to the hallway."I care neither for tower nor gold, good captain.Daniel went back to the bedroom.To follow your
fortunes I alone ask.""I care not, so there is work for the free hand and ready spirit."You shall have your
will, my brave one!Your father and I were comrades in that cursed
affair that made the country too hot to hold us.I have been a rover
since, and, trusting to my gray head, have ventured back to carry off
what gold I heard he had not time to remove.Thou shalt go with me for
thy father's sake, boy."He grasped the old man's offered hand, and, for the moment, felt that he
was less alone in the world.What a change had one brief day made in the
feelings and destinies of this haughty young man!"Bear a hand, you pale runaways!"cried the captain to the men, who,
seeing that their spirit had proved of flesh and blood, returned,
scowling darkly on the cause of their discomfiture."Take hold of the
edge of that stone, and lift it from its bed.Place your hands on the
right spot, and it will come up like a cork."The men made several ineffectual efforts to lift it, though even
assisted in their last attempt by their captain.he said; "it should move with a finger's touch.You might heave till you were gray, boys, and it
wouldn't stir a hair.He stooped as he spoke, and pressing the stone horizontally towards the
wall, it moved from its bed, and slid away slowly, as if on wheels,
beneath it exposing a cavity two feet square and about three feet deep,
containing an oaken box, bound with strong bands of rusted steel."Here it lies, like a biscuit in a bucket!Let us see if the gold has
got rusty."He searched a few moments, and at length bore hard upon a corner of the
box, but without producing any effect."The spring is as tight as if Old Nick had his foot on it.Let us try
what this good steel, that has served me so often at a push, will do
now."He pressed the point of his cutlass with steady force against one
corner, when suddenly the lid flew up, and a glittering pile of silver
and gold, and a remarkably shaped dagger, a foot in length, wider at the
point than the handle, and exceedingly rich with precious stones, met
their eyes.There was a general exclamation of surprise at this display of treasure.The young man took up the weapon and examined it with curiosity."That belonged to Hurtel of the Red-Hand, and he prized it, too!""It shall be thine, young man!Holding it with that
grasp as you do, and your kindling eye, I would swear my old comrade
stood before me.If nature put the father's looks on all children as she
has on thee, it would be a blind father that wouldn't know his own
child.I mean to say that children honestly
come by seldom show the breed they hail from as some other sort o' craft
do--I'faith, I haven't bettered it much!But, no harm meant, my brave
fellow!Keep that yataghan for your father's sake.He knew its use, and,
if you are long under me--"
"_Under_ you?"repeated the youth, his natural spirit breaking out.Better men than I will soon be under you, I see--'tis
in you born and bred!Six
thousand told pounds, if my memory serves me."Hafey golt 'tish dat dere, Evan," said one, straightening his bent
loins.ant yer may will say tat, poy!"Daniel moved to the office.responded Evan, breathing
himself and passing the back of his hand across his brow, from which
started big drops of perspiration.They now laid hold of it and dragged it beneath the trapdoor: with the
united efforts of the men, the captain, and even Lester--or Hurtel, as
for the present he should be called--they got it to the floor above,
reascended, and closed the scuttle."You will want fresh hands, captain," said the youthful novitiate, at
once readily entering into the spirit of his new vocation, and thirsting
for excitement as a foil to reflection; "shall I call two of your men
from the boat?"said the captain; adding, as he darted away, "True as
steel, by St.I would rather lose the gold than lose him.While he was speaking his protege reached the balcony, and, bending
over, ordered, in an authoritative tone, two of the men to ascend to
relieve their mates.There was a general exclamation of surprise from
the party below at the sound of the strange voice.were the various exclamations, in as
many different languages, followed by glancing of steel and clicking of
pistols, several of which were levelled at the window.said he, sternly; "up, up-with you!if I were your captain, knaves, I would teach you to linger
after an order was given.""Shall I
pink him, mates?"shouted the captain, who
now appeared at the window."This youth is my lieutenant, and see that
you obey him, or I will make a pair of earrings of a brace of you for
the main-yard-arms.""That's another thing," said several voices."Orders is orders, if they
come from the devil, so as he is got the commission in his pocket!""Two of the strongest of you lubberly oxen, clamber up here.Back the boat directly under, and keep her steady."A moment afterward two of the men reached the top of the rock and sprung
into the balcony.It took but a short time to get the chest upon the
balustrade, lash it with the rope they had brought, rig a fall with a
brace of oars, and swing it off."Handle it as if it was a baby.Gently, gently, or you will knock the
boat's bottom out!There, now, let her drop
amidships!There she lies between the thwarts like a
pig in a pillory!"The box was safely lowered into the launch, and followed with alacrity
by the men: the captain and his new lieutenant were also preparing to go
down, when each, at the same instant, felt himself touched from behind,
and, turning round, Elpsy confronted them."Who art thou, in the name of Beelzebub's mother?"demanded the captain,
staring with astonishment, not unmingled with superstitious dread, on
the deformed and hideous being who had so suddenly and mysteriously
appeared to him."I would speak with thee, Edmund Turill!"he cried, with astonishment; "how knowest thou
me?"I know thee," she replied, in a tone of mystery."See, then, that he is well treated, and receives not ill at thy hands."Who art thou, i'the name of all the saints, woman?"When thou thinkest of thy poor boy's bones, gibbeted
for sharing thy guilt o'er the gate of Cork, the winds whistling through
them with a sad wail, look kindly on this youth, and take him to thy
heart, as if he were thine own flesh and blood!""I will do it," he said, with emotion.One question I have to ask thee, and truly answer it.""Where wanders Hurtel of the Red-Hand?""'Tis said he died in the Indies!""He can never die unaccursed by
her he has wronged.he will have one to watch his pillow in his
dying throes he would rather burn in hell, to which he is doomed, than
see.his master will not let him slip
out o' life so easily.Oh, it will be a glory to see him die; and mock
his groans; and laugh, laugh at his terrors!Oh, will it not
be a jubilee to see him struggle with the death!""I'God's name, woman, tell me who thou art?"Wouldst have fair winds, I will raise thee
foul: wouldst have a smooth sea, I will make it boil and hiss: wilt say
a prayer, I will turn it into a curse ere it can leave thy lips."it is a-pleasant to make
men's stout hearts quake.she asked, impressively,
approaching her face close to his.Daniel journeyed to the kitchen.he said, retreating and preparing to descend the rock."Avoid
thee, Sathanas!"she said, approaching and laying her hand on his arm, and
whispering low in his ear."_Thou!_" he exclaimed, instantly starting back, and surveying her with
mingled surprise, curiosity, and disgust."Wouldst care to leave thy revels and their lord, and, stealing to her
lone room, offer thy drunken love to her now!Does she not
look a comely leman for thy licentious love?"He gazed on her a few seconds by the light of the moon, and seemed too
much overpowered by surprise to speak.At length he said, in a tone of
horror,
"Hideous as thou art, it must be as thou sayest, for only thus could I
be known to thee!he added, in a tone, "this
lad--is he--"
"No matter who he is!"I will be a father to him, woman!'Fore Heaven," he exclaimed afresh,
gazing upon her with mingled curiosity and pity, "was there ever such
a--"
"Mind me not!she cried, earnestly
recalling him; "if you ever meet _him_, breathe not into his ears what
and whom you have this night seen.I have made myself known to thee for
this youth's sake.Farewell, young man," she said, approaching Lester as
he stood on the rock, to which he had bounded from the balcony at the
beginning of their conference.He
took it, and grasped it warmly saying, in a soothing tone,
"Good-by, Elpsy.I have no ill-will against thee in my heart.John travelled to the garden.The sorceress seemed to be moved, turned away from him without speaking,
as if her feelings choked utterance, and stalked away through the hall,
and left the tower."Come, my lad," said the captain, turning away and speaking with
feeling, after following with his eyes her retreating form till it
disappeared in the forest, "she is a poor, unhappy creature, and it'll
come hard, I'm thinking, on him that made her so.Let us aboard and make an offing ere the dawn; for, if we
are spied lying here, we shall have the king's bulldog down upon us from
windward I saw lying in Cor Bay, who will bark to some purpose if he
should catch us here on a lee shore."Thus speaking, the old seaman lightly descended the rock to the boat,
followed by his youthful lieutenant, and in a few minutes they reached
the vessel.Daniel went back to the bathroom.The moment his foot touched the deck the captain gave orders to make
sail: the long, crooked tiller was put hard up to windward; the heavy
mainsail swung back to its place; the vessel's head turned slowly off,
and, feeling the wind on her quarter, she stood in landward for a few
seconds to gain headway, and then came gracefully round with her
starboard bow to the wind.With each broad sail drawn nearly fore and
aft, she lay as near it as her short blunt build would permit, and
stretched away from the shore on a long tack towards the south."If solitude succeed to grief,
Release from pain is light relief;
The vacant bosom's wilderness
Might thank the pang that made it less.The heart once left thus desolate
Must fly at last for ease--to hate."_The Giaour._
The narrative once more returns to Mark, who, it will be remembered, had
arrived, on his way to Castle More, at a ruin in the midst of the forest
he was traversing, when the approach of two horsemen caused him to
withdraw from the path.As he did so, they were encountered and stopped
by some one who unexpectedly met them as they were galloping past the
lonely pile.Curious |
kitchen | Where is Daniel? | After Elpsy disappeared from the eyes of the old bucanier and his young
lieutenant at Hurtel's tower, she had continued to move rapidly through
the forest towards Castle Cor, without turning either to the right or
left.Daniel went back to the hallway.Sometimes she would skip forward with mad hilarity till exhausted;
at others, leap, and clap her hands, and shout, till the dales of the
old wood rung again with her shrieking laughter.From the unnatural
speed, and the wild, straight-forward direction in which she moved, her
sole object seemed to be to reach some point for which she aimed in the
least possible time.The scared owl hooted aloud at her approach, and
flew, with a heavy flap of his thick wings, deeper into the wood; the
hawk left his nest with a shrill cry; the deer fled from her path!On,
on she bounded and leaped mocking their notes of terror, like a demon
pursued.Daniel went back to the bedroom.At times, when she crossed an open glade, where the moon poured
down her unobstructed radiance, she would suddenly stop and mutter, but
without appearing to notice the pale orb the sight of which, by
directing her thoughts into another, but not less turbulent channel,
seemed to have exercised a momentary influence on her.Daniel moved to the office.She had travelled
six miles in less than one hour's time, when she suddenly stopped in the
full light of the moon, looked up, and shook her open hands towards it
with a laugh of derision.you need not look and watch, and watch and look, and keep your
pale face and shining eyes always fixed on me!Dost think I would commit
murder?and the little twinkling stars peer down as if they could espy a
knife in my hand!Look, ye little glittering winklings," she cried,
spreading upward her open palms, "dost see a knife?No, I know ye well, with your winking
and your blinking at each other, and how, in the darkest night, one of
you always keeps watch, to spy the murders done in the absence o' the
sun; and then you whisper it through heaven, and tell it to the earth,
and then we hang for it.I have a charm will put you to sleep.you laugh, and grin, and gibber, that I have lost in a half hour's
tale what I have won by years of silence.Well, well, there'll be a
time!Dropping her head, she appeared a moment as if in sullen thought, and
then muttered, in a tone and manner which, more than words, gave a key
to the wild phrensy that had hitherto possessed her,
"If _he_ cannot be Lord of Lester, neither shall HE!The eye of
the moon pierces not this wood!'Tis long yet to dawn," she
abruptly added, moving forward, and speaking with more coherency."If I
can find him ere the myrmidons of Lady Lester can reach him, should she
send for him, Castle More will ne'er own other lord than he who, but for
my foul tongue--may it wither in my throat!--would now have been Lord of
Lester.and, hasting her footsteps, she
continued to repeat the word at every stride, accompanying it with a
threatening gesture of her arm.Her rapid speed soon brought her to the ruins of the abbey.Bounding
like an ape over the fallen blocks, she entered the door in the tower,
and with an unfaltering step traversed the gallery to her subterraneous
abode, which, after Lester's angry and fruitless pursuit of her, she had
left for Hurtel's tower, fearing that he might despatch a party from
Castle More in search of her, for the purpose, by her death, of
effectually silencing all question of his birth.Entering her subterranean abode, she produced a light without flint, or
steel, or fire, but by smartly drawing two marks, in opposition to the
sign of the cross, on the wall with a small stick, the end of which
immediately emitted a blue flame, and, after a fierce, hissing noise,
shot up into a bright blaze.This, to the peasantry who had witnessed
it, was one of the strongest evidences of her being in league with the
devil, who, it was asseverated, kindled her stick for her in the
unquenchable fire.She lighted a fragment of a rush candle by the flame, and, opening a
small box containing medicinal preparations, took therefrom a small vial
containing an amber-coloured liquid, and held it to the light.She
looked at it for a while with a look of vengeful satisfaction, and then
placed it in her bosom; afterward she took a rusty poniard from a
crevice in the wall, carefully felt its point, which was ground to a
keen edge, and, with a look of satisfaction, thrust it up into her
sleeve.Then extinguishing the light, she hastened past the tomb of
Black Morris, and with a quick, determined step, traversed the gallery
towards its outlet.As she approached it she heard the tramp of horses.With a quick,
apprehensive cry, as if she at once divined the cause, she flew through
the passage into the moonlight, and saw two horsemen approaching at a
round pace, and going in the direction of Castle Cor: as they came
nearer, she recognised them as the chief forester and the seneschal from
Castle More.She permitted them to gallop along the road till they were
within a few feet of her, when she suddenly stepped forth from the black
shadow of the tower, and, with one arm outstretched brandishing the
stiletto, confronted them.The riders, taken by surprise, pulled their
horses back to their haunches, and both instantly exclaimed, with
superstitious dread,
"Elpsy!"These were the horsemen Mark turned from his path to avoid."I am Elpsy," she repeated, in a lofty tone."Whither ride ye, so fast
and free?"If ye do not tell me true,
Horses each shall cast a shoe,
And evil bide ye, ill betide,
As ye on your journey ride!""There be strange doings at the castle, mother," said the seneschal,
pitching his voice to the true gossiping tone; "there's me young
loord--"
"Fait!but it's jist this--" interrupted the other; "our young masther,
Lord Robert, is not masther's son at all at all, and masther's son--"
"Murther!an' it's you dat have it wrong, Ennis, honey," cried the
other, interrupting him in his turn; "it's jist this, ould Mither
Eelpsy; Lord Robert is not my Lord Robert at all at all, and the raal
Lord Robert is--"
"And is it not the very woords I was afther tilling the crathur?"Daniel journeyed to the kitchen."I will give it to ye, Eelpsy, dare, in the
right way."John travelled to the garden.cried the impatient woman, having heard enough
to convince her that Robert had told the truth in saying that he openly
published his own shame.Daniel went back to the bathroom.I can
tell ye more than both of ye together, and all Castle Cor, know.""We know dat, ould mither!Don't forget to crass yourself, Jarvey,
honey," added the speaker, aside, making the sign of the cross on his
breast.John travelled to the office."It's the great dale ye know, and the likes o' ye, and it's not
we that is to gainsay it this night."she demanded, impatiently taking hold of the bridle
of one of the horses."Och, an' isn't it to bring with all speed that young jintleman o' the
world, Mark Meredith, the ould fisherman's son, to be sure, to Castle
More," said the forester."Go back, and tell the Dark Lady of the Rock that thus says Elpsy, the
sorceress: 'He whom she seeks she will never find!'""But it's the disthress she'll be in," said the seneschal."And it's the deep grief o' the world that's upon her now," added the
other."Och, but it will be bad news to be afther bringing back to her that
sint us," pursued Ennis, with a howl."Widout iver having gone at all at all," said Jarvey, in a tone of
grief."A cush-la-ma-chree, Jarvey, but it's find the lad we must!"cried
Ennis, with sudden resolution."And it's the ould mither that's here, bliss her, 'll maybe till us
where he may be jist at this present," added Jarvey, insinuatingly.If _she_ ask you
where the lad is, tell her Elpsy has said, '_Lester has no lord_!'"and will it be the world's thruth, Elpsy, hinney!It'll
break the spirit of her, in her lone bosom.""And what'll the castle do widout a lord!"And must we go back to the Dark Lady wid dis heavy sorrow to the fore?"she cried, turning, with a sudden jerk of the rein,
the head of one of the horses towards the direction in which they had
come."Ride, ride," she added, in a commanding but wild tone, "nor look
behind till ye are safe within the gates, lest ye care to see the evil
one astraddle of your crupper.""The houly crass protict us!""Good e'en to ye, mither.It's yourself is the crathur for knowing the
world's thruth," added Jarvey, as if by flattery he would disarm any
evil intention she might cherish in reference to himself."And it's to her we're indibted for not riding tree leagues for nothing
at all at all, whin the lad's not to the fore!Daniel journeyed to the kitchen.Faix, it's my thanks ye
have, ould Elpsy, for't, an' its yer due, were ye the ould divil
himself," returned Ennis, gathering up his rein."Kape your head
straight between yer shoulder, Jarvey.""It's me, honey, will niver be afther looking behint," replied Jarvey,
setting his face towards Castle More.Thus taking leave of the wily woman, these two old simple-minded
retainers rode back again; their obtuse minds probably scarce
comprehending the nature of the loss Lady Lester had met with, the
exchanged fortunes of their late young master, nor the important object
of their mission.She looked after them as they galloped away till they were lost in the
gloom of the forest, when, clapping her hands, she broke into a peal of
frantic merriment, which was more like the shriek of a fiend than like
human laughter.If he did make me lose the game, he has helped to
keep another from winning it.No, Lester shall never have a lord at the
expense of him who, but for my accursed tongue and his silly _honour_!Now it
remains for me, ere he can learn the secret of his birth, to send him
where low and highborn are all on a level!and, if this fail,
_this_," she said, grasping first the vial and then the dagger, "shall
do my will!It's a wicked act--I know it!--'tis a deed of hell!I would
not harm the poor lad--no; for he is like an own child to me--but, then,
he is _not_ my child--and shall I see him in the seat from which _he_
has been cast out?No, no, this steel shall drink--this poison shall dry
up, his noble blood first!""Of whom do you speak in such fearful words, mother?"She started with mingled terror and astonishment, and beheld standing at
her side the unconscious object of her thoughts.Her surprise at his
sudden, and, as she at first believed, supernatural appearance, for the
moment deprived her of her speech; she dropped the hand that held the
vial, which was dashed in pieces against a stone, and gazed on him for
several seconds with a disturbed and remorseful countenance.she at length had the resolution to ask,
advancing a step towards him, and speaking in a deep, husky tone.I have been in the shadow of yonder bastion, waiting the
departure of those horsemen."she interrogated, with an
eagerness of voice and manner that he could not account for."They have not told you--that is, you are Mark Meredith, the grandson of
old Meredith, the fisherman?"Surely I am, Elpsy; do you not discern my face by this moon?I fear,"
he said, in a kind tone, "you have not taken good care of yourself of
late, and are a little fevered.Go down to our hut, if you can walk so
far, and you will find a meal of fish there, of my own taking, which I
left my grandsire preparing for me.Good-night, Elpsy, I have business at Castle More."As he spoke he stepped aside to pass her and pursue his way.His
hospitable and kind invitation had touched her.She was not so seared
that gentleness and words of kindness could not find a vibrating chord
within her bosom.Gradually, as he spoke she relaxed her hand from its
grasp on the poniard, which, on discovering him, she had instinctively
concealed in the folds of her scarlet cloak, and extended it towards him
in a grateful manner.But the expression of his intention to proceed to
the abode of Lady Lester caused her suddenly to draw it back, while in a
quick, harsh tone of voice, and with great vehemence of manner, in which
alarm and apprehension were visible, she cried,
"Castle More!"I bear a message to Robert of Lester!Detain me not, Elpsy; I have
already lingered on the way.""Is this all for which thou art sent?""None, save to make no delay at Castle More, lest my young lord and I
should renew a quarrel we had this day."But why these rapid questions--this anxiety of manner?What
has come over thee, Elpsy?"She had put this series of interrogations to him with an irresistible
energy and rapidity, that left him no alternative but direct and instant
replies.At first she gave him no answer; her face worked convulsively,
and she seemed to be contending with some strong feelings, that she in
vain strove to get the mastery over.At length she muttered within her
lips,
"I had feared!'Tis a pity to slay the fair young
lad; but, if I do not, he will know that which he never must
know--become that he never shall become!Mark, come to me," she said, in a hollow and unearthly
tone; "I would whisper in your ear what I would not have the laughing
and grinning devils that flit about us in the air, hear!While she was speaking she nervously grasped the handle of her dagger,
and took a step towards him.Her manner hitherto had already aroused his
watchfulness, and the tone of her invitation by no means increased his
confidence.He did not, indeed, suspect any attempt upon his life by
her; but, being familiar with her restless and violent nature, he was
prepared to expect some annoying violence; and for this he was
cautiously on the watch."'Tis a sweet and fair
tale I would tell thee!as fair and sweet as I told the Lord
Robert yestere'en!she shouted, as she saw he continued
to step back as she advanced; "then will I come!"She, with these words, made a spring towards him, seized him suddenly by
the breast, and brandished her poniard in the air.He was not unprepared
for this, sudden as it was: he caught her upraised arm, and bent it
backward over her head till she shrieked with pain, and, with a cool and
determined exertion of his whole strength, cast her from him so
violently as to hurl her to the earth.She sprang to her feet like a
cat, and, with a yell of rage, again leaped upon him.He avoided her
attack by lightly springing to one side, when, missing her blow, she
fell forward and struck her head on the edge of a stone, and sunk to the |
kitchen | Where is Sandra? | He instantly flew to her relief, lifted her from the earth, and
attempted to assuage the flow of blood from a severe contusion that she
had received on the forehead.In a little time the loss of blood
restored her to consciousness; it also had the effect of subduing her
high fever of excitement, and making her comparatively calm.She
permitted him to bind a handkerchief, that he took from his own neck,
across her temples; but she neither spoke nor acknowledged his
attentions, but sat in sullen silence on the ground."Elpsy," asked the youth, at length, "why do you seek my life?"she replied, slowly shaking her head with morose
inflexibility."Is it thirst for blood, evil woman, that drives thee to this crime?""I would not slay thee, but thou and I, boy, can never live in the same
land!""Thou mightst have spared this attempt, then, on my life, for soon the
deep sea will roll between me and my native isle.""I am resolved, as nature has denied me nobility of birth, to give it at
least to those who come after me."she cried, hanging on his words with intense expectation."I am going from my father's roof into the world, to see if I cannot
make men forget from what I have sprung!"Seven hours ago I had nearly linked my fortunes with the
yacht that takes the earl to England on the morrow--but--"
"But, what?""My father--I thought of him, and--"
"Would not.""I cannot desert him to suffering and want."Daniel went back to the hallway.she asked, her face lighting up with a newly awakened
thought.Daniel went back to the bedroom.She began eagerly to search her belt, and drew forth from it a heavy
purse.Shaking it with a gratified air, she then poured its glittering
contents on the ground beside her.To-morrow go in this king's ship, and it shall
be yours--there are three hundred guilders told--'twill give the old man
food and raiment for a longer life than his will be, and afterward buy a
coffin for his bones."Mother," said he, his heart leaping with joy and hope, yet both
tempered with the doubt to which he gave utterance, "this wealth!I fear 'tis the price of sin--or, perhaps, of
blood.""Fool; 'tis wealth I've had in store these eighteen years, given to me
by times by one who, if there be justice in Heaven or hell, is now
accursed on earth.There is no more evil in it than in every piece of
gold that the earth contains--all gold is evil--it is all but the price
of honour, of honesty, or of human blood.Take it, and depart from this
land."He gazed on the glittering heap, and hope, by its aid, pictured bright
visions of the future, and the fruition of all his aspiring wishes.But, while
he did so, he thought of Kate Bellamont--of the proud Lester--of his
hopes of the future--of all that he had loved to contemplate; he even
gave a thought to Grace Fitzgerald: all that an aspiring mind like his,
at such a time, could be influenced by, had its effect upon him.She
narrowly watched his countenance, read rightly his thoughts, and,
feeling assured of his acceptance of it, mentally congratulated herself
that her object could be effected without the shedding of his blood.She
waited till she thought his mind was sufficiently ripe for her purpose,
then replaced the gold in the purse, and, balancing it in her hand,
said, "Before you take this purse, I name one condition of its
acceptance.""That you for ever drop your present name and assume another; that you
never breathe to mortal ear the place of your birth, nor give clew to
your country.""I gladly promise this--for already I had resolved on it, Elpsy.I have
_one_ great motive for doing so.Daniel moved to the office."Then take the gold for thy grandsire's support.""Thanks, thanks, kind Elpsy--yet--"
"Not a word of objection.I have two favours to ask of thee.""Name them," said he, with an eagerness that evinced a desire to serve
her."Promise that you will hold no speech with any one before thy
departure.""I do," he said, after an instant's hesitation."Swear that thou wilt never set foot on this isle again.""Nay, I will not swear it," he said, with determination.she cried, in a tone of fierce command."Who art thou that I should yield thee obedience, woman?I yield
obedience to none save my Maker!"The resolute attitude he so unexpectedly assumed disconcerted her for an
instant.At length she said,
"Wilt thou promise never to return here under thy own, that is--thy
present name?"Now farewell, Elpsy; I must hasten to Castle More.""I am intrusted with a message, and must deliver it.""Give it to me, I will be its bearer.""Nay, I must myself place it in Lord Robert's hands, in person.""Go to Castle More, and you sail not on the morrow," she said, in a
determined tone, replacing the gold in her belt.After a brief struggle between his duty to Grace
Fitzgerald and her cousin, and his own wishes, he at length said,
falteringly,
"May I trust you to deliver it, Elpsy?"Daniel journeyed to the kitchen.He turned the billet, with its lock of hair, over and over, gazed on it
long and fondly on every side, and, from his reluctance to resign the
precious treasure, there appeared to have arisen a new bar to Elpsy's
purpose.At length he made a compromise with his feelings by slipping
off the braid of hair, and hastily concealing it in his bosom, while he
gave her the unsecured packet."Place it only in the hands of Robert of Lester, Elpsy.""Speedily, if you are not too ill.""It will take many a harder buffet than that thou gavest me to make me
ill.He shall have it ere thou art half a league on thy return."Fare thee well, and may Heaven have you in better
keeping than your life now gives hope of.Will you call at times when I
am away to see my grandfather?"Many will be the gossip we'll yet have together.Take my
blessing--'twill do thee no harm, if it can do no good!"The Earl of Bellamont will return from Kinsale in the morning, and 'tis
said that before noon she will be under weigh."Go at once on board, nor let the rising sun find
thee on the land.The Duke of Wellington, however, is perfectly satisfied with
what he has done, and as the Government meant to support him before
all these successes, much more will they do so now._December 8th._--I saw Emily Eden[51] yesterday, and found they were
full of bitterness against Ellenborough, and no wonder.In the first
place, he and Auckland had always been friends.When Ellenborough came
into office, he wrote to Auckland a friendly letter, in which he said
what was tantamount to an invitation to him to stay in India.On his
arrival at Calcutta, he was Auckland's guest for the first three days,
till he was sworn in, and then Auckland was his, and when Auckland's
sisters wanted to leave Government House and go and pay a visit to a
friend of theirs, Ellenborough would not hear of it, and made such a
point of their remaining there till their departure that they did so.He lived with them morning, noon, and night, on terms of the greatest
cordiality, and repeatedly expressed his regret that they were going
away.This renders his Proclamation particularly odious, and the more
so because she told me that during the last months of his Government,
Auckland had done everything he could not to compromise or embarrass
his successor, and had taken great pains to provide for any future
military operations on which he might determine, which was a matter
of considerable financial difficulty.All this makes them feel very
sore, and they are besides of opinion that it is a grievous fault for
a Governor to proclaim to the world that errors have been committed,
and that the policy of the Indian Government is going to be altered.I
am not so surprised at Ellenborough's _animus_, knowing that when he
was at the Board of Control he never lost an opportunity of letting
the Queen know his opinion as to the errors and blunders of his
predecessor and his colleagues.[Footnote 51: [Lord Auckland's sister, an old friend of Mr.She had been with Lord Auckland in India.]]John travelled to the garden.[Sidenote: A MANUSCRIPT OF ANTONIO PEREZ.]_December 9th._--Francis Baring told me yesterday a curious anecdote
relating to a Spanish MS.which would be interesting to bibliomaniacs.Sampayo, a half Portuguese, half Englishman, at Paris, was a great
book-collector, particularly of Spanish and Portuguese, both books and
MSS.Daniel went back to the bathroom.of Antonio Perez, relating to the wars of
Granada, in the public library at Seville, and he desired Cuthbert,
who has been living at Seville for some time, to ask leave to have
it copied, and if he could get leave to find somebody to copy it.He
got leave, and it was copied in a fair round hand for some sixteen
dollars.After the copy was made, the librarian said to Cuthbert, 'You
may take away which you please, the copy or the original.'He jumped
at the offer, and sent the original MS.John travelled to the office.His library was
sold the other day, and Francis Baring said he believed this MS.was
bought by the Royal Library of France, and it probably fetched a great
deal of money.[52]
[Footnote 52: [This MS.has lately been discovered in Paris
(1880).]]_December 14th._--At Windsor for a Council on Saturday.Sir Robert
Peel is staying there, but nobody else was invited.Ellenborough's
Proclamation is still occupying general attention.My brother writes
me word from Paris that it is generally blamed there, for the same
reasons that it is here; and the Duke of Bedford tells me that Lord
Spencer's political apathy has been excited very highly, and that he
is so full of indignation that he talks of coming down to the House
of Lords to attack it.They speak of it as a document deserving
impeachment, which is going to very absurd lengths.The Palmerstonians
are still screaming themselves hoarse in their endeavours to get the
credit of the success.Lady Palmerston wrote to Madame de Lieven (dear
friends who hate one another cordially) in a rage, because the latter
said to her that she was sure, setting all party feelings aside, as
a good Englishwoman, she must rejoice at the successes in the East.The other lady replied, that she did not know what she meant, and
that all the merit of the success was due to Palmerston and the late
Government.Daniel journeyed to the kitchen.To this Madame de Lieven responded as follows: 'Je vous
demande bien pardon de ma legerete, mais je vous assure que moi et
toutes les personnes que je vois, ont ete assez niaises pour croire
que les grands succes de l'Orient etaient dus a Sir Robert Peel et a
son gouvernement.Apparemment nous nous sommes trompes, et je vous
demande mille excuses de notre legerete.'[Sidenote: LORD PALMERSTON AND THE PRESS.]_December 20th._--Went to the Grove on Friday, and came back
yesterday.Nobody there but Charles Buller and Charles Villiers.Clarendon told me that when he was at Bowood there was a sort of
consultation between him, Lord Lansdowne, and John Russell, about the
'Morning Chronicle' and Palmerston, Lord John having been already
stimulated by the report (which his brother, the Duke, had made him)
of the opinions of himself, Lord Spencer, and other Whigs, who had
met or communicated together on the same subject.The consequence was
that John Russell wrote a remonstrance to Palmerston, in which he told
him what these various persons thought with regard to the tone that
had been taken on foreign questions, especially the American, and
pointed out to him the great embarrassment that must ensue as well as
prejudice to the party, if their dissatisfaction was manifested in
some public manner when Parliament met.To this Palmerston replied in
a very angry letter, in which he said that it was useless to talk to
him about the Duke of Bedford, Lord Spencer, and others, as he knew
very well that Edward Ellice was the real author of this movement
against him.He then contrasted his own services in the cause with
that of Ellice, and ended, as I understood, with a tirade against
him, and a bluster about what he would do.Lord John wrote again,
temperately, remonstrating against the tone he had adopted, and
telling him that the persons whose sentiments he had expressed were
very competent to form opinions for themselves, without the influence
or aid of Ellice.This letter elicited one much more temperate from
Palmerston, in which he expressed his readiness to co-operate with
the party, and to consult for the common advantage, but that he must
in the course of the session take an opportunity of expressing his
own opinions upon the questions of foreign policy which would arise.He and Ellice, it seems, hate each other with a great intensity, and
have done for many years past, since Palmerston suspected Ellice of
intriguing against him; and latterly Ellice has taken an active and a
noisy part against Palmerston's foreign policy generally, so that he
is, and has been for some time, Palmerston's _bete noire_.Sandra journeyed to the bathroom._December 28th._--Went to Woburn on Saturday morning to breakfast,
with Dundas, and returned yesterday.Lord John Russell was there, in
very good spirits, more occupied with his children than with thoughts
of politics and place.The Duke and he discussed the prospects of
their party, when the former advised him to take a moderate course,
considering what was right and nothing else, and adhere to that,
whether it led him to support or oppose the measures of Government.We were talking about the false statements which history hands
down, and how useful letters and memoirs are in elucidating obscure
points and correcting false impressions.The Duke said that it
was generally believed, and would be to the end of time, that the
influence exercised by O'Connell over the late Government had been
very great, and it never would be believed that the three great
Irish measures which they adopted were opposed vehemently, instead
of being dictated, by O'Connell, and yet this was the case.One of
these measures everybody knows he opposed--the Poor Law--but the
other two, the Appropriation Clause, and the Irish Municipal Bill,
have always been supposed by the world at large to have been his own
measures.I have, I think, somewhere else noticed his opposition to
the first of these, and his vain attempts to induce John Russell
(who was the author of this very indiscreet measure) to give it up.The truth of the matter, as regards the Corporation Bill, is rather
more complicated and curious.The Lords made amendments in this
Bill, and the question arose whether Government should take them
or reject them.Sandra went to the kitchen.O'Connell strenuously urged their acceptance, and
asked if it was not a good thing to get rid of the old corporations
on any terms; but the Government, after much discussion, resolved
to reject them, not, however, making their determination known to
O'Connell or to anybody else.While matters were in this state,
O'Connell had some communication with Normanby, from which he inferred
that Government had resolved not to take the Bill, upon which he
immediately determined to anticipate this decision, and to proclaim
his own hostility to the amended Bill, in order that its rejection
might appear to be attributable to him; and accordingly he published
a violent letter in the newspapers, in which he said that the Bill
ought to be indignantly kicked off the table, or some such words.The
Duke of Bedford, who read his letter, and was aware of his previous
opinion, was exceedingly disgusted at what he thought a flagrant
instance of duplicity and hypocrisy, and, happening to |
hallway | Where is Daniel? | The fact is, that
it suited his purpose to have it supposed that his influence over
the Government was very great, and that he could make them do what
he pleased; and as he gave every colour, by his conduct, to the
accusation of the Tories, it is no wonder that the representation of
his power was much greater than the reality.It was the interest of
the Tories to make this out, as it was O'Connell's own, and it was
vain for the Whigs to deny what facts appeared to prove, and which he
himself tacitly admitted.[Sidenote: SIR DAVID DUNDAS.]The Duke also gave us an account (which was not new to me) of his
interview with the Duke of Wellington at the time of the Bedchamber
quarrel.The day on which the Cabinet was held at which they resolved
to stand by the Queen and stay in office, the Duke of Bedford had
been with the Duke of Wellington on other business, after concluding
which, the Duke of Wellington began on that.He said there appeared
to be a difference, which he regretted to find was not likely to be
adjusted; that he gave no opinion upon the matter itself, and merely
gave it upon the principle involved; that Lord Melbourne was now
Minister, and it was for him to advise the Queen; and then he stood
up, and with great energy said, 'and if he will take upon himself
the responsibility, he may rely upon me, and I will put myself in
the breach.'The Duke of Bedford asked him if he might go to Lord
Melbourne and tell him this.The Duke of Bedford
went to the Palace, but Melbourne was in Downing Street, the Cabinet
sitting.He wrote what had passed, and sent it in to him.The letter
was read and a long discussion ensued on it, but they finally resolved
to return to office, and a more fatal resolution for themselves never
was taken.David Dundas was very agreeable at Woburn.I think I have seldom
seen any man more agreeable in society.He is a great talker, but
his manner and voice, and general style of conversation are all
attractive; he knows a great deal, his reading has been extensive and
various, and his memory appears retentive of such things as contribute
to the amusement and instruction of society; remarkable passages,
curious anecdotes, quaint sayings, and a general familiarity with
things worth hearing, and people worth knowing, render his talk very
pungent and attractive._January 16th, 1843._--It was my intention at the end of last year to
draw up a sort of general summary of the principal events by which
it was marked in its course, both public and private; but I never
executed this purpose, partly, I fear, from inveterate laziness, and
partly on account of certain objections which occurred to me on both
heads.With regard to the history of the world for the last year,
I bethought me that my private information has been too scanty to
enable me to throw much light upon those things which are doubtful
or obscure, and that it was very little worth my while to write an
abridgement of those notorious events which have been already detailed
in all the newspapers, and will be more compendiously recorded
hereafter in the 'Annual Register;' in short, that I abstained from
saying anything, simply because I had nothing in my head that it was
worth while to say.As to my own particular
matters, so deeply interesting to myself, but which never can be very
interesting to anybody else, except inasmuch as they may be mixed up
with the concerns of worthier persons, or serve to illustrate objects
of general and permanent interest, I can only say that I shrank from
the task of recording _here_ all that I must say if I spoke the plain
truth, and I am quite resolved either here or elsewhere, now or at any
other time, not to say anything which I do not believe to be true; and
after this exordium, and thus setting forth my reasons for not saying
more, I shall subjoin the few remarks upon the year that has just
expired which I feel disposed to make.[Sidenote: REVIEW OF THE YEAR.]Politically it has gone off with a tolerably equal mixture of good
and evil, difficult foreign questions, and awkward _quasi_ wars have
been settled and concluded.Great discontent and great distress
have prevailed at home, and we have the uncomfortable spectacle of
this distress neither diminished nor diminishing, and of its most
lamentable and alarming manifestation in the shape of our unproductive
revenue.As to the Ministry, if ever they had any popularity, they
have none now left, but their power as a Government, and their means
of retaining office, don't seem to be at all diminished.People are
aware we must have a Government, and though they feel no great
affection for Sir Robert Peel and Co., they cannot look round and
descry anybody else whom they would prefer to him, and on the whole I
believe there is a pretty general opinion that he is more capable of
managing public affairs than any other man.The popularity which the
Tory Government has lost has not by any means been transferred to the
account of the Whig Opposition, who seem to be in a very prostrate
and paralytic state as far as their prospects of recovering power
are concerned.The public has not returned to them, and the Queen,
their great supporter, has certainly fallen away from them.She has
found, after a year's experience, that she can go on very happily and
comfortably with the objects of her former detestation.She never
cared a farthing for any of the late Cabinet but Melbourne, and
besides having apparently ceased to care very much about him, now that
his recent attack has made his restoration to office impossible, she
will have no motive whatever for desiring all the trouble and risk
attending a change of Government, and I have no sort of doubt she
would infinitely prefer that matters should remain as they are.Daniel went to the office.Without going into any of the events which have occurred in the
course of this year, I cannot help noticing the state of public
opinion and feeling which appears at its close.Questions which not
long ago interested and agitated the world have been laid upon the
shelf; the thoughts of mankind seem to be turned into other channels.It is curious to look at the sort of subjects which now nearly
monopolise general interest and attention.First and foremost there
is the Corn Law and the League; the Corn Law, which Charles Villiers
(I must do him the justice to say) long ago predicted to me would
supersede every other topic of interest, and so it undoubtedly has.Then the condition of the people, moral and physical, is uppermost
in everybody's mind, the state and management of workhouses and
prisons, and the great question of education.The newspapers are full
of letters and complaints on these subjects, and people think, talk,
and care about them very much.And last, but not least, come the
Church questions--the Church of Scotland, the Church of England, the
Dissenters, the Puseyites.Great and increasing is the interest felt
in all the multifarious grievances or pretensions put forth by any
and all of the above denominations, and much are men's minds turned
to religious subjects.One proof of this may be found in the avidity
with which the most remarkable charges of several of the Bishops
have been read, the prodigious number of copies of them which have
been sold.Of these, the principal are the charges of the Bishops of
London (Blomfield), Exeter (Phillpotts), and St.David's (Thirlwall),
especially the second.This charge, which is very able, contains
_inter alia_ an attack upon Newman for Tract No.90, and a most
elaborate argument, very powerful, in reply to a judgement delivered
by Brougham at the Privy Council in the case of Escott v. Mastyn on
Lay Baptism.The circumstances attending the termination of the war in Afghanistan
have elicited a deep and general feeling of indignation and disgust.Ellenborough's ridiculous and bombastic proclamations, and the
massacres and havoc perpetrated by his armies, are regarded with
universal contempt and abhorrence.An evil fate seems to have attended
this operation from first to last.Every individual who has been
concerned in it, almost without exception, has rendered himself
obnoxious to censure or reproach of some sort.Civil and military
authorities appear to have alike lost all their sense and judgement,
and our greatest successes have been attended with nearly as much
discredit as our most deplorable reverses.Auckland and Ellenborough,
Burnes and M'Naghten, Keane, Elphinstone, Pollock, and Nott, are all
put on their defence on one account or another.On the whole, it is
the most painful and disgraceful chapter in our history for many a
long day.[Sidenote: DUKE OF WELLINGTON ON THE AFGHAN WAR.]The Duke of Wellington on the Afghan War--Charles Buller--Lord
Ellenborough's Extravagance--Assassination of Edward
Drummond--Nomination of Sheriffs--Opening of the Session
of Parliament--Lord Ellenborough's Position--Disclosure of
Evidence on the Boundary Question--Debate on Lord Ellenborough's
Proclamation--Lord Ellenborough Vindicated--Lord Brougham's
Activity--Lord Palmerston attacks the American Treaty--Lord
Althorp's Accession to Office in 1830--Death of John Allen--Death
of the Duke of Sussex--Death of Mr.Daniel went back to the hallway.Arkwright--Death of Lady
William Bentinck--Death of Lord Fitz Gerald--Lady W. Bentinck's
Funeral--The Temple Church--Racing--State of the Country--The
Privy Council Register--Ascot; the King of Hanover--Difficulties
of the Government--A Tour on the Continent--The Rothschilds._January 19th, 1843._--I went to Apsley House yesterday to see my
brother,[53] and while I was in his room the Duke came in.He was
looking remarkably well, strong, hearty, and of a good colour.He was
in very good spirits and humour, and began talking about everything,
but particularly about Lieut.Eyre's book, the recent Indian campaign,
the blunders committed, and Ellenborough's strange behaviour.He said
that Lord Auckland had been unfortunate in having lost successively
all his commanding officers, first Sir Henry Fane, then Lord Keane,
who, when he had done the job on which he was employed, had come home;
then Sir Willoughby Cotton, who would have done well enough, for he
had marched his men up very well, and why he came away, he never had
understood.So at last the command devolved on Elphinstone, who was
unfit, and the end was that there was not one head amongst them.'I
know,' he said,'very well what they ought to have done, and how all
these disasters might have been avoided, if they had acted as they
should have done, in time; but if you ask me what they ought to have
done, or what I should have done myself at a later period, about the
middle of November, I could not give you any answer.I do not know
what they could have done and I do not know what I should have done
myself; I cannot tell you.What they ought to have done at first,
was this: the moment Burnes was murdered, and the first symptom of
an outbreak appeared, they should have occupied the Bala Hissar with
500 or 600 men, instantly taken military possession of Cabul, and of
all the forts in the neighbourhood of the entrenchment, calculated
the amount of stores and provision requisite, and set about their
collection in Cabul itself; and if this had been promptly done they
would have been able to maintain themselves without any difficulty,
and none of these events would have occurred.But the great error
they committed was in the breach of a fundamental rule universally
established in our intercourse with the Native Powers, that no troops
should be employed in the collection of the revenue.They sent Shah
Soojah into the country with what they called his own army--in
which there was not a single Afghan soldier, for it was collected
in Hindostan, and officered by officers borrowed from the British
Government--and these troops were employed in collecting tribute
and revenue, and this produced all that animosity and hostility to
us which were the causes of what afterwards happened.'He said very
little about the original policy, but expressed his strong opinion
of the neglect which had occasioned the partial disgrace inflicted
on our rear-guard in the retreat.He said Pollock had taken all the
necessary precautions with his division, crowning the heights which
overlooked the defiles, and if the last corps had done the same thing,
this would not have happened.He then went off about Ellenborough and
his Proclamations, which he did not spare.My brother had just before
shown me a letter which Lady Colchester, Ellenborough's sister, had
written to the Duke, complaining of the attacks made upon her brother
by the press, and asking him what could be done, with a great deal
about Ellenborough's veneration for him.The Duke's answer was to this
effect: that it had always been the lot of those who served their
country and rendered great services to be maligned and assailed, as
he had been; that it had happened to the Duke himself, and he knew
no remedy for it but patience; that he had constantly written out
to him expressing his approbation of the orders he had given; and
when Parliament met, an opportunity would probably be afforded to
the Ministers of expressing their sense of his Lordship's conduct.This letter was written not above a week ago; it was therefore not
very consistent with the opinion he expressed to me of Ellenborough's
recent proceedings, for he was undoubtedly acquainted with them all
at the time he wrote it.I told him that there was but one sentiment
of indignation and ridicule at all Lord Ellenborough had been saying
and doing.He lifted up his hands and eyes, and admitted that this
was only to be expected.I told him that a friend of mine had seen a
letter from Ellenborough in which he gave an account of the review
he was going to have, when he meant to arrange his army in the form
of a star, with the artillery at the point of each ray, and a throne
for himself in the centre.'And he ought to sit upon it in a strait
waistcoat,' said the Duke.[Sidenote: LORD ELLENBOROUGH'S PROCLAMATION.]He then talked of the Proclamations pretty much as everybody else
does; he said that as soon as he had received that one about the
Gates, he had perceived all the mischief it was likely to produce;
that it would shock the religious feelings and prejudices of the
people of this country; while in India it was the greatest imprudence
to meddle with questions involving the religious differences of the
Hindoos and Mahomedans; that if he chose to carry off the Gates, and
send them back to the place from whence they had been taken, he might
have done it without allusions calculated to offend the religious
prejudices of any sect.He dwelt on the subject for a long time, and
talked on various others, but there was nothing very remarkable; he
praised Eyre's book exceedingly, and said it was evidently all true,
and was not unfair towards others.I afterwards saw Wharncliffe, and told him what had passed.I found
there had not been any discussion in the Cabinet about the way of
dealing with Ellenborough; and he imagined that the Duke was so great
a protector and favourer of him that he would be all for defending
him in Parliament, the mere notion of which, he told me, had already
half killed FitzGerald with nervousness and apprehension, as the task
must devolve more particularly on him.I told him I could not conceive
that the Duke had any such intention from what he had said to me, and
that he could not attempt it.If they proposed a vote of thanks to
Ellenborough, I did not believe they would carry it in the House of
Commons, whatever they might do in the Lords.Wharncliffe owned to me
that they were by no means sure they should not receive a requisition
from the Court of Directors to recall him.I told him they must recall
him whether they received it or not.Algernon Greville was the Duke's Private
Secretary.]][Sidenote: ASSASSINATION OF EDWARD DRUMMOND.]_January 24th._--Went to the Grove on Friday, returned yesterday; Lord
Auckland, Emily Eden, John and Lady John Russell, Charles Buller,
and Charles Vill |
kitchen | Where is Daniel? | Charles Buller very clever,
amusing, even witty; but the more I see of him the more I am struck
with his besetting sin, that of turning everything into a joke, never
being serious for five minutes out of the twenty-four hours, upon
any subject; and to such a degree has he fallen into this dangerous
habit, in spite too of the remonstrances and admonitions of his best
friends, that when he is inclined to be serious, and to express
opinions in earnest, nobody knows what he is at, nor whether he means
what he says.He goes on as if the only purpose in life was to laugh
and make others laugh.He perpetually seeks to discover and point
out what is ridiculous or what can be made so in other people, and
his talk is an incessant banter and sarcasm, certainly very lightly
and amusingly mixed and dished up.John Russell is always agreeable,
both from what he contributes himself and his hearty enjoyment of
the contributions of others.We talked a good deal, of course, about
Ellenborough and his proceedings.Auckland told us that he had been
convinced he was mad from the moment of his landing, for he seemed to
have worked himself up during the voyage to a pitch of excitement,
which immediately broke forth.The captain of the ship he went in was
so shocked at the violence he occasionally exhibited, and the strange
things he said, that he on several occasions sent his youngsters away,
that they might not hear him, and he was strongly impressed with the
conviction that he was not in his right mind.He said to Auckland,
'that he should come Aurungzebe over them,' and repeatedly he used to
say, 'what a pity it was he had not come to that country twenty years
before, and what he should have made of it if he had.'This, too,
spoken with perfect complacency to the man who had been governing it
for seven years, and after the many eminent men who had preceded him!He told Auckland he intended to turn out the Royal Family from the
Palace at Delhi and convert it into a residence for himself.Auckland
suggested to him that the fallen representative of the Mogul Emperors
had long occupied this vast habitation, which was rather the portion
of a town than merely a palace; that there the family had increased
till they amounted to nearly 2,000 souls, besides their innumerable
followers and attendants, and it would not be a very easy or advisable
process to disturb them.Ellenborough answered that it did not
signify, out they must go, for he should certainly install himself in
the Royal residence of Delhi.Since their departure from India, the
letters they have received confirm the impression his conduct made.Daniel went to the office.He says he is not like an
ordinary Governor of India, but a Minister, a President of the Board
of Control, come there to exercise in person the authority with which
he is invested.It was just as I was starting for the Grove that I heard of the
assassination of Edward Drummond,[54] one of the most unaccountable
crimes that ever was committed, for he was as good and inoffensive
a man as ever lived, who could have had no enemy, and who was not
conspicuous enough to have become the object of hatred or vengeance
to any class of persons, being merely the officer of Sir Robert Peel,
and never saying or doing anything but in his name, or as directed by
him.Daniel went back to the hallway.It is almost impossible that in his official capacity he can have
offended, or even apparently injured, anybody, and as the man assigns
no reason for what he has done, and does not appear in the slightest
degree deranged, it quite baffles conjecture to account for the
commission of such an enormity.Edward Drummond, Private Secretary to Sir Robert
Peel, was shot in Whitehall by a man named Daniel Macnaghten, on
January 20.]]_January 26th._--Poor Drummond died yesterday morning, and I never
remember any event which excited more general sympathy and regret.He was informed the night before of his hopeless condition, which he
heard with great composure, and he was sensible almost to the last.There never was a man who, according to every rule of probability, was
safer from any chance of assassination.He was universally popular,
much beloved and esteemed by numerous friends, and without an enemy
in the world; of moderate but fair abilities, a cheerful, amiable
disposition, and, entirely without vanity or ambition, he was content
to play a respectable but subordinate part in life, which he did to
the perfect satisfaction of all those with whom he was connected.The
extreme strangeness of the event, and the absence of any apparent
cause for the commission of such a crime, have given rise to various
conjectures, the most prominent of which is the notion that he was
taken for Peel.I utterly rejected this at first, because I thought
the assassin could so easily have made himself acquainted with the
person of Peel that it could not be true; but a circumstance of which
I was reminded yesterday (for I had before heard it from Drummond
himself, but forgotten it), has changed my opinion.When the Queen
went to Scotland, Peel went with Lord Aberdeen, or in some other
way, no matter how, but not in his own carriage.He sent Drummond in
his carriage, _alone_.In Scotland Peel constantly travelled either
with the Queen, or with Aberdeen, and Drummond continued to go about
in his carriage.I well remember his telling me this, and laughing
at the idea of his having been taken for a great man.It has been
proved that this man was in Scotland at the time; and if he saw, as
he probably did, Drummond in a carriage which was pointed out to him
as Sir Robert Peel's, he may have very naturally concluded that
the man in it was the Minister, and he may therefore have believed
that he was acquainted with his person.For many days before the
murder he was prowling about the purlieus of Downing Street, and the
Duke of Buccleuch told me that the day he was expected in town, and
when his servants were looking out for him, they observed this man,
though it was a rainy day, loitering about near his gate, which is
close to Peel's house.If therefore he saw, as he must have done,
Drummond constantly passing between Peel's house and Downing Street,
and recognised in him the same person he had seen in the carriage in
Scotland, and whom he believed to be Peel, he would think himself so
sure of his man as to make it unnecessary to ask any questions, and
the very consciousness of his own intentions might make him afraid to
do so.This appears to afford a probable solution of the mystery, but
if it should turn out to be true, it still remains to discover what
his motive was for attacking the life of Peel.[Sidenote: DRUMMOND MISTAKEN FOR PEEL.]_January 29th._--The man who shot Drummond, it now appears,
acknowledged that it was his intention to shoot Peel, and thought
he had done so.Graham, whom I sat by at
dinner yesterday, told me that he considered it a very doubtful case,
very doubtful what view the jury would take of the question of his
insanity.He has certainly been under a sort of delusion that the
Tories have persecuted him, but in no other respect is he mad.If the
law as laid down by Chief Justice Mansfield in Bellingham's case, and
as it was laid down in that of Lord Ferrers, prevails now, he will
not escape; but unfortunately Denman (in ignorance probably of these
dicta) laid down very different and very erroneous law in the case
of Oxford, and though his authority is worthless when compared with
the others alluded to, it is the most recent, and that is by no means
unimportant.It will be a very serious thing if he escapes, and Graham
agreed with me, that if this happens sooner or later some dreadful
catastrophe will occur.Some man or other will be sacrificed of much
greater consequence than poor Drummond.It would be a great evil too,
as well as a great absurdity, that the law on such an important
question should be decided by such a man as Denman, who, though very
honest and respectable, has not the slightest authority or weight as
a lawyer.There never was in all probability a Chief Justice of the
King's Bench held in such low estimation.It is one of the greatest
evils of the way in which political influences work in this country,
that we have never any security for having the ablest and fittest men
promoted to the judicial office.We have seen in this century Erskine,
Brougham, and now Lyndhurst, Chancellors; for the latter is _now_ not
much more competent than the other two were; and we have a man at the
head of the Common Law with hardly a smattering of law in his head,
and not looked up to by a single man in the profession.We had our Sheriffs' dinner last night at Lord Wharncliffe's, and,
what does not often happen, a great dispute about one nomination.Three men were named for Bucks, none of whom made excuses, but the
Duke of Buckingham wrote a private letter to the Lord President,
stating that the first two were unfit, and the first a mere grazier,
who had been put on the list by the Lord Lieutenant (Carrington)
and his lawyer as a mere job; the third man was unobjectionable.Wharncliffe and Lyndhurst proposed to pass over the two first, as
the Duke suggested, and take the third.Peel, Graham, and Stanley
remonstrated, and said that it was improper and irregular to pass over
a man whose name was given in the usual way, and who made no objection
to serve, on account of the interference of a person who had no right
or business to interfere.It appeared too that the Duke had made the
same objection to the Judge (Alderson), who had nevertheless given in,
or left on the roll, the name of the gentleman.After a great deal of
discussion it was resolved to pay no attention to the Duke's letter,
and to appoint the first on the list, very much to my satisfaction,
because this was the proper and the regular course, and I was glad to
see the Duke of Buckingham treated as he ought to be.He is resolved,
as he is not Lord Lieutenant in title, to make himself so in reality.Under Lyndhurst's administration of the Great Seal, he has succeeded
as far as the magistracy is concerned, and he tries to do the same
with respect to every other department.I was glad to hear Peel treat
his interference so properly as he did.[Sidenote: OPENING OF PARLIAMENT.]_February 7th._--The Parliament opened last week tamely enough.The
Speech was like all other speeches, saying nothing, and the Opposition
had already resolved not to propose an amendment.John went back to the office.The Duke of
Wellington spoke with extraordinary vigour, and surprised everybody.He is certainly a much better man in all respects this year than he
was two years ago, mind and body more firm.He boldly announced his
intention to defend Ellenborough against all assailants, and declared
that he approved of every _act_ he had done.Auckland spoke remarkably
well, in a very gentlemanlike and creditable style, and succeeded in
putting himself well with the House without going at all into his
case.At present everything promises an uneventful session.There
will of course be a certain amount of skirmishing and a vast deal of
talking, but it is very unlikely that there will be anything seriously
to embarrass the Government.The two Delawares made a dash to recover their
animals, their companions shooting the foremost of the thieves.The
property was saved and then all fell back to their own camp.As the aboriginal horse thieves were so numerous, Fremont kept up
an unremitting watch all through the night.Singular noises were
continually heard and there could be no doubt that the women and
children were retreating further into the mountains.One of the Delawares on guard was sure he saw an Indian leap over a log,
and firing quickly, brought him to the ground; but it proved to be a
prowling wolf.None of their enemies appeared, and when morning came,
Fremont withdrew from his perilous position.Sutter's Fort at last was safely reached, and the other party having
become lost, Carson was sent to find them.He succeeded with little
difficulty and the companies reunited.Their course was now directed toward Monterey on the sea coast, where
they were confident of securing all they needed, but before reaching the
place, a messenger arrived from General Castro, the Mexican commander of
the territory, ordering the Americans to leave at once or they would be
driven out.Fremont immediately intrenched himself and waited for the Mexicans to
carry out their threat.Daniel journeyed to the kitchen.He waited three days, and then, as no attempt
was made, withdrew to the Sacramento, which stream was followed to
Lawson's Trading Post, where the commander hoped to purchase the outfit
for the journey homeward.Moving northward toward the Columbia, they encountered an enormous force
of marauding Indians with whom a fierce battle was fought.The savages
were defeated and lost a large number of warriors.While encamped near Klamath Lake, two horsemen galloped up with
despatches to Fremont from Washington, forwarded by Lieutenant
Gillespie, of the United States Marines.This officer was making his way
through the Indian country with six men as an escort, when his animals
began to succumb.Fearing he would not be able to intercept the Captain,
the Lieutenant selected two of his best men and sent them ahead with the
despatches.He begged Fremont to forward him assistance, as he doubted
his ability to reach him without such help.But the most startling news brought to camp was that war had been
declared between the United States and Mexico.When Fremont had read his
despatches from his Government, he appreciated the imminent danger in
which the Lieutenant was placed, and, without any tarrying, perfected
measures for his rescue.He immediately selected ten of his men, Carson, as a matter of course
being among them, and pushed on with all haste, leaving directions for
the rest to follow as rapidly as they could.Fremont and his little company had journeyed something over fifty miles
when they met the officer and his companions.The meeting was of the
happiest nature, for the Lieutenant, in fact, was in greater danger than
he suspected, the Indians around him being among the most treacherous of
their race.Those who have been placed in a situation resembling in a slight degree
that of Fremont, can appreciate the interest with which he perused the
letters and papers from his distant home.After the parties had gone
into camp, the Captain sat up till after midnight reading by the light
of the camp fire.Tired out at last, he stretched out with his blanket
about him and sank soon into heavy slumber.The night was cold, and Carson and Owens, with their saddle blankets
wrapped around them, lay down close to the fire.All at once Carson
heard a peculiar noise, as though some one had struck a quick blow
with an axe.Wondering what it could mean, he called to one of the
mountaineers.There was no answer, for the head of the poor fellow had been cleft by
an axe in the hands of one of the Klamath Indians who had crept into
camp.A Delaware had already been killed by the treacherous redskins,
that night being the second among all those spent in the west, when the
explorers had no sentinel on duty.Carson and Owens called out "Indians!"and springing to their feet,
hurried away from the fire whose strong light was sure to tempt the aim
of their enemies.One of the other Delawares who leaped to his feet snatched up the
nearest rifle which unfortunately was not his own, and was unloaded.Unaware of the fact, he tried to fire it over again and again, without
suspecting the cause, while a Klamath launched arrow after arrow into
his body.The first penetrated his left breast and was fatal; but he
bravely kept his feet trying to discharge the useless gun, until four
other missiles were also buried within a few inches of the first.Kit Carson had been quick to detect the danger of the brave Delaware,
and, in the hope of saving his life, he brought his unerring rifle to
his shoulder.Just as his finger pressed the trigger, he recollected
that that, too, was unloaded.By one of those singular fatalities which sometimes occur, Carson had
broken the tube the night before, and left the weapon unloaded.Without
trifling with it, he threw it down, drew his single barrelled pistol
and ran toward the Klamath, who was coolly launching his arrows into the
breast of the poor Delaware.The Indian leaped from side to side, so as to distract the aim of his |
hallway | Where is John? | The mountaineer had no other shot
at command, and Maxwell tried his hand, but in the uncertain light,
inflicted only a slight wound.The Indian at that moment wheeled to run,
when one of the whites shot him dead.By this time the alarm was general
and the assailants fled.There was good reason to believe that the Klamath Indians had set the
snare for Lieutenant Gillespie and his escort.As it was, the wonder was
that Fremont's command did not suffer to a greater extent; for having
no sentinels on duty, the warriors might have perfected their schemes in
security and killed a large number.The Indian who drove five arrows into the left breast of the Delaware,
three of which pierced his heart, was the leader of the attacking party.He had an English half axe slung to his wrist by a cord, and forty
arrows were left in his quiver.Carson pronounced them the most
beautiful and warlike missiles he had ever seen.As may be supposed the explorers "slept on their arms" for the rest of
the night, but the assailants had fled.They had killed three of the explorers, besides wounding another of the
Delawares, who took characteristic revenge by scalping the leader
that had been left where he fell.The dead were given the best burial
possible.As illustrating the ingratitude and perfidy of these red
men, it may be stated that it was only a few days before that they had
visited Fremont's camp, and, though provisions were very scarce, they
had been given considerable food, besides tobacco and a number of
presents.Retaliatory Measures--Fremont's Return to California--Capture of
Sonoma--Sutter's Fort Placed Under Military Rule--Monterey Taken
by Commodore Sloat--Capture of Los Angeles by Fremont and Commodore
Stockton--Carson Sent East as a Bearer of Despatches--The Meeting with
Apaches--General Kearney--Bravery of the California Mexicans.The indignation over the action of the Indians was so great that
retaliatory measures were determined upon.Fremont moved around Lake
Klamath until nearly opposite where his command had been attacked.The
following morning, Carson and ten men were sent forward to search
for the Indian village that was believed to be somewhere in the
neighborhood.If the discovery could be made without detection on the
part of the Indians, Carson was instructed to signal to Fremont who
would hasten forward with reinforcements.The mountaineer had not gone far, when he struck a broad, clear trail,
which speedily carried him in sight of a village of some fifty lodges.As it was evident that the Indians had detected their danger, Carson and
his companions made an impetuous attack before which the red men fled in
wildest panic.A number were shot, when, finding pursuit useless, Carson
returned to the village where all the lodges were destroyed.Because of the war with Mexico, Fremont decided to return to California.On his way thither, the Tlamath Indians continually dogged them and a
number of collisions followed, though none was of particular moment.After suffering many hardships, Lawson's Fort was reached and several
days were spent in hunting, while Fremont awaited instructions as to the
course he was to take in the war then going on between the United States
and Mexico.As the days went by without bringing him any despatches, he wearied of
inactivity and decided to assume the aggressive.Daniel went to the office.Accordingly he sent
a force to a Mexican military post known as Sonoma, which with little
trouble was taken.Fremont sent out a couple of messengers to inform the American settlers
of what had taken place, but the messengers fell into the hands of
General Castro who put both to death.General Castro sent one of his captains, with quite a force to destroy
the Americans, but the officer changed his mind when he found himself
in the neighborhood of the detested invaders.Fremont pursued him for
nearly a week, and captured much of his stock and property, but the
Mexican was so skilful in retreating that he could not be brought to bay
and Fremont returned to Sonoma.The little force under Fremont now became the rallying point for the
American settlers, and before long the Captain had several hundred under
his command.Leaving a garrison at Sonoma, he marched to Sutter's Fort,
which was placed under military rule, and then made his way toward
Monterey with the purpose of capturing that town.On his arrival,
however, he found the place had already been taken by Commodore
Sloat and the American squadron.The Commodore leaving shortly after,
Commodore Stockton succeeded him.While at Sonoma, Fremont and his comrades had declared the independence
of California and adopted the Bear Flag, which was proffered to
Commodore Sloat and the Star Spangled Banner hoisted over the camp.As the Mexican General, Castro, was known to be at Los Angeles, Fremont
asked for and obtained a ship on which his force was taken to San
Diego.Then with a much inferior force, he set out to give battle to the
Mexican leader; but the latter no sooner learned of his coming, than
he fled with all his men.Finding it impossible to force him to give
battle, Fremont encamped near the town, where he waited until joined by
Commodore Stockton and a company of marines.The junction effected, they marched upon Los Angeles which immediately
fell into their hands.Long before this, Fremont had become impressed
with the necessity of having some communication with Washington.In
one sense it may be said he was all at sea, for he was without positive
instructions, at a critical period, when it was most important that his
line of policy should be clearly defined by his government.Daniel went back to the hallway.But the matter of communicating with headquarters, thousands of miles
away, was infinitely more difficult and serious than it is today.A
vast, wild, perilous and almost unknown tract stretched between the
Pacific and Atlantic, across which it required weeks and sometimes
months for an express rider to make his way.To send despatches around
Cape Horn took a much longer time; but the necessity was so urgent
that Fremont sent Carson with fifteen picked men across the plains,
instructing him to complete the journey if possible in sixty days.Carson started in the middle of September, 1846, and by the exercise of
his consummate skill he passed rapidly through a most dangerous section
without running into any special danger until the third day.Then, when
in the neighborhood of the copper mines of New Mexico, he suddenly came
upon an encampment of Apaches, one of the most hostile tribes and the
most daring of fighters in the whole southwest.This was another of those critical occasions where Carson's wonderful
quickness of mind enabled him to make the right decision without a
second's delay.He understood the language, customs and peculiarities
of the people, and he knew them to be splendid riders and tiger-like
warriors.The least evidence of timidity would invite an overwhelming
attack: a bold front and what may be called indomitable "cheek" were all
that was likely to take them through.Telling his men to halt, Carson galloped forward until within a few rods
of the warriors, when he reined up and called out that he wished to hold
a parley with them.Thereupon, a number advanced to hear what he had
to say.The mountaineer stated that he and his friends were simply
travellers through the Apache country; while they were prepared for war,
they desired peace, and as their animals were tired out they wished to
exchange them for fresh ones.The Apaches expressed themselves satisfied
with the proposal, and Carson carefully chose a camping site, where they
could best protect themselves against treachery.Then the exchange was
made, both parties being so well satisfied that they parted with many
expressions of good will.It was impossible to carry any extended stock of provisions, the party
depending upon their rifles to supply their needs in that direction; but
game proved to be very scarce and they suffered much until they reached
the first Mexican settlement.Although those people were at war with the
United States, their friendship for Carson led them to supply abundantly
all the wants of himself and friends.With unremitting diligence and skill, the party pushed on day after day
until the sixth of October, when, as they were riding across a treeless
prairie, several moving specks were observed in the far horizon.As they
came closer, they resolved themselves into horsemen, and, with a
delight which may be imagined, Carson speedily observed that they were
a detachment of United States troops under the command of General S. W.
Kearney, who was highly pleased to meet Carson.The detachment was a strong one and was on its way to operate in
California.After that officer had obtained all the important news
Carson had to give, he decided to send the despatches to Washington by
another, while he employed the mountaineer to guide him back.This delicate duty was executed with such admirable skill that General
Kearney commended Carson in the highest terms.So rapidly did they move
that California was entered early in December, and they were approaching
San Diego, when the scouts brought news that a large party of Mexicans
were intrenched a short distance ahead with the intention of disputing
their advance.Fifteen men under Carson were sent forward to drive in
the outposts and capture such loose animals as could be found.A fierce fight followed, the Mexicans showing far more daring and skill
than was expected.General Kearney was compelled to send two companies
of dragoons and twenty-five California volunteers to charge the enemy.Carson was in the front column, and was riding at high speed, when his
horse stumbled, throwing him so violently as to shatter the stock of
his gun.He lay partly stunned but speedily recovering, he caught up the
rifle of a dead dragoon and rushed into the fight.Though the Mexicans
were finally driven out, they inflicted frightful loss on the Americans.Nearly every man who was in the front column, where Carson was riding
when his horse threw him, was killed by the deadly bullets of the enemy.The Mexicans soon rallied and attacked the Americans with such
fierceness that the advance guard was driven back and forced to act on
the defensive.No soldiers could have fought with greater gallantry
than did the assailants.Before the two mountain howitzers could
be unlimbered, almost every man around them was shot down.Then the
Mexicans charged forward, lassoed the horses, captured one of the guns
and turned it on the Americans.From some cause or other it could not
be discharged.Finally, the Americans took refuge among the rocks, where
they were surrounded by three or four times their number, seemingly with
the choice of two courses before them--to surrender or starve to death.Daring Exploit of Kit Carson and Lieutenant Beale--General Kearney
Saved.The situation of General Kearney and his men could not have been more
desperate.John went back to the office.The only subsistence they had were their mules, and the water
was insufficient to meet their wants.They were completely surrounded by
the brave California Mexicans.They might exist for a time on the bodies
of their animals, but they must perish without water.General Kearney called his friends together during the afternoon to
consult as to whether any possible means of escape was before them.He had sent three scouts to Commodore Stockton at San
Diego, asking for immediate help, but the three were captured by the
Mexicans on their return.Kearney had succeeded in exchanging a Mexican
lieutenant, whom he held prisoner, for one of the scouts, but nothing
was gained thereby.The messenger reported that they had been unable to
reach San Diego, and Commodore Stockton, therefore, was in ignorance of
the peril of his countrymen not far distant.When every one expressed himself as unable to see the first ray of
hope, Carson in his deliberate, modest way said that it was clear only a
single possibility remained--that was by procuring relief from Commodore
Stockton at San Diego.Though the other scouts had failed to reach
him, Carson expressed his belief that he could succeed.At any rate, he
desired to make the attempt to pass the Mexican lines.Lieutenant Beale, since Minister to Austria, and favorably known
throughout the country, immediately seconded the proposition,
volunteering to accompany Carson.General Kearney gladly and gratefully
accepted the offer, and the arrangements were instantly made.These
arrangements were of the simplest nature.The beleaguered Americans
were surrounded by three cordons of sentinels, and it was necessary
for Carson and Beale to make their way past them in order to reach San
Diego.When night was fully descended, the two left the rocks and approaching
the first line, sank upon their hands and knees, and crawled forward
with the silence and stealth of Indian scouts.Despite the utmost care,
their shoes made a slight noise now and then, and to avoid it, they took
them off and shoved them in their belts.The exploit of Lieutenant Beale and Kit Carson was a most remarkable
one in every respect.Frequently through the gloom they would catch the
faint outlines of a sentinel, pacing back and forth.Instantly the two
would lie flat on their faces until the man moved away, when the painful
progress would be resumed.Daniel journeyed to the kitchen.The slightest forgetfulness was certain to prove fatal, for the
Mexicans, knowing the desperate straits of the Americans, must have
been expecting some such attempt and were therefore more than usually
watchful.Once a mounted Mexican rode close to the prostrate figures, sprang off
his horse and lit his cigarette.He was so close that the tiny flame
showed his nose and features, as it was held in front of his face, while
lighting the twist of tobacco.During that most trying moment, as
Kit Carson afterwards declared, he distinctly heard the beating of
Lieutenant Beale's heart.There seemed no escape but finally the horseman drove away and the
painful progress was continued for fully two miles, during which both
men were constantly peering through the darkness for signs of danger.Again and again they were compelled to halt, and lying flat on their
faces, wait till their fate was determined."We are through," whispered Carson at last, when considerable distance
beyond the last row of sentinels.exclaimed Lieutenant Beale in the same guarded voice."Now we'll put on our shoes and travel as fast as we know how to San
Diego--"
The mountaineer paused in dismay, for, while creeping over the plain, he
had lost both his shoes that were thrust in his belt.The Lieutenant had
been equally unfortunate, and, as it was utterly out of their power
to recover them, they could only push on barefooted, over a soil that
abounded with thorns and prickly pears.As these could not be seen in
the darkness, their feet were soon wounded to a distressing degree.It
was necessary to avoid the well beaten trails, so that the route was not
only made longer, but much more difficult on account of the obstacles
named.The lives of General Kearney
and his brave men were in the balance.If Carson and Beale failed to
bring help right speedily, they were doomed.All night long, through the succeeding day and far into the following
night, the couple, worn, wearied and with bleeding feet, pushed ahead.Mary journeyed to the bathroom.When exhausted, they would halt for a brief while, but the thought of
their imperilled comrades, and the fear that some of the Mexicans were
pursuing them, speedily started them off again and they kept to their
work with a grim resolution which heeded not fatigue, suffering and
wounds.The only compass Carson had was his eye, but he was so familiar with the
country that he never lost himself.The weary men were still trudging
forward, when through the darkness ahead suddenly flashed out a
star-like point of light.Several others appeared and a minute after
they dotted the background of gloom like a constellation.exclaimed Carson, who could not be mistaken.The
couple could scarcely restrain their joy.New life and activity thrilled
their bodies, and they hurried on with the same elastic eagerness they
felt at the beginning.In a short while they were challenged by sentinels, and making known
their mission, were taken before Commodore Stockton.That officer, with
his usual promptness, sent a force of nearly two hundred men to the
relief of General Kearney.They took with them a piece of ordnance which
for want of horses the men themselves were forced to draw.They advanced by forced marches to the endangered Americans, scarcely
pausing night or day, until in sight of the Mexicans, who considering
discretion the better part of valor, withdrew without exchanging a shot
with the naval brigade.As may be supposed, the feet of Carson and Beale were in a frightful
condition, when they reached San Diego.The mountaineer, on that
account, did not return with the reinforcements, but he described the
course and location so minutely that no difficulty was experienced by
the relieving force.John travelled to the hallway.Lieutenant Beale was a man of sturdy frame, accustomed |
bedroom | Where is Mary? | Capture of Los Angeles--Court Martial of Fremont--Carson Appointed a
Bearer of Dispatches to Washington--His Journey to St.Daniel went to the office.Louis--Visits
Washington--Appointed Lieutenant by President Polk--Ordered Back Across
the Continent--His Journey--Assigned to Duty at Tajon Pass--Again
Ordered to Washington--His Appointment not Confirmed by the United
States Senate--Visit to Washington--Return to New Mexico.The chief force of the Mexicans was at Los Angeles over a hundred miles
to the north of San Diego.They numbered six or seven hundred and were
strongly intrenched.General Kearney and Commodore Stockton joined their
commands and marched to attack them.Arriving in front of the town, they
scattered the Mexicans intrenched on the outside, and then marched into
the place.But the enemy had fled and gone northward to meet Fremont
who was on his way from Monterey with four hundred men to attack Los
Angeles.Daniel went back to the hallway.The Mexicans had not long to search when they found Fremont, but,
instead of giving him battle, their commander surrendered, possibly
preferring to give him the honor, instead of selecting the other
commanders.Fremont continued his march to Los Angeles, where they went
into winter quarters, and Carson, who had been devoting his valuable
services to General Kearney, now rejoined his old friend, Fremont.It may be stated in this place that the jealousy between Commodore
Stockton and General Kearney assumed such a shape at that time that
Fremont was compelled to acknowledge either one or the other as his
superior officer.He selected Commodore Stockton as the one to whom he
owed superior allegiance.The result of the petty quarrel was the trial
of Fremont by court martial, the particulars of which are too well known
to require further reference at our hands.In the following March, Kit Carson was selected to carry despatches to
Washington.Lieutenant Beale, who was still suffering from the exposure
and hardships he had undergone, accompanied him, together with a guard
of a dozen veteran mountaineers.Lieutenant Beale was so weak that
Carson for many days was obliged to lift him on and off his horse; but
the clear air, the healthful exercise and the cheery companionship of
the hardy scout were the best tonics in the world, and probably did the
invalid more good than any other treatment that could have been devised.Carson took an extremely southern route, and his superior skill and
knowledge of the country and its inhabitants enabled him to avoid all
danger until he reached a tributary of the lower Colorado.While in camp
at midnight, they were assailed with a shower of arrows from a party
of Indians; but, as Carson expected the attack, he had made such
preparations that not one of his men were injured.Without any other incident worth the mention, Carson and his escort
reached St.There the renowned mountaineer became the hero of
the hour.He was taken at once to the home of Hon.Thomas H. Benton, the
distinguished statesman and the father in law of Colonel Fremont, who
introduced him to the leading Citizens.The first person to greet Carson when he stepped from the cars in
Washington was Mrs.Fremont, who recognized him from the description
given by her husband in his letters.She compelled him to accompany her
to the house of her father, where he remained an honored guest during
his stay in Washington, which was for a considerable time.Among the compliments paid Carson while in the capital was that of his
appointment by President Polk, as lieutenant in the rifle corps of the
United States army, and he was ordered to return across the continent
with despatches.At Fort Leavenworth, Carson was furnished with an
escort of fifty men who were volunteers in the war against Mexico.The journey westward was marked by no stirring incident until he reached
the eastern declivity of the Rocky Mountains, where a company of United
States Volunteers were overtaken.John went back to the office.They had in charge an enormous train
of wagons on the way to New Mexico.On the morning after the encampment
of Carson near them, the Indians made an attack upon the volunteers,
capturing all their cattle and more than twenty horses.The mountaineer
and his men dashed to the rescue, recaptured all the cattle, but were
unable to retake the horses.Shortly after, Carson and his company reached Santa Fe.There he parted
from the volunteers and hired sixteen others with which he continued the
journey, thereby obeying the instructions received at Fort Leavenworth.Pursuing the even tenor of his way, he arrived at a tributary of the
Virgin River, when he abruptly came upon an encampment of several
hundred Comanches, who, as Carson happened to know, had massacred a
number of settlers only a short time before.Understanding as thoroughly
as he did the treacherous nature of these people, he made a bold front,
and, when they attempted to visit his camp, peremptorily ordered them to
keep away.He added that he knew all about them, and the first one who moved closer
would be shot.Furthermore, if they did not depart, within a specified
time, he notified them that they would be fired upon.These were such
audacious words that the Comanches doubted their sincerity.To test it,
some of them overstayed their time.Not wishing to break his pledge,
Carson ordered his men to fire, One of the warriors fell, while several
others, who were badly wounded, came to the conclusion that when the
great mountaineer made a statement there was likely to be considerable
truth in it.Food soon became so scarce that mule meat formed the only diet until
they reached Los Angeles.Carson pushed on to Monterey where he
delivered the despatches to the proper officer, and then returning to
Los Angeles he was assigned to duty in Captain Smith's Company of
United States dragoons.He was given command of twenty-five dragoons and
directed to proceed to Tajon Pass, through which marauding Indians were
accustomed to pass when returning from their raids in California.Daniel journeyed to the kitchen.It
was an important point, and the winter of 1847-48 was spent in the
performance of the duties thus placed upon him.In the spring, he was
once more ordered to carry despatches to Washington, an escort being
furnished him as in the previous instance.In crossing Grand River, one of the rafts became unmanageable, upset,
losing considerable valuable property and endangering the lives of a
number of the company.A large force of Utah and Apache Indians were
encountered, but Carson managed them with the same skill he had shown
them so many times before.On arriving at Taos, he spent several days with his family and friends,
after which he proceeded to Santa Fe.There he learned that the United
States Senate had refused to confirm his nomination as lieutenant in
the army.Many of his friends were so angered over this slight that they
urged him to refuse to carry the despatches further; but his reply, as
given by Dr.Peters, is so admirable that we quote it:
"I was entrusted with these despatches, having been chosen in
California, from whence I come, as the most competent person to take
them through safely.I would try to fulfill this duty even if I knew it
would cost me my life.It matters not to me, while I am performing this
service for my country, whether I hold the rank of lieutenant in the
United States Army or am known merely as an experienced mountaineer.I
have gained some little honor and credit for the manner in which I
have always conducted myself when detailed on any special and important
business, and I would on no account now wish to forfeit the good opinion
formed of me by a majority of my countrymen because the United States
Senate did not deem it proper to confer on me an appointment which I
never solicited, and one which, had it been confirmed, I would have
resigned at the termination of the war."Having determined to perform his duty, he made careful inquiries as to
the state of feeling among the Indians through whose country the trail
led.The reports were of the most alarming character: the Comanches were
on the war path with a vengeance.They were swarming all along the old
Santa Fe Trail, on the watch for parties whom they could overwhelm and
destroy.Such being the case, Carson resorted to the bold artifice of making a
trail of his own.He reduced his escort to ten experienced mountaineers
and then struck out upon his new route.He rode northward from Taos
until within a region rarely visited by hostiles, when he changed his
course by the compass several times.By this means, he reached Fort
Kearney on the Platte and finally arrived at Fort Leavenworth.Not only
had he avoided all trouble with Indians, but by following the new route,
had found abundance of game so that the entire trip was but little more
than a pleasure excursion.All danger was over at Fort Leavenworth, where he parted from his escort
and went alone to Washington.Previous to this, the war with Mexico
had ended, the treaty of peace having been signed February 2, 1848, and
proclaimed on the 4th of July following.Carson tarried in Washington only long enough to deliver his despatches
to the proper authorities, when he turned about and made his way to
Taos, New Mexico, where he joined once more his family and friends.Hostility of the Apaches--Colonel Beale Sends an Expedition Against
Them--Nothing Accomplished--Colonel Beale Leads an Expedition with
Carson as Guide--Capture and Release of Two Chiefs--March to the
Arkansas--Another Failure--Carson and Maxwell Build a Ranche--Fremont's
Fourth Expedition--The Murderous Apaches--A Fruitless Pursuit.Kit Carson was one of those whose destiny seems to be that of stirring
incident and adventure.No man possessed such an intimate knowledge of
the manners, customs and peculiarities of the tribes in the southwest,
and with his exceptional woodcraft, skill and high courage his services
were always indispensable.While he was at Taos, the Indians around him were restless until the
whole country was seething and on the verge of a general revolt.Colonel Beale, commanding officer of the district, had established his
headquarters at Taos.The Apaches committed so many outrages that he
believed the only course open was to administer a thorough chastisement;
but it was tenfold easier to reach such a conclusion than it was to
carry it out.A strong force having been despatched to bring them to
account, pursued them to the mountains from which they were compelled to
return without accomplishing anything at all.The subsequent history of
these Apaches and of General Crook's campaign against them are
familiar enough to all to justify the declaration that they have proven
themselves the bravest and most formidable tribe that has defied the
United States government during the past half century.Disappointed that the officer whom he sent failed to do anything,
Colonel Beale took command himself and employed Kit Carson as guide.Instead of stopping in the mountains because they were blocked with
snow, as the former expedition had done, Colonel Beale forced his way
with great difficulty through them.The search for the Indians was long
but fruitless.The cunning red skins were at home in their fastnesses
and not a solitary warrior was bagged.As the supply of provisions was running low, Colonel Beale was forced to
return and retrace his steps.On their return, they came upon a village
of Apaches into which the soldiers charged; but the nimble warriors
easily got away, with the exception of a couple of chiefs who fell into
the hands of the Americans.Hoping to rouse the chivalry and gratitude
of their nature, Colonel Beale lectured them kindly and after their
promise to behave themselves, allowed them to depart.As soon as they
were beyond rifle shot, they must have grinned with exultation, for it
was not their nature to repay kindness with anything but cruelty.As Colonel Beale could not accomplish anything during the winter months,
he returned to Taos, where he remained until February, when, learning
that a large force of Indians were congregated on the Arkansas, with a
number of Mexican captives, he went thither intending to retake them
by force, if they could not be secured by peaceable means.He had two
companies of dragoons, and as before, engaged Carson as guide.When he reached the Arkansas, he found himself confronted by two
thousand Indians who had gathered to meet their agent and probably to
consult as to their future movements.Mary journeyed to the bathroom.The agent was present and was a
man of practical sense and experience.He told Colonel Beale that it
would never do to demand the prisoners, for the Indians were in ugly
temper and if aroused, would massacre the whole command.Colonel Beale
himself was resentful, and very much disposed to give the red men
battle, but he suffered himself to be dissuaded from carrying out his
original purpose.When Carson returned once more to Taos, he reflected that he was
approaching middle life, and as he now had quite a family, he was
anxious to provide something for them.Though he had rendered services
beyond value to the United States government, and to different
individuals, he had not received enough compensation to place them
above want should he become disabled.About this time, his old friend,
Maxwell, proposed that they should build a ranch in a beautiful valley
some distance north of Taos.The site was a most charming one, though it
was so much exposed to the attack of Indians that until then no one had
dared to settle there.John travelled to the hallway.Handsome, roomy and substantial structures were erected, and many of the
most enjoyable days of their lives were spent on this famous ranche.It
would be a pleasant farewell to leave them there to end their days
in comfort and peace, but it was to be far otherwise with both and
especially with Carson.In 1848-49, Colonel Fremont made a fourth exploring expedition across
the continent, he bearing all the expense, as he did in the case of
his fifth expedition made in 1853.The fourth was an appalling failure,
marked by an extremity of suffering that is incredible.The guide
employed was wholly ignorant and the command became entangled among the
snows of the mountains, where some of them lived not only on mules
but on each other.The strongest lay down and died, and the horrible
features of Fremont's fourth expedition were only approached by that
of Lieutenant Strain on the Isthmus of Darien.When the few ghastly
survivors staggered out of the mountains they tottered to Carson's
ranche, where they received the kindest treatment from him who had
served Fremont so faithfully on his former expeditions.Mary journeyed to the bedroom.Carson had been on his ranche but a short time, when news reached him of
a most atrocious murder by the Apaches.By
"Josiah Allen's Wife"
(Marietta Holley)
Part 6
CHAPTER XXIII.Miss Timson's letter wuz writ to me on the 6th day of his sickness, and
Josiah and me set sail for Loontown on the follerin' day after we got
it.I laid the case before the female Sisters of the meetin' house, and they
all counselled me to go.For, as they all said, on account of Sister
Bobbet's fallin' on the apple parin' we could not go on with the work
of paperin' the meetin' house, and so the interests of Zion wouldn't
languish on account of my absence for a day or two any way.And, as the
female Sisters all said, it seemed as if the work I wuz called to in
Loontown wuz a fair and square case of Duty, so they all counselled
me to go, every one on 'em.Sandra journeyed to the garden.Though, as wuz nateral, there wuz severel
divisions of opinions as to the road I should take a-goin' there, what
day I should come back, what remiedies wuz best for me to recommend
when I got there, what dress I should wear, and whether I should wear
a hankerchif pin or not--or a bib apron, or a plain banded one, etc.,
etc., etc., etc.But, as I sez, as to my goin' they wuz every one on 'em unanimus.They
meen well, those sisters in the meetin' house do, every one on 'em.Josiah acted real offish at first about goin'.And he laid the case
before the male brothers of the meetin' house, for Josiah wuz fearful
that the interests of the buzz saw mill would languish in his absence.One or two of the weaker brethren joined in with him, and talked kinder
deprestin' about it.But Deacon |
garden | Where is John? | Daniel went to the office.We hearn afterwards that Deacon Sypher and Deacon Henzy wanted to go
into the North Woods a-fishin' and a-huntin' for 2 or 3 days, and it has
always been spozed by me that that accounted for their religeus advice
to Josiah Allen.Howsumever, I don't _know_ that.But I do know that they started off
a-fishin' the very day we left for Loontown, and that they come back
home about the time we did, with two long strings of trout.[Illustration: THE RETURN OF THE HUNTERS.]And there wuz them that said that they ketched the trout, and them that
said they bought 'em.And they brung back the antlers of a deer in their game bags, and some
bones of a elk.And there are them that sez that they dassent, either
one of 'em, shoot off a gun, not hardly a pop gun.But I don't know the
truth of this.I know what they _said_, they _said_ the huntin' wuz
excitin' to the last degree, and the fishin' superb.And there wuz them that said that they should think the huntin' would be
excitin', a-rummagin' round on the ground for some old bones, and they
should think the fishin' would be superb, a-dippin' 'em out of a barell
and stringin' 'em onto their own strings.But their stories are very large, that I know.And each one on 'em,
accordin' to their tell, ketched more trouts than the other one, and fur
bigger ones, and shot more deers.Wall, Deacon Sypher'ses advice and Deacon Henzy's influenced Josiah a
good deal, and I said quite a few words to him on the subject, and,
suffice it to say, that the next day, about 10 A.M., we set out on our
journey to Loontown.[Illustration: "MISS TIMSON AND ROSY SEEMED DRETFUL GLAD TO SEE ME."]Miss Timson and Rosy seemed dretful glad to see me, but they wuz pale
and wan, wanner fur than I expected to see 'em; but after I had been
there a spell I see how it wuz.I see that Ralph wuz their hero as well
as their love, and they worshipped him in every way, with their hearts
and their souls and their idealized fancies.Wall, he wuz a noble lookin' man as I ever see, fur or near, and as good
a one as they make, he wuz strong and tender, so I couldn't blame 'em.And though I wouldn't want Josiah to hear me say too much about it, or
mebby it would be best that he shouldn't, before I had been there 24
hours I begun to feel some as they did.But my feelin's wuz strictly in a meetin' house sense, strictly.Daniel went back to the hallway.But I begun to feel with them that the middle of the world wuz there in
that bedroom, and the still, white figure a-layin' there wuz the centre,
and the rest of the world wuz a-revolvin' round him.His face wuz worn and marked by the hand of Time and Endeaver.But every
mark wuz a good one.The Soul, which is the best sculptor after all,
had chiselled into his features the marks of a deathless endeavor and
struggle toward goodness, which is God.Had marked it with the divine
sweetness and passion of livin' and toilin' for the good of others.He had gi'n his life jest as truly to seek and save them that wuz lost
as ever any old prophet and martyr ever had sense the world began.But
under all these heavenly expressions that a keen eye could trace in his
good lookin' face, could be seen a deathly weakness, the consumin' fire
that wuz a-consumin' of him.Miss Timson wept when she see me, and Rosy threw herself into my arms
and sobbed.But I gently ondid her arms from round my neck and give Miss
Timson to understand that I wuz there to _help_ 'em if I could."For," sez I softly, "the hull future time is left for us to weep in,
but the present wuz the time to try to help Ralph S.Wall, I laid to, Josiah a-helpin' me nobly, a-pickin' burdock leaves
or beet leaves, as the case might be, and a-standin' by me nobly all
through the follerin' night (that is, when he wuz awake).Josiah and I took care on him all that night, Miss Timson refusin' to
give him into the charge of underlin's, and we a-offerin' and not to be
refused.John went back to the office.Wall, Josiah slept some, or that is, I s'poze he did.I didn't hear much
from him from 10 P.M.to 5 A.M., only once I heard him murmer in his
sleep, "buzz saw mill."[Illustration: "DIDN'T SEE HOW FOLKS NEEDED SO MUCH SLEEP."]But every time I would come out into the settin' room where he sot and
roust him up to get sunthin' for me, he would say, almost warmly--
"Samantha, that last remark of your'n wuz very powerful."And I wouldn't
waste my time nor hisen by tellin' him that I hadn't made no remark, nor
thought on't.I see it would hurt his feelin's, specilly as he would add
in haste--
"That he didn't see how folks needed so much sleep; as for him, it wuz a
real treat to keep awake all night, now and then."Daniel journeyed to the kitchen.No, I would let it go, and ask him for burdock or beet, as the case
might be.Truly I had enugh on my mind and heart that night without
disputin' with my Josiah.Ralph S. Robinson would lay lookin' like a dead man some of the time,
still and demute, and then he would speak out in a strange language,
stranger than any I ever heard.He would preach sermons in that
language, I a-knowin' it wuz a sermen by his gestures, and also by my
feelin's.And then he would shet up his eyes and pray in that strange,
strange tongue, and anon breakin' out into our own language.And once he
said:
"And now may the peace of God be with you all.His voice lingered sort o' lovin'ly over that word, and I felt that he
wuz a-thinkin' then of the real peace, the onbroken stillness, outside
and inside, that he invoked.Rosy would steal in now and then like a sweet little shadow, and bend
down and kiss her Pa, and cry a little over his thin, white hands which
wuz a-lyin' on the coverlet, or else lifted in that strange speech that
sounded so curius to us, a-risin' up out of the stillness of a Loontown
spare bedroom on a calm moonlit evenin'.Wall, Friday and Saturday he wuz crazier'n a loon, more'n half the time
he wuz, but along Saturday afternoon the Doctor told us that the fever
would turn sometime the latter part of the night, and if he could sleep
then, and not be disturbed, there would be a chance for his life.Wall, Miss Timson and Rosy both told me how the ringin' of the bells
seemed to roust him up and skair him (as it were) and git him all
excited and crazy.And they both wuz dretful anxius about the mornin'
bells which would ring when Ralph would mebby be sleepin'.So thinkin'
it wuz a case of life and death, and findin' out who wuz the one to
tackle in the matter, I calmly tied on my bonnet and walked over and
tackled him.It wuz Deacon Garven and he wuz a close communion Baptist by
perswaision, and a good man, so fur as firm morals and a sound creed
goes.Some things he lacked: he hadn't no immagination at all, not one speck.And in makin' him up, it seems as if he had a leetle more justice added
to him to make up a lack of charity and pity.And he had a good deal
of sternness and resolve gin him, to make up, I spoze, for a lack of
tenderness and sweetness of nater.A good sound man Deacon Garven wuz, a man who would cheat himself before
he would cheat a neighber.He wuz jest full of qualities that would
hender him from ever takin' a front part in a scandel and a tragedy.Yes, if more men wuz like Deacon Garven the pages of the daily papers
would fairly suffer for rapiners, embezzlers, wife whippers, etc.Wall, he wuz in his office when I tackled him.Mary journeyed to the bathroom.The hired girl asked me
if I come for visitin' purposes or business, and I told her firmly,
"business!"So she walked me into a little office one side of the hall, where I
spoze the Deacon transacted the business that come up on his farm, and
then he wuz Justice of the Peace, and trustee of varius concerns (every
one of 'em good ones).He is a tall, bony man, with eyes a sort of a steel gray, and thin lips
ruther wide, and settin' close together.John travelled to the hallway.And without lookin' like one,
or, that is, without havin' the same features at all, the Deacon did
make me think of a steel trap.I spoze it wuz because he wuz so sound,
and sort o' firm.A steel trap is real firm when it lays hold and tries
to be.[Illustration: "THE DEACON DID MAKE ME THINK OF A STEEL TRAP."]Wall, I begun the subject carefully, but straight to the pint, as my way
is, by tellin' him that Ralph S. Robinson wuz a-layin' at death's door,
and his life depended on his gettin' sleep, and we wuz afraid the bells
in the mornin' would roust him up, and I had come to see if he would
omit the ringin' of 'em in the mornin'."Not ring the church bells
on the Sabbath day?"His look wuz skairful in the extreme, but I sez--
"Yes, that is what I said, we beg of you as a Christian to not ring the
bells in the mornin'."Advise me as a _Christian_ to not ring the
Sabbath bells!"I see the idee skairt him.Mary journeyed to the bedroom.He wuz fairly pale with surprise and borrow.And I told him agin', puttin' in all the perticilers it needed to make
the story straight and good, how Ralph S. Robinson had labored for
the good of others, and how his strength had gin out, and he wuz now
a-layin' at the very pint of death, and how his girl and his sister wuz
a-breakin' their hearts over him, and how we had some hopes of savin'
his life if he could get some sleep, that the doctors said his life
depended on it, and agin I begged him to do what we asked.But the Deacon had begin to get over bein' skairt, and he looked firm as
anybody ever could, as he sez: "The bells never hurt anybody, I know,
for here I have lived right by the side of 'em for 20 years.Do I look
broke down and weak?""No more than a grannit monument, or a steel
trap.""Wall," sez he, "what don't hurt me won't hurt nobody else.""But," sez I, "folks are made up different."Sez I, "The Bible sez so,
and what might not hurt you, might be the ruin of somebody else.And he added firmly, "I don't believe in nerves.There hain't no use in'm.""It wuz a wonder they wuz made, then," sez I."As a generel thing the
Lord don't make things there hain't no use on.Howsumever," sez I,
"there hain't no use in disputin' back and forth on a nerve.But any
way, sickness is so fur apart from health, that the conditions of one
state can't be compared to the other; as Ralph S. Robinson is now, the
sound of the bells, or any other loud noise means torture and agony to
him, and, I am afraid, death.And I wish you would give orders to not
have 'em rung in the mornin'."Sandra journeyed to the garden."And do you, a member of a sister church, which, although it has many
errors, is still a-gropin' after the light!Do you counsel me to set
aside the sacred and time honored rules of our church, and allow the
Sabbath to go by unregarded, have the sanctuary desecrated, the cause
of religion languish--I cannot believe it.Think of the widespread
desolation it would cause if, as the late lamented Mr.John journeyed to the garden.Selkirk sung:
"'The sound of the church-going bells,
These valleys and hills never heard.'""No church, no sanctuary, no religius observances.""Why," sez I, "that wouldn't hinder folks from goin' to church.Folks
seem to get to theatres, lectures, and disolvin' views on time, and
better time than they do to meetin'," sez I."In your opinin' it hain't
necessary to beat a drum and sound on a bugle as the Salvation Army duz,
to call folks to meetin'; you are dretful hard on them, so I hear."Mary went to the bathroom."Yes, they make a senseless, vulgar, onnecessary racket, disturbin' and
agrivatin' to saint and sinner.""But," sez I, "they say they do it for the sake of religion.""Religion hain't to be found in drum-sticks," sez he bitterly."No," sez I, "nor in a bell clapper.""Oh," sez he, "that is a different thing entirely, that is to call
worshippers together, that is necessary."Sez I, "One hain't no more necessary than the other in my opinion."Sez he, "Look how fur back in the past the sweet bells have sounded
out.""Yes," sez I candidly, "and in the sweet past they wuz necessary," sez
I."In the sweet past, there wuzn't a clock nor a watch, the houses wuz
fur apart, and they needed bells.But now there hain't a house but what
is runnin' over with clocks--everybody knows the time; they know it so
much that time is fairly a drug to 'em.Why, they time themselves right
along through the day, from breakfast to midnight.Time their meals,
their business, their pleasures, their music, their lessons, their
visits, their visitors, their pulse beats, and their dead beats.They
time their joys and their sorrows, and everything and everybody, all
through the week, and why should they stop short off Sundays?Why not
time themselves on goin' to meetin'?There
hain't no earthly need of the bells to tell the time to go to meetin',
no more than there is to tell the time to put on the tea-kettle to get
supper.If folks want to go to meetin' they will get there, bells or no
bells, and if they don't want to go, bells hain't a-goin' to get 'em
started."Take a man with the Sunday _World_ jest brung in, a-layin' on a lounge,
with his feet up in a chair, and kinder lazy in the first place, bells
hain't a-goin' to start him."And take a woman with her curl papers not took down, and a new religeus
novel in |
kitchen | Where is Daniel? | No, the great bell of Moscow
won't start 'em.[Illustration: "BELLS HAIN'T A-GOIN' TO START HIM."]Mary moved to the hallway."And take a good Christian woman, a widow, for instance, who loves
church work, and has a good handsome Christian pasture, who is in
trouble, lost his wife, mebby, or sunthin' else bad, and the lack of
bells hain't a-goin' to keep that women back, no, not if there wuzn't a
bell on earth.""Oh, wall, wavin' off that side of the subject," sez he (I had convinced
him, I know, but he wouldn't own it, for he knew well that if folks
wanted to go they always got there, bells or no bells)."But," sez he
wavin' off that side of the subject, "the observance is so time honored,
so hallowed by tender memories and associations all through the past.""Don't you'spoze, Deacon Garven," sez I, "that I know every single
emotion them bells can bring to anybody, and felt all those memorys and
associations.I'll bet, or I wouldn't be afraid to bet, if I believed in
bettin', that there hain't a single emotion in the hull line of emotions
that the sound of them bells can wake up, but what I have felt, and felt
'em deep too, jest as deep as anybody ever did, and jest es many of 'em.But it is better for me to do without a upliftin', soarin' sort of a
feelin' ruther than have other people suffer agony."sez he, "talk about their causin' agony, when there hain't a
more heavenly sound on earth."[Illustration: "A-LEANIN' OVER THE FRONT GATE ON A STILL SPRING
MORNIN'."]"So it has been to me," sez I candidly."To me they have always sounded
beautiful, heavenly.Why," sez I, a-lookin' kinder fur off, beyond
Deacon Garven, and all other troubles, as thoughts of beauty and
insperation come to me borne out of the past into my very soul, by the
tender memories of the bells--thoughts of the great host of believers
who had gathered together at the sound of the bells--the great army of
the Redeemed--
'Some of the host have crossed the flood, and some
are crossin' now,'
thinks I a-lookin' way off in a almost rapped way.And then I sez to
Deacon Garven in a low soft voice, lower and more softer fur, than I had
used to him,
"Don't I know what it is to stand a-leanin' over the front gate on a
still spring mornin', the smell of the lilacs in the air, and the brier
roses.A dew sparklin' on the grass under the maples, and the sunshine
a-fleckin' the ground between 'em, and the robins a-singin' and the
hummin' birds a-hoverin' round the honeysuckles at the door.And over
all and through all, and above all clear and sweet, comin' from fur
off a-floatin' through the Sabbath stillness, the sound of the bells,
a-bringin' to us sweet Sabbath messages of love and joy.Bringin'
memories too, of other mornin's as fair and sweet, when other ears
listened with us to the sound, other eyes looked out on the summer
beauty, and smiled at the sound of the bells.Heavenly emotions, sweet
emotions come to me on the melody of the bells, peaceful thoughts,
inspirin' thoughts of the countless multitude that has flocked together
at the sound of the bells.The aged feet, the eager youthful feet, the
children's feet, all, all walkin' to the sound of the bells.Thoughts
of the happy youthful feet that set out to walk side by side, at their
ringin' sounds.Thoughts of the aged ones grown tired, and goin' to
their long dreamless sleep to their solemn sound.Thoughts of the brave
hero's who set out to protect us with their lives while the bells wuz
ringin' out their approval of such deeds.Thoughts of how they pealed
out joyfully on their return bearin' the form of Peace.Thoughts of how
the bells filled the mornin' and evenin' air, havin' throbbed and beat
with every joy and every pain of our life, till they seem a part of us
(as it were) and the old world would truly seem lonesome without 'em."As I told you, and told you truly, I don't believe there is a single
emotion in the hull line of emotions, fur or near, but what them bells
have rung into my very soul."But such emotions, beautiful and inspirin' though they are, can be
dispensed with better than justice and mercy can.Sweet and tender
sentiment is dear to me, truly, near and dear, but mercy and pity and
common sense, have also a powerful grip onto my right arm, and have to
lead me round a good deal of the time."Beautiful emotion, when it stands opposed to eternal justice, ort to
step gently aside and let justice have a free road.Sentiment is truly
sweet, but any one can get along without it, take it right along through
the year, better than they can without sleep."You see if you can't sleep you must die, while a person can worry along
a good many years without sentiment.Or, that is, I have been told they
could.I don't know by experience, for I have always had a real lot of
it.You see my experience has been such that I could keep sentiment and
comfort too.But my mind is such, that I have to think of them that
hain't so fortunate as I am."I have looked at the subject from my own standpoint, and have tried
also to look at it through others' eyes, which is the only way we can
get a clear, straight light on any subject.As for me, as I have said,
I would love to hear the sweet, far off sound of the bells a-tremblin'
gently over the hills to me from Jonesville; it sounds sweeter to me
than the voices of the robins and swallers, a-comin' home from the South
in the spring of the year.And I would deerly love to have it go on and
on as fur as my own feelins are concerned.But I have got to look at the
subject through the tired eyes, and feel it through the worn-out nerves
of others, who are sot down right under the wild clamor of the bells."What comes to me as a heavenly melody freighted full of beautiful
sentiment and holy rapture comes to them as an intolerable agony,
a-maddenin' discord, that threatens their sanity, that rouses 'em up
from their fitful sleep, that murders sleep--the bells to them seem
murderus, strikin' noisily with brazen hands, at their hearts.[Illustration: "TOSSIN' ON BEDS OF NERVOUS SUFFERIN'."]"To them tossin' on beds of nervous sufferin', who lay for hours fillin'
the stillness with horror, with dread of the bells, where fear and dread
of 'em exceed the agony of the clangor of the sound when it comes at
last.Long nights full of a wakeful horror and expectency, fur worse
than the realization of their imaginin's.To them the bells are a
instrument of torture jest as tuff to bear as any of the other old thumb
screws and racks that wrung and racked our old 4 fathers in the name of
Religion."I have to think of the great crowd of humanity huddled together right
under the loud clangor of the bells whose time of rest begins when the
sun comes up, who have toiled all night for our comfort and luxury.So
we can have our mornin' papers brought to us with our coffee.So we can
have the telegraphic messages, bringing us good news with our toast.So's we can have some of our dear ones come to us from distant lands in
the morning.I must think of them who protect us through the night so we
can sleep in peace."Hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of these, our helpers and
benafacters, work all night for our sakes, work and toil.The least we
can do for these is to help 'em to the great Restorer, sleep, all we
can."Some things we can't do; we can't stop the creakin' sounds of the
world's work; the big roar of the wheel of business that rolls through
the week days, can't be oiled into stillness; but Sundays they might get
a little rest Sunday is the only day of rest for thousands of men and
wimmen, nervous, pale, worn by their week's hard toil."The creakin' of the wheels of traffic are stopped on this day.They
could get a little of the rest they need to carry on the fight of life
to help support wife, child, father, husband; but religeon is too much
for 'em--the religeon that the Bible declares is mild, peacible, tender.It clangs and bangs and whangs at 'em till the day of rest is a torment."Now the Lord wouldn't approve of this.I know He wouldn't, for He was
always tender and pitiful full of compassion.I called it religeon for
oritory, but it hain't religeon, it is a relict of old Barberism who,
under the cloak of Religeon, whipped quakers and hung prophetic souls,
that the secrets of Heaven had been revealed to, secrets hidden from the
coarser, more sensual vision."Sez Deacon Garven: "I consider the bells as missionarys."And," sez I, for I waz full of my subject, and kep him down to it all I
could, "Ralph S. Robinson has spread the Gospel over acres and acres of
land, and brung in droves and droves of sinners into the fold without
the help of church or steeple, let alone bells, and it seems es if he
ortn't to be tortured to death now by 'em.""Wall," he said, "he viewed 'em as Gospel means, and he couldn't, with
his present views of his duty to the Lord, omit 'em."Sez I, "The Lord didn't use 'em."Wall," he said, "it wuz different times now."Sez I, "The Lord, if He wuz here to-day, Deacon Garven, if He had bent
over that form racked with pain and sufferin' and that noise of any kind
is murderous to, He would help him, I know He would, for He wuz good to
the sick, and tender hearted always.""Wall, _I_ will help him," sez Deacon Garven, "I will watch, and I will
pray, and I will work for him."Sez I, "Will you promise me not to ring the bells to-morrow mornin'; if
he gets into any sleep at all durin' the 24 hours, it is along in the
mornin', and I think if we could keep him asleep, say all the forenoon,
there would be a chance for him."Wall," sez he kinder meltin' down a little, "I will talk with the
bretheren."Sez I, "Promise me, Deacon Eben Garven, before you see 'em."Sez he, "I would, but I am so afraid of bringin' the Cause of Religeon
into contempt.And I dread meddlin' with the old established rules of
the church."Sez I, "Mercy and justice and pity wuz set up on earth before bells wuz,
and I believe it is safe to foller 'em."But he wouldn't promise me no further than to talk with the bretheren,
and I had to leave him with that promise.As things turned out
afterwuds, I wuz sorry, sorry es a dog that I didn't shet up Deacon
Garven in his own smoke house, or cause him to be shet, and mount a
guard over him, armed nearly to the teeth with clubs.But I didn't, and I relied some on the bretheren.Ralph wuz dretful wild all the forepart of the night.He'd lay still for
a few minutes, and then he would get all rousted up, and he would set up
in bed and call out some words in that strange tongue.And he would lift
up his poor weak right arm, strong then in his fever, and preach long
sermons in that same strange curius language.He would preach his sermon
right through, earnest and fervent as any sermon ever wuz.I would know
it by the looks of his face.And then he would sometimes sing a little
in that same singular language, and then he would lay down for a spell.But along towards mornin' I see a change, his fever seemed to abate and
go down some--very gradual, till just about the break of day, he fell
into a troubled sleep--or it wuz a troubled sleep at first--but growin'
deeper and more peaceful every minute.And along about eight o'clock he
wuz a-sleepin' sweet for the first time durin' his sickness; it wuz a
quiet restful sleep, and some drops of presperation and sweat could be
seen on his softened features.We all wuz as still, almost, as if we wuz automatoes, we wuz so afraid
of makin' a speck of noise to disturb him.We kep almost breathless,
in our anxiety to keep every mite of noise out of his room.But I did
whisper to Rosy in a low still voice--
[Illustration: "THE LORD BE PRAISED, WE SHALL PULL HIM THROUGH."]"Your father is saved, the Lord be praised, we shall pull him through."She jest dropped onto her knees, and laid her head in my lap and cried
and wept, but soft and quiet so's it wouldn't disturb a mice.Daniel travelled to the kitchen.Miss Timson wuz a-prayin', I could see that.She wuz a-returnin' thanks
to the Lord for his mercy.As for me, I sot demute, in that hushed and darkened room, a-watchin'
every shadow of a change that might come to his features, with a
teaspoon ready to my hand, to give him nourishment at the right time if
he needed it, or medicine.come right over our heads the wild, deafening clamor of the
bells.Ralph started up wilder than ever because of his momentary repose.He
never knew us, nor anything, from that time on, and after sufferin' for
another 24 hours, sufferin' that made us all willin' to have it stop, he
died.And so he who had devoted his hull life to religeon wuz killed by it.He who had gin his hull life for the true, wuz murdered by the false.[Illustration: "AND I THOUGHT HE WUZ PRONOUNCIN' A BENEDICTION ON THE
SAVAGES."]His last move wuz to spread out his hands, and utter a few of them
strange words, as if in benediction over a kneelin' multitude.And I
thought then, and I think still, that he wuz pronouncin' a benediction
on the savages.And I have always hoped that the mercy he besought from
on High at that last hour brought down God's pity and forgiveness on all
benighted savages, and bigoted ones, Deacon Garven, and the hull on 'em.The very next day after I got home from Miss Timson'ses, we wimmen all
met to the meetin' house agin as usial, for we knew very well that the
very hardest and most arjuous part of our work lay before us.For if it had been hard and tuckerin' to what it seemed the utmost limit
of tucker, to stand up on a lofty barell, and lift up one arm, and
scrape the ceilin', what would it be, so we wildly questioned our souls,
and each other, to stand up on the same fearful hites, and lift _both_
arms over our heads, and get on them fearful lengths of paper smooth.I declare, when the hull magnitude of the task we had tackled riz before
us, it skairt |
hallway | Where is Daniel? | But lovin' it as we did, as the very apples in our eyes, and havin' in
our constant breasts a determinate to paper that meetin' house, or die
in the attempt, we made ready to tackle it.[Illustration: "WE HAD TO WAIT FOR THE PASTE TO BILE."]Yet such wuz the magnitude of the task, and our fearful apprehensions,
that after we had looked the ceilin' all over, and examined the
paper--we all sot down, as it were, instinctivly, and had a sort of a
conference meetin' (we had to wait for the paste to bile anyway, it wuz
bein' made over the stove in the front entry).And he would lift up his
poor weak right arm, strong then in his fever, and preach long sermons
in that same strange curius language.He would preach his sermon right
through, earnest and fervent as any sermon ever wuz.I would know it by
the looks of his face.And then he would sometimes sing a little in that
same singular language, and then he would lay down for a spell.But along towards mornin' I see a change, his fever seemed to abate and
go down some--very gradual, till just about the break of day, he fell
into a troubled sleep--or it wuz a troubled sleep at first--but growin'
deeper and more peaceful every minute.And along about eight o'clock he
wuz a-sleepin' sweet for the first time durin' his sickness; it wuz a
quiet restful sleep, and some drops of presperation and sweat could be
seen on his softened features.[Illustration: "WE ALL SET AND LAID ON OUR PLANS, AND CUT THE EDGES
OFFEN THE PAPER."]We all wuz as still, almost, as if we wuz automatoes, we wuz so afraid
of makin' a speck of noise to disturb him.We kep almost breathless, in
our anxiety to keep every mite of noise out of his room.But I did
whisper to Rosy in a low still voice--it middlin calm, and Miss Gowdy
offered to be the one to carry it back to Jonesville, and change it that
very afternoon--for we could not afford to buy a new one, and we had the
testimony of as many as twenty-one or two pairs of eyes, that the handle
didn't come out by our own carelessness, but by its own inherient
weakness--so we spozed he would swap it, we spozed so.But it wuz
arrainged before we disbanded (the result of our conference), that the
next mornin' we would each one on us bring our offerin's to the fair,
and hand 'em in to the treasurer, so's she would know in time what to
depend on, and what she had to do with.And we agreed (also the result of our conference) that we would, each
one on us, tell jest how we got the money and things to give to the
fair.And then we disbanded and started off home but I'll bet that each one on
us, in a sort of secret unbeknown way, gin a look on that lofty ceilin',
them dangerus barells, and that pile of paper, and groaned a low
melancholy groan all to herself.[Illustration: "THE HANDLE COME OUT."]I know I did, and I know Submit Tewksbury did, for I stood close to her
and heard her.But then to be exactly jest, and not a mite underhanded,
I ort mebby to say, that her groan may be caused partly by the fact that
that aniversery of hern wuz a-drawin' so near.Yes, the very next day
wuz the day jest 20 years ago that Samuel Danker went away from Submit
Tewksbury to heathen lands.Yes, the next day wuz the one that she
always set the plate on for him--the gilt edged chiny with pink sprigs.But I'll bet that half or three quarters of that low melancholy groan of
her'n wuz caused by the hardness of the job that loomed up in front of
us, and the hull of mine wuz.Wall, that night Josiah Allen wuz a-feelin' dretful neat, fer he had
sold our sorell colt for a awful big price.It wuz a good colt; its mother wuz took sick when it wuz a few days old,
and we had brung it up as a corset, or ruther I did, fer Josiah Allen
at that time had the rheumatiz to that extent that he couldn't step his
foot on the floor for months, so the care of the corset come on me, most
the hull on it, till it got big enough to run out in the lot and git its
own livin'.Night after night I used to get up and warm milk for it, when it wuz
very small, for it wuz weakly, and we didn't know as we could winter it.[Illustration: "I WOULD MEANDER OUT THERE IN A ICY NIGHT TO FEED IT."]We kep it in a little warm shed offen the wood house for quite a spell,
but still I used to find it considerable cold when I would meander out
there in a icy night to feed it.But jest as it is always the way with
wimmen, the more care I took on it, the more it needed me and depended
on me, the better I liked it.Till I got to likin' it so well that it wuzn't half so hard a job for me
to go out to feed it in the night as it would have been to laid still in
my warm bed and think mebby it wuz cold and hungry.So I would pike out and feed it two or three times a night.That is the nater of wimmen, the weaker it wuz and the humblier it wuz,
and the more it needed me, the more I thought on it.And as is the nater of man, Josiah Allen didn't seem to care so much
about it while it wuz weak and humbly and spindlin'.He told me time and agin, that I couldn't save it, and it never would
amount to anythin', and wuzn't nothin' but legs any way, and lots of
other slightin' remarks.And he'd call it "horse corset" in a kind of
a light, triflin' way, that wuz apt to gaul a woman when she come back
with icy night-gown and frosty toes and fingers, way along in the night.[Illustration: "BEEN OUT TO TEND TO YOUR 'HORSE CORSET,' HAVE YOU?"]Mary moved to the hallway.He'd wake up, a-layin' there warm and comfortable on his soft goose
feather piller and say to me: "Been out to tend to your 'horse corset,'
have you?"Such language way along in the night, from a warm comfortable pardner to
a cold one, is apt to make some words back and forth.And then he'd speak of its legs agin, in the most slightin' terms--and
he'd ask me if didn't want its picter took--etc., etc., etc.(I believe one thing that ailed Josiah Allen wuz he didn't want me to
get up and get my feet so cold).But, as I wuz a-sayin', though I couldn't deny some of his words, for
truly its legs did seem to be at the least calculation a yard and a half
long, specilly in the night, why they'd look fairly pokerish.Daniel travelled to the kitchen.And though I knew it wuz humbly still I persevered, and at last it
got to thrivin' and growin' fast.And the likelier it grew, and the
stronger, and the handsomer, so Josiah Allen's likin' for it grew and
increased, till he got to settin' a sight of store by it.And now it wuz a two-year-old, and he had sold it for two hundred and
fifteen dollars.It wuz spozed it wuz goin' to make a good trotter.Wall, seem' he had got such a big price for the colt, and knowin' well
that I wuz the sole cause of its bein' alive at this day, I felt that it
wuz the best time in the hull three hundred and sixty-five days of the
year to tackle him for sunthin' to give to the fair.I felt that the
least he could do would be to give me ten or fifteen dollars for it.So
consequently after supper wuz out of the way, and the work done up, I
tackled him.Even when a very little boy Joshua liked to draw.He
liked so well to draw that it was very hard for him to study in
school.He always saw so many things to draw that he could not wait
until after school, but drew them on the back of his lesson papers.One day he drew all over his number paper, and when he handed it in,
his father could not read the numbers on account of the drawing.His
father was disappointed because his son's paper did not look so neat
as the other boys', and so he wrote at the top of the paper, "Done by
Joshua out of pure idleness."Joshua had five brothers and sisters who liked to draw just as well as
he did, and who could all draw very much better than he could.It took so much paper and so many pencils for all his children, that
finally the father told them they might draw on the walls of the
halls.These walls had been whitewashed and the children used burnt
sticks for pencils.At first the older brothers and sisters used to help little Joshua by
guiding his hand, but he soon learned to draw as well as they.His
first drawings had been so funny that they had laughed at him.When he was only eight years old Joshua drew a picture that every one
praised very much.His father was
so pleased when he saw it that he said, "This is wonderful!"In the little town where Joshua lived the people went to church on
Sundays, of course, and sometimes also during the week.At first he sat very still; but the sermon was
a very long one, and finally he grew so tired he could not listen
another minute.He thought he would like to draw a picture of the
minister, but he had nothing to draw it on.Then he remembered that he
had a pencil in his pocket, and that he could draw the picture on his
thumb nail.The church was near the river, and after church Joshua went down to
the river bank.Finding a piece of an old sail, he carried it to a
boathouse, and here, from the picture on his thumb nail, he drew on
the piece of sail the portrait of the minister.Then he painted it,
using common paint such as is used to paint boats.Joshua was only
eleven years old, and had finished his first oil painting.His father
had wanted him to be a doctor, but after seeing this picture he
decided to let Joshua have his own way and be a painter.He sent him
to a good teacher, and lived to see his son a great artist.=Questions about the artist.= Who painted this picture?What did Sir
Joshua Reynolds like to do when he was a boy?How
many brothers and sisters did he have?How old was Joshua when he drew the picture of the
schoolhouse?What did his father say when he saw this picture?How did
Joshua happen to paint a picture of the minister?On what did he make
his first sketch?What did Joshua's father
want him to be when he grew up?After he had seen this picture, what
did he say Joshua might be?THE FIRST STEP
=Artist:= Jean Francois Millet (zhaeN fraeN' swae' m[=e]l[)e]'').=Birthplace:= Gruchy, France.=Dates:= Born, 1814; died, 1875.=Questions to arouse interest.= What do you see in this picture?Why
is the picture called "The First Step"?How many have a baby brother or
sister who is just learning to walk?Why do you think it
is not a very warm day?=The story of the picture.= One bright day in the early fall of the
year, when the leaves of the trees were thickest and the woodbine on
the fence was just beginning to turn red, a little child was fretting
to go outdoors.He was tired of staying in when all was beautiful
outside, and he wanted his mother to stop her work and take him out
into the sunshine, to the garden where his father was working.And by
and by that is just what she did.Putting on her own cap, and a bonnet
on the child's head, so there would be no danger of his taking cold,
she carried him out to the old fence.When the father saw them coming through the gate he dropped his spade
and started to meet them.The little boy began to wave his arms,
impatient to reach his father.Then the mother thought this would be a
good time to let him try to walk.Placing him on the ground, she holds
him safely while the father holds out his arms invitingly.Now the mother will let him try to
walk alone, keeping close behind, and ready to catch him if he should
fall, until he reaches his father's arms.How proud they will be when
their baby takes his first step all alone!He has been creeping and
crawling for a long time, but now he is big enough to stand on his feet.This family of hard-working peasants have little time for play; they
must work to keep up their home.The father, as you see, has been
digging potatoes with that heavy spade.He will put them in his
wheelbarrow and take them to the house.Perhaps he will have enough to
last him all winter, and some to sell, too.The potatoes he wants to keep he will bury in the ground.In those
days very few people had cellars in which to keep their vegetables.Instead, they would dig a great hole in the ground, line it with
straw, and then put the potatoes in, covering them with straw and
earth.Then, instead of going to the grocery to buy potatoes as we do,
they went out into the yard and dug them up.[Illustration: _The First Step_]
No doubt the father made this fence, the spade, the pitchfork, and
even the wheelbarrow we see in the picture, while the mother, we are
sure, made all their clothes except the wooden shoes.In those days the mothers could not go down to the store to buy the
goods for their clothes as we do now.Instead they spun thread out of
flax or wool, and then wove it into cloth on a great loom something
like the small looms we use in school to make rugs and hammocks.This
they usually did during the winter when there was less work to do, for
there were so many more things that had to be done during the summer
than during the winter.Daniel went back to the bedroom.In summer they had to take care of the fruit just as our mothers do.But they did not know anything about canning it,--they would cook it a
long time and make preserves or else they would dry it.They dried
most of their fruit, making it just like the dried apples, peaches,
and apricots we buy at the store.In France, where this picture was painted, the women worked out in the
fields just like the men.So you see how very busy they must have
been.And yet they always found time to love and care for their little
children.We do not know even the name of this baby, or of his mother or father.The artist, Millet, thought that of no importance at all.Daniel moved to the hallway.He did not
even care to show us their faces, any more than he would care to show
us the buttons on their clothes.The important thing is the love and
tenderness of this mother and father as they stop their work to guide,
help, and encourage their baby in taking his first step.All his life
the baby will find them never too tired or weary to help him when he
needs it most.Peasants like these, we know, lived in France, and as a rule they were
very poor, although the two in our picture seem thrifty and
comfortable.The trees, even the grass growing up beside the fence,
seem sturdy and strong like the peasants to whom they belong.We feel the strength of the father's extended arms, so ready and able
to protect this baby.The mother, too, will do her share.Even the
trees seem to bend |
bedroom | Where is Daniel? | This is a simple, homelike picture, whose chief beauty lies in its
strong appeal to our feeling of sympathy with, and interest in, these
honest country people.=Questions to help the pupil understand the picture.= What has the man
been doing?Why does he not put them in the cellar?the
wheelbarrow, the spade, and the pitchfork?How did the mother make the cloth for their clothes?Why do you think they are a happy family?=The story of the artist.= Jean Francois Millet was the son of French
peasants who must have been very much like the father and mother in
this picture.But a picture of Millet's boyhood would not be complete
unless it included his grandmother.You see, that dear old lady rocked
him to sleep, played with him, and kept him happy all day long while
his mother, like all French peasants, worked out in the fields with
his father.It was she who was the first to discover that her little grandson
liked to draw.His first drawings were copies of pictures in his
grandmother's old illustrated Bible.He would listen to stories read
to him from the Bible and then he would take a piece of chalk and draw
a picture of what happened in the story.Soon he began to draw large, bold pictures which covered the stone
wall of their house.She found a new
story to read or tell him nearly every day.Of course his father and mother saw the pictures as soon as they came
home, and encouraged the boy as much as they could.The father liked
to draw, too, but he could not see why Millet should be making up
pictures from imagination when there were so many real things to draw.So he called his son's attention to the trees, the fields, and houses
in the distance, and soon the boy began to draw these, too.One Sunday when Millet was coming home from church he met an old man,
his back bent over a cane as he walked slowly along.Something about the
bent figure made Millet feel he would like to draw a picture of the man
just as he looked then.Taking a piece of charcoal from his pocket, he
drew a picture of him from memory.He drew it on a stone wall, and as
people passed that way they recognized the man.All liked the picture
very much, and told Millet so.His father, too, was delighted, and
decided that his son should have a chance to become an artist.One day the two went to an artist who lived in a neighboring town and
showed him some of Millet's sketches.The artist was amazed, and at
first would not believe the boy had drawn them.You may be sure he was
glad to have this bright boy for a pupil.But Millet studied with him
only two months, when he was called home by the death of his father.At first it seemed as if they needed him so much at home he would
never be able to go on with his studies.But soon the good people in
the little village collected a sum of money and gave it to Millet,
telling him it was for him to use to go to Paris and study.Millet was
almost a grown man by this time, and you may be sure he was grateful
and that he worked very hard while in Paris.But people did not like
his pictures, and he was very poor.Other artists painted pictures of
beautiful people dressed in fine clothes and living in rich homes, and
so nobody cared for Millet's poor, humble peasants, dressed in their
working clothes and doing the work they had to do.It was not until Millet was an old man that people began to appreciate
his work.Mary moved to the hallway.Now most of those fashionable artists of his time have been
forgotten, while the paintings of Jean Francois Millet have become
more and more valuable.=Questions about the artist.= Where did the artist live?Who took care
of Millet when he was little?Daniel travelled to the kitchen.Why was his mother away from home so
much?Who was the first one to see his drawings?Tell about the old man leaning on a cane.Where did his
father take him to study?What did the artist think when he saw
Millet's sketches?A FASCINATING TALE
=Artist:= Madame Henriette Ronner (roen''n[~e]r).=Dates:= Born, 1821.=Questions to arouse interest.= In what room are these kittens?Why do you think the mouse does not know that the kittens
can see his tail?Which one do you think will catch the mouse?Why do you suppose they did not catch the mouse before it
tried to hide?If they keep very still, what will the mouse think?What is on the table beside
the kittens?What may happen to the ink bottle if the big cat jumps?What is the color of these kittens' fur?How many of you have a pet
kitten at home?Why is the
picture called "A Fascinating Tale"?=The story of the picture.= Early one morning two plump little kittens
started out in search of adventure.The library door was open, and
both little kittens heard a queer rustling noise on the big library
table.Up on a chair they jumped, then up on the table, just in time
to see a little mouse darting under some papers.The mouse thought
the kittens would not know where it was if it kept very still; but
there was its tail in plain sight.The kittens were so frightened they did not know what to do.They
tried to remember all their mother had taught them about catching a
mouse, but they could only watch that tail, scarcely breathing for
fear it would move.Daniel went back to the bedroom.The mother cat came just then, hunting for her
kittens.When she saw them keeping so still she knew there must be
something the matter.In the picture she is all ready to spring upon the mouse as soon as he
moves, so she can be sure to catch him.How confident she looks, and
how pleased she is that the kittens found the mouse and will help her
catch it!The kittens are so excited it is doubtful whether they can
help very much; but if she can persuade one of them just to touch that
tail, then all will be a scramble.More likely they will all keep so
still that the mouse will think he is alone and come out.[Illustration: _A Fascinating Tale_]
Which cat do you think will catch him?The little white kitten is the
more daring of the two, as she stands there, paws braced wide apart,
all ready to spring either toward the mouse or away from it.The little black kitten wants to see
all that is going on, but at a safe distance.How those books and papers will be scattered about when the old cat
jumps for the mouse!The ink bottle is in a very bad place, although
the inkstand looks as if it were a heavy one and would be hard to
overturn, even if the cat does jump on it.Did you ever watch a cat catch a mouse?how fast that mouse will
have to run if he is to get away!Notice the long, graceful, curving
body of the mother cat, and how she holds her head alert as she plans
how to catch the mouse.Although these three cats are all still for the moment, we are made to
feel that each is about to do something, and we wonder just what that
something will be.Notice the different colors of the cats' fur and of
the books placed carelessly in a row.Let us think how this table will
look in just a few moments.A FASCINATING TALE
Books and ink, and kittens three
In this picture we can see
All upon a table wide.Daniel moved to the hallway.Little mouse, your tail's too long;
It's your fault; if they do wrong.All these books will surely fall,
Ink stains soon will cover all.Don't you know your tail's in sight
Of those kittens' eyes so bright?You are wise to keep quite still,
For they're watching with a will.Maybe you can make them think
It's the cord that ties the ink.Mother Cat looks very wise;
She will know it by its size.She has taught her kittens, too,
Just exactly what to do.Have a care,
For to lose you they'll not dare.Though they're frightened, we can see
With her help it's you must flee.And they caught you, as I thought;
You're a nuisance, so they ought.But they all look very proud,
And their purr is very loud.=Questions to help the pupil understand the picture.= How did the
kittens happen to find the mouse?What is between
the black kitten and the mouse?What will very likely happen to the
books and papers?Which way do you think the white kitten will jump?=To the Teacher:= Encourage the children to talk about their own pets
at home, and to draw pictures of them.The drawings may not be good in
themselves, but such practice will make the children more observant,
and so prepare the way for better drawing later.=The story of the artist.= Madame Ronner, the woman who painted this
picture, was very fond of cats, as you can easily imagine.She had a
very large cage made for her pets, with wire over the top and glass
for the sides.She had the sides made of glass so that she could
always watch the cats when she painted, no matter in what part of the
cage they happened to be; and of course the top was of wire so they
could have plenty of air.The floor of the cage was well cushioned,
and there were several hanging bobs for the cats to play with.Her father was an artist, and he, although blind, was her only
teacher in drawing and painting.She would describe her pictures to
him, and he would criticize and tell her how to improve them.When she was only sixteen years old she exhibited her first picture,
which she called "Cats in the Window."The picture received a great
deal of praise and was sold immediately.Every one supposed she would
paint more pictures of cats, because she could paint them so well, but
for some reason she began to paint dogs instead.Her dog pictures won
much popularity also and for many years she supported herself and her
blind father by her paintings of dogs.After her father's death she married and moved from Amsterdam to
Brussels, where she again became interested in painting cats.It was
then that she did her best work.One of her best pictures painted at
that time was "A Fascinating Tale."Madame Ronner had so much care and trouble all her life, it is a wonder
she could paint such bright, happy pictures.She was very poor much of
her life, and had not only the care and support of her blind father but
later on of an invalid husband and several little children.Still with
it all she must have found time for a frolic with these fluffy little
kittens, to have known just how to paint them at their best.Her little children must have liked to play with them, too.John moved to the bathroom.=Questions about the artist.= Who painted this picture?What other animals
did Madame Ronner paint besides cats?What makes you think she must have liked cats?Daniel travelled to the bedroom.Where did she put them
when she wanted to paint them?Why
did it have wire over the top?What
did she have for the cats to play with?A HELPING HAND
=Original Picture:= Corcoran Gallery, Washington,
D.C.=Artist:= Emile Renouf (r[~e] n[=oo]f'').=Dates:= Born, 1845; died, 1894.=Questions to arouse interest.= Of what is this a picture?What do
you suppose the man does for a living?What
makes you think he loves the little girl?For what is the long pole
with the rope around it used?What do you see ahead that he is trying to turn away from?Why do you think she cannot
help very much?What else do you see in the
boat?Why is it called "A Helping Hand"?=The story of the picture.= When we go fishing for a few hours or half a
day we think it great fun, but a real fisherman, who earns his living
that way, has to work very hard.Fishermen usually start out at four or
five o'clock in the morning, and do not come home again until late at
night.Sometimes they go away for several days, fishing night and day.Very probably this little girl is not awake mornings when her father
eats his breakfast and starts out.He wears a rain-proof hat and heavy
coat, for one never can tell what the weather will be out on the
water.He must take a good lunch with him, too, for he is sure to get
hungry.The mother will see that the lunch is ready.When the wind is blowing in the right direction he puts up the heavy
pole you see in the center of the boat, lets out the sail, and
tightens the rope.Then, with a good wind, how fast he can go!He
knows just where each kind of fish likes to stay, and goes straight to
the very best place.Here he drops his heavy iron anchor into the
water.This anchor is fastened to the boat and keeps it from drifting.Sometimes the fish do not bite at all, and he has very few to carry
home after his hard day's work.Then again his great boat is filled
full of shiny fish."Fisherman's luck," that is called.He probably uses that net with the long wooden handle to help him
catch the big fish.He may have used it also to catch his minnows for
bait.No doubt he catches all the minnows he needs before he starts,
because they live in the shallow water near the shore and it is easier
to catch them there.Some fishermen use very long nets, something like those you see on a
tennis court, only wider and stronger.The fish get tangled up in the net, and then it is very easy to
catch them.[Illustration: From a Thistle Print, Copyright Detroit Publishing Co._A Helping Hand_]
A flat-bottomed boat is the best for fishing, they say.You can move
about in it without much danger of tipping over, and it holds more.The fish often think it is a wharf or a good cool place under which to
hide, and you can catch them easily.Very likely this little girl has never been out with her father on one
of his long trips, for it would be much too tiresome for so small a
girl.It would seem, rather, as if he had finished his day's work,
and was taking his little daughter with him on some short errand.Perhaps they are on their way home, and there is something in that
sack the mother needs.Just now there is no wind, or it is not in the
right direction, for they do not use the sail.It must be in the bottom of the boat.The
man must row hard with the oar he is pulling at or they will run into
that great rock you see ahead.It looks as if those little sailboats far off in the distance are
standing still.Perhaps they have no oars, and are waiting for the wind
to come up and blow them home.If they were anchored the sails would be
rolled up and put away.A good sailor must take good care of his boat
and sails.If a sail is not stretched out in the sun and allowed to dry
after a heavy dew or rain, it will rot and soon fall to pieces.A sailor knows how to tie a very tight knot which is called a
"sailor's knot."He needs to know how to tie this, for if the knots
are not tight and his rope should come untied, or anything give way
when there is a heavy wind, the boat would very likely be overturned.The little girl looks as if she were putting all her strength into
those tiny hands that cannot near go around the oar.How pleased her
father seems to be to have her try to help him!He knows she is doing
the best she can, and he lets her think she is helping row the boat.It must help him somewhat, just to know that she is trying so hard and
wants to help.She must slip about on that seat every time the oar moves, for her
feet do not touch the bottom of the boat.She will be tired when she
reaches home, and warm too, no doubt.They will not lose their hats even if the wind does blow, for the
little girl's bonnet is tied under her chin, and her father has pulled
his rubber hat tight over his head.Often, when he is out fishing on
the deep sea, the spray dashes over the fisherman's boat, and he is
glad to have a rubber hat and coat to wear.The little |
bedroom | Where is Daniel? | What do you think is in the pockets of her apron to
make them puff out so?It must be in the summer time, or she would
surely wear a coat and rubber boots.No
wonder it takes such a large oar to row it.=Questions to help the pupil understand the picture.= Tell something
about a fisherman's day.How does he keep his boat from drifting while he fishes?What is meant
by "fisherman's luck"?What makes you think the
fisherman is going home now?Why does he
have a flat-bottomed boat?Mary moved to the hallway.How does a good sailor care for his boat
and sails?What is a "sailor's knot"?Why does the
fisherman wear a rubber hat and coat?How many think the little girl
is helping?Why do you think her father is so pleased to have her try?Daniel travelled to the kitchen.What time of the year do
you think it is?=To the Teacher:= The children might be allowed to draw or cut out a
sailboat and a fisherman's hat.=The story of the artist.= Very little is known about the boyhood of
the man who painted this picture.His paintings were usually of
fisherfolk, and of boats on the water.We know that in 1886 he came to
America and spent one year in New York City.It was during this time
that he painted his picture of Brooklyn Bridge, now in the museum in
Le Havre, the town in France where he died."A Helping Hand" is the
most popular of his pictures, and may be seen in the Corcoran Gallery
at Washington, D.C.Daniel went back to the bedroom.=Questions about the artist.= Who painted this picture?What class of
people did he like to paint?What did he paint during his visit to
America?THE STRAWBERRY GIRL
=Original Picture:= Wallace Collection, London, England.=Artist:= Sir Joshua Reynolds (r[)e]n''[)u]ldz).=Birthplace:= Plympton, Devonshire, England.=Dates:= Born, 1723; died, 1792.=Questions to arouse interest.= What do you see in this picture?Do you think she looks
frightened, or shy?Why would she not carry strawberries in her
apron?=The story of the picture.= We all know the story about the great
artist, Sir Joshua Reynolds, and his picture called "Angels' Heads."We know, too, how very fond of children he was, and how much they
liked to go to see him.Having no children of his own, perhaps he would not have understood them
so well if his little niece had not come to live with him when she was a
very little girl.Her name was Theophila Palmer, but every one called
her "Offy."When her father died the family was left very poor, and so
Sir Joshua Reynolds wanted to help her mother, who was his sister.He
offered to adopt Offy as his own little daughter and to take her home to
live with him and his sister in his great house in London.After living on a farm out in the country all her life, you can
imagine how excited Offy was when it was finally decided that she
should go.Her uncle came for her in that same big coach or carriage
in which little Frances Isabelle Gordon liked so much to ride.What a fine time she must have had playing in the great yard with Sir
Joshua, and with the children who came to him to have their pictures
painted!Very often she would go home to see her mother and sister.Then Sir Joshua would send his carriage to bring them all back for a
visit with him.What fun it was to show them all around the great
house and yard!There were fine, large trees in the yard, and behind
the house was a small garden with a strawberry patch at one end.One bright spring morning Offy woke up with a beautiful plan in her
head.He had been so very busy she felt
sure he had not looked at the strawberry bed for several days, and did
not know the berries were ripe.She would take her little basket and
pick it full of the largest ones for him.[Illustration: _The Strawberry Girl_]
It was great fun hunting for them, and her basket was almost full when
suddenly she heard steps.It was her uncle and two strange men who
walked with him.She did not have time to hide, but stood there with
her basket on her arm, waiting to hear what they would say.At first she thought her uncle was going to scold her, and that is why
she looks so shy and half afraid.But no, Sir Joshua soon guessed why
she was picking the strawberries, and he was very glad he could offer
some to his friends.One of the men called Offy "the little strawberry
girl," and kept her with him all the rest of the day.Sir Joshua seemed to like to look at her that day, and she was not
surprised the next morning when he asked her to bring the basket and
come into his studio, for he wanted to paint her picture.She had had
her picture painted several times before, and knew just about what he
would want her to do.But this time he had a surprise for her.It was a large mirror which
he placed in such a way that she could look in it and see every stroke
of his pencil and brush as he painted her.He had her stand just as
she did when he surprised her out in the strawberry patch.As she watched him paint he talked to her about the garden and the
strawberries.Then she told him how she used to gather wild
strawberries out in the country, and that she and her sister and
brother started very early in the morning because they wanted to find
them while they were still wet with dew.There was one place not far
from their house where there were many rocks, and one that was very
large.The very largest, sweetest berries grew in the shade of this
great rock.The children used to try to see who would reach it first;
then they would divide the berries they found, for there were only a
few of them, and all wanted a taste.Daniel moved to the hallway.As Offy told about the rock Sir Joshua Reynolds sketched it in the
background of his picture, just as he thought it must have looked.The little girl looks as if she had just started away with her basket
of berries when we stopped her to take her picture.She is looking
straight at us, with her head bent forward a little as she smiles
shyly at us with her big eyes.Her basket, cap, and dress seem strange
to us, for little girls do not dress that way now.She looks quaint
and old-fashioned as she stands there, with her hands clasped so
primly.But one glance at her face tells us that she is just a merry,
happy little child, ready to dart away at any moment for a romp in the
woods we can see in the distance.Sir Joshua Reynolds always said that this was the best child's picture
he ever painted.Offy was very happy in his home, and lived there until she grew up and
married.Then when she had a little girl of her own she let her visit
Sir Joshua and have her picture painted, too.It is Offy's little
daughter we see in the picture called "Simplicity."With so many lovely pictures of children it is no wonder Sir Joshua
Reynolds was called the "Prince of Child Painters."=Questions to help the pupil understand the picture.= Who painted this
picture?Who can tell
something about Sir Joshua Reynolds?What little girl came to live with
him?Tell about Sir Joshua Reynolds's house and yard.What did Offy plan to do to surprise her uncle?John moved to the bathroom.What did one of the men call Offy?What did her uncle do the
next morning?Tell
how Offy gathered strawberries in the country.Why did Sir Joshua Reynolds paint the rock in the picture?Why do you
think Sir Joshua Reynolds liked to paint this little girl?=To the Teacher:= Illustrate the story of a little girl picking
strawberries.Ask some child to pose
for the picture, and encourage the children to draw a background that
tells the story.Daniel travelled to the bedroom.=The story of the artist.= The great room or studio in which Sir Joshua
Reynolds painted was a wonderful place for a child to visit.In it one
could find all kinds of toys, as well as birds and other pets.Most of
the children who came to see Sir Joshua were of very wealthy families,
but he did not care for that.He always asked their mothers to please
let them wear their oldest clothes so they could have a good time.In
fact, he did not like fine clothes, and usually the children in his
pictures are dressed so simply you cannot tell whether they are rich or
poor.He played games with them and told them stories.They were always
sure of a good time and so no wonder they liked to visit him.Many artists have been poor, and have had to work very hard just to
earn enough to eat, but Sir Joshua was not one of these.He was
fortunate in being able to sell all his pictures as fast as he could
paint them and so always had plenty of money.Many strange stories are told of Joshua's father because he was such
an absent-minded man.One day he rode to town on horseback.Mary went back to the bathroom.He was
wearing high-topped boots which were so loose that one fell off while
he was riding along.He did not notice it at all, for he was thinking
of something else.But when he reached town and got off his horse he
was very much surprised and embarrassed to find himself wearing only
one boot.When Sir Joshua went to London to learn how to paint he wrote to his
father, "While I am doing this, I am the happiest creature alive."After he had been away several years he met a young sailor, Admiral
Keppel, who invited him to go on a long sail on the Mediterranean Sea.This was a great opportunity for Sir Joshua, and he was glad to go.He
spent some time in Italy, and when he came home he painted a portrait
of his friend, Admiral Keppel, which every one admired.It was this
picture that first made him famous.Sandra went to the bathroom.=Questions about the artist.= Tell about Sir Joshua Reynolds's studio.When he was away from home, learning to paint, what did he
write to his father?THE RETURN TO THE FARM
=Original Picture:= The Louvre (l[=oo]'vr'), Paris, France.=Artist:= Constant Troyon (trwae'yon'')
=Birthplace:= Sevres (Sa''vr'), France.=Dates:= Born, 1810; died, 1865.=Questions to arouse interest.= What do you see in this picture?What time of day do you think it is?Do you think it is
a warm or a cold day?See if you can find any two sheep just alike.=The story of the picture.= It is at the close of day; the cows, the
sheep, and the donkey have been out in the pasture all day, and when
the dog and his master came for them they were ready to start for home.We can hardly see the man in the picture.He is walking along the
river bank farther back.Perhaps he is walking slowly so as to give
the cows time to wade out into that cool little pond, where they can
drink and refresh themselves.But the dog feels that he must look
after them, so he tries his best to keep them out of the water.That
one dark cow has just about made up her mind to follow the others into
the water, and the dog is barking at her, trying to persuade her not
to go.In 1867 he entered partnership
with Charles Gambrill in New York.After the dissolution of this
partnership in 1878, he removed to Brookline, Mass., and there he
remained until his death in 1886.THE CONGRESSIONAL LIBRARY, WASHINGTON.In 1873 Congress passed a bill
inviting plans in competition for the proposed building, and those
of Messrs.John L. Smithmeyer and Paul J. Peltz, both of Washington,
were selected.But between the years 1874, when they were officially
recognized as architects of the building, and 1886, when Congress
finally appropriated money to begin it, they had to endure great
political pressure, and their plans underwent many modifications
and improvements.Finally in 1886, after a bitter fight, they were
installed as architects of the new building.Before the structure had
risen above the foundations, however, a new act of Congress repealed
all that had previously been legislated about the building, and put
its construction under the sole control of the chief engineer of the
army, General Casey.Smithmeyer was discharged as architect, but
his partner, the artistic member of the firm, Mr.In the spring of 1892, when the structure had reached little more than
half its intended height, Mr.Peltz's connection with the work ceased;
and he was succeeded by Mr.Edward P. Casey of New York, who continued
as architect of the building until its completion in February, 1897.The library is 470 feet long and 340 deep, and occupies, exclusive of
approaches, three and three-fourths acres.COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY LIBRARY was completed in 1898.McKim, Mead & White, who have been referred to above.PATRICK'S CATHEDRAL, FACADE NEW YORK CITY]
TRINITY CHURCH, NEW YORK CITY, was finished in 1848.Richard Upjohn,
its architect, born at Shaftsbury, Eng., in 1802, was given a
common-school education, and afterwards apprenticed to a builder, and
engaged in this occupation until 1829, when he emigrated to America,
settling in New Bedford, Mass.Here he pursued his trade until 1833,
when he went to Boston, and made some architectural drawings for a
city court-house.He thereafter continued the practice of architecture
with increasing reputation, until, in 1839, he was called upon to
rebuild Trinity Church, New York, which work gained him a national
reputation as a church architect.[Illustration: PLATE IX "BILTMORE HOUSE," BILTMORE, N.C.]MADISON SQUARE GARDEN, NEW YORK CITY, McKim, Meade & White,
architects, is 465 feet long and 200 feet wide, and its walls are 65
feet high.The roof is nearly flat, but the sky-lines are broken by a
colonnade which rises above the roof at the Madison Square Avenue end,
and extends along either side for 100 feet, by six open cupolas with
semi-spherical domes, which rise above the colonnade, by two towers at
the Fifth Avenue corner, and by a great square tower which rises from
the Twenty-sixth Street side with its lines unbroken for 249 feet,
and then in a series of open cupolas.Along the Madison Avenue end,
and extending along either side for a distance of 150 feet is an open
arcade, which covers the sidewalk, and the roof of which rests upon
pillars of polished granite and piers of brick.The top of the arcade
is laid out as a promenade.On the top of the tower is poised a heroic
figure of Diana, 332 feet from the sidewalk, designed by St.The materials of the building are buff brick and terra-cotta.PATRICK'S CATHEDRAL, INTERIOR NEW YORK CITY]
ST.PATRICK'S CATHEDRAL, NEW YORK CITY, was opened in 1879, although
the spires were not finished until 1887.Built of white marble, its
main dimensions are: length 306 feet, breadth, including chapels 120
feet, length of transepts 140 feet, height of nave 108 feet.The
principal front on Fifth Avenue consists of a gable, 156 feet in
height, flanked by twin spires, 330 feet high.James Renwick, the
architect, was born in New York City in 1818.At the age of sixteen
he graduated from Columbia College, and, following an inherited
taste, entered the engineering department of the Croton Aqueduct.His training in architecture was entirely self-acquired.He early
manifested a fondness for the Gothic style, and as there were then
no Gothic buildings of merit in America, his knowledge of it was
derived entirely from books.With such scanty preparation he designed
Grace Church in New York.Renwick travelled in Europe, and
became still more impressed with the beauty of Gothic architecture.In 1858 the corner-stone of St.Patrick's Cathedral was laid, and it
was mainly through this church that his reputation as an architect
was established.It was his life work; he regarded it as his favorite
child, and never ceased to grieve that his original plan, which |
bathroom | Where is Mary? | "BILTMORE HOUSE," at BILTMORE, N.C., the residence of Mr.George
Vanderbilt, was completed in 1897.Its main general dimensions are,
152 by 373 feet.Richard M. Hunt, its architect, was born in Brattleboro, Vt., in 1827.He graduated from the Boston High School in 1843, and in the same
year, having already chosen his profession, he went to Europe.In 1845
he entered the _atelier_ of Hector Lefuel in Paris, and for nine years
pursued his studies at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts.In 1854 his _patron_
having been put in charge of the new work on the Louvre, Hunt was
appointed inspector, and under Lefuel designed the Pavillion de la
Bibliothèque.In 1855 he returned to New York, and began his American
career, toward 1870 taking up the class of work by which he is best
known.[Illustration: CITY HALL NEW YORK CITY]
The third and present CITY HALL OF NEW YORK CITY was projected
in 1802, when a premium was publicly offered for the best
design.Mangin (a Frenchman) and
Macomb,--architects concerning whom very little authentic information
is obtainable.The corner-stone of the
building was laid by Mayor Edward Livingstone.The building consists of a central structure of two stories and an
attic, surmounted by a cupola, and two wings of two stories each.The
architects' original design provided a pediment for the base of the
cupola, showing the city arms and bas-reliefs.The City Hall, when
cross-sectioned, north and south, resembles the Register office in
Edinburgh, designed by the Brothers Adam.The front and sides are of
white marble, with brown freestone basement.Freestone was used for
the rear because the building then stood so far out of town that it
was thought not worth while to build it of marble.A broad flight
of steps leads from the south to an Ionic colonnade.The cupola is
surmounted by a statue of Justice.[Illustration: PLATE X CITY HALL, NEW YORK CITY]
Transcriber's Note:
Italics are indicated by _underscores_.A number of minor spelling errors have been corrected without note.End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Brochure Series of Architectural
Illustration, vol.That was my first meeting with her, and I did not see her again till the
evening of the storm, when she brought Tematau to me.CHAPTER III
We, Niabon, Tematau and myself, were undisturbed by any visitors
during the night, for the storm increased in violence, and, as daylight
approached, the clamour of the surf upon the reef was something
terrific.About four in the morning, however, there came such a
thunderous, sudden boom that the island seemed shaken to its coral
foundations, and Niabon declared that the storm had broken."That is what the people of the Tokelau Islands call _O le fati le
galu_--the last great wave, that gathering itself together far out on
the ocean, rushes to the reef, and curling high up as the mast of a
ship, falls and shakes the land from one side to the other."The girl knew what she was talking about, for from that moment the fury
of the wind sensibly decreased, and half an hour later we were able
to open the door and gaze out upon the sea, still seething white with
broken, tumbling surf?Walking down to my boat-house, I found that the boat herself was not
injured in any way, though most of the roof had been blown away.Then
feeling that my usual attack of ague was coming on, I returned to the
house, and found that Niabon had made my coffee.I drank it, and then wrapped myself up in a couple of blankets in
readiness for the first touch of that deadly, terrible chill which
seems to freeze the marrow in the bones of any one who is suffering
from malarial fever.Niabon watched me gravely, and then came and stood
beside me.Sherry," she said, this time speaking in English, "why don't you
let me give you some medicine to cure you of that fever?Mary moved to the hallway."I believe you can, Niabon," I replied; "you certainly mesmerised me
when I was at Krause's station that day, and I awakened feeling a lot
better."Daniel travelled to the kitchen."Sending any one to sleep, as you did me.""I can always do that," she said simply, "and so could my mother."And then when you are
wake up I shall have some medicine ready for you, and then you shall
have no more fever."My attack of ague lasted about half an hour, and left me with the usual
splitting headache and aching bones.Daniel went back to the bedroom.When I was able to turn myself, I
saw that Niabon was seated beside Tematau dressing his lacerated back
with some preparation of crushed leaves.She heard me move, turned
her head, and smiled, and said she would be with me in a few moments.Although my head was bursting with pain, I watched her with interest,
noting the tenderness with which her smooth, brown fingers touched her
companion's body.Daniel moved to the hallway.When she had finished she rose, carefully washed and
dried her shapely hands, and came over to me."Give me thy hand," she said in the native dialect, as she knelt beside
my couch.She clasped it firmly but softly, and then the
fingers of her right hand gently pressed down my eyelids.As I felt the gentle pressure of her hand down my face, my throbbing
temples cooled, and in a minute, or even less, I sank into a dreamless
and profound slumber.When I awakened it was past nine o'clock, and I found that my own two
native servants, who slept in the village, had prepared my breakfast,
and were seated beside Tematau, talking to him.They told me that she had gone away in search of some plant, or plants,
with which to compound the medicine she was making for me.John moved to the bathroom.She returned
early in the forenoon, carrying a small basket in which I saw a coil of
the long creeping vine called '_At 'At_ by the natives, and which grows
only on the sandiest and most barren soil."Indeed I did sleep well," I replied, "and, more than that, I have eaten
a better breakfast than I have for many weeks."Daniel travelled to the bedroom.She nodded and showed me the contents of her basket, and then seating
herself at the table, ate a small piece of ship biscuit and drank a cup
of coffee.It was then that I noticed for the first time that she was,
if not beautiful, a very handsome woman.Her face and hands were a
reddish brown, darkened the more by the sun, for I could see under the
thin muslin gown that she was wearing, that her arms and shoulders were
of a much lighter hue, and I felt sure that she had some white blood
in her veins.Her hair was, though somewhat coarse, yet long, wavy, and
luxuriant, and was coiled loosely about her shapely head, one thick fold
drooping over her left temple, and shading half of the smooth forehead
with its jet-black and gracefully arched eyebrows.This is as much as I
can say about her looks, and as regards her dress, that is easy
enough to describe.She invariably wore a loose muslin or print gown,
waistless, and fastened at the neck; underneath this was the ordinary
Samoan _lava lava_ or waist-cloth of navy blue calico.Her gown,
however, was better made, and of far better material than those worn
by the native women generally; in fact she and Mrs.Krause dressed much
alike, with the exception that the latter, of course, wore shoes,
and Niabon's stockingless feet were protected only by rude sandals of
coco-nut fibre such as are still worn by the natives of the Tokelaus and
other isolated and low-lying islands of the Equatorial Pacific.After making and smoking a cigarette she set about compounding my fever
mixture by first crushing up the coil of '_At 'At_ and then expressing
the thick colourless jelly it contained into the half of a coco-nut
shell, which she placed on some glowing embers, and fanned gently till
it began to give off steam.Then taking half a dozen ripe Chili berries,
she pounded them into a pulp between two stones, added them to the '_At
'At_, and stirred the mixture till it boiled."That is all, Simi," she said, as she removed the shell from the fire,
and set it aside; "when it is cool enough to drink, you must take
one-fourth part; another when the sun is _tu'u tonu iluga_ (right
overhead), and the rest to-night."I thanked her, and promised to carry out her instructions, and then
said--
"Why do you talk to me in three different languages, Niabon?I like to
hear you speak English best, you speak it so prettily."Mary went back to the bathroom.Not the ghost of a smile crossed her face, and she replied in Samoan
that she did not care to speak English to any one who understood Samoan,
or indeed any other native language."I am a native woman," she added
somewhat abruptly, "and English cometh hard to my tongue."I said nothing further on the subject, fearing I might vex her, although
I felt pretty sure that she was _not_ a full-blooded native.However,
I had no right to worry her with questions, and if she preferred to be
thought a native it was no business of mine.As soon as my medicine had cooled a little, I took my first dose.It
tasted like Hades boiled down, and made me gasp for breath.Then Niabon
bade me wrap myself up in all the rugs and blankets I could procure,
and undergo a good perspiration, assuring me that I should have no more
attacks of the dreaded ague after the second dose.Calling one of my
native servants, a big hulking native named Tepi, to come and roll me up
presently, I first went over to Tematau, and asked him how he was doing,
and as I stooped down to examine his head, and see if the dressing was
all right, a heavy booted footstep sounded outside, and Krause walked
in.One look at his face showed me that he was labouring with suppressed
passion, though trying hard to conceal it."Good morning," I said without advancing to him; "take that chair over
there, please.I just want to look at this fellow's head for a moment."He stalked over to the chair I indicated and sat down, and a sudden
spasm of rage distorted his face when he saw Niabon.She was seated at
the further end of the room, her chin resting on her hand, and looking
at him so steadily and fixedly that he could not but have resented her
gaze, even if his mind were undisturbed by passion.Tematau, too,
turned his head, and shot his master a glance of such deadly fury that I
murmured to him to keep quiet.I rapidly revolved in my mind what course
to pursue with our visitor, who, though I could not see his face, was, I
felt, watching my every movement.Sandra went to the bathroom."That will do," I said to my patient in the island dialect, which Krause
understood and spoke thoroughly; "lie down again.In a few days thou
wilt be able to walk.""By God, he's going to walk _now_," said Krause, rising suddenly, and
speaking in a low, trembling tone.I motioned to him to sit down again.He shook his head and remained standing, his brawny hand grasping the
back of the chair to steady himself, for every nerve in his body was
quivering with excitement.I said coldly, though I was hot enough
against him, for he was armed with a brace of navy revolvers, belted
around his waist."No, I won't sit down," he answered rudely."Very well, then, stand," I said, seating myself near him.Then I pointed to the pistols in his belt.Krause, before you tell
me the business which has brought you here, I should like to know why
you enter my house carrying arms?It is a most extraordinary thing that
one white man should call on another armed with a brace of pistols,
especially when the island is quiet, and white men's lives are as safe
here as they would be in London or Berlin.""I brought my pistols with me because I thought I might have trouble
with the natives over that fellow there," he said sullenly, pointing to
Tematau."Then you might have left them outside; I object most strongly to any
one marching into my house in the manner you have done."He unbuckled his belt, and with a contemptuous gesture threw the whole
lot outside the door.Krause," I said, "I feel more at ease now, so will you
kindly tell me the object of your visit?""I've come to get that swine Tematau.I shall take him back to Taritai" (the name
of the village where he lived) "if I have to fight my way out of this
village of yours and kill fifty of your <DW65>s."Krause, and don't say 'your <DW65>s' so
emphatically.In the first place I have but two native servants, not
fifty, but either of those two would very much resent your calling him a
'<DW65>.'You know as well as I do that to call a native of this island,
or of any other island of the group, a <DW65>, is so grossly insulting
that his knife would be out in an instant.""Ah, you and I have different ideas on the subject," he said sneeringly;
"but that does not matter to me at the moment.My paid servant has
absconded from my service, and I have come to get him.John moved to the bedroom.That is plain
enough, isn't it?"Krause, and not to be easily bluffed
because a man comes stamping into my house with a brace of pistols in
his belt."I came here for that <DW65>--my
property.""Your _property!_ Is the man a slave?Krause; you
have used the man so brutally that he is unable to stand on his feet.He
and the girl----"
"I don't want the girl, and I daresay you do," he said, with a sneering
laugh that made me long to haul off and hit the fellow between the eyes;
"she's a nuisance, and if I ever again see her prowling about my house
and practising her infernal fooleries on my wife, I'll put a bullet
through her.I cried warningly, as he took a step toward the sick man, "stop,
before you run yourself into mischief.I have but to raise
my hand and call, and you will find yourself trussed up fore and aft to
a pole like a pig, and carried back to your village.""Out of my way," he shouted hoarsely, as with blazing eyes he tried to
thrust me aside.The natives here will kill you
if you attempt to force----"
"And I'll kill you, you meddlesome English hog," he said through his set
teeth, and, before I could guard, his right hand shot out and grasped
me by the throat, and he literally swung me off my feet and dashed me
against the centre posts of the house with such violence that I went
down in a heap.[Illustration: Hand shot out and grasped me by the throat 054]
When I came to a few minutes afterwards, Tepi was supporting me on his
knees, and Niabon was putting some brandy to my lips.Daniel travelled to the hallway.The house was
full of natives, who were speaking in suppressed but excited tones.I
swallowed the brandy, and then, as Tepi helped me to rise, the natives
silently parted to right and left, and I saw something that, half-dazed
as I was, filled me with horror.Krause lay on his back in the centre of the room, his white duck clothes
saturated with blood, which was still welling from three or four wounds
in his deep, broad chest.[Ill |
kitchen | Where is Mary? | "I, master," and Tematau placed an ensanguined hand on mine."And I," said a softer voice, and Niabon's eyes met mine calmly."Tematau and I together each stabbed him twice."As soon as I was able to pull myself together, I desired all the natives
but three of the head men to leave, and then, after the unfortunate
German's body was covered from view by a large mat, I asked the
principal man of the village to tell me what he knew of the tragedy.Niabon, in response to my inquiring glance--I was shaking from head to
foot as I looked at her, but her calm, quiet eyes as she looked into
mine restored my nerve--spoke clearly."The German dashed thee against the centre posts of the house, Simi.Then he drew a little pistol from his breast and shot at me, and the
bullet struck me on the neck.See," and she showed us a still bleeding
score on the right side of her neck, where a Derringer bullet had cut
through the flesh."And then he sprang at Tematau, but Tematau was
on his feet and met him and stabbed him twice; and, as he fell I too
stabbed him in the breast.""This is an evil day for me," I said to the three head men, "and I fear
it will prove an evil day to the people of this village, for the wife
of the man who lies there told me that a ship of war of his country was
soon to be here at this island.Niabon bent forward and spoke--
"Have no fear, Simi.Neither thou, nor Tematau, nor the people of this
village, nor I, shall come to any harm from the German fighting-ship.For when it comes thou and I, and Tematau, and Tepi, who know of the
blood let out this day upon the floor of thy house, will be far away.And when the captain of the fighting-ship questioneth, and sayeth to the
people, 'Where is my countryman?'the people will shake their heads and
say, 'We know not.He and his wife, and the Englishman, and Tepi, and
Tematau, and the witch woman Niabon have gone.They have sailed away to
beyond the rim of the sea and the sky--we know not whither."Mary travelled to the bedroom.I listened with all my faculties wide awake, and yet with a strange
sense of helplessness overpowering me.Then Niabon made a swift gesture
to the head men.They rose, and lifting the huge body of Krause, carried
it away.She came to me and pressed her hand on my forehead."You are tired," she said in English.She took my hand and led me to my couch beside the window and then bent
over me.For now the time is near and thou must have
strength."CHAPTER IV
I slept well on towards four o'clock in the afternoon, and when I
awakened I found the house deserted by all but my man Tepi, who was
seated cross-legged near me with a cup containing my fever mixture
beside him.Even before I raised myself to drink I felt that I was a stronger man,
physically and mentally, than I had been six hours previously, and my
veins no longer seemed as if they were filled with liquid fire.I drank
the mixture and then looked about me, and saw that every ensanguined
trace of the tragedy which had occurred a few hours before had been
removed.The coarse and somewhat worn matting which had covered the
floor had been taken away and replaced by new squares, and the room
presented the usual neat and orderly appearance in which it was always
kept by Tepi and my other servant."Master," said Tepi, "art hungry?""Aye," I replied, "I would eat; but first tell me of the dead man.The man, instead of answering me in a straightforward manner, bent his
head and muttered something I could not hear.I jumped off my couch and went outside, and the first person I ran
against was my cook, an old grizzled fellow of about sixty years of age
named Pai.He was carrying a freshly-killed fowl in his hand, looked
at me in an unconcerned manner as if nothing had occurred, and asked me
would I have it broiled or boiled."As you will," I said impatiently."Tell me, Pai, whither have they
taken the dead white man?"He made a peculiar and significant gesture--one that is not often used,
but when it is it implies that certain matters or things must not be
further alluded to, but must be for ever buried in oblivion.I put my
hand on his tough, naked, and wrinkled shoulder, and again repeated my
question."I know of no dead white man," he replied, looking me steadily in the
face, and yet answering me in his usual respectful manner.Then he sat
down beside the low stone wall surrounding the house, and began to pluck
the fowl, casually remarking that it was fat for its age.Somewhat puzzled at the reticence of my servants, I walked across my
compound towards the native village, which, as I have before mentioned,
was some distance from my house, and as I walked I felt at every
footstep a renewed bodily vigour, and almost unconsciously I took out my
pipe, filled it, and began to smoke with an enjoyment denied to me for
many months.The day was gloriously bright and cool, and the westering sun on my
right hand shone on a sea of the deepest blue, whose placid bosom was
dotted by a fleet of canoes with their mat sails spread to the now
gentle trade wind, cruising to and fro catching flying fish.This seemed
strange to me, bearing in mind the events of the past few hours.The
death of a white man, even from natural causes, was of itself generally
a matter of such importance to the natives of any of the mid-Pacific
isles, that their daily avocations were suspended, and the house of the
deceased man would not only be surrounded on the outside by a circle
of people sitting on their mats and awaiting their turn to enter and
express their condolences with his wife or children, but filled inside
as well.The first houses I passed on the outskirts of the village were occupied
only by women and children, who all gave me their usual cheerful
greeting of _Tiakapo, Simi!_ ("Good-day, Jim") and one or two of them
added a few words of congratulation upon my improved appearance, and
then calmly went on with their work, such as mat-making, mending fishing
nets, cooking, etc., but no one of them gave the slightest indication of
even having heard that anything unusual had occurred.[Illustration: Directed my steps towards the great open-sided moniep
062]
Crossing the village square--if it could be so called--I directed my
steps towards the great open-sided _moniep_, or council house, from
which came the sound of many voices, talking in the vociferous manner
common to all natives of the Gilbert and Kingsmill groups.As I drew
near I saw that there were about twenty men seated inside, smoking, card
playing, or making cinnet for fishing lines by twisting up the strands
of coco-nut fibre on their naked thighs.As they heard my footsteps on
the gravel, their conversation dropped a little, but they all gave me
_Tiakapo!_ as usual, invited me to enter and sit down and smoke, and
then went on with either their work or their pastime."Now," I thought, as I sat down on the mat brought to me, "I shall
get these fellows to tell me the meaning of all this reticence about the
disposal of Krause's body."For some minutes I smoked in silence and took the opportunity of looking
at my hosts.They were all either middle-aged or old men, and were all
known to me personally, especially one old bald-headed fellow named
Kaibuka--"The Ship."In his younger days this Kaibuka had acquired an evil reputation for
being the instigator and leader of cutting-off attacks on whaleships and
trading vessels, and his performances had gained him such _kudos_ and
respect from his savage associates that now in his old age he was the
most influential of the three principal head men of the whole lagoon.Like all the others present, he wore but the usual _airiri_, or girdle
of grass, round his loins, and his dark reddish-brown body was covered
from head to waist with the scars of wounds received in earlier years.Each of his ear-lobes, pierced in infancy, had from long years of
continuous distention by means of rolls of pandanus leaf, become so
pendulous that they now hung loosely upon his shoulders in two great
bights of thin flesh as thick as a lead pencil, though one of them had
twisted in it a long stick of tobacco and a spare pipe.He was not,
however, a bad-looking old ruffian, and his shining bald head, still
perfect teeth, and extremely Jewish cast of features gave him quite a
distinctive appearance from the younger men, whose long coarse hair, cut
away across the forehead and hanging loosely down on their shoulders and
backs, made their fierce, savage faces appear as if they looked at you
from a moving frame of black.They certainly were a wild-looking lot,
but their appearance somewhat belied their dispositions--at least as
far as I was personally concerned.We had always got along very well
together both socially and in business, and I was well aware that whilst
they disliked and mistrusted Krause they placed implicit confidence in
me.Putting down my pipe on the mat beside me, I told old Kaibnka that I
desired to talk to them."_E rai rai_" ("Good"), he said."Kaibuka," I said, "hath the dead white man been taken to his wife?"He looked stolidly at me for an instant, and then answered with an air
of intense surprise."Aye, we know of none," echoed the others in unison.I began to feel both angry and uncomfortable, and showed it: but for
the moment I was too puzzled to do more than stare at them each in turn.They looked straight before them as if their faces were so many stone
jugs--they had about as much expression.Again I addressed myself to Kaibnka.Thou thyself, Kaibnka, and thou, Berau,
were, with many others, in my house when his dead body lay on the floor.And whither have the girl Niabon and Tematau
gone?"This time I got an answer--to my last question, at any rate."Niabon and Tematau have gone across the lagoon in a canoe.They desired
to talk with the white man's wife.In a little time, as darkness falls,
they will return to thee.""Did _they_ take the dead man with them, then?"The old fellow met my inquiring glance quite calmly."I know of no dead
man, Simi."I glared angrily at them all round, and then for a moment wondered if
they were all crazy or I alone was wrong in my head.I was rising to
my feet with an exclamation of anger at their obstinacy when the old
bald-head motioned me to stay.Then at a sign from him all the others
gathered up their _impedimenta_ and quietly went off in Tarions
directions, leaving us alone."Simi," he said, coming swiftly over and crouching in front of me, "be
wise.Ask no one of the white man who was here yesterday; for no one
will tell thee but Niabon.There is death in store for many, many
people, if ye heed not my words.Go back to thy house, and be patient
and wait, and ask naught of any one but Niabon of what is past.Wouldst
thou see this land soaked in blood because of _one_ man?"He spoke in such curious, whispered tones, and kept his keen hawk-like
face so close to mine that I saw he was in deadly earnest.Promise me to rest in thy house and wait for Niabon."I walked slowly back to my house and took a stiff glass of grog to
steady my nerves, which were beginning to feel a little upset."It's time I got out of this place," I thought, as, lighting my pipe,
I went down to my boat again and busied myself in taking out all her
fittings, examining and replacing them again.When I returned to the house for my supper it was quite dark, and just
as my lamp was lit Niabon entered.CHAPTER V
Thinking it would be wiser to refrain from asking her any questions
until she had at least rested a little--for she seemed to be very
weary--I said nothing to her but a few words of welcome, and bade my
servants lay the supper, then told her that I was sure she was both
hungry and tired.She replied that she certainly was tired, having come
on foot from Taritai to save time.The canoe with Tematau was to follow
on later in the night when the tide turned, and when there would be more
water on the upper sand flats of the lagoon."Very well, Niabon," I said in English, "now sit down and drink a cup of
tea and eat a little."I have many things of which to tell thee, Simi," she said, "for I have
been speaking long with the wife of the man Krause, and----"
I told her that it would please me better if she first ate something.She at once obeyed, but instead of sitting at the table with me she
seated herself on a mat near me, and Pai waited upon her whilst big Tepi
attended to me.Only once did she speak during the meal, when she asked
me if I had had any recurrence of either fever or ague, and she was
undoubtedly pleased when I said that I had not, and that another coarse
or two of her medicine would, I believed, care me.She smiled, and told
me she would make more of the mixture that evening.After eating a very slight sapper she made herself a cigarette and sat
and smoked until I had finished my pipe.Then she came a little nearer
to me, and I felt ashamed of myself for not having asked her if her neck
gave her much pain, for I now noticed that the neck and front of her
dress were blood-stained.She made light of the wound, however; said
it was but skin deep, and would be healed in a few days.But I insisted
upon her letting me see for myself.She consented somewhat unwillingly,
and I saw that she had had a very narrow escape, the heavy bullet from
Krause's Derringer having scored her neck pretty deeply and made a wound
nearly two inches long.She had, however, she told me, had it attended
to by Mrs.Krause, who had done the very best thing that could have
been done to a superficial injury of the kind--painted it liberally with
Friar's Balsam, which though causing intense pain for a few minutes,
had quickly stayed the flow of blood and prevented any inflammation from
setting in.I asked as I readjusted the bandage."She knows how he died, but knows not whose were the hands that dealt
the blows.Mary travelled to the kitchen.And, Simi, it is well that she does not know, for I am her
friend, and it would grieve her did she know all."I thought a moment or two before answering--
"How can the truth be kept from her, Niabon?There are many people who
know 'twas thee and Tematau who slew him.""_She_ will never know, Simi," she asserted earnestly; "there is but one
man who could tell her, and him she will not ask."I saw
his body lying at my feet.Dost think she will fail to question _me_ if
others whom she may ask remain silent?""She will ask thee no questions concerning him.His death hath taken
away from her a terror by day and bad dreams at night that for two years
hath wrung her heart and weakened her body, which is but frail.Have
pity on her, Simi, and say nothing to her when thou seest her of her
dead husband.He is gone; and yet, although she wept when I told her he
was dead, and she knelt and prayed for his spirit which has gone beyond,
I know well that now some peace hath come into her heart.As she spoke she turned her strangely sombrous and liquid eyes to mine
in such an appealing glance that I could not resist her magnetic power,
strive as I would."I will do as you wish, Niabon," I said, falling weakly into English
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